"At last we have found our enemies, and they have found us!" exclaimed Conn to his assembled lords and generals, as he surveyed what was soon to be the battlefield before them.
They we standing on the summit of the low bluffs that stood at the southwestern corner of Shem, that ancient and diverse land which had long separated the Hyborian realms to the north, who worshipped Mitra, and the Stygian and Black Kingdoms to the south, who worshipped Set. The Shemites themselves, who in turn had long been divided amongst civilized city-states by the Western Ocean, and nomadic tribes amid the deserts to the East, worshipped their own peculiar gods and had long maintained an uneasy neutrality between the gods and nations to their north and south, while they pursued their own narrow interests. But that same neutrality had often made their lands a battleground between more powerful neighbours, and it was so even now.
After Conn's declaration of war on Nemedia and Stygia, in response to their outrageous provocations against Aquilonia and his own person, he had moved swiftly to muster and assemble the vast armies at his command. These encompassed not only those of Aquilonia itself, the most powerful and populous of the sprawling Hyborian realms, but also those of its allied nations to the west, Zingara and Argos, and its client states Ophir and Koth to the south. Koth had long been a rival and oft an enemy to Aquilonia, but had been subjugated by Conn's father some decades prior and served now as a reliable source of grain and men-at-arms, and a southern buffer zone for Aquilonia's growing empire. Koth stood immediately north of Shem, which in turn was immediately north of Stygia, and so Koth so was the Hyborian realm most immediately threatened by Stygia's threatened invasion with assistance from Nemedia's perfidy. Thus in spite of the difficult history between Aquilonians and Kothites, the rally-to-arms of the latter against Stygia and Nemedia was to all appearances genuine.
Standing against this vast coalition under Conn's sway was the unnatural alliance of Stygia and Nemedia, each of whom in turn brought their own allies and mercenaries into the fray. Stygia had long dominated and aligned with the so-called Black Kingdoms to the south, and their northernmost outposts such as Kush and Darfar. The teeming masses of those hot southern lands greatly strengthened the military might of Stygia, whose own peoples served solely as officers in an army otherwise full of foreign slaves and mercenaries – numerous and powerful in quantity, but perhaps lacking in quality at least as far as fighting spirit was concerned, driven more by the lash or greed for gold than anything else.
Nemedia, though smaller and less powerful than Aquilonia, nevertheless fielded a formidable army whose infantry was acclaimed the best in all the Hyborian lands, offsetting the dominance of the battlefield that would otherwise belong to Aquilonia's unmatched cavalry. Nemedia enjoyed its own sphere of influence amongst the peoples to its east, which acted as a buffer zone between the poles of Aquilonia's empire to the west, and the Turanian empire to the east (which played no part in the present conflict, biding its time as it waited to see who would gain the upper hand). Corinthia and Brythunia were two nations long under Nemedian influence, though neither possessed a king of their own, being divided into many small cites-states and petty feudal realms. But both fielded large numbers of mercenaries at the command of the Nemedian king. Supplementing these were mercenaries from Zingara and the wild tribes of eastern Shem – the former mostly employed as spies, scouts and assassins, the latter as mounted archery.
These two vast coalitions had grown as they travelled towards each other from their natural rallying points to the east and the west. Now, as the merciless rays of the southern sun scorched the land, growing fiercer by the hour as the morning advanced towards noon, they faced each other on the broad, dusty plain which lay north of the valley of the Styx, which formed the northern border of Stygia, a narrow strip of fertile land clinging to the skirts of the river separating the grasslands of Shem to the north and the vast deserts of Stygia to the south. At the mouth of the river by its southern shore, where it emptied its dark waters into the depths of the Western Ocean, the ebon black pyramids and monoliths of Khemi, the port and chief city of Stygia, rose menacingly above the flat horizon, grimly watching the bloody scene which was about to unfold.
To the west stood Conn's army, arrayed before the low bluff on which he and his generals stood in a broad arc from north to south with the Styx bounding its right flank. At its centre stood the Aquilonian heavy infantry, with their polished steel armour and their woolen tunics dyed black, the golden lion of Aquilonia stamped on their breasts. Well-protected from all but the strongest blows, their armour had one weakness – it was ill-suited for the hot climes of the south.
To their south and right flank were stationed the auxiliary infantry from Koth and Ophir, whose armour was lighter and more suited for action in a hot clime, as was that of the auxiliary infantry of Argos and Zingara, who stood to the northern or left flank. Each bore the symbol of their own country stamped on their own tunics; the blue boar of Koth on a crimson field, the red rose of Ophir on a white field, the silver hawk of Argos on a yellow field, and the white stag of Zingara on a blue field.
