by Doug Niles
He bore his emerald-tipped spear in his right hand and wore a gem-encrusted gold crown, one of the few treasures he had brought from Solamnia after his defeat. With his henchmen dressed in great bearskins, each captain crowned with a feathered headdress, he led his entourage through the woods to the nearest ogre settlement.
It was the stronghold of Vis Gorger, a hill town, in a valley peppered with cave mouths. Inside of each was a house, an inn, or a shop. There he met with the ogre lord Vis Gorger, who was still resentful over the Pond-Lily affair, and refused to join the expedition or acknowledge that Ankhar was the Truth.
So the half-giant broke the ogre’s neck, quickly and without warning or hesitation. The town’s vice chieftain, a strapping male named Bullhorn, didn’t seem to mind and proved more amenable to Ankhar’s needs—especially after Ankhar appointed him the new overseer of the town. Then Ankhar collected more than a hundred ogre warriors, young bulls eager for mayhem and plunder.
Next he went to the town of Heart Eater, the other chief who had claimed Pond-Lily’s affections.
Apparently, word of Vis Gorger’s fate preceded Ankhar’s arrival. In any event, Heart Eater organized two hundred ogre warriors, with twice that number of goblin spear carriers, and was ready and waiting to join the half-giant when Ankhar and his growing force arrived.
And so it went. The villages and towns of Lemish gave up their young warriors, willingly and with great expectations. They all joined the army of Ankhar the Truth. His force swelled by the day as he marched up and down and back and forth through the breadth of the land.
Until finally, he had amassed his horde of warriors and there was no place left in Lemish for him to go.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AMBUSH BY FIRE
Blayne Kerrigan didn’t stay to witness the outcome of the battle in the orchard. Instead, he took two hundred skilled archers and the wizard Red Wallace, and speedily rode east to Vingaard Keep. They crossed the Stonebridge near the bank of the Vingaard—the bridge Jaymes had ordered Dayr not to guard in order to draw more of the Vingaard defenders into battle outside the keep walls.
The riders crossed the span just upstream of the confluence of Apple Creek and the much larger river. South of the creek, they raced westward along the road toward the advancing forces of the emperor. Soon they came up behind the position established by Lord Kerrigan before he had gone to parley with the emperor.
A deep ditch had been excavated across the road, which was anchored by steep, rocky hills to either side. A number of men were waiting behind the dirt wall that had been thrown up behind the ditch, while many horses were pastured in the fields behind the hills. Blayne quickly located the officer in command.
“I have a thousand horsemen, and as many archers and soldiers on foot. We’ll hold them up for a few hours,” reported Captain Dobbs, a veteran of the keep garrison and the man in charge of this contingent. “But we won’t be able to stop them.”
“A few hours is all I’ll need. Do you have the equipment I asked for?”
“Yes, sir, right over here.” The captain led him to a small compound, where bulky saddlebags—two hundred pairs—had been prepared and laid out for Blayne’s inspection. Each set included quivers of arrows, a stout bow, jars of pitch, some webbing to wrap around the arrows, and dry matches.
“Excellent,” pronounced the young lord. “Any word on how far away the emperor is?”
“Only a couple of miles and coming fast. They didn’t waste much time after the battle at the ford.”
“No—he always was fast on the march,” acknowledged Blayne, wincing. “But it might give us enough time.”
“Good luck, sir,” offered the captain.
“And to you, too,” Kerrigan replied, heading for his horse. That mount, like the rest of the two hundred, had already been outfitted with the bulging panniers. The rest of his band mounted and they cantered away. No longer did they follow the road. They took to the fields, coursing around the southernmost of the twin hills where the Vingaard line was situated.
Blayne had hunted, prowled, fished, and camped on those lands since he was a small boy, and he needed no map or guide. He had a specific spot in mind, and the fast-moving column crossed several fields of grain—though the young lord made sure to steer his horseman along the lanes between the tender plantings—and quickly passed under the shade of overhanging trees.
The Southwood Forest was not a cultivated grove, like the apple orchard, but a deep and ancient wood of dense trees, drooping, mossy branches, and heavy thickets. Few pathways crossed through the forest, but Blayne knew how to lead his column rapidly through the woodlands. When they approached the mouth of a wide gulley at the far side of the forest, he signaled for his men to dismount. The band gathered around him, alert and unafraid.
“Take the webbing from your saddlebags and wrap it around the foreshaft of each arrow, extending about a foot back from the head. Use the pitch to hold it in place. I want every man to have at least a dozen of these fiery missiles ready to shoot in the next ten minutes.”
While his men went about making the preparations, Blayne and Red Wallace advanced on foot to the mouth of the gully. Taking cover behind a cluster of large trees, they looked down on the paved road where, already, the emperor’s army could be sighted, no more than a mile away.
“If we have timed it right, the horsemen are in position beyond the road,” Blayne said.
Almost immediately those words proved correct as the first of the Vingaard delaying tactics began to play out. They watched as hundreds of cavalrymen, lancers mounted on fleet, unarmored horses, burst over the ridge on the far side of the road and came pouring down on the flank of the emperor’s column. The Crown Army cavalry rode to intercede, charging from the front and rear of the column. The two men watched as a frantic battle erupted, men and horses cut down by the score, hooves trampling the wounded, grit and resolve driving each side.
