Armies of the Silver Mage (34 page)

“This is an awful gamble, Steleon,” the king said once the youth was out of earshot.

“A lot is riding on this.”

A strong wind blew in from the south, gathering intensity as t went through. It was snowing again. The day promised to be horrid.

* * *

Melgit slowly and quietly moved the bulk of his four thousand riders across the fog enshrouded river. They were more than a league upstream and used the darkness of the middle of the night to their full advantage. Doubts and suspicion plagued him, regardless of the situation. His orders were clear precise but he still had reason for concern. Too many things could go wrong. Just getting across the river undetected was a miracle in itself. His horse snorted its apprehensions.

“I don’t like this either,” Melgit said in a soothing voice as he gently pat the horses neck. “Not one bit.”

A rider came alongside him and saluted.

“Sir, the last ranks have crossed. All units are forming up in place.”

The old cavalryman nodded. There was a distant look in his eyes. “Thank you, Roffort. Ensure the captains set out pickets. I don’t want any surprises tonight.”

“Sir,” Roffort acknowledged and rode away.

When he was gone, and Melgit was alone again, the world seemed a colder place. He sighed and tried not to think about the dawn.

“I’m afraid this is going to be an interesting day,” he told his horse.

The darkness started to break.

The snow came down harder as the day broke, driven down by angry winds. White flakes kissed men and horse alike, briefly gracing them with an almost holy appearance before melting away. Melgit watched his breath form heavy plumes of mist. The morn was sharp and cold. A good day for killing, he decided. Winter never held an attraction for him, though he’d lived through his share of them in the field and on campaign. For now, necessity and revenge kept him warm, as it did with most of the men he’d brought back from Gren Mot. This was what they’d been waiting for. Melgit casually rubbed his frost laden beard as Roffort returned with news.

“Everyone is in place, Commander.”

Melgit nodded his approval. They’d spent hours moving everything where it needed to be for the coming assault. It was arduous and painstaking work, for too much noise would alert the enemy and have an entire army breathing down their necks. Melgit was mildly pleased they were still being unnoticed. He looked up at the cloud filled sky and wondered how much longer before he saw the signal. For now, he had nothing to do but wait, and the waiting was worse than the fighting. Melgit tried counting the falling snow flakes to pass the time.

And then he saw it. A brilliant ball of flame shot from one of the catapult batteries. He grinned savagely. It was time for revenge. Melgit drew his sword and began the advance on the Goblin army.

Thick ropes of blood spiraled through the air to the sounds of steel hacking and ripping flesh. Men, Goblin and horse fell dead in the fury. The attack was swift and brutal, hundreds dying in the first few seconds as the horsemen thundered through the enemy encampment in total surprise. Four thousand riders tore into their foes without remorse. Sword and axe rose and fell, splitting flesh and breaking bones. The first ranks bore steel tipped lances; the second flaming brands. Soon the majority of the Goblin camp was in flames. Screams rose from the dying and the ones who didn’t know they were already dead.

Melgit skewered a Man of Gren and cursed wickedly. Sweat beaded on his brow, mingling with the drying blood and spots of gore. His muscles were sore and ached from the continual strain of so much cleaving. He reined up in the middle of the carnage and looked around. Most of the Goblins were up and arming themselves and preparing a counterassault. His own men had penetrated the enemy lines by five hundred meters and were reaping a terrible price. Occasionally he watched one of his men fall from the saddle or being dragged down by dozens of grey hands. He knew if he stayed any longer the enemy was going to decimate his forces.

“Roffort!” he bellowed. “Have the bugler signal retreat!”

The surviving horsemen disengaged and fled back the way they’d come. Most didn’t bother hacking down at the Goblins. Instead they chose to barrel down on them and keep running. Melgit was the last to leave. He turned and looked back at the Goblins and was pleased to see so many following. The enemy was falling into the trap. Melgit only hoped the trap was in place and ready to go. If not…..

