“Will you not fight me?” Lorik shouted. “Are all the men from Baskla cowards?”
There was murmuring from the soldiers, but they didn’t move. Lorik could appreciate their discipline, but he couldn’t let them live. No one who raised arms against him, or the people under his care, could be allowed to live.
“None of you have done anything to me yet,” Lorik shouted. “If you throw down your weapons and leave the field, I shall let you live and return to Baskla.”
More murmuring erupted from the soldiers, but still they didn’t move. Lorik heard orders barked and knew what was coming. He carried a shield and the twin swords of Acromin, but what he needed was Bartoom.
The sound of creaking wood was unmistakable, even across the battlefield. The archers bent their bows as they drew their arrows back. Another shouted order was called out and the bowstrings thrummed. Lorik saw the arrows rise up like a cloud of mosquitos in the Marshlands. He knelt, raising his shield to cover his massive body. The arrows fell like a murderous hailstorm, but Lorik’s shield and armor protected him. He rose as the last arrows dropped around him.
“I am still here!” he shouted. “What are you waiting for, cowards?”
The bows creaked again, but just before the order was given to fire their arrows, a roar rolled across the plain from behind Lorik. Like all the soldiers Lorik wanted to turn and look, but he knew what was coming and he could see from the sheer terror on the faces of the soldiers from Baskla that what he had been waiting for had come. Another roar was followed by the sound of flames racing through the air high overhead.
Lorik took a deep breath and felt the dark magic inside him swirling into action. It had been pent up so long he hardly even had to try to unleash the powerful magic. He blew and felt the darkness freezing his breath as it poured out of him and onto the enemy shield wall. Most of the soldiers were staring up at Bartoom, who flew through the air, billowing fire, but not attacking the soldiers. The great black dragon could have killed hundreds, but taking on an army wasn’t what Lorik had asked the powerful beast to do.
Men died, frozen where they stood, their shields and spears turning white with the cold from Lorik’s magical breath. He bent down and picked up a stone from the ground. Then he threw it at the shield wall. It hit like the prow of a ship smashing through a wave. The entire line of soldiers, all locked together in their shield wall and frozen by Lorik’s powerful magic, shattered like glass. Nearly three hundred men died instantly, shocking the rest of the army as they fell.
Bartoom roared, and the archers were ordered to fire at the beast, but the dragon was flying too high and too fast. More orders were shouted, and the cavalry were sent to smash Lorik. He waited as the horses were kicked into a gallop. Once again he wanted to turn back to see his own troops pouring over the ridge, but he didn’t. Instead he watched as the soldiers before him once again revealed their shock and fear.
There were battle cries, the thunder of hooves, and the roar of a dragon. The dark magic seemed to join into the hysteria all around him and Lorik charged into the fray.
***
Spector moved from shadow to shadow through the abandoned camp. The men who drove the wagons of the supply train had left their posts to either work the trebuchets or watch the battle. The wraith had no problems moving through the camp and to the rear of the trebuchets. Everything seemed to happen as if Lorik had planned out the battle for both sides. Spector saw him confront the legion of armored foot soldiers, and felt a tremor of fear as a hundred arrows raced toward his friend. When Lorik stood up Spector was relieved and then the army was confronted with the reality of their foe, as Bartoom’s roar shook the entire throng of soldiers.
The fear from the army seemed to erupt like a volcano and it took all of Spector’s strength not to rush forward and slay as many of the enemy as he could. He wanted to fight—to slice and kill, to be washed in the blood of his enemies, to see them brought low for the crimes of their leaders—but he waited. When the knights were ordered forward he looked to the ridge and saw Lorik’s troops rushing into action. Perhaps it was their newfound strength or the sense of purpose Lorik gave them, but Spector guessed it was the appearance of Bartoom roaring toward their enemy that gave them such confidence. They came rushing over the hill, running faster than the large horses that carried the knights in their heavy battle armor.
