"There are those that would disagree," said Beverly. "Valmar, for instance."
Gerald snorted, "Valmar doesn't care about his men. I won't lead someone into battle without a hope of living through it. Men aren't cattle to be led to the slaughter."
"That's what makes you a great general," said Beverly.
Gerald blushed, "Yes, well, who's left?"
"The Dwarves," she replied, "followed by the Trolls and then the supply wagons. I thought it best to bring the mastiffs up at the tail end of the column."
"A good idea," he agreed. "Where's Anna? I would have thought she'd be here with us."
"She's at the back, with the dogs. It seems she's grown rather fond of them."
"I'm surprised, they're quite aggressive."
"They seem to have adopted Tempus as their pack leader," she explained, "when you're not around, that is."
"I still find that rather disturbing," said Gerald.
"What? That they bow down to you?"
"Yes, it makes me uncomfortable, as though I've got something locked up inside of me, waiting to get out."
"Think of it this way," offered Beverly, "you've just got a way with dogs. Did you have one as a child?"
"I did," said Gerald, "his name was Calum. He was a scruffy looking beggar but a great companion."
"What happened to him?"
"He was killed by the raiders that murdered my parents."
"I'm sorry," said Beverly, "I never knew."
"No reason why you would," offered Gerald. "That was years before you were born. Your father had dogs on occasion, but after you came along, he sent them away. I think it took all his attention to look after you."
"Are you saying I was a handful?" she asked with a smirk.
Gerald laughed, "You still are, Beverly, you still are."
* * *
The column halted for the day. Arnim was looking north, along the track they had taken when Beverly came up behind him.
"Problem?" the redhead called out.
The knight turned to see her approach. "It's the Dwarves, they should have been here by now."
"But the rest of the army is already here, weren't they ahead of the wagons?"
"They were, but their pace slowed down the column, so they sat beside the road and allowed everyone else past."
"So then, where are they?" mused Beverly.
"I was just wondering the same thing. Shall I go and investigate?"
"No, I'll go. Your horse looks winded, and Lightning here, has lots of energy left. Go and find Gerald and let him know, he'll be anxious for news."
"I will," promised Arnim, turning his horse and heading south.
Beverly rode back up the track. They referred to it as a road, but it was little more than a trail, and even then it was only the passage of their own troops that had created it. It was getting dark by the time she found the Dwarves. They were marching south, but much slower than expected. Being short of stature, the snow, which had been a minor inconvenience to the other troops, was a major obstacle to them. She halted and waited while the Dwarf captain trudged up to her.
"I'm sorry, Commander, but we can make little more progress this day. How much farther is the camp?"
"It's some distance, I'm afraid," she replied. "Are your troops tired?"
"Exhausted," he admitted, "they're not used to this kind of weather."
"You should camp here. I'll ride back to the column and let them know. Will you need food?"
"No, each Dwarf carries three days rations, and we can see to our own camp. We'll try to catch up to you in the morning."
"Very well," said Beverly, "I'll let the general know." She turned Lightning and galloped off, the great beast navigating the snow drifts with ease.
* * *
Beverly found Gerald sitting by a large roaring fire along with Princess Anna and her usual assortment of advisors, including the company commanders.
"Beverly," called out Gerald, "what news?"
"I'm afraid it's not good. The Dwarves are having a rough time with the snow. It's going to slow us down."
"We should carry on without them," said Telethial, "let them catch up as best they can."
"No," objected Kraloch, "that would diminish our forces. We must wait for them."
"We can't," objected Arnim. “The longer we wait, the worse the weather will get. We have a limited window to take Colbridge; if we wait too long, their reinforcements will arrive."
"A valid point," said Anna, "but it's the general's decision to make. What do you suggest, Gerald?"
The old warrior looked around the fire before speaking, "I'll not split up the army. They've been training to work together, and leaving the Dwarves behind will play havoc with my plans. We need some way of speeding them up. Revi, is there a spell you can use?"
"I'm a Life Mage, not an Enchanter," replied the mage.
"Not entirely true, my friend," said a voice. They all turned to see the approach of the Kurathian mage, Kiren-Jool.
"What do you mean?" asked Revi.
"From what you've told me," the mercenary continued, "you've already started using enchantments. Your spell of tongues belongs to my school of magic."
Anna looked at Revi in surprise. "Are you saying that Master Bloom has mastered two schools of magic?"
"Yes," continued the Kurathian, "that's exactly what I'm saying. As an Enchanter myself, I know what I'm talking about."
"Remarkable," offered Revi, "who would ever have guessed."
"It doesn't surprise me," said Hayley. "I know how special Revi is."
The Life Mage blushed, "I'm flattered, of course, but I know of no such spell that would work in this circumstance."
"Wait a moment," said Beverly, "can't an Enchanter enhance someone's endurance? Surely that would let them march longer without tiring."
Kiren-Jool stared into the fire as he answered, "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. Oh, I could use the spell, but I wouldn't have enough power to affect all the Dwarves, perhaps only a dozen or so, assuming I was fully rested, of course."
"So what do we do?" asked Anna.
"We drag them," a voice boomed out.
