Warriors [4] Theros Ironfield (25 page)

The Solamnic officers’ instinct was correct. If the men had stayed where they were, they would have been cut down. As it was, many more fell from the second volley of arrows. But the third volley missed completely, overreaching their targets. Now came the hardest task for Moorgoth’s
archers. They had to hit a moving target.

The charging infantry could see only the archers to their front. They were heartened—archers were no match for good heavy infantry. Behind them, the Solamnic cavalry heard the fighting and turned their horses to race back to the battle. Bugles blared, sounding the alarm and ordering the charge.

This was the toughest part of the battle for Baron Moorgoth. He had to keep his infantry hidden. The Solamnics were getting closer, but every flight of arrows took down a few more. Closer they came.

When they got to within two hundred yards, the archers poured on the fire. Their officer ordered them to fire at will, allowing the archers to choose their own targets. The baron yelled over the din of battle to his bugler.

“Sound ‘infantry advance!’ ”

The bugler nodded and brought the brass instrument to his lips. The clear, cold sounds of the order issued out. Men surged forward to join the fight. It seemed that the very trees had come alive. The infantry rushed to meet the charge.

The archers ran back to the safety of the woods. They were no match for well-armed and armored attackers. The baron’s infantrymen swarming out of the trees would handle that task.

The soldiers had no time to form into ranks. They ran forward into the tired and depleted ranks of the oncoming Solamnics. The two sides met with a thunderous crash, sounding like fifty trees falling to the ground at once.

Due to their overwhelming numbers, not all of Moorgoth’s men could get into the fight. There just weren’t that many Solamnics to go around.

The archers caught their breath and watched the fight intensely. If the Solamnics broke through, it would be up to the archers to stop them. Luckily for them, it did not look as if the main infantry was going to break or fail.

Moorgoth motioned for the runner again.

“Tell the command group to fall back from the fight and join me here. Then go tell the cavalry commanders that I want them to ride hard to the back of that hill.” He pointed
to the ridge that the Solamnics had only recently crossed. “Tell them to listen for my call. When it comes, I want them to charge into the Solamnics’ rear. Now go!”

The baron’s heart was pounding. He lived for the excitement of battle. He looked out to the fighting not fifty yards away. His infantry was pushing back the Solamnics. They were faltering, their lines starting to give way.

“Push them, damn you!” Moorgoth yelled to no one in particular. As if they had all heard him, the baron’s infantry line surged forward. The Solamnic infantry broke.

They were no longer a unit, or a group of units. Now, they were individuals, fleeing to save their lives. The Solamnics ran toward the town.

The baron’s infantry started to pursue.

Moorgoth turned to his bugler. “Quick, sound ‘form line!’ ”

The notes carried out over the noise.

Officers yelled and senior nonofficers shoved and prodded men back into position.

The command group of four armored bodyguards and two officers moved toward the baron. Moorgoth motioned for the bugler to follow him and he left the trees to join them. The red-and-black banner flew proudly in the wind.

Moorgoth moved into a run. He ran through his command group and forward to the infantry line just ahead.

“Come on!” he ordered. “Follow me.”

The bodyguards and officers did as they were told.

Moorgoth broke through the ranks to see what was going on. His infantry were beginning to straighten into lines. Several infantrymen were forward of the front line, pulling wounded survivors of the fight toward the rear, into the woods. They took only men in maroon uniforms. The Solamnics were either left to die where they had fallen or helped along the way with a stab through the heart.

Then, in his moment of triumph, the baron saw the danger. Instead of attacking piecemeal, as he had expected, the Solamnic cavalry were forming in the field. They numbered around eight hundred, the baron estimated, confirming his scout’s report.

Moorgoth ordered the bugler to call “officers to me.”

He was infuriated by the arrogance of the knights. Their commander stood out in front of his cavalry, and instead of ordering a charge, it appeared that he was giving a speech!

The baron’s own officers came in at a dead run.

“Gentlemen, I’ll make this quick. When you hear the retreat bugle call, have your men run back into the woods. Be ready to come out again fighting. Have your archers prepared to pepper them once we’re in the trees. Understand?” He looked around. “Good. Once we’ve broken the charge, the fight’s on. Do your best. Now, hurry!”

The officers sprinted back to their various commands and began shouting orders. On the top of the ridge, the knights’ commander had concluded with something inspirational. The knights raised a rousing cheer.

Lances up, they began their advance at a trot.

The cavalry was a sight to see. Eight hundred armored knights and horses, moving forward in brilliant lines, all the heraldry of many families proudly displayed. They broke into a canter.

Quickly, the distance between the two armies was shrinking. As they advanced, the command group could see more and more details of their foe. They kept their lines straight as they moved forward to meet their enemy.

At five hundred yards, bugles called out from several places in the advancing cavalry line. Their lances came down into horizontal positions, couched to kill upon impact.

The knights broke into a full gallop.

Chapter 22

Theros came down from the hill and walked back to his smithy
. Nothing had been heard from Moorgoth about the direction of the battle. It was late afternoon. If they were going to set up, they would need word soon. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be enough light left to do anything.

He hadn’t taken two steps when a rider came galloping into their wagon area. The rider went straight to Belhesser Vankjad, the logistics officer.

