The captain rubbed his face. “If they start to inch their forces out into the meadow,” the captain said, “they could be on us without any warning.”
“Then we must stake as much ground towards them as we can,” Kellabald said, “without beginning the conflict.” The group walked south, watching the dark shapes on the horizon move with evil purpose.
“From my son’s account of his journeys in Harvestley,” Kellabald said, “our best strategy is to try to get the main body of the force moving from the north to the south. If we can get them turning on themselves, even with a force a tenth of theirs, they will fall on themselves and become easy prey.”
“If,” was all Caerlund said with a grim smile.
“I do not think we can succeed by facing them head on, Kellabald said. “From what I understand of the battle of Plymonley, they move in strange groupings. We need to break those groups as the Archer did, and get them moving, somehow...” Kellabald trailed off.
“We need more men,” the Archer said. “Has every region and nation been accounted for?”
“There was a report this afternoon,” Kellabald said, “from a platoon looking for more men in the north, that there were Glafs still in Glafemen.”
“What?!” Alrhett said, catching Kellabald by the arm. “You have not told me this. Was Yulenth among them?”
“I didn’t want you to hope above hope,” Kellabald said apologetically. “The soldier from the Kingdom of Man said he saw two men, and a boy. They wouldn’t let him approach, so he couldn’t tell their true numbers. He thought there might be hundreds still hidden in the ruins of Glafemen.”
“We must send for them at once,” Alrhett exclaimed.
“A hundred men might make the difference,” a captain worriedly said.
“If the garonds attack tomorrow,” Kellabald mused, “then none of it will matter. How can we get a messenger there quick enough? Not even the messenger guild can travel that fast.”
“I can travel faster than the messenger guild,” Arnwylf said.
“Son,” Wynnfrith softly said.
“If there are men who can help” Arnwylf continued, “then they should be called. If Yulenth is among them,” Arnwylf turned to Alrhett, “he would never forgive us for not asking him to join us.”
“No, he wouldn’t” Alrhett said. “It will be very dangerous to ride alone to Glafemen.”
“I have faced down the whole garond army in Harvestley,” Arnwylf said with pride.
“He has, you know,” Caerlund said with a frowning smile.
“I must see you as a man,” Kellabald said with a mixture of pride and sadness, “and command you to go to Glafemen and bring what soldiers will fight with us.”
Wynnfrith clasped Arnwylf to her breast and held him tight. Her tears made it impossible for her to speak in protest.
At Tyny, as darkness fell, Arnwylf prepared his horse for the long ride through the night to Glafemen. Frea came to say goodbye. She stood before him, unable to speak.
“I’ve been thinking my horse must have a name,” Arnwylf said. Frea was choked with emotion and couldn’t answer him.
“I thought you might have a good idea,” Arnwylf said, moving close to her. In the reflected light from the campfires, her hair glowed red and gold, radiating from her face like the golden sun emblem of her nation. There is no woman more beautiful on the face of the earth, Arnwylf thought.
Frea gazed at Arnwylf. He was tall and lean, dressed in protective leathers, a sword buckled to his side. He looked like a boy playing soldier. She wanted to hold him and never let him go. A fear that she would never see him again played across her heart.
Conniker quietly licked his fangs and softly growled, eager to go.
Arnwylf held out his hand. Frea took it. Arnwylf pulled her close. He let his lips move close, and softly press to hers. He felt such joy. Frea wished that she would die in this instant, knowing she would never be more happy, frightened, or sad. Arnwylf held the kiss. It was as if his whole soul was flowing out to her. Frea felt his grip slightly tighten. She wanted him to never let her go. Then, the weight of his task fell on his shoulders, and Arnwylf pulled away.
“Boldson,” Frea said.
“What?” Arnwylf asked.
“Your horse’s name,” Frea said with tears in her eyes. “His name should be Boldson.”
Arnwylf smiled wide. “I like it.”
Wynnfrith and Kellabald, who had been politely keeping back in the shadows, approached.
“Do not fight any garond,” Kellabald said. “Ride to Glafemen straight and true.”
