by Brian Murray
“Royal Lancers,” called Urkin and a dark blue flag was lowered.
On the south slope, the Royal Lancers charged forward.
The heavy cavalry galloped towards the beasts. At one hundred strides, they lowered their lances. This time they did not change formation. They would hit the beasts head on. At fifty strides, the riders braced themselves against their high saddlebacks. At twenty strides, the cavalrymen roared. The combined sound of their horses galloping and their yelling was an awful noise. The charge would have put fear into most enemies, but the beasts howled back in contempt.
The two forces clashed.
The horsemen ripped into, and through, the beasts. The long poles snapped noisily under the weight of the beasts.
The clansmen now charged the beasts from the north. Their ponies moved with grace down the slope as the riders drew their weapons. A horn sounded and the flat line charge changed into several wedges. The clansmen hit the beasts just after the heavy cavalrymen. Being less armoured, with lighter weapons, more clansmen fell.
The Royal Lancers veered slightly to the east and charged into the beasts. They hit the Talon Hunters and Shadows at full gallop, giving them an edge. They cannoned into the beasts, pushing them back onto their brethren behind. The Royal Lancers used their crossbows to fire off one round, then reverted to their curved cavalry swords.
On the hill, Urkin asked for the green flag to be lowered. The light cavalrymen charged in after their armoured comrades. They galloped down the hill and smashed into the beasts behind the heavy cavalrymen.
From the east came a low rumble. Dust rose into the air, like a dirty cloud hugging the ground. The Kharnacks were on the move.
***
Malice heard the commotion and turned in his saddle. He had five thousand Dread waiting with him at the rear. He bellowed an order and the beasts turned to face the charging Kharnacks.
***
Maldino led the first charge and galloped ahead of eight thousand warriors. They had agreed not to use all of the Kharnacks in the first attack, so Maldino had around twenty thousand warriors waiting east of the city. He held his sword aloft and leaned into his horse. The Kharnacks wore very little armour. Their faces and chests were covered in white paint, illustrating their earth names. On Maldino’s chest was a horseman riding a cloud—Cloud Rider. Next to him rode Rayth and on his chest, a fire blazing in a blizzard—Fire in the Storm.
The eight thousand Kharnack warriors charged into the Dread. The fighting was ferocious and bloody, very bloody as men, horses, and beasts all fell.
The Dread howled as they attacked the men. Shadows used their double-headed axes to hack and chop at the riders. The riders used swords, tulwars, and axes to slice into the beasts. The carnage was gory and men fell at a greater rate than the beasts—an alarmingly greater rate.
***
Maldino and Rayth fought side-by-side defending the other man. Around them several hundred Silverswords clansmen protected their chieftain and his friend. Rayth ducked under a wild swipe from a Talon Hunter. Hacking backhanded, he ploughed his axe deep into the beast’s face. Maldino hacked at a Talon Hunter that loomed up beside him. He kicked the Talon Hunter, turned his horse around, and slashed at the beast’s throat. Looking up, he dug his heels in his horse’s ribs and it rushed forward. Maldino used his horse to cannon into a Shadow that stood menacingly over a fallen clansman. The Shadow fell and the fallen clansman rose, then leapt forward and using his weight, crunched his sword through the creature’s exoskeleton. The clansman rose, but an axe blade decapitated the warrior. Maldino turned his horse and charged at the killer. The Shadow watched the man charge towards it. The Shadow swayed as the man passed, ready to sweep its axe into his back. Something crunched into the beast’s back. Rayth ripped his axe free and nodded to Maldino. No time for speaking, the two men charged at more beasts.
For the first time in an age, Rayth felt like a young man again, on a field of battle with his axe in hand. The only difference was today he rode a horse. He looked forward to walking next to his comrades again, being an axe-wielder, but he knew he had to survive the next couple of days before the foot soldiers were sent in. Seeing a clansman in trouble, Rayth heeled his horse forward deep into the fighting.
