Chaos Raging (The Five Kingdoms Book 11)

by Toby Neighbors

  Bartoom, my friend, I need your aid.

  At first he felt silly, but the magic seemed to respond in a positive way. The dark power danced around inside of him, reminding Lorik of children anxious to be given a treat. Lorik pulled as much of the magic into his mind as he could, but the exercise was like trying to hold water in his hands, he couldn’t contain so much. But when he sent out another call for help, the magic evaporated from his mind, speeding the message to the great black dragon, or at least that was Lorik’s hope.

  Bartoom, come to me. I need you. Please!

  Lorik wasn’t certain, but he thought he heard a great roar, almost like a whisper in the back of his mind. The roar, while powerful, had seemed very far away, yet Lorik was certain it was Bartoom. He was confident the dragon was coming, he just needed a way to distract the king’s army until the beast arrived.

  “Alright,” Lorik said. “I have a plan. Gather my officers.”

  It didn’t take long for Gunthur and the other officers to arrive on the hilltop. In the far distance they could see the fires of King Ricard’s army. The troops had marched down the central road in formation, but when they camped they spread out to either side of the road. Lorik, even with his enhanced eyesight, couldn’t see the troops, but he could see the glow of their camp fires.

  “Tomorrow the enemy will arrive,” Lorik said to his commanders. “We must be ready.”

  “We will be, my Lord,” Gunthur said.

  “Here is my plan. I will go down and parlay with King Ricard once his troops are in the field. I want the outcasts to wait here.”

  “Here, my Lord?” Gunthur asked.

  “On the other side of the ridge, actually. I’ll face the enemy alone at first. I’m certain King Ricard will hold his mounted knights back until he is confident of our plan. I will hold their footmen at bay until the cavalry are sent to face me. When that happens, send your troops to intercept them. You may need to split them into two groups. I have a feeling that King Ricard will send his knights to flank me from both sides, once his footmen stall in their attack.”

  “And what of the trebuchets, my Lord?” asked Pytra. “Won’t they wreak havoc on our troops once we come into view?”

  “No,” Lorik said. “Spector will see to it that the siege engines are out of commission.”

  The wraith hissed, but didn’t speak.

  “I need them to think the trebuchets are working fine, Spector, but they cannot fire against us. Stay hidden, but once the fighting starts you may have your revenge.”

  “As you wish,” the ghostly figure said, before melting away into the darkness.

  “With the trebuchets out of commission, we’ll still be under fire from the archers,” Gunthur said.

  “Leave the archers to me,” Lorik said. “I have a plan for them as well. Prepare your men to take out the knights. They’ll be heavily armored, so focus on their horses. They are dangerous while mounted, but on the ground they’ll be no match for the outcasts.”

  “You are certain, my Lord?” Gunthur asked. “I could go with you. Fighting by your side would be a great honor.”

  “No,” Lorik said. “I need you to lead our troops. Don’t worry about me. I won’t be alone and I have more than a few tricks up my sleeve. You shall see. Just ensure that your men are ready. If the knights surround me I won’t be able to stop the foot soldiers from swarming past. We will be successful, never fear, but I don’t want to lose any more of your fighters than necessary. Once the knights see your men taking out their mounts, they will turn back. None of the mounted warriors wants to fight on foot in heavy armor.”

  The officers bowed and Lorik turned back to the north. Trusting Spector and the soldiers under Gunthur’s command was nerve-wracking. When it came to battle Lorik preferred to do the hardest parts himself, but they were facing an army and each of them had a task to complete. If even one of them failed, they could all be slaughtered and then nothing would stop King Ricard from marching south all the way to Center Point. Lorik vowed that no matter what happened in the battle, he would not let that happen.

  ***

  Darkness made Spector not only invisible, but invincible. The wraith felt as if nothing could stop him, especially now that his revenge was so close at hand. He flew over the muddy, frozen landscape toward the army from Baskla, intent on completing his task and finding a place where he could launch his own attack from. Lorik had given the ghostly fighter free rein to strike down whomever he chose once the fighting began. The thought of wanton slaughter was so tangible Spector was shaking in anticipation.