The Vingaard riders had the advantage of surprise, and in their first rush, they split the converging force of Crown horsemen. The road was lined with heavy wagons lumbering toward the keep, and the lead lancers actually reached some of the wagons. They were not the bombards—Blayne could see those wagons far to his left, at the rear of the column, but even so, the riders speared some drivers and caused great confusion in the dense column.
Spearmen had been marching along near the wagons, and they leveled their weapons into a phalanx and pressed forward. Confronted with a wall of steel spearheads, the lancers had no choice but to withdraw. Still, they did so with élan, splitting into small groups and striking at unprotected sections of the baggage train as they jumped over the ditches and darted into the fields beside the track. One heavy cart overturned, tangling four horses in their traces, dumping crates of supplies all across the road.
Finally the harassing lancers were driven off. Whole ranks of spearmen formed up and advanced up the hill toward the crest where the riders had disappeared. They arrayed themselves along the height. Soon companies of the Crown riders, spearheaded by heavily armored knights, also climbed those hills, pouring over the top. Blayne could imagine them riding against the light cavalry on the other side of the ridges, and he could only hope his horsemen would ride away from the uneven challenge. His lancers would have to be ready to perform the next step in the elaborate dance.
At about that time, horns brayed, off to the right. The wagon train came to a halt as more soldiers—both cavalry and infantry, hurried forward to either side of the road.
“They’ve come up against the ditch,” Blayne guessed.
Red Wallace nodded. “It will give them pause, certainly. We will strike while they are distracted.”
“Agreed.”
Quickly the two men returned to the band of riders to find that the men had successfully rigged plenty of arrows with straw and pitch. The young lord directed his men to advance stealthily on foot, each man leading his horse, as they moved parallel to the road, along the bed of the wide gully. They wer
e yet a mile from the enemy, and the steep walls of the winding ravine effectively masked their approach.
Periodically, Blayne would scale those walls, checking their location against the wagons, until finally he slid back down and ordered his men to mount up.
“Those bombards are right in front of us now, just off in the distance. They’re guarded by a dozen companies of spearmen and riders, but with a little luck, those fellows will be distracted pretty thoroughly.”
At that point, the deep ravine petered into a shallow cut, and the mounted men in the lead of the column could get a look at the road and the ridge beyond. Blayne studied the large companies of soldiers protecting his prize and found himself holding his breath.
“There they are!” exclaimed Wallace at the first sign of movement on the opposite ridge.
Just as planned, hundreds of the Vingaard light cavalry reappeared, abruptly spilling over the crest. With lances leveled, they bore down in a charge toward the wagons containing the massive bombards, whooping and shouting like wild men. Also as planned, the men of the Crown Army reacted quickly to defend their precious weapons, forming a three-rank line and extending their wings to the right and left in a sweeping, encircling barrier that stood between the charging horsemen and the precious guns.
That was when the light horsemen pulled back their mounts and milled about defiantly, just out of arrow range from the column’s defenders.
Blayne looked at Wallace. “I don’t think we’ll get a better chance than this,” he declared.
The red-robed wizard nodded in agreement.
“Light those brands!” cried young Lord Kerrigan. “We ride against the bombards!”
In the next moment, all two hundred of his men had touched flames to their pitch-soaked arrows, nocking the weapons onto the strings of their bows. They spilled out of the ravine in no particular formation, each man riding as fast as he could, determined to get off as many shots as possible. The wind snatched at the flaming arrows but only served to fan the small blazes. Blayne raised his bow and guided his horse with his knees, directing his charge at the closest of the three great weapons.
Amazingly, the Crown soldiers didn’t at first notice the surprise attack. So determined were they to hold back the lancers on the north side of the road that Blayne’s party had galloped forward for ten or twelve breaths without drawing so much as a warning shout. Finally, a commander, looking over his shoulder, spotted the flank attack and bellowed a sharp alert.
By then, the attackers were closing fast. The Crown companies were out of position, the footmen scrambling between the wagons, trying to form a wall of spears. The confused infantry effectively blocked their own cavalry from crossing the road, and the defensive line had to form only a few feet from the wagons. Mounted archers would have no trouble getting close enough.
Red Wallace bounced along on a fleet mare, readying a spell that—Blayne trusted—ought to destroy at least one of the bombards. The wizard would maneuver toward the last of the massive weapons, while the riders would concentrate their fire against the first two. The horses flowed across the ground, closing to five hundred feet, then three hundred feet.
The spearmen presented a bristling line, standing barely twenty yards in front of the road and the wagons. Blayne shouted, “Halt!” and the riders pulled up, still at a fair remove from the enemy footmen. The Crown cavalry was streaming to the rear, looking for a way to countercharge, but the delay was fatal.
“Fire!” shouted Kerrigan, launching his first arrow at the towering bulk of the first bombard. The target loomed like a mountain, impossible to miss—but somehow the sputtering arrow, trailing a column of smoke, wiggled awkwardly through the air and fell harmlessly to the ground in front of the spearmen trying to protect the bombards. Cursing, Blayne reached for another missile and struggled to light the pitch while his horse pranced beneath him.
