“Huin bless you and keep you fertile, Marshal!” Gorin chortled, excitedly. “We’ve been waiting daily for the hordes to cross the river and burn us out. Or a wandering band to destroy us. But Huin has spared His faithful such depravities,” he said, with all the faith a believer can muster.
Actually, I doubted the Lord of the Fields would have that kind of pull with the Dead God, but what did I know?
“What we require from you, Landfather, is concealment. My men will be arriving from now until midnight, and we chose the route we did to hide our movements from the foe behind your hill. I would like to keep them hidden, to maintain the element of surprise.”
Gorin nodded. “We would be honored to have you here, Marshal. Will you require the sanctuary?”
I glanced at the sky. It was fair, if a little cool – summer was already coming to an end. “I think we can get by with the yard, Landfather, with your blessing. Save the temple for the grievously wounded.”
He looked a little guilty – don’t ask me how I knew, it wasn’t magic, I could just tell that there was something he was keeping back.
“You have something to say, Landfather?” I asked him, boldly. “Something perhaps you were not forthcoming about?”
“Well, Marshal,” he said, smiling too much too suddenly, “when those damn goblins first came o’er the horizon and out of the Mindens, there was a bit of a panic, especially after Lenguin pulled all of his bannermen out of Tudry and left them with naught but the city walls and militia to defend them. Some of the temples and shrines in Tudry decided to go elsewhere, particularly some of the more vulnerable.”
“And this concerns us . . . ?”
“It’s just that in times of danger, this temple has oft been a haven for our fellow priests, and they likewise to us when Green Hill and Fesdarlen get to fighting o’er who claims us, like the Father of the Fields cares who we send tribute to. The Landbrothers and I have been known to go visit some of our sister temples when there’s too many ironclad folk about.”
“I see, Landfather,” I said, not seeing at all, but wanting the man to spit out his tale before I grew old.
“Well, when the mountain folk showed their ugly lil’ faces,” he said, sheepishly, “we had a few . . . refugees arrive, seeking shelter.”
Refugees. I was still confused, but I was willing to give the man another half a minutes of my time. “All right. So where are these refugees now?”
“Come with me, Captain,” he said, with a sigh of resignation. He led me into the temple, a hard stone floor sprinkled with sacred earth, the circular altar at the center of the structure under a window in the roof high overhead. There was no glass – this wasn’t a wealthy region, nor a terribly prosperous temple – but what the interior lacked in sparkles and glittering decorations, it made up for with the intricately-carved wooden panels that ringed the walls, each one portraying a scene from Huin Earthborn’s myth. I bowed reverently at the symbol of the gilded plow on the altar (no baker’s son was going to treat the Grainlord with any but the deepest respect) and waited.
Landfather Gorin went to a back corner of the neatly-kept sanctuary and touched three places on the paneling. There was a slight rumbling sound, and then a section of the stone floor seemed to collapse, before swinging aside.
“In these uncertain times, it’s wise for a Landfather to keep a secret or three,” he said, quietly, as the trap door opened. “Or, in this case, twenty-nine.” Three heads popped out of the door, and stared up at me curiously. “Captain Minalan, this is Herbmother Loradella, priestess of Falassa, and two of her Herbmaidens.”
I’m sure my face looked surprised at the plump, middle-aged face under a dark green wimple that stared up at me. She didn’t look surprised at all – just ill-tempered.
“Herbmother,” I said, bowing. “You and your sisters may come out, for now. I pledge no harm will come to you or your temple.”
“It’s about bloody time!” the high priestess swore, as the two younger women helped her rise out of the hidden room. “We’ve been in there for hours, now! Gorin, what took you so long? I was afraid you’d all been slain by goblins and were slow-roasting on a spit!”
“I’m far too old and stringy to tempt even a goblin’s palate,” the old priest replied, amused. “My apologies, Loradella, but I had to make certain that Captain Minalan could be trusted.”
I suppose I should have taken offense to that, but I didn’t. I knew just how bad having an army around could be, particularly for womenfolk. Too many men – especially mercenaries – did not see a woman in holy orders as any less-beddable than a farmer’s daughter. If she was not pledged to the gods a man followed, he rarely saw the harm.
