From the landmarks around him Kerrick knew that if they held to this pace they would be close to the Redwater River by nightfall.
Aurix held his lance high and signaled to the horsemen behind him. Berrfin, a lancer in full plate, of medium height and a stocky build that made him appear shorter than he was, rode up quickly beside him, his breath frosting in the cold air. Berrfin had been a godsknight, but had chosen to remain with the Silver Run Army after the godsknights had been decimated by their foolish charge into the pikes. Now he was one of Aurix’s picked lancers. “Another pack of Auligs, lord?”
Aurix turned to him with a broad grin. “Aye. And on the move, too. Call the charge!” Aurix waited until the line of lancers joined him on the hillside, then drove his stallion down the hillside through the snow. At the bottom of the hill a long line of perhaps eighty Cthochi spearmen looked up in surprise and began scattering. This was the fifth group of Cthochi they had encountered thus, and it was this speed of maneuver that had given him the advantage of them.
In the snow the Cthochi’s woodcraft was negated by several factors. First of all, they could be tracked easily, and hiding from the horsemen was impossible. Secondly, the horses could muscle their way through the heavy snow much faster than footmen could run, making it easy to run them down. Finally, the snow on the ground made it nearly impossible for the footmen to set their spears and catch the horsemen’s charge. Bowmen were still a problem, but they rarely had time to launch more than one flight of arrows before the horsemen were upon them.
Aurix had lost ten men from his group of fifty, although most of them merely wounded or unhorsed, but he had accounted for no less than four hundred Cthochi. Aelfric’s strategy of riding full speed toward the Expanded Fort without waiting for the reports of scouts was risky, but it had the benefit of catching the Auligs completely by surprise. Aurix smiled grimly as his lance caught a fleeing Cthochi swordsman between the shoulderblades. Blood sprayed across the snow as he pulled his lance free from the man’s body. Around him other Auligs were screaming as they ran, for the horses had been upon them before they could even think to form up into ranks. In the distance to his north and south Aurix knew that other formations of horse were moving similarly, opening up a wide passage for the army that marched behind.
This was a battle of sorts, but such a battle as Aurix had never heard of, with a battlefield as large as a county and multiple pieces moving at great speed in multiple locations. It was an innovative way of fighting, and it took full advantage of the superior mobility of the horses. For the first time since joining the Silver Run army, Aurix felt like the lancers were getting their due. His horsemen had killed more Cthochi today than in all of their other battles combined.
The Cthochi’s strategy had been to move a large army between Ugly Woman Hill and the Expanded Fort, and to assemble it for battle to prevent the Silver Run army from reaching the fort. They had moved the army piecemeal, in groups from fifty to a hundred warriors each, intending them to gather together once they determined Aelfric’s line of march. What they hadn’t counted on was the lancers attacking without the support of the main army, moving with speed all over the field and catching the Cthochi in motion.
At best estimation the Silver Run army, had it been any kind of normal army, could not have reached the Redwater until late in the day tomorrow, so the Cthochi had planned to locate Aelfric’s force, immobilize it with battle, and then encircle it tomorrow. But the Silver Run army was not a normal army, and when Aurix crested the ridge behind the force of men he had just scattered and slain, he saw the outer wall of the Expanded Fort rising before him. The Silver Run army was no more than three hours hard march behind him, and it was not yet dark.
He called out for his men to assemble again. He intended to keep the route to the fort open, which meant they had more hunting to do.