Before them stood a thin screen of Bossonian archers, equipped with their deadly longbows that could darken the sky in seconds with a deadly rain of thousands of arrows in flight. Lightly armoured in plain beige leather chest plates and gauntlets equipped over dark green woolen jerkins with hoods, they were out of their element in this barren landscape; the thick woods of the Bossonian Marches, bordering the howling wildernesses of Pictland and Cimmeria, were their natural home. Nevertheless, they were ready to devastate any enemy charge against the infantry with a hailstorm of arrow fire, before falling back behind the infantry to avoid direct engagement with more heavily armoured foes.
To the northern and southern flanks of the infantry, and also guarding its rear, stood the Aquilonian heavy cavalry, the flower of its chivalry and manned by the best and bravest sons of its nobility. They were heavily armoured, as were their horses, who had drank heavily from the waters of the Styx early that morning to sustain them for the hot, gruelling day's toil that lay ahead. Unlike the infantry, their silvered armour was draped in tunics of a riotous array of colours and designs, each reflecting the county and family coat of arms of that knight. All of them were keen to prove their mettle in battle, whether again or for the first time, as merit on the field of honour was the measure of an Aquilonian noble in his prime of youth. All told, this army of Aquilonia and its allies was a hundred-thousand strong.
Facing them to the east was a far larger host, at least three times as numerous, and far more strange and motely in its garb. Squarely opposite the Aquilonian infantry and its screen of Bossonian archers stood the Nemedian infantry, which in contrast to Aquilonia formed the backbone of that country's army. Their steel armour was similar to that of the Aquilonians, garbed with golden tunics bearing the red dragon of Nemedia; but their rectangular steel shields were more than twice the size, resting firmly on the ground when not in active use, while their upper rims reached to just below the eyes of the infantrymen. They were armed with heavy pikes, spears and halberds which could stop even the strongest heavy cavalry charge dead in its tracks.
To the north and right flank of the Nemedians stood their mercenaries and auxiliaries of Corinthia, garbed in white cotton tunics thinly armoured with iron breastplates, shinguards and gauntlets, well-suited for a warm, sunny clime, and armed with heavy iron swords weighted and shaped like scythes. Before both Nemedians and Corinthians stood a screen of Brythunian archers, in many ways the mirror image of the Bossonians. However their short-stringed compound bows, while capable of firing arrows that could penetrate solid steel with tremendous force, could not match the devastating rate of fire of the Bossonian longbows.
Unlike their foes, the Nemedians maintained another screen in front of their archers, manned by Zamorian mercenaries. Garbed entirely in cloth and masks of black, and without armour, but armed with wickedly curved swords and daggers, and barbed and poisoned throwing darts, they served as the spies and scouts of the Nemedians, and also infiltrators whose mission was to slay the enemy officers and commanders by stealth if they could – a tactic which the chivalrous Aquilonians dismissed as dishonourable, but which the practical Nemedians were quite happy to employ if it could turn the tide of battle in their favour.
To the south of the Nemedians and their auxiliaries stood their southern counterparts, allied to them and yet so entirely different in appearance is if to form a separate army completely. Foremost amongst these and immediately to the south or left flank of the Nemedians stood the Stygians, arrayed in a complex formation intermingling lightly-armoured archers with heavily-armoured charioteers. These stood in parallel rows, so that the archers could maintain formation and protection from more heavily armoured foes, even as they screened the charioteers with volleys of arrows while they stood in place and until they were unleashed into combat. Their garb was entirely alien to that of the Hyborians, the archers being garbed only in white cotton loincloths with bronze breastplates and gauntlets to protect their forearms, and bronze caps which did not extend below their ears. The charioteers appeared far more formidable, their white skirts protected by leathern strips with bronze plating, and bronze armour protecting their shins and forearms as well as full breastplates. Their helmets covered more of their heads and faces, and were wrapped with cloths of varying colours denoting their rank. The chariots themselves were each driven by four horses, armed with vicious cutting blades projecting out of the spokes of their wheels, and large enough for two men. When the chariots were ordered into action, the archers would each mount a chariot and be driven into battle, so that the chariots served as mobile platform for the archers. Each chariot was further quipped with scythes mounted to their wheels to mow down all enemies before them – a deadly and unstoppable force on flat and open ground, such as that of Stygia itself, but limited in maneuverability and vulnerable to any upset in terrain.
