“Isn’t that a bad thing?” the captain persisted.
“On the contrary, it’s exactly what we want them to do. When the enemy gets within range of the Elves, they will open up with their Elvish Bows. Lord Greycloak assures me they are devastating against armoured opponents.”
“So we take out their cavalry quickly,” said Arnim, nodding approvingly. “That still leaves a lot of infantry to deal with, including their archers.”
“That’s where Beverly comes in,” Anna said cryptically. “I’ve kept everyone in the dark. Only Gerald and Beverly know the details and, to be honest, Beverly only knows half the plan.”
Beverly looked shocked at the announcement. This young girl was going to get them all killed with her outrageous scheming!
Gerald spoke next, “It’s a good plan, but it relies on some good luck, as well as careful timing. The princess has examined our assets and reasoned out the best way to utilize each one. Remember, after this battle, we'll still need to travel north, to help Bodden. We must defeat the enemy here with a minimum of bloodshed. When we break them and trust me, we will break them, we must harry them all the way back to the river. Prisoners will be locked up in Kingsford, to be paroled back to Westland as soon as possible.”
“Shouldn’t we just execute them?” asked Arnim. “A survivor can return to fight again.”
“No,” Anna interrupted, “these people are merely pawns. There’s something much bigger going on here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Revi, finally appearing to take an interest.
“Think about it. An army of, what did the scouts estimate, Your Grace?”
“We estimate twelve hundred, Your Highness,” said the Elf.
“Yes, twelve hundred. Tell me, Captain Caster, could you take Kingsford with only twelve hundred troops?”
“No,” he said, “you’d need at least twice that on a good day.”
“Precisely,” she continued. “I believe this whole situation was orchestrated to pull our troops here.”
“You mean a trap?” Beverly asked.
“Yes, I think while they are drawing us away from the capital, another force will appear from somewhere to attack Wincaster.”
“Then we should have stayed in Wincaster,” said Arnim glumly.
“No, we still need to deal with this force, before it can link up with the army from Bodden. We stand and fight tomorrow, and whatever comes at us, we must prevail, or the whole kingdom will be at risk. Get a good night’s sleep. It will be a long day tomorrow and may fortune favour us in the battle ahead.”
The advisors dispersed quickly, leaving Gerald and Beverly at the makeshift table.
“Sleep before a battle, that’s the funniest thing I ever heard,” Gerald said. “We’ll be lucky if any of us sleep tonight.”
“This plan, you came up with it?” Beverly enquired.
“Oh no, that was entirely Anna’s idea, Her Highness's, I mean.”
“She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?” Beverly was still surprised to see how much Gerald had changed from the man she knew from her younger days.
Gerald looked her directly in the eye, “You grew up with a family, a loving father and a roof over your head, while mine was ripped from my arms by invaders. I’ve known you a long time, Lady Beverly, but Anna is like my daughter, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to protect her and keep her safe.”
“As will I, Gerald,” said Beverly, astounded by the depth of Gerald’s words. “I meant it when I pledged to serve her, but are we wise to follow the tactics of a young girl?”
“That young girl has read more books on battles than you, and I combined. Trust me when I say she knows what she’s doing.”
She left him to return to the troops. She had to get into position before morning, and the orders were explicit; no campfires for the cavalry, or the whole plan would fall apart.
* * *
The sun was not yet up, but Beverly was ready to go with the light cavalry arraigned behind her. It was a risky plan, and it all depended on her. Here she was, waiting, hoping the enemy would take the bait. She sat, anticipating the rising sun, a dark grey cloak keeping the morning chill from her. Her armour wrapped her body in its protective cocoon while she closed her eyes and imagined it was Aldwin's strong arms holding her, keeping her safe. She was a little perplexed; she had fought before, more times than she cared to remember, but today, here, she was nervous. This was no ordinary battle, for it relied so heavily on timing and a bold gamble, using men's lives as pawns in a game of chance.
The sun finally broke through the early morning mist as an Elvish runner came scrambling toward her. The enemy cavalry had started to move; they were doing exactly what the princess predicted they would, advancing against the left flank. She looked over to the edge of the wood to see Lily there, watching her intently, a spear in her hand. There was a period of silence, while each horseman said their private prayers, some more vocal than others. In the distance, the sound of horses moving, the rhythmic jangle of their tack was almost mesmerizing until the sound increased its tempo and the horses hastened their pace. This was the hardest part of the plan, for she couldn't see the enemy. The trees blocked the view of any approaching force, and when she moved, it would have to be quick and sudden. She watched as a flaming arrow struck the ground; the signal from the scouts to proceed.
Lily also noted the arrow and took up her position at the edge of the wood. Beverly raised her sword high and swept it down, the signal to begin the advance. They had practised this many times over the last few days, but still, problems arose. The twang of the Elven bows was heard as they sought out their targets, shot after shot whistling through the air. The light cavalry advanced at a trot, heading roughly north where they would round the edge of the wood and move toward the enemy. Her hidden horsemen rode closer to the corner, and then Lily carried out her part; a thick mist suddenly engulfing them; now all their training was put to the test.
