A Sword for Kregen by Alan Burt Akers

busily recruiting swarth regiments for her armies of conquest.
    “We will keep a weather eye open for the three swarth regiments. I think our nikvoves will knock them over.”
    “That is something that old Vikatu the Dodger would be well clear of,” said Karidge.
    “Indisputably. And the dermiflons?”
    “Ten of them. But I think, majister,” said Nath, “we will be able to handle them with our javelin men. When they get a shower of pikes about them they’ll panic and run. At least, that is the theory.”
    I rather liked that airy confidence.
    “We will put the theory into practice. But you said twenty-eight thousand. There remain two and a half you have not accounted for.”
    “Irregulars,” said Karidge. “Spearmen, half-naked and barefoot. They can be whipped away.”
    “Be careful there, Karidge. Irregular spearmen can be a nasty thorn in the heel if they scent blood that is not theirs. We cannot just ignore them, like some levies.”
    “True. But the aragorn and the swarths are what must exercise our muscles.”
    “And our minds.”
    Not for the first time I contemplated the large number of men locked up in the Phalanx. Perhaps as foot soldiers they might be spread to cover more ground and thus present a wider frontage. I set great store by the sword and shield men, and wished to increase their numbers, creating a powerful central force of super heavy infantry. But there was no gainsaying the might of the Phalanx. Once the pikes went down and the soldiers charged there was little that would stand before them.
    A half dozen saddle-birds lined out, curving against the blue sky where the last clouds we would see this day were wafting away with the breeze. They slanted in steeply, their wings stiff against the air, and made perfect landings. Tyr Naghan Elfurnil ti Vandayha unstrapped his harness and jumped down with an affectionate pat for his bird. He walked across to me.
    “You have had the report of the reinforcements, majister?”
    “Aye, Naghan.”
    “If my saddle-birds could have been allowed to fly last night—”
    “Little difference, Naghan. What do you see now?”
    “They have positioned themselves before that low rounded hill, as you said they would. Here are the dispositions.” He handed me the paper with the scrawled squares and the scribbled notations. I studied it. Just where each enemy formation was located was important, for it was vital to place suitable forces opposite those they could handle. Cavalry in the center, cavalry on the wings, the infantry lined out. Yes. By rapidly executed flank marches the enemy commander, whoever he might be, could compress or extend his front, and swing cavalry or infantry across to plug gaps at will. I thought for a moment or two and then nodded to the waiting aides-de-camp. Quickly, they took their orders, saluted, and galloped off. As our army marched up to the stream and woods they would be marshaled so as to deploy according to my instructions.
    By Zair! I just hoped that what I was doing was correct. The whole situation was likely to slide out of hand. Once the fronts locked in combat and all hell broke loose it would all be down to those initial dispositions and the sheer fighting ability of the men in the ranks.
    The orders were to go on. We would appear and attack. There would be no waiting. This was no defensive fight. This was onslaught,
guerre a l’outrance,
and look at the mess that has caused, by Krun!
    The brilliant golden Mask of Recognition was affixed over my face. Cleitar the Standard and Ortyg the Tresh shook out their banners. Volodu the Lungs closed up and Korero, as always, hovered a golden shield at my back. Delia rode close, and Korero knew his duty there.
    In a little group we rode forward and so came to the last stand of trees. The sheen of the suns lay across the grass, the little stream and the rounded hill beyond.
    Ranked before us, line on line, mass on mass, the waiting formations of the enemy seemed to fill all the