Another order was given and the trebuchets were sent into action. The men cranking the heavy wheels were muscular and set about their tasks with gusto. Spector watched to see if his sabotage would be enough to cripple the siege engines. The first trebuchet to have its weighted rope reach the pulley was dumbfounded as the thick rope snapped under the strain. The rope held while the weight was lifted, but the pulley put a strain on the last few remaining frayed strands and they broke under the pressure. When the heavy weight fell it smashed into the mud and sent the rope flying up over the high cross beam. The men turning the heavy ratchet fell when the weight suddenly gave way. The other siege engines quickly followed suit. Two more ropes snapped, but on a fourth engine the rope held. Spector started to rush forward as the wagoners loaded rocks into the weapons basket, but they were only halfway finished when the rope snapped. The long pole flew upward but the entire structure rocked backward, so that the stones were hurled straight up.
There were screams as the other men working the trebuchets fled. When the stones fell the last two trebuchets were rendered useless and more than a few of the wagoners were crushed by the stones. Spector screamed a ghastly wail as he rushed forward. A few of the fleeing wagon drivers had the misfortune of coming too close to the wraith. He spun like a small, dark, maelstrom, hacking with his knives and leaving the men on their knees as their life’s blood pumped through the gashes in their necks or the gaping wounds where their stomachs had been.
The wraith moved quickly, straight for the large group of commanders at the rear of the army. Spector knew King Ricard was there, surrounded by guards, his commanders, and other nobles watching the battle. He could feel their fear and dismay as he rushed toward them. The commanders didn’t see Spector, their attention was on the army and they watched as the outcast soldiers slammed into the knights from Baskla, slaying horses and stopping the charge that was meant to smash Lorik between the two groups.
They had no fear for themselves, since they were far back from the battle lines, but they were dismayed at how quickly the tide of battle seemed to be turning. The least important nobles and junior officers were at the rear of the group, straining to see what was happening. Spector flung himself between two young men on their horses. His knives sank deep and the wraith bellowed as he jerked the knives free. The men around him were terrified and began to move away. Spector sliced the throat of the nearest man, spinning around and stabbing his second knife into the thigh of another. Blood sprayed through the air and the horse screamed as the blade tore through the man’s leg and into its side.
Spector saw the king, an older man with gray hair, wearing a thick cloak of white bear skin, trimmed in silver. He wore a helmet that was part crown, part battle helm. He had weapons but as his horse turned to the side he saw Spector rushing toward him and didn’t even bother to draw his blades. Spector felt a thrill as he flew forward, expecting to ram both knives into the king’s chest, but before he could a guard jumped from his horse, trying to catch the wraith and arrest his flight. The guard passed right through Spector’s smoky body, but his arm caught on one of the knives and swung the wraith around.
Turning quickly, Spector expected to finish his attack, but another guard brought his horse before the wraith, forcing it to rear. The horse pawed at Spector, but the steel-shod hooves passed harmlessly through the wraith’s body. The ghostly figure slashed one blade through the horse’s throat and then spun around driving a second knife into the guard’s side. Man and beast fell to the ground, but as Spector turned his attention back to the king, his guards were whisking him away. There were more officers within reach and the wraith
turned his fury on them. Hacking and slashing, the officers and onlookers fell to his blades, but inwardly Spector fumed that the king had escaped him.
***
Lorik’s charge scattered the line of foot soldiers. The officers were shouting orders but the chaos was too much for their troops. With Bartoom roaring overhead and the magic that had just killed a huge portion of their army, the men broke. They wanted nothing to do with Lorik, but he was too fast and too deadly with his sword. He smashed into the backpedaling soldiers so hard with his shield that many were injured by the blow. Then his sword came around, severing one head, and then stabbing into another. The soldiers dropped their spears and tried their best to get away.