* * *

Jin yawned again. It seemed that’s all he’d been doing lately and he couldn’t figure out why. Horses snorted and pranced anxiously all around him. The noise was almost deafening. He couldn’t even see the majority of the riders. Like so many others this morning, he too wondered how much longer it was going to be. Then he heard the sounds of thundering hooves coming at them fast. The answer came swiftly. Averonian cavalry emerged from the mists like things from a nightmare. Horse and rider were covered in blood and ruined flesh. The smell of sweat and blood permeated the air. Jin looked into some of their eyes and knew fear. They were the faces of grim death, and they knew it.

Melgit was the last to ride in and he halted when he saw the young soldier. A chunk of Goblin flesh clung to his neck, leaking ichors down his armor.

“They’re fast behind. No more than a few hundred meters,” he told Jin.

The man to Jin’s right, old and with a gray beard, clutched his spear tighter. He looked appraisingly at the younger commander and turned to his adjutant. “Sound the call.”

Trumpets rang through the formations spanning the width of the valley.

“I didn’t think you were going to be joining us this fine morning,” Melgit told the rider in purple and black. He noticed the elk head on the man’s shield. The riders of Harlegor had finally come to their aide.

Gray beard aggressively replied, “ For too long the Goblins have been free to do their evil. That all ends today.”

Melgit took an instant liking to the man.

Small dark shapes began to appear in the mist. The Goblins were upon them. They came on recklessly, frothing at their mouths and cursing guttural cries in their own foul tongues. They were so intent on murder they never saw the six thousand reinforcements charging at them. The lines clashed in a vicious impact. The contest was fierce and bloody and the riders had the advantage. Foot soldiers were no match against heavy cavalry. The Goblins collapsed and were slaughtered to the last. The riders, with Melgit’s men reformed and at their center rear, continued the attack into the enemy camp.

The hasty defense Jervis Hoole had erected was no match for more than ten thousand cavalry fighting for their lives and lands. Men and Goblin alike turned to flee the onslaught. Resistance lightened and the combined forces swept from one end of the camp to the other and rode on south. Both Melgit and Graybeard didn’t think they Goblins were going to make the same mistake of following them again and gradually eased their horses to a trot and then a walk. Man and beast were exhausted and the day was still growing.

“I’d say we stung them hard today,” Graybeard laughed.

Melgit agreed. “It was a good day. Let us get back across the river before they decide to finish it. Commander Steleon will want to speak with you.”

* * *

Jervis Hoole stood in the middle of his encampment seething with rage. Thousands of his forces were dead, butchered was more like it. Those who lived left their fallen comrades and scoured the battlefield in search of dead enemy. The ones they found were torn apart and mutilated beyond recognition. Hoole ordered companies of Battle Trolls to form and prepare to attack. He was not going to let the Mage send in his dragon and rob him of another victory. Gren Mot should have been his, but Sidian stole it. The plains of Averon were not going to be in question. The Man of Gren stood alone, long black hair sweeping across his face, and stared across the river at his hated enemy.

* * *

Steleon slid his looking glass closed and let out a pent up sigh of relief. The raid had been executed better than he hoped. Enemy casualties were atrocious and their camp was now in worse shape than his army. Hundreds of his forces died in the attack, but the cost, as regrettable as it was, was worth the results. The temperature began to drop and it was barely past midday. Maelor folded his arms across his barrel chest and said nothing. Their thoughts quietly turned to Fennic and Delin and the hope of a nation.

FORTY-SIX

Winter erupted with a fury. Snow swirled in thick blankets around the ruins of Ipn Shal, covering the ground in a matter of minutes. Howling winds drove the storm to frenzied heights. The stone buildings rocked under the assault. Trees bowed under the combined weight of snow and ice. The desolate land soon became a winter battlefield. Tarren awoke with a start as something heavy crashed against her window. She was comfortable under the thick furs and warm fire burning brightly near the bed. Once her heart slowed, she yawned and stretched. Until now she hadn’t realized how worn out she was. One night in a real bed was almost paradise. Tarren slid into her robe and slippers and eased her way downstairs with a rumble in her stomach. She was hungry.

A row of travel packs lined the base of the stairs. Her heart beat a little faster. The guests Dakeb promised where finally here. Now she could learn the full story, or so she hoped. In her mind, Dakeb seemed a little off. Her apprehensions eased somewhat when she entered the kitchens and saw Dakeb preparing breakfast. He looked up at her and smiled.

