Kelven's Riddle Book Five

by Daniel Hylton

  As he walked back and forth, he studied the ground to the front of his troops, over which the enemy must cross to reach them. In front of Duridia, there were a series of shallow ravines that cut into the hillside as it sloped away. Though not severe, these would nonetheless hinder the enemy’s progress and cohesion. In any event, Duridia had shown its mettle in the Battle of Bloody Stream. And Boman was there.

  Donnick was not worried about Duridia.

  But in front of the extreme right of the Elamite contingent, however, where he now stood, there was an area of level ground – a sort of shelf – that extended out from his lines for perhaps fifty yards before breaking over and sloping more severely toward the valley floor. Once the ranks of the enemy gained that stretch of ground, they would be more or less on level with the far right wing of the Elamite lines. If Manon massed his strength there, on that shelf, things would become dangerous very quickly.

  And he could not move men forward to defend that ground. The front lines of the army must retain their order. If he pushed that segment of the line forward in order to defend the edge of that shelf, a bulge would be created in the allied lines; the men defending it would rapidly become exposed to attack from three sides. If they gave way and tumbled backward, the integrity of the front lines would then be compromised, perhaps without remedy.

  No, Donnick would have to keep his attention centered here, upon that piece of treacherously gentle ground, more than anyplace else along the line.

  He had a feeling that he would be needed here more than he would over to his right, where Elam and Duridia came together.

  The sound of the enemy’s advance up the slope became more pronounced. Donnick backed away from his lines for several paces and studied the disposition of his troops. Nowhere could he see any cause for correction.

  He looked beyond his men, toward the enemy.

  They would soon be within the range of the Senecan archers, positioned upslope over to his left, behind Berezan.

  He gave the command for his small contingent of reserves to move up behind the men facing the shelf of level ground.

  The he collected his pike and moved into the ranks.

  23.

  Donnick perhaps was not worried about Duridia, to his right, but Boman, in command of those men that had slain the mighty Vulgur, was not so sanguine.

  Because of the disposition of the army upon the slope, his lines ended at the edge of the black-paved road that sloped into the valley. Edwar’s Lamontans touched his flank there, at the edge of the roadway from whence they then stretched across the pavement and went toward the east.

  Boman did not like the road. He didn’t like it at all.

  To him, it seemed like the perfect conduit for a massed assault upon the front lines of the army by an enemy determined to break through. Whereas the ranks of the enemy might find difficult going out upon the rocky slopes to either side; the road was smooth and its angle of incline was gentle.

  “That is precisely where I would attack this line,” Boman muttered to himself more than once.

  But that tangent of smooth access was under the control of Lamont. True, Lord Aram was there, but the king would very likely roam back and forth across the whole of the ridge, wherever he felt he was needed. And if he and his Sword were not there when the enemy had the same idea about the road as Boman – what then?

  He’d already moved his own reserves as far right – toward the road – as he dared.

  He turned his head and looked back up into the cut, where the road passed through the ridge. Timmon was there, with several men, positioning Keegan’s gun, running out the chains and chocking the wheels of the cart that bore it. Three horses were with Timmon, two of whom were helping to maneuver the heavy weapon. The other was his mount, Bonhie.

  The gun would undoubtedly be an asset, were the enemy to attempt a break-through, for the amount of carnage it could inflict was impressive; but it came with its own set of logistical issues. For one thing, it could only be fired at intervals of several minutes. Timmon’s clever management of the gun had shortened the time between discharges by impressive amounts – still, it was but an intermittent tool for doing damage to the enemy.

  For another thing, the friendly troops to the front had to swing aside and give way every time the gun was fired. This tactic had been practiced by every unit on Lamont’s left once Lord Aram had decided which forces would stand at the center of his army. The chosen troops had behaved impressively, shunting aside to allow the gun to fire and then re-establishing position quickly – but that had been merely practice, accomplished without the deadly steel of the enemy driving upon them.

  How would they behave now?

  There was also a contingent of Senecan archers upon the ridge behind, half of their company positioned on Boman’s side of the road, with half on the other, and their presence no doubt added another layer of protection for the army’s center. Still, the black road was so damnably wide and smooth and gently sloped. He could not help but believe that, sooner or later, the enemy would make a very determined push up that gleaming ebony tangent.

  Unable to contain his agitation, the governor went to his right to discover which Lamontan commander was in charge there, at the left of Edwar’s lines. Coming close, he was both gratified and dismayed to see that it was Muray.

  The stout young Lamontan commander, with his enormous bristling red beard, steely blue eyes, and growlingly harsh voice was hobbling back and forth across the pavement of the road, from one side to the other. As he performed this act of ceaseless prowling, he snarled low to himself, halting in the middle of the pavement on every pass, by turns staring at the gun and then gazing down that smooth blackness at the approaching enemy.

  Boman went up to him in time for Muray to glance over, see him, and wave one belligerent hand down the pavement.

