Defender Of The Crown: Heir to the Crown: Book Seven

by Paul J Bennett

  "You may release when ready," she said, nodding her head to him.

  Montak spoke little of the common tongue but understood the command. Placing a whistle to his lips, he blasted out three notes.

  In front of them, the dog handlers echoed the command, and then the Kurathian Mastiffs were released. The great beasts, the size of ponies and trained to bring down warhorses, surged across the field, quick to pick up the scent of their quarry.

  Anna turned in her saddle. "Captain Jaran?"

  The archer bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

  "Move your bowmen up. You know what to do next."

  "Certainly, Majesty."

  The Kurathians had been mercenaries, sworn to the service of the Twelve Clans, but defeat on the battlefield had given them a chance at a new life. When they had served the princess during the civil war, she had rewarded them with the one thing that Kurathians prized above all else: Land.

  Jaran called out to his men in their native tongue. The archers moved up, following in the wake of the hounds. The mastiffs would tear through the enemy horse, while the job of the bowmen was to finish off the wounded horses and take prisoners. They would use their bows to keep the enemy at bay, but long knives were their preferred method of plying their trade.

  Off in the distance, the Norland horses were swarming the baron's lines. The hounds closed the gap quickly and began baying as they picked up the scent.

  Jaran held his breath as they struck the enemy. He always thought it strange that such devastation could be so enthralling. The mastiffs flooded across the plain, laying waste to the enemy's horses as if they were a high tide washing away all before them.

  Heward heard the hounds and knew his time was up. He looked around, spotting Prince Alric in the distance. The prince's horsemen were surrounded by Norlanders, and Heward pushed towards him, cutting down any who stood in his way.

  He called to his aide to signal the retreat, for he knew the mighty Kurathian hounds could not distinguish friend from foe. Swinging his axe as he rode, he cleaved through a Norlander's arm, then backhanded his weapon into the man's spine.

  The press of horseflesh grew worse, and he slowed, unable to make progress. He could see Alric swinging left and right, his practised, measured strikes clean and efficient. Beside him, fought Lord Marlowe, the Weldwyn cavalier, every bit as brave as his master.

  Heward had spent a lifetime in combat, knew the sounds of battle intimately, but there was one sound he feared, and now he heard it as a mastiff's jaws bit down on bones with a sickening crunch. He was willing to fight any foe and had fought countless battles, but the thought of such wanton destruction chilled him to the bone.

  "Back, back!" he called out, trying desperately to be heard above the sound of battle.

  At last, he caught the attention of Lord Marlowe. The cavalier must have realized the danger, for suddenly he struck out, clearing the opponent before him and then smartly pivoting his horse to face the Mercerian lines. The prince reacted just as quickly, and soon they were retreating. Heward spurred on his horse, dashing for safety as the Norlanders, confused by the sounds, began to seek the source of such a clamour.

  The Norland riders were brave, many of them experienced warriors, but never before had they fought such a foe. The mastiffs ripped into their lines, tearing legs from horses and bringing them crashing to the ground, their riders flailing about helplessly, unable to adapt to this new menace.

  Heward made for a gap in the lines, his men riding through behind him. As soon as they were safely past, the ranks closed, presenting a wall of shields and spears once more.

  The huge knight trotted his horse over to Prince Alric, who was wiping his blade. "My Prince," he said, "you fought well this day."

  "As did you," replied the prince. "It was well you warned us, else we would have been caught up in the slaughter." He nodded towards the battlefield.

  Heward swivelled his gaze. It was a strange sensation, for from his vantage point, he could see no dogs, but the rear ranks of the enemy horsemen were falling, cut down like wheat by a scythe. The great knight felt the contents of his stomach revolt at the very thought, and bile rose in his throat. He fought it down, then looked away, unable to watch the ruination of a proud army.

  "Serves them right," offered Jack Marlowe. "They should have known better than to invade Merceria."

  "Who would have thought," said the prince, "that the very animals that were used against us in Weldwyn should prove so useful to us now, in our time of need?"