To their south and left flank stood a vast horde of warriors from the Black Kingdoms, their weapons, armour and dress as motely as the nations from which they came – Kush, Darfar, Keshan, Punt, Zembabwae, and many other less organized realms further to the south. They served as auxiliaries to the Stygian army, for the most part light infantry as most were lightly armed and armoured, and therefore relied on their greater numbers to match the heavier armour of their Hyborian foes. Most of them came from lands that tended to savaanah or jungle, and so were unused to barren, completely open terrain of the sort on which they now found themselves.
Finally, to the south of these warriors stood the eastern Shemetish mercenaries, mounted on their steeds who were reputed to be the finest in the world. Unarmoured save for small steel armlet-shields and garbed entirely in light cotton robes from their head to their feet, they were perhaps the best suited for vigorous combat on such an oppressively hot day. Armed with their own compound bows as well as curved light scimitars, they were certainly the most adaptable of all the armies present, capable equally well of serving as mounted archers, light cavalry and, if dismounted, light infantry as well.
Behind this force stood its commanders on a low hill to the east, an incongruous mix of the Nemedian King Archivaius IV and his generals, and the black-robed and shaven headed Priests of Set, who served as the emissaries and commanders of the Stygian realm. The latter maintained a haughty manner and openly disdained their Nemedian allies, who after all remained worshippers of Mitra even if only in name. They had hinted darkly of a surprise they had in store for King Conn and his Aquilonian foes, though they refused to divulge its nature or timing. The Nemedians for their part both feared and shunned their Stygian allies, and there was no love lost between them even if they were united for a time by their enmity against a common foe.
So the order of battle was drawn up that day, as the sun drew higher in the sky and the heat ever greater, relieved only by fleeting breezes from the Western Ocean some half-score miles away. They vast hosts assembled waited for the fates to decide which army would make the first move.
Conn continued his survey of the scene through the open flaps of his pale linen conference tent, and smiled grimly at his assembled generals – a motely group from all of the lands who fought in service to the Lion Throne of Aquilonia. `
"The sun burns hot," he said, "and already it is the third hour of the morning. If we are to strike first, we should do so now, or else stand our ground until later in the evening. Our men are at no advantage fighting at noon in this clime, but delay until the evening invites who knows changes in fortune?"
"Nor are the Nemedians well equipped to withstand this southern sun," replied one of his generals, a short, stout dark-complexioned man who himself was from Aquilonia's southern frontiers. "Only the Stygians, and their Shemetish and black allies will have the advantage if we delay till the approach of sunset."
"In other words, half the enemy's army!" replied another, a grey-eyed hulking man from Tauran in northwestern Aquilonia who, judging by the sweat on his brow, was already too warm even in the shade of Conn's makeshift conference tent.
"And what then is our tactical plan should we strike the first blow, given our enemy's order of battle and our own?" enquired Conn, wisely seeking the input of his generals as, for all his own barbaric heritage and youthful campaigns with his father, this was in fact the first battle in which he now played the role of field marshal himself.
"First, if I may speak in metaphor on such a serious matter, there is a gap a mile wide between the Stygians and the Nemedians, and not just in distance," suggested a third general, a man of medium height and complexion who by his accent was from Aquilonia's easterns provinces near the Nemedian frontier. "They are not natural allies – I deem neither will go out of their way to help the other. Splitting the forces of our more numerous enemy at once is in any case just sound, good generalship."
"I agree," opined the second general. "And it is the Nemedians and Stygians we must worry about – two strong armies and one on their home ground, whom we must stop working together against us from the outset. I place little worth in the many mercenaries the Nemedians have working for them, and none in those of the Stygians! Those black fellows look fierce, and are very numerous, but they are far from their own lands. I wonder what they are paid, or if they are indeed unpaid slaves. Moreover I wonder what use they are against a proper Hyborian army? Only a handful seem to have weapons of iron. A single charge of our Aquilonian heavy cavalry will wipe them out."
"Mayhap what you say is true as to them, though though it is always dangerous to misjudge an unknown foe, but don't underestimate the Shemetish light calvalry," warned a Kothite general, a swarthy, hawk-nosed man whose country had endured generations of swift cavalry raids by their eastern Shemitish neighbours. "They will seem to withdraw from the first assault," he continued, "only to swiftly turn and fire a devastating volley with their compound bows, which they are trained from boyhood to fire in the saddle. More than one Kothite cavalry charge has fallen to just such a ruse."
