The Pool And The Pedestal (Book 2)

by Daniel McHugh

  Manfir paused again.

  “This is a significant breach from usual Keltaran tactics and protocol.” interjected General Wynard. “To march from the shadows of their sacred mountains is a risk, even for an army so large.”

  “Yes.” replied Manfir. “In the past this would be an accurate assessment of the situation. However, times change. The Anvil always feared our cavalry. How does that cavalry stand now, General Wynard?”

  The old veteran frowned and lowered his head.

  “It’s weak, my lord.” answered the General. “Horse flesh is hard to come by and experienced riders even harder. Many have been sent toward the Scythtar.”

  Manfir spun and swept his eyes across the room.

  “And so gentlemen you can see why the Anvil has chosen a difficult time for us. Our traditional advantage against them is at its lowest point of strength in all of our history. Izgra and his Ulrog have seen to that. We steadily bled cavalry reserves from the Zorim Mountains to prop up our losses along the Scythtar. A feasible compromise in tactics if the Keltaran continued their reclusive ways. However, we discover an enemy to our West as resolute and aggressive as the one to our North. So the question arises. How does Zodra defend herself?”

  The room went silent. All were well aware of the Capital city’s limited number of supplies and troops.

  “The situation looks dire indeed, my lord.” said Yully finally. “However, the great city state of Zodra was built for such a challenge. I would stake my life on these walls holding back the Anvil for decades. If we must face a siege, there is no safer place.”

  Several of the generals present nodded and voiced their approval of Yully’s confident statement. The comments faded and once again the room quieted.

  “Pardon, my lord.” said Flair finally. “But talk of a siege simply does us no good.”

  Yully and the other generals frowned at the lad.

  “No offense to the members of the General Staff.” continued Flair nodding in Yully’s direction. “But preparing for a siege is the same as taking our own lives.”

  “Nonsense!” scoffed the general. “It’s a sound military tactic. It may not evoke much of the glory you young men desire but once the Keltaran run out of supplies and will power, they will eventually be forced to return to their mountains.”

  The members of the General Staff added their grunts of approval.

  “How long might that be?” asked Flair.

  “That depends.” returned the general. “Several sieges in antiquity lasted for decades.”

  Once again those members of the General Staff gathered about Yully affirmed his superior knowledge of the matter. Flair shook his head disapprovingly and the gathering silenced.

  “Our men to the North don’t have decades, gentlemen.” admonished Flair. “They need our assistance now, as the Ulrog threat builds, not years from now. If we hold up within these city walls for decades, we would most assuredly emerge into a world devoid of life as we now know it. However, I’m firmly convinced we would never emerge.

  The Ulrog threat grows to the North. The Hackle’s numbers grow and their masters prepare them for all out war. Our brothers in the Guard will be the first to feel the sting of that war. We were gathered to aid them in their need. We must stop the Ulrog. To consider preparing for siege now is to condemn our brothers in the North to death and admit defeat!”

  The room hovered in silence for a moment then erupted in dozens of animated and heated discussions. Flair ignored the clamor and remained fixed upon the eyes of Yully. The old soldier silently sat staring back at the young man and weighing his words.

  “Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” interrupted Manfir as he turned back to Flair. “Colonel Flair provides valid points, but offers no solutions. If we depart to march North and engage the Ulrog, we leave the city wide open. Should we risk all upon the slim hopes of victory in the North?”

  “No, your majesty.” replied Flair. “I propose no such thing. I propose victory to the West followed by victory to the North.”

  Once again the room filled with exclamations.

  “Impossible!” shouted one general.

  “Preposterous!” added another.

  “How you die is immaterial!” shouted Flair.

  The room silenced.

  “Die within these city walls from starvation! Die on the blade of a Keltaran Berserker’s ax! Die from the slash of an Ulrog cleaver!” continued Flair. “Does it matter how you die?! We have no other choice than total victory. Izgra has seen to that. The only road to total victory is a coalition of our forces against the Ulrog to the North. Unfortunately the Keltaran force our hand. First we must rid Zodra of the Anvil, then we can focus our attentions North.

