Gaston blinked and looked to his second in command. “Does the worry show?”
Kerr smiled, liking the younger man. “Yes, and you are wise not to let the men see you so,” he answered. “You must contact Gwaynn and General Bock…inform them of the situation.”
Gaston nodded but did not answer. They both looked up as Speaker Sarbeth entered the tent as if on cue. Gaston’s heart began to pound in his chest the moment he saw her, expecting to be told of contact by the King, but Sarbeth remained quiet, standing stiffly just inside the tent flap. The female Speaker was young, athletic and had such a strong, square jaw that it was the envy of many of the men who rode with her. Her dirty blonde hair was cut shoulder length and pulled back away from her face and as she waited Gaston thought wildly that she would have made a fine looking man. Politeness however, kept him from revealing his opinion to her, though surprisingly she would have been happy to hear it.
Gaston’s heart began to slow when the woman didn’t speak up immediately, but then Sarbeth surprised him.
“Speaker Torres has called to us, Captain Marcum wishes to speak with you,” she said in a soft, feminine voice which did not match her appearance.
Gaston frowned and glanced at Captain Kerr, who shrugged, also puzzled.
“Proceed,” Gaston told the Speaker and at once Sarbeth closed her eyes and began to weave her hands about in front of her. Gaston couldn’t help but notice that her hands were large and rough looking.
‘She would make a fine warrior,’ he thought, but then quickly amended it. ‘She was a fine warrior.’
It took several long minutes before a small distortion coalesced in the air directly before her. When, at last, her hands dropped, she opened her eyes and spoke clearly. “Speaker Torres…Captain Gaston is present.”
“Captain,” Gaston heard the voice of Captain Marcum, his old friend and mentor, “we need immediate assistance or Lynndon will fall. Where are you located?”
Gaston frowned again. “We’re five miles outside the town of Maenlarn…maybe sixty miles from you.”
“Excellent!” Marcum answered and Gaston could hear the excitement in his friend’s voice. “Can you ride on Lynndon?”
Gaston glanced at Captain Kerr once more.
“My orders are to harass and occupy the Knights,” Gaston replied carefully.
“Your orders will lose us the Plateau,” Marcum snapped back. Gaston had been under Marcum’s direct command from the time he’d joined the Massi army, back when Gwaynn’s father, Arnot was still King.
“How soon can you get here?”
Kerr stared at Gaston and shook his head negatively.
“If you want us in battle condition…maybe sixteen hours.”
They heard Marcum mutter something unintelligible. “That’s too long. We’ll all be dead by noon tomorrow.”
“After the death of Captain Tanner, King Gwaynn gave us very clear instructions as to our role in this war,” Kerr said finally speaking up.
“Who is that? Is that you Kerr?’
“Yes Sir.”
“Did Gwaynn instruct you to give the Plateau to the Deutzani? Do you know the war is lost if that happens? Do you?”
“No sir…I mean yes sir,” Kerr said clearly flustered.
“Then shut your yap and let me deal with the strategy. Gaston…I need you here…I need you here at all possible speed. Can I count on you?”
Gaston paused for only a moment. He had no wish to disobey his King, but he also knew that if he stayed on the plains and continued to trade blows with the Knights, the Massi cavalry would soon be gone.
“We’ll be there…we’ll be there before noon tomorrow, although what shape our horses will be in is hard to say.”
“Bless you Captain…and don’t worry about Gwaynn. I’ll contact him about your change of plans. Now get moving,” Marcum added and almost at once the Speaker bubble disappeared.
Gaston turned to Kerr, who was pale with worry. “Break camp,” Gaston ordered. It was late in the evening, but he thought they might have two hours of safe riding left in the day. “I know the men and horses are tired, but I’d not try to do the entire sixty miles in the morning…let’s break it up and get a bit closer.”
“As you say,” Kerr said with a nod and left the tent, hurrying to get the men up and about once more. The broke camp fifteen minutes later, most of the men actually relieved that they would be facing an enemy other than the Temple Knights.
