They approached the keep, nodding at the Dwarves guarding the entrance, while two more were taking measurements at the door as they walked through.
"What are they doing?" asked Aubrey.
"They're making a new door," he replied. "Now that we have Redridge, we have to protect it. I believe Gerald is going to leave the Dwarves in control here, at least for the time being."
They climbed the steps, avoiding the damaged section where the roof had collapsed.
"It's a good thing she doesn't use that hammer too often," mused Revi, "or we'd have no fortifications left." He barked out a laugh at his own jest.
Aubrey was about to defend her cousin when they stopped suddenly.
"Here we are," said Revi. "The Necromancer's secret laboratory."
"Secret?"
"Yes, it was hidden beneath a spell of concealment."
He opened the door, revealing a small room, much like any other. Indeed, at first glance, it was not dissimilar to Revi's own study back in Wincaster.
A desk, littered with notes, along with a leather bound book with a clasp, sat against the far wall. Hanging above it was a rather ornate mirror.
"Runes," Aubrey pointed out, "here, around the mirror."
"Yes," he agreed, "I rather suspect it's a scrying device of sorts."
"Or a method of communication," offered Aubrey.
"I hadn't thought of that," he admitted, "but now that you mention it, it makes perfectly good sense, the Dark Queen was masquerading as the baron's sister."
"So what happened to the real Penelope Cromwell?" she asked.
"A good question. I rather suspect they were both killed and then replaced by these Elves. We'll likely never find their bodies." He looked through the papers and then turned his attention to the book. "Tell me, do you remember the spell of tongues?"
"You never taught me that one," she replied, "and besides, that's an Enchantment, not Life Magic."
"So it is," he replied. "Let me cast it on both of us and then we'll take a look at this book."
He put it down and stood back to give his hands space to trace the patterns in the air.
Aubrey watched as the area around him lit up and then she felt a tingle as the spell took effect.
"Now," said Revi, "let's see what we have here, shall we?" He unsnapped the clasp holding the book shut, then slowly opened it, revealing the first page.
"I can't make it all out," said Aubrey, "but it looks like some type of journal."
"Yes, unfortunately, the spell only grants us a rudimentary understanding."
"You should learn Elvish," she replied, "then the spell would boost your knowledge even more."
"I have been rather busy of late," he said in irritation. "You make it sound like I have lots of free time for these sorts of things."
"Sorry," she replied, "but the princess has learned multiple languages."
"Well, I'm not the princess, and I have other things to attend to. It's all well and good for her, she simply sits back and lets the others do all the hard work."
"That's hardly the case," defended Aubrey. "She has to plan and run an entire kingdom. You should be more appreciative, without her there'd be no rebellion."
"Sorry," he said, "I know you're right, of course, but I'm just so drained. Healing takes a lot out of me."
"As it does any mage," she reminded him. "Now, shall we get back to the book or do you need a nap?"
* * *
Gerald watched as the heavy cavalry rode past. "I wish we had more of them. They took quite a beating at the hands of those Blights."
"As did the foot," added Anna. "I'm afraid our numbers are depleted."
"Yes," he agreed, "and we will lose more so that we can keep a garrison here."
"How many men can we march?" she asked.
"We should be able to field a thousand, but the real question is if we can reach the crossroads in time."
"And what do we think the enemy has?"
"That's the big unknown. We know the baron has about five hundred men, all told. What we don't know is how many Valmar has."
"What would be your estimate?" the princess asked.
"I would hazard a guess at about fifteen hundred. That would give him a three to one advantage over Bodden. I can't see him marching with less."
"So our numbers should be even," she mused.
"If we're lucky, yes, but there's always the chance he'll have reinforcements from the capital. We'll know more as we get closer. Albreda will be keeping tabs on them and will keep us informed."
Another group of riders filed past, followed by Revi Bloom, who pulled over to meet them. "Your Highness, General," he said in greeting.
"Master Bloom," said Anna, "have your investigations borne fruit?"
"They have, Highness, though I wish it were better news. The Necromancer's notes have revealed a much larger organization at work, something called the Shadow Council."
"What do we know of it?" asked Gerald.
"Not much, I'm afraid. The notes are short on details. I rather gather the organization has been around for a very long time, possibly longer than Merceria itself."
"What is it they're after?" asked Anna.
"Power, I think, and I don't mean political power."
"But they wish to control the throne, don't they?"
"They do, but that is a means to an end, they're after something else. I think controlling the crown is just the beginning."
"Any ideas of what their long term plans may be?" she asked.
"As a matter of fact, I've been thinking on that very topic."
"And?" prompted Gerald.
"And I believe they covet the power of magic. Blood Magic, to be exact."
"I've never heard of that," said Gerald.
"I'm not surprised," Revi countered. "I'd never given it much thought until Penelope held me prisoner."
"So what is Blood Magic, precisely?" asked the princess.
"Mages harness their innate magical energy," he began.
"We understand that, Master Bloom," she said, "but how is Blood Magic different?"
