Dances With Lions
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TangentChapter 24: Lions free porn video
Ensign Legios of the Sixth Mounted Rifles tried not to rubberneck like a country bumpkin seeing his first town market as he stood waiting in Captain-General Harmakros' field headquarters. The headquarters was in the common room of an inn commandeered for the purpose. Legios had seen better inns in his day.
But it wasn't the building that riveted his attention, it was the man sitting at a trestle table, listening to a logistos report. The Captain-General was waving a roasted leg of some sort of bird around like it was a pointer.
At eighteen years old, what he was this day, he'd seen very few important men. A few heartbeats before he'd seen General Alkides, the High King's artillery wizard speaking to the Captain-General. And always, there was Harmakros.
Harmakros turned his eye to Legios. "You have a message, Ensign?"
"Sir, yes. A report from Brigadier Markos."
"Report then."
Legios drew himself up. "Sir, Brigadier Markos reports that at dawn a small force of Mexicotal from their vanguard tried to force a crossing east of the village of Tepic on the Tulum River. We engaged them, but the Mexicotal thought to trick us. More than a thousand Mexicotal attacked, all armed with rifles. They tried to force a crossing of the river. The entire Sixth Mounted rose up and hit them hard. Then, sir, two Mexicotal divisions attacked from the flanks. Twenty thousand men. Brigadier Markos told me to tell you that they are also all armed with rifles. I was told to report at once and return with orders. Brigadier Markos is retreating in good order and regrets that he could not hold the crossing longer."
The Captain-General shook his head in wonder. "Only Markos would even think of trying to stop twenty thousand with one thousand. You will return to the brigadier in a moment." He beckoned to one of his sergeants who came and leaned close. Harmakros whispered a few words to him and then the man saluted and left.
Harmakros turned back to Legios. "Come here, Ensign, look at the map."
Legios approached the table and bent over the map, looking at where the Captain-General was pointing.
"Here we are, Ensign." The Captain-General traced the road Legios had galloped up earlier in the day.
Legios had never been prouder. He'd been given Brigadier Markos' baton, the insignia of the brigadier's rank. That baton had allowed Legios to change horses every few miles and only another man with a similar baton could challenge him.
He was abruptly reminded he was standing in front of a man who didn't have time for boys who weren't paying attention. "Do you know the road, Ensign?"
"Yes, sir. I've been along it twice now."
"Five miles southwest of Spintos, the road passes between some hills. A little round one on the east, to the left as you go south, about four hundred feet high. A longer one to the right, mostly parallel with the road and a little higher. A third hill, another two miles further to the west, higher still. That's to the right as you go south. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Now, you ride like the wind back to Markos. Tell him I want him on the eastern hill, that'll be the one on the right as you come back. I want him there before dark tonight. He is to dig in and hold the hill until he can no longer. He is to make sure the Mexicotal don't flank him to the east, although I have no idea how any significant force could get through those brambles. Just tell him to be careful. Now, repeat my instructions."
Legios repeated what he'd been told, as he'd been taught. The Captain-General waved and Legios went outside, almost running.
He missed the Captain-General turning back to the logistos and asking, "Were we ever that young?" The Captain-General laughed as he said that.
The logistos smiled thinly. "I was, Harmakros. I don't think you were ever young. And I'm not sure that boy is all that young. It's forty miles to the river and he covered that between breakfast and before you finished lunch. He'll be back with Markos in half that time and back here before night. Today he earned his pay."
The Captain-General of the Army of Hostigos belched. "No, I was never that young. At his age I'd have stopped at a bawdy house for some sport. Then I'd have found something to eat. I'd have reported when it pleased me. I have, since, had a better teacher than when I was however young I was in those days."
Legios found the sergeant he'd seen inside waiting for him. The sergeant hailed him. "You are to go to Markos?" the sergeant asked.
"Yes, Sergeant."
The sergeant waved at the most magnificent horse Legios had ever seen. It was the color of sand and stood much taller than any horse Legios had ridden before.
"The Captain-General's compliments, Ensign. This horse will get you back to the brigadier in quick time. Do take care of him."
Legios nodded, awestruck. Still, he climbed lithely up. The sergeant grinned. "Watch yourself, Ensign! Ride like the wind!"
The sergeant whacked the horse on the rump and it was off at a run.
Legios hadn't had to deal with as much traffic when he'd come through earlier. Now the road was packed solidly with Hostigi soldiery marching south, most of whom were singing lustily about marching through Nostor.
He only had to brandish the baton a few times, though, and yell "Courier!" to be allowed to pass through units stopped alongside the road, which was the only place he could ride. He'd only gone a few miles before the soldiers turned off the main road, marching west, while Legios continued on south.