“So you’re the one who Lenguin finally sent to rescue us,” she raged, bitterly. “About bloody time! Six weeks we’ve had goblins sniffing outside of Tudry, scaring the folk and raiding the farmsteads. Six weeks! And what does that idiot on the throne do? Recalls his men, and leaves us to die! May Falassa give him the itch!” she said, making a sign I assumed was protective in her cult – after she lifted her great bulk out of the pit. The two herbmaidens who assisted her looked almost condemned to their fate.
“Actually, Herbmother, I was sent by His Grace, Rard IV of Castal, although Lenguin has designated me a marshal and given me leave to ride through his lands. But I do intend to rescue Tudry Town from the horde, if I can.”
“Well Falassa bless you, young man!” she said, a mix of emotions on her wide face. “It sounds like you have more brains than a whole court full of nobles! So what can my sisters and I do to help?” she asked, brushing dirt off her hands.
Landfather Gorin spoke. “The Captain has asked that we use the temple as a field hospital. While the landbrothers and I know a thing or two about healing, your herbcraft could prove helpful.”
“For battlefield injuries?” she asked, skeptically. “Give me a simple plague or flux, any day. The herbs useful for such wounds are uncommon, and the poultices are difficult to prepare. We brought some of our pharmacopeia with us, but . . .”
“How many herbsisters are with you?” I asked, curiously.
“Four sworn sisters, and three novices,” she answered, curtly. “I left Herbsister Anawa in charge of the temple – she’s been coveting running the place for years, anyway, thought I’d give her a taste of the bitter leaf of leadership,” she laughed, wryly. “Along with two older Herbsisters, too hoary with age to tempt even the drunkest soldier.”
“Could you find some of those herbs in the forests and meadows? East and south of here,” I added, “not toward the foe. And not toward Kitsal,” I added. “Kitsal is . . . gone,” I added, when I saw the question in her eyes. “If I gave each of your sisters a trooper with a fast horse, could they find some helpful medicines?”
She considered the matter. “Aye, there be four or five herbs wild-grown my sisters know of,” she nodded. “Provided they keep their grabby hands to themselves!”
“I shall vouchsafe their conduct,” I nodded solemnly. “Gorin, you said you had twenty-nine surprises, yet the Herbmother and her ladies account for only eight.”
“You mean those filthy rodents?” the Herbmother nearly shrieked. “Goddess protect my nose, but they stink, Gorin!” she complained.
“All of Ishi’s creatures are sacred in Huin’s eyes,” he said, patiently. “Besides, you get used to them, after a while,” the old priest said, philosophically. “In addition to the Herbsisters, I thought it best to protect the Little Folk,” he sighed. “What’s left of them, at any rate.”
“Little Folk?” I asked. “You mean Riverfolk? Hoylbimi?”
“That’s what some sages call those ignorant rodents,” agreed the Herbmother with a sniff. “A dozen of them, that old man keeps down there with civilized folk!”
“The rest of their burrow was slaughtered by the goblins two weeks gone,” said the old priest sadly shaking his head. “They had a large one, up one of the tributaries to the Moran. Their chief, Lod, begged m
e for sanctuary. What was I supposed to do? They are Huin’s special children, beloved of the earth. Besides, the little buggers know their way around a vegetable garden.”
“And they know some herblore, too,” the Herbmother reluctantly agreed. “But that does not excuse that beastly smell—”
“Herbmother,” I interrupted, before she got going again, “please gather what you need, and I’ll have riders sent to you. Landfather, I need to get a messenger to Baron Merasan of Megelin, without alerting every gurvani in the valley. Do you have a man who knows the way?”
“Aye,” he nodded. “Landbrother Masdal was born in that castle. He knows the quickest way, to be sure.”
“Then get your River Folk out to help gather your herbs, and send Masdal to me when he is ready to ride. I’ll leave fifty men here to guard – we’ll be bringing our baggage train up to the very base of the hill. But I want everything to appear normal, at least from afar. No additional fires, no more noise than necessary.”
