The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (21 page)

“As you wish, my lord,” said Aul bowing his head.

Fenrel scoffed and heeled his Brodor, riding to face the entire Anvil.

“Those of you to my north will pursue through the northern valley,” shouted Fenrel pointing to half the Anvil. “Cut down all who stand in your path. The Zodrians choose to run and they leave what little protection they owned on the hillside. Those to my south will follow me through the southern valley with the same instructions. Show no mercy!”

Fenrel turned and started off in a slow trot toward the southern valley. The Anvil obeyed his commands and moved forward, goaded by the verbal abuse of the Ramsskull.

“You heard Lord Fenrel,” shouted one commander. “Redeem yourselves for your cowardice.”

Another moved from the lead position in his unit to a vantage point behind.

“The first of you to turn will catch my steel,” snarled the Ramsskull officer.

Fenrel leaned toward a Ramsskull cavalry officer and held a brief word. Immediately, the officer wheeled his mount and coursed back and forth in front of the infantry’s lines.

“Double-time,” shouted the cavalry commander. “Keep up with the cavalry if you know what is good for you. Remember how you fled from the hillside and find the same energy.”

Manfir’s giant black sprinted along the Zodrian’s new position beneath the central hill of the second line of the Dunmor hills. His infantry aligned themselves between the hill and their prince. He scanned the valleys to the West for any sign of the Anvil.

“Sergeant Brelg,” called Manfir. “Send half your men on to the third position. Our ranks were hardly thinned and we wish to bait the Keltaran into a race. We wounded them deeply and even a maniac like Fenrel might flinch at our numbers.”

“Yes, my lord,” called Brelg from in front of the infantry.

Quickly the drill sergeant strode down the line barking orders to his men.

“Units one through four, move into the valley and head east to the third line of hills,” shouted Brelg. “Take care and remain single file on the north side of the valley.”

Manfir looked up at the sound of pounding hooves echoing from the West. Flair and the remainder of the cavalry entered the wide plain between the Knuckles and charged hard to the East.

The Zodrian cavalry aligned midfield and the young officer immediately went to work. He reviewed his line of horsemen and shouted instruction.

“Remember gentlemen,” called Flair, “we must engage the enemy only long enough to allow our infantry to effect their exit from this plain. When the foot soldiers disappear we must break off our battle. We chose your mounts for their speed, not their endurance. Once we disengage, it is imperative that you exit the plain quickly. The plan depends on no bottlenecks through the eastern valleys.”

Brelg’s infantry streamed from the second hill and the old soldier gave the same orders to several units to the South. When the Keltaran cleared the first Knuckle, they would find a far less formidable foe confronting them.

Manfir turned to a young man stationed behind him.

“Master Hindle. Is your work in the valleys complete?” asked Manfir.

“Yes, my lord,” replied the blacksmith. “Any rider entering these valleys best traverse them with great care. They are a deathtrap, bristling with a thousand ways to die.”

“As long as your handiwork takes no Guardsman’s life,” replied Manfir.

“The word was spread, my lord,” returned Hindle. “A narrow path runs against the steep valley walls. Your infantry should encounter no difficulty. It is your horsemen I fear for. They must maintain control of their beasts and keep their heads. Single file is imperative. One misstep and the trap will snap shut on the hand of the trapper.”

“The cavalry are in good hands,” replied Manfir smiling.

“You are all well aware of the situation,” shouted Flair as his stallion pranced back and forth in front of the cavalry. “This portion of the plan lies on our shoulders. Once again we attempt to fool the Keltaran into letting their own bloodlust be their worst enemy. Speed is our ally. Your enemy is frustrated and confused. They have seen their brothers fall and have had nary an opportunity for revenge.

“The Keltaran are fierce warriors. Yet they have not been able to exchange blows with us. This is our advantage. Once we harass them and disengage, they will chase us to the gates of Zodra for a chance to strike a blow. We will lead them straight into the teeth of the lion.