  However, to sit back and remain locked within these walls is to accept death. We need our forces to the North as much as they need us. To allow them to be slaughtered simply delays our own destruction. I would rather lose my life in a bid for victory than buy a few more months of breath at the cost of guaranteed defeat!”

  Conversation in the room rose once more amongst all save Yully and Flair.

  “What of the Spear?” prompted a militia commander. “King Macin was to deliver them.”

  “The Rindorans encountered trouble gathering animals to carry their supplies and troops.” stated Brelg. “Once they arrive they will add hundreds of riders to our cavalry and an equal number of infantry, but who can say when that arrival will come. Runners from the river city claim they will be on the move shortly.”

  “With their numbers added to our own, we can make a stand within the defenses of the city.” stated the militiaman.

  “No.” replied Flair. “One thousand or one hundred thousand. It matters not how many you bottle up within these walls. The fact remains that you’re bottled up. The Anvil will surround the city and concentrate on the two gates. If we attempt to fight our way out of their tight enclosures we are lost. Any cavalry are ineffective in these battles. We will be cut down and forced back within the city walls.

  All would be lost as we await the eventual arrival of the Hackles. The other possibility is the Spear arriving late. The Anvil would imprison us within these walls and hold the Rindorians at their mercy on the plains to the South. Our forces would be split and useless. The only way to be effective against the Anvil is to combine our forces and confront them in the open.”

  A few of the men present murmured their assent of Flair’s logic. General Yully stood and a sly smile crept across his face. He moved toward Flair.

  “Some here might imagine that you propose abandoning the city and moving South to join the northward marching Spear.” stated Yully raising a brow. “They would be wrong would they not, Colonel Flair?”

  “Yes, they would, sir.” replied Flair.

  “You came to this room with a much bolder plan, didn’t you?” asked Yully.

  “Yes.”

  Yully laughed and the room stared at the old general.

  “Bold, my boy! Exceedingly bold!” chortled the old man. “So where do you propose we make this stand of yours?”

  “What are you talking about, general?” asked the militia commander.

  Yully spun to the crowd.

  “Don’t you see?” smiled the general. “If you’d spent more time listening than cackling like a group of old hens you might have. This crazy young fool advises us to shove our fist into the mouth of the lion! He wants us to march on Keltar! And I love the idea!”

  “Insane!”

  “Suicide!”

  “We are overmatched!”

  Manfir remained silent. Yully met the prince’s eyes for a moment and grinned. The old general’s hand shot up.

  “Silence!” bellowed Yully. “Since this young brigand proposes such a bold concept, and we offer little alternative, let him enlighten us a bit more.”

  Flair walked toward a map on the wall. The recruits crowded there nearly fell over one another to clear the way. The young man perused the yellowing parchment tacked to the wall then
stabbed a finger at a line of humps drawn in just East of the Zorim peaks.

  “There, the Dunmor, or as some call it, the Bear’s Knuckles. That’s where we’ll make our stand.”

  “Why the Knuckles?” questioned Manfir.

  “What is most precious to us? What is it that we could most use right now?” asked Flair in return.

  “Soldiers.” answered one of the General Staff.

  “Cavalry and horses!” growled Wynard.

  “Adequate arms.” complained a militia commander.

  “Wrong.” returned Flair. “All of these things we might be able to rally to our banner ..... “

  “If we only possessed more time.” interjected Yully. “We need time.”

  “And that’s what I propose to purchase at the cost of some of our lives.” said the Southlander. “If we can slow the Anvil and survive, we give the Spear precious time to join us. Alone we are no match for the Anvil, but with the Spear by our side we pose a serious threat.”

  “But why the Dunmor?” asked a green garbed recruit. “Why not make our stand in one of the larger villages.”

