Kraine gazed back at him for a long moment and then looked past his childhood friend at the young men filling the rank and file of Cumberland, gazing longer at them. Then; slowly, giving vent to a sigh of reluctance, he nodded. “Alright. I will see you after, Kit.”
Kitchell’s eyes grew moist with gratitude as he turned away to rejoin his men. “I will see you after, Olyeg.”
Moving along to the next regiment, one drawn mostly from southern and southeastern Elam, Kraine found Marteren Hulse in the midst of quietly exhorting his troops to “stand together, put your weight into your pikes when they come. You in the second and third ranks – when a man falls, move up, plug every hole; show the enemy a solid front.”
Kraine hung back and waited for the sub-general to finish his exhortation and then he moved up to stand near Hulse. Together, they watched the enemy come. Kraine reached out and put a hand on Hulse’s shoulder. “That’s good advice – what you told the men,” he said, and then he turned and indicated another regiment standing a bit behind the line.
“Evan Cinnabar’s regiment of reserves is just there. He has been instructed to release them in companies of a hundred at a time.” He glanced down the hill and then met Hulse’s gaze. “If you get into trouble – send a runner to Cinnabar; tell him how many you need. Hold the line, Marteren, and we’ll be alright.”
Hulse saluted his commanding general solemnly. “We will hold, sir.”
Both men turned to look up toward the ridge top as a voice shouted a command. A moment later there came the sharp twang of hundreds of bow strings.
A cloud of long, thin, deadly missiles flew over the lines and arced down toward the approaching host.
Kraine watched them sail toward the enemy to fall among that advancing, grim host and then looked once again at Hulse. “The Maker be with you,” he said.
“And with you, sir.”
29.
Mallet watched the long dark line of the enemy sweeping toward him with rising alarm. The end of that line of vicious intent extended far beyond the limits of the hill that he had promised Lord Aram he would hold to the very extent of his life. For perhaps the hundredth time, he bent anxious eyes upon the surrounding terrain, trying to decide which weak point – of the myriad of weak points – would ultimately prove to be the weakest.
The continuation of the main ridge that ran behind his position to the east fell over ever more sharply as it angled away and appeared to become far too steep for even a lasher to climb without great difficulty. Undoubtedly then, the enemy flank would turn toward this hump of scalable high ground and concentrate upon its slopes. It was becoming obvious to Mallet that all those extra ranks of the enemy would have to come right here, to this little mound of earth that had been entrusted to him.
His vow to hold unto death was beginning to look more like a prophecy than a promise.
He looked over at Jonwood, standing to his right, near where the hill sloped away due east toward the mouth of the small canyon that ran behind them. “Unless those Senecan archers and the wolves can help us out, we are going to very soon have more company than this ground will allow,” he growled.
The compact little man grinned up at his giant companion. “Yes,” he agreed with savage anticipation. “Won’t it be fun?”
Mallet frowned and shook his head. “No, Jon – it will be hell to hold this hill.”
Jonwood watched the big man’s face for a moment as his grin faded. “The Senecans will help us,” he assured Mallet. “You told me yourself that Captain Matibar drove one of those arrows straight through a post the size of a large tree.” He shrugged. “And you know that the wolves will help. Shingka can kill a lasher by herself, and that big black wolf – the one that looks like Durlrang? – he seems ready to take on the whole enemy army by himself.” His grin reappeared. “We’ll be alright, my friend.”
Mallet glanced back toward the archers from the east, and then let his gaze drift down over the rough slopes of the canyon where, here and there, one could just make out the shadow of a four-legged warrior lurking among the rocks.
But then his attention turned once more to the many thousands approaching his position across the floor of the valley. Manon’s army was nearing the base of the hill. Farther west, in front of the main army, their grim companions were already ascending the slope. Mallet shook his head in uncertainty once more. “I don’t know how many arrows those Senecans have with them, but I doubt it will be enough to make any great difference with that lot. There are so many.”
Jonwood watched the dark host come and then reached out and laid his good hand on Mallet’s arm. “Lord Aram won’t forget us,” he said.
In response, Mallet waved vaguely at the broad slope that stretched away to the west behind them. “Lord Aram has a whole army to worry over.”
“He does,” Jonwood agreed but then insisted, “Still – he will not forget his friends.”
Down on the plain, the long lines of the grim gray host had reached the edge of the gentle slopes that led up toward the summit of the hill. As Mallet had foreseen, as the main force immediately below them halted at the base, the enemy flank began to curl in upon itself, hooking around the base of the hill.
They were – all of them – apparently intent on coming right up to the place where the small force of Wallensians held the right flank of the army of free people.
May the Maker help us, thought Mallet.
A voice rose in sharp, clear command behind them.
“Loose!” It said.
30.
Sitting on Jared at the extreme left of his half of the cavalry, right behind where Thom Sota had finished his exhortation to the men of Lamont and Elam, Nikolus watched the Senecan missiles fly overhead to drop among the ranks of the enemy. He smiled with satisfaction as here and there gaps appeared in that line of hulking monsters at the rear of Manon’s army. Some of those gaps were large and long. Apparently, some groups of the eastern archers had found the range together, obliterating large chunks of the lasher ranks. Hundreds of those beasts went down, many of them never to rise again.
