As he sat his horse anxiously he could hear the clop of several more horses off to the side, from the direction of the castle proper. Mildly annoyed he turned to issue a sharp rebuke and direct the cavalry members to fall back into formation.
He was surprised to see king Zander trotting up to the front of the line of cavalry. He was followed by his royal guard which consisted of twenty-two armored warriors. They were among the most lethal of all of the kingdom warriors. The King was also armored.
“Your Highness,” Ruguer said, dipping his head in greeting. “Come to watch the battle from the gate? I hope!”
Zander wore armor of polished silver, highlighted by red and green enamel. His helmet was carried under his arm. His mount was an enormous black stallion with a white mane and tail. The size of the animal put the king higher than Ruguer. He looked down at his friend and military commander, the Sword of the King.
“I’m afraid not old friend. This is a battle in which every sword is needed. It makes no sense for myself and my guard to stay inside the walls when we can do more out here.”
Ruguer shrugged, accepting the judgment of his king. Indeed, if Ruguer and the warriors of Olvion failed in this battle there would be no safety for Zander inside the city walls. The only real safety available for his monarch would require him to abandon his city and kingdom to flee for the coast. That meant sneaking out through one of the many secret exits and skulking away while his people died behind him. Ruguer knew too well that this king would never even consider such an action “As you say, Highness...My good friend. Will I have the honor of being at your side?”
“Where else would the King’s Sword ride?”
***
The raiders of the Grey Horde were now repositioned. Karr donned his helmet. With his cheeks and chin protected only his eyes were visible. They were red and watery from the previous night’s indulgences. But he was eager to get on with the battle. He raised his arms over his head and crossed them into an “x” shape. Around him officers and aides began shouting and spewing orders. Karr winced as he saw one of his most intelligent officers drop when a falling iron dart penetrated easily through his helmet.
“Enough,” he shouted. “Move forward. A tenfold of females to the first officer to reach those machines.”
A hundred thousand hunched and drooling grey-skinned Neanderthals lurched forward. They shouted and snarled, energizing themselves for the slaughter that was to come. The main body of raiders slowly edged away from the bluffs and westward toward the human lines. They walked slowly, remembering the exhausted condition of their fallen comrades from the disastrous earlier battle. But the hated war machines that the Olvionis were employing continued to drop death down upon their ranks. Progress was slowed by lines and groups of their fellows dropping and dying around them. Bodies had to be moved aside or stepped over or upon. Cries of the suffering wounded and dying rose to cacophonous levels.
And still the iron bolts fell.
***
“Tinker?” I held my breath not daring to hope. I moved to the cot. The glow bulb was next to her small body. I picked it up and held it over her. There was a flicker to her eyelids. “Tinker! Do you hear me?”
“Tag…Tag…” The words formed in my mind. The connection, though faint, was opening.
I placed my forefinger under her chin and stroked her gently. It was an action that she had always enjoyed.
I used my mind to speak to her. “I’m here Tinker. Can you speak?”
There was definite movement now. It was feeble but movement meant life. I stroked her belly, unmindful of the blood.
“Tag-Gar.”
My heart leapt but I was cautious not to get too hopeful. Alive she may be but her condition was grave.
“Tag-Gar,” she repeated.
“Yes! I am here Tinker. Lie still. I’m taking you back to the city.” I searched frantically around the tent for something clean in which to wrap her.
“No.”
I returned to the cot. Her eyes were now open a little but they seemed to have trouble focusing. “No, take.” I saw her chest rising and falling now with more strength. Her body shivered. I pulled a pelt over her. She closed her eyes then opened them again. This time they seemed less vacant more focused. She looked right at me.
“This fight… over. Your …fight. Out there...”
I ignored her, stood and snatched a cloth from the floor. It was the cleanest thing I could see. I bent forward to wrap her in it. Before I could accomplish that she trilled. It was one of my favorite sounds from her. It reminded me of a cross between a bird’s song and a cricket’s rasp. In my head I could feel our psychic connection to each other growing stronger. I also detected emotions. Affection. Desperation. And defiance.
“No. Fight… waiting. Destiny…waiting.
I fought against her objections.
“No. None of those things matter. I’ll take you back to the city and then join the battle.”
I leaned forward with the cloth in my hands, intending to wrap her body in it. Instead a feeling like a physical force hit me in my forehead. It was like a gust from a gale-force wind. But it was not physical. It was mental, a painful psychic push. I rocked back, astonished. On the cot Tinker’s small frame shuddered. The feeling of disapproval washed over me.
“Friend. Please. No strength. Effort hurts.” She was looking me in the eye now. Her mouth was open and she breathed deeply through it. Blood leaked from her nose. Her back bowed as a jolt of pain hit her. “Always… friend. Go. They…..” The projected words faltered. I felt horrible making her use her waning strength she had to fight me. I knew that if I pushed her much more it might be too much for her.
