Law of the Broken Earth(116)

Only the officers were on horseback, and they would dismount if the Feierabianden troops rode forward, for there were certain to be horse-callers among the Feierabianden ranks. No Casmantian, whether soldier or officer, could possibly trust himself to even the best-trained horse. The long Casmantian spears, made by the best weaponsmiths in the world, were meant to compensate for this Feierabianden advantage. Ordinarily they might do so, though today, with so few men, and those arranged in long lines rather than a powerful defensive block, they would never compensate sufficiently if it came to battle.

Iaor Safiad had clearly had scouts of his own out ahead of his main force, for he did not seem surprised by what he found in the open country along the river. His men filed off the road and formed up in their own lines, broader and far thicker than the Casmantian lines, for this was the Safiad’s main force, all that could be gathered hastily. Feierabiand was accustomed to having an uneasy neighbor on either side, and so that was a large proportion of all the male population, townsmen and farmers alike. The Feierabianden army might possess relatively few professional soldiers, but its militia was large, experienced, and swiftly available. And mounted. Feierabiand was proud of its horses and knew very well what a powerful advantage they possessed in their mounted companies. They rode to battle with other creatures as well: Hawks and even eagles perched on more than one shoulder, and the birds were greatly outnumbered by mastiffs with powerful shoulders and even more powerful jaws.

To be sure, though Beguchren might lack horses and dogs, he did have Lady Tehre by his side, and she was a weapon more to be valued than any number of spears. He asked her, “How much are we outnumbered, do you think?”

“Hmm?” The lady was mounted on a pretty bay mare. She wore a practical traveling dress with split skirts, a set of copper bangles around one wrist, and an abstracted expression. “Not much above four to one,” she said, glancing casually across the field. “Four and a fraction, I believe. About four and a tenth. You know, I don’t believe there’s much to do with all this deep soil after all.”

“Oh?” said Beguchren.

“No, I think the thing to do is snap all their bows. Or perhaps their arrows. The bows themselves are quite resilient to breaking, you know, especially at these cool temperatures, but they will very likely break if the arrows are broken just as their strings are released.”

“Ah,” said Beguchren.

“Although the timing in that case would certainly need to be very precise, even if they shoot in volley,” Lady Tehre added reflectively. “Perhaps it would be better to think about—”

“Please do nothing at all until it is quite clear that the Feierabianden force is actually attacking,” said Beguchren. “And I would greatly prefer it if, in that case, you do as little as seems consistent with a reasonable possibility of success.”

The lady’s gaze sharpened. After a moment, she smiled. “I understand,” she said.

Beguchren returned a small smile of his own, confident that for all her apparent absentmindedness, she did.

He rode out alone across the field toward the Feierabianden lines—rode, because it showed both confidence and peaceable intent to ride a horse within distance of the Feierabianden horse-callers, and because the Casmantian commander could hardly walk on foot across the mud and grasses, and most of all because he needed the horse’s height and beauty to make a proper show. The horse was a particularly fine white mare, not large, but pretty and elegant, with blue ribbons braided into her mane and tail for the occasion. Beguchren wore white to match her, embroidered with blue and set about with pearls. Together they would make a brilliant show, which was one skill Beguchren still owned, for all he had lost.

Iaor Safiad sat his own horse, a plain bay with good shoulders and powerful quarters and not a single ribbon, in the center of the Feierabianden lines. He did not ride out to meet Beguchren. Nor, which might have been more likely, did he send any man of his to ride out. He brought his horse forward only a few paces and then waited, compelling Beguchren to come all the way to him.

The King of Feierabiand was not as big a man as the Arobern, but he owned a kingliness all his own, and he had grown into his power as he had aged. His lion-tawny hair was just becoming grizzled, but he was one of those men, Beguchren thought, whose personal force would only deepen with time.

At the moment, the Safiad’s expression was stern and his mouth tight with anger. A difficult audience, Beguchren judged. But he had not expected otherwise.

The Feierabianden officers were spread out, each to his own company, and so far as Beguchren could judge, the king had not brought any court advisers with him. But beside the king and a little behind sat a young man on a fine black horse, a thickset young man with black hair and dark eyes and the unmistakable look of his father. He carried neither bow nor spear, but he had a sword at his side; a good, plain weapon and no courtier’s toy. He met Beguchren’s eyes with a serious, uneasy intensity.