The Cavalier (51 page)

“Yes, it is good to see you all,” replied the Annurien king nodding to each of them as he took a goblet of wine offered by the servant. “Now, let us get to business so we can hope to get a few hours of rest tonight.”

The commanders smiled briefly at that comment as they knew that most of the night would be spent planning, issuing orders to subordinates, and preparing for the coming battle. Little, if any, sleep would be gotten this night.

“Very good,” King Gavinsteal began, “what we now know is that Lord Moredin’s army is one day out on the east road to Stonestep,” he said as he indicated the positions on the map.

“Do we have accurate numbers assessments?” asked Lord Dynure.

“No,” replied Prince Baylin, “our best guess is that he has near twenty thousand troops, ten of which come from various Sithgarin tribes. Our spies and scouts have not been very successful as the enemy is using boargs to guard their perimeter. The beasts can sniff my men out a mile away,” continued Baylin, frustration evident in his voice.

“Your court wizard?” questioned King Olegaurd. “If I recall correctly, Alerion was his name. Why has he not been used to get more information?”

“Indisposed at the moment,” King Gavinsteal said. “I have him hunting down other more pertinent information.”

“A blind army is a dead army,” stated King Olegaurd bluntly.

“His absence is necessary,” replied King Gavinsteal simply. There was a pause as if the Annurien king was expecting the king to continue, but he did not add any more information.

“They also have orcs, and possibly goblins,” General Ruthalis added, filling the silence. The general was not very tall, but he was built like a warrior, lean and strong, his handsome face tanned from many days in the saddle under the hot sun.

“What could possibly force Moredin to fight alongside orcs?” Lord Dynure asked. “The man is a backstabbing dung eater but even he must draw the line somewhere. And how was he able to unite that many tribes to fight?”

“Something is binding them together,” replied the first lance. Tilvus was pale, with plain features, but his mind was sharp and he was a natural at leading men.

Prince Baylin addressed the men. “We do not know what is binding them together, nor why he would openly attack us. His force sounds formidable, larger than I would have guessed he could bring together. But even if he defeats us here there is no way that he can take Finarth with his army, and surely he must know this.”

“Perhaps, but maybe he does not mean to win,” said General Gandarin. Gandarin was thick and his big head was covered with shaggy brown hair. His scarred face sported a bushy mustache and beard. Well known and respected, his presence resonated raw power and strong leadership. All eyes turned to him immediately.

“Meaning?” questioned King Olegaurd.

“Maybe they are just stalling. If the early reports from Alerion are accurate, then perhaps Malbeck’s army is massing to attack Tarsis, and in order to keep any of us from going to Tarsis’s aid, he occupies us here with another smaller force.”

“We had thought of that,” Baylin answered, “but it would take us over a month to march to Tarsis, and that is only if the weather holds before winter.”

“Might be just a precaution though, a guarantee that Tarsis and Finarth could not aid one another,” reasoned King Gavinsteal.

“So, Malbeck is back?” asked the stunned King Olegaurd.

“We do not know, but we suspect so,” said King Gavinsteal wearily. “An army is massing near Banrith, and we have reliable information that the Banthras are back, or at least one was. And then we have reports that many of our cavaliers have been hunted down and killed.” The king sighed in frustration.

“I know about the cavaliers, a great worry no doubt, but a Banthra? Are you sure?” asked Lord Dynure, his tone skeptical.

“We are. Airos, the cavalier, killed one, but unfortunately he died in the process,” Prince Baylin said.

“Let us discuss what we should do here and now, not about what is our best guess.” Prince Nelstrom spoke for the first time. “Tomorrow Moredin’s army will be here. What are we going to do about it?”

King Olegaurd looked at Prince Nelstrom. His dark eyes narrowed momentarily as he took in the prince’s curt words. Then he looked away and down at the maps on the table. “It is a foolish commander who ignores intelligence that has been gathered,” he said slowly before turning his gaze to the other commanders. It was not often that someone spoke to the prince that way, but none of them seemed to be terribly concerned, except for Prince Nelstrom of course, who looked as if he might boil over. But before he could respond, the Annurien king continued. “The young prince is partly right, though. Let us plan for tomorrow, and then the living can worry about whether Malbeck is back or not.”

***

 
Fil stood with his modrig facing the massive army assembling before them. The grasslands beyond the Lindsor Bridge were a perfect place for a battle. They were open as far as the eyes could see and covered with knee high grass. The colossal bridge was the only spot that an army could cross the river to approach the city of Finarth. It would have to be protected.

The Finarthian army, now combined with King Olegaurd’s troops, had assembled early that morning as their scouts had reported the enemy army moving into position. Fil’s modrig would be part of the infantry that stormed the center of the enemy ranks. King Oleguard and King Gavinsteal had met with their war commanders all night planning their attack. Fil had a fairly good idea of what the plan was. Tanus, their commander, had briefed them on their role in the battle. As the enemy army approached they would use their archers and the travel catapults.

Fil had not seen the catapults used before, but after looking at the hundred or so lined up beyond the bridge he easily surmised their role. Each one had a long arm that had a large stone as a counter weight to violently swing the opposite end into the air, launching the desired missile. They were built on huge wagons pulled by oxen.

As the enemy ranks were being bombarded with arrow and stone, the infantry would slowly advance with long spears and shields. King Gavinsteal would keep a reserve line in the back while the cavalry, led by the famous Finarthian Knights, would move in and flank the enemy. That was the plan anyway and Fil hoped that it would be successful.

The sun was just rising as the advancing enemy army stopped on the rise of a gentle hill. They were still a distance away but Fil could hear the goblins as they screeched and banged their shields. They spread out across the hill like a black wave ready to swamp them all. Fil could not see beyond the hill but he knew that there was more to the army than what they were seeing.

