The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (41 page)

Hai swept the circle and spotted a rider surrounded by three Hackles. He kicked the flanks of his mare and drove her in amongst the beasts. His mount collided with the nearest Ulrog sending it to the ground. He dispatched the second Hackle with the saber in his left hand, while his right reached down and lifted his comrade onto the horse’s back. The third Hackle lunged toward the rising rider but a swift kick from Hai delayed him long enough for the men to escape. The mare swiftly ducked back into the spinning war ring and the rescued rider leapt from Hai’s mare onto that of a riderless stallion.

Greeb spat and snarled. Temujen was no fool. The chieftain bolstered the war ring but also possessed the presence of mind to block any Ulrog reinforcements returning from the Derol. The war ring now ran four riders deep and the Eru held a slight advantage in numbers.  Greeb still held no fear of defeat. He commanded Hackles aplenty to sacrifice on the altar of Amird. His true fear lay in the retribution he would receive from Kel Izgra for losing so many in a battle that did not fit Izgra’s design.

A sardonic smile crept across his lips as he watched the spinning war ring. Whatever the outcome of this day, Greeb realized he had been manipulated. The Steward of Astel and Temujen led him to this battle and he followed like a hungry wolf on the edges of a migrating herd. Again the question arose. Why?

Greeb had no time to ponder. The riders slowly tightened their noose, dodging in and out of their spinning rank and taking swipes at any foolish Hackle that strayed too far from the seething mass of his brethren. The Ulrog returned the fight by tossing stone, spear and cleaver at the spinning ring. In most cases, Eru shields deflected the flying weaponry. However, a few riders were unseated and the Ulrog swiftly dragged them to their deaths.

Greeb contemplated his options. Retreat to the mountains? Stand and fight? Move his force into the wood? One fact in all of these choices remained clear. The Malveel lord must unite his force. Whether he chose to fight or flee, he needed as many Hackles as he could muster, and more than half of his force hid behind the trees of the Derol. The red orb narrowed and focused on a direct line between himself and the wood.

“Amird!” roared the beast. “Priests to me! Hackles, join your brothers in the wood!”

Flame erupted from Greeb’s head. The fiery pulse arced over his crowded force and washed down upon the Eru riders. Horses snorted in terror and pounded into one another in a vain attempt to dodge the flame. Riders fell to the earth, engulfed in the fire of Greeb. The Malveel’s great wings unfurled and wrapped about his neck and chest like a shield. Great claws raked the ground and propelled Greeb through the Hackles gathered before him and the Eru spinning past.

Horses tumbled as the beast slammed them aside. Eru riders dropped and sprang upon their feet as their mounts awkwardly scrambled to regain footing. Without their mounts several Eru were forced to meet groups of Hackles toe to toe. They exchanged a flurry of blows. Both riders and Hackles dropped from mortal wounds.

Greeb paid no attention to the fighting. His intent was clear. Join his two forces by the edge of the wood and their number again made them too great a match for the Eru. He passed the war ring and charged hard to the Derol’s edge. His personal guard followed, trailed by the remainder of his force.  A half dozen Eru formed up and rode into the Malveel’s right flank. Greeb sneered. The rider’s closed within a few strides of the beast when his great black wing lashed outward. The Eru mounts reared as the black sheet slammed into their chests. Razor edged scales along the wing’s edge slashed the flesh of both rider and mount. The wing passed and the red flame of Chaos followed. The charge broke and the Eru struggled to find cover from the flame. Greeb leapt through the air and landed beside the wood. Hackles rallied to his side.

Reports filtered back to Portlo. The Ulrog held positions both inside and outside the wood. Certainly the forest favored the Ulrog now. Without the woodsmen to pressure from the east, the Ulrog would use the Derol’s natural defenses. The Eru riders would be unable to force a confrontation as long as the Ulrog remained within the Derol.

“We must return,” said the steward to his men.

They raised their weapons in support of his decision, beating their swords against their shields. Portlo nodded his thanks for their support.

Temujen’s riders formed a line twenty yards from the edge of the Derol. Behind them, the grasslands were littered with the bodies of horse, rider and Hackle. Within the wood, the black eyes of the stone men glared at the line of horsemen. A calm unfolded in the storm of the battlefield. The Ulrog held the wood. The Eru owned the Tre. Hai moved in beside his father.