There were screams of panic, of pain, neighs from wounded horses, battle cries, and the clash of weapons. Lorik’s vision turned red as he cut down dozens of the soldiers. He was like a man possessed and the dark magic seemed to guide him and give strength to his blows. Bones were shattered by his shield, which Lorik slammed into anyone who came near to his left side. On his right his sword cut through the lightly armored foot soldiers like they were ripe stalks of wheat. Blood splashed onto his armor, making it even more menacing. Most of the soldiers didn’t try to defend themselves. They wanted to run, but the well-ordered line had disintegrated into a mob. Most were cut down from behind, unwilling to face Lorik.
Finally an officer, bellowing for his troops to follow him into battle charged at Lorik with a spear. The massive warrior took the spear on his shield then rammed his sword into the officer’s stomach. The man spat at Lorik as the blade twisted. The officer dropped his spear and would have fallen to the ground if Lorik’s sword hadn’t held him up. Taking a knife in his free hand he swung it at Lorik in a desperate last attempt to slay his enemy, but the small blade just glanced harmlessly off the black armor.
Lorik tilted his sword down and the man slid off, but he had given his troops a few vital seconds to flee the powerful warrior and there was no one within reach of Lorik’s sword. He looked to the outcast troops that attacked the mounted knights. In most battles the knights were a deadly force that few dared face, but it was the strength of their horses and the maneuverability that made them deadly. The outcasts were more powerful than most men, and faster than the big war horses. They met the charging horses head on, throwing their weight into the powerful beasts and either cutting down the horses or pulling the riders from their saddles. There were dozens dead on both sides, but the outcasts had turned back the knights’ charge. The entire army was retreating. The archers had tried shooting their arrows at Bartoom until the foot soldiers nearly trampled them in their haste to retreat.
The entire army was running from the battlefield and Lorik looked for King Ricard, hoping that Spector had brought the ruler low. Instead, he saw a group of riders leading the retreat, Braynar at the head of the group, which surrounded a harried looking King Ricard. Lorik wanted to chase after his enemy, to kill as many of the soldiers as possible as they limped back toward Baskla, but first he saw to his own troops.
Gunthur rushed to Lorik’s side. He had stayed behind, after ordering the troops to attack and then gathered his weapons to join the fight. But by the time he reached the enemy the army was fleeing so he hurried to his king.
“Your orders, my Lord,” the officer asked. “Should we pursue them?”
“No,” Lorik said. “See to the wounded, then secure the supplies their army left behind. Is that clear?”
“Of course, my Liege.”
“Good,” Lorik said, wiping the sweat from his eyes. “I want our soldiers seen to, and then I want half of your men to march west to Blue Harbor, and send the rest back to Yorick Shire. Spector and I will pursue the invaders.”
“Alone, my Lord?”
“That’s right. We will harass them all the way to Baskla and beyond.”
“Aye, Lord,” Gunthur said.
Lorik turned his attention upward. Bartoom was still circling high above. Lorik drew on the magic still raging in him. He had to calm the dark power, which only wanted to kill, and was urging him to pursue his enemies. Then he sent a message to the dragon.
Thank you, my friend. You can return home.
The beast roared, swooping down toward Lorik, before turning south and flying away.
“Tell me we are going after them!” Spector demanded as the ghostly figure rushed toward Lorik.
“We are, but not yet. I want them to feel comfortable.”
“So they can regroup?”
“So that they believe we’ll let them live.”
“And then what?”
“And then we hit them. Slaughter them, slowly. We won’t let them rest. If they stop moving we attack them. We’ll kill the soldiers until the king runs away, leaving his men to die. Then we’ll bypass his soldiers and pursue those with the king. We’ll run them into the ground, make them suffer, but always leaving a little hope until just before they cross the border.”
“Then we kill them,” Spector said, his eyes flashing as he warmed to the plan.
“That’s right. We shouldn’t have any trouble catching up to them. It will be just the two of us. They’ll drop their guard and we’ll make them pay.”
“Glorious,” Spector hissed.
“I thought you’d approve. Now let’s see what they’ve left behind.”