I hung there on the horns of my dilemma. If I did not immediately undertake to get her back to the city where Dwan could administer to her she could die. Or at least I felt this was so. But on the other hand, she was going to use what little remaining strength she had to force me to abandon her and join the battle.
“Please, Tinker,” I begged. “I am one man. One man, one sword cannot make a difference in a battle of thousands. I can get you to safety now and then fight. Please let me do this.”
Tinker licked blood from her paw then laid her head back down on the filthy bed. Our connection strengthened in my mind.
“Not… one man. Legend. Sleep now.”
Her eyes closed.
***
Vynn saw Geord standing up in the middle of the line of crossbow wagons beckoning frantically to him. He rode as quickly as he could through the defense lines until he reached the old man’s side. Vynn noticed he was red faced and sweating. He had been working far too hard for a man his age. Still, there was no sense in anyone being cautious now. Everyone’s life was up for grabs this day. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and tried his best to calm him.
“We have five weapons inoperable,” the elder craftsman blurted. “And three more almost there. The bowstring wires are fraying faster than we had judged.” There was panic in his face.
Vynn searched the line of weapons for the ones which were out of commission but was not able to see them. There was still much confusion and movement of bodies in the ranks, not to mention the clouds of dust being raised by all of the activity. Still, Vynn was not too concerned. There were plenty of useable cannon working. He began to tell this to Geord but the man was talking again.
“And we are running out of iron bolts. We have enough for three or four more volleys at best.” Geord wiped the sweat from his face with a blue rag. “When they are gone we will have to start using the wooden arrows. Their range is shorter and they are less effective on armor and shields.”
“Do what you can for as long as you can Geord,” Vynn said. “As we are running out of iron bolts the enemy is growing closer. The reduced lethality of the wooden arrows will be less of an issue. But listen, my friend. We depend on you, your knowledge of these machines is critical. You can be of no help if you don’t slow down and let others help you.”
<
br /> Before the older man could object Vynn turned away to rise up in his stirrups and get a better view of the advancing enemy formation. They were clearly getting closer. But they were also just as clearly losing troops at every step. Thousands of grey bodies lie dead or dying in the dust of the valley. Already the black carrion birds were alighting. This day promised a feast. Vynn knew that each grey corpse they landed on was one less they would need to defeat in shield-to-shield combat when the two lines met. Vynn glanced over his shoulder at the four main gates from the city. He knew Ruguer and his cavalry were waiting just inside for the right moment in which to strike. The cavalry had always been their biggest asset. If only they’d had the time to seek out, capture and train more horses.
KARR
Karr watched his forces as they moved ever closer to the human battle formation. He was still trying to figure out the reason for the odd configuration. It offered no advantage that he could see. But humans were clever. In his heart of hearts he knew that they were far cleverer than his kind. But he was confident in his own intelligence and in the tactics offered by his “advisor”. Surely with such a magical creature on his side victory would be his.
The Grey’s front lines had progressed over half of the valley floor and were now three hundred yards from the humans. The constant rain of missiles from the damned new weapons had paused momentarily while the warrior crews were repositioning them, dropping the elevation to account for the changing distance of Karr’s main attack body. He decided to take advantage of the lull. The Grey King raised his battle axe above his head and made an exaggerated motion of chopping it downward. His aides and officers saw the signal.
A terrifying howl rose up from their ranks. Having now finally been released from their forced slow advance and the constant deluge of the terrifying black bolts they eagerly surged forward at a run. Gone was any attempt at maintaining a solid and even front line. The fleetest of the attackers raced forward, anxious to claim the glory of the first kill.
Karr screamed, cursed and spat but none of it was heard or heeded. The plan had been to have his fighters advance more quickly but still in an organized formation. Contrary to his earlier instructions the horde was once again operating as a mob. Karr watched impotently as his fighters followed their instincts and past bad habits, throwing down the few shields they had among them and casting aside their heavier and longest-reaching weapons, all in an attempt to run faster.
When the horde had closed to within two hundred yards the crossbow machines spat their iron darts again. This time, instead of throwing them at an arc to fall on the beasts, they were launched straight into their formations. As bad as the falling bolts had been this was even more devastating. Faced with a wall consisting of thousands of advancing sub-humans the heavy iron bolts now were assured of at least one and sometimes two or three victims. If a missile missed a target in the first rank it simply continued on until it struck flesh. The sheer velocity of the bolts frequently drove them through the first target and into the raider behind. Every volley now claimed at least six hundred casualties. Karr screamed in frustration as he watched twelve hundreds of his fighters fall in a matter of minutes.
Still, he had bodies to spend. And he would continue to spend them until those evil machines were reached and destroyed. He could see his uneven battle lines drawing ever nearer to the weapons. They were now only a hundred yards away. Once the raiders fought their way through the human defenders they would smash the weapons to splinters and turn their attention to the city dwellers. Then the wider lines of the Greys would begin their slow but inexorable enveloping of the human flanks. Like a serpent his raiders would surge along the sides of the human formation, turning their thinner front line of defense into a three-pronged trap.