“We cannot rout them from the wood, Father,” stated Hai.

“We do not wish to rout them,” replied the chieftain. “Our task is clear. Every moment the great worm hesitates is a moment the Seraph acquires to achieve his objective.”

The red orb glared across the line of riders on the Tre. Temujen was a stubborn fool. His gamble failed. The Eru lost many more riders than they could afford. Greeb and his Ulrog controlled the wood and were protected from the horsemen. The Derolians and their Astelan leaders were routed and scattered within the deep recesses of the Derol. Certainly Temujen knew his fight was over. Why did he choose to remain?

Once Greeb received a proper count of his forces and realigned their rank, the Malveel would make a push toward the Mnim. At best, Temujen would harass his army. However, if Temujen chose a direct confrontation, the Eru would certainly lose enough riders to render his force ineffective for years to come. This development would please Greeb’s masters in Kel Izgra and lessen any punishment Greeb would receive for disobeying orders. However, the Malveel could not count on such favorable developments. He needed to extricate himself from his problems on his own. A tracker ran forward and bowed.

“How many?” snapped Greeb.

“My lord,” replied the tracker. “You have approximately eight hundred Hackles still under your command.”

“Excellent,” returned Greeb. “The loss of a few hundred Ulrog can easily be explained. Perhaps a protracted battle at the mouth of the Mnim. Sulgor need never know we left our post. What of the Eru?”

“From this vantage, we believe the death count to be close to one hundred,” answered the tracker.

The loss of one hundred horsemen was a major victory. The Malveel smiled. He had prepared himself for a ratio of three to one. However, the loss of only two Ulrog for every rider was a victory to Greeb. His situation improved with each bit of news. A second tracker appeared before the Malveel.

“My lord, the Derolians return. They harass the edges of our position in the woods. There are few, but already we have lost Hackles.”

The smile quickly faded from the face of the beast. Madness! Greeb’s trackers reported Portlo’s woodsmen as badly beaten. Why? Why did these fools continue to harass and bait the Army of Mnim? Greeb spun and stared at Temujen and his horsemen.

A few leagues beyond the Eru’s line stood sanity. The Mnim lay within a wide cut between the knifeedge of the Scythtar and the peaks of the Mirozert. If Greeb could return to his stronghold he might scheme a way to explain the loss of his Hackles. Unfortunately, Temujen was determined to add to those loses as the Ulrog marched to the Mnim.

The horsemen were all that stood between Greeb and his ability to gain control of the situation. Why did Temujen align what was left of his nations fighting force between Greeb and the Mnim? The Eru could hardly afford more losses. Anger boiled within the Malveel. He held the superior force, but something warned him that he committed a major misstep. His breath hissed between locked fangs. What did he miss?

Greeb noted a flash of red light from the heights of the Mnim. The beast’s spine tingled and the red orb widened. He fixed his sight upon the spot. He waited. Fighting erupted in the woods behind him. The Derolians made their move. He waited. Red flashed again above the ridgeline. The tingle grew as he stared into the distance at the heights of the Mnim.

“My lord,” shouted a tracker approaching Greeb’s position. “The woodsmen attempt to drive us from the woods and into the blades of the horsemen.”

Greeb ignored the tracker. Another flash of red splashed across the sky, tiny from this distance but the flames of Chaos were unmistakable. Greeb’s tongue slithered across his lips in anticipation of what he knew would follow the red flame. Immediately it was there.  A steady glow of green pulsed out and held strong.

Fury! Anger! Hatred! All became clear to the Malveel. The answer to all of his questions stood on the slopes of the Scythtar wielding the power of light along the ridgeline trail.

“The Seraph,” hissed Greeb.

A growl rumbled forth from the depths of the Malveel’s being. It grew as his one red eye pinpointed the location of the green glow in the distance. Louder still rose the sound of Greeb’s anger as his attendants backed from their master. He, a Malveel Lord, was baited and toyed with. He led his Hackles into a trap and jeopardized his position in the rank of Amird’s Chosen.