  “You see this, Governor?” He growled. “Do you see this? My left flank is right here – right where I would assault this army was I the enemy. My flank,” he repeated. “I know that there is nothing to be done, but damn this ground!”

  Garnering a substantial measure of satisfaction from the fact that another commander, especially one as tough and clever as Muray, shared his concern about the road, Boman nonetheless spoke soothingly. “Lord Aram is here, right behind you, commander. I heard him tell Nikolus to stay near the center. A thousand of those Senecan archers are here as well. Also, Timmon and his cannon are deployed upon the road behind you.” The governor laughed and pointed down the road at Muray’s front ranks. “Those boys will have to move aside on the quick if he decides to light that thing up, you know.”

  Muray nodded. “Well – that’s all fine and good, but in the end, it will be pikes as do the job.”

  “You’re right,” Boman agreed, as his smile faded. “Look, Muray – I have moved my reserves close – if the day proves that they are wanted here. Call upon them at your need, even if I am engaged elsewhere. I have informed Commander Jefna of the possibility that you might have need of him.”

  Muray bent his fierce gaze upon him. “A-ha! I knew I was right about this damnable road – you see it, too, don’t you?”

  Boman looked down the pavement and nodded. “I always saw this as a weak point,” he admitted. Then he grinned at Muray. “But that was before I knew you were here. Now I am not so worried.”

  But then Boman’s good humor faded as he gazed at Muray. “How is your leg, commander? You won’t take unnecessary chances this day, will you now?”

  Muray leaned on his pike, glowered darkly at the Duridian for a moment; and then his foul mood faded and he grinned. “I already have a mother, Governor, and she worries enough for all of us. I will be fine. The leg is stiff but usable –” He pointed down the road without looking “– as some of those bastards will learn this very day.” He frowned then and peered at Boman closely. “I have very few reserves that are allotted to me, Governor. May I truly have those men, if needed?”

  “You may consider them yours as
of this moment, Muray,” Boman replied, and he nodded. “Yes,” he repeated, “you may have them; for I do think that you will need them.”

  “How many are they?” Muray inquired.

  “About six hundred.”

  Muray looked thoughtfully at both sides of the road; then he also nodded his head. “They will more than double my depth upon the road and a good way to either side. You mean it, Governor – I can have them?”

  “You may have them,” Boman reiterated. “I confess that I will feel better about it. I will send them closer to you at once.”

  Muray pushed himself erect and held out his hand. “Thank you, sir.”

  Boman shook the proffered hand. “See you after,” he said.

  “See you after, Governor,” Muray agreed.

  After dispatching Jefna with the reserves to report to Muray, Boman went back to the center of his lines feeling much less agitated than before his foray to the right. He still felt as though the road was the weakest point, here in the center of the army, but knowing that Muray was there, and that his reserves would be lent to a competent soldier allowed him to concentrate more fully upon his own front.

  He looked intently back down the slope, beyond the lines of his men in order to gauge the progress of the enemy, just as a Senecan captain’s voice rose in sharp command to his right rear, on the ridge top at the center of the army.

  The voice sounded very much like it belonged to Matibar.

  “Loose!” The voice shouted.

  24.

  Standing in the third rank, at nearly the middle of Muray’s regiment, several yards east of the road, Eoarl watched his son hobble fiercely back and forth across the gleaming black pavement, cursing and exhorting his men to hold, to steady up, and to stand firm as the enemy came up the hill toward them. Despite the imminence of danger inherent in the moment, Eoarl smiled with pride as he saw his only son for the first time as others saw him – tough, smart, and competent.

  Weeks earlier, Muray had discovered the presence of his father among the troops of his regiment as they were being ferried across the river below the walls of the fortress.

  The young commander stepped into the line of men waiting to board the transport across the great river, blocking his father from moving forward.

  “My ken! What are you doing here?”

  Eoarl raised his chin. “Step aside, lad – I’m going north with you.”

  Just as adamantly, Muray shook his head. “No, ken – you’re not going. You’re too – too –”

  “What – old? I’ll not be too old to handle the likes of you, my boy.” Eoarl narrowed his eyes and reached for the hilt of the sword Lord Aram had given him, rendering the gesture only half in jest. Though his mouth adopted a wry smile, his eyes were hard and serious. “Do you really want to settle it here, like this, laddie?”

  Muray looked closely at his father. “Is this about my leg, dad? If it is – you needn’t worry about me; I’ll be fine. I won’t have you worrying over me – or fighting for me.”

  Eoarl shook his head. “Not fighting for you, son.” But then he hesitated to consider his own words. “Well, in a way,” he said, “I suppose I am fighting for you, but I’m fighting for your mother, too. And for Lamont, and for the freedom of the world.” He lifted his hand and pointed at the man sitting upon the black horse on the high ground to the north of the crossing.

  “As much as anything,” he said. “I will be fighting for him – the king.”

  Muray glanced up and then returned his sharp gaze to his father’s face. He was silent for a long moment. Then; he nodded.

  “Alright, ken – you can go, but you’ll be in the third rank.”

