The Trees And The Night (Book 3)

by Daniel McHugh

  “They remove the flag of parlay, my lord,” stated Brelg. “We have but an hour’s time.”

  Manfir’s head rose and he scanned the low valleys crisscrossing the Dunmor hills.

  “Every moment more affords Corad Kingfisher and the Rindoran Spear a greater opportunity to reach us.”

  His eye was caught by a hill in the next line to the East that sported a huge pennant atop it. The figures of men, tiny from this distance, flitted along the hillside constructing a barricade that smiled across the broad face of the hill.

  “After the Keltaran’s surge, have your trumpeter sound the retreat,” stated Manfir. “Whether we hold or not I fear the Keltaran will have solved the secrets of this puzzle and we must move on to the next. We cannot hold a third charge against this position.”

  Brelg nodded and moved away to comply with his orders. Manfir turned to the hill in the distance, but this time he turned his attention to a group of men working diligently in the valleys on either side of the steep sloped hill. He prayed they possessed enough time to construct the second puzzle devised by Flair.

  Sweat poured from Hindle the blacksmith’s brow as he snatched an aged pike head from the back of an old wooden cart. In the shadows of the valley it was difficult to assess the quality of the steel he chose, but the blacksmith knew its strength need only hold for one strike.

  The cart still held hundreds of such discarded weapons and the blacksmith felt time running thin. Quickly he drew a hand augur from the sack tied about his waist and bore out the old, rotted wood from within the pike’s shaft. Next, he retrieved a freshly cut pole fashioned from the nearby grove of trees and affixed the pike head to its narrow ended shaft. There was no time to clear the rust from the ridged head of the pike and apply a sharpened edge to its triangular, jagged surface.

  It was of no consequence. A Guardsman would never handle this pike. Hindle slammed a hammer into a small steel bit, driving the bit through a hole in the pike’s head and firmly locking it onto the wooden pole. He spun and tossed the freshly made pike to an assistant who lodged it into a deep, narrow hole drilled into the firmly packed dirt of the valley floor. The assistant stepped back and admired the forest of pikes barely visible in the dark shadows cast from the towering hill above.

  Ipson was proud of his men. The newly commissioned commander of the supply corps gathered a sizable group of Zodrians under his service. Men considered unfit to fight due to debilitating injuries or their age, eagerly joined Ipson’s supply staff. Many felt it their only way to contribute to the defense of their country.

  These men spent days scouring the alleyways and wharves of the capital retrieving countless supplies hidden away by Udas and his ilk. Wagonloads of weapons and rations hoarded secretly by the former supply commander were forwarded to both the North and West. Ipson rallied his men to make haste, but was unsure whether the supplies would arrive in time. Surely the Guard engaged the Anvil by now, but if his men were lucky, the wagons would have reached the Dunmor by now.

  Ipson personally escorted Manfir’s final request. A request that puzzled Ipson, but everything the prince did puzzled the tanner from Kelky. It was not often a man so highly born as Prince Manfir roamed the outskirts of his kingdom pretending to be the nearly mute son of a crazy old trader. No matter, thought Ipson. The man could be a stark raving lunatic, but if he held back the Keltaran tide, Ipson would fall to his knees and declare Manfir a genius.

  The tanner turned and eyed the half dozen carts bumping along the deeply rutted road behind him. The large kegs tethered beneath the rough burlap blankets swayed and jostled one another. None had yet sprung a leak and Ipson thanked Avra. He kept several sacks of sawdust ready in each cart to soak up the sweet smelling oil if that should occur, but the smell would not have caused the commander distress. The fire however, would.

  Fenrel sat at a large table in his pavilion tearing into the carcass of a freshly roasted chicken. A runner appeared at the entry flap to the room and bowed. Fenrel sneered at the man then slowly wiped his grease-covered face on the sleeve of his tunic.

  “What is it?” demanded the prince as he snatched a wine goblet from the table and brought it toward his lips.

  Wine sloshed from the goblet onto the table as the runner moved forward.

