He had called in two scores of men from both of his other large groups patrolling the northwest. Along with his three hundred, he had a further army of seven hundred and they were about to break camp and begin the chase. They were outnumbered over two to one, but not a single man complained. Dagon knew a straight out attack would only get his men killed. He had something much different in mind.
"What are you thinking, my friend?" Jarroth asked, riding his horse up to Dagon.
Dagon looked over to Mandrake's Champion. Jarroth was more than that - he was Dagon's best friend and comrade. They had grown up together - trained together, fought wars together and talked of things one would only talk about with someone you completely trust. "I am thinking tonight is going to be a bad night to be our enemy," Dagon smiled, the gleam in his eyes full of anticipation.
Jarroth patted Dagon's back. "That it will be, my friend. Tonight we will all get our fill of enemy blood."
"It is almost dusk - tell the men to eat lightly tonight. Once it is dark, we ride out," Dagon told him, staring off into the distance, eagerly awaiting the coming battle.
Seven hundred men marched through the night, using the moon and stars as their only source of light - torches would give their movement away. Traveling was easy - this part of the country was lightly wooded and mostly flat. They stopped a mile away from the enemy camp to prepare, sending out their most experienced scouts to spot and eliminate the barbarian sentries, so they had the full element of surprise.
Dagon split his men into three groups; two for the main assault, and one for the surprise distraction. He sent a score of men with bows and full quivers to the north side of the enemy - they were to be the diversion. Once they were in place, they would start to unleash their attack of arrows down on the enemy. Their orders were to fire until their quivers were spent, then to retreat and circle back southeast behind where Dagon and his men now waited.
Once the attack started, the bulk of Dagon's force would charge in from the south, catching their enemy from behind as they fended off the arrow assault. Dagon's men were to fight hard until the enemy got organized, and then they were to retreat to where a hundred more archers waited to cover them. Once their arrows were depleted, or the enemy forces that followed were killed, they, too, were to draw back to the south and join with the whole force again.
"Fight well this night Jarroth, and may the Creator guide your blade through the soft flesh of every enemy you meet," Dagon said to his friend, clasping his hand firmly as a gesture of luck.
"You as well, my friend, I shall be watching your back," Jarroth replied.
Dagon watched a single flaming arrow streak through the night sky from the north, signaling Dagon and his men that the attack had begun. Dagon drew his sword and spurred his horse forward, leading his five hundred riders into a charge. They met the barbarian encampment in a frenzy - taking full advantage of the confused, half-asleep warriors who were scrambling about trying to make sense of what was happening.
Dagon's men cut through the encampment with force, littering the cold ground with the dead and dying. For several long moments it was a one-sided slaughter - most of the barbarians did not even notice they were being attacked from behind. Quickly, they began to get organized and Dagon's men were forced to sound the retreat before they became trapped within the camp. They retreated slowly, making sure that the enemy was pursuing them. Not nearly as many of the enemy had followed as they had hoped for, but those who had were soon showered from the night sky by a silent death.
"Congratulate yourselves men - you all fought gloriously!" Dagon roared, receiving a cheer of enthusiasm. "But that was only the beginning. We have a lot of work to do this night if we are to crush our foe. We attack again at dawn and this time we kill them all!" An even louder cheer ensued.
"We only lost thirty four soldiers - eleven are wounded to the point that they can no longer fight," Jarroth reported to Dagon after his speech.
"I was hoping for less." Dagon replied, his thoughts elsewhere.
"What is it?" Jarroth asked, knowing full well something was playing on his friend's mind.
"I have a gut feeling something is amiss."
"We could call off the dawn attack."
Dagon grimaced. "No - we need this victory and more so, we need those supplies." He paused. "I just cannot shake this feeling."
"We have prepared and planned this attack nearly flawlessly. The terrain has been set to our full advantage - the enemy will be tired and unprepared for another assault so soon," Jarroth explained, knowing Dagon knew all this already.