***
Urkin called the first retreat to be signalled. The heavy cavalrymen wheeled their mounts and escaped the fighting. Halfway up the western slope, the riders turned their horses and charged again. Several times during the day the men attacked, retreated, then attacked again.
Finally, Urkin called a general retreat. The Kharnacks broke free and less than five thousand warriors rode back to their camp. The Rhaurns rode clear of the fighting. Six thousand riders had started the battle and four thousand escaped, riding up the western and southern slopes. The clansmen stayed the longest. They fought until everyone else had cleared the fighting. They received their orders to break and galloped away from the blood. Six thousand clansmen had charged into the fray. Only three and half thousand fled.
Urkin shook his head. In the first full day of fighting, seven and a half thousand men had lost their lives. He looked at the dread and estimated only three thousand beasts were killed. That’s not enough, thought the general. He knew he had more foot soldiers, but he thought the killing ratio for them would be higher. He watched in disgust as the beasts turned on the dead and injured, and started feasting. He felt tempted to attack again while the beasts were busy, but thought better of it. Now was not the time for personal feelings. He looked at the Caynians who had not yet joined the fighting. They were the force that worried the general. He had not seen them in action, but they looked mighty. A problem for another day, thought the general. He did take away one consoling thought. The weak were always killed early. He knew that the men who survived were stronger.
***
The Chosen watched the fighting from the western mound. Again, he wanted to charge his men into the fray. The clansmen gathered in the city had waited by the southern gate. But the order did not come. When the riders retreated, the Chosen ordered his men to stand down. He watched the clansmen on the field of battle break away last. He was proud of his countrymen. Like the Kharnacks, they wore very little or no armour, yet they charged into the beasts without a second thought. The Chosen was waiting for the foot soldiers to be deployed by the Rhaurns before he would open his gates. Most of his clansmen had ponies, but he had also been working all of the forges hard to prepare armour for the men. He wanted them to attack on foot. He had been watching the beasts fight and concluded it would be easier to kill them on foot rather than on horseback. However, he understood the tactics being employed by the Rhaurien general. Hit the Dread hard and fast, thus try and wear them down. Weaken them ready for the foot soldiers to attack. He walked from the mound without saying a word.
***
Zane arrived back at his camp exhausted. His right arm ached and his back screamed for rest. He nearly fell from his saddle when trying to dismount. His helm fell off and clanged loudly as it bounced clear. He cursed and tried to kick his helm—he missed and cussed some more. He walked his horse around to cool her as a lackey rushed up to Zane, ready to grab the reins.
“That’s fine, son,” announced Zane, waving the boy away, “this horse deserves my personal attention as she has been so brave.” The lackey rushed off to find someone else to help.
Then with a grunt, he removed the saddle and dumped it by his tent. He reached for a pail of water and washed the horse down. He stopped the horse from drinking too much until he finished cleaning and rubbing her down. Once finished, he looped a grain sack over her ears. He stumbled into his tent and lay down. Sleep instantly swamped the young king.
Dax entered Zane’s tent with a bowl of steaming stew and gritty bread. He placed the tray on the small table and nudged the sleeping king with his foot. Zane grunted, but did not wake. Dax bent down and shook Zane’s shoulder.
“I’m dead,” muttered Zane groggily.
“You wil
l be if you don’t get your carcass up.”
“Dax, leave me alone.”
Dax stood and kicked Zane’s butt. “Get up and eat, boy!”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Do not let me have to revert to my sneaky tactics. You know I will win.”
“All right, I’m up, I’m up,” moaned Zane, rising into a sitting position. At that point, Thade entered the tent with two more bowls and a chunk of bread under his arm.
“He’s up,” observed Thade with a chuckle.
“Just,” said Zane. “Please, give me a hand with this damned breastplate.”
“I’m eating,” said Dax, chewing a mouthful of his stew.
Zane looked up at Thade, who just shrugged.
