Frostborn: Excalibur (Frostborn #13)

by Jonathan Moeller

  Circumstances dictated tactics. Tarrabus’s planned to send his own horsemen charging at Prince Cadwall’s riders. Since the Swordbearers were currently bogged down within Tarrabus’s camp, there would be no Swordbearers with Prince Cadwall’s horsemen, and no one to combat the powers of the Enlightened. Casualties would be high, but Tarrabus was certain that the Enlightened would prevail over the knights of Andomhaim. When his riders had broken through the horsemen, Tarrabus would circle around and attack Arandar’s footmen from the back. Caught between two forces, the footmen would run for their lives, and the battle would be over.

  Tarrabus looked at the gathering armies and wondered if Calliande and Arandar and Ridmark were with them. Arandar, most certainly. The would-be High King would not let his army march without him. There was no trace of Soulbreaker, and Tarrabus wondered if the Deep Walker had killed Calliande. If Soulbreaker had killed Calliande, then Ridmark was almost certainly dead as well, slain in defense of his precious Keeper.

  Just as he should have died in defense of Aelia all those years ago.

  Tarrabus pushed the sour thought aside and turned to his lords, giving them his instructions. They paled, the timid, craven fools, but they knew better than to disobey him and went to carry out his commands.

  A blast of trumpets from the standardbearers, a wail of war horns, and Tarrabus’s footmen began to move, marching towards the enemy.

  ###

  Arandar galloped towards the Pendragon banner, pushing his borrowed horse to the beast’s limits. Calliande, Gavin, Constantine, and the other surviving Swordbearers and Magistri rode behind him as well, on horses that had survived the battle with Soulbreaker and her minions and horses that had been claimed from the nearby camps.

  They had arrived just in time.

  Arandar took in the sight of the battle at a glance. He had given Dux Leogrance the command of the footmen, and he saw that the Dux of Taliand had positioned the men well. The siege wall covered their right flank, and Prince Cadwall and the combined horsemen of the army had formed up on the left wing. They would be well placed to counter any charge of the enemy horsemen.

  He desperately missed the presence of the Swordbearers and the orcish warriors. No doubt they were still battling their way through Tarrabus’s camp and had likely pinned down many of Tarrabus’s soldiers. Nevertheless, he would dearly have liked to have them here.

  Shouts rang out as Arandar approached the Pendragon banner, and he spotted Dux Leogrance and Dux Gareth waiting beneath the banner, flanked by their knights. The other nobles had dispensed to their commands by now. Arandar reined up, Calliande and the Swordbearers and the Magistri following suit.

  “Lord Prince!” said Gareth. “God be praised. We feared that you and the Keeper had been slain when we saw the dragon fly overhead!”

  “We were not, thanks to the Keeper and to the Swordbearers,” said Arandar, watching the armies. “One of the Swordbearers must have broken the spell within Tarrabus’s camp, and the Deep Walker was banished. Has Tarrabus attacked yet?”

  “Not yet,” said Leogrance. “We were debating whether to attack or to wait.”

  “I would counsel waiting,” said Gareth. “The Swordbearers and the orcs will win through the camp sooner or later, and Tarrabus had the good grace to blast a hole through his own walls for them to use. The Swordbearers and the orcish kings can attack Tarrabus from behind. Or Sir Corbanic, if he issues forth.”

  “I would favor attacking,” said Leogrance, calm as if he was sitting at dinner. “If we pin Tarrabus’s host in place, that will make an easier target for the Swordbearers and the orcish kings. We also have more horsemen than Tarrabus, which will screen our infantry from his knights.”

  “I suspect most of his knights are Enlightened, which means they can call upon dark powers,” said Gareth. “Without the Swordbearers, our men may not be able to stand against the Enlightened…”

  A blast of trumpets rose from Tarrabus’s army, and the infantry started forward, the tramp of their boots echoing off the siege wall on Arandar’s right.

  “That settles it,” said Arandar. “My lords, order the footmen to advance. Archers are to advance in skirmish lines. The cavalry will remain on the left flank of the host, and respond to any moves from Tarrabus’s horsemen.”