ǂ
Captain Hothgaard was still in shock. The counter attack against the Massi cavalry was executed flawlessly, but somehow everything went wrong and they’d lost five hundred and twenty-one men and horses…five hundred and twenty-one. It was inconceivable…utterly unthinkable, but Hothgaard knew it could have been much, much worse. If the Massi commander had not foolishly broken off from the fight in all probability Hothgaard and his Knights would have been utterly wiped out. And the worst of it was that the Knights under his command were some of his most veteran men…experienced, hard combat cavalry men, not the new recruits conscripted after their losses to the Toranado. He left his green troops near Cape in the relative safety of the siege. The defeat left Hothgaard uneasy. First the Toranado and now the Massi had challenged the Temple Knights and pushed them to their limits. It was becoming painfully obvious to the Captain that the Knights no longer enjoyed complete dominance on the battlefield; the Families of the Inland Sea were learning and improving. The High King would be wise to abandon the attempt to retake the Massi lands and give the Temple Knights time to regroup, retrain and recapture their elite standing. It was a sobering thought and not one the Captain relished having, nor did he look forward to reporting such a setback to King Mastoc.
He did not have time to worry about the upcoming encounter however, as Sergeant Lewis poked his head into the tent.
“Speaker Nadler reports contact with Gan…the High King wants details on our situation,” the Sergeant announced, thankful once again that he was not in command of the Knights.
Hothgaard nodded and waited quietly as the Speaker entered and set about making contact with the High King.
“King Weldon has entered the Pass and Arden is convinced that Lynndon will fall very soon,” King Mastoc said confidently. “I want you to move up the timetable and lay siege to Manse. The Massi are finished. Bring the traitorous Prince to me alive if at all possible. I would like to be present when his head is cut from his body.”
Captain Hothgaard said nothing for a moment, considering the apparent good news coming from all across the land, but then he said very strongly. “I think we should pull out of Massi. Gwaynn’s forces are formidable and after the encounter with the Toranado the Temple Knights are as weak and inexperienced as we’ve ever been. The risk may not be worth the gain.”
“What! What are you saying? Massi is ready to fall,” the High King blustered. “Pull out…have you lost your mind…or nerve.”
Hothgaard remained passive during the personal attack; he even smiled ever so slightly. “No, I believe my mind is still intact…as to my nerve…let’s say that I am not so much concerned for my welfare as for yours.”
“What do you mean? Why?”
“The Massi cavalry are loose on the plains…they are good, very good, perhaps even on par with your own Temple Knights.”
“Impossible!”
“Tell that to my dead men,” Hothgaard replied. “Whoever is leading the Massi horsemen is bold and aggressive and very well trained. Perhaps it’s King Gwaynn himself.”
“Prince Gwaynn!”
“As you wish…but my advice is still the same. I advise we pull out of Massi…at least for now, until we are in a stronger position.”
“You will not pull out of the fight…you will lay siege to Manse and you will either kill that Prince or bring him to me,” Mastoc yelled, his rage coming clearly through the silvery bubble hanging in space. Well, that could not be helped. Kings were like spoiled children…used to getting their way…used to the pe
ople fawning in constant agreement. Hothgaard promised himself long ago when he was promoted to lead the Temple Knights that the King would get nothing but the truth from him, no matter how disagreeable.
“Do I need to sail to Massi?”
“That would not be advisable or necessary. I’ll pull our strength together and do as you wish.”
“Manse will fall?”
“Manse will fall,” Hothgaard answered, hoping he was not breaking his long ago promise.
ǂ
“We should meet them here,” Lonogan Bock said from the top of a long flat rise located in a section of rolling hills near the foot of the Scar Mountains. They were positioned perhaps two miles to the north of the Aleria Pass. Bock sat on his horse between Gwaynn and the Traveler na Gall. Also in the group were Samantha, Krys, Prince Phillip Toranado, his Weapons Master Tabernas plus the Zarina Monde. The main army was still several miles behind their position but would arrive within an hour.
