by Stuart Daly
It was apparent to Caspan that the Andalonians were fighting a losing battle. The Roon outnumbered the Andalonians three to one. The First Legion’s centre was starting to falter, being pushed back by the Roon. Their line still held, but a salient was forming in the middle of the Andalonian ranks. Caspan was no master tactician, but even he knew that if the Roon were to break through and the breach not quickly patched by reserves it would lead to the collapse of the entire First Legion. Wholesale slaughter would result.
His throat dry, Caspan glanced anxiously at Duke Bran. He was as rigid as a statue, his expression grim as he weighed the situation. Then the Duke signalled for the small band of officers to withdraw back to their horses and mount up.
‘Ride to the north-east and find Roy Stewart,’ Bran said, turning to a mounted ensign. ‘They cannot be far behind us. Tell him the battle’s started and he needs to get here – fast!’ The soldier saluted and spurred off down the hill.
‘We’ve planned for this battle and you all know your roles,’ the Duke addressed his officers, his voice firm and commanding, rising above the clamour from the valley. ‘It’s going to be chaotic, but we must prevail. Losing this fight is not an option. Keep your lines of communication open with messengers. If you feel your section is going to falter, send for reinforcements. We have reserve units that can patch breaches in our lines. But don’t wait until it’s too late. The Roon only have to break through one section to rout us. As soon as that happens, this battle is lost.’ He flexed his fingers and drew his blade. It hissed like a serpent as it brushed against the sides of the leather scabbard. ‘Now, get your men into battle formation. Let’s end this war.’
Horns bellowed and the officers barked commands as they rode amongst the troops. The Duke and Prince steered their stallions forward, and peered over the crest of the hill into the valley below.
Caspan clicked his mount alongside them. ‘Where do you want Scott and me?’ he asked.
‘You’re not officially under my command, so I’ll leave that up to you.’ Bran’s hard features softened. ‘You have a knack for popping up at just the right moment. I’m sure you won’t let us down.’
Caspan nodded and stared determinedly at the left cavalry flank, where Roland, Thom, Raven and Master Morgan were in the thick of the fighting. Dale followed Caspan’s gaze.
‘It looks like you might be joining me,’ The Prince remarked. He removed his helmet from where it hung over his saddle horn, and put it on. ‘I’ll be commanding the attack on the left,’ he said. ‘Our objective is to puncture through the side of the Roon army and encircle the giants.’
‘What of their reserves?’ Scott asked as he drew his mount alongside them. ‘If you’re not careful, they’ll move forward and you’ll find yourself trapped.’
Dale tightened his helmet’s leather strap. ‘Captain Hugh’s company of lancers is going to cover our left flank to block their advance.’ He turned to consider Scott and Caspan. ‘It’s not going to be easy. It doesn’t look as if the First has been able to outflank the Roon yet, but that doesn’t mean we’re not going to try. The one thing the Roon don’t have is cavalry. Hopefully it will determine the outcome of the battle.’ He drew his blade. ‘Now, are you with me?’
Caspan and Scott shared a knowing glance before nodding. Then they swung from their saddles and summoned their Wardens. A great cheer rose from the soldiers as the magical beasts materialised from clouds of blue smoke. Frostbite and Shimmer stretched their leathery wings and flexed their claws before waiting dutifully by their masters’ sides.
Caspan quickly saddled Frostbite, climbed atop the drake and strapped himself into the harness. ‘Master Scott and I will provide cover from the air,’ he said. ‘We’ll swoop down and try to cause as much damage as possible.’
Dale nodded appreciatively. ‘That’d be great. It might make my task a little easier.’ He beckoned for his second-in-command to come closer. ‘Make sure the men hold the line. No gaps, and swords drawn. We’ll gallop when we reach the valley base, but not before. We don’t want to risk any of our horses stumbling down the hill.’
The soldier saluted and rode along the length of the Prince’s cavalry unit, which was spread out in a line, five riders deep, just behind the crest of the hill, hidden from the enemy.
‘Make sure you keep an eye out for the Roon archers,’ Scott cautioned, winding up Shimmer’s reins around his left hand. In his right he gripped his longsword.