  Gareth and Leogrance spoke to their own standardbearers, and blasts from the trumpets rang out, answered by horns elsewhere in the army. In truth, Arandar didn’t know if his orders would make any difference. The battle was already in motion.

  The dice had been cast, and he would see if they would come up with victory or defeat.

  The ground shivered as thousands of men marched to battle.

  ###

  Tarrabus rode behind the lines of his footmen as they marched to war, the nobles and their knights following him. He saw the fear on Timon’s face, and the trepidation upon that of Septimus, and another wave of contempt went through him. At least Verus looked eager at the prospect of battle.

  No matter. They would be surrounded by the horsemen, and they would have no choice but to fight or die. Perhaps if the battle went ill, Tarrabus could shelter behind Timon’s bulk and use it soak up arrows, and his lip curled in amusement at the thought.

  His knights and mounted men-at-arms had endured the siege better than the common rabble in the footmen. Priority had been given to keeping the horses fed and groomed, and they looked ready for battle, even eager. The knights, too, were ready to fight. They were the Initiated of the Enlightened, the wielders of the shadow of Incariel, and they would bring him victory over Arandar Pendragon.

  Tarrabus took his place at the back of the horsemen and drew his sword, shadows streaming from the blade as he called upon the power of Incariel. For a few moments, he watched the two masses of infantry advance towards each other. Crossbow bolts buzzed through the air, falling in dark arcs, as the archers fired at one another. Some of the men-at-arms in both armies had been trained in the fashion of the ancient legions of the Empire of the Romans on Old Earth and so flung volleys of javelins at each other.

  The crossbow bolts and the javelins killed men on both sides, but not in meaningful numbers. The skirmishers were the opening strokes of a duel, the light scratches that two swordsmen inflicted before beginning the serious business of killing. The real fighting would start when the infantry lines crashed into each other.

  And when the horsemen attacked one another.

  Tarrabus’s fingers tightened against the hilt of his sword, the leather squealing in the grasp of his armored gauntlet. Any moment now…

  The blast of trumpets rang from both armies, and with a shout, Arandar’s men abandoned their steady advance and charged. Tarrabus looked at his infantry, and with annoyance he saw that their advance had become ragged as some men hesitated, while others started to fall back despite the shouts of their decurions and optios. They ought to have either charged or formed a shield wall to meet their enemies.

  With a sound like the heavens tearing themselves asunder, the infantry lines slammed into each other, and the sound of a thousand swords striking a thousand shields filled Tarrabus’s ears, accompanied by the battle cries and screams of thousands of men.

  He turned to face Arandar’s horsemen and smiled behind his helm.

  “Now!” he shouted.

  The blast of war horns rang out, cutting through the din of even the melee to his left, and Tarrabus’s horsemen surged forward, the ground rumbling beneath their hooves as they charged Prince Cadwall’s knights. Shadows streamed from Tarrabus’s blade as he raced forward, and around him, hundreds of ribbons of darkness rippled as the Enlightened called upon the shadow of Incariel. Some of them lost control of the power, starting to twist into monsters as the shadow corrupted them, but no matter. Their ferocity would prove useful in the battle.

  Prince Cadwall’s horsemen responded better than Tarrabus’s own infantry. Horns and trumpets sounded, and with a great shout the knights and mounted men-at-arms of Arandar’s army galloped
to meet the charge of Tarrabus’s Enlightened knights.

  Tarrabus had thought the sound of clashing infantry had been the loudest sound he had ever heard.

  He had been wrong. He had been very wrong.

  The thunder of the warring horsemen seemed to fill the world.

  Horses screamed and men died around Tarrabus, the stench of blood and torn flesh filling his nostrils, and he struck right and left with his sword, letting the shadow of Incariel fill him with power. His shadow-wreathed sword took the head from a knight and the arm from another. Around him the other Enlightened called upon their powers, shadows pouring from some of them and paralyzing the enemy, others twisting into monsters and leaping from their saddles to rip apart the foe with fangs and claws. For a moment Tarrabus knew nothing but the fury of steel on steel, his knights and his nobles fighting around him.