Dagon sighed gravelly. "You are right, let us get to work my friend - there is much to be done."
Dawn came quickly and once again, Dagon and his men prepared to march on their enemies' camp. This time the strategy was different, Dagon knew his men were still tremendously outnumbered and would be overrun if they fought head to head. He was hoping to fool the enemy one last time and if all went as planned, they could end the battle this very morning.
Arrows were running thin, even with the crude ones they had taken from the dead enemy and they were forced to reuse their own arrows. Out of the two hundred archers, there were only enough arrows to fill a hundred of those quivers. The remaining archers joined the infantry for the fight. The rest of Dagon's men - almost six hundred strong, would ride into the enemy camp again and wreak havoc among their foe until the retreat was sounded. Dagon knew the barbarians would chase in full this time around. It was light enough to see clearly - they would not take two insults such as this without demanding blood. They would chase.
A half-mile away from the enemy camp, his men had prepared for a standoff. The woods in this area were thicker and a little harder to maneuver in and there were steep hillsides on either side of where Dagon and his men had set up. They had spent all night gathering all the dry wood, leaves and burning material they could find in the area and piled it almost as high as a man in a semicircle in-between the slopes, leaving a small gap in the middle where Dagon's men could run through when they retreated. The tinder wall was soaked with all the lamp oil they had, which Dagon hoped would be enough to get the dry timber burning hot and fast.
Behind the tinder wall awaited the two hundred archers with what arrows they had left. Once Dagon and his men were clear behind the flaming wall, the archers were to fire at will until their arrows were spent. A tight knit group of men would hold the opening while the rest of the army would begin launching the assault of hundreds of crude wooden javelins they had made the night before into the throng of enemies.
Dagon glanced over at the men chopping and preparing the giant timbers, not with the purpose of falling them, at least not yet. The trees were massive and likely hundreds of years old - when they fell, they would crush and confuse a score of the enemy. After the trees were felled, there would be no more tricks. They would have to fight the hordes of barbarians that were left, which Dagon hoped would not be many.
Dagon could see that many of his men were weary from the long day and night of battle and labor. He knew most of them by name and had fought beside most of these men many times before - he prayed he would have the honor to do so a thousand more times after this day.
"We are ready, my Lord," A young, dark haired soldier informed him, a thick gash scabbing the side of his face.
Dagon nodded to the young man. "Hone your blade, and keep your senses sharp as well," he told the young man who was just a year or two older than his eldest son, Ethan. "Be sure that after this fight you get that wound cleaned."
"I will, my Lord. It is an honor to fight with you - we will get our homes back," the young man finished then walked away. The sentiment brought a hard smile to Dagon's face.
*****
A tall, muscular barbarian barked out orders to a group of warriors - they had been piling the bodies of their comrades all night so they could be burned. Many of the barbarians had gotten no sleep that night - they had been busy moving the dead, tending the many wounded and
putting out the fires from the attack in the night. The last of the bodies were thrown onto the massive piles just as Dagon's men came into sight of the camp in a full charge, their blades and armor gleaming in the rising sunlight.
Dagon crashed hard into a group of confused savages, his horse trampling over them - crushing bones and life as it went. He swung his sword viciously left and right in an arc, taking down warrior after warrior as they scrambled to find a weapon or get out of the way of the murderous warhorse. A tingling sensation overcame him - his eyes scanned quickly, trying to see what the trouble could be. Then he heard the long dull sound of horns from the distance. His eyes spotted the trouble from the far end of the enemy camp, as hundreds upon hundreds of barbarians poured out of the forest to join their brethren in battle.
Dagon and his men cut forward, hacking their way deep into the enemy camp - soon, for every one they felled, three more were there to replace them. The retreat was sounded and they made a hasty retreat out of the camp - being pursued by more than they were prepared to handle.