The horses didn’t panic or stumble in the mist. With the verbal command given, the group began to curl around the edge of the wood. Cries of pain and fear reverberated through the mist as they broke through trees. Men were groaning on the ground, horses were whimpering, and the walking wounded were milling around in the thick fog, clutching at arrows that protruded from their bodies.
“Retreat,” echoed a lone voice from the fog, and then added, “to me, to me, this way!”
The enemy cry was a beacon that stirred the cavalry into a faster trot. “Back to our line,” she yelled, the sign for the men to carry out their ruse.
Soon, her small troop of riders merged with the retreating cavalry, blending in. The enemy was intent on returning to the safety of their lines and had little time to take stock of the new riders amongst them. Beverly’s horsemen continued the ruse, not attacking, merely riding with the retreating forces.
Back the invaders went, back to the enemy line, never aware of the infiltrators amongst them, past their infantry that lined the road. Now was Beverly's opportunity; the moment she had been preparing for. She roared the command at the top of her lungs, surging Lightning forward. They were behind the enemy lines, with one hundred Mercerian horsemen bearing down on the enemy rear.
She was among the enemy foot troops in an instant, her sword swinging down in a vicious overhead slash. Lightning pushed his way through the line, knocking down three men and trampling a fourth. Beside her, the soldiers of the light cavalry attacked the enemy with a relentless vengeance. Swords glinted in the air; the clash of steel was deafening. Beverly was halfway through the line, surrounded, when a roar of panic erupted from the enemy troops.
She felt a spear glance off her shield and twisted in the saddle to swing her sword to her left, ducking just as another spear glanced off of her helmet. She kicked with her foot and sent a man sprawling to the ground, and then she turned Lightning, using her legs to guide him. The mighty horse caved in the prone foe's head with a hoof and moved to fill the gap. A forceful blow to her r
ight shin sent a wave of pain up her leg, and she twisted again, stabbing down at the perpetrator, an enemy with a massive mace, who took her blade in the chest, staggering back. A fountain of blood showered her when she pulled her sword free. All around, her men were fighting the enemy, but the invaders held their ground. She blocked another swing and then responded with a lateral cut over her horse's head, striking a spear that tried to impale her. Lightning pushed forward, and she drove the edge of her shield into the face of yet another adversary. The man staggered back, giving her a momentary glimpse of an armoured warrior directing the troops behind him. The enemy footmen were still holding the line despite Beverly's surprise attack. The fight was becoming more desperate by the moment; she needed to cut the head from the snake as quickly as possible.
One of her men went down, impaled by the long spears the enemy were using. The man had been lifted from his saddle, and now the horse ran off without its rider, blood streaming from half a dozen wounds. The enemy swarmed around her, forcing her to dedicate all her efforts to deflect the blows, her sword and shield becoming tools to block rather than attack.
The shield buckled as a powerful blow hit it, sending a shock up her left arm. Lightning sidestepped to give her a bit of space. She dropped her shield to the ground and shifted her sword to her left hand, freeing up her right hand to grasp the handle of the hammer that hung from her saddle. This was time for her to go on the offensive.
The attacker on the left stepped forward to fill the space, but as he swung his massive club, Beverly deflected the great weapon with her sword, leaving her open to crash his head in with her warhammer. With a sickening sound like a melon breaking open, the man dropped to the ground. Twisting suddenly to the right, she employed a backhanded hammer strike to knock another spear to the side, repeating the same movement, only this time the sword crashed down. The blade glanced off a helmet and dug into the victim's shoulder, nearly severing his arm. Lightning screamed; a spear was sticking out of his flank. The great beast was kicking and biting at anything that was near him. The group of men around her had backed up, clearing the area directly in front of her horse and that was when her opportunity materialized. She urged her mount forward through the opening in the retreating crowd to the armoured warrior she had spied earlier, who was stabbing at a dismounted rider. When she was within feet of the leader, she had her horse sidestep.
Turning to face her, he was met by the full fury of her hammer crashing down upon him. He desperately tried to protect himself, raising his shield in an attempt to block the attack. Beverly stood in her stirrups, and now the full weight of her was behind her attack. The head of her warhammer punctured his shield, sinking into the flesh of his arm, eliciting a scream of agony as he staggered back. Beverly launched herself from the saddle, bearing down on him, forcing him to the ground. Over and over again she swung with hammer and sword, driving the steel into the man, hearing the crunch each time the hammer struck his armour. She was on top of him when he pulled out a wicked looking knife. Dropping the sword, she held the warhammer on either end and pushed down on the knave's neck. His legs kicked at her in a vain attempt to dislodge her, but they soon stopped, his eyes rolling up into his head.
She moved off of him and stood, wildly swinging in case anyone else was nearby. The hammer struck a man on the back as he was running by, felling him. Scanning the area, her eyes beheld a macabre scene, straight from the tales of the Underworld; all around her was a giant free-for-all as individuals fought it out to the death. Seeing one of her men struggling, she stepped forward, striking the attacker on the shoulder with her hammer. The man fell, clutching his arm.
“To me!” she yelled, and slowly her men moved toward her through the mass of humanity.
