Destroying most of the enemy’s supplies had given Magrane hope he had pushed a full-scale invasion across the River Fasse until next spring, possibly into early summer. Doing that would give the Royal Army time to rebuild fortifications, and for the promised troops from the Empire of Indus to arrive in strength. In the long run, even thousands of fierce warriors from Indus would not stem the tide of Acedor’s inevitable victory, but delaying the invasion would give Lord Salva time to do whatever that master wizard had planned. Or whatever he hoped to plan, for Magrane had little faith that even the strongest of wizards could defeat a demon of the underworld.
Now even Magrane’s hope for a temporary respite from defeat might be dashed. If he could force his way to the river by sacrificing most of the raiding force, he would give Tarador a chance to stave off immediate disaster; as long as princess Ariana and the wizards escaped across the river Tarador would not quickly fall. But the troops of the raiding force represented a substantial part of his mobile combat power, and the troops he had taken into Acedor were the most skilled and experienced of the Royal Army. Without that strength to bolster defenses east of the river, the enemy might be able to cross before winter and establish a firm presence within Tarador, and once behind entrenched defenses they would be impossible to dislodge with the remaining force available to Magrane. Come springtime, the host of Acedor could merely push forward along river valleys inside Tarador, and the Royal Army could not block every path.
“Sound retreat!” The lieutenant relayed the general’s orders, and a horn sounded, picked up by other horns. Soon signal flags were waving. The cavalry column, strung out along the now-drying river valley where the Lillefasse used to flow, began to wheel and trot back the way they had come.
“General?” Ariana pulled her horse to a walk beside the old soldier. “Why are we retreating?”
Magrane explained quickly, adding “Our only goal now is to get Your Highness and the wizards across the river.”
“What of my soldiers?” Ariana gasped.
Magrane noted she had called the Royal Army her soldiers, and he appreciated her concern for the people pledged to serve her. “Highness, if you fall, Tarador falls with you. The Regency Council will squabble and war with each other, until the realm shatters into seven provinces fighting on their own and only for themselves. Tarador will not last the winter if that happens. Without our wizards, the enemy could use magical means to crush the army no matter how strong we are or how staunchly we fight. I must get you and the wizards across the river to safety.”
“I should not have come with the raiding force,” Ariana regretted her foolishness.
“It was always a risk, Highness. In the end, you are at as much risk on either side of the river. And we had to take the wizards with us, so your royal person is only one complication. Do not worry about the army, Highness. My hope is that once you and the wizards are across, the enemy will lose heart seeing their prize has been denied to them,” he added softly with a thin smile, contenting himself that his statement was only a forgivable little lie.
When he got the column turned around and the princess ahead with his best troops, Magrane hoped for a respite while he considered what to do, depending on the next actions of the enemy. The cavalry of Acedor had moved more swiftly than expected, though they traveled north along mostly flat roads along the river, while the raiding force had to gallop across country, mostly following the winding riverbed. Magrane’s scouts had already made contact with the enemy vanguard, estimated to be no more than a hundred mounted troops, and Magrane was confident that at least his scouts could harass and delay that vanguard so those hundred soldiers of Acedor would not be a problem. What he feared was-
“General!” Duke Falco called out as he pulled his galloping horse to a walk. “General Magrane, fairy tales are all well and good when talking with a little girl,” he looked toward the figure of the princess riding at the front of the column, “but we are men who have seen many battles. I have heard the reports from the scouts, and what our wizards have seen. The enemy is advancing swiftly, battle will be joined tomorrow morning and there is little was can do about it. We must prepare to fight a pitched battle before we can link up with your main force.”
“I still hope to-”
“No, you do not,” Regin interrupted. “Forgive me, General, but I know you are not a fool, nor do you indulge in wishful thinking. I do not see any way for us to meet with the main body of your troops before the enemy catches us, they know where we are and by now they know we have turned. The enemy can cut the corner and strike our flank, more quickly than we can race ahead for the safety behind the lines of your main force.”
“You may be right about that,” Magrane admitted. “I had planned to measure our progress at nightfall, and reassess.”
“Our progress is slow, and will become slower as night wears on into morning,” Regin warned. “We must rest our horses, they cannot travel all night. In the morning, when battle is upon us, we must have fresh horses.”
“The enemy cavalry travels with extra horses, they will not rest during the night.”
“They can change horses, we cannot. That does not change the fact that our mounts will not be useful in battle if they can no longer stand from exhaustion. General, I agree we must travel as swiftly as we can until nightfall, but if as I suspect we see battle is inevitable by morning, better for us to meet that battle with fresh horses and minds.”
Magrane silently, having already considered calling a halt after darkness to be his best option. “Duke Falco, whatever happens, we must get that little girl, as you called her, safely across the river.”
“My soldiers of Burwyck know they must protect my future daughter-in-law with their lives,” Regin said with determination, though Magrane noted the duke looked away as he spoke. “We are in this together, for better or worse.”