  There were two lines of sentries around the sprawl of the Baskla army. Lorik had been right in his assessment that King Ricard would expect a night attack. Spector could have slain many of the enemy warriors, but they wouldn’t be caught off guard if he did. It would be better for the fighters to spend the night worrying. They would be tired and tense on the day of battle, their nerves raw from waiting to see the man who called himself king in Ortis but who fought like a god.

  Spector rose up into the sky, his dark form completely invisible to the sentries below. The outer ring of soldiers had torches, but the second line of watchmen didn’t, letting their night vision adjust to the gloom between the outer ring and the light from the camp. The soldiers not on watch were attempting to rest, but many huddled by fires rather than retiring to their tents. Spector had been a man once, but he had not fought in the army. He had learned how to fight as a child and still wielded two fighting knives which he used with great proficiency, but he had never truly experienced the strain of a night before battle like the soldiers below. Still, he could feel their tension, taste their terror and worry about what lay ahead. For most, sleep wouldn’t come even if they tried, so they nursed their camp fires and made small talk with their companions.

  Spector saw soldiers sharpening swords, knives, and spears and checking their shields for even the slightest defect. Food had been consumed sparsely and there was no sign of ale or wine anywhere. For a few moments Spector hovered over the soldiers, reveling in their fear, letting it fuel him in the cold darkness.

  At last he came to the wagon train that followed the army. The trebuchets were still on carts, but had already been lined up. At dawn they would be moved into position to cover the soldiers on the battlefield. Spector saw wagons with piles of stones, the smallest were the size of a man’s fist, but some were as large as watermelons. They would be loaded into the baskets of the trebuchets and launched at the enemy army. The rocks would fly apart, spreading into a killing pattern that would wipe out hundreds of men if allowed to. Lorik’s army was small enough to avoid most of the fire from the siege engines, but it would only take one hit to strike a decisive blow against the outcast army. Even the larger, stronger outcasts would be no match for the stones flung from the trebuchets.

  Catapults might have been a better option for the traveling army, but King Ricard hadn’t known what he would find in Ortis. He had reports of course, but Lorik’s forces could easily have taken up a position inside a castle or fortress. Catapults were easier to maneuver but they weren’t nearly as effective at breaking down enemy defenses. The trebuchets could be modified to hurl any number of objects, from large stones that would break down castle walls to fire bombs that could destroy a fortress from the inside out.

  Spector took his time studying the trebuchets. They were well built, with a heavy weight that would be raised using a large wheel to pull a thick rope up to a pulley and then down to the connecting wheel which was secured with a ratchet device. Once the heavy weight was raised to the highest point, the long arm connected to the weight would be near the ground and ready to load with baskets of stones. After the trebuchet was positioned and loaded, the lever on the ratchet would be released, causing the heavy weight to drop to the ground and pulling the bottom of the long pole down with it. The basket end would be flung upward at great speed until it slammed into a thick beam of oak near the top, which would launch the payload toward the enemy
. It was a simple device, but dangerous, both to operate and to those it targeted.

  Spector went to work immediately. He cut the rope ten feet above the heavy weight, sawing at the thick rope with his knife. The fibers gave way easily enough, but the rope was as thick as a full grown man’s forearm. Spector took his time, cutting the rope in such a way that it wasn’t obvious it had been tampered with. He cut through the center of the rope, but left as much of the outer fibers as possible. Then he went to work on the pulley at the top of the trebuchet. The wheel that came in contact with the rope was made of wood, and Spector stabbed at the exposed pulley to give the device a rough edge, rather than the smooth wood, where it contacted the rope.

  The sabotage took most of the night, but shortly before dawn Spector had finished and went to find a shadowy spot to hide. In daylight he would be visible, even though his ethereal body was impervious to the enemy’s weapons, his presence would alert the army of his treachery. The camp was full of empty tents as the soldiers ate a hastily prepared meal before taking the field for battle. Spector slipped into an empty tent and waited for the slaughter to begin.