Onward, the enemy came at them within a what appeared to be a continuous display of opposition. The Mercerians formed a small ring, with the wounded placed safely in the middle. Strike, block, strike again; the struggle seemed endless. Her legs were shaking, her arms growing heavier by the moment, but she kept up the fight. If this is my final battle, she thought, then let them taste the metal of a Fitzwilliam! This thought was interrupted as she blocked an incoming strike, and then counter-struck, driving the hammer into her attacker's arm. Another of her attacks broke a spear, and she almost lost her balance as the weight of the weapon tipped her slightly forward. She stepped back into the line, and calmness overtook her as Aldwin's mark on her warhammer's handle stared back at her. His voice echoed in her head, “I will make your armour, and when you wear it, it will be as if my arms are holding you,” and she knew she would survive.
The enemy was attacking in waves now; striking forward in a rush, but then backing up when they encountered the ferocity of the defence. Four times the enemy rushed, and four times they were repulsed. As the invaders moved back this last time, Beverly, roaring a battle cry born of desperation, charged, her men following their leader without hesitation. The enemy presented a thin line of resistance, and then, suddenly, they broke. Weapons were dropped in fear or exhaustion, while others merely ran to get away from the impending slaughter. Beverly halted, trying to catch her breath, her lungs aching with the effort. The enemy was running, streaming back toward Kingsford, and hopefully certain imprisonment. Surveying the area, searching for the cause of their fear, her eyes observed a welcome sight; Gerald had led the infantry forward and engaged the enemy from the front while she had led the charge from behind, just as the princess had planned.
Seeing Lightning, pierced by spears, laying on his side amongst the wounded, she staggered over, barely able to stand and tried to comfort him, the tears streaming down her face nearly blinding her. She grabbed the spears, one by one and pulled them free to let the poor beast die in peace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and burrowed her face into him, closing her eyes, only to hear his laboured breathing. She knew what she needed to do, to stop his suffering. She released him and pulled her dagger from her belt. She was about to drive the blade into his ear to ease his suffering when she heard a voice.
“You sure you want to do that?”
She turned, too stunned to speak.
Revi Bloom was looking at her curiously. “I was about to heal him, but if you would rather finish him off, that’s up to you.”
She looked at him blankly, too overcome even to speak. The mage smiled and knelt by Lightning, placing his hands on the horse's wounds. He began muttering an incantation, and Beverly watched in awe, as the flesh knitted itself back together, the injuries disappearing as Lightning’s breathing eased and became more regular. Revi finished his spell, stood, then stepped back as his patient rose.
“He’ll be a little weak from blood loss, but he should make a full recovery. Now, how about you?”
“What?” she replied, half deaf from the sounds of battle.
“You look like you’ve taken a few blows yourself; let me have a look at you.”
Beverly took a step toward him, but her leg gave out, felling her as a great pain shot up her shin.
“That looks nasty,” said Revi. “It appears your shin’s broken. Stay down while I cast.”
Again the mage began to invoke the words of magic, and the pain subsided. She looked at her leg and saw it bend backwards, the shin splintered. This time she felt the skin knitting, but the pain returned.
“I can mend the flesh, but the bone needs resetting first, or else the fragments will continue to pierce the skin. We need to straighten the leg before I cast again.”
Beverly’s head swam, barely able to comprehend what the mage was telling her; it had been a desperate fight, and now her energy was expended, leaving her spent.
Revi called two men over, and they grasped her leg, ready to set the bone. She struggled to focus, to understand what was happening. One of the men was Arnim, and he was looking at her with concern on his face.
“This is going to hurt. A lot,” he said. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, and he placed the handle of a dagger in her mouth to b
ite on.
“One, two,” he counted out, and then suddenly an excruciating pain shot up her leg, nearly knocking her unconscious. Revi got to work quickly, and soon the pain subsided.
She looked down to see Revi had removed her shin guard. He held it in front of him to show her the massive dent in it. “You’re lucky this withstood the blow, or you would’ve lost your leg, it was the only thing holding you up.”
Arnim looked at him, “I thought you found a way to regenerate?”
Revi looked insulted, “I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to learn that yet. It takes time to learn these things; it’s not like a recipe you can just whip up.”
They were still bantering back and forth when Beverly finally succumbed to her exhaustion.
Thirty-Two
Kingsford
Spring 960 MC
Beverly was kept busy with all that needed to be done before the army moved on to Bodden. The prisoners needed to be escorted to Kingsford, where the garrison locked them up. The plan was to parole them back to Westland, but that would take time. Their leaders must first be interrogated to find out who was behind the invasion.
It was evening, the second day after the battle and Beverly, tired from a long day, decided to clear her head. She took a walk down by the river where the fresh air would do her good. Standing by the old bridge looking over the water, she watched as the moon cast its glow on its smooth surface.
“Nice, isn’t it,” said a voice and Beverly turned to see Princess Anna.
“Yes, Your Highness, it’s very relaxing.”
“You don’t have to call me 'Your Highness' when we’re alone. Please call me Anna.”
“I don’t think that would be proper, you’re a princess of the Royal House.”
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