  “The pennant of parlay has been removed from the battlefield, my lord,” said the runner. “Lieutenant Aul sent me to inform you of his intent to march on the hillside when the term of parlay elapses.”

  “What?” barked Fenrel. “If our men have been removed from the shadows of the accursed hill, why does Aul not march forward now?”

  The runner’s brow furrowed knowing full well the proper time had not yet elapsed. He opened his mouth to suggest this reason to his prince then just as quickly thought better of it and remained silent. Fenrel waved a dismissive hand at the runner and turned his attention to the remainder of his meal.

  “Have Aul attack now,” stated Fenrel. “We will not be bound to the Zodrian’s foolish rules of warfare.”

  The runner fought hard not to show any reaction. He quickly bowed and removed himself from the prince’s pavilion.

  Hindle walked along the north side of the darkened valley. His team designed a narrow pathway free of standing pikes and sharpened stakes. Bristling weapons carpeted the remainder of the valley floor. Any riders attempting to journey between these steep sided hills would need to do so carefully and in single file. If not, one of good man Hindle’s spikes might impale horse or rider.

  Once clear of the pikes, Hindle spun and kept his eyes on them as he backed westward in the direction of the enemy. The valley’s path turned south and followed the rounded contour of the hill. The further Hindle walked the more the pike forest disappeared behind the hill’s edge until he could no longer see a solitary bit of his handiwork. The blacksmith smiled. If the Zodrians controlled their retreat, keeping their wits about them, they would traverse the valley without harm. If the Keltaran cavalry charged hard after them ...? The results were obvious.

  Hindle motioned his assistants to gather their things. The second hill was complete. It was up to Colonel Flair and Prince Manfir to utilize his work. Need drew Hindle elsewhere. Weapons wanted repair and hopefully Commander Ipson arrived with Prince Manfir’s last request.

  Lieutenant Aul let out a low curse as the runner left him and returned to ranks. Aul never adhered too greatly to honor himself, but it remained important to much of the Anvil and all here knew what a flag of parlay represented. His subordinates in the Ramsskull stared at him with surprise in their eyes. They heard the runners demands and knew the decision their comrade faced.

  “Ridiculous,” grumbled Aul to himself. “Again he gambles the hearts of his men for nothing. We must wait merely a half-hour longer and his victory will begin. These Zodrians go nowhere. Why must he make this so difficult?”

  Aul spun toward his subordinates.

  “Make ready your units,” barked the giant. “We attack at any sign of the prince’s return or at the allotted time if we may. Let us hope his appetite surpasses his interest in his own war.”

  The Ramsskull commanders glanced at one another and shuffled off. Aul charged into their midst.

  “AND SALUTE ME, BY AVRA! OR YOU WILL HAVE MORE TO FEAR FROM ME THAN THE PRINCE!” roared Aul. “WE ARE ALL PART OF THE ANVIL NOW! I CARE NOT FOR OUR NUMBERS! THE ONLY WAY WE WILL WIN THIS BATTLE IS TO ACT LIKE THE SOLDIERS WE PRETEND TO BE!”

  The commanders shrunk back then nervously bowed and hurried from the angry giant’s sight. Aul skulked back and forth along the tree line. Increasingly he began to believe his own words. Did he truly care less for this prince’s power and money and more for the honor and well being of his country and troops?

  One thing he was sure of, the Anvil was outmatched in leadership. He was no general and the army’s only hope lay rotting in a Royal Guard’s cell. Olith would have devised a plan covering all possibilities. Aul cursed to himself. Fenrel’s headstrong, impatient posture would ge
t too many of his men killed.

  Fenrel let out a long, low belch and pushed back from the table. Slowly he rose, snatching his wine goblet and draining its contents. When it was empty he allowed it to fall from his hands to the ground. A servant quickly rushed in and retrieved the goblet, carefully avoiding the prince and bowing as he backed away. Fenrel turned to another servant waiting by the pavilions entryway.

  “Prepare my mount,” ordered the prince. “We shall see how my battle progresses.”

  The attendant sprinted from the tent.

  “They shall advance at any moment, my lord,” stated Brelg. “Colonel Flair has joined our cavalry.”

