He watched as the enemy column rode past, riders out to the side, guarding the centre column with its heavily armoured warriors. Off in the distance, a horn sounded, signalling the attack.
Farther south, he knew the Elves would be doing their part, and so he readied his soldiers, holding his hand up in a fist to call their attention.
The Dwarves fell silent, each one watching his every move. First, he opened his hand and held up two fingers, signalling his intent for them to target the outriders, then he lowered his hand quickly, the signal to attack, and bolts flew from the steel bowed weapons.
The first volley cut down five riders, many with multiple hits. The arbalesters then stood, using their winches to reload the bulky weapons.
The Norlanders, surprised by the initial volley, hesitated, unsure of what was happening. Then, someone in the centre of the column shouted out orders. The armoured warriors began spreading out to the left and right of the road, moving slowly to maintain their discipline even in the face of the enemy volley.
Herdwin glanced at his warriors. Most of them were still reloading, but a small portion were poised for another shot. He gave a sharp whistle, and the axe wielders moved up to stand closer, barely three paces behind their comrades.
The enemy cavalry began turning to face outward, half of them directly at the Dwarves. The officer's sword came down, and the line trotting forward, straight towards them.
"Three," yelled Herdwin, in the Dwarven tongue. His arbalesters knelt, ready to let loose.
"Two," he called as the ground began to tremble. Bolts flew out, striking down six enemies.
"One," he shouted.
The axe wielders took five paces forward and raised their shields to present a wall of steel, then a second rank came forward, placing their shields over the heads of those in front.
Herdwin took his place in the third rank, ready to cut down any that might penetrate the shield wall. He drew his hammer, noting the dents and scratches it had accumulated over the years, suddenly struck by the idea that he needed to forge himself a new one.
The horsemen smashed into the Dwarven line with a thunderous crash. One of them reared up, striking the shields, the sound of horseshoes ringing out as the beast struggled to climb the mountain of steel.
The top of the wall began to collapse under the weight, and Herdwin saw disaster looming. He ran towards the horse, calling out in his native tongue. One of the Dwarves in the rear rank saw him coming and cupped his hands. Herdwin planted his foot as the warrior heaved, and he catapulted to the top of the shield wall, now held aloft by his compatriots. He struck out, driving his hammer into the panicked horse. The Norland rider, thrashing his horse mercilessly, ignored him, concentrating on collapsing the top of the wall, but the Dwarf had no such worries. He struck out with his hammer again, smashing it into the hapless rider's thigh. The chainmail held, resisting penetration, but Herdwin felt bone crunch beneath the blow.
The horse, already panicked beyond measure, fell to the side, crashing in among the hapless Dwarves. Its rider, crushed beneath the weight of his horse, screamed in agony.
Now there was a hole in the Dwarven line, and the Norlanders were quick to take advantage of it. They were experienced horsemen and used the bulk of their horses to force in against the gap. Wider and wider it became until five men could ride abreast.
Herdwin ran across the remains of the shield wall and leaped, screaming, his hammer held two-handed over his head. He struck a rider on the helmet and heard a pop, then fell in amongst the horse's legs.
He rolled, desperate to free himself from danger, but hooves stomped all around him. His hammer struck out, and he felt bone give way as a horse screamed in agony and fell to the side, clearing his view for but a moment.
A sword struck his helmet, glancing off the metal and ringing out loudly. Herdwin, shaking his head, tried to clear his vision, counter-attacked, swinging high. The tip of his weapon caught a wrist, and then he saw a hand fly through the air, still grasping a sword.
A volley erupted somewhere behind him, and he turned to see three riders go down, their mounts riddled with bolts. His head was swimming now, his eyesight blurred, and he struggled to focus on the melee before him. He struck out once more, feeling his hammer scrape along a sword, but then his weapon was knocked aside, and he felt pain as steel bit into his side, penetrating his chainmail.
Staggering to his feet, his hand instinctively went to his wound, but then the world spun, and he fell, his eyes staring up as doom loomed over him. A Norlander raised his sword in triumph just as a bolt took him in the back of the head, its point protruding from his eye socket. The now-dead warrior fell forward, burying the hapless Dwarf.
Victor Marsh was an experienced warrior. Years of raiding the fields of Bodden had taught him much, and his heart jumped in excitement as he heard the enemy horns sound. This was it, he thought, the moment of truth, a test of steel on steel that would determine the fate of two kingdoms.
The column slowed, and he ached to race forward, but discipline held him in place. From in front came the sounds of battle, the clash of weapons as enemies met. He yearned to ride forward, but his captain simply halted them, looking south towards the expected danger.
A thin mist was drifting up the road, a mist that couldn't possibly exist. It wafted towards them, thickening as it came, and he strained to see what was held within. It drew closer to the front of the column and then a strange whistling sound came to his ears. Soldiers started yelling out in pain, and he rose in the stirrups to try to see over the heads of his comrades.
Before him, riders began to fall, as if brushed from the saddle by some strange wind. The whistling noise continued, then something small flew past his face, cutting his cheek. He turned, looking behind him to see another warrior, a strange fragment of bone protruding from his eye. All around him, his comrades began to drop, while horses reared up in a panic, and then the strange mist enveloped everything.