"Kothite cavalry, I have no doubt," sneered the third Aquilonian general. "Aquilonian cavalry, I think not!"
"That is enough!" interjected Conn. "We are all allies now before a common foe – I will not have old grievances between Aquilonia and Koth brought up when battle is immanent!"
"Your Majesty, I have misspoken," bowed the general swiftly, though his Kothite counterpart glared at him sourly from beneath his dark brows.
Conn was silent for some moments, as his brown eyes stared beyond the confines of the tent and towards the panorama before him. In spite of the danger that the Stygian chariots posed to his own cavalry, he could see clearly the wisdom of driving a spearhead deep into the enemy's divided forces at the outset – thought it would certainly not have been his first move if a unified enemy force had taken the field against him. Still, if successful, he could take apart the enemy's forces piecemeal, striking and scattering the weaker elements first and saving his efforts against the tougher holdouts for later in the day, or if necessary re-grouping on the second day of a two-day battle, if it came to that.
Conn's thoughts were less clear than he should have liked now that the moment of decision was at hand, for they were troubled by the mystical vision he had faced while staring into the mirror of his campaign tent some days before. Whether it was truly his long-vanished father who had spoken to him, a demon sent to confuse him, or a vision of his own inner doubts or fears, Conn was deeply concerned that there was more than met the eye to his enemies' actions, and indeed to the bizarre and unholy alliance between Nemedia and Stygia itself.
But then he swiftly realized that as a mortal man, there was nothing he could do about such things in any event. Let the gods handle their own affairs; it was his duty to focus on his own.
"We attack, now," nodded Conn simply. "Begin with a lengthy flight of arrows from our Bossonians – they are in range of the enemy's vanguard. Then, the Bossonians withdraw to our flanks, and our heavy cavalry will charge in a spearhead formation, straight between the Nemedian infantry and Stygian charioteers. I want the Bossonians on our right flank to maintain steady fire against the Stygian charioteers, and any of their Kushite or other black allies who mount any counter-attack against that flank. The left flank of Bossonians are to maintain a fire-screen against the Nemedians and their allies. Our auxiliaries on the left flank hold their ground for now, until I can better see how the tactical situation develops, while those on the right must be ready for action at a moment's notice – my concern is greater for our right flank, for on no account do we want to directly engage the Stygian charioteers in close proximity without first bringing their charge to a halt."
"We hear and obey, my liege!" responded the generals, drawing their swords in ritual salute to their king and commander, before turning about and departing Conn's tent to relay their orders to their men.
"Crom and Mitra be with us," whispered Conn under his breath, "and my father's spirit to, if he can hear me across the long leagues of the sea!"
Conn then nodded to his aide-de-camp, who removed his circlet-crown and cape, and began to clad his strongly-muscled, black-stockinged and shirted form into his black steel royal armour, bearing the golden lion crest of Aquilonia. He had no mirror present to see himself, but imagined he did not look so different than had his father nearly three decades before, when he had last faced the treachery of a Nemedian king in the field.
His aide then presented him with his father's blade, forged for his father's coronation ceremony from the finest Kordavan steel. It was long and broad, the hilt wrapped in black leather bearing the wear of many years of use, with lion's heads carved into the pommel and decorating the hilt. The blade itself, which he examined as he withdrew it from its black leather sheath and felt its weight in his hand bore no notches in spite of the many foes it had slain, so fine was its workmanship.
The sheathed sword then strapped to his belt, Conn put on his steel helm, also carved in the shape of a lion's head with open mouth to bare his face, and stepped outside the confines of the tent onto into the bright light and heat of the day. Facing him were a pageboy holding the tether to his horse, a magnificent black stallion, and some few paces beyond ten-score of his bodyguard, the Black Dragons, who bore their own distinctive uniforms of black steel armour, helms and shields and tunics and leggings of silvered steel, carved with the design of a ferocious winged ebon dragon. Spears at the ready, they were as formidable a force of warriors as they looked, every man a tested and hardened fighter from every corner of the broad Aquilonian realm, all bound by honour and blood sworn oaths to defend their king's life to the death. Their officers unlike their men were mounted, the better to protect the king should he need to take sudden flight.
Mounting his steed to an impromptu cheer from his men, Conn nodded at them with a grim smile – it was not his practice to make lengthy speeches at the hour of action – and spurred his steed a short distance to the crest of the dusty hill a short distance beyond the tent, his guards flanking him as did so, and joined the small group of trumpeters, runners and mounted messengers waiting to receive his commands and transmit urgent messages to and from his generals and commanders in the field below.