  “I would wager the boy learned to ride before he learned to walk,” laughed Manfir. “Hopefully his skills help turn the tide.”

  As Manfir spoke a cry came from the Zodrian position below. The prince looked west and saw the Keltaran infantry line slowly moving forward. The giants’ cavalry sat motionless, waiting for the foot soldiers to cover ground before they rode forward to close the gap. Manfir turned and glanced to the flagman behind him. Again the boy nervously clutched the pole with sweaty hands. Manfir smiled at the young man and the boy relaxed slightly, smiling back.

  “The southern slope of our hill is the least steep,” stated Brelg. “I wager they will attempt to flank the archers from that direction. Flair chose to command the Southern cavalry unit in anticipation of the maneuver.”

  Two-dozen more strides and his Anvil infantry would be in range of the Zodrian archers, thought Aul. His men moved forward slowly, holding their small buckler shields over their heads. The lieutenant raised an arm and his cavalry tensed. They would ride hard toward the foot soldiers then circumvent them to the South, drawing much of the archers fire and allowing the infantry to close on the Zodrian position unmolested.

  Once the Anvil infantry engaged the Zodrian line, the enemy’s archers would be unable to fire into their own men. They would be forced to concentrate on the Anvil’s cavalry as it swept up the unguarded southern slope of the hill. Aul chose the southern slope due to its more gradual rise. His cavalry would scale the heights more rapidly, reducing the archer’s angle.

  Fenrel’s mount trotted from the tree line. The prince quickly surveyed the scene before him and rage filled his mind. Aul sat fifty yards from his position watching the infantry slowly advance. The fool had honored parlay.

  “AUL!” roared Fenrel.

  It was time. Aul dropped his arm, grabbed his reins and laid his heels into the flanks of his Brodor. The giant warhorse lurched and its powerful legs churned the beast forward. His cavalry let out a roar and the infantry broke into a sprint as the sound passed over them. The entire Anvil was in motion, rushing toward the Zodrian position.

  “Did you see the commander?” asked Brelg studying the mass of Keltaran sweeping toward their position.

  “Yes,” replied Manfir calmly. “He called for the charge himself. Already he edges his mount toward the South. He intends to surprise us with the maneuver but betrays his intent. Have you gathered your unit?”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied Brelg. “Any mounted Keltaran escaping Flair’s counter charge will be met by at least a dozen pike men on the southern slope.”

  Flair stared intently at a lone soldier standing on the eastern hilltop. The young colonel knew the Keltaran charge must be underway, but his side of the great hill remained quiet and peaceful with a light wind rippling his cloak.

  “Remember, gentlemen,” shouted Flair to his riders. “Once the retreat is signaled from above, you will ride hard to the next position. Disengage the enemy completely. All of this depends on our timing. We must be free of the valleys to assist our infantry as they cross the plain to the next line of hills.”

  Aul’s infantry was nearly in range of the Zodrian archers when he and his cavalry swept up behind the foot soldiers. The Keltaran infantry let out a cheer as the long line of massive Brodors angled south and flew past their position. Aul was pleased. His timing was perfect. The Zodrian archers would now be forced to choose between the hard charging cavalry swarming around toward their flank, or the slow running infantry heading toward the Zodrian barricades below.

  The Keltaran lieutenant knew what any sane soldier would conclude. The archers must turn toward his cavalry to protect themselves, leaving the Anvil’s infantry to be dealt with by their comrades below. Aul laid his heels harder into the Brodor. Many of his men passed him. He was larger than most Keltaran and chose his mount for endurance, not speed.

  Manfir raised his left hand as he stared at the events unfolding below him.

  “Prepare your men,” stated the prince to Brelg. “Their stealth served its purpose.”

  Brelg nodded and ran toward the eastern slope of the great hill where two-dozen pike men sat hidden beneath its crest.

  “Form up,” bellowed the Sergeant.

  Immediately, the hand picked squad jumped to their feet clutching their long handled pikes.

  “To the southern slope gentlemen,” shouted Brelg. “Not a single Keltaran horseman gets past us. Understood?”

