by Perrin, Don
Klaf shook his head. “We can’t engage them with archery. My archers aren’t in place. Such an attack might even cause them to quicken the pace. What if we …” He hesitated, looked over at his standard-bearer and friend.
“What, sir?”
“What if we offered to parley?” Klaf said.
Olik was shocked. “You can’t be serious, sir? Parley … with elves?” He almost spat the word.
“It will slow them down,” the commander noted.
“True.…” Olik was not yet convinced.
Klaf had made up his mind. “Quick, go back to the tent line and grab some tent canvas and a spear. You and I, along with several warriors, will go forward under a flag of truce. They will honor that. They have to honor that!”
Shaking his head, Olik ran off at a trot. A few moments later, he emerged from a tent with a spear and a ripped section of white cloth. He ran back to the command group.
Olik looked miserable. “Do you really mean to go through with this, sir?”
Klaf turned his attention away from the enemy. He glanced back to see his troops rushing about in confusion.
“If the elves reach us now, they’ll cut us to pieces. Do you know of a better way to stop them?”
Olik said nothing.
“Right, come with me.” Klaf marched forward, through his assembling troops. As he walked past his warriors, he yelled out to some of them, calling them by name, attempting to boost morale.
“Ready to kill some elves today, Rajan?
“Good day for a fight, eh, Bratag?
“Muddy enough for you, you giant lug, Mosex?”
The soldiers waved and shouted. Klaf and his small group moved forward through his own troops’ lines and out toward the enemy. Halfway, Klaf ordered the white banner raised.
“No need to get shot for this,” Klaf said. He looked back at his own army. Units were jostling to get into line. The mercenary human longbowmen hired to provide the army some mode of long range missile fire were too far to the left side. The skirmish line had not yet deployed.
The whistling of an arrow brought the minotaur warriors in Klaf’s party back to the situation at hand. They froze as the arrow slammed into the soft ground not a foot in front of Olik. Three elves on horseback rode forward from their center positions. As they did so, elf commanders all over the field ordered their units to halt. Seconds later, the elven army had come to a standstill. The three elf officers moved forward, one holding a spear with a white scarf attached.
The four minotaurs stood and waited. The diminutive horses of the elves seemed to dance across the field as they approached. At a distance of a hundred feet, the group stopped.
The lead elf stood up in the saddle and yelled in Common. “Minotaur warriors! What is this? Some sort of a trick? Or are you truly wanting to parley?”
Klaf began to laugh, then checked himself. He yelled back. “This is a parley. We want to talk.”
The elves moved forward cautiously. All kept their hands away from weapons, as did the minotaurs. The minotaurs knew that they were in range of some skilled archer somewhere, or more likely a unit of them. The elves knew that if the flag of truce was violated, then they would have to face in hand-to-hand battle these four well-armed and experienced minotaur warriors, one of whom stood nearly nine feet tall!
Two of the elves remained mounted when they came within hearing distance. The third dismounted.
“I am Harinburthallas, son of Harinbutthal. I command the Northern Wing of the Imperial Army.”
“I am Klaf, son of Klak, son of Krak. I am the commander of the Third Minotaur Army. I come to discuss the terms for your surrender.”
The elf looked astonished. “My surrender? Are you blind? I outnumber you at least two to one. My archers are far superior to that rabble of humans that you have on your left flank, and you do not even have your skirmishers deployed. Most assuredly you are going to offer your surrender to me!”
Klaf stared at the elf in feigned amazement. He looked over at Olik, who shook his horned head no, indicating they needed more time. Klaf took a step toward the elf.
“Do not dare to insult the honor of my army, or of any minotaur warrior. We are servants of Sargas! I will not surrender to you! You do not have enough honor among you all to lace up the strap of my boot, much less accept my surrender, even if I had the intention to do so.”
He glanced over again at Olik. The huge standard-bearer was looking over his shoulder. A second later, his gaze returned to his commander, and he nodded yes.