“Come back to me,” was all Wynnfrith could manage before she was choked again with tears, and then kissed and kissed Arnwylf’s face.
“And me, too,” Frea whispered.
Arnwylf got up on Boldson. He wheeled the horse around. Conniker barked and urgently leapt to and fro. “I will be back with help for the battle,” Arnwylf said with valor.
Then, with fierce determination, Arnwylf, astride his warhorse Boldson, with his brother, the white wolf Conniker running at his side, sped into the black, black night.
Chapter Nineteen
The Ruins of Glafemen and Tyny
As Arnwylf rode through the tall grass of the Eastern Meadowland, the night was lit by the rising full moon, Nunee, but the Wanderer was smaller than ever before, farther away, moving on a new, strange path.
Conniker was keeping up nicely with his horse. It wasn’t long before he saw the western edge of the Weald on the horizon. Arnwylf turned Boldson northeast to follow the edge of the Weald to Glafemen.
Conniker began to yip. Arnwylf turned to see three horse garonds in close pursuit behind him.
He knew better than to stop or turn. If they could catch up to him, their horses would be that much more tired. Plus he had an advantage with his white wolf.
“Over there!” Arnwylf called to Conniker. The wolf nodded and faded into the tall grass. The garonds were quickly closing. They roared, trying to unnerve their prey. Arnwylf smiled a grim smile.
Two of the horse garonds pulled even with Arnwylf.
“Now!” Arnwylf shouted. Conniker leapt out of the grass and pulled the garond on Arnwylf’s right off his horse by its throat. Arnwylf used the surprise to back hand the garond on his left with his sword, and killed it.
The last garond was more cautious. It pulled up on Arnwylf’s right, watching for the wolf. Arnwylf gripped his sword in his left hand, and held onto Boldson’s mane with his right. His sword always felt more comfortable in his left hand.
The garond swiveled on his horse and pulled close to strike. Arnwylf quickly flipped his sword to his right hand and jabbed the garond right in the middle of its body. It stared at him, then slowly pulled away from the sword. The third garond fell dead to the swaying grasses of the meadow.
“Conniker!” Arnwylf yelled into the night behind him. He saw the white wolf bounding through the grass. “Come on, boy!” Arnwylf encouraged as they sprinted northeast.
The dark rim of trees of the Weald flowed past as Arnwylf pushed on to Glafemen. The stars were brilliant in the cold, late autumn night. Arnwylf could smell the freshness of the grasses of the meadowland as his horse galloped on. Sometimes, nesting birds burst up in the darkness, startled.
Except for the brief chatter of an angry bird, the night was silent. Arnwylf could hear the rhythmic panting of Conniker. He looked down at his wolf brother and smiled a crooked smile to see his muzzle wet with garond blood.
Arnwylf listened to the soft, snorting breath of Boldson as he pushed on to their destination. The horse was starting to get sweaty, and it was getting difficult to stay on stop of the horse’s back. Arnwylf hoped he would find Yulenth among the Glafs. He hadn’t even known his grandfather was a Glaf. So much of his heritage had been kept from him. He was a prince of the Weald. He didn’t like that thought. He felt completely unsuited for such a title, but his grandmother had been so proud to introduce him to the wealdkin.
Arn
wylf realized his mind was wandering, and he forced himself to stay focused on the horizon before him. He was not going to be caught off guard by any horse garond patrols.
As morning dawned in Tyny, Kellabald asked the elf, the Archer, Caerlund and Healfdene to discuss battle tactics. They walked to the edge of the human encampment. Kellabald was happy to see his troops setting up farther and farther out into the meadowland. They could also see the garond army staking their claim to the battlefield.
“At the risk of being impolite,” Caerlund said, “we should have all the Kipleth archers right up front to break up those animal fighting formations.”
“I understand your enthusiasm,” the Archer said, “but we faced a fraction of the garond army at Plymonley, we most certainly will be facing hundreds of horse garonds.”
“What are the advantages of archers?” Kellabald honestly asked.
“Distance,” was all the Archer said.
“Do you think you could hit any of those garonds out there?” Kellabald said pointing to the garonds on the eastern edge of the battlefield.
