She knew she was being unfair. He'd done much for her and was only trying to do what he thought right.
'I think your Majesty misunderstands,' spoke Ottovus in round, comforting tones. 'It is only that the idea of exposing yourself to harm is unacceptable to us. We would be remiss in our duty if we failed to protect you.'
Darl moved to her side. He took her hand and fell to his knees. 'Trust us, Your Majesty. We have proved ourselves in war. We know how best to serve your cause.'
And I don't? she thought savagely, without voicing the words. He kissed her hand fervently. The others nodded benign approval. Even Tharvus was smiling at her now.
'Trouble yourself no more, my queen!' Darl cried, leaping to his feet. 'Leave this to us and we shall give you victory tomorrow!'
The others joined in.
'Victory! Moriana and victory!' The tension was swamped in the sudden wave of loyalty and passion. The waves of exuberance broke over Moriana. She felt herself eroding bit by bit like a castle built of sand.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The new day appeared much like the gemstone set in the talisman Moriana wore around her neck: mostly white.
'See?' said Ziore to her as the guards Darl had assigned escorted them to the crest of a hill overlooking the battlefield. 'I knew things wouldn't turn out as badly as you feared.'
Moriana surveyed the scene. Normally, the hill provided a vantage above the broad valley where her army and Synalon's would clash today. But a thick fog cloaked it, making the landscape appear as if it were layers of wool. She couldn't see farther than a few feet. Ripples in the mist now and then exposed shapes, shadowy and indistinct, of men preparing for the day.
Under the blanket of damp, clinging mist, Chalowin's eagles would be grounded. Unless the weather changed, the Sky City's chief weapon would be rendered impotent.
Moriana clutched her amulet. Pale light glowed between her fingers.
'Your amulet has not been wrong yet,' said Ziore. 'See how its color foretells good fortune?'
Moriana looked at it ruefully. She wondered if it was worth the sacrifice.
From below came a shout. It was followed by a strange clanging sound like a cook banging with an iron spoon. Moriana's breath caught in her throat.
The Battle of Chanobit Creek had begun. 'My birds cannot fly,' Colonel Chalowin stated flatly. 'There will be no battle today.'
V'Duuyek's gaze was steady from beneath the rim of his helmet.
He had foreseen such an objection.
'We fight, with or without your eagles. Our army is in place.' Tension turned Chalowin's usual facial tic into myriad twitching, writhing components. Now the Sky City colonel looked like some insect in his nervousness.
'The prince's plan requires the eagles,' he said. 'They cannot fly. We wait for better weather.'
V'Duuyek smoothed his moustache. He boiled inside. Knowing that Chalowin might try to forestall action, he had taken steps to prevent it. If those steps were discovered .. .
'We must prevent Moriana's army from bypassing us. If they succeed, they can cut the City's lifeline at Bilsinx. Is this what Prince Rann commanded?'
'We have the greater mobility,' said Chalowin doggedly. 'We can catch them.'
'As long as this foul weather holds,' said V'Duuyek, speaking with his usual precision, 'we have little mobility at all. Our army moves at the pace of the wagons carrying your war eagles. If Moriana's army gets past us, we may never catch them.'
They stood on a bluff across the valley from the invisible hilltop where the enemy had erected their command post. V'Duuyek gazed into the formless fog, his blue eyes bright, as if by straining he could pierce the dirty fleece clouds and see their foe. In fact, he strained his ears to catch a certain sound that would tell him his mercenary force stood a fighting chance of survival.
Chalowin glared at him. His left eye pulsed closed with an arhythmic beat so disconcerting to V'Duuyek that he turned away. He felt no concern that this would make the colonel suspect. Chalowin, unlike Rann, was not overly perceptive.
'Our enemy has the initiative,' he said. 'If we hold back, they will attack us with every advantage of momentum. It isn't an advantage I'd advise we give the knights of the City States.'
'We will withdraw then.' Chalowin slapped himself on the chest without being aware that he did so.
'In that case, any offensive move on their part will catch us unprepared and in disorder. We can expect to be overwhelmed. They have a considerable advantage in numbers, colonel.'
Chalowin's pallor grew more marked as the mercenary spoke. When V'Duuyek finished, it took the Sky City officer half a minute to control his angry twitching sufficiently to speak.
'The prince has given us the plan,' he said, raising his voice. Wraithlike figures stopped to turn and stare at the men. 'We must not deviate from it! Order the withdrawal now, my lord. When we make our attack, it will be as Prince Rann decreed.'
V'Duuyek stared at him. He felt sick to his stomach. He knew why Rann had placed a man of such unswerving devotion in command: another might decide on his own to alter Rann's plan. With the Sky Citizen's disdain for groundlings, he might even neglect to inform a subordinate V'Duuyek of any change. Such lack of coordination brought only disaster. And in V'Duuyek's learned opinion, Rann's plan was an excellent one. Chalowin could be relied on to follow it exactly, as if its every detail were graved on his brain. But, as the count had feared all along, events precluded its use. And Chalowin could not conceive of an attack that differed from the original.