“Is that the way to treat your king?”
“King? Where is he?” asked Dax jokingly.
Zane swore as he fumbled at his straps. Finally, the armour fell away and he sighed, rubbing his chest. “That’s better. Now food.”
The three friends ate in silence.
“How’s Kallop?” asked Zane, finishing his stew. He was afraid to hear the answer.
“Alive,” answered Thade and Zane nodded. The healer had said he would not last the first night, but he still lived and that made the young king feel happier.
***
The next couple of days were more of the same. The horsemen from the three nations charged into the Dread. They used the same hit and run tactics. Losses were lower during these days but unfortunately, they were still high. What still annoyed Urkin was how he could not entice the massive horsemen among the Dread to fight. The heavy cavalry got close during one charge, but the Shadows repelled them before the horsemen got involved.
***
On the mound, the Chosen watched the battle before him. Each day he had his troops ready, but again the Rhaurns used no foot soldiers. So, he kept his gates closed.
***
At dusk on the third day, the men retreated to their camps and rested to be ready for the next day.
***
Malice wandered the camp. Clouds covered the moon and the night was dark and gloomy. He felt annoyed; his orders were to hold the men at bay when they attacked. He had been ordered not to attack, but hold a defensive ring. When he asked why, the Dark One glared at him. All the man-beast said was, “It is not time.”
Malice could see his force being whittled away and he was not allowed to take the fight to the men. He reached Chaos, who sat to one side. Malice could sense the man’s anger was brewing, ready to explode.
“What kind of fighting is this?” asked Chaos, without turning to face Malice.
“Our Master has ordered that we hold.”
“But what are we waiting for, brother? All the nations are here and as he himself has told us, all but one of the Children of the Light are here. Why do we not attack them?”
“I cannot answer that, brother. Truly, I cannot. We are told the time is not right, so we must obey.”
“Aye, obey,” hissed Chaos vehemently. “Obey!”
Malice thought for a while. “I am going to send some Dread into their camps tonight.”
Chaos turned and looked at Malice, his eyes glowing. “Are you going to disobey our master, Malice?”
“No. He said not to attack the men whilst they are attacking us. He did not say anything about sending stealth attacks into their camps.”
A smile grew on Chaos’s face, then slowly faded. “You are going to say that we cannot go, aren’t you?”
“Yes, we must wait until we are given the order to attack. Our master has told us to wait and we will do as he commands.” Malice left Chaos and organised the attack parties. Before he issued the command to attack he went and spoke with the Dark One.
“Master, I am going to send some Dread to the mortals’ camps.”
The Dark One did not answer at first. “You want to show them we are superior.”
“Yes, sire.”
The Dark One nodded. “So be it. Send my children and cause anarchy.”
“It will be as you say,” replied Malice, bowing.
***
The Chosen sat in his private chambers. Unusually for Rowet, he had no reports on his desk. For a change he could look down and see the colour of his desk. He smiled, he was sure it was darker than the rest of the desk—the sun-bleaching effect. He had been waiting for several minutes for his guest to arrive. There was a knock on the door.
“Come,” called Rowet, rising and pouring two goblets of wine.
Platos entered the room and bowed. “You called, sire?” The door closed with a quiet click and Platos sat down with a sigh.
Rowet looked down at his friend. He had lost a lot of weight and grey rings circled his eyes. His tanned skin appeared dull and the man looked exhausted. Rowet handed Platos a goblet and sat down next to him.
The large smithy sipped his drink and savoured the smoothness of the wine. “Good wine,” he commented.
“One of the best. From the north of the empire and aged for fifteen years,” informed Rowet, trying his own and nodding in agreement.
“What’s the celebration?”
“No celebration, just thought I would share a good wine with a friend.”
Platos looked into his emperor’s eyes and knew that was not the reason, but he decided to wait for the man to tell him. He had become very comfortable in the presence of his emperor and liked the man as a person. Even if Rowet were not the emperor, Platos would have liked him. He had a set of values the smithy could understand. The two men sat in silence, enjoying the drink and each other’s company.