It was midnight when the Fifth Spears finally stumbled through the open gate of the Expanded Fort. Haim marched the last two hundred paces much as he had the previous ten leagues, putting one leaden foot in front of the other methodically, painfully. His toes were numb and wet and his calf wound was bleeding again. He untied the strap around his shoulders and let Limver’s body fall to the snowy ground, there to lie frozen until tomorrow, when the people of the town would come across the bridge and bury him. Someone in the army ahead of him had pitched the tents of the Silver Run army, and Haim found his fyrde’s tent already up beside a large fire. It was not warm inside, but it was warmer than the wind outside, and Brelic O’Dustin had already spread bedrolls and furs on the floor. Haim crawled into the bedroll that was approximately where he was used to sleeping, and pulled it close around him. He shivered for a long time before his body heat finally warmed the layers of cloth and fur to the point where he could sleep. He closed his eyes gratefully and let oblivion sweep him away. The long march back from Ugly Woman Hill was over, and he was alive, although wounded. He still had his boots on.
Long after midnight, when the last of the tail end of the army marched into the Expanded Fort, Tuchek found Aelfric at the command tent. He walked through a line of exhausted horses to the tent’s entrance and pushed through the assembled commanders there to find Aelfric sitting at a camp table with a map spread out in front of him. “Congratulations, Aelfric.” He said. “You brought them through.”
Aelfric looked up and gave Tuchek a small smile. His face looked gaunt and worn, although he had just turned twenty on the fourth of Leath. “How are you, Eskeriel? How are your scouts holding up?”
“Good. They’re tired like everyone, but we didn’t lose any.”
“Are they up for a final mission tonight?”
Tuchek stared at him for a long moment, thinking of his exhausted men. “Tonight? There’s not much of tonight left, Aelfric.”
Aelfric nodded wearily. “I know. And I know your men are exhausted, but I can give you the reserves that were here while we were at the battle. I need a force to destroy the war canoes on this side of the river, Eskeriel.” (Aelfric had stopped calling him Tuchek in the hearing of others). “The Cthochi should all be inland, looking for us or bedded down for the night, and I’d like to strike before it is light again.”
“We hold Redwater, Aelfric. They can’t come on us from either side of the river now.” Tuchek replied. “Whether they have war canoes or not, we’re safe from them.”
“I’m not thinking about us.” Aelfric replied. “We didn’t come north of Walcox to be safe. The whole point of us going after them on their side of the river was to pull Kerrick’s force over and destroy it. Once that was done, I knew they would have to bring the rest of their eastern force over after us. Eskeriel, the road to Northcraven is open. It is open now, right now, but only if we can keep them on the west side of the river. I’ve already got wagons full of food ready to run down to the city, and an army to break whatever is left of their siege. All I need to do is keep the Earthspeaker on the west side of the river. Once he learns that we’ve returned to safety here, he will reinforce the siege. We have to destroy his ability to cross the river tonight.”
Tuchek looked at Busker O’Hiam. “Is this your plan, Busker?” He demanded. “It stinks of your love of risk, just like the battle at Ugly Woman Hill and this mad tramp across the snow. You’ve made him reckless.”
Busker shook his head, looking confused. “T’was no doing of mine, Eskeriel. I will say that I agree with it, though. It’s no more risky than staying holed up here would be.”
Aelfric interrupted. “It’s my plan, Eskeriel. It’s been my plan all along. I haven’t shared it with any of you because I didn’t know if I could lay the groundwork. If we can open up the road between here and Northcraven, the siege is over. That was the entire point of this expedition. Get your men together, and take along any that are willing. I’m trusting you in this because I know that you can do it. In the morning I mean to march whatever able-bodied men I have left down the Northcraven Road to end this thing, and I’m counting on you to secure my le
ft flank.”
“We will be in Northcraven City by tomorrow night.” Faithborn said confidently, drawing a line on the map with his finger and nodding his head. “Although Lio only knows what we will find there.”
“If we can break the siege of Northcraven the Redwater is ours, and we’ve split the Auligs in half. All of the Auligs. It will mean the end of this war.” Aelfric looked at Tuchek meaningfully. “The Earthspeaker has to know this, Eskeriel. The killing will stop on both sides.”