“The valleys hold death, death for not only the Keltaran, but any man who falters. You must keep your heads. Stay tight together but do not crowd the man in front of you. Those that exit to the north, keep to the northern wall. To the South, hug the southern wall. Avra willing, we will all meet on the eastern field.”

A cry arose from amongst the infantry. Flair turned as the riders of the Anvil emerged from the valleys flanking the first of the Bear’s Knuckles.

Fenrel rode from the valley surrounded by the black-cloaked riders of his Ramsskull. His ego raged. This was how a true king led his men. He should have led them against the Zodrian position on the first hill. His Ramsskull needed his presence to instill in them a mastery over others. Fear and intimidation, those were the tools of a great leader.

That intimidation was evident now. The Zodrian Guard lay huddled against the base of the second line of Bear’s Knuckles. Their numbers were far less than the Keltaran prince previously surmised. Their cavalry stood midfield, the first line of defense. It too looked thin and stretched.

Fenrel laughed and turned to his Ramsskull as they trotted forward.

“This is the rabble you ran from?” scoffed the prince looking to Aul. “Thin and weak.”

Lieutenant Aul remained stone-faced, staring at the enemy. He was full of trepidation, but loath to voice his concerns. The Zodrians were resourceful and intelligent. Why would they now sacrifice themselves in a full frontal battle? Their horses were faster and their men better rested. This encounter made no sense. Their numbers also appeared incomplete. The lieutenant weighed the consequences of speaking out.

Fenrel’s cavalry completely emerged from the valley and the Anvil’s infantry began to stream from the opening as well. The army fanned out across the plain.

“They do not dare to engage us at the mouth of the valley as they should,” continued Fenrel. “They let the bear out of its cage and now must face it.”

“My lord,” stated Aul. “The Zodrians have proven themselves adept at the use of subterfuge. I am concerned.”

Fenrel spun and scowled at the lieutenant.

“Even now you question our purpose and try to stay the hand of power guiding me,” snapped Fenrel. “Stay close and fight with your utmost Aul and you might stay the executioner’s hand when this is all over.”

Surprisingly, the Zodrian cavalry edged forward in a light trot. Aul and Fenrel turned to the East.

“Your failures instill a brazenness in these Zodrians, Aul,” grumbled Fenrel. “Are they so brash as to attack us?”

The edges of the Zodrian infantry line frayed as men streamed into the valleys on either side of the hill. The young Zodrian officer leading the enemy’s cavalry spun his horse and shouted frantically toward his infantry. However, there was no response. The Zodrian infantry continued to flee from the battlefield. Fenrel’s lips curled into a wicked smile.

“Do you see how the enemy reacts to a foe standing its ground and showing its resolution?” questioned the prince as he rose in his stirrups and raised his voice. “The Zodrian foot soldiers flee from us, abandoning their cavalry. Now we will crush them.”

Fenrel’s arm stretched on high, holding his massive battle-ax aloft.

“Keltaran cavalry, on my signal, we charge.”

Aul’s eyes widened and he spun toward the prince.

“My lord,” questioned the lieutenant. “Do you think it wise to abandon our own infantry support? A charge will again split our forces.”

“Opening us to what threat?” snapped Fenrel glaring at Aul. “Stay close and learn how to lead your servants.”

The Zodrian infantry disappeared from view and the small cavalry unit halted its tentative advance. Fenrel’s arm dropped.

“Charge!” shouted Fenrel slamming his heels into his Brodor’s flanks.

The animal reared then launched itself forward as the entire Keltaran cavalry sprang toward the Zodrian position.

Flair glanced over his shoulder to the East. Relief filled his heart. The infantry’s exit from the battlefield was quick and efficient. They lingered long enough to make the Keltaran hesitate. In a few moments the Anvil’s leaders would see an abandoned, undermanned cavalry unit, a unit teetering on the brink of running as well.

Flair considered himself a fairly competent student of human nature. These Keltaran were hungry for a victory. Desperate might be more accurate. They marched from their stronghold convinced in the weakness of their enemy. Their leaders primed them with tales of conquest. The Zodrian cavalry stood within their grasp. An easy victory awaited them.