“Madame Chu,” Ariana said with a jaw-stretching yawn as the wizard passed by the thin bedroll the princess had laid on bare ground, “what are you doing up?”
“I am seeing to changing of the guard amongst the wizards,” Wing explained. “We cannot let our guard down for even a moment. Why are you not asleep?” She scolded the girl gently.
“I was,” Ariana was mildly embarrassed about being scolded by a master wizard. “I feel so useless. The enemy is rushing at us and we sit here, doing nothing.”
“We are not doing nothing, we are resting to prepare for battle,” Madame Chu the master wizard reminded Ariana Trehayme the Regent of Tarador. “Our horses could not walk another league without falling down from stumbling.” Wing spoke the truth, many of the horses with them had become so tired their soldiers had to drop down and run alongside their flagging mounts, that was when Magrane called a halt for the night. Battle was inevitable, and whether the enemy cavalry closed with them the next morning or afternoon made little difference to the outcome. What could change the outcome was having horses and soldiers rested and ready. Before allowing themselves to sleep, soldiers had unsaddled and brushed their horses, then fed the beasts from the sacks of corn each horse carried. Those horses with mild injuries had been attended to by wizards skilled in the healing arts, but no time nor energy was spared for healing the aches and pains of soldiers, for the wizards would need all the strength in the morning.
“All these people are at risk because of me,” the princess’s tone reflected her misery.
“No, they are at risk because of our enemy. The raiding force would be here without you, having you here gives us something to fight for beyond our own lives.”
The words of the wizard were of no comfort to the princess. She looked to the sky, seeking the north star. Not long ago, she had watched the sun setting and wondered if Koren Bladewell was doing the same. Now she wondered if Koren also sought out the north star for guidance that night. “Do you know anything about where Koren is?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“What about Lord Salva? Can he-”
“None of
us have been able to contact Koren through the spirit world,” Wing let the princess down gently. “Paedris and Cecil are now too close to the demon for me to contact them, it would be far too risky for them to reach out. The best thing you can do for Koren is to sleep now, so you are prepared to lead us in the coming battle.”
“I understand that, but-”
“No ‘buts’, young lady,” Wing knelt down and pulled the bedroll blanket over the girl’s shoulders. “Rest now. You can do nothing more tonight. Think on this; soldiers who see you awake will be ashamed to get the sleep they must have, if we are to survive the morrow.”
“Yes ma’am,” Ariana replied with a sleepy wink and turned over to try catching a few winks of elusive sleep. Unknown to her, the wizard from Ching-Do cast a spell to assure the princess would sleep soundly for five hours, long enough to wake refreshed and well before the enemy arrived within bowshot.
Koren Bladewell was seeking the north star that night, straining against his bonds in the jolting carriage as it bounced and lurched in headlong flight toward oblivion. The only time the carriage stopped was to change horses several times a day, Koren guessed that happened every three hours but he had no way of knowing. A trained wizard must have a way to tell time, he mused, but he had neither training nor the ability to use magic. Whatever happened to him when he poured forth raw power to destroy the orc army, it had damaged him somehow, and the enemy wizards had cast a spell to block him from feeling any connection to the spirit world. He could not conjure even the faintest glimmer of a fireball, nor do anything about the magic-reinforced bonds that encircled his wrists and ankles. He was helpless, being rushed along in a dark night to his doom, and the doom of the entire world.
It was only possible for him to see the night sky with one eye, he could not get his head far enough toward the window of the carriage for the other eye to see anything but the grimy ceiling of the carriage. Turning his neck painfully, he sought out the constellation farmers called the Plough and followed it until he sighted the north star, blinking faintly behind high, thin clouds. That afternoon, the carriage had clattered over a decaying wood bridge that spanned a river, just above where another river joined from the west. Koren recognized that river junction from studying maps of Acedor and knew he was drawing close to the lair of the demon. Before the wizard named Mertis was completely consumed by the demon he had summoned and thought he could control, that wizard had gone home to the castle where he had been born, and that is where the demon had lived ever since, having no use for worldly trappings of power.
Soon. Unless the carriage broke down or a miracle rescued him, in the morning Koren would be brought before the demon, and stripped to his bones so the being of the underworld could use his power to unleash a demon horde upon the world.
In a wagon behind Koren’s carriage, Bjorn Jihnsson also sought the north star, though for more sentimental reasons. Bjorn found that star to know not which way lay north, but east. East, toward his family, the family he had abandoned to self-pity, weakness and drink. Bjorn sat upright, for it was no use trying to sleep in the harshly bouncing wagon, and prayed. He prayed for his family, of course, that they would be somehow spared the coming cataclysm, or at least die quickly and painlessly. He prayed for his family, but only as a way to pray for the miracle he sought. Bjorn prayed for the strength, the opportunity to kill Koren Bladewell, for only that way could the world be saved.
When Bjorn was done praying for his family, done begging God for a miracle so Koren would die, he added one more prayer, a request for something he thought even less likely to occur than him being able to kill Koren in time to save the world.