Dagon's mind raced as he kicked his horse's flanks, urging the beast to go faster. He could see the wall of timber flare to life as the archers set it ablaze. He raced through the opening - his horse had not even fully stopped before he was on the ground yelling orders and getting ready for the battle that was about to take place. He fought the urge to tell his men to retreat straight away - he knew the enemy was far larger now than he and his men could handle. Yet he could not bring himself to give the order. He knew they could hold the enemy for a while, thinning their numbers and maybe, just maybe…win.
The archers took aim and let loose, taking down the first line of barbarians that charged toward them, while the rest of Dagon's men got through the opening and prepared for the raging onslaught.
"It was a trap, I cannot believe it." Dagon cursed to Jarroth who was now by his side.
"There was no way to know, so do not waste your time pondering it now," Jarroth yelled over to him, picking up one of the javelins.
"We cannot beat them - there are too many of them now," Dagon cried, launching a javelin into the throng of enemy warriors and striking one through the chest, dropping him dead where his corpse was trampled.
"Maybe not, but we can hold them for now and wear down their numbers," Jarroth shouted, impaling a savage on the other side of the wall of fire.
Dagon stumbled back, watching in horror as the hordes of enemies churned toward them. The archers fired their last arrows and began hurling the wooden spears. Every fiber in his body told him to sound the retreat, but he refused his instinct and forced back the words.
Bodies piled high all around the opening and edge of the flaming wall, for every one of Dagon's men who fell, they took with them more than their fair share of the enemy. The order was given and the ropes holding the ancient timbers were cut - they fell over the burning wall into the cluster of savages, crushing handfuls of tightly packed enemies under each one.
Confusion sprang out through the masses of barbarians as the trees crashed down upon them. They pushed each other down and trampled one another to death, trying to avoid the falling pillars. It bought Dagon and his men precious time and they used it to their advantage charging into the crowd of barbarians from the small gap, hacking them apart. The javelins were running low, so each man picked his shots carefully - making sure each shot scored a mortal blow.
As soon as the last trees fell, the confusion stopped and the barbarians pressed their attack furiously, trying to overtake Dagon's men before any more deadly surprises occurred. But Dagon was out of tricks now - he had been counting the odds to be in their favor by now, but that was far from the case. Savages kept swarming in - he could tell they were outnumbered more than five to one and the odds were growing against them with each passing breath. The men holding back the opening were flagging fast, even though they were continually swapping out the front line. The only thing saving them from being completely overrun was the constant problem the enemy was having, climbing and tripping over the dead that littered the front and sides of the opening. In some places, the bodies were four or five deep now.
"They are breaching the ends of the wall!" Several cried out in alarm and men rushed to both ends of the flaming wall to stop the enemy from getting through their only saving defense.
The javelins were depleted and the burning wall was dying down quickly. Enemies were beginning to dive through the flames to the other side where most met a quick end for their efforts, but some managed to hold their ground in defiance.
Jarroth grabbed Dagon and forced their eyes to meet. "It is over - we have to sound the retreat!"
Dagon nodded his head, not being able to form the words in his own mouth as he watched the battle collapsing around him.
*****
"My Lord Andras - there is a messenger here to see you sir. He says he is one of Lord Dagon's men…from Mandrake," a servant told him, averting his eyes from his naked Lord and Lady who soaked in a large thermal spring, one of many found in this region of Zandor.
"What did you say?" Andras questioned, giving the man his full attention and pushing his wife to the side.
"Yes, my Lord, a messenger from Mandrake." The servant repeated, trying desperately not to glance at Lady Seera's naked form.
"Well bring him here," Andras ordered, climbing out of the steaming pool, putting on his silk robe and throwing his wife a towel to cover herself.
Moments later, the servant returned with a haggard man held up by two other guards.
"My god, get this man some food and water!" Andras snapped, and the first servant ran off to do as commanded. "Why are you here, messenger?"