There, from the summit, Conn observed his own men in the foreground while the vast force of the enemy formed a dark mass along the eastern horizon, the Sun behind them but rising steadily each minute. Conn watched tensely as the first trumpets blew from the signallers of his army, indicating that the attack was to begin. Of a sudden a hail of arrows flew up from his Bossonian archers as the first move of the battle was made by his own forces, just as he had commanded some minutes before.
As the devastating volley approached the enemy's forces, the opposing Hyborian armies, Nemedian, Corinthian and Brythunian, responded as expected by raising their shields and locking them together, tortoise fashion, to try and ride out the storm as best they could – save the Zamorians, who swiftly took cover in trenches it now appeared they had stealthily dug before dawn.
The Stygians also raised their shields to protect charioteers and archers alike but their horses were armoured only with breastplates from the front, and chaos ensued in their ranks as the horses who survived the first volley, maddened with fear and pain, began to rear and mount uncontrollably, jostling each other and trampling many of the archers between the ranks of chariots.
The black warriors to their left flank suffered even more terribly, as save for the Kushites with their shields, helms and breastplates of iron, the rest had shields of wood and hide and armour of leather – or no shields or amour at all – wholly inadequate to defend themselves against the hailstorm of steel-tipped arrows that darkened the skies. The Shemite light cavalry was also thrown into turmoil, as their light round shields of steel could not protect their horses, who for the sake of speed and maneuver had no armour at all. Almost immediately the Shemites turned around and rode hard, striving to get beyond the range of the Bossonian archers and in seeming retreat from the battlefield when the battle had hardly begun.
"Things are off to a good start," observed Conn with grim approval. "Now while our archers keep up their volleys, our cavalry will form up to deliver the next blow."
Even as he spoke – and the hailstorm of arrows continued, as each and every archer managed to knock and fire an arrow every few seconds, with still many left to spare – the Aquilonian heavy cavalry was in maneuver behind and to the flanks of the infantry, preparing to regroup to their front and mass into a wedge formation while still under the protective fire of the archers.
A mass of arrows then flew up from the enemy's ranks, as the Brythunian archers, half of them firing their arrows from gaps in the shield-wall held up by the other half of their comrades, fired their own volleys into the ranks of the Bossonians and the Zingaran and Arogossean auxiliaries, seemingly ignoring the Aquilonian infantry for the present. Conn noted with concern that while the Brythunians could not fire volleys at the rate of the Bossonians, he could see even from afar that their arrows carried far more force, easily penetrating shield and armour of steel and decimating the ranks into which they fell.
The Stygian archers and the Kushite and other black mercenaries also attempted their own volley fire, though the chaos caused by the panic amongst the Stygian horses limited their rate and volume of fire. Their own arrows were also aimed at auxiliary infantry, in their cause that of Koth and Ophir, though they fired with less effect.
"It seems our enemies have some clever heads amongst them", noted Conn to his aides and guardsmen. "They seek to pry off our auxiliaries from our main force and demoralize them, no doubt in the hope that they will fall back and flee the scene before the clash of heavy infantry at the centre of the battlefield begins."
Even as he spoke, Conan saw his heavy cavalry complete their maneuver, assembling in a wedge formation and ready to begin their charge across the field, squarely towards the gap between the Nemedian infantry to their left flank, and the Stygian charioteers and archers to their right.
Conn signalled his messengers to be at the ready, as the battle was now about to enter a critical phase – for he would have to signal the Bossonians to cease their fire and fall back to the flanks of and behind his infantry, so that their arrows did not cut down their own cavalry troopers. Then the enemy, who surely would not passively await the cavalry assault, would be free of enemy volley-fireto begin their own maneuvers in counter attack.
"Now, cease our volley fire," cried Conn, "and direct the Bossonians to fall back behind the infantry at double-time!"
Saluting in acknowledgment, Conn's trumpeters signalled three short blasts, which even from this distance sounded across the battlefield. Instantly the Bossonians ceased their last volley, and turning about faded rapidly into the ranks of the infantry, who briefly opened gaps in their lines to receive them into their rear, where they would re-form to screen the infantry with short-range volley fire over their heads in a long-practiced maneuver.