He looked at the hill on his left, the one they were supposed to occupy. It was a round mesa, with a tumbled down section from the steep climb the last fifty feet or so to the top; the tumbled down part faced west.
He saw a large group of men, perhaps a hundred, with many wagons, working at the base of the tumbledown. Cutting a road to the top, Legios thought. There were even more men working on a road on the hill to the west, and they were already appreciably higher than the men working on the eastern hill had gotten. That hill was a long ridge, probably as high as the mesa, but there was no steep rocky part. Further to the west, he could see the third hill. It was like the other one to the west, about three hundred feet high, also not very steep. However, it ran more east and west, rather than north and south.
The horse's rhythm was lulling, but Legios didn't think he could sleep, not with all of the excitement.
This morning had been something he had never imagined. He was with the brigadier and a dozen others, a mixture of young men like Legios and older sergeants and lieutenants. They were on a small rise a few hundred yards from the river, watching the Mexicotal start to cross at first light.
The firing started as a volley from the Hostigi; the number of rifles in reply had caused some talk, but it wasn't until a thousand Mexicotal rose up out of nowhere and fired, then charged with fixed bayonets that the Sixth had any idea they were in a big fight.
But the Sixth Mounted had been the brigadier's for two years and he'd trained them well. Men, who a moment before had been alert, but not too concerned, settled down and started to return fire. The river obstructed the Mexicotal. Moreover, rifles or not, they couldn't load and fire in water up to their waists. Almost at once the Mexicotal attack began to falter.
It had been scary. There was no other word to describe how he'd felt. Scared. He'd heard the reports, Legios knew that the Mexicotal had as many men as the brigadier did. But the Mexicotal were out in the open, with no cover except the water, while the men of the Sixth Mounted were shooting from cover, making no effort to fire in volleys. Instead, each man loaded at his own pace and Legios had already learned that they could fire more often than any unit that volley-fired.
Almost the instant Legios realized the attack would fail, that was when the real blow had fallen. Files of Mexicotal soldiers, twenty men at a time, rose on each flank and fired, then charged forward into the slow-moving river. Brigadier Markos had known at once what was happening, and sent messengers to tell the various companies to retreat in order.
Then he turned to Legios and ordered him to report to the Captain-General at Spintos with news of what was happening.
It had bothered Legios to turn his back on the battle, but he had his orders. The firing had continued until he was out of earshot of the battle, ten miles down the road. He could only hope that the brigadier had been careful and that the Mexicotal didn't have any more surprises.
Now as he returned, he began to hear sporadic firing ahead of him. He slowed the horse and checked his two pistols. It was something they warned him about over and over: be alert for Mexicotal scouts. Another mile further along, he saw a company of the Sixth trotting their horses, heading the way Legios had just come.
This too was something he'd been taught. He turned the horse towards them, and reported to the captain commanding the company. Legios repeated the Captain-General's message for Brigadier Markos to the captain, then drew him a map of where they were supposed to go. This way, if anything happened to Legios, the brigadier still would get his message -- and these men would go to the right place. Not only that, a picket would stay here to pass the message on to any other companies that followed, so that Legios wouldn't have to stop again.
"How did the battle go?" Legios asked the captain.
The man shrugged. "We lost about thirty men of the Sixth. There were a lot of the dirty buggers! But they didn't press the attack after crossing the river. It was just the usual skirmishers; except the bastards have rifles now, instead of crossbows. Get you on, Ensign!"
When Legios climbed up on the horse the captain laughed. "And who did you steal that magnificent beast from?"
"The Captain-General," Legios said and spurred forward, leaving the others laughing behind him.
Legios grinned to himself. He was the youngest son of a grain merchant of Xiphlon. Except his father hadn't always been a grain merchant. When Legios was six years old, they had a farm near Fitra, in old Hostigos. There, Legios had actually gotten to see the High King, even though at the time he wasn't the High King yet, just Lord Kalvan, and at six, Legios was too young to understand much of what had happened that day.
They had to leave their home in the middle of the night, when riders came to warn them that mercenaries in the employ of Gormoth of Nostor were attacking. They threw a few things in a wagon, and then they'd fled, with the horizon already ablaze as the mercenaries advanced.
By mid-morning the next day his family was part of a great stream of people, fleeing the fighting that left towering columns of smoke behind them. Legios could remember his father exclaiming with pleasure as the traffic on the road began to move faster.
But it hadn't been a good thing. The traffic was moving faster because Hostigi infantry were in the road, piling up wagons and goods to block it. Legios, his mother, brothers and sisters had been moved back several miles on foot, while his father had been set to help build the barricade.