Gwaynn sat on Eve and surveyed the landscape, quickly approving of his General’s choice of terrain. The Palmerrio were already a day into the Pass, but would not complete their march through the mountains for several more. They would emerge to find the Massi army waiting for them, spread out on this hill…and hidden behind it.
“The slope is steep enough to slow any attack and the top is large enough to support all of our men comfortably,” Bock said, still trying to sell his choice.
Gwaynn’s plan to meet the Palmerrio was a bold one, though he could not take all the credit for it, since it was Samantha who initially suggested the strategy to him. Captain Hahn of course, immediately saw the benefit of such a daring plan of action, though he modified some of the initial ideas. The strategy called for the main lines of the Massi army to meet the Palmerrio attack from atop the hill. Well back from the front lines a force of their best warriors including Gwaynn, Krys, Tabernas and a mass of Toranado heavy infantry would wait with the Travelers. Once the Palmerrio moved forward and engaged the Massi, na Gall and Monde would open a bridge to the rear of the enemy’s lines. Gwaynn and the others would bypass the bulk of the fighting in order to move quickly and decisively against King Weldon. If everything went well, the plan was to either kill or capture the Palmerrio King and hopefully bring a quick end to the conflict.
“Are you sure Captain Kommidi can keep the Palmerrio cavalry off the flanks of the army?” Prince Phillip asked clearly worried. His mother’s health was flagging. Doctor Linkler felt it was mostly fatigue brought on by the constant stress of warfare, but Phillip believed it had more to do with the loss of Eno. She loved the city and he wanted to see her home as quickly as possible.
Bock frowned. “He’ll have to…but I think they’re up to the job.”
“Just having them present will keep at least part of the Palmerrio cavalry busy watching for our own flanking maneuver,” Gwaynn said.
“And we’re sure King Weldon is with his army?” Krys asked.
“We’re sure,” Monde and na Gall said in unison.
“Let’s make camp down below,” Gwaynn said, then almost to himself added. “One battle…this must be over in one battle. We can’t let the Palmerrio run amok on the Plateau. We need to end this so we can concentrate on the Temple Knights.”
Everyone was silent for a long moment. They were all aware of the pressure Captain Marcum was under at Lynndon, and there were reports coming in that the Temple Knights were scouting Manse. If either position fell, the country of Massi would be nearly impossible to hold and if that happened, Gwaynn and his army would be forced to flee into the mountains and become rebels. The fight with the Palmerrio must be finished quickly and decisively. They could not hold out long against three threats to the Plateau, especially when one of the armies array against them was the Temple Knights.
They were alone, and the final outcome was going to be decided in the next few days.
ǂ
‘We’re losing the Plateau,’ Captain Marcum thought in a panic as more and more Deutzani troops poured up the Scar to face them. Arrows were flying rapidly into the enemy soldiers but with little apparent effect. The Deutzani soldiers on the top of the ridge hastily formed a shield wall against the missiles and the wall was growing stronger by the moment. Marcum knew he had to attack with his remaining foot soldiers; they had to attack right now…or all was lost. He’d put off the final charge as long as possible, hoping that Gaston would show and relieve the pressure, but it was nearly ten in the morning and so far there was no sign of the cavalry. Marcum glanced at Sergeant Birdsong and nodded.
“Prepare!” the Sergeant yelled louder than his Captain would have thought possible, and the men around him quickly came ready. There were precious few infantrymen left, less than three hundred in all.
“Charge!”
There was no hesitation even though most of the men and women present realized that they were badly outnumbered and had little chance of victory.
The Massi infantry shouted in defiance and lifted their halberds and in one coordinated movement, charged the Deutzani shield wall. The two groups hit with massive force and for a moment it appeared that the Massi might actually break the Deutzani line in spots, but after giving slightly, the heavy infantry of the enemy began to push back. Almost immediately the more heavily armored Deutzani began taking a heavy toll on the lightly armored Massi halberdiers.