Still, the enemy came on, and there were thousands.
He glanced to his left, toward the road at the center, and then looked down at the back of Jared’s head. “I want to talk with Timmon a moment – before things heat up,” he told the horse.
As Jared swung away, Nikolus looked over at Stevven, his lieutenant. “I will return in a moment. Wait here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is the limit of mind-speak?” Nikolus asked Jared as the big brown horse cantered toward the center. “How far away can you hear the voice of another of your people?”
“Beyond the limits of this valley,” Jared answered shortly. “Why do you ask this thing?”
“Can you hear even in the midst of battle?” Nikolus persisted.
Jared swung his head around. “Noise in the ears complicates communication – certainly. Still, if the communication is clear and specific, I will hear. Why?”
Nikolus looked up as they approached the wagon on the roadway that contained the cannon. “I fear this pavement, Jared, for it pierces our center like the business end of a lance. I know that Lord Aram understands this and is here, but he will have much to consider this day – besides, nothing can be done about it, the road is here and cannot be moved. Bonhie is with Timmon, helping with the wagon. If Timmon or the company to his front that protects the roadway gets into trouble, I want Bonhie to be able to summon you and me – and the rest of the cavalry – to their aid.”
“Do not fear, Nikolus,” Jared replied. “Even in the midst of battle, I can hear. I will instruct Bonhie to call upon us, if needed.”
“Thank you, my friend.”
As they came up, Timmon was standing in front of the gun with his crew, gazing down the road. As Jared turned his head and spoke to Bonhie, Nikolus saluted the cannoneer.
“How goes it, Tim?”
The clever man from Aniza smiled a tight smile as he t
urned to look up at Nikolus. Lifting one hand, he pointed at the distant tower, rising dark and sinister above the barren plain. “That vicious bastard in that tower and his servants destroyed our homeland. Today, we destroy both them and theirs.”
Nikolus frowned at him. “You sound confident.”
Timmon’s smile left his face. “I believe in destiny, Nik; I always have. You remember my sense of unease in the years before the armies of the grim lord came into Aniza?”
“I do,” the horseman admitted. “You always said evil times were coming.”
Timmon nodded. “And evil times did come, didn’t they?” He turned and looked down the long slope for a moment, watching the approach of the forces of the enemy, and then lifted his gaze to the heights of the tower rising beyond. “I believe everything happens for a reason,” he continued, looking back up at his friend. “You and that horse found each other for a reason.” He turned to look at the wagon anchored in the road behind him. “And that cannon came to me for a reason.”
A strange light seemed to come into his eyes as he gazed first one way and then the other along the vast lines of the army that stretched away in both directions. The muscles along his jawline worked with emotion as he once again met Nikolus’ eyes.
“We’re supposed to be here today, Nikolus. This is where everything will end, and it is our destiny – both yours and mine – to be here.” He paused, looked away down the slope once more, and then nodded solemnly as his eyes filled with moisture. “I feel the hand of the Maker in all this – so, yes; I am confident.”
Nikolus looked down the slope as well. The enemy was within a few hundred yards of the front lines. Even though the Senecan archers were busy thinning the ranks of the great beasts that brought up the rear of the enemy army, more than enough of those monsters would survive to bring havoc up the hill with them. He leaned down and held out his hand. “Have Bonhie summon Jared if you need us, my friend.”
Timmon took the proffered hand, gripped it and held tight for a long moment. “This is our destiny,” he repeated. “This is where the paths of our lives have led.”
“I believe you,” Nikolus said. “Stay safe.”
“I will – you do the same.”
31.
Aram leaned forward in the saddle and tried to gauge the amount of damage that Seneca was inflicting upon the ranks of the lashers. For nearly every missile released by those deadly archers, one of the great beasts stumbled, many fell, and in places sizeable gaps appeared in their ranks. It appeared that thousands were being removed from the ranks. But many got up again and came on; even injured, they would be formidable foes when they reached the lines of the waiting men.
As he watched that long dark line come toward him, the low rumbling thunder of their boots intensifying by the moment, Aram felt suddenly out of his depth. The size and scope of the imminent clash abruptly became crystal clear.
And in the context of that imminent, massive struggle, his part seemed to him to grow pale and diminish in importance.
The two armies about to come face to face upon this barren slope were approximately equal in size – his, he realized, might actually be numerically superior, especially now that the lasher ranks were being devastated by Seneca.
The presence of lashers in the opposing host that survived to reach the front negated his numerical superiority to a very great extent, whatever the number of beasts that lived through the deadly aerial assault. Still; even as he watched, their numbers were being continually reduced by the missiles of Seneca, and his heart lifted with every monster that dropped and didn’t rise again.
Even so, many would survive, and there were more than enough gray men to occupy every soldier in his ranks.