They all turned in surprise to the Troll leader, Tog, who seldom spoke.
"How do you propose we do that," asked Arnim, "by their ankles?"
"No," replied the huge troll, "we drag them on wooden platforms."
"Like a sled?" asked Gerald. "We'd need horses for that, surely."
"No," persisted Tog, "we Trolls will pull them."
"Do we have enough rope?" asked Gerald, looking to Beverly.
"Rope we have in plenty, King Leofric was generous in that regard. He thought we'd eventually need it to make siege engines."
"Will the Dwarves agree to that?" asked Arnim.
"What makes you ask that?" responded Herdwin.
"They are a proud people, stubborn in the extreme," offered Arnim.
"Where did you get that idea?" asked the Dwarf.
"I've heard they never surrender," suggested the knight in defence.
"It's true that we never surrender, but we're very pragmatic. I suppose you've heard that Dwarves never retreat as well."
"Of course."
"Do you know why?"
"I confess I don't," replied Arnim.
"Dwarves are short of stature, with shorter legs than most races."
"I remember," said Arnim, "they marched slower than us when we put down the rebellion back in '60."
"Yes," added Anna, "but they marched longer hours to make up for it."
"Agreed," said Herdwin. "Us Dwarves know that others can easily outpace us. If we were to retreat from a battle, we'd be cut to pieces on the march."
"So you're saying they won't mind being dragged?" asked Arnim.
"Not at all," said Herdwin. "In fact, if I may be so bold as to say so, they'd be happy to do it if it meant participating in the upcoming campaign."
"Then sleds it is," said Gerald. "Now, we'll need to cut down some
trees..."
The conversation soon devolved into planning mode and carried on into the wee hours of the night.
* * *
The sun rose to a beehive of activity. While the Elves stood guard, the rest of the army concentrated on the task at hand; cutting down trees, then hewing them into square-cut timbers. The first platforms were tied together and tested, but friction with the ground proved too much, even for the Trolls.
It was Anna that found the solution, remembering something she had once read. She oversaw the creation of runners, planes of wood that ran on either side changing the wooden platform into a true sled, rather than a simple raft design. By the time the Dwarves came into view, they had two workable models, with more in the works.
There were roughly a hundred Dwarves and one hundred and fifty Trolls. If it hadn't been for their armour, each Dwarf could have simply been carried by a troll, but the heavy Dwarven chainmail almost doubled their weight.
In the end, the sleds proved quite useful, for they not only provided transportation for the Dwarves but some of the army's supplies too, as traditional wagons often bogged down in the snow. The sleds, on the other hand, had runners that would ice up, making them even easier to move in the frozen landscape. If there had been enough time, Gerald would have insisted on more, but the weather was closing in, and he was eager to continue the march.
* * *
They arrived in Kingsford with little fanfare. It had taken them a little over a week, a fast march considering they were crossing wild country. The majority were happy to see the warmth of a billet, but the Elves, Orcs and Trolls refused to enter its walls, preferring to remain in the countryside. The Human and Dwarven troops soon flooded the city; a strange collection of Mercerians and foreigners, swelling the taverns with their business and overwhelming shop keepers. While this was happening, those in charge met with the duke, eager for news of the ships.
Gerald hoped to find their allies in residence, but the ships had failed to arrive. Revi sent his familiar, Shellbreaker, upriver only to discover the ice had slowed their progress. It looked as though it would be several more days before they would make it to Kingsford and so the troops had time to rest.
There was still lots of planning to be done. For now, the duke added Mercerian troops into the mix, including some much needed armoured cavalry. All of this had to be taken into Gerald's plans for Colbridge, and while the extra troops were a blessing, they complicated things considerably.
Now he had to adjust the order of march in addition to reorganizing his supply train. He finally decided to create his staff by recruiting from each company. He placed Beverly in charge, though during battle she would assume command of the cavalry. He started with appointing six people, but this proved inadequate to the task, and it rapidly expanded to twelve. He had a representative from the Orcs, a hunter by the name of Marguk, who proved able to learn the common tongue of man with considerable ease. Telethial appointed her own representative, an Elf named Elunien, while Herdwin represented the Dwarves at their request. The Weldwyn Volunteers, the Kurathians, and the Mercerians each supplied three staff members.
Gerald relied on Anna's knowledge of history as they struggled to organize things, but it still took many hours until he was satisfied. He began issuing orders, only to reveal yet another problem; the staff members were indistinguishable from regular troops. They settled on having them wear sashes, identifying them as a member of the general's staff. A quick visit to each company to explain the situation was all it took, and things began to fall into place.
Late at night on the third day after bringing the army to Kingsford Gerald was restless. Most of his staff had turned in for the night, but the general couldn't sleep, and so he decided to go for a walk to clear his mind. He dropped in to see the princess, but Anna lay fast asleep. Sophie suggested he take Tempus with him and so he found himself wandering through the city of Kingsford, the giant mastiff in tow.
The streets were empty, save for the rare appearance of a town guardsman. These men wandered the street at night, carrying lanterns on the lookout for troublemakers. They didn't bother Gerald, for most of them knew the general by sight, and those that didn't couldn't help but notice Tempus.