Caspan grimly recalled the time Frostbite had nearly been killed by an axe hurled by a Roon warrior during their first mission north. His heart racing, he waited for Duke Bran to give the command to attack.
CHAPTER 24
IN THE THICK OF BATTLE
Duke Bran thrust his sword forward, sending his army surging over the crest of the hill.
Riding at a canter, Prince Dale’s cavalry pushed ahead of the infantry. They dug their heels hard into their mounts once they reached the valley floor and, with the Prince leading, galloped around the rear of General Brett’s army, then swung right to join the cavalry on the far left flank. The Prince sent half of his men to reinforce the Andalonian horsemen fighting alongside Morgan, Roland, Raven, Thom and Jace, and led the rest of his unit, over two hundred strong, out past the enemy shield wall. The Roon tried to stretch their line to counter the advance, but they couldn’t keep pace with the riders. Having outflanked the giants, his left flank guarded by Captain Hugh’s cavalry, the Prince swung hard to the right again, bringing his unit around in a valiant effort to get behind the Roon.
It was a bold move, but it left his unit out in the open, exposed and vulnerable to the ranks of enemy archers. Their commander pointed his battleaxe at the horsemen and ordered his archers to redirect their fire at them. The group of six hundred Roon warriors hurriedly rearranged their lines, set arrows to bowstrings and took aim … only to be hit from behind by Frostbite and Shimmer.
The drakes swooped out of the sky and raked their claws through the enemy, destroying their formation and buying the Prince and his cavalry the time they needed to charge into the rear of the Roon shield wall. Before the archers could scramble back into line, Caspan and Scott turned their Wardens around and sent them in for a second attack. This time Frostbite breathed fire, forcing the giants to run for their lives. A few Roon managed to loose shafts at the drakes, but the Wardens moved too fast, the arrows zipping harmlessly through the air.
For the next hour the battle raged. Caspan and Scott used Frostbite and Shimmer to great advantage, flying over the battlefield to identify enemy strongpoints, or where the Andalonian lines looked like they might crumble, then diving down to attack the Roon. But not even their aerial assaults or the combined strength of the legions were enough to turn the tide of the battle in their favour.
Prince Dale’s tactic of routing the enemy failed. Not long after Caspan and Scott had scattered the Roon archers, half of the giants on the right flank of the Roon army formed a second shield wall that countered the Prince’s attack. For a while it looked as if the cavalry might puncture through the tattooed horde, but no sooner did one of the giants fall than another hurried forward to take his place. After perhaps half an hour of sustained fighting, the Prince, exhausted and streaked with sweat, abandoned the attack and led his men back to join the main left flank. Only half of his company remained.
The bulk of the eastern legions’ infantry reinforced the centre of General Liam’s army and pushed back the salient. But then a core unit of Roon berserkers tore into them. Foaming from the mouths, their bare torsos covered in swirling tattoos, they formed a wedge that broke through the Andalonian centre. Roon warriors swarmed into the breach, wreaking carnage and further widening the gap. Unable to unleash arrows for fear of hitting their own men, the Andalonian archers drew their swords and charged forward. But not even they could drive back the giants. Caspan and Scott tried desperately to help the defenders, but in the close-quarters fighting it was nearly impossible for their Wardens to single out enemy
warriors. The Roon also hurled spears and axes at the drakes whenever they came near, forcing the Wardens back into the sky.
The battle raged in a storm of slashing steel and grinding shield walls, until the giants broke through the Andalonian infantry and spread out to encircle them. The cavalry units on the wings tried valiantly to stop the Roon, but even they were driven back. The giants surrounded the Andalonian army in a figure-eight formation, cutting off any hope of retreat or escape. All that remained was Andy’s band of scouts, who held their ground near the copse of trees, and the reserve company of cavalry guarding the baggage train.
Flying high above the battlefield, well out of bow-range, Caspan searched desperately for his friends. Fortunately, there had been a reprieve in the fighting, during which both sides hastily reorganised their ranks. The outer rim of defenders in each encircled group formed a defensive shield wall, twenty men deep. Behind this milled the archers and cavalry in a chaotic mess. Still atop his black stallion, Maul by his side, General Liam thrust a spear with a shredded banner above his head and barked commands to the soldiers trapped with him in the easternmost section.