The army from Baskla had fled, mostly on foot. The trebuchets were left on the battlefield, the supply train was left ranged along the road. They wagoners had unhitched their horses from the wagons the night before and there was no time to hook the horses back into their harnesses. Some of the men had run to the horses and ridden away, but many of the animals still lingered along the picket line. All the wagons were left where they stood.
“They left everything,” Gunthur said.
“No time to recover,” Lorik said. “That will make their retreat all the more difficult and ensure they can’t regroup. Without supplies their only option is to return home.”
“Unless they forage the way we did,” Pytra said.
“No, I won’t let them do that. Spector and I will keep them on the run. In the meantime, I want the port at Blue Harbor open and the city repaired. We need a strong presence in this area before we move further into Falxis.”
“You have plans to establish your kingdom further north?” Gunthur asked.
“We will control everything south of the Walheta Mountains and as far north as the Baskla border. We’ll let whoever takes charge in Baskla pay tribute to us, sending supplies south while we rebuild and establish our new kingdom.”
“You are a man of great vision, Lord,” Gunthur said.
“I am a man who has learned not to trust people like King Ricard. The rulers of the Five Kingdoms think only about themselves. Our kingdom will be a place of peace and prosperity, where everyone who is willing to work and treat their neighbors with respect will be welcome.”
“Humans and outcasts?” Pytra asked skeptically.
“If they can get along. If not, then I will side with the outcasts. We are the future. Those who resist us will die, or serve us. Those that wish to live in peace can join us. If there is strife I will divide the kingdom. Already we have a colony in the south where humans can be together.”
There was more than food in the wagons. The army had brought medical supplies, weapons, and all the comforts of their homes far in the north. King Ricard’s tent for instance was floored with thick rugs. There were ornate chairs and a feather bed. The furnishings were too small for the outcasts, but Lorik wanted everything loaded and sent back to Yorick Shire.
Hours passed while everything was organized. Lorik’s army had lost twenty-two soldiers, with another thirty wounded, but most were only minor wounds. The horses were sent with the group heading west toward Blue Harbor. Most of the wagons went south to Yorick Shire, pulled not by beasts, but by the powerful outcasts themselves. The outcasts worked tirelessly and Lorik was proud to be among them. Once everything had been seen to, Spector
was waiting impatiently for Lorik.
“Don’t worry, I’m almost ready. I only need to gather my things.”
Lorik handed Gunthur his shield and nodded at his commander.
“Hold this ground if any of the soldiers return, then get to Blue Harbor. I’ll meet you there.”
“Yes, my Liege.”
Lorik walked forward through the mud and stopped at one of the wagons. Spector was circling him like a hound that has taken a scent and is anxious to begin the hunt. Lorik rummaged through the supplies, filling a sack with fruit, cheese, bread, and hard tack. At another wagon he picked up a sturdy-looking bow. The shaft was nearly as tall as a grown man. Lorik quickly strung the bow and then checked the draw. From the same wagon he gathered several quivers full of arrows. Then he slung the food, bow, and quivers over his shoulder and turned to Spector.
“It’s time,” he said in a low voice.
Spector bellowed a scream that was part ghostly delight, part battle cry, then they rushed north in pursuit of King Ricard and his followers.
Chapter 21
It was dark when Zollin reached the large courtyard that surrounded the Keep. The countess and her servants were already lighting torches and preparing food for the weary soldiers. It was cold, yet the Keep wasn’t big enough for the entire army to take refuge in. The horses would have to be picketed outside of the settlement, and Zollin went with the soldiers setting up a temporary camp. He lit fires and made sure that the cavalry soldiers knew what to do. The last thing he wanted was for the soldiers to remain disorganized. He had a strong feeling that they were all still very much in danger.
Once he had several large fires burning and the soldiers were seeing to their horses, Zollin hurried back to the fortress. The countess was sending the healthy soldiers up into fighting positions in the Keep. She was not a warrior, but she had lived with one long enough to know how the stronghold was normally manned and she wasted no time in getting her home’s defenses back to full strength.
Chaos Raging (The Five Kingdoms Book 11) Page 17
