by JManess
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agreement. “I have a plan; we must move quickly though.” Derek headed toward the front line, shouting over his shoulder to the general, “Get me all the extra pikes you can find.”
Onian didn’t strike immediately at sundeath, waiting for total darkness for his next move. Derek suspected that Onian planned to use the “Blind Knights,” Morbidion monks that trained to fight in dim light, strengthening their night vision, so that they may better serve Morbidon in his shadowy kingdom. It would be Derek’s next move if he held Onian’s post. His men worked busily away at his plan, though many didn’t like it. Still, they obeyed the Warlord, aware that it was his knowledge and tactics that kept them alive and Onian out of Ariva for this long.
As true night fell, Derek’s keen eyes spotted the first shadows moving in the gloom and sent up the signal. Torchbearers rushed out onto the battlefield and ignited the enemy corpses impaled on pikes. The night sky in the kill zone before the front line lit up with flames just as the monks moved into range. The archers raised their weapons and flaming missiles shot into corpse-lit night.
The monks, their night vision ruined by the flames around them, struggled to regroup even as they fell beneath the unceasing onslaught of Ariva’s missiles.
The macabre human torches burned for hours, sending foul smoke into the night sky and infuriating the enemy troops even as the Arivan archers cut down the nearly unarmed monks.
Derek’s first general climbed the stand to confer with him. “Once again, milord, you anticipated Halidor’s move.”
Derek glanced away from the burning battlefield, “You forget I have fought Halidor before, Josef. They used many of these same tactics against Vanguard where I served as a mercenary.”
“You’d think they would know that.”
“I assure you, Onian knows as much about me as my own mother did, Josef. We cannot catch all of his spies.”
“Would that our own sources proved so reliable,” Josef answered.
“I agree. I am frustrated by the failure of our scouts to return. Onian has something major that he saves, unwilling to play his winning hand just yet. I can feel it; he hesitates, wanting to be certain that he has drawn out all of our defenses. Yet so far, I have seen nothing that Halidor hasn’t used before.”
“Perhaps this is all he has, milord. We may yet win the day!”
“Yes, Josef, perhaps you are correct.” But Derek didn’t believe so and his 176
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head ached from just sitting and watching the battle. “I am going to join the men on the morrow, Josef.”
“That is good, they will see your presence and it will do wonders for their motivation. A visit from the high commander always rallies the troops.”
“Not a visit, Josef. I need to fight. I am going to stay on the front lines. You will take over command here until I return.”
“What? But, milord—” Josef, one of the oldest soldiers in Ariva’s army, sputtered—“we need you here. Already you have held off Onian’s dogs longer then anyone hoped. We cannot afford to lose you in battle.”
“Do you think I will die so easily, Josef?” Derek casually inquired, his eyes hooded and dangerous.
“No, no, of course not, but it is still a terrible risk. There is no reason for it; we are winning!” Josef protested.
“No, Josef, we are simply at a stalemate. We will not win unless we find some way to break Halidor’s spirits. Until that time, I cannot sit up on this stand watching the battle drag on.”
“Perhaps you need more sleep, milord. I will take the next watch and inform you if Onian moves again.”
“I will sleep tonight, Josef, but tomorrow I intend to join the battle personally.”
“Milord, I cannot let you do that.”
Derek paused at the steps leading down from the stand. Josef gulped but held his ground.
“I don’t recall making a request, General Josef. The last time I checked I was still the Warlord here.” Derek turned on Josef, his eyes steely. “I suggest you don’t forget that. I will repeat myself only once; tomorrow I join the battle personally. You decide if you wish to command this post or find yourself hanging from the gibbet for treason.” Derek turned away again, exiting the commander’s stand without a backward glance. Josef took out a scrap of spidersilk, hand-embroidered by his young wife, and mopped his brow, collapsing in the chair Derek vacated.
“Gods help us,” he whispered to the night air.
The following morning Derek strode out to the front line, rested, refreshed, and dressed in full armor, his sword strapped to his waist and his shield already on his arm. The feathered helm he wore bore little resemblance to the one he pulled out for ceremonial occasions. He’d ordered it designed for function
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rather than elegance, and there was nothing particularly beautiful about the unadorned metal save the fluttering dyed feathers waving from the top. He met with his generals one last time. Despite their complete shock and dismay at his decision to fight, they held their silence and made note of his commands before he marched out to the front line. The generals shook their heads as they watched him go, wondering if, in the strain of battle, the Warlord had lost his sanity.
Derek felt quite sane. Finally, he could fight and feel the rush of battle lust push through his veins, chasing away fear and doubt. He could engage the enemies personally rather than move his pawns around the battlefield the way he had been. He needed to hear the dying screams of Halidor’s men loud in his ears and crush their dead beneath his boots. Only this would shake him from his thwarted longing to seek revenge. He had no idea how long Onian planned to camp at Ariva’s border, but each passing cycle meant another delay to his personal quest. Sitting back and watching others die at his command left him too much time for thought.