Bjorn prayed for the inner strength to forgive an untrained young wizard who had been unforgivably foolish and stupid, for he was only a boy.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The battle was brutal and see-sawed back and forth for over an hour, with the cavalry of Acedor repeatedly disengaging from the fight, reforming their lines and charging into the defenses of the Royal Army. The enemy’s strength and ferocity dismayed General Magrane, and made him question his strategy of holding defensive lines, playing for time while the main part of the raiding force marched eastward to join the battle. If he could frustrate the enemy cavalry until the next morning, perhaps a bit longer, he could link up with his divided force and march east toward the river. That had been his plan, but the enemy charges had broken through the defenses three times already and Magrane feared his troops could not withstand another charge.
“We must regain the initiative!” Duke Falco urged. “I will take my cavalry out to hit their flanks before they can reform a column and hit us again. We will throw them off balance and force them to react to us.”
Magrane considered quickly. The Duke of Burwyck was right that to continue a static defense would be certain suicide. “No! I will order my cavalry to sortie forth. Can your army hold our right flank, to protect the princess?”
Regin Falco gritted his teeth, unhappy about being denied the opportunity for a glorious charge in what might be Tarador’s last battle. “I can guard our right, General, but if later there is need for a second sortie-”
“Aye,” Magrane nodded, eager to leave the duke and make plans for his own cavalry to strike. “You will have the honor of it.”
The cavalry charge by the Royal Army was successful in that it disrupted the enemy’s efforts to reform their lines for another hard push to break through Tarador’s defenses, but in the end the cavalry accomplished nothing, for the enemy had been prepared for a counterattack. As the Royal Army charged into the disorganized ranks of the enemy, an enemy cavalry force that had been held in reserve swung around to hit the right flank of Magrane’s defense, pushing back the first line of defense and jumping their horses over the hastily-dug trenches there.
“Steady, men, steady,” Kyre said though his own hands were shaking and his knuckles were white as he held the reins. His horse was nervous also at hearing the sounds of battle across the field, where the enemy had broken through the Royal Army’s thin outer defensive line, and was now charging toward the princess. “It’s up to us now,” he looked around to meet the eyes of the soldiers he commanded. “Tarador calls us in her hour of need,” he announced though his voice cracked with strain. With the Royal Army fully engaged, the ducal army of Burwyck was the major element guarding the right flank, and the only substantial force between the enemy and the guards ringed around princess Ariana. Kyre made sure his sword was ready, and tried to calm himself as he awaited his father’s order to send the army of Burwyck into glorious battle.
“Soldiers of Burwyck!” Duke Regin Falco called out in a calm and clear voice, understandable even over the din of battle. Kyre readied his heels to urge his horse forward, his chest bursting with pride that his father, his father, would be leading the charge.
Except Duke Falco did not order his army into battle. “Pull back!” The duke ordered. “The enemy is through, we are lost! We must retreat if we are to save ourselves.”
“What?” Kyre exploded, and most soldiers under the command of the Falcos joined the duke’s heir in expressing confusion, their horses milling around uncertainly.
“Soldiers of Burwyck!” Regin called out again. “The princess is lost, we cannot save her! We must retreat if we are to save anything of Tarador!”
“No!” Kyre exclaimed instinctively in astonishment and fear at his father’s totally unexpected action, his voice not carrying as far but heads turned to look at him in confusion. “We must-”
“People of Burwyck,” Duke Falco called out as he reared his horse to gain attention. “Think of your families! Think of your homes! If Tarador falls, we must save ourselves or all is lost!”
“No!” Kyre repeated, pulling on the reins and digging his heels into his horse’s sides, but the animal only turned to the right, where Joss Haden held the bridle. He could see many if not most soldiers who wore the colors of Burwyck were slowly and warily pulling back, leaving nothing between t
he fast-moving enemy and the princess. “No retreat! We must-”
“Sire!” His father’s guard shouted back at Kyre. “Our liege lord has given us clear orders.”
“We can save the princess!” Kyre slammed his gloved hand onto Haden’s hand that was holding the bridle, but the man would not let go. Instead, the man’s other hand swept around and caught Kyre in the face, giving him a bloody nose and rocking him back in the saddle. Shocked and angry, Kyre fumbled for the knife strapped to his belt on the left, his sword trapped out of reach between him and Haden. He got the knife sheath loosened from his belt, intending to use the handle to hit Haden’s hand but the guard saw the knife and hit him in the face again.
“Try to hit me, you royal brat?” Haden growled, reaching for his own knife but he pulled it from the sheath, holding the handle in a position to stab with the point. “You father told me I could-”
Haden’s words were cut off and the guard gasped in shock, as Jonas reached over almost casually and plunged his own dagger in the chest of Joss Haden. The untrustworthy guard fell backward silently, tumbling over his horse’s rump to hit the ground with a thud, his helmet flying off.
Deceptions (Ascendant Book 3) Page 38