Klaf concluded. “I see that a parley with you elves is to no avail. I wish you honor on this day of battle.” He turned, and so did the other minotaurs in the party. They marched back to the army lines.
As they headed back, Olik rode over to Klaf. “So, do you think they took you seriously about surrender?”
Klaf shook his head. “I have heard of this General Harinburthallas. He is one of their best. He knew that we were delaying. He could have refused to talk, however even elves have some smattering of honor. But that is why they rode horses, to speed things up. Notice that already the elf general is back with his army.”
Klaf broke into a trot, followed by the three other minotaurs. A minute later they cleared their own skirmish line and continued to the space between the skirmishers and the main infantry line. The skirmish infantry were armed and armored lightly. Their job was to slow the main advance of the elves, and to force them to form into battle lines early. As they formed, the main infantry would charge through and hit the elves as they were still changing formations.
Klaf stopped to look over his troops. The minotaur warriors all fell silent as they saw their commander eyeing them. Klaf reached over and took the spear with the white cloth from Olik. He turned it over, and thrust it into the mud as deeply as he could. The white cloth was almost completely obscured.
A huge cheer went up across the army, spreading from the center, where every warrior could see their commander, out to the wings. Even the human longbowmen cheered. Klaf took his battle-axe from the harness strapped to his back, and held it aloft. As he did so, Olik raised the standard high above his head. Again, the cheer went up.
The small group passed through the front lines and positioned themselves on a knoll between the front corps and the rear reserve corps. The rest of the army staff, four officers and a phalanx of twenty of the best bodyguards, joined the commander.
Klaf looked up to find his skirmishers racing forward to engage the enemy’s front line of infantry. The middle of the first elven wing split down the center in an obviously rehearsed move. From their rear, elven light cavalry charged forward to engage the minotaur skirmish infantry.
The fight was on.
* * * * *
Theros could hear the battle raging. From his vantage point in the rear, though, he could see nothing. Barracks and supply tents stood between him and the field of battle.
He knew only that somehow, someone had gained them some time. He and Hran worked at a feverish rate collecting all of the tools, benches, anvils and spare parts that went into the smithy. The stone forge remained where it was, its coals still red-hot.
All around them other parts of the rear were also packing up, getting ready to move—either forward or back. The commissary unit across the road had eight human slaves loading meat and other edibles into covered wagons.
Hran stopped Theros as he picked up the last of the arrowheads that he had been working on earlier. Hran handed Theros a shovel.
“You’ve seen a minotaur army only in victory. You’ve never seen what happens in a defeat. I do not like the omens of Sargas for this battle today, so here is what I will have you do.
“Dig a small pit here near the forge. If the going gets rough, I want you to hide in it. You have no armor or weapons, and you’ll die if there’s fighting around and you’re in the way. I’ll ensure that the forge is stocked up and ready to get back to work in case we win. Now start digging.”
Theros ha
ted the thought of hiding in a pit, but he had to face facts. He had no way to defend himself. He began to dig.
Hran kept leaving his work stoking the fire, raising himself up to stare in the direction of the battle.
“What is it, Hran? What’s troubling you?” Theros asked.
“Get back to work! Now dig!” Hran searched around the ground for tools or other pieces of armor or weapons that should be stowed.
Behind them, the sound of thunder began to build.
Behind them?
Chapter 8
Klaf pounded his armored fists together. “Yes! Yes! That’s it! Keep up the pressure.”
From the command group’s vantage, they could see clearly only the front lines. The left and right were obscured by the troops of the center regiments. The skirmish infantry, out in front of the main lines, had driven the elven archers from the front of the elven battle line. Most of the skirmishers had fallen when the front line of the enemy army stopped advancing and fired a devastating volley of arrows. Then, the minotaurs had hit them. The elven archers were no match for minotaur warriors in hand-to-hand combat.