  Eoarl treated his son to a smile. “Third rank will be fine, lad.”

  Muray, Eoarl had discovered upon the long, hard trek north, was held in high esteem by his men. In fact, regard for their fierce captain bordered on reverence. He was the only man of them who had slain a lasher single-handed.

  And he was a good commander. During the practice runs as they were crossing the plains, Muray’s men had always been the first of all Lamont’s forces to form up properly. He cursed them, shouted at them, and drove them, but he took care of their welfare, too, always making certain that any lack that he discovered among his ranks on the great march north was managed immediately.

  In fact, Eoarl had learned several surprising things on that seemingly endless journey. Not only did the men in the ranks of Lamont revere their tough, irascible commander, but they held odd beliefs about another man that Eoarl was certain that he knew better than any of them.

  One evening as he returned from the management of certain personal, private business at the edge of the encampment, he found several of his fellow-soldiers embroiled in argument.

  “Captain Mallet declares him to be a god,” a wiry man by the name of Larley stated with angry intensity to a large, red-headed and red-bearded behemoth named Mitchom. “And he’s known him longer than anyone.”

  “He’s not known him longer than Captain Wamlak – and that worthy gentleman declares that Lord Aram is one of the ancients,” Mitchom returned with the same intensity.

  “You’re a pair of dim-witted fools,” broke in Sevard. “He is heir to the ancient kings, no more nor less – though I grant you that such a thing is a whole world’s worth of more.”

  Just then Muray came to the fire in search of his father and the hope of a quiet smoke. As their commander stepped into the glow of the fire, the men stiffened and ceased their squabbling.

  Muray looked around at them, his fierce blue eyes blazing in the light of the dancing flame.

  “Whatever Lord Aram is,” he stated in a dangerously low and quiet voice, “his fight is with Manon. Ours is with the many, many thousands that serve that great, grim, black-hearted bastard. That will be our work – Lord Aram has entrusted it to us. So you all better get into the proper frame of mind about it – leave the rest to those with more sense and education than you lot.”

  Now, the enemy approached, and Muray had his men on line and in the proper frame of mind. Watching him, Eoarl found himself given to a curious thought, though one that was not incongruous to the moment.

  I hope this fine son of mine lives beyond this day, he thought, for he would no doubt give Dunnie and me an equally fine grandson someday.

  25.

  Edwar stood in the center of his lines and gazed out at the slope that fell away toward the valley, up which the enemy even now approached. His stomach tensed as he watched them come. Despite Lord Aram’s satisfaction with how he and Lamont had acquitted themselves during the battle of the southern plains, he knew that disaster had been but a step away that day.

  His line had buckled in several places, had been pierced in more than one; and it was his troops that had created the gap at the center that so nearly led to ruin. More often than he should, perhaps, he entertained the thought that it was only the intervention of the wolves that had saved his side of the field that day.

  He never enunciated these doubts to anyone – certainly not to the men – but he held them nonetheless.

  And now they were about to be tested once more.

  This time, the wolves were far away, over to the right behind Mallet, guarding the most vulnerable end of the line. Edwar and his six thousand held the right half of the center of the line. Worst of all was the fact that his left flank extended across the road, which his instincts told him was very likely as vulnerable a place as that little hill of Mallet’s.

  Once, he glanced away from the approaching host and saw Boman talking with Muray who was gesturing with agitated hands down that very avenue of danger that so worried Edwar. Muray saw the danger clearly, which was the reason Edwar had put him there in the first place.

  Unwilling to try Muray’s nerves any further with interference from his commander, Edwar decided to let him and Boman sort it out between them. Besides, Lord Aram was there. And Timmon was there with his cannon. That dangerous tangent was in as good a
nd capable hands as there were upon the field.

  Edwar had problems enough to his front.

  As Manon’s army came closer, he could see that a solid line of the great beasts called lashers marched behind the gray men, driving them forward. Lamont had not faced any of those terrible and frightening creatures during the last battle.

  They would surely face them today.

  He looked to his left again and his heart lifted a little. Boman had evidently sent Muray his reserves. Several hundred of those stout men of the south plains were moving into position behind Muray’s Lamontans.

  He returned his attention to the downslope. The front ranks of the enemy were but a few hundred yards away, the long dark line of gray men and beasts undulating a bit as they encountered uneven places in the terrain. Looking along his line, he saw no cause for concern that his men would do anything other than to stand and fight. They had faced this enemy before, after all, and had held the field at the end of it.

  Those men scattered along the front in possession of spikes had the weapons in their hands, at the ready. He found himself wishing once more that he had not been constrained to share his portion of spikes with the rest of the army. It was only fair and right that he had done so, of course; still, he was certain he would miss those odd but deadly weapons in the next several minutes.

  The muted thunder of enemy boots strengthened. He turned his gaze toward them and moved forward to be nearer his men. The enemy was near enough now that Edwar could resolve faces and figures in the first rank.

  From behind him and to the left, just above Muray’s position at the center of the army, a Senecan captain’s voice rose in sudden, sharp command.