The Aqulilonian cavalry began their charge in a frontal assault against their enemies as the Brythunians, Stygians and Kushites changed the direction of their fire, aiming squarely at the Aquilonian cavalry in a desperate attempt to blunt the force of their charge. Their fire, however, was of limited effect except where the Brythunian arrows hit their mark, as not only the cavalry troopers but also the massive warhorses they rode were heavily armoured in steel. The Aquilonian charge surged forward inexorably, the ground trembling underneath their steed's hooves like an earthquake or a thunderstorm as they charged straight towards the wide gap between their Nemedian and Stygian foes.
Conn now carefully watched the scene, as he knew this interval between the cessation of his own archery fire and the impact of his cavalry on the front lines of his foes was the moment of danger, when the enemy was free to make their own maneuvers with impunity.
Even as these thoughts passed through Conn's mind, he saw that the enemy was taking advantage of their chance. The Stygian charioteers, in any event the half of them or so who could still manoeuver, swiftly took on board their archers and began their own charge toward the right flank of Aquilonian cavalry and the Kothite and Ophirian auxiliaries. In their wake followed the host of the Black Kingdoms, ready to finish off any survivors of the Stygian assault.
"The right flank of our cavalry must shift course to avoid being mown down by their charioteers," commanded Conn with some urgency. "They can attack the Stygians from their flanks or behind, but on no account from the front. The auxiliaries are to form a shield-wall and mount the bases of their pikes into the ground, to blunt as best they can the charge of the charioteers. Then they engage hand to hand."
"As you command, my liege," saluted the trumpeters, who sounded the appropriate blasts and signals to the cavalry and auxiliaries.
The Aquilonian cavalry began to reign in its right flank, but could not withdraw entirely from the Stygian charge without blunting the main thrust of its attack, which was now diverted towards the Nemedian infantry. A large part of the Stygian charioteers broke off from their main force to directly strike at the right flank of their cavalry foes, even as the main body continued its charge towards the auxiliaries.
The result was bloody mayhem, as wherever the chariots crashed into the Aquilonian flank, the whirring scythes affixed to their chariot wheels carved a path of destruction straight through the flanks of their foes, while their archers rapidly fired into their ranks. The survivors on the right flank then wheeled around, trying to engage the Stygians from behind while relying on their heavy steel armour and shields to defend themselves from the Stygian arrows.
While half the Aquilonian cavalry was thus bogged down, and the other half continued its course towards the left flank of the waiting Nemedian infantry and their screen of Brythunian archers, the main force of the Stygian cavalry ploughed directly into the front lines of the Kothite and Ophirian infantry. A massacre ensued, as the shield-wall of these auxiliaries, designed to withstand a Hyborian cavalry charge, was mowed down by the sheer mass as well as the cutting scythes of the Stygian charioteers.
"We must stop those damned Stygians!" commanded Conn, trying to suppress from his voice the rising tide of panic he felt in his breast. "Order the Bossonians who have re-formed to fire at will into the Stygian horde!"
Conn's commands were swiftly relayed by dispatch rider and trumpet, just as the Bossonians had finished reforming behind the Aquilonian infantry. At once they turned towards their right or south flank and began firing volleys of arrows into the Stygian mass, trying – though not always succeeding – to avoid hitting the Kothite and Ophirian auxiliaries caught up in a desperate struggle for their lives.
Just as before, the Bossonians seemed to be the most effective way to halt the Stygians in their tracks, as once again their horses screamed in panic and began to bolt wildly as their charioteers struggled to keep them in control and their archers ineffectively shot in all directions from their wildly careening chariots as the dust raised up from the battlefield by their trampling horses obscured their vision.
The surviving Kothites and Ophirians then struggled to rally into some order and counterattack, only to find themselves facing a second onslaught, this time from the motely warriors of the Black Kingdoms. Their very diversity was their strength, as they ranged from iron-shod Kushite infantry, to half-naked Darfari archers, to stolid spearmen of Keshan and Punt, and a wild array of tribesman from the savage jungle kingdoms to the south whose weapons and fighting styles varied as much as their dress.
The Kothite and Ophirian officers and sergeants in the field, baffled by the confusing and chaotic range of attacks, weapons and fighting styles they faced, issued conflicting orders to their men, who were trained to use certain tactics in unison against certain types of attacks – but had no clear tactics for confronting multiple types of attacks at once. Soon discipline in the ranks began to break as the ordered tactics of the Kothites and Ophirians dissolved into bloody, random melee fighting, the sort at which barbarians typically excelled and which Hyborians feared.