  "I might remind you," said Heward, "that there's still plenty more Norlanders waiting to finish us off."

  "So there is," said Alric.

  The rangers streamed back from the woods. "There are too many of them," shouted Gorath.

  "Form square," called out Herdwin as he turned to Hayley. "Get your rangers behind us, we're going to enclose you."

  She watched in amazement as the Dwarves began their intricate manoeuvre. The rear ranks about turned, marching some ten paces and then halted. As this was going on, other Dwarves were moving left and right, forming a thin line to either side. They left a gap, through which the retreating rangers entered the new formation, then Herdwin ordered the ranks closed.

  "It's a thin square," said Herdwin, "only two ranks deep. Place your rangers at their backs, and let loose arrows when you can."

  Hayley moved up, standing between and slightly behind two Dwarven arbalesters. The metal crossbows were highly effective weapons, but slow to load, and Hayley found herself letting off six arrows for every bolt that sailed forth.

  She went to select another arrow and realized she had none left. All around her, the rangers found themselves in a similar state. She drew her sword, preparing for a last stand.

  The enemy horsemen had ridden close and were stabbing down at the Dwarves, desperate to break their shield wall.

  Off to the east came the sound of horns and Hayley perked up. "What's that?" she called out.

  "It sounds like cavalry," said Gorath.

  "All our horse are to the north," said Hayley, "with the baron."

  The sound rang out again, loud and clear, echoing off the trees, and then horsemen rounded the woods, the banner of Merceria streaming proudly in the chill afternoon air. They were few in number, but beside them ran dozens of ghostly Orcs, their bodies pale and translucent.

  "Spirit warriors," said Hayley. "Kraloch has come!"

  She watched the new forces slice into the Norland cavalry. There was a titanic clash of steel, and then the Norland troops wavered. Hayley, straining to see what was happening, noticed someone hefting a war hammer on high, the head of it catching the sun before it came crashing down. Only one weapon could have such an effect, and in that instant, Hayley knew that Beverly had come to their rescue.

  As panic erupted all around him, Lord Hollis craned his neck, trying to make sense of everything.

  "What is happening?" he called out. "Why has our attack stalled?"

  "Our men are broken, my lord," said his aide. "They have unleashed great beasts upon us!"

  "What are you talking about, man? Come to your senses!"

  His aide opened his mouth to speak, but his horse suddenly lurched to the side and then collapsed, taking its rider with it. The Norland lord's eyes went wild in fear as a great beast of a dog tore flesh from bone, then turned its attention on him. It looked like the queen's great mastiff, and he wondered, for a moment, how such a beast had come to be here, instead of in Norland, but then it all became clear as he saw others running amok on the battlefield. It appeared the Queen of Merceria had a secret weapon!

  He tore his gaze away from the grisly sight and galloped off as fast as he could manage, fear and adrenaline coursing through him.

  "Shall we advance, my lord?" asked Sir Preston.

  "No," said Fitz, "we must wait until the mastiffs are once again leashed. They are an effective weapon, but difficult to control. Any sign of the enemy commander?"

  "I saw a glimpse of him," of
fered Aldwin, "or his standard, at least, but once the dogs arrived, it disappeared in the fray."

  "Find Heward," ordered the baron. "We'll send his men out once the handlers have arrived."

  They watched as Captain Jaran's archers picked their way through the battlefield. They had trained extensively with the mastiff handlers and walked among them with little concern for their welfare. The captain stooped by a fallen Norlander, feeling for a pulse, then slit the man's throat with his long knife.

  "Was that entirely necessary?" asked Sir Preston.

  "He was likely dying," said Fitz, "and we have few healers to aid the wounded."

  "It's still rather distasteful," noted the knight.

  The baron turned to him in surprise. "Would you have them suffer on the battlefield?"

  "I suppose not, my lord, but it seems so unchivalrous."

  "Don't talk to me of chivalry," said Fitz, "this is war, and war is a messy, stinking business."

  "Did you hear that?" said Aldwin.

  "Hear what?" said Fitz.