Watching the many thousands coming up the slope, Aram had an epiphany. In that instant he comprehended the reason for his feeling of impotence. He was accustomed to being involved in much smaller confrontations, in which he and the Sword were able to make a dramatic difference upon the field.
Today, with nearly two hundred thousand combatants about to meet in the raw conflict of battle, any difference he would make would necessarily be confined to one small area of the field. Despite its awesome power, the influence of the weapon was limited to Aram’s presence.
And the front stretched across three miles or more.
He could not be everywhere at once.
Today’s outcome would be decided by the actions – and the strength and courage – of thousands of others, rather than by any single action on his part.
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Joktan had warned him that it would ultimately come to this.
Now it had.
He looked back and forth across the slope. Because of the ravine-riddled ground, the lines of the enemy had become more than a little disordered. Still, they came on, up and over the rocky slope. As another volley from Seneca fell among them, the lashers in the rear roared in fury and drove the lines of gray men harder.
Aram studied the lines of the foe immediately to his front and gauged the distance. They would soon come within the range of normal archery. Doubtless, there were archers among the ranks of the enemy as well. He looked up at the sun, glowing dim and wan above the layer of thick haze. The Sword would find little to use, he feared, from that pale disc.
Still, he drew it forth and held it up.
To his surprise, the song of the blade arose immediately, and within moments, tongues of flame appeared and began to ripple along its length. Submitting to the pull of the sun, he let it rise higher, turning it this way and that, in order that it might gather whatever it could from that shrouded orb.
When about a hundred yards separated the combatants, horns blared among the enemy ranks and the long line paused. In the rearward ranks of gray men the arching tips of bows appeared above the helmets of those in the front ranks.
“Sound cover!” Aram shouted and the bugles sounded their response, reverberating away to the east and west along the front.
Shields came up along the line as a dark cloud of arrows rose up from the ranks of the enemy and descended toward the waiting soldiers of the army of free men.
Aram stood up in the stirrups, with the Sword stretched aloft.
He watched the dark mass of arrows pass through the top of their arc and begin to descend; then he swung the Sword in a broad stroke through the falling cloud of missiles, releasing its accumulated fire a bit at a time. As the golden flame sizzled and leapt out from the end of the blade, it turned many of the black arrows to dust along the center of the lines.
But many more got through.
Out beyond the reach of the flame, farther to the east and west along the extent of the army, all the deadly darts of the enemy fell among the ranks of his men. And they brought death and injury down with them. Among Elam especially, deployed to the right and left flanks of the army, the missiles of the enemy did serious damage. Those soldiers had never known the terror of death raining from the sky. Some of those men, too many, were unprepared, and did not properly employ their shields.
Death and injury came among those men with the descent of the enemy’s missiles.
Yells of surprise and terror mingled with screams of pain along that vast front. Here and there, the injured arose and began to hobble toward the rear, in places accompanied by those who were not injured but who were shocked into retreat by the first touch of death in their ranks. Most of these uninjured were cajoled back into the lines by their commanders, but a few could not be persuaded to return.
Ignoring this by-play, having seen it all before, Aram raised the Sword again in preparation for another volley from the enemy.
And it came.
And then came again.
Three times, Manon’s archers released their darts into the waiting lines of men above them on the slope. Each time, death and injury came with those missiles.
Then, with a great concerted roar from the throats of many lashers, the dark host of the enemy rushed up the last hundre
d yards or so, moving with surprising speed over the rocky incline, lowering their pikes as they came.
“Prepare to meet the enemy!” Aram shouted, and heard his words echoed by commanders all along the front.
Ninety thousand pikes went a bit below the horizontal, pointed down toward the gray mass sweeping up the rocky slope.
The battle for the freedom of earth had begun.
32.
Many of the arrows that had fallen among Kavnaugh Berezan’s troops had been poorly aimed and missed their intended targets, falling harmlessly either to the front or the rear of the main ranks. Most of the rest bounced off shields or imbedded themselves into rocky earth between soldiers. But of those that found his men, many wrought serious damage, killing more than a few men outright and wounding others.
“Wounded to the rear!” He roared. “The rest of you – reform the line! Reserves into the gaps – now!”
As the enemy charged up the rough slope toward his lines, he found his attention drawn away from the oddly mesmerizing view of the approach of that imminent threat by the need to repair the rifts in his front.
At the moment the enemy impacted his lines, he was looking away, toward the east, attempting with desperate speed to move a company of reserves into a fairly large gap that had appeared in his lines, where a concentrated cloud of arrows, whether by design or accident, had found his troops. This gap appeared just above the point where a ravine cut downward through the slope. Thankfully, this ravine slowed the enemy and gave him the time to plug the hole.
He was still looking toward the east, willing the company of reserves into place when the enemy slammed into his lines. The sudden eruption of sound that exploded in his left ear momentarily deafened him.
Shouts, yells, screams, howls of rage, pain, and fury; these all melded into a roar that seemed as if it would, by its suddenness and intensity, crack the very firmament above him.
Kelven's Riddle Book Five Page 23