The Archer nocked, pulled, and let fly a bronze arrow. It wasn’t even close.
“How do the archers of Kipleth usually fight?” Kellabald asked.
“We stand back and support the infantry,” the Archer said, “until we have to become infantry ourselves.”
“That makes sense,” Kellabald said. “What if the archers all shot straight up, so that the arrows came down in a group?”
“That could be very effective,” the Archer said. “I will make sure we have all the arrows possible.”
“What of the garond archers I have heard of?” Healfdene asked.
“They are pathetic,” the Archer replied.
“I am more concerned with the horse garonds,” Kellabald mused.
“Perhaps,” the elf spoke up, “the garonds don’t know that the Weald soldiers are here. If we could somehow convince them that they will be flanked, they might hold back some of their force.”
“A good idea,” Kellabald said. “So we keep our archers behind our infantry, and rain arrows down on them. How do we stop the horse garonds? We saw at Rion Ta how they charge in a line, and then circle once they’ve cut down their enemy's numbers.”
“We have to stop that initial charge,” Caerlund said. The group looked out over at the enemy forces, their minds racing.
“How do you stop horses?” Healfdene asked.
“Spears?” The elf offered.
“But the riders will just ride around the spearmen,” Healfdene said.
Kellabald seemed to jump out of his skin as an idea struck him. “Perhaps not!” He exclaimed. “But what do we have as a natural advantage? If the garonds see the spears, they will simply avoid them! Yes! How many trees can we immediately fell?” Kellabald began quickly striding back to the camp, his outstretched hands running over the tall grass of the field.
Arnwylf could see the dawn breaking over the blackened ruins of Glafemen. It must have once been a massive palace. Before him stretched a closely cropped meadow filled with long horned aurochs, shaggy doderns, muscled horses, and a few majestic stauers. The grazing animals became excited as they saw the white wolf trotting next to Arnwylf astride Boldson, and scattered before them.
Three men on horses rode down from the ruins towards Arnwylf. The one in the lead was an angry, dark haired boy shouting threats. Arnwylf wondered if he should draw his sword, but then he made out Yulenth on one of the horses.
“Yulenth!” Arnwylf cried.
The dark haired boy pulled his horse up short and looked back at his companions.
“Arnwylf!” Yulenth cried and spurred his horse on to meet him.
Conniker began to excitedly bark. “Don’t you recognize Yulenth?” Arnwylf said to Conniker who immediately became calm, and vigorously wagged his tail.
“The white wolf found you after all!” Yulenth cried as he rode closer. Yulenth pulled up to Arnwylf and leaned across to hug him. They both fell from their horses laughing. “This is my grandson, Arnwylf,” Yulenth said with a broad smile. “This is Ronenth and Solienth.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Arnwylf respectfully said.
“And you,” Solienth returned, but Ronenth just scowled.
“Look,” Arnwylf said marveling, “you have ropes on your horses.”
“My invention,” Yulenth said, proudly handling the rope halters on the Glaf horses.
“I want one right away,” Arnwylf laughed.
“You have to earn one,” Ronenth huffed.
“He can have one,” Yulenth said leading Arnwylf to the ruins. “Let’s get you something to eat. And, we’d best hide that wolf, or he might start a dangerous stampede.”
Arnwylf told Yulenth and the Glafs all that had befallen him since the fight at Rion Ta. “If there are any Glafs left to fight,” Arnwylf said as he shoveled in stew, “we need to make for Tyny immediately.”
“You see before you,” Yulenth said standing, “all that remains of Glaf.” Yulenth was filled with emotion and had to walk away to compose himself.
Arnwylf didn’t know what to say.
“Let them fight their own fights,” Ronenth said with a dark countenance, then rose and walked in the other direction into the ruins.
After an uncomfortable silence, Arnwylf rose. “I must return at once,” he said.
“Let me counsel with them,” Solienth whispered to Arnwylf as he laid a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Stay. We may yet return to Tyny with you.”
In the early afternoon, Kellabald asked all the leaders of the nations to walk to the southernmost edge of the human army in the Eastern Meadowlands. “How is the plan proceeding?” Kellabald asked Healfdene.
