Vekdan finished conferring with the other squadleader and ran back to his own team. Though he carried a short spear—meant to be wielded with one hand so the other could hold a shield—his weapon was a handspan longer than those of the other soldiers.
"Positions, men!" Haren shouted.
Unlike the other squadleaders, Vekdan didn't fall into line, but remained ahead of his squad.
The men around Glenn stirred, excitement building. The same sounds echoed all along the massive army line, the stillness replaced by anxious energy. Hundreds of feet shifted, shields bumped together, clasps clinked.
Fairies of anticipation—red ribbonlike shapes—began to rise from the ground, fluttering in the breeze. Kaladin remained motionless, eyes fixed on the enemy force.
"Hold steady, men," he said, not turning. Behind him, a lighteyes officer rode past on horseback. "Ready yourselves to fight! I want their blood, men! Fight and kill!"
"Hold steady," Vekdan repeated after the man passed.
"Get ready to run," Haren said to Glenn.
"Run? But we were trained to march in formation! To stay in our ranks!"
"Sure," Haren said. "But most of these men didn't get any more training than you did. The ones who actually know how to fight get sent to the Shattered Plains to battle the Marsedians. Vekdan's trying to get us into shape so we can join them there, fight for the king."
Haren nodded toward the line:
"Most of those men will break ranks and charge; the lighteyes aren't good enough commanders to hold them. So stay with us and run."
"Should I unstrap my shield?"
Soldiers from other squads were already loosening theirs, but Vekdan's squad kept theirs strapped to their backs. Before Haren could reply, a horn sounded from the rear.
"Go!" Haren said.
Glenn had little choice. The entire army began to move, boots clattering in a deafening chorus. As Haren had predicted, the organized march didn't last long. Some men began to shout, soon joined by others. The lighteyes urged them forward—run, fight, kill. The formation disintegrated.
As soon as it did, Vekdan's squad broke into a full sprint. Glenn scrambled to keep up, panic and terror coursing through him. The ground wasn't as smooth as it had looked, and he nearly tripped on a hidden rockbud, its vines withdrawn tightly into its shell.
He steadied himself and kept running, gripping his spear in one hand while the shield banged against his back. The distant army was on the move as well, advancing across the field. There was no sign of formation or organized ranks. None of this resembled what he had learned in training.
Glenn didn't even know who the enemy was. A landowner was invading Brightlord Amorim's territory—lands that ultimately belonged to Highprince Sabreas. Glenn thought it was a border skirmish against another Mitrezian princedom. Why were they fighting each other? Maybe the king could stop it, but he was away on the Shattered Plains, seeking vengeance for the murder of King Gravok five years ago.
The enemy had many archers. Glenn's panic peaked as the first wave of arrows filled the sky. Stumbling again, he reached to unstrap his shield, but Dallet grabbed his arm and pulled him forward.
Hundreds of arrows sliced the air, darkening the sky. They arced overhead and descended on their prey like sky-eels. Amorim's soldiers raised their shields. Except for Vekdan's squad. No shields for them.
Glenn screamed.
He saw the arrows were falling toward the center ranks of Amorim's army, behind him. Still running, Glenn looked back over his shoulder. The arrows struck the rear. Soldiers cried out, arrows shattered against shields; only a few landed near the front ranks.
"Why?" he shouted to Haren. "How did you know?"
"They always aim for the densest ranks," the big man replied. "That's where they're most likely to hit someone."
Several other vanguard groups had also kept their shields down, but most soldiers ran clumsily with shields raised to the sky, fearing arrows that wouldn't hit them. That slowed them down and made them targets for trampling by men behind—and those men were the ones actually getting hit. Still, Glenn was desperate to raise his shield; running without its protection felt like a mistake.
The second volley fell, and men screamed in pain. Vekdan's squad crashed into the enemy soldiers, some of whom were already wounded by Amorim's archers. Glenn could now hear the enemy's battle cries, see faces. Suddenly, Vekdan's squad stopped and formed into a tight formation. They had reached the small hill Vekdan and Haren had chosen earlier.
Haren grabbed Glenn and shoved him into the center of the formation. As the enemies neared, Vekdan's men lowered their spears and positioned their shields. The foes didn't have an orderly formation, no long-spears in back and shortspears up front. They simply charged, shouting wildly.
Glenn fumbled with the straps to unfasten his shield. The sound of spears clashing rang out as the soldiers engaged in close combat. A group of enemy spearmen slammed into Vekdan's squad, perhaps trying to claim the higher ground. The thirty attackers had some cohesion, though their ranks weren't nearly as tight as Vekdan's.
They seemed determined to make up for that with sheer fury, howling and screaming as they struck at Vekdan's lines. Vekdan's men held their ground, shielding Glenn as if he were a lighteyes, and they his personal honor guard.
The two forces collided with a crash of metal on wood, shield against shield. Glenn cringed.
Everything was over in a matter of moments. The enemy squad retreated, leaving two dead on the rocks. Vekdan's team hadn't lost a single man. They maintained their tight V-shaped formation, although one of the men had stepped back to wrap a bandage around a wound on his thigh.
His companions closed ranks to cover the gap. The wounded man was burly and well-armed—though he cursed aloud, his injury didn't seem serious. He soon stood up again but didn't return to his original position. Instead, he moved to one of the ends of the V-formation, a more protected spot.