  ***

  The night slipped past more quickly than Lorik wanted. He could only hope that Spector had succeeded in knocking the trebuchets out of commission. Bartoom was still nowhere in sight as the sun rose. Lorik stayed on the hill, watching as King Ricard deployed his army. The outcast officers laid on the hill, their heads just above the crest, watching their enemy through spy glasses.

  Lorik had been correct in guessing that Ricard would split his cavalry. The foot soldiers took the center of the field, spreading out in a long line that was ten men deep. To either side came the mounted knights in their heavy armor. The sky overhead was thick with gray clouds and the knights looked like death’s messengers in their dull metal armor.

  Behind the footmen were archers. Lorik knew he could hold off the foot soldiers long enough for the outcasts to strike down the knights. Once the common soldiers saw the knights retreating, they too would break and run, but for his plan to work he couldn’t be concerned with the archers. He needed something to keep the archers busy so that he could fight the foot soldiers. The army moved into position slowly and Lorik was grateful for each minute that slowly crept by, but when the enemy with their trebuchets set up on the far side of the battlefield, well behind the enemy army, were finally settled into position, Bartoom was still nowhere to be found.

  Come quickly, Bartoom, and we will show these arrogant men that you shall never be enslaved again.

  Lorik could only hope the dragon had heard him and was nearby. He waited until he saw a group of riders come slowly forward in the middle of the battlefield. Lorik was not a soldier and had never fought in a full-scale war, but he had heard stories of battles. He knew it was customary for the leaders to offer one another the chance to retreat or to negotiate a peace before the fighting actually took place. In many cases, armies on the battlefield never fought, but that would not be the case with Lorik. He would accept nothing but the complete surrender of King Ricard’s forces, including taking the king as his prisoner. King Ricard and his commanders would never accept Lorik’s terms, but he would offer them and hear the offer from the Basklans. His main tactic at that moment was to stall as long as possible and hope that Bartoom would arrive in time for Lorik’s strategy to be successful.

  “I’m going to meet with King Ricard,” Lorik said. “Remember the plan no matter what happens. Your only duty is to stop their mounted knights.”

  “Aye, my Lord,” Gunthur said from his place on the ground behind Lorik.

  In full armor Lorik could run at a sprint for several hours, out pacing the fastest horses. He could keep up a fast jog, which was equal to a horse’s cantor, for several days without stopping. Speed, whether on his feet or in battle, was one of his greatest strengths, yet he moved slowly as he made his way toward the middle of the battlefield. He walked in a clumsy manner, as if his black armor was heavy on him, and the muddy ground slick beneath his feet. It was all an act, part of the plan to lull his enemy, who was watching his every move, into complacency. And to buy time for Bartoom to arrive.

  When Lorik finally met the leaders of the enemy army he was surprised to see that King Ricard wasn’t among them. The men, all on horses and in full armor, were the king’s commanders, including Braynar, King Ricard’s high commander who Lorik had defeated in Ort City.

  “Back for another beating, Braynar?”

  “I am here to offer you terms for your surrender,” the arrogant commander said.

  “You wish to surrender?”

  “Do not mock me,” the commander said through clenched teeth. “I will destroy your sad little army and hunt down every outcast left in this kingdom unless you surrender the field to me and submit to King Ricard as his prisoner.”

  Lorik smiled, “Is that all?”

  “Your soldiers will lay down their weapons and return to the south. You will submit to King Ricard and endorse his annexation of Ortis, and all her lands, people, and goods. If you do all this you may one day have your freedom.”

  Lorik knew the commander was lying. Once Lorik surrendered he would be tortured and killed, his body put on display. His soldiers would be slaughtered, and King Ricard wouldn’t stop at simply annexing Ortis, he would march south and lay claim to Falxis and Osla as well. He would send his soldiers through the southern kingdoms killing outcasts and stealing from everyone they allowed to live.

  “I do not accept your terms, but I will accept your surrender,” Lorik said.

