Armies of the Silver Mage (26 page)

The bitter Melgit stopped shaking his head long enough to stare thoughtfully at the group. Four fools throwing their lives away on a whim. He hooked his thumbs into his belt when he stood. A tender peace hovered in his eyes.

“This is madness to be sure. I do not approve of this plan at all, but I can see a fire in you all. Perhaps Averon has a future if others of this caliber can come together. My best and fastest steeds are in your service. May they carry you far.”

Steleon smiled. “Indeed, all the way to Aingaard and the keep of the Silver Mage should the way prove kind. Draw your supplies, as much as you need. That won’t be an issue. I think it best you leave as soon as possible, under the cover of darkness. Your one hope lies in traveling up river through the Old Forest up to Thuil Lake. From there turn east to Gren. Aingaard will be easy enough to find. I do not envy your task. You have the hardest jobs of us all, if there were any way…”

His voice trailed off and Steleon suddenly found himself looking at each as if they were his own children. The pain in his heart was hard to bear, but he understood the need for sacrifice during war. Even if they failed, Averon would fight on until the last peasant was slain or made slave.

He went to each and laid a loving hand on both boys shoulders.

“Take your rest these coming days. Gather as much strength as you can for there will be little time for such along the way. Good night my friends.”

* * *

Already assigned to guard duty on his very first night in the army, Tolis Scarn tried as best he could to keep his growing disappointment to himself. This was not the life he ever wanted to lead. Let the two lands slaughter each other to ruin. He didn’t care. He also knew there would be fresh jobs aplenty in the aftermath no matter who was the victor. The thought warmed him against the chill night. Then he heard the distinct rumblings of a Dwarf. Recognition sparked and a whisper of success crept back.

Scarn crept from his post to follow the small group of four. One of them had the stone. He knew it. One of them held the key to his freedom and untold riches. He would like nothing better than to kill them now and escape. Then he’d be rid of the Hooded Man and free to do as he chose. If only it were so easy. One of them had the stone, but which one? As much as he hated to admit it, Scarn needed them alive until the one with the prize revealed himself. He quietly followed them back to their tent, content in the knowledge that he was very close to freedom.

* * *

Ten leagues from the encampment and the security of the Thorn River, hidden among the rolling foothills of the Gren Mountains, waited a pair of Averonian scouts. They’d been deployed on rotating watches by Steleon since the first day in the field. For a week and a half scouts ranged the wild lands, searching for likely avenues of approach. They remained hidden in case the enemy also had spies.

There had been no sign of Gren until now. Sparse torches cast a flickering light among the dark rocks, turning shadows into restless demons devouring the night. A great and terrible rustling followed close. Goblins in full body armor. Finished with their plunder and reorganization, their dark master had given the word to invade. His very life seemed bent on it. And now the war machine marched. The scouts listened in horror at the confidence in the Goblin war chants as they marched. The two fled into the night as the marching got closer. War had finally come to Averon.

THIRTY-FOUR

The smell of rotting flesh and destruction was thick in the air. Heavy clouds plagued the skies and refused the sun. Jervis Hoole couldn’t have asked for a better day to begin the invasion of the lowlands. Tiny flakes of snow were already falling on the mountaintops and the higher reaches of the pass. He knew the wrath of winter was close and it spurred him harder. Not even the Mage’s magic was enough to deter the weather long enough for him to bring his army down.

The dragon was gone, much to the relief of his Goblins. They, like most creatures, were in fear of the great wyrm. Hoole didn’t care. He wanted out of the mountains. Gren Mot was taking too long to clear. His stringy, black hair flipped about in the restless breeze. Instinct stirred inside, ones he never knew he had. He longed to gaze upon the forests and emerald grasslands of his foe. To see the sparkling blue rivers and field of golden wheat. These had always been denied to him.

His war horse carefully picked its steps while taking them further down the mountain pass. Soon he would be king of Averon and punish those who called themselves his betters. Soon they would come to understand the pain and suffering of Gren.