  “YES, SIR!” shouted the troops in unison as they scrambled over the hilltop and down the southern slope.

  Aul was shocked to see movement on the hilltop as a few dozen men scrambled from behind the crest and claimed positions along the southern slope. The lieutenant laughed to himself. The sum was not one-tenth the number they needed to halt the charge of his heavily armed cavalry.

  “Crush them,” shouted Fenrel from his position along the tree line as he saw the pike men crest the hilltop.

  Nyven of Trimble stood behind the line of Zodrian archers scanning the Keltaran infantry below. His orders were simple. Allow the Keltaran to advance closer to the hill than they had on their first charge. The Keltaran were to believe their plan worked and the Zodrian archers were preparing to focus their fire upon the Keltaran cavalry. If Nyven allowed his archers to fire too early upon the Keltaran foot soldiers, the enemy’s commanders might suspect something. Colonel Flair needed the Keltaran cavalry fully committed to the southern slope of the hill in order for his plan to work.

  “Notch arrows,” shouted Nyven.

  The full line of Keltaran cavalry swung out past the giant’s infantry. They were moments from the hillside.

  “Release,” bellowed Nyven.

  A storm of black-shafted arrows arced up over the Keltaran infantry.

  Manfir dropped his arm and turned to the lad behind him. The red pennant rose and frantically waved to the South.

  “South,” screamed Flair. “Units one and two, we ride south.”

  The young colonel slammed his heels into his mount and charged forward toward the narrow valley separating the command hill from its southern counterpart. His formation stayed tight. The narrow valley only allowed seven riders abreast to pass through it.

  Suicide, thought Aul. The foolish Zodrian archers opted to fire their first volley at his advancing infantry. This action would only allow them one reload before they could turn their bows on his cavalry. The lieutenant had hoped for minimal damage to his cavalry on their charge up the southern slope, and the Zodrians just afforded him a best-case scenario. His horsemen would sweep the archers from the hillside then descend upon the Zodrian infantry from above, crushing them in a vise.

  Nyven nervously glanced to the South. The Keltaran looked huge upon their monstrous, shaggy mounts.

  “Notch arrows,” shouted the cattleman again.

  His eyes shifted to the Keltaran infantry rushing toward the hill’s base. His first volley caught them off guard. Many in their number fell, but their leaders assurances propelled them forward.

  “RELEASE!” screamed Nyven.

  WHAT? Aul was stunned. The Zodrian bowmen released their volley once more down the throats of his infantry. Many of his front line foot soldiers fell as the close range of the assault hammered through wooden shield and thin armor. His infantry slowed. Dazed by the brutal attack.

  They would pa
y for disregarding his horsemen. He would ..., the sound of his party’s mounts amplified and from the corner of his eye he caught movement to his right. He turned and his eyes widened. The Zodrians did indeed hold another surprise for the Anvil.

  Flair drove his stallion hard, directing the animal with his knees while his hands held a pair of curved sabers aloft. He did not enjoy killing, but he smiled at the success of his plan. By attempting to flank the Zodrian archers, the Keltarans unwittingly exposed their own flank.

  Flair’s stallion slammed into a giant Brodor as his cutlass found the Keltaran’s ribs. Within moments dozens of the Zodrian cavalry pummeled the side of the Keltaran formation, dropping nearly a dozen giant riders from their saddles. The Keltaran charge crumpled and broke as only the front dozen Anvil riders followed through toward their objective, completely unaware of their lack of support.

  Brelg’s pike men worked in teams, isolating the few remaining Keltaran cavalrymen who advanced up the hill. The horsemen encountered difficulty defending themselves against one pike man, let alone two. The Keltaran were quickly unseated and disposed of.

  “Notch arrows,” called Nyven from his position on the hill.

  The Keltaran infantry was in disarray. Most of the line faltered and those remnants continuing the advance quickly fell prey to the entrenched Guardsmen at the base of the great hill. The Ramsskull leaders fought panic. The advance stalled with little hope of rebuilding. The men stood directionless within the range of the Zodrian archers, and Aul’s cavalry charge did not draw the attention of the bowmen.