As Conn fumed with mounting anger at this dire turn of events, he watched as the Kothite and Ophirian auxiliaries dissolved in a bloody rout, even as the Bossonians had brought the deadly Stygian charge to a standstill. It was as he had feared – his right flank had indeed faced the greater peril, and was now playing the price. He was mindful that the right flank of his Aquilonian infantry would have to detach and engage with these foes to stabilize the situation on his south flank, even though this would weaken the main body of the infantry whom, in the ordinary course of battle, he would soon have to dispatch after his Nemedian foes once they had taken the full brunt of his cavalry charge.
Just as Conn was about to shout out his orders, he felt a sudden blow to his helmed head, and his horse screamed loudly as its legs buckled underneath, sending him flying through the air to crash heavily on his back on the dusty ground, his breath knocked out by the heavy weight of his armour.
Cries and calls of alarm mixed with the clash of steel on stel sounded out in Conn's ringing ears as he struggled to regain his wits and stand to his feet. He was suddenly lifted up by the combined efforts of several young soldiers of his Dragon Guard, their swords drawn and youthful faces creased with alarm.
"To the King!" they cried, as Conn, swiftly recovering from the sudden and unexpected blow he had just suffered, drew his sword while realizing to his amazement that a host of black-robed Zamorian assassins had seemingly materialized out of nowhere! They were intent on striking down the King of Aquilonia in the heart of his encampment, even has his armies were caught up in the heat of battle on the field below.
Enraged by this treachery, Conn bellowed, "Slay them all! Bring me their heads!" His blood fired up with ten-thousand years of Cimmerian heritage, Conn then roughly pushed aside his astonished guards, rushing directly at the nearest of his sly foes, a tall and slender Zamorian garbed entirely in leggings and jerkin of black cloth, his olive-skinned face protected by a slant-eyed ebon mask carved into a perpetual scowl, his black-gloved hands each bearing a slender, wickedly-curve fighting knife.
The man shot straight toward Conn with his blades whirring in a dizzying wave of knife-play, designed to distract a foe and put them off balance. But Conn, who was no stranger to this form of combat, having learned of it through his own soldierly training as overseen by his father some years before, ignored the whirring blades and dodged low, striking at his opponent's unarmoured legs, and slicing clean through them with a shower of blood and sickening crunch of bone. The blades flew from the Zamorian's hands as he screamed shrilly, only to be silenced forever by a brutal blow from Conn's sworn slicing his torso horizontally in a shower of blood and gore.
Screaming as savagely as his father in his prime, Conn turned to face his next foe, only to find that his Dragon Guards had not been idle, but had swiftly put paid to the Zamorian assassins – though not before nigh on a dozen of them had fallen themselves to the sudden and stealthy attack. Many pairs of bodies, steel and black-cloth clad, lay tangled together in death grips, as these fallen foes had dragged each other into the underworld.
"How in the names of Crom, Ymir and Mitra did these dogs reach so close to my encampment?" bellowed Conn. "Were you all asleep?"
"Nay, my liege!" cried one of the Dragon Guards, a young lieutenant whose pale face was spattered with scarlet blood, his unsheathed longsword dripping with the same as the panted heavily.
"Come and see my liege," he gestured with his swordarm, "they sprang out of traps hidden in the ground! They must have been waiting here this whole time!"
And even as Conn looked, he saw the pits in the ground where the assassins had lain in wait, covered in light but strong wicker trapdoors themselves covered with a layer of earth, before they were sprung open at some hidden signal.
"Not just traps or pits," said another man, and older and heavy-set sergeant, his jowls quivering with shock and anger that an attempt on the king's life had come so disastrously close to success while he was on duty. "Feel the cool breeze welling up from them – they are tunnels, by Mitra's law and truth! The ground is riddled with them, and who knows how far they extend?"
"Or how many more assassins might spring out of them," spat out Conn, before he let out string of curses in the myriad tongues known to him. "This entire battlefield is a trap! Our foes drew us here by various devices, so that tactically it seemed the best place to confront their forces before they could move north and ravage the Hyborian lands – they even surmised I would use this hill to survey the battlefield! We must decamp at once and regroup on lower ground, farther from the field, where perhaps the ground itself is not prepared against us."
"Then shall I sound the general retreat, my liege?" asked the lieutenant, with an anxious air.
"Not yet," spat Conn. "We haven't lost the battle yet, in spite of the treachery of our foes. We regroup and fight on! And by all the gods and fiends, don't sound the general alarm – on no account do I want our men to think their king flees the battlefield while they fight for him!"