  “Higher ground.” replied Flair. “The Dunmor aren’t simply grassy knolls doting the Western edge of Zodra. They’re a significant formation of ancient mountains beaten down over eons. If we choose to make a stand on any of these slopes, we hold advantage.”

  “You may hold that advantage for a few moments, boy.” scoffed a general seated at the table. “But you’ll lose it once the Anvil discovers our true strength and decides to overwhelm us. You’ll find yourself buried in your beloved higher ground!”

  “That might be true if we intend to hold the hills no matter the price we pay.” returned Flair. “But that isn’t true. We have no tie to the hills. We won’t dig in and fight to our last breath. We won’t be there to defend those dry, windswept humps, but use them only as a means to slow the Anvil. If we succeed and keep them occupied in the hills for a day or two, we gain a chance at victory. When the pressure becomes too great, we’ll fall back to the next line of hills.

  In the hills, our cavalry can still be effective. If we allow the Keltaran to move into the towns and villages around the Capital we enter into a street battle. The cavalry becomes largely ineffective the Anvil will grind them up.”

  Yully smiled and stroked his chin. He was intrigued.

  “What leads you to believe the Anvil will engage us on the Dunmor, young man?” asked the general. “You yourself stated they are nothing more than windswept hills. The Keltar need not engage us. Zodra is less than three days march from the Dunmor. The Anvil may simply pass the hills knowing the city lies virtually unprotected.”

  “Human nature suggests that they will not.” smiled Flair. “First, they’ll see a force far inferior to their own manning a strategic point precariously close to their own borders. General Yully , would you pass up such a force? A force you are confident you can overcome. No matter how deeply you thirst for the conquest of another nation, would you leave your own homeland vulnerable to this force?”

  “No.” returned Yully “However, Fenrel of Keltar may be remiss about delaying his army and risking an encounter with the reinforcements of Rindor.”

  “Ah.” smiled Flair. “But we’re not sure the Keltaran are aware of the pledges made by the Riverfolk. In fact, we must assume that they are unaware of our reinforcements in the South.”

  “True.” smiled Manfir. “Fenrel may see us as the only defensive force of the Capital, sitting atop the Dunmor hills. A plum for him to pick, making conquest of Zodra that much easier.”

  “Second.” continued Flair. “If the stories of Fenrel of Keltar are to be believed, we can rest assured that his ego and desire for power make him hungry for his first major conquest of Zodrian forces. He’ll see us as a moderate fight, but not much of a challenge.

  What better way to rally those of the Anvil that are not fully committed, than to present them with a rousing first victory over the prince heir of Zodra and his newly formed army?”

  “And a victory they’ll receive!” huffed a member of the General Staff. “Madness!”

  The room once more broke into animated debate. Yully continued to eye Flair as he wrestled with the consequences of such an action. Manfir furrowed his brow and dropped his head in concentration.

  “The Dunmor.” he whispered to himself. “Even if we held until the Spear arrived, we would be vastly outmatched.”

  “But outmatched in the open, my lord.” interrupted Brelg by his side. “The boy is right. Within these walls we are a dead force.”

  “We need as much time as possible to bring the Rindoran to the fight.” stated Manfir.

  “Then fight like Keltarans!” stated Flair.

  A few coughs of disapproval rose throughout the room and a murmur ran through the General Staff.

  “How so?” questioned Manfir.

  Flair examined the room then clenched his teeth and moved on.

  “I’ve been studying at night in the archives. “ admitted the boy. “And one question rose in my mind after reading countless reports of battles and strategy. Why have we never overwhelmingly defeated the Keltaran in centuries of bloody warfare?”

  The room remained silent.

  “I’ll tell you why.” said Flair raising his voice. “The Keltaran don’t allow themselves to be beaten.”

  “What do you mean ‘not allow themselves’?” questioned a colonel. “It’s never been up to them.”

