The Trees And The Night (Book 3)

by Daniel McHugh

  Portlo stood a dozen yards up the tunnel from the archers. He commanded a group of swordsmen. His gauntlet raised above his head. Portlo and his swordsmen would be the first to engage the Ulrog in hand-to-hand combat. The steward opted for this duty, feeling it was best suited to his swordsmen. The lead Ulrog slowed as he encountered a mass of tangled tree and vines. He was the first of his comrades to reach the dead end.

  “The snare is set,” murmured Portlo dropping his hand.

  Lijon’s fingers snapped open, releasing a long arrow. It whistled through the air slamming into the head of the lead Ulrog. As the beast toppled forward, more arrows erupted from the blinds, hammering the front dozen Hackles to the ground in a spray of stone and black blood.

  Lijon stepped backward to reload as an alternate stepped forward and selected a target.

  “Neglect the wounded,” barked Lijon. “Leave them to the steward.”

  The alternate adjusted and sent his shaft over the heads of the forward Hackles and into the midst of those still lumbering down the length of the tunnel. The steel tip met the soft throat of a brute. The beast clutched its searing pain and spun about wildly. Ulrog behind and beside the crazed Hackle tripped as the injured Ulrog frantically worked to rip the dart from his throat.

  Lijon stepped forward. Several uninjured Ulrog near the end of the trap raked the opposite screen with their cleavers. They vainly tried to cut away the vines binding the boughs to the trees. Lijon released a long bolt from three yards away that passed through the torso of a large Hackle and pinned him to his comrade. The pair of beasts roared in pain and struggled until the larger of the two ripped his comrade from his side. Oily blood splashed down upon the forest floor.

  Ader remained frozen against the rock. His face was an expression of calm. Kael nervously glanced between the trail and Eidyn’s position. He needed to calm himself as well, but he couldn’t. Too much was happening and too much had yet to occur.

  “We could be here for days,” whispered Kael.

  “We could,” returned the Seraph softly, “but we will not.”

  “How can you be so .... ?”

  Kael was cut off by the distant clatter of rock tumbling down the slope. He nearly poked his head over the boulder but the powerful hand of Ader restrained him.

  “There are thirteen, including a lesser priest,” stated Ader, his eyes still closed. “They will be upon us in minutes. Stay calm. Ready your bow. Make the first shot true. We need to thin their numbers. Eidyn knows what to do. I will focus on the priest.”

  The Seraph’s eyes slowly opened.

  “Above all, stay by me. I can protect you if you stay within my proximity.”

  Kael rapidly nodded.

  The front of the Ulrog charge was severely incapacitated. However, the trailing Hackles heard the cries of battle and assumed their comrades encountered the enemy in combat. They rushed forward, crashing into the backs of their brethren. The confines of the woods made it difficult for them to move. This was Portlo’s cue. The steward nodded in the direction of several Derolian ax men.

  The ax men lifted their weapons and swung them down hard on a series of vines bundled against a large oak. The ax heads stuck in the mighty tree with a loud thunk and the straining vines snapped with a whip crack. The tree groaned and seven tree trunks at least a half-yard in diameter spilled from the forest’s dark canopy. The heavy trunks, twenty yards in length, smashed through leaf and limb as they plummeted into the forest tunnel.

  The Ulrog panicked at the cacophony above them, but found little time and no means to escape the trap. The heavy trees slammed down upon the heads of dozens of Hackles, crushing some and mortally wounding others.

  A second pair of Derolians struck at wedges holding a dozen logs stacked in place on the side of the tunnel. The logs formed part of the trap’s wall. They rolled into the tunnel. The mass of Hackles closest to the spot scrambled to remove themselves from the logs’ path as the heavy timber tumbled upon them. The Ulrog backed away and stared in confusion. Where once an impassable section of wood blocked their passage, now stood a hole in the trees filled with Astelan knights.

  The Astelans plunged into the gap hacking and thrusting as they went. Many disoriented Ulrog fell. The log roll created room for the Astelans to work and the expert swordsmen systematically moved through the crowd dispatching Hackles.