The men cheered when they saw him, and word passed down the line that the Warlord came out to survey them personally just as he had at the start of battle. When he marched to the center of the front line and took up his position, the cheers died down as the men whispered in surprise. The field captains raced over to confer with Derek, and he told them with an air of finality that he would lead the next battle personally. The soldiers overhearing this passed the news down both ends of the line and soon the cheer began again, a rally cry that echoed off the mountains, the stone goliaths amplifying the sound until it reverberated back to the enemy, striking fear into their hearts.
For the soldiers, Derek’s presence among them only boosted their moral. The captains looked at each other, then back at the command post, where First General Josef shrugged his shoulders in response.
Derek waited with the men, eager for blood. The soldiers around him shifted from nerves and inexperience while he remained motionless, silent, solid, and lethal. He watched the enemy line, certain that Onian made note of his new position and equally certain that the next charge would target him personally. Onian would see the death of Ariva’s Warlord as the first key to victory.
Derek had no intention of dying and he impatiently awaited those foolish enough to try to kill him. Fortunately he didn’t have to wait long. He suspected 178
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Onian, too, grew impatient with this game so it didn’t surprise him when the prince sent out his cavalry. Derek had nothing other than artillery to counter these horsemen. Having seen his previous trick, they would not be so easily fooled. He ordered the pikemen into battle formation and they crouched, shields raised and pikes lowered.
Derek remained in front of the wall of pikemen, standing between two lethal pikes as he waited to engage the cavalry soldiers. The wind whipped the feathers on his helm, signaling his position to the enemy. He watched them come and felt the chilly calm of impending battle take him, giving himself over to the fight.
Arrows rained down on the cavalrymen but they raised their shields and kept charg
ing. Their steeds continued to gallop, unfazed by the arrows sticking in their chest or flanks. More arrows fell upon the men, but again the lethal rain failed to halt their charge. Josef ordered the catapults to fire but he hesitated too long; the artillerymen couldn’t fire too close to their own front line so their missiles passed harmlessly over the horsemen. The cavalrymen crashed into the wall of pikes, the first wave striking down around them from their dying mounts even as their fellows executed astonishing jumps over the struggling bodies and past the front line into the swordsmen, trampling many beneath their horses and slashing at the rest with demoralizing ease.
Derek quickly dispatched the horse and rider that hit the pikes next to him first, yanking his sword free and burying it in the body of the next horse, smashing the rider with his shield as the horse fell forward in death. He continued to eliminate those cavalrymen that approached him with exceptional skill and nearly inhuman speed. Men fell all around him and at the back of his mind he realized that too many of them were his own men but he didn’t allow it to distract him. There was nothing he could do besides take down as many of Onian’s men as he could, and he gloried in the feel of action after so much time sitting around.
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The horsemen succeeded in cutting their way through the front line and Onian sent a battalion of his footsoldiers to follow up on the attack. Th
e mass of troops charged the beleaguered Arivan defenders when suddenly the tide of battle turned. Th e horsemen found
themselves knocked from their mounts by fi reballs. A powerful and invisible force pushed the advancing swordsmen back, knocking the front row to the ground. Sparkles of light burst out in the faces of the grounded horsemen, blinding and confusing them even while their mounts raced away in terror as impish fl ames scorched their hides.
Derek dispatched two more confused cavalrymen before he found the time to locate the new source of aid. As he suspected, the old wizard from the Woods stood next to an extremely uncomfortable General Josef on the commander’s stand. As Derek watched, the old man raised his glowing staff again, gestured with his other hand and pointed the staff at the battlefield at the same time that Josef ordered a volley of arrows. A fierce wind blew up and carried the archer’s arrows far beyond their normal range, directing them with unerring accuracy into the enemy. Another spell sent forth a wall of wind, forming a shield before Ariva’s front line.
Onian ordered a retreat and his army fell back. The horsemen who managed to escape made haste in their retreat but many found themselves trapped behind enemy lines, and the Arivan soldiers and mercenaries recovering from their abrupt change in fortunes swiftly dispatched the remaining enemies.
The invisible shield of wind remained between the two armies, and Derek directed his men to rest, calling for the healers to pull the wounded and dead 179
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from the field. He ordered the troops waiting in reserve to replace the battle-weary front line and sent the discharged soldiers back to the camp even as the fresh troops took up their battle positions. Derek made his way back to the camp, wiping his bloodstained sword on the uniform of one of his kills before sheathing it and striding through the front line, stopping to clasp soldiers on the shoulders or arms in greeting and praise.
Derek bypassed the commander’s stand and headed for his pavilion, determined to corner the wizard after he’d had a chance to drop his gear with one of the many servants that kept the war camp running as smoothly as possible. The servant would clean, polish, and see to the repair of his armor and weapon while he confronted the wizard that had managed to avoid him for so long. Instead, he discovered a visitor in his pavilion.
The king himself awaited him within, and Derek drew up short, startled to see him and his entourage of royal guards. During wartime, the Warlord’s power became absolute, his word law above and beyond even that of the king.
It was an ancient law enacted by Ulrick himself after he united the valley tribes as their king, because it anticipated the potential for war-hungry rulers. No king wanted to turn his power over to a subordinate, and the Warlord didn’t possess the initial power to enter a war, so Ariva never fought a war they started.