A roar and thunder erupted from the West. Flair spun to see the entire Keltaran cavalry churning across the small plain toward his position leaving their infantry behind. Now was the time of the Southern horsemen. Their skill would be their only salvation against these mountain men.

Flair raised his saber, a red pennant affixed to its tip.

“Watch for my signal!”

Brelg, Hindle and Manfir followed their infantry through the northern valley. The Prince’s black stallion moved east earlier and Manfir thanked Avra for that decision. His massive horse would not have been able to traverse the narrow path beside Hindle’s weapons. Manfir grimaced as his cloak caught for the third time on one of the jagged blades. He turned to free himself and looked back to the West. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. Crowded within the valley were hundreds of pikes, spears and blades. The rusting, nearly useless weapons stood deeply imbedded in the hard packed earth, blades up and tilted westward. The narrow path hugged the northern wall of the gorge.

“Master Hindle,” called the prince to the man trotting ahead of him. “Have you allowed enough room for our own cavalry to pass unmolested?”

The blacksmith stopped and turned to the prince. He critically eyed his work and shrugged his shoulders.

“Colonel Flair provided the width, my lord,” replied Hindle. “He was specific. The cutters from the Southern plains are a smallish animal, my prince. If expertly ridden, they should travel the valley unscathed. However, the Keltaran Brodor is a massive beast. Many will not find the path amenable to their size.”

Manfir eyed the bristling valley floor again and frowned. The thought of what lay ahead for those unlucky men who fell into this trap made him shudder. To fall while exchanging blows with an enemy is the way a soldier should die. To perish on a blade held in the hand of Mother Earth was a cruel twist.

The faint thunder of hooves reached the prince’s ears. Quickly he glanced above to the walls of the valley. A dozen archers held positions on either side of the valley’s walls. They clung to the steep slopes of the hill with their bows notched.

“Nyven,” called Manfir to an officer standing awkwardly on the hill’s slope. “There is no need to waste your arrows on men impaled upon these devices. Your duty is to stop any Keltaran who somehow navigates this maze of weaponry. We are not Ulrog. Allow those men who fall into the trap the time to make amends with their Creator.”

The Zodrian officer nodded in reply and Manfir trotted forward extricating himself from the forest of weaponry.

Flair and his horsemen charged into the face of the Keltaran Anvil. He needed to time his charge exactly or risk encountering such a superior force. Forty yards from the Keltaran front line, Flair’s saber dropped and the red pennant disappeared from view. Immediately his force split in two. Those to his left wheeled hard to the South while Flair and his unit turned hard to the North, swinging wide and fast from the Keltaran’s path.

Within moments Flair and the Zodrians reversed direction and traveled just ahead of the Keltarans. Due to his place at the center of the charge, Flair was the last rider in the northern unit. A dozen of the front line Keltaran horsemen were a mere length behind him as the young colonel’s horse built speed. The Keltarans howled and called for blood.

Fenrel was stunned once more. These foolish and prideful Zodrians intended to charge down his throat. He would oblige them. They would be the first to fall and the prince would hound the Zodrian infantry all the way back to the great city itself. Every last one of them would perish before he set foot in the citadel and claimed it for Keltar.

“A moment more,” thought Fenrel, as his mind reached the fever pitch of battle, “a moment more and ....”

Suddenly, the Zodrian cavalry split like a wave upon a rock. Half of the enemy veered to the North and the other South. They turned. Now the moment Fenrel waited upon would be a moment of escape for the Zodrians. Fire raged in the prince’s veins. They would not escape him.

“RIDE THEM DOWN!” screamed Fenrel. “KILL THEM ALL!”

The Keltaran force also split as Fenrel’s riders randomly chose which group to follow. Fenrel’s Brodor slammed into Aul’s mount as the prince chose the group led by the Zodrian officer. It was clear to the prince that the Zodrians intended to flee eastward through the narrow valleys of the Bear’s Knuckles.