The battle was a tremendous victory for the High King, but it cost Legios' family everything they owned but the clothes they stood in.
And now, here he was! Legios knew his father wasn't happy that Legios wanted to be in the army. But his father, instead of throwing up objections or simply forbidding Legios to go, had sent Legios to Brigadier Markos with a letter of introduction.
First Legios spent a moon in Xiphlon, learning to shoot. Many of the others had to learn to ride, but he already knew, so, instead, he'd been sent to a quick school to learn how to carry messages. That took a half moon, then Brigadier Markos came and asked all that were there if they wanted to march against the Mexicotal. Everyone volunteered, including Legios.
He reached the brigadier and climbed down off the magnificent horse. Getting down was much harder than Legios expected. Still, he made his report, drawing the map in the dirt alongside the road. He told the brigadier that he'd passed on the message to the first captain he'd met, and that pickets had been posted on the road to tell the units ahead of the brigadier.
The brigadier looked at the map for a few moments, then called for his staff. In short order, commands were passed, and then most of the brigadier's staff were galloping ahead of the rest of the Sixth.
Legios had been told to follow along and he did. It was something to think about; one of the things Brigadier Markos had told him was that one courier had been killed in the fighting during the morning and another wounded.
When they reached the hill they were to occupy, the brigadier stopped, sitting his horse, looking over the terrain for a few heartbeats.
"There's a road being built," Legios reminded him, "around there." He pointed towards where it was. You couldn't see it from where they were, but Legios was sure it was there. You could certainly see the road on the middle hill.
They rode up the hill, going slowly and taking care of their horses. It was getting on towards sunset, and only the fact that the ground they were riding on faced west kept the footing from being treacherous. The brigadier conferred with the engineer officer working on the road, then motioned the rest of them to come along. They reached the point on top of the mesa that was furthest south. Brigadier Markos stared out over the expanse of broken brush that spread out in front of him without a word.
After a bit, one of the captains spoke up. "This is much better ground, sir, than any other we've seen today."
The brigadier didn't take his eyes off the view when he spoke, "This is very good ground. However, much as I would like to hold this hilltop, it's a little too good. They will have a hard time getting to us, and we will have an equally hard time getting at them from on top."
He turned to his junior aide. Legios looked at the young lieutenant, not much older than he was. "Paper," the brigadier commanded and the young man handed his commander a piece. The brigadier started drawing on it, while Legios contemplated how much the brigadier's aide's hand trembled as he held out the paper. Sickness was always a risk in the field, you were better off if you stayed away from sick people.
Brigadier Markos spoke to them when he'd finished the map. He held it up so all could see it. "We will deploy along the break in the hill, with the cliff to our rear. We will have two companies here," he pointed to circles at the southern tip, next to each other. "Another company here." Here was around on the side away from the road. "Two more companies here," this time it was around towards the road, "two more here on the crest, above the road. I have put the name of the captain I want in a position in each circle."
There were murmurs of understanding. The one captain that Legios knew almost always had a good question had one now. "No reserves, Brigadier?"
"I've fought the Mexicotal several times. They are very predictable, rifles or not. Most likely tomorrow morning at dawn they will hit us with a half division: five thousand men. Maybe, if they want to make an example of us, a full division. We're going to need every man on the lines from the start.
"We need to have some sharp eyes up here," the brigadier went on. "We can't let them flank us to the east. I know the brambles make that almost impossible, but 'almost' isn't something I'm comfortable with. They are to report any trace of smoke or dust they see out there."
There were a few more minor questions, and then Brigadier Markos gestured at Legios. "Ensign, are you up to taking this map to each of my captains, telling them where they are to go?"
"Yes, sir!" Legios said with alacrity.
"Good, do so. Have each of the captains initial the map next to his name."
Legios didn't say anything, he knew better. In the past captains would do as they pleased, but the High King had introduced the idea of written orders and signed receipts. A lot of captains grumbled, but there were a lot fewer mistakes.
"Yes, sir."
"When you are finished with that, return to me here." He pointed to a rock in the middle of the flat area. "We'll base the horse corral on that rock. Take care of your horse. After that, you get some rest. I'll send someone for you when I need you again."
"Yes, sir!" Legios said, and dashed for the horse and was up and away, ignoring the pain in his arms and legs, the tired muscles in his stomach.
Denethon stood in his stirrups to stretch. Behind him the men of his company also stretched. He spent the time studying the hills ahead of them. One hill was to the east of the road, two more to the west. The westernmost hill was, he thought, pretty well out of a fight for the road as the road wound between the two eastern-most hills.
With a sinking feeling he realized what Oaxhan would plan, the instant he saw this ground.