Chapter 91: Mortentia City and Points North
Berla O’Hiol sat at the small table in her cottage and stared at the earnest young man sitting across from her with a mixture of and shock and fear. She wrung her fat and sweaty hands unconsciously, as if to wash them clean of what she was doing. Perspiration beaded her forehead and her nose despite the cold air in the neatly kept cottage. The fire had gone out in her little stove, and such was her state of mind that she had not thought to rekindle it. The room was dark, despite the tallow candle that burned smokily on a high shelf above the kitchen stove. Outside of the cottage the city was still mostly white with snow, although the streets had been mostly shoveled or trodden down to the pavers. There was a great deal of ice and the footing could be treacherous, like this plan.
“I promise you.” The man said, his dark eyes shining with fervored earnestness beneath an unruly cock’s comb of pale gold hair. His face was too smooth, as if he never laughed or smiled completely, but his eyes burned with a fanatic’s purpose. “I mean neither you nor your kin any harm. If you simply do as I ask, all will be well with you.”
“The king will have my head.” Berla replied simply, shaking her head in a firm negative. “He will have my head. Please understand, I cannot deceive him, he has known me for all of my life, and he will know if I am false.”
“You needn’t speak to him. You needn’t even look at him. You must simply do as you have always done, bake the pie, eat a slice as expected, and serve it. It’s nothing more than you do at every meal. You will have the antidote in your pocket. Wait until the king is sitting with his generals and serve the pie all ‘round, as is yer custom. Then you slip away and drink this.” He handed Berla a small ceramic vial. “There’s enough there for three or four people, so you needn’t drink it all. Within an hour the king and his generals will fall asleep and not awaken, and no trace of the poison will be found. Nobody will suspect the pie, and even if they do, you will be long gone. We will see to your escape.”
“And what of Jerl? What of my boy?”
“With Maldiver dead, the march of the royal army will be over. Jerl can play at rebel all he wants, there won’t be any army coming against him, at least not from this king. Not only that, but you’ll see a fair bit of gold out of it. Enough to see you settled comfortably in any town you fancy, but not back in Elderest you understand?”
Berla nodded quietly. Obviously she could never return to Elderest, but she had no people there anyway. All that was left of her kin was her brother and son, and they both lived in the Dominion of Diminios. They were both rebels, too.
The tall man in the shadows stepped forward, his hands on his hips. She had thought him the king’s man, Denjar Leetham, and much of her nervousness stemmed from the fact that this was his plan. He was a cold and calculating man, and it had come as a great shock to find that he was involved in this plot. “We’re too far along on this, Berla.” He said. “It’s far too late for second thoughts. Best ye just say yes and be done.” He was a tall man with broad shoulders and a weathered face. It was a hard and practical face, and she did not doubt that if she backed out now he would end her life. She had heard too much of him to believe otherwise.
Berla looked at the little door to her cottage, wishing that all of this was a dream. Her hair was tied back in a tight bun, and she ran her hands over it self-consciously. It was a bad thing they wanted her to do, but nothing she hadn’t thought of herself, once or twice. Maldiver D’Cadmouth was an evil man, she believed, and his killing just if for no other reason than the way he treated her mistress, the queen. It was his move against Diminios that had her desperate, for she knew her boy Jerl, and she knew that he would be among the first to attack the king’s army, and among the first to die. For a long time she stared before nodding at last.
“That’s a good girl.” The young man said. “It’s an act of patriotism, you know. You mustn’t think of it otherwise. You will be acting for the good of your country.”
Elsorina D’Cadmouth lay on her back in the great bed and stared at the ceiling, careful not to move or to breathe too loudly. It was early in the morning and still dark outside, but she’d heard a cock crow a few minutes earlier, so she knew day was coming. She glanced sideways, careful to move only her eyes, and looked at the sleeping form of her husband, a man she had only recently begun to know.