  With the front of the Ulrog charge receiving heavy damage from bow and sword, the back crowded ineffectively behind their brethren trying to clamor to the fight. With no leader to direct them, they held scant chance of extricating themselves from the snare.

  Slundoc stopped and stared down the long forest tunnel at the battle before him. It was obvious what the Derolians accomplished. They penned the Hackles within the trap and inflicted heavy casualties upon the beasts. Traps like this one must be set up throughout the wood.

  The Ulrog were separated, confused and tangled within the Derol forest. What would Slundoc’s next move be? Try to help the group before him, or return to Greeb with news of failure?

  A tracker rushed toward him from the battle. The Ulrog ran doubled over from exhaustion. Slundoc grabbed the wild-eyed runner’s shoulder and straightened him up.

  “What do they encounter?” demanded Slundoc.

  “A dead end,” heaved the tracker. “The wood ended in a tangle of tree and vine. We were fired upon from beyond the barrier and set upon by Astelan swordsmen. Our brethren fall by the dozen. I go to inform my Lord Greeb.”

  “No,” commanded Slundoc. “He will see it as our failure to scout the wood. The trackers shall feel Greeb’s punishment. Return to the fray. Command the Hackles to break free of the trap by heading through its north wall. Once free, they are to flank the Derolian archers and search for the main body of our force.”

  “These are Lord Greeb’s commands?” questioned the tracker.

  “I will deal with Lord Greeb,” hissed Slundoc. “Now go.”

  The tracker spun from his commander and loped back toward the battle. Slundoc’s mind raced. Greeb the one eyed fool committed the entire force of the Mnim to this campaign. Any retreat and return to the valley meant failure and blame. Slundoc was not fool enough to believe none of the blame would stain him. It was his battle now. The Ulrog tracker turned and dashed back along the tunnel of trees. He kept a close eye on the severed limbs above. With luck he could discover the location where Greeb’s force had been split, follow the second tunnel and help extricate more Hackles from the Derolian snare.

  The Astelan knight’s foray into the Ulrog force wreaked havoc on the Hackles. A score of the stone men lay dead at the swordsmen’s feet and the tight unit continued to wound the enemy. However, surprise and confusion were no longer on the Astelans’ side. The whole of the Ulrog became aware of their presence and now returned the fight. Several of the swordsmen fell and Portlo’s small force lost ground to the much larger group of Hackles. Once again timing was the steward’s most important weapon.

  “Retreat!” shouted Portlo.

  Immediately, his force lunged with a last thrust then rushed in formation through the gap in the forest tunnel. A moment later they stood outside the tunnel, surrounded by a support group of Derolian ax men. The Ulrog pursued but the thunk of ax head and the twang of snapping vines signified another stage in the plan. Huge tree limbs and heavy logs crashed down from the treetops, choking the Hackles pursuit and crushing several beneath the timber’s weight.

  Slundoc raced toward dozens of Hackles crowded near the beginning of the second Derolian trap. Like the tunnel he departed, this tunnel’s canopy displayed the same manipulation. Tree limbs and trunks were cut and dropped strategically throughout the wood to force the stone men into a tight formation. The pen the Hackles herded themselves into grew narrower the further it ran from the forest’s edge. Slundoc guessed that not far ahead it was sealed with tangles of tree, branch and vine.

  The roar from the far end of the tunnel confirmed his suspicions. The Ulrog were ensnared. Th
ey were leaderless and being slaughtered. Lord Greeb sent his army into the hands of the enemy. The Derolians used the Malveel’s pride and lust for vengeance against him. Now the Hackles paid the price. Slundoc cried out to his forces.

  “Lord Greeb commands you to break off the attack on the Derolian position,” bellowed Slundoc.

  Two-dozen Hackles turned and stared at the tracker.

  “Circumvent these weak defenses and destroy them,” continued the tracker. “Head south and break through the barriers. Once you accomplish this goal, search for your comrades in the open wood. We must unite our forces to be successful.”

  The Hackles in the rear of the charge stared at one another for a moment. Greeb had never been so explicit with his commands. The Malveel lord typically pointed his Ulrog in a certain direction and ordered them to kill.

  “NOW!” shouted Slundoc.

  The Ulrog snapped from their daze and rushed at the tunnel wall, hacking at vines and tree limbs.