* * *

Sunrise brought a freezing chill. Frost blanketed the lands and little stirred. It wasn’t so cold as to freeze the river just yet. Everyone knew it wasn’t long off. Winter was coming faster. Steleon stood next to the small fire burning from the pit in the center of his tents, calmly warming his hands. It was already midday and the temperature had barely risen from the morning. Compounding this misery was the disturbing lack of sleep he’d had lately. Fennic’s plan lay at the heart of his worries. Tens of thousands of lives were unknowingly depending on an eighteen year old boy to defeat a centuries old wizard with enough power to eternally condemn the world. Steleon wondered if it was going to be enough, magic sword or no.

The tired commander thought of his own family and suddenly found himself thinking of retirement. He was getting to old for battle. But he wasn’t foolish enough to believe a world of peace could exist. Man seemed intent on destroying each other. And if that be the way of the world, then he would do his best to preserve what life he could. His thoughts turned back to Hallis and Norgen. Both seemed capable enough in the field and showed a genuine interest in the boys. He wished he could spare more for this venture, but too many would be easily detected and secrecy was their only hope for success.

A runner approached. He was wearing the royal gold and green of the state. Steleon gestured his guards to let the man through and then went back into his tent.

“Greetings from King Maelor,” the runner said with a deep bow.

Steleon eyed him, sternly sizing him up. “What news from Paedwyn?”

“The king and a full regiment of the royal guard left this morning under cover of darkness and are heading this way.”

“What! Does the king no longer value his life? Tell me boy, why would he wish to come to this tragic place?”

Steleon stood there stunned. This was disturbing news at best. Most of Averon was too young to remember the last time their king had willingly gone in to battle, or even when he had lost his life. Steleon wasn’t. he remembered it vividly. He was there when they stood the line against the evil tide. He remembered the father’s of both boys. And he remembered Wiffe and that terrible Star Silver sword. What carnage he reaped that day. The three of them gave up the rich life of Paedwyn and left for some minor village on the border in the hopes that their children would never have to see the things they had. Steleon snorted at the bitter irony of it.

The runner shook his head fervently. “No sir. King Maelor decided that it was his day and was going to stand the line with you and the army as a king should. His own words, sir.”

Steleon realized his anger was being directed at the wrong person and smiled back at the runner. “Run back to Maelor and give him my warmest regards. Tell him to ride in at dawn so as to bring hope to our men. It would be an honor to fight alongside him.”

“Yes sir,” he replied and ducked back outside.

Steleon sighed. The last thing the kingdom needed was the death of their king. Provided they won the war, Averon would be in need of strong nobility to see them through the rebuilding and winter months. His thoughts were disturbed as the first cries of alarm rang throughout the camp. Darkness was falling. He took up his sword and stormed outside. It didn’t take long for him to see the problem. Distant torch light announced the arrival of Gren. Soldiers darted through the camp en route to battle positions. Members of the war council gathered. The clamor of steel and armor sang loudly as the army of Averon readied to do battle. Steleon raised his looking glass and spied the enemy. A thin smile cracked his lips. With the light of the dying day he could make out the mass of Goblins heading towards them. It was only the vanguard. The main body was nowhere in sight. Still, the van held thousands of soldiers. Steleon decided to take the war to them.

“Captain Melgit!” he called out, and the cavalryman appeared.

Desire blazed in his eyes. The vengeance in his heart was more than enough to do what needed to be done. He had a broad smile, as if he already knew what he was being asked to do.

“The enemy is foolishly taking their time in deploying. Take your force across the river just upstream from here and show them the importance of speed. Do as much damage as you can and get back here. Don’t become so engaged that you can’t escape. I have need of you once the main body arrives. We’ll provide archers and pike men to cover your retreat.”

Melgit nodded approvingly. “Five hundred is a good number. Give the boys a chance to wet their blades properly.”

“You’re a dangerous man,” Steleon laughed. “I think you already had that plan in mind by the time you got here.” He laid a reassuring hand on Melgit’s shoulder and said, “bring as many of our boys home as you can. This skirmish is just the beginning. Nothing foolish.”

