‘We will draw Jasaray in towards the weak centre,’ said Bran, ‘and engage him there.’
‘We’ll not be able to hold him,’ pointed out Govannan.
‘Exactly. I will set the centre in a bow formation, the wings behind the front ranks. The Stone front lines will push us back. The heavy infantry, under you, Govannan, will hold their positions. As the Panthers drive us back our lines will become crescent-shaped. Then I will signal the heavy infantry to close in from left and right. The Iron Wolves, having despatched or driven away Jasaray’s cavalry, will turn on the rear of the Panthers.’
‘The plan has merit,’ said Connavar. ‘Such a double envelopment will hem his troops in, making it almost impossible for them to change formation. But it relies on Jasaray reacting the way we desire. Should he identify the danger early enough he will spread out his lines in an advancing square. Then when we try to crush their formation he will repel us with ease.’
‘And what of his archers?’ asked the Gath general Osta. ‘There are a thousand skilled bowmen marching with him.’
‘I know,’ said Bran. ‘Each man carries a quiver of thirty shafts. We must force Jasaray to use them early, on our centre. Otherwise our cavalry charge will be cut to pieces, the Iron Wolves destroyed.’
‘And what avenue of escape is there, should this strategy fail?’ asked Govannan.
‘None,’ said Bran. ‘I will be with the centre, and our backs will be to the river. If we cannot crush Jasaray in this one engagement we will be destroyed utterly. This, my friends, is a win or die battle. I can think of no other way to overcome the Panthers.’
‘Neither can I,’ said Connavar.
‘I am not a strategist,’ said Osta, ‘but it seems to me that the centre will take appalling losses. What if they break and run? Half of them will be Norvii and Pannone. We don’t know them.’
Connavar had laughed. ‘Most of my men did not know the Gath when you rode with us at Cogden Field. They know you now, Osta, my friend. The centre will be manned by three tribes. Not one man among them would wish to be seen, by a rival tribesman, running away. They will hold.’
Now, in the dawn, Conn found himself worried about the plan. It was simple, and could be devastatingly effective. However, the tribes were not facing an ordinary general. He recalled the battles against the Perdii twenty years ago, when he had stood beside Jasaray. The man had been cool, anticipating every move of the enemy, and countering it swiftly, decisively, murderously. Conn shivered.
Moving from the tent, he saw Govannan and several others swimming in a nearby lake. It lightened his spirit and he walked over to join them, stripping off his tunic and plunging into the cold water. But even as he swam he thought about his brother, Braefar, and the meeting he would have with him later that day. Brother Solstice was convinced Wing and his new friends would seek to kill him. Conn believed this to be true, but held to the vision he had glimpsed in the mind of the Morrigu. He would lead the charge of the Iron Wolves tomorrow, and he would end, once and for all, the threat of Stone. His whole life had been in preparation for this one charge, and surely, he reasoned, not even the most capricious of gods would rob him of the day.
With smooth, strong strokes he swam to where Govannan was washing his silver hair. Coming up behind him Conn flicked the general’s legs from under him, dunking him into the water. Govannan came up spluttering and threw himself at Conn, and the two men fell below the surface. Govannan came up first. As Conn surfaced he was pushed under once more. This time it was Conn who came up spluttering. ‘Is that any way to treat your king?’ he asked. Govannan laughed, and lunged at him again. Conn swayed, caught Govannan by the arm and twisted him. The general flopped to his back. Before he could go under the water again Conn drew him up. ‘It is too beautiful a day to be spent fighting with you,’ he said.