Victor drew his sword as his eyes tried to penetrate the thick white blanket. Something small brushed past him, like a child, and then another. He had a brief sense that it was a lizard, but he dismissed the thought, for surely such a thing could not be!
A sharp pain caused him to look down to see a bone dart protruding from his leg, and he absently plucked it free, holding it up before his face. As he did so, another struck his chest, digging deep into his padded armour. Pain lanced up his leg as yet another struck him and then his horse collapsed, throwing him to the ground.
Years of riding had taught him how to survive, and so he kicked his feet clear of the stirrups to avoid being crushed. Rolling over, he saw what appeared to be a lizard man looming over him, a vicious-looking spearhead staring him in the face. Victor struck out wildly, desperately trying to deflect the attack, but the diminutive creature simply pulled back his weapon, allowing Victor's blade to pass harmlessly through the air.
The lizard-like creature stepped forward once more, driving the spear into Victor's chest. The Norlander felt it penetrate his armour, felt the bone tip dig past his ribs, and then his lungs collapsed. The whole world was in chaos as he struggled to understand what was happening. His opponent ran past him, ignoring his pleas for help.
Thirty-Two
To Battle
Fall 964 MC
* * *
Baron Fitzwilliam pulled his horse to a stop. "Do you hear that?" he asked.
"The sound of battle," said Heward. "It seems the fight has begun."
"Get the men into formation," ordered the baron. "You know what to do."
"Yes, my lord."
Heward turned his horse, calling out orders. The men began spreading out right and left, their spears held high, the tips reflecting the morning sun. To their rear, the heavier knights trotted into position behind the rapidly forming front line.
"Keep the archers in the middle," said Fitz. "I don't want them exposed on the flanks."
"Yes, General," said Heward. The knight spurred his h
orse, galloping off to issue yet more orders.
"I wish Albreda were here," Fitz said.
"Where is she?" asked Aldwin.
"I'm not sure, but most likely where she is needed most."
Aldwin looked back at the army. They were marching smartly into place, their faces masks of confidence.
"They seem calm," the smith remarked.
"Appearances can be deceiving, my boy. Most of them are dreading the coming fight, but we, as leaders, give them something to keep their minds busy."
"Such as forming up?”
The baron smiled, "You learn quickly, Aldwin. You do the family proud."
"I still don't understand why I'm here," he said. "What can I possibly add?"
Fitz turned to him, looking him directly in the eyes. "One day," he said, "Beverly will rule Bodden, and you shall be tasked with running the place when she's not around. Every leader should know the horrors of war if only to keep them at bay. Do you understand?"
"I believe I do," said Aldwin, "but this isn't my first battle if you remember."
"True, it isn't, but it may well be my last, and it's comforting to have family close at hand."
"Your last? Are you ill?"
"No," replied Fitz, "but I'm getting far too old for all of this. War is for the young, not ancient men like me." He looked at Aldwin, noticing his look of alarm. "Fear not, my boy, I shall do my duty this day."
"Will that be enough?" asked Aldwin. "The enemy outnumbers us significantly."
In answer, the baron smiled, "It is not the first time it has been thus. It seems to be our lot in life to be constantly outnumbered by our enemies, and yet still, we prevail."
"Why is that?"
"We are a warrior culture," said Fitz, "and cannot contemplate defeat."
"And how shall we defeat them today?"
"The head of their column is under attack even as we speak," said Fitz, "hence the noise in the distance. They will withdraw back this way to get clear and regroup, but when they do, they will spot us here, with the army from Tewsbury."
"But our men are tired," said Aldwin, "they've marched for days with little rest."
"True, but we will be defending."
"You're sure of that?"
"Our foes cannot leave us in their rear, especially when they cannot advance. They will have no choice but to attack."
"How will you defeat their cavalry?" asked Aldwin.
"By neutralizing their mobility," said Fitz. "Tell me, how would you deal with the threat of their horses?"
"A shield wall?" offered the smith.
"A good tactic. We used the very same thing against the Knights of the Sword at the Battle of the Crossroads during the civil war, though it almost ended in ruin."
"But you think it'll work here?"
"I do. At the Crossroads, we had to repel knights, but here, the Norlanders are a different foe. Their horses are lightly armoured, and it is they that shall be targeted."
"A horseman without a mount is a prime target," said Aldwin.
Fitz smiled, "You seem to have picked up Beverly's appreciation of tactics. Maybe you'll become a general one day."
"No," said Aldwin, "I'm content being a smith. I've far more interests than war."
"Good, leave the fighting to Beverly. There's no sense in having more military officers in the family."
"I'm worried about her."
"So am I, my boy," said the baron, "but we must trust that the Gods will watch over her."
"I didn't take you for the religious type, my lord."
"I'm not, but looking back on the past few years, I have to wonder if someone up there isn't watching over us. An all-seeing creature of some type. I'm sure that fits the definition of a god, don't you?"
"And here I thought we all managed to make our own fate."