V'Duuyek made a production of removing his gauntlets, his left one heavy and backed in steel, his right of dog's hide, thin and pliant so his fingers could grip the string of his bow. He listened for the sounds he counted on so heavily. But he heard nothing. Tucking his gloves into his baldric, he turned to face Chalowin.
From below came a cry, the deep, fierce barking of a dog yelping in pain. The count paused, smiled and took his gauntlets from his baldric, and began putting them on again.
'We are already engaged, colonel,' he said. Even in his triumph, he kept his tones even, his words trimmed neatly to fit. 'We've no choice now but to give battle. Unless the men of the Sky City are inclined to flee from a battle already joined . . .'
Chalowin's jaw worked open and shut. V'Duuyek saw the anguish on his face. Rann wouldn't hesitate to back away from battle if his keen mind told him that was the shrewdest move. But Chalowin was no more capable of bringing down what he saw as dishonor on the City's forces than he was of defying Rann.
Almost choking, he said, 'Give the order to attack.' 'The curs have left their kennel!' cried Darl from the back of his great white war dog. 'To me, O men of the North. Let's whip them back to whence they came!' He brandished his broadsword above his head. Even in the mirk, it flashed with a deadly light.
A roar of approval rose from the hilltop and the valley below. Though most of the troop couldn't see their commander, they heard the ringing clamor of his voice. That was all they needed. The men drawn up in ranks felt their blood take fire with excitement and the nearness of battle.
Moriaha heard her voice joining the rest. Though she was condemned to wait out the day on this hillside, she couldn't help sharing the exhilaration of these men who would struggle and die for her.
Darl rode over and jerked back on his reins. The huge dog reared back with a snarl, pawing at the air. Darl caught at a lance thrust into the soil. From its tip fluttered the arms of the princess. He waved it high over his head.
'Moriana!' he cried. 'Moriana and victory!' Then he wheeled his mount and loped off into the fog.
Moriana heard his laugh, high and full of boyish excitement. Then a thousand throats took up the battle cry. The men of the Northland who had come by the thousands to offer service to an alien princess swept forward to attack.
After all Moriana's warnings, the army had been drawn up in a conventional formation. In the center stood a mass of infantry, almost six thousand strong. They were farmers, mercenaries, vassals of lor
dlings who had offered their swords to Moriana, armed with the short spears and shields of Realm footmen. Flanking them were thirteen hundred archers split roughly in half between the left wing and the right. They were men of proven temper, mostly foresters from the Great Nevrym Forest or deserters from the Imperial Border Watch risking Imperial displeasure for a chance to strike a blow at the forces of the Dark Ones. Moriana was glad of such men, but she feared they would prove inadequate. Although the army they faced was small, it boasted twice as many missile troops. There were ominous numbers of Bilsinxt riders, V'Duuyek dog riders, and several hundred infantry skirmishers with bows and javelins.
But the knights of the City States scorned arrows, as Sir Tharvus had been at such pains to make clear the night before. It was on those knights that Darl depended most. Seven hundred of them poised on the left flank, their dogs snarling at each other, keyed to a frenzy by the excitement charging the air. At their head rode two of the Notable Knights, Tharvus and Ottovus, the first in his armor of gold and the second in crimson. On the right were the seven hundred under Darl's personal command. Almost half of the knights and men-at-arms came from his home county of Harmis. Backing them were twenty-five-hundred light lancers, their armor mail instead of the glittering enameled plate of the knights.
A heavy guard ringed Moriana's hilltop. She was not alone, at least. Two other figures impatiently paced the perimeter, casting covetous glances into the fog, eager to take part in the battle even now beyond their eyes' reach. Young latic Stormcloud, his hair a golden wreath and the fine lines of his face slightly blurred by dissipation, paced with the scabbard of his longsword clacking at his thigh. And ancient Sir Rinalvus, visor raised to allow his rheumy old eyes to peer into the mist, stood leaning on the haft of a massive ax backed with a hook. The angelic young mercenary commanded a reserve of a hundred knights and two hundred lesser cavalry. Sir Rinalvus was supposed to oversee the battle and keep his fellow commanders apprised of any new developments - if the fog thinned enough for him to see them. Moriana suspected that the oldster, wearing the same suit of polished blue plate in which he had accompanied so many exploits over the course of more than a century's adventuring, had also been set to watch over her and and make sure she neither meddled nor came to harm. He didn't pace and glare like a caged falcon as did latic. But looking at him, pitifully shrunken within armor built to encase one more robust, Moriana felt her heart go out to him. Though he didn't accept her as an equal on the field of war, it pained him not to be able to strike a blow on her behalf.
'This is . . . most impressive,'said Ziore, her voice intruding on the princess's thoughts. 'In my days as a nun, we were taught war was a horrible thing, brutish and distasteful. Yet the air is filled with hot vibrations, energies. I find this . . . stimulating.'