"Simple," he responded, "Blood Magic harnesses the power of those around the mage."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning there is no longer a limit on how much power they have access to. They can, if they have enough victims, create much more powerful spells."
"More powerful how, exactly?” asked Gerald.
"Those creatures, for one," said the mage.
"The Blights?"
"Precisely. It would take a lot of power to summon such creatures, likely much more than a single person would have, and let me remind you, he summoned not only one but four of them."
"This does not bode well," offered the general.
"No," admitted Revi, "it doesn't."
"Well," added Anna, "we shall have to hope there are not too many members of this 'Shadow Council' you spoke of."
"There is the off chance that the baron and his sister, Lady Penelope are the most powerful of them. Perhaps the rest are lesser mages?"
"I hope you're right," said Gerald, "or we'll discover more of those things when we assault Wincaster."
"We have to deal with Valmar's army first," said Revi, "but I doubt he'll have a Necromancer with him."
"Let's hope you're right," said Anna.
Twenty-Two
The Retreat
Spring 962 MC
Sir Heward watched the enemy soldiers march by. He and Sir Rodney were at the tree line, while their men waited deeper in the woods.
"Valmar's not much of a general," observed Rodney. "He hasn't even deployed scouts."
"He's not just a general, he's the marshal-general, remember?" offered Heward.
"He still doesn't know his business."
"Agreed, but at least it works to our advantage."
"I'm rather curious," mused Sir Rodney, "why he would send his footmen out in front. Surely that's a job for his cavalry?"
"It is," Heward replied, "bu
t his only horsemen are knights. Any decent general would have lighter cavalry to guard the march, but Valmar is little more than a jumped up sergeant."
"Everyone has to start somewhere," mused Rodney, “even Gerald started as a sergeant. Now, he's the princess's general. In theory, he outranks the both of us."
"I suppose he does," offered Heward in response. "Though I've never met the man. Is he the one that was the baron's Sergeant-At-Arms?"
"That's him."
"And where did he learn his trade?"
"He was trained by Fitz," said Rodney, "need I say more?"
"You've convinced me," said Heward. "I assume he has some experience?"
"Scads of it," offered Rodney. "The man has spent years fighting Norlanders."
"So what do you suggest we do about them?" Heward nodded to the soldiers marching by.
"We let them proceed unmolested. We'll wait till the second group arrives and then strike."
"Valmar will likely have his knights nearby to reinforce."
"Precisely what I was thinking," said Rodney. "I rather suspect he's dangled these men out front to lure us into an attack. My guess is that we'll see his knights soon enough, or a few of them, at least."
"We can but hope," replied Heward.
They sat in silence as the enemy moved westward toward Bodden. In theory, the road ran east to west, but the terrain here was rough and wooded, the road often meandering to make the path easier. They didn't see the next group of soldiers so much as hear them, the distinctive clopping of horses' hooves pounding against the ground.
"Hear that?" asked Sir Rodney.
"It seems you were correct," replied Heward. He looked over his shoulder at the men behind. "Prepare yourselves," he said, "they'll soon be in sight. Remember, we strike quickly and then withdraw. No heroics."
The men all nodded their understanding. They were nervous, Heward could tell, but he couldn't fault them. Other than Heward and Rodney, they were regular horsemen about to go up against heavily armoured knights.
Rodney inched his horse forward to get a better view. The Knights of the Sword appeared around the corner, strung out in a ramshackle line, riding only two abreast. Many were not wearing their helmets, and at least one drank from a bottle as he rode.
The riders drew even with the ambush point and continued westward, unaware of the lurking warriors. Rodney waited until two-thirds of the column passed before he raised his arm, holding it still. The raiders watched him in anticipation, waiting until his arm sliced down.
Twenty riders burst from the woods, heading directly for the trotting knights. The enemy reacted slowly with a few at the rear shouting a warning, but by the time their companions turned to look, the riders were in amongst them.
Heward struck out with his axe, cleaving the arm from his first foe and sending his shield whirling through the air. The knight continued on, intent on the next target. Sir Rodney, resplendent in his armour, rode up to a Knight of the Sword offering his left hand in greeting. The confused enemy held out his hand as Rodney struck with his sword, driving it into the man's armpit.
Heward saw at least four knights fall on the first pass before the riders were across the roadway, driving their horses into the trees. The enemy captain, keeping his wits, ordered his men to follow and the Royal Knights crashed into the woods behind the raiders, screaming threats of retribution.
Heward halted, letting the other men ride by. When he was sure they were safe, he followed, nodding to the woman who stood nearby. The Knights of the Sword were close behind, the sound of their mighty steeds echoing through the glen.
Albreda raised her hands, uttering an incantation. A moment later, tree branches extended with thorns growing from the limbs. The armour of the knights was impervious to such a small thing, but their mounts were not. In battle, the Mercerian Chargers would wear barding, metal armour to protect their flanks and face, but on the march, such protection tired them. Now, this worked to their disadvantage as thorns dug into the relatively soft flesh of the beasts.