But there were at least two hundred flaming arrows launched in the first volley, and a few of them did find the range. A pair smacked into the side of one of the bombard haulers, the impact driving the burning pitch deep into its wooden planks. Several more landed in the beds of the wagons, while a few of the near misses landed close enough to the big oxen hauling the guns that they set the creatures to bellowing and pitching in their traces.
Close by the young lord, Red Wallace had his spell ready and launched a bolt of lightning from one fingertip. The explosive charge shot through the air with a hiss and crackle, searing through the line of spearmen and striking the side of the wagon with a blast. Immediately that heavy bed was shattered into timbers and traces, one sturdy wheel wobbling away as flames consumed the wreckage.
Smoke was rising from many of the wagons, including the two bearing the remaining bombards. Another wagon, struck by accident, exploded in flame, spewing a huge column of smoke.
“We hit their powder supply!” Blayne cried exultantly. He released one then another arrow, which vanished into the smoke and fire. In any event, flames rose from all the wagons, and by now the Crown cavalry had begun to spill around the mess, hundreds of foes, lances leveled, thundering toward the attacking Vingaard riders.
“Pull back!” cried Blayne Kerrigan.
His troops needed no further encouragement. They spun their horses away, back toward the ravine and the tangled pathways of the Southwood Forest. By the time they vanished into the gap, the weary riders of the Crown Army had fallen far behind.
“What in the name of the Abyss is going on back there?” Jaymes snarled, spinning his horse and staring in amazement at the column of smoke rising from the rear of the column. In the next instant, he put spurs to the steed and went racing back against the line of march, his horse dancing along the side of the road.
“Templar, follow me!” he ordered, coming on the Clerist Knight and his small company of priest-warriors. He didn’t wait to see that they obeyed, but continued racing headlong to the rear.
The damage was apparent while he was still a mile away. At least one wagon had exploded into bits, and many others were burning. He saw the tail end of the Vingaard column disappearing into the woods and forgot about them—at least for the time being.
There would be time enough, later, for the enemy to feel his wrath.
He had to save the bombards, if at all possible. But by the time he reached the scene, he could see that one of the great barrels was enveloped by flames, and that the fire covered the wooden body of the great carriage supporting the gun. Even as the emperor watched, the wagon collapsed, and the timbers forming the bore of the great barrel started to blacken. A second bombard lay on its side, cracked and broken—by some kind of magic, he suspected.
The third and last cannon was wreathed in smoke, but the wagon was not yet engulfed by flames, not yet lost. Templar, his own horse lathered, galloped up behind Jaymes, and the emperor pointed angrily at the lone bombard in its cradle of vulnerable wood, just starting to catch fire.
“Put that out!” he ordered.
The Clerist immediately began casting a spell. Jaymes watched soundlessly, his teeth clenched and his jaw aching, as a cloud quickly formed above the burning wagon. In no time a steady rain began to fall, and a few moments later the flames had been reduced to sizzling, blackened embers. The lone remaining bombard had survived, essentially undamaged.
“My lord!” cried General Dayr, coming up to the site on a frothing horse. “What happened?”
“Happened?” retorted the emperor coldly. He thought for a moment, his eyes glaring at the dark forest where the attackers had withdrawn.
“What happened is that the fate of Vingaard has been sealed,” he declared before turning his back on the damage and riding back toward the head of his army.
CHAPTER NINE
CASTLE KEEP
Selinda stared at the door to her room, the door that was almost constantly closed, tightly locked, and always carefully guarded, on the orders of her husband, the emperor. He was gone from the city, but his presence, his authority, seemed to lin
ger everywhere—in the walls surrounding her, amid the guards who were the only people she saw, in the very air she breathed. She found herself turning quickly around several times each day, checking against the strong sensation he was in the room, watching her.
She wore the ring of teleportation from Coryn the White on her finger, nervously touching it as she looked at the door again. Selinda had been wearing the ring, staring at it, thinking about it, for a number of days. But she had been so worried about the unseen presence of the emperor that she had done nothing yet to activate the magical circlet.
It was not the closed, locked door that worried her, but rather those not-infrequent times when it swung open. Her guards were respectful, even kindly, and they often checked in on her to see whether she needed anything, how she was feeling, or simply to offer a bit of news or a home-baked treat from one of their wives. At first, Selinda welcomed the brief interaction with them, the few moments of conversation; otherwise her routine was monotonous. It lessened her sense of isolation to learn that a troupe of players had arrived in the city and were performing farces every evening, or that a cargo of fresh oranges had just arrived at the port.
But what if one of those guards came in to visit and found she was gone, thanks to Coryn’s magic ring? Whatever consequences she imagined were too frightening to contemplate. It was this fear, more than anything else, that had stayed her hand for a week, since Jaymes had marched through the pass and onto the plains. Instead, she had spent most of her time studying the city, the sky, the mountains, and the bay, from her lofty window. She watched and she remembered and she continued to seethe.