They wandered around aimlessly while Gerald thought things through. The duke had added close to five hundred additional troops, bringing his total to almost sixteen hundred soldiers. He knew Beverly would be glad of the extra cavalry, but he had to carefully consider where to place his foot and archers in the line of battle.
It was while pondering this exact thing that he turned onto a side street. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of people. He looked up to see a tavern, its windows letting the light escape into the night.
Gerald halted his battle planning, at least for the moment, diverted to other pursuits. "What do you think, Tempus? A nice tankard of cider?"
Tempus looked up at him, drool dripping as his massive tongue hung out the side of his mouth.
"Very well," said Gerald, "a tankard it shall be, but just one, mind you, we don't want to overdo it." He resumed his walk, the great dog trotting along at his side.
He was just about to reach for the door when it flew open. Two soldiers stumbled out, bumping into Gerald and sending him tumbling to the ground.
He looked up in disgust only to see the men punching and hitting one another. Tempus growled, but Gerald ordered him to stay. The smaller of the two men kicked the other, a rather rotund individual, in the groin, sending him to the ground. Now, the attacker straddled his target, sending a rain of blows down on him, which his opponent feebly tried to block with his hands.
Gerald regained his feet, moving to prevent the onslaught. He grabbed the smaller man by the shoulder, but his target lashed out wildly, striking Gerald in the face, knocking him back.
Tempus didn't hesitate, launching himself across the short distance. A moment later, the great dog stood over the man, pinning him to the ground beside the second individual.
"Get him off me!" demanded the shorter man, his voice slurred by drink.
The portly one tried to rise, but Gerald planted his foot on the man's stomach, keeping him down. "Stay where you are," he commanded. "What do you two think you're doing?"
A reply came from beneath Tempus, "He's a filthy Westlander."
"What of it?" demanded Gerald. "That Westlander came here to free our kingdom from oppression. You should be thanking him, not attacking him." He turned to the other combatant, "And you, you should know better than to pick a fight with an ally. What's wrong with you people?"
"Get this beast off of me," demanded the Mercerian, "I'll show him who's oppressed."
Gerald moved up beside Tempus. "Do you know who I am?" he asked.
"No," replied the subjugated man, "why? Does it matter?"
"You struck me."
"What of it?"
"I'm General Gerald Matheson, perhaps you've heard of me?"
Beneath the great dog, the struggling stopped.
"Do you know the punishment for striking a superior?" Gerald pressed.
"A fine?" squeaked out the voice.
"It's death," said Gerald, fed up with the man's nonsense.
The Mercerian turned deathly pale. "I'm sorry, my lord, it's just the drink talking, I didn't mean anything by it."
"There's no excuse for this type of behaviour." He put his hand on Tempus, touching him lightly on the head, "It's all right boy, let him up." Turning his attention back to the other man and asked, "How did this start?"
"In there," the Westlander said, pointing to the tavern.
For the first time since his encounter, Gerald became aware of the noise in the background. He looked to the doorway while the sounds of a fight wafted out.
Ignoring the two men on the ground, he stepped toward the doorway. "Come along, old boy, I might need you."
He caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye as he entered and instinctively ducked as a tankard sailed past his head, smashi
ng against the wall beside him. The entire tavern was one massive brawl. A man had ducked down behind the bar, likely the owner, while two women cowered behind an overturned table in the corner. Someone dragged another patron over a table while a third threw punches.
Gerald called out, ordering them to stop, but his voice was carried away in the yelling and screaming. Two men rolled past, clutching at each other's throats and then Tempus let out a tremendous bark. The ear-splitting sound easily cut through the noise, reverberating throughout the room, seeming to shake the very walls.
The fighting paused, as if by magic. Everyone turned to stare at the door and the great dog that stood guarding it, his teeth bared.
"This will cease now!" Gerald commanded, his voice finally heard. "You will return to your billets at once or by Saxnor's balls I'll have the town guard in here and hand over every last one of you. I will not see my soldiers act in this manner."
He hadn't meant to lose his temper, but it had all been too much. The last few weeks had been a nightmare to organize, and he would not see it devolve into a petty fight.
The tavern began to clear, and he watched them leave. So intense was his fury that none of them would meet his gaze and it wasn't until they had all left that he realized what a significant risk he had taken, for if they had refused his command, he would have been powerless to stop them. He looked down at Tempus, rubbing the great dog's head in affection, "It's good you were here, old boy. I couldn't have done it without you." Tempus wagged his tail.
The very next day, Gerald put the Humans to work making more sleds, keeping them busy, and more importantly, too exhausted to fight.
* * *
When the boats from Weldwyn finally arrived, two days later, they met Hayley at the dock, along with a man dressed in robes.
"Osbourne Megantis, I presume?" asked Revi.
"Indeed," the man replied, "and you must be the esteemed Master Revi Bloom. Dame Hayley has told me all about you."
"Indeed," said Revi, bowing deeply. "May I introduce Her Highness, Princess Anna of Merceria and General Gerald Matheson."
"Pleased to meet you," said the Weldwyn mage, "though I must apologize for our tardiness. We would have been here a few days ago, but the river ice has thickened considerably."
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