"Lord Dagon… begs for help… Mandrake…" the messenger started to say between deep labored breaths and violent coughs. Finally, the servant rushed back with a large skin full of cool water, followed by another servant with a large tray of fresh fruits and cheese. The messenger refused the food but took the water skin and downed several large gulps, which helped clear his dry throat, and seemed to revitalize him a little. "Mandrake was overtaken… by savages.… The land is swarming with them… more and more each day, Lord Dagon asks… for your help to—"
"Yes, I know Mandrake was taken over by those monsters," Andras cut the man off indignantly. "Why are Prince Berrit and the Lords of Draco not doing anything about it?"
"We do not know… sent messengers there… no word back." The messenger coughed out, then drank deeply from the water skin.
"Take this man to a guest room and let him repose - bring him to me once he is rested and revived again," Andras order.
"You cannot seriously be thinking about this, my Lord!" Meresin bellowed frantically.
"Meresin - I know you are my steward - which is why I asked for your opinion on the matter. But you do not seem to be looking at the bigger picture," Andras told the reedy man.
"I am, my Lord. I see it as such - the barbarians are menacing enough to take a stronghold like Mandrake and that means they may be strong enough to take Besha Castle," Meresin explained.
Andras paced frantically around the room running his hands through his thick brown hair. "What do you think, Velkain?" Andras asked his champion.
"I will stand by you, no matter what your choice is, my Lord," Velkain replied in a deep voice that had come to be expected with his massive frame of nearly seven feet and three hundred pounds. It was rumored that he had barbarian in his blood, which gave him his size and strength, but no one dared to question him.
"That is not what I asked."
"I care not for those of Draco Kingdom, my Lord, but I would be lying if I said I would rather see it in the hands of filthy bastards," Velkain replied.
"Someone bring me the messenger and fetch my two sons," Andras commanded.
"Kain, we are to ride to battle - get your things ready, son," Andras said with a smile to his oldest boy, who grinned eagerly back at him, excited to finally hear those words leave his father's lips.
"Yes, father," Kain replied, running off to fetch his armor and sword.
"What of me, father? Am I to ride with you as well?" Andras' youngest son, Jamus, asked.
"No, my boy, I need you to stay here to take care of your mother and our land, and to see to it that no savage steps foot in Besha's boarders." Andras knew his boy was hurt that he could not come along.
"But father, I can fight! I want to come," Jamus argued, thrusting his chest out trying to emphasize his point.
"Jamus, you have your place here. Do not argue with me," Andras said firmly and Jamus finally nodded his head knowing to obey his father.
"My Lord, this is madness, you truly should rethink this," Meresin pleaded.
"I have already made up my mind Meresin - Lord Dagon, I know, would help us if we were asking for this of him. We are allies now, if you do not remember," Andras said, annoyed with being questioned.
"But sir, the treaty was never properly signed and the Princess has not even been found. She is likely already dead. Prince Berrit will not be marrying her and will not be King, which means we are not allies," Meresin cried, running after Andras who was already on his way to his General's quarters.
"That is enough, Meresin! I will not have you second-guess me again! I am the Lord of these lands, not you. If I hear one more discouraging word from you, I will cut out your tongue and feed it to the buzzards!" Andras raged on the tiny man who shrank back in defeat.
"I... I am sorry, my Lord, I meant no disrespect," Meresin whimpered.
Andras stormed away without another word to inform his Generals of the news and to see to it that his men were ready.
Early the next morning, Lord Andras, his son Kain, the messenger, who was almost fully recovered, and six score of hardened soldier's rode north to Lord Dagon's aid.
*****
Prince Berrit stood by Lord Tundal's wife, Lady Tora and their children Thoron, Salvira, Calmela and Drandor's champion, Raven, while watching the smoke rise into the sky from Tundal's pyre. Dagon's family, Lady Angelina and her two boys, Ethan and Leonard, were also present, along with many of the respected citizens of Draco who had come to pay their final respects.
The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1) Page 40