“Not yet, you fool, not yet!” Captain Travis Vorenus muttered to himself as, from the ridge of a flanking sand dune, he watched Count Etrosq signal his line to advance. Until now, the Count’s crossbowmen had held a range advantage, and had been peppering the Sarranid forces holding the hill before them. The Sarranid archers, favouring the speed and mobility of short bows, could not hope to return the projectiles dropping through and into their lines. Now the Count was removing that advantage, and it was not yet time: the enemy Emir's Mameluke cavalry were holding position just off the flank of the archers, while the unarmoured archers were being shielded from the deadly hail by the shield-equipped footmen lined before them. Etrosq’s infantry obediently marched forwards. It suddenly dawned on the captain, as he observed the enemy, that he had not yet met this particular Emir, and if he had, the man’s name slipped his mind. Then such trivialities were lost on him as his attention was taken by a slight ripple in the Sarranid line. He knew the ripple; the entire formation of archers performing the quarter-turn, nocking an arrow and drawing the bow. The Rhodok infantry also saw it. Calls from sergeants throughout the line pushed shields forwards and formed a tight protective wall. It didn't help. The infantry line, halfway now between their crossbow support and the Sarranid line, were at the bottom of a steep dune the Emir had chosen to defend, and the archers aimed high. Travis could see the Emir give the smallest of movements, and Hell broke loose for the Rhodoks.
A sergeant was bellowing at his men, “Stand tight, lads! Slow and steady! They'll be easy meat once you get in close!” The recruit closest to him gave a slight gasp, and the sergeant looked up, heard the terrible sound of a hundred bows twanging together. “SHIELDS UP! HIGH! HOLD THEM HI-” The word remained unfinished as an arrow penetrated the Man's eyeball. He barely had time to finish his swift death before the rest of the volley found its mark. Scores of arrows thudded into the shield wall, but many more had been lobbed high enough to plunge down into the massed ranks, cutting swathes into the less-armoured troops. The first volley alone had wounded dozens of the Count’s infantry, leaving several motionless and bloody on the ground. The second volley was being drawn…
Travis still watched the Sarranid line. He looked the Mamelukes up and down, noticing how only their eyes were not covered in a layer of chain mail. He wondered to himself how much that much mail would fetch on a less-stocked market. One rider could probably support his small band for a month's wages. Maybe more. But first, they would have to move. As they stood, they formed a protective line across the formation of archers. The Mamelukes had to break formation if Travis and his Rhodok employers could carry this day. Captain Vorenus glanced once more at the suffering Rhodok line. The crossbows were scoring more hits now, as they'd moved up to support the advancing infantry, but the infantry was faltering and losing men swiftly. All cohesion was gone, as men found themselves standing alone as their comrades dropped on all sides. As the numbers dwindled, it seemed they would be easily swept aside by the still-fresh Sarranid troops. The Mamelukes clearly saw this too. Travis almost failed to check himself from cheering with joy as the horsemen cantered forwards and prepared to charge the faltering infantry. The Emir's horsemen were outnumbered by only two-to-one; easy odds for the Sultan's finest. Except that the surviving Rhodoks were not the unarmoured peasants that fell so easily to the arrow fire. The Mamelukes hastened into a trot.
Travis, seeing the archer's flank finally freed of the well-armoured horsemen, held his spear high, and kicked his spurs back as he waved the band forwards.
An archer, on the far right flank of his line, watched as the Mamelukes confidently moved forwards to sweep away the impudent Westerners. He glanced further to his right, where the advancing Mamelukes finally gave him a better view of the lone horseman who had been watching the events from the top of a nearby dune. He watched curiously as the man suddenly held up his arm, holding a spear horizontally above his head, then began cantering forwards. Curiosity turned to horror as he saw the crest fill with horsemen. He tried to turn, to shout a warning to his fellows, but his world suddenly filled with pain and blood. He felt himself falling, and as his head hit the course, hot sand, he saw the arrow protruding from his chest.
Nizar whooped aloud as his bodkin found its mark, punching through the nearest archer's padded armour jacket. The other horse-archers loosed their own shots as Nizar fired for a second time, now at full gallop down the dune.
Travis had timed this perfectly. His horses were now at the bottom of the dune, but from this direction, the Sarranid-held dune's slope was so shallow that they could climb it at full charge. He drew back his arm, and hurled his first spear towards the archers, then drew a second, plunging it like a lance into the line as he reached it. The spear stuck in whatever he hit, and he let it go, drawing his sword. His men were among the archers now, their fate was sealed. Vorenus had to ensure that the rest of the Emir's line was broken too if he was to gain victory without the Rhodoks. “Rolf, Borcha, on me!” he cried as he plunged through the scattering archers and towards the rear of the footman line.
The Mamelukes were bearing down on the haggard and dying troops. This will be my easiest victory yet, Emir Amdar thought to himself. His elites were dropping their lances to the couch, ready to punch through to victory, when suddenly, inexplicably, the surviving Rhodok troops coalesced. Amdar saw his mistake, but it was too late. Fully-mailed veteran spears simultaneously presented their tips to the charging horses.
The lighter horses died instantly. The heavier horses were stopped as their shied away and reared from the spearwall. A few, ‘lucky’ riders managed to veer past the infantry, only to be shot down by the crossbowmen behind. Sergeants with picks and cleavers moved in to finish the stationary and unhorsed knights. Amdar, having curbed his horse in time, looked back to his own line to issue the order to advance infantry support. Instead, he gazed in horror as his archers fled and enemy horsemen rode the length of his line, hacking and slashing at his troops. It took him a few moments to register what had happened. He had lost, and his men were being slaughtered. But the Rhodok don't have horses! he cried to himself. They were there all the same. “Full retreat! Sound the retreat! Get back!” A few of his chosen bodyguard had pulled themselves from the melee, and rode to their master's side as he fled the field. The Rhodoks charged through the broken cavalry towards the last few standing Sarranid troops. They saw their master fleeing, and they too turned and fled.
“Captain!” yelled Baheshtur, “Captain stop!” Travis realised then that he was no longer slashing at a poorly trained enemy, but at a horde of men fleeing for their lives. He looked around, and saw men being cut down in their droves.
“Prisoners! I want prisoners!” he shouted. “They’re worth more alive! And Borcha, go capture me some archers! We need some for a prisoner exchange!” He curbed his horse and sat motionless in the saddle for a few moments, gazing at the mounds of dead. It had been less than a minute since the overeager cavalry had advanced out of formation, now he could see tired and bloody Rhodok veterans picking their way through the loot of an army's dead. “Baheshtur, over here.”
“Bahedur?” Baheshtur asked as he reined in next to his captain.
Vorenus gestured at the slope before him. “Round up some men and go loot that lot. And I want at least one full set of that pretty Mameluke armour if you could.”
“At once, Bahedur.” As Baheshtur rode away, reflected to himself that this had been a damned good day…
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