  The crunch of stone feet on crushed shale grew louder. Sweat poured down Kael’s face in the cool mountain air. The boy’s knuckles stood out white in the moonlight as he clutched his bow. Ader still sat with his back to a boulder and his eyes closed. Kael peeked across the pathway to Eidyn’s location. The Grey Elf prince notched an arrow to his bow and remained hunched down behind his own series of boulders.

  “Do be careful with that thing,” muttered Ader. “I didn’t come all this way to have Lilywynn skewered by one of your arrows.”

  Kael gulped hard. He hadn’t thought of the girl’s presence amongst the Ulrog.

  “Use your first shot on the priest if he is recognizable amongst the others,” said Ader. “His elimination will make our task easier.”

  Kael silently nodded. Ader locked his fingers and flexed them against one another.

  “Only a few moments more,” he murmured to himself.

  Hai and his horsemen moved toward the Derol’s edge. In the south he could see the faint light from the fires consuming the forest’s edge. Small from this distance stood the Malveel, surrounded by his attendants. Hai ran his fingers through the beautifully combed mane of his mare.

  “We will dance across the flames of Chaos once more, my girl,” whispered the horseman as he patted his mare.

  CHAPTER 23: THE HORN

  Slundoc’s Hackles poured from a gap they carved in the tunnel wall. They were free. The forest lay open before them. Two Derolians roaming the barricade’s length witnessed the breach and rushed to inform Portlo. The Ulrog noticed the movement and followed to the east. Greeb’s orders were clear. They must flank the woodsmen at the far end of the tunnel. Slundoc allowed himself a momentary grin. His plan was working. Unless the Derolians devised another trick hidden within the wood, Slundoc’s Hackles would pay them back for the Ulrog casualties.

  Greeb remained outside the Derol surrounded by his personal guard and several trackers. The Malveel lord grew impatient. Slundoc and his trackers had not reported back in three quarters of an hour. The noise of the battle within the wood drifted back to the Malveel’s keen ears. It was obvious a great conflagration took place, but Greeb possessed no way of determining its progress. Did his Hackles engage the full Derolian contingent, or were they more likely encountering pockets of resistance? Ferreting the woodsmen from their hiding places would prove to be a cumbersome task.

  Greeb craned his head to the west. He stared into the darkness hanging over leagues of Eru grassland. Where was Temujen? It was unlike the horsemen to avoid a battle, especially a battle initiated on their sacred Tre. Greeb turned to his attendants. He grabbed a likely candidate and pulled the unfortunate runner before him.

  “Get into the wood and determine what’s happening,” commanded the Malveel. “I need a report on our casualties. How many Derolians have we killed and how many ...?”

  “My lord,” shouted a tracker emerging from the woods.

  Greeb spun and the orb narrowed on the Ulrog. The tracker neglected to hesitate for a command to speak.

  “My lord. The Derolians spring traps throughout the wood,” rasped the tracker, his chest heaving. “Our brethren are slaughtered by the dozens. Slundoc devised a plan but it is uncertain whether it will work.”

  Greeb fought hard to control his anger. He needed information and if he silenced this ignorant fool with a stroke of his claws, he would lose his only source of that information.

  “Slundoc?” sneered Greeb. “A plan?”

  “Yes, my lord,” replied the tracker. “Slundoc instructs the Hackles to break free of the Derolian’s snare. He hopes to reunite our numbers within the open wood and flank the Derolian’s defensive positions.”

  “Is Slundoc aware how many of our Hackles are lost?” questioned Greeb, his voice rising with sarcasm. “Is Lord Slundoc confident in our numbers? Has he devised a plan should the Eru return? Has Slundoc considered further traps?”

  The tracker suddenly realized Slundoc’s misstep and his own part in it. Slundoc presumed too much. The tracker lowered his head and bowed deeply. His eyes winced as he replied.

  “No, my lord.”

  “Perhaps Slundoc and his ilk should consider delivering information before acting upon it,” snarled Greeb.

  “Yes, my lord,” returned the tracker as he lowered even further and backed away.