  Then, at last, he could spare a look around, and a savage smile covered his face.

  Their charge had forced back Prince Cadwall’s horsemen. Tarrabus’s infantry was wavering, but his horsemen had driven back the enemy riders, and in a little more time they would be past the infantry lines.

  Then it would be easy, so easy, to turn and smash Arandar’s infantry. That would shatter their lines, and Tarrabus’s own wavering infantry would regain heart. He would sweep Arandar’s army from the field, and then he could deal with the orcs and the Swordbearers within the camp.

  Perhaps he could starve them to death as they had tried to do to him.

  Just a little more time and the victory would be his.

  ###

  Arandar watched the furious battle of the horsemen, shadows flickering in their midst as the Enlightened called on their dark powers. Calliande cast spells, hurling blasts of white fire into the melee, and some of the stronger Magistri followed suit. They hardly needed to aim. Arandar knew that the power of the Well’s white fire could harm the Enlightened, but it would spare mortals who had not partaken of Incariel’s dark power.

  It didn’t matter. Even the Keeper’s powers could not change the course of the battle.

  Arandar saw the momentum changing, and realized that he was about to lose.

  His footmen were fighting better than Tarrabus’s infantry, but that didn’t matter. There were hundreds of Enlightened knights in Tarrabus’s cavalry, and without the Swordbearers to counter their power, they were forcing back Prince Cadwall and the horsemen.

  Soon now, they would break through, and when they did, they would wheel and shatter Arandar’s footmen.

  And that would end the battle. Even if the Swordbearers and the orcish warriors emerged from the siege walls, they would arrive too late to do anything. Arandar’s army would already be in flight, broken by the hammer and anvil of Tarrabus’s infantry and cavalry, and Tarrabus could deal with the Swordbearers at his leisure.

  Arandar had failed.

  “I suggest,” said Dux Leogrance, “that we prepare to fall back to the quays. You are the lawful High King of Andomhaim, and you are the Keeper. If we can take both of you safe to Castra Arban, we can continue to resist Tarrabus, even if he takes Tarlion.”

  “Aye,” said Arandar. But he knew that would be a futile gesture. They might escape safe to Castra Arban, but Tarrabus would take Tarlion. The civil war would continue for years, but long before that, the Frostborn would break out of the Northerland and overrun Andomhaim. They would break the Anathgrimm and the dwarves and the manetaurs, and add the entire world as a province to their Dominion of the High Lords.

  And all because Arandar had failed.

  “I think,” said Arandar, “that we shall have to stand and fight here.”

  “So be it,” said Leogrance.

  “It has been an honor, Prince Regent,” said Gareth.

  Calliande only nodded, her staff shining with white fire.

  Arandar set himself and waited for the foe to come.

  Chapter 20: The Fortunes of Battle

  Tarrabus cut down another knight in the colors of the Prince of Cintarra, sending the man’s corpse tumbling from his terrified horse’s saddle to fall to the earth. Around him, the Enlightened knights drove onward. Prince Cadwall’s horsemen retreated, war horns sounding as the Prince called for his riders to reform around his banner.

  It didn’t matter. By the time the Prince rallied his scattered horsemen, Tarrabus would already have turned and smashed Arandar’s infantry. In fact, he saw a group of horsemen gathered beneath the Pendragon banner. Likely that was Arandar himself. Perhaps Tarrabus could, at last, rid himself of Uthanaric Pendragon’s bastard son. Once he had eliminated Arandar and the Swordbearers and seized Tarlion, he could force the remaining lords and the Magistri to bend to his will.

  “Reform!” shouted Tarrabus. “Call the horsemen back! Reform our lines!”

  One of his household knights raised a war horn and blew the signal, and the answering call came from Tarrabus’s scattered horsemen. His knights started to return to his banner, gathering to resume their formation. Not all of them answered his call. Some had been slain, others wounded, and some of the Enlightened had lost control of themselves and transformed into twisted, urvaalg-like monsters. That was of no concern now. Casualties were part of battle, and Tarrabus still had more than enough horsemen to smash Arandar’s infantry. Once the enemy army collapsed, it would be a simple matter to starve out the orcs and the Swordbearers and Tarlion itself.