  He knew the commander would never surrender and he didn’t wish to hear Lorik’s terms, but the traditions of battle allowed for both sides to make their offers. Braynar clenched his teeth and waited. He was looking down on Lorik only because he and his commanders had not dismounted from their horses. Still, Lorik was so tall and muscular he wasn’t intimidated by the mounted warriors. He still had his helmet on, and the black metal of his armor seemed to absorb the weak winter sunlight.

  “Your troops shall leave the field and return to Baskla unharmed. You and your king will remain here as my prisoners with my promise not to invade Baskla, murder your families, and enslave the entire kingdom.”

  “You are a fool,” Braynar snarled.

  “And you are a coward,” Lorik said. “I have no doubt that when I rout your army you will be the first to retreat. You will run back to Baskla, but remember this. I am coming for you, Braynar the Weak. I will kill everyone you love, the same way your puppet king Yettlebor killed those I love. And your death will not be swift, but it will be certain. You see only an inferior army before you, but that is because your arrogance blinds you. I am Lorik, King of Ortis, defender of the outcasts, and avenger of those killed by your stupidity and conceit. And I am coming for you.”

  Braynar’s hand was on his sword, but when Lorik stepped forward the commander’s horse shied backward, forcing him to take hold of his saddle and saw the reins to regain control of his mount.

  “I will see you dead this day,” Braynar said, his voice strained with either anger or fear, Lorik couldn’t tell which. “And I will drag your body through Ortis so that everyone sees you for what you are.”

  “I’ll be right here… waiting,” Lorik challenged. “If you care to settle this between the two of us.”

  Braynar wasn’t foolish enough to take the bait. His strength was in the overwhelming number of soldiers at his command and he didn’t dare give up that advantage to duel Lorik one on one. He cleared his throat and spat at Lorik’s feet, then turned his horse. The other commanders followed him, some looked angry, others seemed fearful.

  Lorik had no idea what a lone man defying an army might seem like to the commanders, but he guessed they thought him mad. He didn’t mind that misconception. Madness made men dangerous, unpredictable, and capable of just about anything. Perhaps the commanders feared that Lorik had a trick up his sleeve, something their scouts had missed, something that could turn the tide i
n Lorik’s favor. They couldn’t see how his small force could stand against their army, but they didn’t know what Lorik was capable of.

  He stood in the middle of the battlefield, waiting as the commanders returned to their troops. Lorik wanted to look back, to scan the sky for Bartoom, but he didn’t want to alert his enemies that help was coming. He had to trust that everyone was ready, and that when the time came to fight that Bartoom would arrive. If not, Lorik was prepared to die, but not to lose the battle. He would have his revenge on King Ricard and the cowardly commander Braynar, of that there was no doubt.

  Chapter 20

  Lorik heard the orders being shouted by officers and repeated down the long lines of the army from Baskla. His heart quickened its pace and he felt the magic inside him whipping into a frenzy. The army marched forward, their shields raised, their spears lowered toward Lorik. Behind him Lorik knew his own troops were mobilizing. They would come sprinting over the hill and down the long slope as soon as the knights moved forward to flank Lorik, but for the moment the knights weren’t moving. They sat in formation on either end of the long line of foot soldiers, but didn’t urge their mounts forward.

  The foot soldiers marched steadily forward, their footsteps muffled by the soft, muddy turf. Behind them came the archers. They advanced until they were only a hundred feet away from Lorik, and then, as their commander shouted the order, they locked their shields into an overlapping pattern. The shield wall was a strong military maneuver. Against a traditional army, it would enable the soldiers to fend off their enemy while striking from between the shields using spears and short swords. But Lorik wasn’t a traditional army, and the shield wall played exactly into his hands.

  For a long moment there was silence as the army waited to see what would happen. They couldn’t conceive of one man facing a thousand, nor of an army leaving its king alone on the field of battle. Lorik could feel the tension radiating from the army in front of him, as if he were standing close to a bonfire. They didn’t understand him, but they had all heard stories of his prowess in battle and they feared whatever he had in store for them.