Klaf could see the two armies moving closer and closer. Both sides were taking casualties now from archery. Klaf’s mercenaries on his left flank were pouring their own long-range archery into the elven lines. The two battle lines closed to within two hundred yards.
Klaf turned to the bugler. “This is it, lad! Sound the charge!”
The bugle call rang out clearly across the battlefield. Within moments, it was drowned out by the minotaurs’ war cry. The sound was like banshees howling. Forward they went, battle-axes and swords swinging, hungering for elven flesh to tear and rend.
The elves stopped cold at the sight. Their officers ordered the ranks to close up. The front rank knelt. They fired a volley into the charging, near-berserk minotaurs. Hundreds dropped, but many hundreds kept coming on. Elves fumbled to reload. Many dropped their bows and drew swords, preparing to receive the charge.
The two lines met with a huge crash of steel and bone. The sheer size of the minotaur warriors, combined with their crazed battle frenzy, were enough to smash holes in several places in the front regiments of elves.
Klaf was well pleased. His heavy infantry was making short work of the first corps of elves. The charge had cleared over a third of the elven infantry from the first elven corps, or so he could see from where he stood. If he could get that front corps to rout, then they would run back through the following corps, panicking them or at least disrupting their ranks. The morale of his troops would shoot up like an elven arrow to the sun. The key was shock of impact and follow-through force. He had to commit his reserve force of warriors.
He slapped the bugler on the right shoulder. The din of battle was incredible. It would be difficult to hear the call. Klaf yelled, “Sound the advance!” and motioned to Olik to carry the army standard forward. The clear notes of the bugle sung out over the crash of armies.
The reserve corps began to march forward into the melee.
A bright flash in the center of the minotaur line drew Klaf’s attention. An explosion ripped apart a ten-foot circle in the front lines of the lead minotaurs. Twenty warriors fell in the blast. Klaf could not see the source of the explosion, but he knew what it was. Every seasoned battlefield commander knew the sight of battle magic. Somewhere there was an elf war-mage. He had to be close to the front lines, too. The range of spells was limited in field conditions.
Klaf turned and motioned for two of his bodyguards. “Did you see that explosion down there?” The two nodded. Klaf continued. “Get down there, find that elf wizard, and rip him to pieces!”
The two warriors saluted and ran off as fast as they could. This was their moment of glory. They skirted past the warriors in the first corps, and through one of the developing holes in the elven line. Breaking out behind the lines of the first elven corps, they ran straight down the rear of the elven ranks. Several elves turned to fight them, but the minotaurs moved so quickly that the elves lost sight of them.
Klaf kept his eyes fixed on the two warriors. If the war-mage was to continue, Klaf’s whole battle plan could become unhinged. The minotaurs were not magic-using soldiers. Honor and glory lay in battle, not in spellbooks and trickery.
He spotted an elf surrounded by a small group of four bodyguards. Klaf did not notice the elf before, but now he was obvious. The elf in the center must be either the commander of the first corps or the wizard casting the spells. Either way, his death would aid the minotaurs. The two warriors crashed into the group, axes swinging.
Another explosion rocked the front of the minotaur line. This time Klaf saw the elf in the group conjure the fireball. It was to be his last spell. Seconds later, the wizard fell. The attacking minotaurs had cut down the bodyguards and were hacking the wizard limb from limb. Elf soldiers from the rear of their brigade turned and engaged the two elite warriors. Four more elves fell before the two minotaurs were cut down. Klaf nodded in satisfaction. The warriors had completed their mission, and died with extreme honor.
Up and down the line, elves and minotaurs were exchanging blows. The minotaurs had the upper hand, though. Their size and battle skills outweighed the elves’ finesse with swords. The main elven advantage of archery was useless in close-quarter fighting. Still, the minotaurs were paying the price of battle. Many warriors fell in the fight. Their deaths only drove their comrades to fight harder.