The two priests agreed, and I left them to handle the details. I had plenty of my own to handle, and as much as I wanted a chance to talk with the Hoylbimi, I wouldn’t have that luxury until I was certain my plan was in motion. I spent the rest of the afternoon quietly posting sentries and snipers covering the approaches to the hill temple, and placing charms on the trails to discourage any casual wandering in our direction. My men continued to arrive, until just before dusk when the last wagon rolled in.
My men were eager to fight, at first, then reality of the coming battle came to them when they got wind of the tactical situation. This wasn’t going to be a slaughter, like Grimly Wood, or even a rout, like the Battle of the Lantern. There were almost ten thousand goblins out there, nearly three times the size of my force. Luckily, my force wasn’t the only one we would be depending upon.
I called a staff meeting after a cold supper with the men, at my headquarters pavilion, which Hamlan had erected a few hundred yards from the temple grounds. It was the only tent I allowed to be pitched, since I wanted the men ready for battle before sunrise, and unpacking all of that and pitching camp would take time and energy we really didn’t have. But I did need someplace quiet to cast spells, meet with commanders, and plan out our strategy.
Ham had thoughtfully set up the small map of the area we had acquired from the Baron of Green Hill, half the size of his deerskin map, but far more accurate. Particularly since I’d been filling in troop positions from scouting reports, once the Orphan’s Band infantry had marched in, as quietly as they could. They had a good grade of scout who knew their business, and once I established just what I needed to know, the lightly-armored infantry stole out at dusk in twos and threes to take their positions. I made a point to cast a nightsight spell on them, to keep them from getting surprised by gurvani. As most of them had been the subject of such a spell at the Battle of the Lantern, they accepted it almost as commonplace.
My commanders milled around the table (actually, a large flat round shield propped up on a barrel) under my magelights and chewed their lips and grunted thoughtfully as they tried to get a grasp of the tactical situation.
“We have our men here,” I said, pointing to the wooden marker someone had hacked a moon and stars Spellmonger’s symbol in. “We’re going to split into two forces, one primarily infantry, and one all cavalry.”
“We’re not going to use the cavalry to screen the infantry?” asked Bold Asgus, with a grunt. “Orphan’s Band infantry are not going to like that. Warbirds won’t be too happy, either.”
“They’ll have other things to dwell on,” I assured him. “They won’t need a cavalry screen. Because they’re going to be our reserves.
“Look, this is how things stand now. There is the largest band, eight thousand, on the other side of the Anfal between Tudry Town and the Castle Megelin. There’s a band of a thousand south of the Great Western Road, cutting off anyone trying to get in or out from the east. They will have to be dealt with. There’s another force of a thousand north of the road, close to the city gate. Either one or both could hamper any attack from Tudry or Megelin Castle long enough to let the main horde cross the river in support.
“But that’s been the problem for weeks now. Tudry and Megelin are both within range of the horde, but neither one is willing to commit their forces – the knights at Megelin because they are hopelessly outnumbered, and the militia at Tudry because they’re slow, poorly trained, poorly armed and have no support. If either one ventures forth, then the goblins have plenty of time to defend themselves aggressively before the other force comes into play.”
I glanced around the table at my officers. “So here’s my plan: we coordinate with both forces. Tudry’s is the larger, and the slower, so they won’t be able to do more than move their men to here . . . maybe as far as here, before the main horde can cross the river and descend upon them. Now, ordinarily they’d be able to cut the Tudrymen to pieces long before the Baron’s men could arm, mount, and make their way to the battlefield. But if the Baron’s men are forewarned, then they can prepare to ride the moment the Tudrymen open their gates.”
“Won’t that still take too long?” asked Kaddel of Wenshar, skeptically. “Unless they set out almost exactly when the Tudrymen do, they won’t make it to the field in time. Even if they took the foe in the rear, at full charge, the horde could turn on them before they could do enough damage.”