Calden stood next to him holding his long black spear tightly. “You ready for this?” he asked nervously.

“I am,” Fil replied firmly, his desire for revenge burying any residual fear he felt as he viewed the approaching goblin horde. “Remember, they bleed, and die, like anything else.”

Calden nodded his head, looking nervously toward the army of goblins before them. Fil glanced to his left and right at the thousands of stern fighting men quietly facing the enemy. They stood firm, their jaws clamped shut with resolve, their hands gripping long spears as if their lives depended on it. Maybe they would.

Suddenly a loud deep horn bellowed across the grasslands and the screaming goblins were racing down the hill toward them. It happened so quickly that Fil’s heart seemed to leap from his chest. It was finally happening. He had trained for this, waited for this, waited for his chance to revenge his family and friends. And now it was upon him. He would not fail them.

Tanus rode his warhorse across the front of his modrig yelling for the men to hold their line. He was wearing his great helm, and the boarg horns protruding from it helped remind Fil of the revenge that was due.

Anger boiled within him and his knuckles turned white as he squeezed his spear shaft. His heavy shield was strapped tightly to his right arm but he barely felt the weight of it as he vividly recalled the death and destruction of his town.

The Finarthian army answered the goblin’s charge with their own horns, signaling thousands of archers to let their deadly shafts fly. The arrows were so thick in the air that they momentarily blocked the sun’s light. Fil then heard the sound of the catapults behind him as they unleashed their lethal barrage of stone.

He looked up into the sky, seeing huge flaming spheres fly over them and explode in flame as they landed in the goblin ranks. Hundreds of goblins fell victim to the flames and arrows in several seconds.

“What are those?” asked Fil, for it was obvious that the catapults had not launched stones.

Gandis, a veteran warrior to his left, answered him. “Flaming jugs of oil. When they hit, fiery oil engulfs whoever is unfortunate to be near.”

Despite their losses, the goblins kept coming like a swarm of locusts. They were getting closer now and Fil could make out their distorted faces, fanged teeth, and yellow beady eyes. They were a mass of spindly bodies screaming wildly as they ran toward them with no discipline. Fil gripped his spear tightly, waiting for the order to advance.

He momentarily glanced up to the top of the hill to see another large group of hulking demi-humans emerge. They were much bigger than the goblins and thicker of limb. They must be orcs, thought Fil. He also spotted a handful of even larger foes, enemies that Fil recognized, for they were ogres.

Fil’s attention went back to the advancing goblins as a high pitched horn blew; it was the signal for their advance. Fil angled his spear forward and started moving toward the enemy with determination. The entire infantry began to march toward the screaming goblins that were now only a couple hundred paces away. The infantry lowered their long spears even further and the second horn blew ordering them to move double speed. Slowly the infantry built up speed as they approached the goblin horde. A deadly line of glittering spear tips bobbed up and down as they moved at the quick step, a drill they had practiced hundreds of times.

One hand carried their famous infantry shields while the other carried their spears. The shields were basically round with one spot cut out on the top in a small half circle. It allowed the infantry soldiers to hold the shield in front of them and angle their spears out over them, giving each warrior a spot to rest the heavy spear and jab it forward into a mass of enemies. It was an effective technique and one they had drilled for many hours.

The wall of sparkling metal spear tips spanned to Fil’s left and right farther than he could see. He screamed a battle cry, focusing on one goblin before him and listened for the signal.

Then he heard it.

A loud screeching horn sounded over the battle field and the infantry suddenly stopped in one big mass, shields came up in a solid wall of steel and spear tips angled out as the approaching goblins neared.

The two armies came together in a clash of bodies and steel. The sound was deafening but Fil kept his focus on the screaming beasts before him.

The goblins were propelled backward as they smashed against the solid shield wall. Thousands of the howling beasts were skewered by the razor sharp spears. The power of the wall came not from the first line, but the lines after them. The bodies of the men behind the first line supported each other and drove them forward as the goblins smashed into them. If someone in the first line fell then the man behind him moved into the position.

Spears jabbed forward again and again dropping the goblins by the hundreds. The Finarthian infantry slowly advanced, stepping over the growing number of enemy bodies.
 

Fil took his first goblin right in the throat and the momentum of its charge ran the spear point through the beast’s neck and a full pace up the spear shaft. Fil was forced to drop the spear and the dead goblin to the ground, and draw his short infantry sword. Battle lust took over and he screamed maniacally holding his shield and sword before him.
 

The battle was fierce and the noise deafening. Men and goblins alike screamed in defiance and pain. Blood, sweat, and dirt flew everywhere as the battle progressed. The trained infantry kept their shield wall tight as they used spear and infantry swords to deadly effect.

Fil blocked a downward stroke from a goblin sword with his shield and used his immense power to shield charge the beast. He rammed the shocked goblin with his shield, taking the beast directly in the face. The goblin’s head snapped back violently and Fil finished it off with a downward stroke of his heavy short sword. The blade took the goblin in the neck, showering them both with thick blood.

He felt Calden’s shield bang against his as his friend tried to fend off two goblins and still maintain the integrity of the wall. Fil noticed that he had moved forward too fast creating a gap in the wall near his friend.

He shuffled backwards and locked shields with Calden, taking another powerful strike against his shield. The blow knocked him back and his arm stung from the force, but he gritted his teeth, jabbing his sword forward and down through the gap he created by angling his shield to the right.

They had practiced the very same maneuver hundreds of times and now that training was paying off. Their short infantry swords were not made for jabbing, but their short length and weight made them deadly if used correctly and in conjunction with their sword brothers. The idea was to create gaps in the shield wall and jab forward and down, or forward and left and right, allowing the weight of the sharp blade to cut into arms and legs. If the wall could be maintained then the tactic generally proved deadly to their enemies.