The second encircled group was under Duke Bran and Prince Dale’s command. The hair on Caspan’s neck prickled when he spotted his friends not far from the Duke. Thom’s head and torso were wrapped in bandages, and Morgan clutched the left side of his chest, where his mangled mail vest was stained red. His Brotherhood cloak was shredded and the right sleeve of his tunic had been ripped off. Still, both he and Thom sat rigid in their saddles, their drawn swords glistening brightly.
Roland rode beside Jace, his battered shield slung across his back. He’d swapped his beloved bonnet for a conical helmet with a protective nasal guard. Georgina turned about restlessly, forcing Roland to pull hard on the reins to keep the massive draught horse in check. Raven sat nearby atop her dire wolf, Shadow. She stood in her stirrups, an arrow set to her half-drawn bow.
Caspan wanted desperately to fly down and spirit his trapped friends safely away, but he knew it would be far too dangerous. In spite of flying low to the ground when they attacked the enemy so as to protect their drakes’ exposed undersides, Frostbite and Shimmer had been hit many times already by arrows and spears. Fortunately all had bounced off their armour, leaving silver scars on their natural coats of blue, iron-like scales. But Caspan feared it would only be a matter of time until one tore through their leathery wings or pierced the soft scales on their bellies. If that were to happen, the drakes would be severely injured – possibly killed – and it was a gamble he wasn’t prepared to make.
He looked to the east, searching for Roy Stewart’s highlanders, but only the bleak, white hills gave answer.
‘What are we going to do?’ he asked Scott, who hovered a few yards off to his right.
The Master shook his head grimly. ‘It isn’t good. I don’t know what’s become of Roy Stewart. Maybe he’s changed his mind and decided he doesn’t want any part of this war.’ He studied the battlefield, his gaze pausing on Andy’s scouts. There were only a dozen of them left, and they were being chased up the valley slope by a band of giants. His gaze shifted to the reserve unit of cavalry waiting back with the supply wagons. ‘They’re our only hope,’ he remarked. ‘There must be close to fifty riders in that company. They need to puncture through the giants and create an opening for the others to escape through.’
‘Which is easier said than done,’ Caspan muttered, staring at the Roon amassing between the trapped Andalonians and their baggage train, ready to repel any attempt made by the riders to break through.
The Master slapped his thigh in frustration. ‘Blood and thunder! Look at them – just sitting there on their horses! What are they waiting for – an invitation? Why don’t they attack?’
‘Maybe there’s no one to command them,’ Caspan suggested, pointing at a group of dismounted soldiers gathered around a wagon, inside which a man lay. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but they were waving their hands about animatedly, as if in a heated argument. The rest of the cavalry waited idly on their horses by the dirt track leading into the valley, watching the spectacle. Caspan searched the group for Sara, Shanty and Oswald, but failed to find them.
‘Commander or not, common sense should tell them to attack.’ Scott yanked hard on Shimmer’s reins, sending the drake shooting downwards. ‘Come on,’ he yelled over his shoulder, ‘we need to find out what’s going on.’
Caspan dug his heels into Frostbite’s flanks, urging the drake after them. They flew down to the baggage train and landed.
‘Who’s in command here?’ Scott demanded as he swung out of his saddle and strode to the soldiers surrounding the front wagon. Caspan followed close behind.
Sara pushed her way through the crowd to greet them, a distraught look on her face. A beefy soldier with yellow teeth and a sergeant’s insignia stitched to his cloak grabbed her by the sleeve and yanked her back.
‘Don’t you dare touch me!’ Sara protested, slapping his hand away and hurrying to Caspan’s side.
The sergeant sneered at her. ‘Or what?’ He glared contemptuously at Caspan. ‘Don’t think that runt’s goin’ to stop me.’
Caspan had no idea what was going on, but he wasn’t going to let the officer talk to him and Sara like that. He squared his shoulders, stared boldly at the sergeant and was about to cut him down to size with a sharp retort, when Scott placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
‘Let me deal with this,’ the Master whispered, then addressed the sergeant. ‘Where’s your commanding officer?’