“Tomorrow, I will be leaving the city to join the Rhaurns and Kharnacks,” Rowet said at length.
“And?”
“And I want you to stay here and protect my city. I want you to guarantee you will defend my children.”
“That goes without questions. But why tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow the Rhaurns will send in their foot soldiers.”
“How do you know that?”
“Their horsemen are now having little effect on the Dread. It is now time to try something new. They will send their foot soldiers in to distract the beasts and hopefully engage the Dark One’s horsemen.”
“Makes sense,” said Platos, reaching over for the jug of wine. “But why do you have to go? I could go in your stead.” He filled his and his friend’s goblet.
Rowet nodded his thanks. “I have lost one friend during this conflict and hope I do not lose another. And anyway, I am the better warrior. I have made up my mind—I will be going.”
“Have you spoken to your daughters?” asked Platos, knowing he had lost the argument.
“Not yet, I wanted to speak to you first. If anything happens to me . . . ”
“Now don’t start getting morbid on me. You will defeat the Dark One and ride with your friends through the city in triumph. I can tell. All they’ve been waiting for is you to enter the field of battle and then they will conquer.”
“I will toast to that,” replied Rowet with a smile. The two friends toasted and drank their wine.
“This is a good wine,” commented Rowet, looking at his empty goblet.
“You don’t think you will come back. Do you?”
“I am not sure if I will return. That is the truth. You will lead the defence of the city. Make sure none of those beasts enter our city. I do not want them here.”
“It will be as you command. I will do my best.”
“That is all I can ask for. Now if you will excuse me, I have to dine with my daughters.”
“One thing, Rowet,” said Platos, rising. Rowet raised his eyebrows. “You are a great leader and will always be remembered as such, but do not show your daughters this face. They will be able to read you, especially Ireen. Hide your thoughts from them.”
Rowet put down his goblet and stepped close to his friend. “Thank you, my friend. I will.” The two men embraced and Platos left the room.
As he walked down the white co
rridor, he knew that was a goodbye. Somehow, the Chosen knew he would not live too much longer. A tear threatened to spill when Platos exited the palace. When he stepped into a carriage, his tears flowed. On the journey to his forge and home, he wept not for his emperor but for his friend.
***
The Dread merged with the darkness and made their way to the four camps, about one thousand Talon Hunters and Shadows in each group. They arrived at their locations and waited for the signal from their camp.
***
Rowet left his private chambers and walked to his living quarters. He had arranged for his chef to cook Ireen’s favourite meal. He waited by the door, listening to the giggling inside. He opened the door and both girls looked up. He looked at Ireen and saw the uncanny likeness to his wife. He swallowed a lump in his throat and entered the room, beaming a smile. The three ate their meal, with the girls talking excitedly. Ireen spoke about Thade being here and Megan was sure Tanas would arrive as well.
The girls retold the story of hiding in Teldor when Zane and the others came to rescue them and defeating the Darklord. Rowet also spoke fondly of the men. When they were finished, Rowet invited the girls to join him in the gardens. The air was fresh, but clouds covered the moon. Torches had been stabbed into the ground around his favourite bench, bathing it in a sphere of warm light.
“Why suddenly so glum, Father?” asked Megan, now comfortable using the phrase.
“I am happy. What makes you think I am glum?”
“Not glum then . . . melancholy,” she said after a moment’s thought.
“I have something to tell you two.”
“What’s that, Father?” asked Ireen, lifting his arm and looping it around her shoulders. She curled her legs up onto the bench and sipped her drink.
“I am going to join the others on the battlefield tomorrow.”
“No Father you can’t,” pleaded Ireen, her voice rising with sudden fear.
“I have to,” he started softly. “Men are dying out there and it is time I took the clansmen we have here and help them. It is part of my duty.”