Conn then mounted his ebon chargedr which thankfully had escaped the Zamorian ambush unscathed, and accompanied by his Black Dragon guardsmen rode down the rear slope of the hill, seeking to link-up with the rear of his infantry as a new command post.
Even as he did so, he heard from afar brazen trumpets and hideous cries, as the Aqulonian heavy cavalry charged headforth into a hidden line of traps deviously prepared for them in the gap between the Nemedian infantry and Stygian cavalry! Further cries and trumpets sounded as the Brythunian archers swung round and directed their fire against the Aquilonian cavalry – and while their compound bows could not fire nearly as quickly as the longbows of the Bossonians, they did fire their short arrows with devastating force, easily penetrating the steel armour and shields of the Aquilonians and crippling their horses as well.
"Damnation!" cried Conn, riding hard in a loop around the barren hillside as he sought to link up with his infantry and its commanding generals. "The gods have turned against us this day, and now we are caught like rats in a trap!"
And even as he spoke the grim truth in his words became apparent as the Shemite light cavalry, their initial retreat from the battlefield now clearly feigned, reappeared to the rear of the Zingaran and Argossean auxiliaries, having ridden just over the horizon in a broad arc to envelop their foes from behind. Their shrill ullations rang across the battlefield as the Zingarans and Argosseans were forced to split their forces, half wheeling about with shields up and spears at the ready to withstand the Shemite onslaught from behind, even as the other half were forced to hold their ground against the Nemedian infantry and their Corinthian auxiliaries from the front.
"It's all on the infantry now!" cried Conn, as he finally reached the rearguard of his own Aquilonian infantry, which thus far had escaped the worst of combat and remained his best hope for snatching victory from the jaws of defeat. Even as he approach, a cheer and rally of "To the King! To the King!" rose up from the infantrymen, while the general in command rode up on a white charger and accompanied by his small retinue to meet Conn in the field and take his King's orders.
"How now, my liege?" asked the general, a heavy-set man who had earlier attended and spoke at Conn's conference of his generals that morning.
"Things go not well, as you know," replied Conn grimly, "but I will not yet admit defeat or sound the retreat – nor do we have anywhere to retreat to safely, for it is a hundred leagues to the Kothite border, and the Western Shemites will close the gates of their cities to us en route."
"Now is the time to engage our infantrymen, my liege!" urged the general. "The Bossonians have stabilized the situation on our right flank, thank the gods, and the Stygians and Kushites fall back under their hailstorm of arrows. But our cavalry is now in a desperately vulnerable position, and risks being cut to pieces by the Nemedian infantry, while their Corinthian auxiliaries engage our own Zingaran and Argossean auxiliaries to the front even as they are enveloped by the Eastern Shemites to their rear – no doubt that is their plan."
"An able summary of the tactical situation, general," nodded Conn in acknowledgment of the man's skilled grasp of his trade. "My orders are as follows: the Bossonians are to hold the line to our south, with the aid of those Ophirian and Kothite auxiliaires who are still standing – fewer than we would like, I fear. We sound the retreat to our cavalry, who are to flank our infantry and reform behind the lines, then attack the Shemite cavalry head on – there cannot be any traps in that part of the field or the Shemites could not charge across it themselves. The Argossean and Zingaran auxiliaries are to hold their ground with their forces divided, as now, focusing their efforts against the Shemites to their rear and the Corinthians and any Brythuanians to their front. They are not to engage the Nemedians directly, unless attacked. Finally, our Aquilonian infantry is to engage the Nemedian infantry head on, and any Brythunians in our way – our infantrymen's steel armour and shields are thicker and heavier than that of our cavalrymen, and I deem will withstand their arrows except from the closest range. Still, keep a wary eye on them. "
"And finally," he continued, "everyone is to be on guard for those damned Zamorians! We have no idea what traps they might spring or tricks they might have up their sleeve."
"An able plan, my liege," nodded the general curtly and without flattery. He rode off at once to dispatch the King's orders to his messengers, trumpeters and drummers, while Conn and his Black Dragons remained at the rear of the Aquilonian infantry, from which position they could most readily ride to any part of the battlefield where Conn's commands were urgently needed.
Trumpets cried and drums beat heavily as Conn's commands were issued, and were met in turn by the harsh bugles and heavy drums of the Nemedian infantry – evidently they had now been ordered to move in for the kill.
"Crom and Mitra with us!" whispered Conn under his breath, "and most of all our own swordarms and courage, in the fateful hour that lies ahead!"