The sergeant looked Scott up and down and screwed up his nose. ‘Not that I need to explain this to you, but I’m in charge here.’ He jerked his double chin at the wagon. ‘The Captain’s been hit by an arrow. He can’t even talk, let alone ride.’ He snickered. ‘He thought he was so brave and handsome, sittin’ out there on his horse. And now look at him. He should have listened to me and stayed back.’
Scott drew a patient breath. ‘Then why aren’t you moving? Thousands of your countrymen will die if you don’t help them. You’re their only hope.’
‘We ain’t movin’. We were told to guard the baggage train, and that’s exactly what we’re goin’ to do.’
Scott’s lips tightened. ‘Of what use will the baggage train be if there’s no army left to use it?’
The sergeant stepped forward and pressed his face up against Scott’s until their noses almost touched. ‘That ain’t my problem, little man. You pull no rank here. You’re not even part of the military. Get back on your dragon and fly away.’ He sneered at Sara and Oswald, who Caspan only now noticed. The elderly treasure hunter knelt beside a soldier lying on the ground, holding a damp cloth against the man’s busted lip. ‘And you can do the same,’ the sergeant continued, jerking his chin at Sara and Oswald in turn. ‘You might think you’re all grand in your black cloaks, but I’ve had a gut-full of your back-chattin’. Open your mouths again,’ he pointed at the injured soldier, ‘and you’ll get the same as he got.’
Scott shouldered past the officer and stood on a wheel spoke to inspect the Captain. Then he looked across at the band of mounted soldiers. Many had their swords drawn, ready to charge the Roon, but the uncertainty in their eyes revealed that they were reluctant to disobey the sergeant.
A roar rose from the ranks of the Roon. Everybody turned and watched as the reserve band of giants, which had waited at the far side of the valley, charged forward to join the main army and tore into the encircled Andalonians. The horsemen glanced at one another and shifted restlessly in their saddles.
‘Leave your post and I’ll flog each and every one of you!’ the sergeant threatened them. ‘You know I’ll do it.’
It was more than Caspan could stand. He crossed angrily to the officer and stared hard at him. ‘You’re an absolute disgrace! Your countrymen are going to die, and you’re hanging back here like a coward! I wonder if you even know which side you’re fighting on!’
The serge
ant’s cheeks flushed red with rage and he reached for his sword. ‘Why, you little …’
There was a loud clunk and the officer dropped unconscious to the ground. Shanty stood behind him on the wagon rail, gripping a plank of wood in his hands. He looked at Caspan and shrugged apologetically. ‘He shouldn’t have called you little. Some people might take offence.’
There was a celebratory cheer from the mounted soldiers.
‘Thank goodness,’ Sara said as she hurried over to assist Oswald help the hurt soldier back to his horse. She glanced at Shanty. ‘What took you so long?’
‘I was moving as fast as I could,’ Shanty explained. ‘It’s not easy trying to climb a wagon when you’re only four feet, two inches tall. It’s a bit like trying to scale a mountain. Maybe next time I should do the distracting, and one of you the clobbering.’
‘I think you did just splendidly,’ Oswald said.
‘We won’t get into any trouble about this, will we?’ Sara asked Master Scott. ‘I don’t know what else we could have done.’
‘And nothing quite ends an argument like a good old-fashioned plank of wood,’ Shanty remarked.
Scott clapped Shanty on the shoulder and jumped down from the wheel. ‘Like the sergeant said, we’re not part of the military, so we can hardly be arrested for resisting an order. Not that I’m in the least bit concerned about any of that right now.’ He stared ahead at the encircled legions. ‘We’ve got a far more important matter to deal with.’ Scott raced over to Shimmer, climbed up and kicked his heels into the drake’s flanks, sending her into the air. He flew to the front of the cavalry column and hovered a few yards above the ground, buffeting the riders’ cloaks with each powerful beat of Shimmer’s wings. He drew his sword, thrust it above his head and roared, ‘Will you follow me?’