  "Listen!"

  The baron concentrated on the sounds of battle and then heard it.

  "Saxnor's beard," he said at last. "That's a Mercerian signal. It's calling the cavalry." He looked over his shoulder to where Prince Alric and Heward were chatting.

  "But all our cavalry's here," said Aldwin.

  "No," said Fitz, breaking into a smile. "No it's not, look," he pointed.

  Aldwin looked to the south, where a small group of cavalry rode across the battlefield. Their leader held a hammer high, light glinting off its surface.

  "Beverly!" he shouted.

  "Saxnor's beard," said Fitz, "I don't know how she got here, but it seems the Gods saw fit to deliver her just in time."

  They watched as her men dispatched a group of Norland horsemen. Ghostly figures ran at their sides, and Aldwin rubbed his eyes, not quite believing his own senses.

  "What are those?" he asked.

  "I have no idea," said Fitz, "but they seem to be on our side."

  "They look like Orcs," said Aldwin, his eyes finally focusing.

  "Some magic of Kraloch's, no doubt," said the baron.

  The mastiffs were starting to settle, many dropping to the ground in exhaustion. The handlers moved forward with leashes to begin the laborious process of collecting them.

  "It's over," said the baron.

  "Over?" Aldwin replied.

  "Yes, the battle. It appears that we've won, despite the odds being against us."

  "Perhaps the Gods have favoured us after all," said Aldwin.

  "Perhaps," said Fitz, "but I should like to think we won this day because of the superior training of our troops, not by some whim of the Gods."

  Beverly struck out with Nature's Fury, collapsing a helmet. The Norland horseman fell, his horse galloping off, riderless. She pivoted to strike again, but the enemy was in full retreat. Small pockets of men were throwing down their weapons, the fight gone out of them. Many looked underfed, and she wondered, briefly, if the rapid advance from Norland had taken too much out of them.

  She halted Lightning, then turned in the saddle. Kraloch and Albreda were following along behind them, though still some distance off. Glancing at her hammer, she thought again of the druid's words. Was she connected to Albreda in some strange, mysterious way? She had to admit the thought gave her some comfort. Nature's Fury was forged with heart, but it was the magic of the Whitewood that imbued it.

  She urged Lightning into a slow trot and turned towards the Dwarven square. Hayley's archers, emboldened by the charge, had moved forward and were even now picking off stragglers that refused to surrender. Weaving her way through the mass of bodies, the red-headed knight wondered how her allies had survived such a savage assault. Closer she drew until she could see the many bodies of Dwarves who had given their lives this day.

  Beverly felt her throat constrict, and tears came to her eyes. "All this death," she uttered.

  "Bev!" came a familiar voice.

  She spotted Hayley, making her way through the destruction.

  "Surprised?" asked the red-headed knight.

  "And then some," said Hayley. "How in the Gods' name did you come to be here? Last we heard, you were off in Norland."

  "This was Albreda's doing," Beverly replied. "She met us in the Wickford Hills and led us through the gate to Uxley."

  "The gate?" said the ranger. "Hasn't she told you it's dangerous?"

  "Yes, but we had little choice. Albreda had one of her visions. She saw defeat on the battlefield."

  "And so she decided to stack the odds in our favour?" said Hayley.

  "So it would seem, and yet I wouldn't have thought such a small group of horsemen could make such a difference."

  "But they did," said Hayley.

  "It wasn't just us, Kraloch conjured some sort of spirit warriors."

  "Yes," said Hayley, "I know, I've seen it before, at the mines near Redridge."

  "We'll have to get him to teach it to Aubrey. Speaking of which, where is my cousin?"

  "Up at Uxley Hall," said Hayley. "We thought it the best place to treat the wounded. You mentioned Albreda, but have you seen Master Hearn?"

  "As a matter of fact, I have, though I imagine he's quite tired. He used his magic to create a tunnel out of the Saurian Temple. Tell me, how is Revi doing?"

  "Still sick, I'm afraid, but Aubrey feels she may have a cure in hand."