The growl strengthened as the Malveel’s lips curled into an ugly sneer. Greeb’s head quivered in fury. He stared at the tiny green glow in the distance. All of this was a ruse, an exceedingly costly ruse to Greeb’s consolidation of power. A ruse orchestrated by one man.

“Seraph!” roared the Malveel.

He launched himself from the edges of the Derol directly at the line of Eru horsemen. A moment later the entire Ulrog host broke from the tree line.

Ader stood behind the boulders with hands raised to the heavens. A soft aura of green surrounded the Seraph and Kael. The boy stood a yard from Ader fumbling with an arrow. Red flame burst from within the huddled mass of Ulrog and sprayed down upon the pair. The green wall deflected the sparking Chaos and it spilled on the rock before Ader.

The Ulrog remained tightly packed, the priest centered in the formation. Beside the black robed priest stood a massive Hackle armed with an equally oversized cleaver. Upon the beast’s shoulder lay an unmoving lump, bundled within a burlap sack. Slender legs bound with a cord protruded from inside the sack.

The red flame halted and Eidyn quickly released an arrow into the group of Ulrog. The steel head deflected from the stony hide of a Hackle, sparking in the darkness. The priest waved a hand to a group of five clustered to his right.

“Vendi Ulrog,” shouted the priest. “Kill the Elf!”

The five immediately hunched forward and trotted toward Eidyn’s location. The priest waved to the hulking servant to the left. Lilywynn’s guard aligned himself behind the remaining Hackles and the priest joined him.

“At the Seraph,” ordered the priest to these Hackles. “The flames of Chaos will occupy him.”

The group huddled close and advanced along the cliff’s edge toward Ader’s position. Kael rose from behind his boulder and fired at the group, aiming low to avoid Lilywynn. The arrow slammed into the thigh of the lead Hackle. The beast roared in anger and halted. His brethren shoved him aside and quickened their pace toward the Seraph. The night erupted again in brilliant red flame.

Ader raised his hands just in time and a wall of green flashed before Kael and the Seraph. The flames of Chaos washed over the green and fell ineffectually to the stony floor of the mountain pass. Kael notched a second arrow and glanced to the Seraph. Ader sweated profusely and his brow tightened in concentration. He nodded to Kael and his hands dropped. The Southland boy rose and fired once more. His shaft met the forearm of a Hackle and stuck there. The Ulrog roared in anger and snapped the arrow shaft off at the wound’s entry point. Black blood ran down the beast’s awkwardly held arm.

The cluster of five on the opposite side of the path moved more slowly toward Eidyn. The Elf was quick with his bow and he had no prisoner to worry over. Two Ulrog fell behind the pace tending to injuries. The priest noted their slow progress.

“Kill the Elf. Flank the Seraph’s position,” shouted the priest across the mountain path. “The eternal gifts of Amird will be showered down upon you!”

The Ulrog roared with fervor and raced toward Eidyn. Their brothers, advancing on Kael, responded in a like manner and raced forward to the boy’s right. Ader stepped from behind his boulder and called upon the light. It pulsed forward, creating a sturdy wall two yards before him. The Seraph strode purposefully toward the cleaver wielding Ulrog. The priest and the giant guard remained up slope, exhorting their servants.

The Hackles closed to within five strides of the Seraph when Ader closed his eyes and bent his will on the wall. His hands swung wide to his left as if he grasped an unseen object. The wall of light lifted and crowded left. The Hackles advanced to within two strides. Ader’s hands swung across his body, throwing him forward. With a loud crack the wall of green light snapped across the cliff top in the same direction, smashing into the running Ulrog.

Kael stared in awe as the Seraph used the wall like a giant club. The boy could feel how his friend shaped and used the power. The Hackles toppled sideways. Two plunged from the cliff into the darkness below. Three others dropped dangerously close to the edge of the precipice, raking the shale with their black claws to halt their progress over the ledge.

Ader stood slumped forward. His hands extended toward the Hackles as he tried to wring every bit of energy into the blow. The Ulrog priest’s eyes shifted between the sprawling Hackles near the cliff’s edge and the Seraph. Fear registered there, but also opportunity. He squealed the name of Amird and his hands gathered power about them.