* * * * *
Theros dug faster. The thunder rumbled over the ground. The source of the sound was from the rear. He glanced up to see Hran buckling his great battle-axe onto his back. Theros recognized the sound now—it was the thunder of horses’ hooves.
Hran unhooked the weapon from its holster and tested its weight. It was a finely balanced weapon, carved from end to end with markings and symbols and scenes of battle. While Theros watched in amazement, Hran stepped out into the roadway and readied his axe in a battle stance.
A white stallion with armored barding burst out of the forest, flew past Hran. An elf rider in armor plate sat atop the beast, sword held high.
A second and a third galloped past Hran, without coming close enough to bother him. The fourth rider yelled an elven war cry and headed straight for the smith. The horse threatened to plow the minotaur under, but at the last moment, Hran neatly sidestepped the horse and brought his battle-axe up into the horse’s path, slicing into its chest. The animal pitched forward, throwing its rider onto the ground. Before he could recover, Hran embedded his axe into the elf’s back. Hran recovered his axe, almost too late.
Elven armored cavalry streamed through the camp, killing anything that moved. Very few minotaurs offered resistance. Hran was one.
One rider came around the side of the wagon. He swung a gleaming sword at Theros, who very nearly lost his head to the elf. The rider’s horse was forced to jump over the forge, causing the rider to falter in his swing.
Wishing desperately that he had a weapon, Theros could do nothing but dive headfirst into the shallow pit. He was up almost immediately, trying to see how Hran was doing, but the forge was in the way.
The elves kept coming. One rode past with a burning torch, and tossed it onto the smithy wagon. The pitch from the torch spattered onto the wood sides and immediately caught fire. Within seconds, the whole side of the wagon was in flames. Even the wet canvas that they had rolled up was beginning to burn.
Theros rose to his knees just in time to see another armored horse bearing down on his position. Again, he threw himself into the dirt. The horse and rider flew over the forge and onward, probably never even noticing the human slave that hid there.
Theros rose once more. The thunder of hooves was now behind him and going the other way, toward the armies battling on the field. There was a sudden hush. Theros stood and looked around. The wagon with all of the smith equipment and supplies was blazing.
Hran stood in the road, an arrow protruding from his shoulder. He paid it no heed. A group of the
mounted elves turned and charged back through the camp, herding those who ran before them, cutting them down when they caught them. Hran did not run.
The first of the elven heavy cavalry charged straight for Hran. Weaponless, Theros could do nothing but watch the unequal battle. The elf yelled a war cry and brought down a thin lance. Hran tried to sidestep the blow as he had done before. This time he was too slow. The lance split open his side, cutting straight through the leather armor. Blood spurted out. Hran grabbed his side with one hand, but brought the axe up with the other. His swing was wide, the rider sped past him.
The elf behind the first came on with the same maneuver. This one, however, held the lance point too low. Hran swatted the point of the lance into the ground just in front of him. The elf vaulted straight out of his saddle before he knew what had happened. The horse ran past, the elf fell a few feet to Hran’s right. Quickly, he hobbled over and brought his axe down on the elf’s head. Blood and bone and brains spattered.
Hran charged forward to meet another elf mounted on horseback. Blood ran from the minotaur’s side. Hran was weakening. The elf dropped his lance, and drew his sword. As Hran approached, the elf slowed his mount and caused it to rear up. Hran went for the horse’s underbelly. He was too slow, though. The lack of blood and the sheer exertion were just too much for him. The horse kicked Hran in the chest, sending him sprawling backward.
The elf jumped off the horse, and ran forward to finish the smith where he lay. The elf brought his sword down in a mighty swing, but Hran rolled away. He staggered to his feet, but the elf was ready. The elf thrust forward with his long sword, striking Hran through the heart.
Hran looked down at the wound. He tried to bring up his axe, but it slipped from his grasp. The elf withdrew his sword, and Hran pitched forward into the dirt, face first. The elf ran off after his mount. The rest of the elven cavalry were already far off across the camp.