“Very well,” the King of Reia responded. “It’s a good idea.”
“And your men are being cautious?” Kellabald inquired.
“You’ve heard the expression, ‘sneaky as a man from Reia’?” Healfdene answered. “The Rangers of Reia are required to live a year on their own, in the wild, before they attain their rank.”
“Do not forget, I am from Reia, my king,” Kellabald said with a smile. “And the arrows for the archers?” Kellabald asked the Archer from Kipleth.
“Every arrow, made by a human, in all of Wealdland, will be at your disposal,” the Archer said.
“Good,” Kellabald said. “Tell them, when the battle begins, do not wait for a command. Shoot and do not stop.”
“It will be done,” the Archer said.
“Do you think the garonds will use burning arrows against us?” Alrhett asked.
“The wind is not in their favor,” Kellabald said. “It will remain easterly for many weeks, this time of year. If they start a fire among these grasses, it will be to their own destruction. No. I think their leader is wiser than that.”
“What of the possibility of their army flanking us?” Caerlund mumbled.
“Their numbers are great enough,” Kellabald darkly said. “We can only hope that Hermergh and his guild are convincing in their mission.” The group came upon the skeletal remains of a massive stauer. “Is this- ?” Kellabald exclaimed, and then he turned to survey the land. “This is the very stauer our clan brought down after you saved us in Bittel.” Kellabald said to the Archer.
“I believe it is,” the Archer said, looking about to fix the location in his memory.
“He was beautiful,” the elf said. “I had hoped he would live. If he had charged any of you, he would have gained his freedom.”
“Yes,” Kellabald said, his mind turning. Then, he told the story of how they killed the stauer.
“We must work together as effectively,” Healfdene said.
“If we can,” Kellabald said, “this strategy may work. We must stretch our soldiers to the safest possible edges of the battlefield. And, we must try to encircle the garond force to keep them from beginning any kind of forward drive.”
“All the nations must work as closely as your family,” Caerlund added.
“If we can stretch our arms wide enough, we may be able to get these garonds running in a circle as you plan. Otherwise...” Caerlund trailed off.
“Tell the story of the stauer hunt to your captains and have them spread it to every soldier,” Kellabald said. The group stared quietly to the east and the black movements of impending war.
At midday, Arnwylf sat brooding, trying to decide if he should ride back to Tyny. Ronenth plopped down next to Arnwylf to closely inspect him.
“You don’t look very strong,” Ronenth rudely said with a sniff.
“I’m stronger than you,” Arnwylf said without looking at Ronenth.
“I don’t think so,” Ronenth said with a sneer. He jumped up and lifted a large rock. “See!” He shouted then let the rock fall with a thud.
Arnwylf sniffed, rose and walked to the rock. He easily lifted it over his head. Arnwylf then picked up a small rock and threw it as far as he could.
“Ha!” Ronenth mocked, and picked up a small stone and threw it just short of Arnwylf’s stone. “What really matters are spears,” Ronenth said, and ran to get Yulenth and Solienth’s spears.
“Stand even,” Ronenth said, “no cheating.” Then Ronenth threw his spear with tremendous force. It sailed out into the meadow and surprised several grazing animals.
Arnwylf set himself and threw his spear. It landed just short of Ronenth’s spear.
“Ha ha!” Ronenth crowed.
“You won’t be fighting garonds with spears,” Arnwylf cried. “You have to face them with swords, as I have done.”
“I’ve killed plenty,” Ronenth yelled.
Arnwylf drew his sword.
“Hey! Hey!” Yulenth cried, running down to the boys. “If you must duel, use tree branches.” Yulenth lead the boys to the woodpile used to fuel their camp fire. “Pick your weapon,” he said. The boys each picked a sturdy branch. “No clubbing,” Yulenth sternly said. “You’re not garonds.”
Arnwylf and Ronenth walked away to a clear space while Yulenth and Solienth watched. The boys knew the older men were watching so their mock swordplay was polite and fair, but soon turned vigorous. Before they knew it, both boys were laughing and leaping about in play, rather than a serious contest of skill.
The Last Elf of Lanis Page 29