Albreda listened to the sounds of surprise and the whinnying of the horses. She hated to inflict pain on such noble creatures, but this was war, and thankfully the injuries would soon mend.
She lifted her staff into the air, calling forth a word of power, then struck down. The ground undulated for a moment as if the Gods themselves came up from the Afterlife. The shockwave carried through the trees, felling branches and shaking leaves loose. The horses, incapable of understanding such things, panicked.
Back the knights went in fear. This was no easy slaughter of the enemy, but a nightmarish contest of wills with a magic far older than man.
Albreda watched as the last of the enemy returned to the road. She glanced to her left, where the great wolf sat. "Well, what do you think, Snarl? Enough damage for today?"
In answer, the wolf let out a howl. It echoed through the woods, to be repeated by others. Soon, the entire forest reverberated with the sound.
* * *
Valmar shuddered. He sat safely in his carriage, but the sound of howling echoed from all around him. "What was that?" he asked.
"Wolves, Your Grace," replied Captain Davis, who sat opposite him.
"I can tell that," he snapped. "I meant why now, of all times. Shouldn't they be skulking away from an army this size? Why are they even here?"
"I don't know, sir. I've never heard of wolves being so bold before. It's this cursed forest, the whole north is thick with it."
Valmar peered out the window. "This is nothing," he warned, "wait until we get closer to Bodden and you see the Whitewood."
"You've been there before, sir?"
"I have, though not for some years. The Whitewood is both a marvel to behold and a terrible sight."
"I've heard it's haunted," offered the captain.
"I don't know about haunted, but I know that horrible things live there. It's said that the very denizens of the wood hunt any Humans that dare enter."
"And yet Bodden somehow thrives, Your Grace."
"Yes," said Valmar, "though I rather suspect Fitzwilliam has made some ungodly deal to do so."
"You think he's in league with Death Mages?"
"Or worse," he replied. "We've heard the enemy has Orcs among them."
"I've heard that, too," added the captain. "I understand there were many of them at Colbridge."
"It's true," confirmed the marshal-general. "I read the reports myself. We were lucky. In the aftermath of the siege, some of our men managed to escape and bring word to the capital. It seems we've been underestimating our enemy."
"How so?"
"We assumed they were a small, ill-disciplined lot, but that has been proven incorrect, so now we march with the largest army ever assembled. We shall crush this uprising, once and for all."
A rider appeared at the side of the carriage, leaning down to tap at the window.
"What is it?" demanded Valmar.
"The enemy has ambushed us, sir."
"Casualties?" asked the captain.
"Six knights dead, another four wounded."
"And how many of the enemy were slain?" asked Valmar, leaning forward.
"None, as far as we can tell, Your Grace."
Valmar sat back in disgust.
"Orders, Your Grace?" asked the captain.
"Send word to the head of the column to slow until the rest catch up. It seems our little ruse has been spoiled.
"Shall we pursue, Lord?" asked the rider.
"No, let them have their tiny victory," said Valmar. "We'll be in Bodden soon enough, and then they'll pay the price for their insolence."
* * *
Sergeant Dryden had been a soldier for as long as he could remember, having served with distinction in the northern wars. Now, as he wandered through the camp, he took pride in his accomplishments. The army commanded by the marshal-general consisted of the finest soldiers in the kingdom, many of them battle-hardened.
He paused to warm his hands by a fire as h
is warriors looked at him. "We'll have them soon enough," he told them, "and then there'll be plenty of plunder to go around."
His remarks brought smiles to their faces, for the common soldier made little enough coin.
"Is it true we're going to reduce Bodden?" asked a youthful-looking archer.
"It's true, lad, we're going to turn it into rubble. There won't be a living soul left there once we've done."
"And women?" asked another.
"Plenty to go around," he replied, "and they'll all be widows, pining for their loss and looking to the safety of a warm bed." He chuckled at his own remarks. It was an old habit, promising everything a soldier could desire, but he didn't mind. Many of these men would die in the coming days, but those that survived would wear their experience like a badge of honour.
"What happened today, Sergeant?" asked the youth.
"Nothing to worry about, lad, just a couple of raiders that surprised us. We dealt with them already. If you look carefully tomorrow, you may see their heads on spikes." The lie came easily to his tongue for he knew by tomorrow it would be forgotten. "Now get some rest, men, we still have a long way to march before we get that plunder."
The men grinned, slapping each other on the back in anticipation. Sergeant Dryden withdrew from the fire, wandering farther through the camp.
He heard a strange noise to the north as if a heavy weight had been dropped, and then halted, peering through the darkness. The sound of talking around the fire drifted toward him from behind, but nothing to the north, not even the buzz of insects. His heart began to pound, for in his experience, it could mean only one thing; raiders!
He drew his sword, but at that precise moment, a spear flew towards him, striking him in the chest. Sergeant Dryden silently collapsed to the ground, dead.
* * *
Lorgar ran forward, pausing only long enough to withdraw his spear from his target. The other Orcs dashed past him, their eyes seeking out prey. He took one last look at the man lying on the ground, then ran on, his face a mask of calm.
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