Fire And Ice (Book 1) (84 page)

             
The battle was ending as the combined armies of Midia and the North pushed their way up the slope of the hill.  All along the ridge the Easterners were being pushed back.  Even the Makkurans began to realize the hopelessness of the situation.  First a few, than dozens, and then hundreds turned and fled, to disappear into the valley beyond the ridge. 

             
Katelyn stopped to catch her breath as did her army. 

             
“By Dios!” Martin shouted in surprise.  He pointed to the south, to the tower sticking up above the trees of the hillside, and he was not the only one.  Everywhere men stood and stared, even the Northmen were shaken out of their killing frenzy to stare in astonishment.

             
Katelyn could clearly see the two figures battling each other on top of the tower.  What made them stare so was the darkness surrounding one of them.  It was a shadow that was darker than night.  Something shot out towards the other figure, knocking him backwards and out of her sight.  The other man had to be Coran.  She wanted to call out to him, but knew it would do no good. 

             
For less than a minute she held her breath until the figure of Coran reappeared.  She had to gasp again as did several others.  Coran reappeared with a light surrounding him.  It was not the white light of heat, but rather a whiteness that was cold and pure.

             
Katelyn tore her gaze from the spectacle to survey the area around them.  While they were standing here the enemy was getting away.  “Come on!” she shouted at Martin.  He looked to her and then the men around them.  “Forward!” she shouted again.

             
“Forward!”  Martin ordered, and men shook themselves from their staring and continued up the slope. 

             
“I do not want them to regroup!” she ordered the Commander.               Martin yelled orders for his men to keep advancing.  Katelyn started to head for the tower when the Commander stepped in her way.

             
“Where are you going?” he asked her.

             
“To the tower.”

             
Martin frowned.  “You cannot help him.  It is his battle to fight.  You are needed here, with your men.”

             
Reluctantly she had to agree.  If she went to the tower what could she do anyway?

             
“Commander!”  One of the Knights had reached the top of the ridge and was shouting back to them.  His voice sounded urgent.

             
Martin ran towards him with Katelyn right behind. 

             
“What is ...” the Commander broke off as he looked to the east.

             
Katelyn reached them and looked as well.  “Dear Creator,” she breathed.  Marching towards them, from over the next low hill, was another army.  They moved ponderously towards the armies of the West and North.  The retreating Makkurans and their allies were joining the new host.

             
“Where did they come from?”  Renly asked.

             
“He must have kept some back out of sight, or brought up reinforcements faster than anticipated,” Martin guessed.

             
“Your Majesty!”  It was Roland who shouted to her as he rode up with half a dozen other gray clad men of Holdon.  Of his three sheaths, one was empty.  His helmet was also gone, revealing sweat soaked hair and his too long nose.  “I have failed you.”

             
“No one could have predicted this,” she replied glad to see that he, at least, had survived the fight. 

             
“I should have.  If I had known I could have taken precautions.”

             
“I do not know what you could have done differently,” Katelyn told him truthfully.  “You were already planning to face superior numbers, but this is not the time to assign blame.  Right now we need to decide on a course of action before that army reaches us.”

             
“I agree.”  Aemon rode up to join them.  His left arm was in a sling.

             
“Why are we not still attacking?”  A man with wild red hair and a beard approached on foot.  He was accompanied by another man on a horse and another who was also on foot.  They had to be the King’s of the North.

             
“We are discussing our options,” Roland informed them.  “By the way, it is good to see you again, Edric.”

             
“It had better be,” the King with short cut hair and narrow beard replied.  “If we had not come when we did you would not be here now.”

             
“I too would like to thank you all,” Katelyn told them all sincerely.  It was good to get that out of the way so she would not have it hanging over her later.  If there was a later.

             
The King’s response was to eye her curiously.  “Coran has good taste,” the red haired one commented.

             
“Bail!”  Edric snapped. 

             
“Oh, sorry, Your Majesty,” Bail apologized.

             
“So what are we doing here?”  Aemon demanded.

             
“Our men are tired,” Roland began his assessment of the situation.  “Those troops are fresh.  We have no choice but to pull back to the river.”

             
“We might be able to defeat such an army,” Martin added.  “But Roland is right.  Our best chance is to put the river between them and us.  This is not the place or the time.”              

             
“I do not wish to leave my kingdom in enemy hands, but I do not wish to jeopardize the West if we should be defeated,” Aemon stated, obviously torn between the two.  “I will abide with whatever you decide,” he said looking to Katelyn.

             
“We should fight,” Bail grumbled, but added nothing more.  Jarl and Edric waited patiently for her decision.

             
Katelyn weighed their words, turning enough to get a glance at the tower.  The two figures were moving about but she could not make out any details.  If they retreated then Coran would be left behind to the mercy of the enemy.  They had not shown any that she knew of. 

             
Martin must have understood her glance because he leaned towards her to speak softly.  “I do not pretend to know exactly what is happening up there, but as I said before it is his battle.  You must do what is best for your men,” he finished in a grave voice.

             
Martin might be right, but he was speaking as one whose primary responsibility was seeing to her safety.  “I must do what is best for Midia, not just the army who fights.”  She replied just as softly. 