As if hearing his thoughts, the Captain-General and his coterie of officers and other hangers-on came cantering up. Denethon kept his face blank. Xitki Quillan had a tenth as many in his entourage and they were all staff officers and senior sergeants. There were few staff officers in the army of the God-King and few of those were allowed to travel into the field.
Oaxhan pulled up next to Denethon. "Look at this lovely ground, General Denethon! Isn't this grand!"
"Yes, Captain-General," he said, trying to keep his voice level. He could win this battle. Xitki Quillan could win this battle and the war. Oaxhan was going to lose it here.
He stopped thinking along those lines abruptly. Xitki Quillan had been defeated and was withdrawing as he, Denethon, sat his horse on this hill, so far away. He wanted to weep. It had been a gamble, yes. But he and Alros loved each other, and this had been their only chance. And now she was the center of a storm greater than even the most experienced sailor could deal with. And she was just sixteen! Freidal was a good man, none better! But he was hundreds of miles from home and it would be to the God-King's enormous advantage if something happened to him.
And if something happened to Freidal, Alros would be queen and he would have nothing, because there was no way, promises or not, that he could marry her.
Denethon settled himself carefully down on his horse, denying his mind a chance to dwell on the dangers to his own personal ambition, focusing instead on the dangers that faced the young woman he loved.
"Bring the army up tonight," Denethon said evenly. "Get them formed up at first light. Mid-morning, send them down the road."
"Only two divisions will be here early tomorrow," Oaxhan told him. "I want the others well rested. They will be here later tomorrow. This," Oaxhan waved at the terrain ahead of them, "is simply wonderful ground! What a chance to make a fool of Harmakros!"
Denethon controlled his temper. "I do not know the mind of the God-King," Denethon told Oaxhan. "I do know the mind of my king. If I were to tell him we had defeated Harmakros, he'd be content. Humiliating enough for the High King, just to have his best soldier retreat.
"Captain-General, you should send runners to your men, have the main body come up as quickly as possible. Give them a few palm-widths of rest in the morning, if you must. Then throw them right up the road."
"What we will do," Oaxhan said, speaking to all, ignoring Denethon, "is launch a half division attack tomorrow on that hill to the east and kick them off it. Harmakros will have to spend many men to counter-attack."
One of the scouts who'd been a little ways off from Denethon spoke loudly. "General! The Hostigi who fought us at the ford this morning are there on that hill! There are barely a thousand of them! You will crush them tomorrow before High Sun!"
Oaxhan turned to the speaker. "What of the other Hostigi dispositions?"
The man shrugged. "Captain-General, I don't know. Scouts to the east report the brambles are impassable. We have watched carefully here. Strong Hostigi forces are preparing to take up positions on the central hill. There are gun emplacements being built on it. Most to range the road and the rest to engage forces attacking from the south."
"And to the west?" Denethon asked, without much hope of good news.
"None of my scouts have returned from that direction yet. It is much further off. Tomorrow, early, I'm sure I'll know more."
Oaxhan nodded as if this was satisfactory. "What we will do day after tomorrow, is launch another half division attack, this time at the center hill. As soon as their artillery starts to fire, the attack will reorient and attack the eastern-most hill. Another set of divisions will come up, as if to support the attack.
"As that attack goes home, ten divisions will sweep over the western hill and turn the Hostigi flank. The rest of the army will attack the center as the Hostigi start to crumble."
Denethon blinked, amazed at the stupidity of it.
"General Oaxhan, Harmakros is between you and Spintos. Every step to the west you take, will take you further from the town and Harmakros. Harmakros can pull back on the town and we will be no better off than we were yesterday or today."
"The God-King's men don't need roads! Our soldiers will run, General Denethon! They will sweep around to the west and catch Harmakros coming once again to kick our troops off the eastern hill, as he will have had to do tomorrow. We will get behind him and cut him off. He will have to submit to me! What a fine thing that will be!"
Denethon closed his eyes. The worst kind of a general was the general who counted the plaudits for his victory before the battle commenced.
"Suppose, General Oaxhan, that Harmakros is on that western hill? Your scouts haven't told you anything about his whereabouts."
Oaxhan slapped his fist into his palm. "Better yet! The God-King's finest soldiers, double his numbers, will roll over Harmakros and his men! I will speak to the men before the battle and tell them they are not to give quarter to their enemies! We will destroy every single one of them! Not only a great victory, but even more pleasing!"
"And is there word of the High King?" Denethon cautioned.
"No, none," the scout commander reported. The look he gave Denethon told Denethon all he really needed to know. The scouts had no idea where any of the forces opposing Oaxhan were except for a paltry thousand men squatting on one stupid, pointless hill. This was a prescription for disaster!
Ofelia
- 01.06.2020
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