“Ah, good morning. I trust you slept well enough?” he asked.

She yawned again. “Quite well, thank you. I could have slept that day away.”

“And miss my cooking? For shame,” he laughed. “You wouldn’t do that to an old man, would you? I so rarely get the chance to show my true talents.”

Tarren held her hands up defensively. “I’d never.” She hesitated before saying, “I see we have company.”

Dakeb handed her a cup of tea. “Indeed. They arrived late in the night.” He paused and looked out the big bay window. “And just in time I’d say. That storm is terrible. You’ll meet them soon.”

Tarren just nodded and ate a meal of quail eggs and fried toast. Dakeb refilled her mug and added a drop of honey to it. She thanked him with a warm smile. For a while they sat and talked about nothing at all. They laughed and joked, expressed private sorrows and past pains. It was midday before they knew it. Dakeb excused himself to add more wood to the fire.

Tarren looked up at the sudden movement in the doorway and felt her mouth drop open slightly. Two tall and lean figures with long, flowing hair and sharp features entered and bowed to Dakeb. The old mage waved their formalities off and gladly introduced them to Tarren. She was almost too shy to say anything to the prince of the Elves. Norgen stumbled in a while later and headed straight for the food. He tore a leg from the roasting lamb and helped himself to a mug of thick mead. Tarren hardly knew what to think. Elves and Dwarves, Centaurs and mages. She wondered what came next. According to the number of packs in the hall, there were four more guests. Would they be as strange as the ones already present? A child’s excitement gripped her.

A pair of men entered, talking in low tones. Both were dressed in rugged clothes and had the look of soldiers. She thought she recognized one of them, but couldn’t place him. There was a dark air about him and that worried her slightly. Voices came from the hall and her heart stopped. She definitely knew them, but couldn’t believe it. Delin and Fennic stepped into the kitchen and she almost feinted. Dakeb smiled behind her. Delin stopped short, his dark brown eyes soaking her in. weeks of travel and hardship did little in the way of diminishing his love for her. He almost thought she was an illusion and was hesitant to speak lest the spell be broken.

“Tarren?”

She broke out in tear and rushed into his arms. They almost fell down if not for Fennic putting a steadying hand in his friend’s back. The moment was bittersweet for him. Not for the first time he wished he had something so promising to look forward to at the end of the journey. He wasn’t jealous per say. Both were good friends and deserved as much, but he wanted his turn. And deep down inside the hurt blossomed.

Hallis leaned close to Norgen and said, “Lovely girl. I see why he goes on about her.”

The Dwarf snorted. She didn’t have enough hair for his liking and was too thin.

“Cheer up, Master Dwarf. I’ve lived a dozen lifetimes and love is the one thing I never came to know. This is a queer world indeed,” Dakeb told them.

“Wondrous at times,” Hallis added. “I was about the same age when I met my

Chella.”

Tolis Scarn didn’t share their enthusiasm. He watched the girl with a repressed fascination. He knew her from somewhere before and finally put it together. The bar maid from that dumpy village he’d visited south of Rellin Werd. So, he smirked, he’d been closer to the stone than either he or the Hooded Man believed the whole time. He stood and quietly thought of their differences.

Pain and suffering gripped his life. He’d left home at a young age and grew up alone and empty. He was forced to provide for himself from the age of ten and learned the rules of a hard life. His first lesson was the cruelty of men. Nothing came easy for him. Not from the day he stumbled home to find his papa standing over the corpse of his mama with a bloody dagger in his drunken hand. Tolis ran for his life and never looked back. He left the youth to their pathetic reunion and plotted how to kill them all.

“I never thought I’d see you again,” Delin whispered between kisses. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” she replied.

Her eyes darkened when they caught Scarn in the background. Why was he so familiar? He was unkempt, his hair was uneven and stringy and he wore a gnarled beard. The man she feared and spent so many nights dreading was clean-cut and evil. This couldn’t be the same man. Mystery swirled around him and it was that moment she decided to stay away from him entirely. Nothing good would come of talking to him. She lost herself in Delin’s embrace.