             
They were all looking to her, even the Northmen which was a surprise.  She knew what her heart was telling her, that they should fight.  Her head was saying that Roland’s assessment was the correct one.  She was about to order the retreat when the words of Gelarus came to mind.  He said that she should not stop fighting no matter the odds.  He would not have told her unless it was very important.  Gelarus never offered any advice.  The odds were definitely against them, and she was tempted not to fight.  Did he give her a warning?  Did he know what might happen?  What would happen if she ordered a retreat?  Coran would be trapped behind the enemy line whether he won his battle or not.  Would he then be killed?  Was that what Gelarus was trying to tell her?  Coran had to stop Elthzidor, he said so.  Thalamus said that the Champion  would come when the time was right.  Could Coran be the Champion?  If everyone was to be believed then Coran had to survive.  She put her trust in the wizard who never seemed able to trust anyone.  Well, not just him.  She was putting her trust in the man she loved.

             
“Bring me a horse,” she ordered while ignoring the searching looks from the others.  A moment later one of the Knights handed her the reins to Arya, for which she was grateful.  The animal was well trained and had not wondered far.  “My banner?”  Martin frowned slightly.  He must have guessed her intentions once again.

             
A man came forward on foot carrying her banner.  He wore the blue and gold.  Wordlessly another horse was brought for him.  He mounted as did she.

             
“Your orders?” Roland asked.  They were all watching her intently.  She returned the favor by staring at each face in turn.

             
“Your Majesty?” Martin asked.

             
“Tell your men,” Katelyn told them in a commanding voice.  “We fight.  There will be no retreat this day.”

             
“I told you Coran had good taste,” Bail laughed.

             
On seeing her determined features Roland spoke carefully, ignoring the Northman’s jest.  “By that do you mean to fight to the last man?”

             
Katelyn looked him squarely in the eyes.  As soon as she had made her decision she knew it was right.  “I do.  We make our stand here.”

             
Roland nodded and rode away to carry her orders to the rest of the army.  Bail was smiling as he went back to his men.  Jarl said nothing and Edric watched her thoughtfully for a moment.  Finally, the King of Leanness inclined his head to her slightly before riding away.  That was something.  He had no loyalty to Summerhall.  King Aemon saluted her with a fist to his chest before leaving.  Even more of a surprise.   

             
Someone else approached her after the others had left.  Thalamus.  He looked tired from his efforts this day.  “Your Majesty,” he said looking after the departing leaders.  “You have made some decision concerning the newest threat?”

             
“I have.” 

             
When she did not offer more information he spoke again.  “And that is?”

             
She fixed the wizard with a look of determination, no less than the look she had given the others.  “We will make our stand here.  There will be no retreat.”

             
His eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “I see.”  He was silent for a moment.  “We will, of course, stand with you.”

             
“That will be appreciated,” she said a bit coldly.  Watching the wizard depart she had to wonder at her rudeness towards him, towards them all.  Then she realized that it was not rudeness she spoke with exactly, but command.  Commanding a wizard?

             
Martin was watching her out of the corner of his eye.  He was obviously worried over her decision, but would never come out and disagree with her openly.

             
“Commander,” she finally said.

             
“Your Majesty?” he responded.

             
“Gather the Knights of Soros who can still ride or hold a sword and bring them all here.  We will fight together.”

             
He saluted her as Aemon had.  “At once, My Queen.”

               “Like my surprise?”  Elthzidor had recovered from his shock and was now gloating over the latest development.  “I kept back the last of the troops to leave Sha’Tor, and pulled out a few thousand here and there from the main force to join them.”

             
Coran could see the numbers and knew that the Midians and Northmen combined could still win, if they had not already fought a battle today.  As things were it would be a close fight.

             
“You have no idea of the numbers of men available to me,” Elthzidor continued.  “The lands in the East are more vast than you can imagine.  Even if this army is defeated can the West defeat another, and another after that, each larger than the one before?”

             
Could it be as hopeless as he was saying it was?  No, that was what he wanted from him, for him to lose hope.  “Liar!”  Coran yelled at the wizard, refusing to believe.  “The West has won before and it will again.”

             
“Do I lie?  Those other times mistakes were made, miscalculations, underestimations, but not this time.  The full might of Makkura and all of the East is being mobilized.  There is nothing that can stop my Master this time.”

             
The words rang true in Coran’s mind, but he sensed a trickle of doubt.  Could Elthzidor not be as sure as he sounded?  “There is still me,” he said defiantly.

             
The smugness left Elthzidor’s face and was replaced with anger.  “Then I will deal with you first.”  The last word was punctuated with an overhand swing of the dark sword directed at Coran’s head.  Coran blocked and countered.  The last, and most important battle of the day began.

             
Their swords became the instruments of their power.  Whenever the two blades met sparks flew and the air crackled with energy.  Elthzidor’s power had been offset by Coran’s sudden ability, and Coran’s skill with the sword was offset by the revelation of Elthzidor’s ability.   Tenobius had told him that he, like many other wizards, relied on their power for protection, finding that they needed nothing else.  Elthzidor had been prepared, that was obvious by his skill with a blade, but how far had those preparations gone?  Coran had been in a fist fight or two before and he remembered Soelidin’s ability to strike with fist or foot while in a duel with swords.  It had been somewhat of a surprise and distracting.  If he could do the same to Elthzidor it might just give him the edge he needed to end this.