"Perhaps we do," said Fitz, "who's to say? The Kurathians believe in the Saints, but the Orcs follow the advice of their Ancestors. We can't all be right, can we?"
"I'm afraid I'm not educated in such things," said Aldwin, "but I know people. You'll win today, that much I know, and Beverly will return to us, for it must be so."
"Why would you say that?" he asked.
"Because to think otherwise is unacceptable," said Aldwin.
The baron returned his gaze to his front. "Ah," he said, "it appears we have been spotted."
In the open field that sat before them, a distant group of horsemen, no more than a dozen, appeared from the far trees. The effect of the baron's forces was pronounced, for they quickly turned, riding back into cover.
"I expect we'll see more of them soon enough," said Fitz, then turned to examine his lines. His own men had formed up in tightly packed rows, with his footmen in front and the archers just behind, in a second rank. Heward sat among the horsemen, along with Prince Alric.
"Now, we must be patient," he said.
Chief Urgon stood amongst his hunters. "I wish we could have brought more," he grumbled.
"There was insufficient time, my chief," said Tarluk, "and we had to leave a garrison to protect Hawksburg."
"True enough, and yet I wish Redblade were here. Long have I yearned to fight at her side."
"The Ancestors will watch over us," said Tarluk.
"So they shall," agreed Urgon.
They waited on a slight rise, on the left flank of the baron's forces, watching the horsemen in the distance. The Norlanders, reacting to the sight of the Mercerians, were now forming up in the distance, a massive line of cavalry that made for an intimidating sight.
"They outnumber us," said Tarluk.
"So they do," said Urgon, "but their leader seems lacking in his tactics. See how he masses his horses for a straight-on attack?"
"Why does he not flank us?" asked Tarluk.
Urgon scanned the tree line, looking east. "There," he said, pointing, "he has moved his horse archers to allow them to outflank the Mercerians."
"Their arrows will destroy the line!" said Tarluk.
"No," said Urgon, "for we shall save them."
More than five hundred Norland cavalry advanced slowly, in two lines, opposed by little more than half that number.
"Where is their cavalry?" demanded Lord Hollis.
"I have no idea, my lord," said Lord Rupert of Chilmsford.
"Have you any idea of their numbers?"
"Our information says they have no more than three hundred men, my lord, the bulk of which we see before us."
"Then who attacked our advance guard?"
"Skirmishers. Nothing more than a nuisance, really."
"Enough of a nuisance that we had to regroup," said Hollis. "I need that village taken, even if we have to burn it to the ground. It blocks our way to Wincaster."
"I shall redouble our efforts, my lord."
"See that you do, Rupert. In the meantime, I will assume direct command of this northern group. We shall sweep these Mercerians from the battlefield as quickly as we can, then swing south to press on to the capital."
"Yes, my lord," said Lord Rupert, turning around.
Hollis watched him head south, then turned his attention once more to the thin line of Mercerians to the north.
"I admire your bravery," he said aloud, "but it will not save you. I shall have my horse archers rain down a hail of arrows, then break your precious shield wall."
Captain Galway smiled at the distant sight. As the commander of the Norland horse archers, he was confident, for none of the Mercerian cavalry could match the swiftness of his horsemen.
He began the advance, his men's bows already strung. They would proceed to within a hundred paces, then fill the sky with their arrows, and if the Mercerians moved to threaten them, then so much the better. He and his men would turn tail and ride off into the distance, only to repeat the tactic.
Galway looked again to the distant Mercerians. A slight rise stood to the east of the enemy line, yet their fool of a commander had failed to place men there, meaning they were drastically short of soldiers
. He nodded to his signalman to sound the horn and the line sped up, rapidly drawing nearer to their prey.
Closer and closer they came until he felt they were at the optimum range for a volley. Halting, he waited to see if the enemy showed any signs of reaction, but they held firm.
"Ready arrows," he called out.
All down the line arrows were nocked.
"Loose arrows," he commanded.
Bowstrings snapped, sending their volley flying towards the thin enemy line.
"Now!" shouted Urgon. "Now is our chance!" He stood, holding his sword aloft, the blade gleaming with magic. "For the Ancestors!"
Orcs erupted from the long grass, streaming down the small hill in a mass of roaring and screaming. The enemy horsemen, intent on the effects of their volley, were staring at the distant Mercerian line when the yells of the Orcs drew their attention. Several of them managed to loose off arrows, but they were hastily aimed with most landing wide of their mark.
Urgon led the Orcs directly into the Norland archers. His sword rang out, slicing through an archer's leg and cutting into his mount. The creature reared up, and the man fell from the saddle. Ignoring him, Urgon kept running, slicing again, his blade lopping off some poor fool's hand. He felt the power of the Ancestors flowing through him, driving him forward in the ancient tradition of a berserker.
A horse went down, kicking and screaming, and the Orc chief leaped up, landing, sure-footed, on its body, his sword striking left and right. An arrow took him in the shoulder, but he ignored it, screaming out a challenge. All around him, the Orcs of the Black Arrow wreaked havoc, cutting down the hapless Norland horsemen and sending their survivors fleeing in fear.
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