  “Yes, young man.” added General Yully. “Chance is a part of every battle. The Keltaran can’t solely control the outcome.”

  “True.” smiled Flair. “Not every outcome. Only some of the possibilities.”

  “Explain yourself, Flair.” ordered Manfir.

  The Southland boy nodded.

  “The Keltaran cannot assure themselves a victory, but they most certainly can assure themselves that they don’t lose. We’ve always set out to encounter the Anvil on our terms, and been forced into fighting on theirs. We march west searching for them and at the most inopportune time we find them. If the battle turns in our favor, they disappear into the mountains, never suffering heavy losses. However, if the battle turns in their favor, they harass and punish us all the way back to our borders, inflicting as much damage as possible along the way.

  Now it’s our turn. They march forth from their protective mountains. This time they don’t need the safety of the mountains and a quick place to disappear. They’re the greater force. The Anvil expects the Guard to stick to their normal battle plan. They foresee a pitched battle on the plains or a siege of the Capital.

  We’ll give them something else entirely. We’ll treat them to a display of their own tactics. We don’t wish to defeat them, only to slow them until Corad Kingfisher arrives. If we set aside our pride and are willing to slowly cede land to the Anvil, we should be successful. Once we’re supported by the nets, tridents and horses of the Spear, then they’ll see an entirely new army.”

  The room remained silent as Flair looked to Manfir. The prince’s brow remained knit and his eyes downcast. After a moment he looked up and scanned the staff.

  “The boy’s plan is either genius or the ravings of a madman.” smiled Manfir. “I can’t discern which, but one thing is for certain. He’s accurate in his assessment of the future. If we remain locked in the Capital, we will all eventually die. It may occur in the present or we may push it off to the near future, but we will die.”

  Manfir spun to General Wynard.

  “Every horse that can stand. It is and has always been our best defense against the Anvil. Mount them with any man trained in fighting from horseback.“ said the prince as he turned to Brelg. “Get the remainder of the men moving on foot. We’ve a long march ahead and very little time.”

  Wynard and Brelg bowed and sped from the room.

  “Ipson.” called Manfir.

  The tanner stood from his seat at the table. He looked haggard.

  “Yes .... your majesty.” bowed I
pson.

  “I’ve been told that in only a night’s work you discovered considerable sums of heretofore unknown supplies.” smiled the prince.

  “Was but a simple task, your majesty.” smiled Ipson. “The former supply commander used a somewhat .... questionable accounting method to inventory the goods commandeered by the Guard. It required many hours study, but once I cracked his method I accounted for an astounding sum of hoarded supplies.

  There are quite a few private warehouses spread throughout the city burgeoning with grain and tack. Why, there are even a few back alley armories sprinkled throughout the capital.”

  “Have these stores and goods been confiscated and taken under the crown’s control?” questioned Manfir.

  “Uh ... absolutely, my lord.” stammered Ipson. “And....well ... you know my ways, Prince Manfir. I used my new post to arrest the owners of the warehouses.”

  “Colonel Ipson,” laughed Manfir. “You’ve always been a man of black and white with very little room for grays. If you feel the owners were aware the goods were illegal, imprison them. We’ll see if a cold, dark cell jogs memories of other hidden goods.”

  “Yes, my lord.” replied Ipson and he quickly exited the room.

  “Commanders.” said Manfir turning to the militiamen. “Your camp South of the city must be on the move by the morrow. Speed is of the essence. We must make the Bear’s Knuckles before the Anvil.”

  “But, my lord.” complained one of the militia. “My men are ill-equipped and hungry. A forced march on an empty stomach will leave us with a useless troop.”

  “Leave those worries to Colonel Ipson.” replied Manfir. “I have faith in his abilities.”

  “General Yully.” said Manfir. “News of our plans must make its way to Corad Kingfisher and my father. It’s essential that they make haste to the Dunmor. As you said, our plan is bold, some say madness. King Macin will not appreciate its intricacies.”