“On my honor,” smiled Melgit before he strode off shouting orders.

Steleon almost felt sorry for the unsuspecting Goblins and the fury he just unleashed.

* * *

The sounds of battle drifted across the open plain to the western bank of the Thorn river where Steleon waited. Frigid waters surged up to lap at the cold mud. The air was chill and downright freezing when the winds blew enough. He was mildly surprised it hadn’t started snowing yet.

The thunder of hooves, cries and screams of death, and the unforgiving sound of steel piercing flesh echoed into the night. Steleon stood and listened to the carnage for close to an hour before leaving the river bank. His heart started to race the way it always did during a battle. He knew Melgit would return soon and there was more to plan. Much more. He retreated behind the line of archers and waited.

Hallis and Norgen were there as well, waiting for the chance to join the fight. The archers drew back and raised their bows to the sky. Ranks of horsemen came flying back across the river. There were hundreds of Goblins on their trail. Steleon tried counting empty saddles as they sped past but the task was too difficult in the dark. Then the arrows loosed. Goblin bodies fell. Some tumbled into the river and were washed away, their dark blood polluting the waters. Archers fired as fast as targets were made available.

Melgit was the last to cross, smiling viciously. The Goblins finally realized the severity of their situation and began an disorderly retreat. The van had been routed. Steleon ordered the cease fire and walked up to Melgit’s frothing horse. The army cheered and roared at the victory. Hundreds of bodies lay across the river in a twisted mass of flesh. The enemy had finally been bled.

“You should have seen their eyes!” Melgit exclaimed. “It must have been like the underworld opening up for them. Ha. We made three passes before they managed a defense. I’d say we took down over a fifth of their strength.”

One fifth. One thousand enemy soldiers. Steleon wanted to rejoice, if even for a moment, but couldn’t. Tens of thousands more were marching on them.

“How many did we lose?” he asked.

“Fifteen,” Melgit answered. “Not bad for our first night’s work.”

That much they agreed on.

“Have your men stand down. They did a fine job and deserve the rest. I’ll send a runner for you when I need you,” he said and then added, “thank you for not getting killed.”

Melgit laughed again. “As if they had a chance.”

There were times Steleon thought his own army was going to do him in long before the enemy got the chance.

* * *

Sometime during the night, hours after the battle and still more before the dawn, King Maelor and his royal guard entered the camp. Sentries snapped to attention and readied to rouse the general but the king wished them to stand at ease and remain on duty. The soldiers needed their sleep more than he needed an official welcome. His band continued the ride into the camp. Maelor was little surprised upon seeing Steleon warming himself before a small fire, as if he’d been waiting all night.

“Don’t you ever sleep?” Maelor asked and pulled his leather gloves off to warm his own hands after dismounting.

Steleon smirked. “Not if I can help it. How was your journey, sire?”

“Uneventful. Though I hear there was a bit of excitement earlier?”

“It seems there are spies everywhere these days,” Steleon replied.

He offered his friend the king a chair so they could sit and speak of what had already happened and what he was expecting in the near future. Dawn came and found them moved on to the dilemmas of tactics and supply trains. Halfway through the morning sleep finally took them.

THIRTY-FIVE

The lightened peaks of the Thed Mountains lacked majesty and impression. They were nowhere near the height of the eastern Gren range and lacked much of the menace. Rich in ore, Dwarves and Men had long fought over the mines. Their gentle slopes were inviting up to the snow laden peaks. The Sibit River laid a dozen leagues away, hidden behind rolling hills and lightly forested plains. Eagles circled the treetops, stretching their wings in the chill afternoon. A brown rabbit pricked up its ears at the sound of approaching hoof beats.

Tarren rode on Ris Kaverling’s back just as she had every day for the past two weeks. He and his band of Centaurs were friendly enough and twice as deadly when it came to battle. She felt entirely protected from harm. They’d seen no signs of another Goblin war party since that first day and that bolstered her confidence. Ris even cheered up, offering his time to tell her the how and whys of Goblins and the bitter wars fought between them and the fair races of Malweir.