Theros hurried to hear the news. When he arrived, the rider saluted Theros and then continued to speak with Belhesser.

“… and we should, if the fight goes well, be here just after sundown. Baron Moorgoth wants you to set up. He
feels confident in the day’s decision, and wants a hot meal and a ready camp waiting for him and his troops when he arrives.”

Belhesser looked up at the sinking sun. He thought for a moment, then turned to Theros.

“What do you think, Ironfeld? Could you set up before sundown?”

“Yes, sir. I can be ready, sir.”

Belhesser turned back to the rider. “There you go, Corporal, you have your answer. We will be ready. You can report to Baron Moorgoth that we wish him the best of luck on the field.”

The rider saluted, remounted his horse, and sped away, back to the army in action.

“Any news of the fight?” Theros asked. He was confused, wondering if he wanted the baron to win or be soundly defeated.

Belhesser shook his head. “All he knew was that there had been heavy fighting, and that the Solamnics were fighting near the town. Moorgoth sounds confident, though. We’re to set up and all.”

Theros agreed. “I have to get back and get to work if I’m to be ready to mend weapons and armor tonight.”

He turned and ran back to his wagon. Erela was the first soldier he could find.

“Where is Yuri?” Theros asked, then realized that he already knew the answer.

The soldier blinked. “I thought he was around here somewhere, sir. He was a moment ago. I don’t know, sir. I haven’t seen him for the last half hour. Shall I go look for him?”

Inwardly, Theros cursed his young apprentice.

“Never mind. I’ll find him. Set up the tent over there.”

In a foul mood, Theros stomped over to the commissary area. People were beginning to move around the wagons, unpacking, setting up. He could see Quartermaster Sarger shouting orders.

And there was Yuri, rushing out from behind a wagon, heading for the smithy. And there was Telera running back to the rear of the wagons, hoping to arrive before someone
noticed them. It could all be perfectly innocent—a stolen kiss behind a wagon.

Theros stopped in his tracks and pointed to Yuri. “You! Get over here!”

The men and women working to put up the commissary tent stopped and looked, wondering if the smithy was yelling at them. Yuri ran over. Defiance on his face, he stood in front of Theros.

Theros raised his hand to teach some discipline to the young man. Yuri tightened his jaw, braced himself for the blow.

Theros, scowling, let his hand fall.

“Get to work!” he ordered. “And stop hanging about that wench. People might get the wrong idea.”

Yuri blinked, astonished that he’d not been hit, astonished at the order. “What wrong idea? How—”

“Shut up, you fool. People are listening. Get back to the wagon and see that the smithy is set up correctly. Go!”

Yuri ran over to the smithy area where the soldiers were raising the first tent poles.

Theros stood gazing after his apprentice. Yuri did not want to be a soldier. He had never wanted to be a soldier. He wanted to be a blacksmith. He had come to Theros, offering to work for food and board if only Theros would teach him the trade. Yuri had a talent for detail work, but he didn’t have the strength or girth to pound out huge axes or swords. It wasn’t his fault. He was born thin and wiry and he’d be that way until the day he died. Still, he had the brains to know that he could do good work within his limits.

But Yuri needed discipline. He couldn’t discipline himself, apparently, so Theros would have to do it for him. And the first thing Theros had to do was see that this romance came to a halt. For Yuri’s own good.

Theros found Cheldon giving his final commands to his section leaders.

“… and I want the cooking fires lit before it gets dark. I’ll want a hot meal for every soldier. Oh, and keep two extra cooking cauldrons on with water boiling. The wounded are going to need attention when they come in,
too, and boiling water will be essential. Right, get to it.”

The two section leaders saluted and went about their duties. The quartermaster’s workers parked their wagons behind their tent lines, setting up long wooden tables to dispense food and supplies.

“Cheldon, I need to talk to you,” Theros said.

“What is it, Ironfeld?”

“I’ve got a problem with my apprentice, Yuri. I keep catching him over here with one of your women workers.”

Cheldon laughed. “Oh, is that all? You had me worried there.” He winked. “Boys will be boys, eh, Theros? And girls will be girls, praise the Seeker gods. Let them have some fun.”

Theros scowled. “Look, I’ve heard rumors that the spy may be one of your women. She may be getting more out of Yuri than a few giggles in the night. If he gets into trouble, I’ll be blamed. All I’m asking is that you keep my man away from here.”

“One of my women, a spy?” Cheldon was angry. “Listen, Ironfeld. It’s your man who keeps coming over here, not the other way around. If you’ve got a problem with him, then you take care of it. As for my people, I brought most of them with me from Sanction. I know them a lot better than you do. Now leave me alone. I’ve got a lot to do!”

Cheldon Sarger stormed away.

Fuming, Theros turned and walked back to his own section.

* * * * *

The bugler stood beside Moorgoth, waiting for orders.

“Not yet … not yet … not yet—
now!
”

The charging Solamnic cavalry were a hundred and fifty yards to their front. The bugle again rang clear and true, sounding the retreat.

The baron watched the bugler. “I’m going to have to reward this young lad,” he thought. “He’s never faltered once under such extreme pressure.”

As the boy finished the notes, the entire command group
turned and began to run at a dead sprint toward the tree line. The thunder of the knights’ horses behind them grew louder and louder.