Maldiver D’Cadmouth, king of Mortentia, slept on his back like he always did. He snored lightly, and even in repose his face never quite relaxed. His thick eyebrows were slightly furrowed and his thin lips seemed stretched tight, as if he were slightly disapproving of whatever visions were coming to him in his dreams. He slept always with at least some light in the room, as if he distrusted the darkness, and this morning a thick bishop’s candle burned on the other side of the room, throwing his face into stark and somehow sinister relief. Or perhaps that was just her imagining, for she had come to see him that way ever since the day when the former king had died.
In her mind she looked back on the thirty years they had been together, and with a perspective born of new experiences, she wondered if he had ever truly loved her, or even if he was capable of it. In dark retrospect the tiny kindnesses he had occasionally shown took on a calculated light, and his seeming need for approval, his occasional vulnerabilities, seemed contrived somehow and manipulative.
Elsorina was a Weymore, born in the broad flatlands of Flana, in a sprawling mansion that stood on one of the few hills just west of Menwater on the broad Lini River, and her family’s wealth had come from a vast network of farms beholden to her father, the Duke of Flana. She had been raised among the devout and superstitious Flanesi, but she had never really been one of them. As a member of the gentry she had taken on the slightly condescending views of her caste, and an arranged marriage to the second son of the Duke of Elderest had been a natural enough union, for the Weymore barges passed through Elderest on their way to the markets in Mortentia City. She was often in Elderest, and had gone there for her finishing school.
She had been a beauty then, if a bit overly tall, and she had been often times complimented on her grace and her elegant neck. Maldiver had been handsome, charming and ambitious, and always strictly courteous, and she had consented to the arrangement of her marriage enthusiastically, not that her consent was truly required. Among the gentry marriages were a matter of politics, and she’d understood this from an early age. The Weymores of Flana and the D’Cadmouths of Elderest had profited greatly from the union of their houses, with trade and special customs agreements that enriched them both. Maldiver had always been a somewhat selfish lover, not that Elsorina had ever known another, but women gossiped and she heard things. Still, he had been a dutiful if distant father to their children.
Now Limme was lost to her, like so many of the king’s eyes had been lost recently, and her wild and reckless Shelderim was far away north of the Whitewood with one of the musters there, if he yet lived. Handsome Tarl had gone to the godsknights, and was a commander at the Lighthill these days. Only Bennum remained in Elderest, her youngest and most dutiful son, a merchant prince, slight of build and punctilious to the point of intolerance.
She looked at Maldiver’s form in the contrast of light and shadow, and she thought back to the confrontation they had had when he had returned to the palace after the death of Falante. It had been a rare moment of courage for her, thinking that he had killed the king and throwing it in his face. His response had been to act shocked at her accusation.
“I was t
here, my darling.” He’d said, with a hurt look on his face. “I did all I could to save him. Anyone there will attest to that.”
“But you sent men to kill the prince. I heard them! I saw them!” She had screamed, and he had moved close to her then, gripping her arm painfully.
“I don’t know what you heard or saw, Elsorina, but you did not see that, I promise you.”
But she had seen and heard, no matter his denials. When she confronted him about the fleet captain’s demands for payment and the cancellation of the fleets to move his army to Northcraven, his reply had been smooth. “My darling, you may send for him at any time and ask him. It was a negotiation, that is all, a ploy on my part to lower the price of transport. There was no cancellation in truth, merely a delay. I wanted him to come off of his ridiculous fees.”
She had not called the fleet captain. Whether Maldiver was telling the truth or lying, she was certain that the man would verify his story, so there was little point in asking. No fleet captain was going to dispute the word of the king. But in her mind she remembered Hobbian’s words. He was making her a queen, the man had said, and all the time looking to murder the prince. Now she was a queen, and Maldiver was king, and the thing was done.
She’d learned something that day about Maldiver. He could lie smoothly and without changing expression, and all the time looking straight into her gray eyes with his dark brown ones, like pits into the Abyss. She wondered how much of what he had said was truth now, all the years of their lives together. He had been the sole witness to his older brother’s drowning, caught in an undertow, he’d said. Treivin had been first in line for the high seat at Elderest.
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 119