Captain Marcum was near the centerline, surrounded by Massi infantry soldiers, and was soon so embroiled in the hand to hand fighting that he was unaware of anything but his immediate surroundings. The battle quickly fell into chaos and his total being was swallowed up in the fighting. He attacked, parried and fought with the enemy closest to him with no thought for anything else. He killed one, two…and then three men and silently praised Gwaynn and his heavy training weapons. Marcum knew he was getting old and that his speed was slowly seeping away, but thanks to Gwaynn’s training, he actually believed his strength was growing. His strength, when coupled with his vast experience, made him a deadly opponent, a fact that the Deutzani soldiers around him were quickly learning.
But the Deutzani now heavily outnumber the remaining Massi and the Captain was suddenly facing a pair of enemy soldiers. The two men pitted against him fought aggressively and were utterly intent on killing him quickly but their movements were sluggish and he could tell that they were tiring, and that surprised him. Marcum fought back with a vengeance and held off their uncoordinated first assault.
‘How long have I been fighting?’ He wondered, but had no definitive answer. He was growing weary, but was far from exhausted.
The soldier on the right lunged but it was an obvious feint. Marcum pretended to react to the move and then thrust out quickly with his left kali and sliced through the midsection of the man on the left as he foolishly moved in for the easy kill. Marcum pulled and twisted his weapon free and the man fell to the ground with a howl. Once unencumbered, Marcum spun to face the remaining soldier. The man was large, grim-faced and dirty, and he circled the Massi Captain warily. Marcum was thankful for the time to rest as the man vied for position. He risked a quick look around and his heart fell. The Plateau was flooded with Deutzani, and the ranks of the Massi were critically thin. Off to his right, Marcum saw Sergeant Birdsong fall to a group of three Deutzani soldiers, but then he had to quickly backpedal from the man before him. The large man pressed his attack, hoping to capitalize on the Captain’s divided attention.
But Marcum flipped his wrist and turned the man’s blade harmlessly away. He countered but his own movements were slowing and his attack was also knocked aside.
“You’ve fought well, but the Massi are finished,” the Deutzani said breathing heavily. Marcum made no reply and attacked again as another Deutzani soldier began moving his way. Marcum continued to fight but he knew that his life would undoubtedly be over in a matter of moments.
He slashed through the forearm of the soldier who spoke, just as another; younger and taller Deutzani pressed in and began attacking
ferociously. Marcum held off the assault, barely, just as another soldier waded in. Now there were three against him though one was fighting with a single arm. They all attacked in unison and Marcum backpedaling quickly away. His arms were slowly giving out and he knew he could not long hold off the flashing blades flying at him.
‘We’ve lost the Plateau,’ he thought again, resigned to defeat, but then an arrow suddenly appeared in the tall man’s chest. Surprised, the three men facing the Captain all came to a sudden stop though clearly only one was wounded. Marcum wasted no time and rushed forward. He stabbed the wounded man through the neck, spun and hacked off another’s right arm at the elbow. The man fell to his knees screaming and the final man backed away. Marcum removed the head of the screaming enemy and was just turning on the lone survivor when the enemy took a halberd through the back. Darby, a Massi archer even older than Marcum, just grinned and then spit.
“We can’t hold,” Marcum said his voice thick with despair.
Darby frowned. “We can,” he answered as a half a dozen Massi halberdiers and eight archers rushed over to their position. Without waiting for orders, the archers launched several volleys at the closest enemy and for the first time since the battle began Marcum realized the Deutzani were retreating back down the Scar.
“Gaston!” he said ecstatically.
“No sir,” Darby answered. “I was near the cliff’s edge…it’s a large group of Massi, but they’re on foot, and can’t rightly be called an army, though last I saw they were moving in on the Deutzani.
“On foot?” Marcum answered. Darby just nodded and then they all moved to engage another small group of Deutzani soldiers. They were pushed back for a moment, but then another group of Massi led by Birdsong joined the mêlée, giving them overwhelming numbers in the local fight.
Elsewhere ti-3 Page 15