  Greeb exhaled a hiss as he assimilated this new information. Indeed, Portlo and his allies managed to draw Greeb into a trap. No one would ever hear him admit it, but it was true. Portlo baited Greeb into committing his forces to the Derol. Again the Malveel questioned why. Why would the Astelans and their allies commit this daring act now?

  Greeb found it difficult to think in this atmosphere. Tricked by the Astelans. His subordinates acting of their own accord. Rage boiled in his mind. Death to the Astelans and the Derolians who harbored them. That was all he could conceive.

  “Slundoc committed my Hackles,” snapped Greeb. “I will allow the situation to play out.”

  Portlo pulled every other man from their positions along the barricade. The Ulrog broke through near the opposite end of the tunnels and they massed within the open wood. Hastily the Derolians fashioned another barricade to defend themselves.

  Before it was complete, a thick line of stone men rushed through the wood and advanced upon the position. Woodsmen leapt to their feet and released longbow arrows through the darkness. Howls of pain rewarded their efforts but the damage would not be great enough.

  Hulking forms rushed from the darkness. Cleavers slashed, meeting saber and cutlass. The clang of steel and the war whoops of the Ulrog echoed within the dense forest.

  Portlo and his swordsmen kept their formation tight. The steward and his men formed a box, its sides comprised of a wall of shields. Their broadswords darted back and forth from within the box dropping Ulrog before them.

  Lijon and his woodsmen abandoned their bows and hefted ax and short sword. The woodsmen preferred a more free style of fighting. They paired in groups of two and protected one another’s backs.

  More Hackles poured from the tunnel of trees and raced to join their brethren. Lijon countered a series of blows from a large stone man. His partner dove forward slamming a short sword up to its hilt within the Ulrog’s belly. The creature bellowed in pain and toppled forward as the woodsman cleanly drew the blade free from the falling body.

  Another Ulrog moved in and slammed a huge rock down upon the woodsman’s head as Lijon swept his ax at the new threat. The woodsman crumbled to the ground in a heap as the Ulrog’s head dropped from its shoulders to the forest floor.

  A group of Ulrog clawed the hard packed earth, plowing rock from beneath its surface. The rocks launched over the heads of their brethren and crashed down on Portlo and his swordsmen. Within moments the Astelan box broke and several of its members dropped from head wounds. Immediately, Ulrog moved toward the fallen men to exploit the advantage. The box reacted quickly to cover their fallen comrades, but managed to save but a few as Hackles dragged away the r
emnants and trampled them beneath stone feet.

  The Ulrog numbers swelled as the traps drained of Hackles. Portlo and Lijon lost ground rapidly. Bombarded from above and slashed from below, the Derolian force absorbed too much damage. The plan was to draw the Ulrog into the wood, inflict casualties upon the Horde, then force it to retreat to the grasslands. Portlo held his own option to retreat, but the steward stuck to his task. He needed to keep the Ulrog occupied for a time.

  Suddenly his resolve took a severe blow. The fire of Chaos rippled across the heads of the Ulrog and splashed upon the front line of the battle. Derolian and Ulrog alike howled in pain as fire engulfed them.

  Slundoc stood at the back of the charge shouting orders, his eyes wide with excitement. The Hackles and priests thought his word was that of Greeb. They obeyed his orders unquestioningly and he succeeded in turning the tide of the battle. More Ulrog poured from the trap to his left as well as that to the right. Their numbers swelled the army he controlled.

  The Derolians erected a simple barrier, but under Slundoc’s direction the Hackles overran it. The fight turned into a pitched battle, which suited his Ulrog. He commanded fellow trackers to deliver the remaining Ulrog from the traps they stumbled into. He demanded they abandon their futile advance against the Derolian defenses and backtrack to this section of the wood.

  Soon Slundoc would control a sizable enough force to roll over the Derolians. Typically, the woodsmen would break off the battle as it turned against them. They would melt into the woods for weeks before they would be seen again. So far this had not happened. However, when it inevitably did, the Ulrog would emerge from the Derol with a victory.

  The tracker laughed. Greeb sent the Ulrog to their death and he, Slundoc, not only saved them, but he handed his brethren their first victory over the woodsmen in the Derol. Nothing would stop the Ulrog now.