“Yes, and that would seem like a desperate, hopeless maneuver, to the gurvani,” I agreed. “And ordinarily, it would be. But not this time. Because when the horde starts to cross the river, we’ll position the Expeditionary Force infantry to emerge from behind the hill, marching to here,” I said, pushing a pebble across the map, “until they can pin down the southern band watching the road. There’re a thousand of them, but you’ll have archers and infantry, and I will give you two squadrons of cavalry for scouting, screening, and support. All you have to do is tie up the southern band and keep them from hitting the Tudry militias in the flank.”
“That’s feasible,” Bold Asgus said, nodding slowly, which was high praise from the old campaigner. “Especially if they aren’t aware that we’re here.”
“We’ll have to be careful about intercepting their scouts, then. While your men are keeping the southern band busy, the northern band will move to here, most likely,” I said, pushing another pebble closer to Tudry. “They won’t go any farther, or they’ll get trapped in Tudry’s defensive works, but they could get as close as here, stop the Tudrymen from advancing, and keep them busy while the main horde crosses the river in support.
“Only we’re not going to let them. As soon as the northern band starts to move toward Tudry, we’ll time it so that the Baron of Megelin hits them in the rear, full force, lances flashing in the sun. Now, that won’t be enough to kill them, but if he strikes hard and fast and does a lot of damage, they’ll forget all about the Tudrymen while they deal with the knights.”
“And then the big horde will descend on us all and kill us,” Sir Pendolan said sourly as he sipped something strong from a silver flask. “Great plan, Spellmonger. It won’t take them that long to ford the river there. No cavalry, remember?”
“They would, if that’s all they were facing,” I agreed. The man was challenging me, which was arrogant, but that was what you got in a first-rate cavalry officer. Pendolan was always a bit of a pessimist. As annoying as that was to me now, I could understand how a landless knight and mercenary captain might cultivate a poor attitude.
“But as soon as the horde crosses to engage the knights and rescue the northern band, that’s when we charge around the hill, down the slope, and plow into them from the east, on Baron Merasan of Megelin’s flank. All of our cavalry: the Hellriders, the Green Hill knights, and Kavial’s Company, all of them. Hard. As hard as you’ve ever charged, and then you’ll fight as hard as you’ve ever fought. Then,” I continued, as I pushed the big block signifying the main horde across the river, “as our cavalry hits them here, our infan
try can push north along with the city garrisons into the southern flank of the horde, where they can pin them and pour volleyed fire into their masses.”
“And that’s supposed to be enough?” Pendolan asked again. “Captain, with all due respect, the way I figure it every man will have to kill four goblins, if we’re to have any hope of defeating that horde. And what of the ford? What’s to stop them from re-crossing it and awaiting us on the other side?”
“That . . . would be perfectly fine,” I agreed, not backing down. “Indeed, that would be preferable. Not that I care spilling goblin blood, or I wish to leave a foe undefeated in the field, but this is no tournament, Sir Pendolan. Defeat and victory are not counted by how many lances strike, or even how many heads fall. In this case, our goal is not to defeat the enemy, but simply drive him away from Tudry long enough to facilitate the evacuation.”
“And then what, Captain?” Rogo Redshaft asked, curiously. Pendolan was at least listening, although the look on his flinty face told me he was not convinced.
“Once we have the goblins pinned between the cavalry and the infantry, we begin the evacuation of Tudry in earnest. Every man, woman and child who wishes to leave – and I’m guessing that will be the majority, after six weeks of low-level siege – will come down the Great Western Road, behind our infantry lines, and head toward Vorone. We keep the goblins off of them while they move, we win. If we don’t, and they’re slaughtered on the road, then we lose. Those, gentlemen, are the conditions of victory.”
“So we’re risking all of our lives to help a couple of peasants escape?” Sir Pendolan asked, as if that was as foolish as rushing back into a burning building to save a chicken. I was starting to get tired of this. I whirled, and tried to keep the frustration from my voice.
“Yes, Sir Pendolan, that is precisely what we’re doing – only it’s not ‘a couple of peasants,’ it’s near to thirty thousand men, women and children who are desperate and counting on us.”
The Spellmonger Series: Book 02 - Warmage Page 21