Then Karr saw something happening. There was movement in the human ranks. Something was definitely happening but Karr was unable to determine exactly what.
***
Vynn now stood atop an ammunition wagon and waved at Gallan. The older warrior was grinning broadly as he watched the mayhem being visited upon the enemy. Vynn gave him the pre-arranged signal. Gallan nodded then cupped his hands over the sides of his mouth as he yelled orders to the mounted warriors who were operating the signal flags. Yellow pennants were now being waved back and forth by the signalmen. Shouts rose up from the Warrior officers accompanied by loud blasts from buglers located at the rear of the Olvioni formation.
The third line in the human battle configuration was composed of the wagons which bore the crossbow cannon and an equal number of wagons which carried the ammunition, both iron and wooden. At the new signal the fourth line, which consisted entirely of ten thousand archers, ran forward. Many of them climbed up on the wide platforms which every ammo wagon had protruding from their sides. The other archers simply aimed their arrows to pass over the heads of the Olvioni defenders in the front lines. Ten thousand arrows were pulled back and held, awaiting permission from their commanders to be released.
Vynn mimed a signal like a man releasing a bowstring and ten thousand arrows streaked a hundred yards and pierced wave after wave of attacking grey raiders. By an agreement that had been reached earlier and passed on to the warrior troops, all of the archers under Vynn’s command were firing at the Greys on the north side of the battle lines while those under Gallan concentrated on the beasts attacking from the south.
The reason for the unusual shape of the Olvioni battle formation was now finally becoming apparent. Having a bent front line gave the archers a better angle from which to target the Greys who were trying to wrap around the human flanks.
While the wings of Karr’s army were being assaulted by the archers, now that they were close enough to be effective, the crossbow cannon continued steadily chewing away at the middle lines.
KARR
Karr screamed in anger. He ripped off his helmet and threw it to the ground, then slapped a soldier next to him and sent him to retrieve it. The slow but steady progress that his raiders had been making was now stalling.
The typical Grey One went into battle expecting a brief and furious fight against inferior humans who were terrified of him. Most of the raiders with him today had experienced numerous smaller victorious raids marked by few casualties on their side. Afterward they would gorge on the remains of their enemies and pack away their stolen treasure which would be quickly taken back to the Grey Mountains. There they would receive the admiration of females and the new council of elders.
This was something different. This was not raiding. This was not sneaking down into the valley in tenfolds and falling upon humans working in the fields or sleeping in their wooden dens. This was battle. This was war. And it demanded patience and loss and sacrifice.
All throughout Karr’s main body of raiders, individuals were looking around themselves. Tens of thousands of dead Grey Ones now littered the valley. The smell of blood and spilled viscera was overpowering. Cries were rising up from those who were horribly wounded and dying. Any Grey, no matter how dense, could easily see that a full third of their army had been destroyed already. And they had not yet struck even the first blow on the human enemy. Why were they following a “king” who had led them to this slaughter? Where was the easy victory he’d promised them? The food? The treasure? The honor and admiration of their people?
Karr was no fool. He could read the thoughts of his raiders in their eyes and their glares. He saw fighters melting away from the front lines, disappearing into the safety of the rear ranks. The hunger and greed of his people that had served Karr so well and had attracted the army that followed him and named him king was draining away like sand through his fingers. He had to do something soon or this would become a rout. Already dozens could be seen fleeing toward the hills, deserting their task and their king. Those could be dealt with later. But if something was not done soon the dozens would grow to hundreds, then thousands. Then the others would see their brothers running away and ask why they should die for this king when others would not. A
nd then it would be over.
But one last task would be performed. The Grey Ones had few traditions. Some had recently been done away with by Karr, himself, as the new king. Like the superstition about consuming the flesh of a vanquished foe. With an army this size that was an irrational belief that could not be afforded. The same thing happened with the notion that the word of the Elders was law and not to be challenged. Karr himself had put them to the sword as they lie in their sleeping couches.
But those were not the traditions that Karr was now thinking about. He was remembering the tradition of killing and dismembering the body of a war leader who unwisely led. The body parts were then carried home to the Grey Mountains and fed to the curs. Except the head. It was skewered on a sharp pole and installed at the toilet pits. This was the most disagreeable of all possible deaths for the Grey Ones. There were no such skulls in the pits of Karr’s tribe. That meant he would be the first of his tribe to be so dishonored. And it was this prospect that Karr could feel closing in on him. He knew he had to do something. And he had to do it now before the collective courage of his raiders broke.
***
Gallan smiled as he watched the advance of the enemy stall, then slowly begin to recede. A veteran of many battles he could feel that a shift was near. The Greys were losing tens of thousands of fighters and the Olvionis had yet to give up even one. Many grey murderers were paying for the losses of Gallan’s sons. The old soldier felt a great calm descend upon him. Whatever happened now, he had definitively avenged their deaths. The debt could now be marked paid.
The Olvion Reality (The Chronicles of Olvion Book 1) Page 44