  "A cure? So he hasn't lost his wits?"

  "No," said Hayley, "something about the magical flames has infected him. That reminds me, she'll have to check you and your men, as anyone who uses the flames is affected."

  "Not seriously, I hope."

  "No, those that have only used it a few times seem to suffer no ill-effects. Revi, however, spent days on end staring at the flame, trying to understand it. She would have healed him already, but with the battle looming, she had to conserve her energy."

  "So a happy ending for you after all," said Beverly.

  "I'm hopeful," said Hayley, "but I've been kept extremely busy myself, planning this battle."

  "You planned this?" said Beverly, looking around at the devastation.

  "Well, the basic tactics, yes," said Hayley. "Though I didn't know it would be this bad. I tried to think what Gerald would do." She suddenly wore a look of shock. "Saxnor's beard, I just realized he wasn't with you. Is he all right?"

  "He'll recover," said Beverly. "He was badly wounded in our flight from Norland. Aldus Hearn placed him in some sort of hibernation until we could get him to a healer. I left him in the good druid's care when we attacked."

  "Then you'd best get back to him," said Hayley. "Don't worry, I'll look after this mess."

  Thirty-Four

  Victory

  Fall 964 MC

  * * *

  "Are you sure this will work?" asked Kraloch.

  They were in Uxley Hall, looking over the sleeping form of Revi Bloom.

  "It should," said Aubrey. "My great grandmother's notes indicate as much."

  "You don't sound entirely confident," said the Orc. "Did she have a spell that would help or not?"

  "She did," said Aubrey, "but she never got a chance to actually use it."

  "Why is that?" he asked.

  "She never had need of it. How often do you think someone suffers symptoms similar to Revi's?"

  "I suppose I never thought of it that way."

  "Now, let me continue with this spell. If it works, I shall have to teach it to you, for there are many people requiring treatment."

  She closed her eyes, concentrating. The old familiar tingle buzzed in the air as she began intoning the magical words of power. Warmth spread up her arms and appeared to concentrate in her hands. She opened her eyes to see them glowing a brilliant purple colour, and then she leaned down and touched the still form of Revi Bloom.

  The mage's body began to twitch as the light entered him, lingering in his head, then dissipating. He lay still, and Aubrey leaned cl
oser, examining his face.

  "Revi?" she said. "Can you hear me?"

  His eyes snapped open then looked around, struggling to focus. "Hayley," he said, "is that you?"

  "No, it's me, Aubrey. Can you hear me?"

  "Of course I can hear you," snapped Revi Bloom. "I'm not deaf, you know." He struggled to sit up on the bed, but his head swam, and he lay back down. "Where's Hayley? I need my lucky charm."

  "I'll get her," said Kraloch, making for the door.

  "You had us all worried," said Aubrey. "It took a lot of effort to find a cure for you."

  "Why?" he asked. "What happened?"

  "You became obsessed with the magic flame," she said, "to the point at which you weren't thinking clearly. What can you remember?"

  "I remember my mind wandering, free of my body." He struggled to rise again, reaching out for Aubrey's arm. She raised him up until he was sitting comfortably. "I saw things I couldn't explain," he said, "as if my mind was travelling to the ends of the world."

  Suddenly, he gripped her arms tightly. "I saw them, Aubrey, I saw them all."

  "Saw what?" she asked.

  "All the lines of energy, the ley lines."

  "And?"

  "And I have the answer at last," he said.

  "The answer to what?" Aubrey asked.

  "We knew there were unused runes in the temples, and now I know what they're for."

  "Which is?"

  "They can be used," Revi explained, "to reach any area where there's an intersection of the ley lines, whether there's a temple there or not."

  "You're saying you can use the flame to travel to any confluence?"

  "Yes," he said, "though you can't return, of course, unless there's a temple present. Not only that, but there's no limit to the distance one can travel."

  "Oh, but there is," said Aubrey.

  "What do you mean?"

  "We discovered that even infrequent use can lead to a type of infection in one's mind, that's what affected you."