  “Be ready to charge!” said Tarrabus. “As soon as we have sufficient numbers, we will strike the enemy footmen from behind.”

  “But Prince Cadwall’s horsemen,” said Timon, sweat pouring down his face as he looked back and forth. “They will reform and take us while we attack the footmen.”

  “They will not,” said Tarrabus with annoyance, “because the footmen will break, and Arandar’s entire army will collapse and flee. Cadwall’s horsemen will not be able to attack.”

  He looked around, checking the number of horsemen that had gathered around his banner.

  “My lord King!” said Dux Verus, grinning like a madman as shadows poured from his sword. He had kept control of himself, but his veins were turning black as the shadow of Incariel surged through him in a flood. “No more delay! Let us ride at once and smash the enemy!”

  For once, Tarrabus thought, his vassals were actually giving him sound counsel.

  “Indeed,” said Tarrabus. He turned to the knight holding his banner. “Standardbearer! Sound the…”

  A horn blast rang out.

  Tarrabus’s first thought was that his overeager knights had sounded the charge early. No harm in that. The sooner they broke the enemy footmen, the better.

  Then he realized the blast of the horn had come from the south, and he turned in his saddle with annoyance. Had his infantry called for a retreat? They were suffering under the onslaught of Arandar’s footmen, but the battle had not gone sour enough for them to retreat.

  A flash of color on the siege wall caught his eye.

  It was a massive blue banner adorned with a stylized red dragon, the sigil of the Pendragons.

  Even as Tarrabus looked, horsemen surged from the breach in the siege wall, galloping across the fields.

  ###

  Arandar braced himself for the coming fight.

  Tarrabus’s horsemen reformed themselves in a massive fist to the east, shadows streaming from their swords and lances. Prince Cadwall was attempting to rally his horsemen, but they had taken the worst of it in the exchange, and the loyalist knights and mounted men-at-arms had been scattered and driven back. Had the Swordbearers been there, they might have been able to turn the tide, but the bulk of the Swordbearers were within the siege walls.

  The surviving Swordbearers and Magistri of his guard had drawn up around him, as had the household knights of Gareth Licinius and Leogrance Arban. The gathered Enlightened of Incariel were close enough that the soulblades burned with harsh fire, and Heartwarden seemed fierce and eager in Arandar’s hand. Calliande sat on her horse next to him, her face the
cool mask of the Keeper, though he knew her well enough to see the grimness there.

  Perhaps she was thinking of Ridmark. Arandar had often thought of his wife in moments when he been sure he was about to die, though now he found himself thinking of Accolon and Nyvane. He hoped they would be safe in Nightmane Forest. Tarrabus would seize a ruined and crippled Andomhaim, one that would easily fall to the Frostborn. Perhaps Nightmane Forest would be one of the last places to resist the power of the Frostborn.

  Arandar took a deep breath. Tarrabus’s horsemen would come right at them as they charged the infantry. Part of his mind screamed for him to flee, to withdraw to fight another day, but he knew that the battle would be decided here, along with the fate of the realm.

  He was the lawful High Kingdom of Andomhaim, and he would live and die with his realm. If Andomhaim died here today, so would he.

  Arandar just wished he could have seen his children one last time.

  “Keeper,” said Arandar. “This is your last chance to withdraw.”

  She shook her head. “Everything will be decided here. One way or another.”

  “Perhaps not everything,” said Arandar. “The Anathgrimm still struggle against the Frostborn, and the dwarves and the manetaurs march against them thanks to your labors. They will need your aid.”

  “They need the Swordbearers and the Magistri,” said Calliande. “And I am the Keeper of Andomhaim. I will not abandon this realm to the dark magic of the Enlightened.” She swallowed. “Whatever the cost.”

  Nor, Arandar knew, would she abandon Ridmark, wherever he was.

  “Very well,” said Arandar. He tried to smile. “I suppose not even the High King can command the Keeper.”