The king’s presence here today served no purpose, as Derek’s command took precedence. Still, Derek respected his king and bowed to the other man in greeting.
“Your Highness, I hope everything is well in the capital?”
“Of course; we have very competent councilors and an even more competent queen. We decided that we cannot sit back and do nothing while our people are dying in this war. When the wizard from the Woods came to us and requested we accompany him here, we set out immediately. We hope he can assist the soldiers and bring a swift end to this conflict. Please do not mistake us, Lord Derek, from the news we have received from the frontlines.
You have performed an admirable job at holding off the curs that howl at our gates. We simply wish for life to return to normal.”
“I assure you, my liege, I am as eager as yourself to see the end of this battle. The wizard’s aid will undoubtedly serve us and has already done so, granting my men a reprieve and routing Onian’s cavalry, arguably one of the best military units Halidor possesses.”
The king nodded in satisfaction. “Good, that is excellent news. We cannot
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stay long, but we hope we will witness the fall of Onian and his cursed allies before we must return to the capital.”
“Of course, Your Highness, we all hope for that. You are welcome to stay as long as you are able; feel free to use my own pavilion, the only one suitable for royalty. I trust the queen and your children are still well.” Derek started unbuckling his armor to hand to the waiting servant. Before the king could reply a soldier raced into the pavilion.
“My Lord, Onian rallies, his troops prepare to make a move!” Derek glanced at the king and his guards.
“You should find a place of safety, Your Highness. I suspect that our wizard has finally forced Onian’s hand.” He buckled his breastplate back in place and retrieved his shield.
“What do you mean?”
“I am afraid that now Onian will reveal whatever weapon he held back.”
“What makes you think he possesses such a thing?” Lord Derek spared one last glance for his king before he strode outside.
“Call it a hunch,” he replied, closing the heavy tent flap on his parting words.
In another part of the encampment, one of the king’s cloaked outriders removed their concealing cloak to reveal a slender archer. In the chaos of the milling camp, few would notice that the archer, carrying a massive and strangely built bow and a quiver filled with black arrows, bore the stunning and delicate features of a woman beneath the feathered uniform cap. Elona skirted the most populated portion of the campsite, seeking the archer’s stands even as the men erupted into action at the signal that Onian’s men made to strike again. Elona quickened her pace and shot up the steps to the archer’s stand with the other soldiers crowding back to perform their duty. None of the men, young and middle-aged alike, noticed her, their attention fixed on the horizon and the enemy army there. The artillery captain simply waved her and the others to their positions, and Elona took her place at the far end of the stand.
Taking out the far-seeing tube she had recovered from Sondra’s workroom, Elona surreptitiously scanned the enemy troops, searching the Bladen uniforms for the target she sought. Sure enough, just as her informants had told her, Prince Galaden waited amongst the Bladen soldiers, his ornate helm conspicuous amongst the dull colors of the troops around him. It didn’t surprise her that he wanted to personally direct the men his father promised for Halidor; what did surprise her was how close he’d come to Ariva’s frontline.
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Even now he sat upon his mount just out
of artillery range, his arrogant stance mocking the front troops of Ariva.
It chilled Elona that even the wizard’s arrival didn’t seem to disturb the enemy. Still, she came here for a specific purpose, tucking her hair beneath a uniform cap and risking her father’s intense wrath and the dangers of warfare.
She put away the far-seeing tube and drew her bow. The sleek weapon, designed especially for her by the engineers who accepted her handsome payment for their silence, operated using a system of small pulleys, which allowed even a thin woman like herself to draw the massive bow, increasing the tension on her missile, and hopefully expanding her range enough to strike her intended target. The special arrows, made of the nearly feather-light blackwood found deep within the Woods themselves, should assist in reaching the distance she required.
Still, she planned to wait as long as possible in the hope that Galaden would grow over confident in his heavy, metal suit of armor and brave the missiles of his enemy to lead his men forward. Fortunately, she had an excellent aim and the gap in his helm beckoned like the bull’s-eye on a target.
Derek rejoined the front line just in time for the charge. Bladen’s footsoldiers, led by mounted captains, moved into position nearly within artillery range to charge the Arivan line. The wizard’s shield of wind still roared between the two armies, but Onian ordered a charge anyway, and Bladen’s men moved forward, bringing up their shields as Ariva’s artillery released a volley of lethal arrows.
Only a few soldiers fell, the rest of the arrows bouncing harmlessly off upraised shields. The next volley struck more men but made little dent in their numbers, though Derek saw a commander topple from his horse, an arrow embedded right through the slit in his helm. Still the troops advanced, though they moved slowly, cautiously. Derek shouted to the field captain closest to him.
“Beware, watch the enemy further back. Bladen’s advance is a feint. Onian plans something else and needs the distraction.” The field captain nodded and sent word down the line. A field messenger raced up to the commander’s stand and relayed the word to the wizard and the General. Derek caught the wizard’s nod in acknowledgment; he also suspected something big.