Could the spirit, cloistered throughout her life, be turning into another Erimenes?
'No, child,' Ziore laughed. 'I am unlike the evil man whose false teachings blighted my life. I can take no joy in the pain of others. But I can feel the eagerness pulsing through a million veins. It flows like lightning along my nerves.'
Moriana started to reply to the pale pink figure. A sudden blaring cry of triumph made her turn and look out across the valley. She saw figures surging and striving together. The knights of Harmis, with Darl at their head, rushed down. Her blue, red, and gold banner snaked behind. Among them were others in long linen surcoats. Their armor overlapped like a lizard's scales; their helms were high, worked into curious knobbed spires. From them flew streamers of a dozen bright colors. Dogs snapped at one another, tearing at exposed throats. The foreigners' dogs were bulkier than Darl's. Unlike the knights, who armored only the chests and heads of their war dogs, these riders covered their beasts' bodies with scale armor like their own.
Moriana had no difficulty recognizing the famed dog riders of the Highgrass Broad. Yet she was puzzled. Some of them, trying to avoid Darl's knights, loosed arrows tipped with broad steel heads. Even as Moriana watched, one struck the breastplate of Darl's armor. It hit at an angle and bounced off amid fat blue sparks. The princess was uncomfortably aware that she had screamed aloud in horror.
But although the dog riders were risking the tension of their strings and the glue that held their bows together to the treacherous damp, none seemed to carry the long lances traditionally used. A number of men lay still on the ground, their blood a red cloth spread on the wet grass. For all their steel, they had suffered terribly at the first shock. They turned and fled before the knights of the North.
The bulk of Darl's army advanced at a slow walk. They cheered frantically at the apparent rout of their vaunted enemy. Darl's knights started to follow up their advantage and spur their mounts into the mist. Darl's voice halted them. He had charged with only a few score of his knights. He was not reckless enough to take his whole force when attacking an unseen enemy.
He saw what Moriana had seen as soon as the melee separated itself into sides, one fleeing, one victorious. He had just beaten a mere handful of cavalry. Darl held his followers back to wait for the other knights to catch up with them. They sat impatiently, tugging at their reins to prevent their mounts from licking up the spilled blood.
Moriana let out her pent-up breath. She admitted she had underestimated Darl. She had known with ugly certainty that he would follow the fleeing troops with his small band right into the concentrated arrow flights of two thousand archers. But Darl had reacted as coolly and precisely as might Rann, under whose command Moriana had fought the Golden Barbarians half a decade before. She reached to the bodice of her gown to feel the hardness of the amulet. Perhaps its augury was true. Perhaps success would be theirs this day.
Then she gasped. The fog, the vital fog that kept the lethal bird riders helpless, was beginning to lift.
She turned to the brazier that sent a wistful spiral of smoke to blend with the fog. A stand with herbs and other substances had been placed next to the iron tripod holding the brazier. A pair of boys in the crimson, blue, and gold livery of the Brother Knights stood a few paces away, alternately punching each other and giggling, staring at the battle and eyeing the princess at whose beck and call they'd been placed. Ignoring the adolescent lust glowing in their eyes, she walked to the brazier and gestured for them to attend.
'Look lively,' she snapped. 'I must keep these damned clouds in place.'
Ultur V'Duuyek steeled himself. Torn, broken bodies flowed by. He had sent two scores of his men to probe the enemy position. Only fifteen dogs returned with riders still aboard.
They had known the nature of their mission, every man and woman of them. They were to be risked - sacrificed - so that Chalowin could be forced into battle. V'Duuyek and his officers knew full well that Darl and Moriana, who cared little enough for what Rann decreed, would not merely permit their foes to decline combat until better weather arrived. And for the Sky City army to be caught at any sort of disadvantage by their horde of foes would be catastrophic. To save his regiment, V'Duuyek had no choice but to send the forty on their suicide mission. He had been like a loving father forced to choose which of his children are to be sacrificed so that the others may survive.
And his favorite of all had been one of the volunteers. Though his face remained impassive, his eyes searched for the familiar red war dog with the heavy jaw.
A moment later he saw the dog. His lips pressed into a thin line. No rider occupied the saddle of Destirin Luhacs's mount.
Wounded men rode double with their comrades - risky business because one rider and its own armor brought even a Highgrass charger near the limits of the burden it could carry. Others had improvised stretchers from cloaks and the coils of rope they carried by their saddle bows.
Two dogs trotted straight for the commander. V'Duuyek scarcely dared glance at the figure slung between them. Its spired helmet had fallen off. The hair coiled about the head was matted pink with drying blood.
'Destirin . . .' The figure stirred. The head lifted. The face was a horrid m
ask of blood, a black slash across the forehead. Yet the apparition grinned, teeth shockingly white against the fog-dulled red.
'I live, Count Ultur,' said Destirin Luhacs, 'but I fear I'll have to go easy on the rum for a while. My head spins even without it.'
WoP - 01 - War of Powers Page 54
