They know what they're doing, he decided. After meeting the wizard-warrior Sarthos two nights ago he hadn't really expected that the mercenary leaders would prove incompetent, but he'd still hoped to surprise them with his show of resistance.
They reached the edge of the orchard and broke into the open fields beyond. Daried lengthened his stride and ran at his best pace, all too aware of the lack of cover around him and his warriors. At a glance it seemed that most of his warriors were still with him-more than a dozen elves silently dashed across the field at his heels. But sweeping up from the west, only a couple of hundred yards away, threescore cavalrymen appeared, galloping furiously around the great orchard.
"Daried!" called Teriandyln.
"I see them!" he replied. "Keep on!"
Across the fields a long, low ridge covered by a dense thicket lay like a green wall across their path. Daried risked another glance over his shoulder, and altered his course to the right, veering away from the oncoming horsemen so that they would take just a little longer to overtake his warriors. The hot sun beat down on him, and the golden wheat weaving around his waist forced him to take high, plunging strides, wading more than running. He kept his eyes fixed on the dark thicket ahead and did not allow himself to slow down, even though sweat streamed down his face and the humid air seemed as thick as molasses in his lungs.
Behind him, he could hear the drumming hooves of the riders following. The shouts and cries of the mercenaries took on a savage, triumphal tone-and the elf warriors were still fifty yards short of the copse ahead.
A single horn-call sounded from somewhere in the woods ahead. Instantly Daried shouted to his warriors, "Down!" He threw himself into the tall grain and rolled, wheat stalks whipping his face and arms.
Over his head better than eighty bows thrummed at once. In the shelter of the trees ahead, just about every man of Glen who could pull a bow-and some of the women, as well-rose up and fired at the cavalrymen intent on riding down the withdrawing elves. They did not all shoot as well as elf warriors would have, but some did, and the rest certainly shot well enough. Horses screamed and reared, riders toppled from saddles, and others wheeled in panic beneath the withering fire. After three quick volleys the Chondathan mercenaries spun around and spurred away from the green thicket, leaving half their number dead or dying at the feet of the elves they'd intended to ride down.
Daried and his warriors leaped back to their feet, and trotted into the shelter of the thickets. The bladesinger found Nilsa waiting for him, alongside Earek, the tall innkeeper from the White Horse. More villagers and farmers stood nearby, grim looks of satisfaction on their faces. They were dressed in a ragged collection of armor ranging from none at all to old mail shirts or jerkins of rivet-studded leather, but all carried well-cared for bows, and many wore swords or axes at their belts, too.
There's more to these Dalesfolk than meets the eye, Daried decided. "That was well done, Nilsa. We would have been ridden down if you and your folk had not shot so well."
"I waited as long as I could before sounding the signal," Nilsa said. She shrugged awkwardly. "I didn't think they would be after you so quickly. It's a good thing you are fleet of foot, or you never would have gotten away from them."
"So?" Earek asked Daried. He served as the town's militia captain, since the death of Nilsa's father. The easygoing innkeeper became a different man in the field. His bland smile and easy laugh were gone, replaced by determination and worry. "How many do we face?"
Daried took a quick tally of the elf warriors who remained with him. Of the twenty he had had in the orchard, sixteen stood with him. Two were wounded, and Hycellyn, who had waited with the Dalesfolk, tended to them with her healing spells. There was a small chance that his missing warriors might still be hiding in the orchard, unable to rejoin him, but it was more likely that they had been caught before they could make their escape.
He sighed and turned back to his human allies. "We counted about two hundred on foot and the same number mounted. We shot many riders, but not enough to even the odds. I think you should consider abandoning your plan, and withdraw while you still can."
Earek watched the mercenary riders, hovering out of bowshot near the apple orchard. The riders milled about, glaring fiercely at the treeline in which the elves and the Mistledalefolk waited.
He shook his head. "You did your part, now we will do ours. They won't get across those fields without losing a lot of men, and they can see that already. Remember, they're mercenaries-they're paid to fight, not to die. If we can wound or kill a good number, the rest might decide it isn't worth it to press the attack."
" hope he is right," Teriandyln murmured in Elvish. "Many of these folk will die if the mercenaries decide that dead comrades make for bigger shares of the plunder,"
Daried studied the land carefully. It was a good place to stand, and the densely wooded ridge offered a covered retreat, at least for a couple hundred yards. But behind the hill lay open farmland around the Harvalmeer manor. If enemy horsemen broke through the woods into the fields behind them, few of the defenders would escape from their line.
"Nilsa, can men on horseback get around this ridge?" he asked.
"Not easily. It runs for several miles like this. To the east it gets higher and rockier until it meets the forest and the Ashaba. To the west, it runs out into a wide stretch of difficult woods."
"You've barricaded the cut where the road passes through?"
"As best we could," Earek answered for her. "We felled several trees across the road, and made a thornbrake a good ten feet thick. I've got more archers covering the cut."
Nothing to do but wait, the bladesinger decided. "I'll keep four of my warriors with me, and intersperse the rest in pairs along the line," he told the Glen-folk. "If we have to give ground, we'll withdraw to the west, staying in the woods along the ridge."
"That would place the Chondathans between us and our families," one of the men nearby grumbled.
"Yes, but if we fell back toward the east, I am afraid that we could get trapped with the river at our back. Or, worse yet, we might lead the battle to the refuge where the rest of your people are hiding." Daried knew that his warriors could escape across the Ashaba even if the mercenaries were on their heels, but he did not think that the villagers could manage it.
"If we hold them here, we won't have to make that choice," Nilsa said.
Daried quickly counted off his warriors and sent them to their places in the villagers' ranks. Then, just in case, he sent a pair of scouts to the back side of the ridge to provide warning in case the Chondathans surprised them by finding a way to get around or through the ridge unseen. Then he settled in to watch and wait.
The Chondathan riders gathered at the far side of the field, under the shade of the orchard. Men rode back and forth, carrying messages and orders. Standard-bearers unfurled their scarlet flags and took up positions. Then rank after rank of footmen emerged from the orchard, arranging themselves behind the standards. Men buckled on heavier armor and unslung their shields, making ready for battle. The elves watched while the Dalesfolk fidgeted and muttered nervously to one another.
"Something is happening," Nilsa said.
Daried followed her gaze. Beneath the main standard a number of sellswords arrayed in fine armor with plumed helmets arranged themselves in ranks. Even from a distance, he could see the difference in arms and armor between the men by the standard and the rest of the mercenaries. Then he caught a glimpse of a tall, lean man standing behind the others, weaving his arms in the sinuous motions of a spellcaster.
"That's Sarthos," he said. "The wizard-captain from the camp."
"What is he doing?" Nilsa asked.
"Working magic," the bladesinger answered. He glanced at Teriandyln. "I can't make it out at this distance. Can you?"
The sun elf wizard shook his head. "No, it's too far. But I think he is not the only wizard among the Chondathans. I've seen a couple of others casting spells."
Hor
ns sounded somewhere in the mass of the Chondathan fighters. Raggedly the footsoldiers started forward, marching across the yellow field behind their banners. Rows of interlocked shields guarded the front ranks, while the men in the second and third ranks kept their shields raised overhead. Bands of horsemen pranced and waited back in the orchard.
"They're coming!" cried voices all up and down the line.
"Steady!" Earek called.
"The horsemen are waiting to ride us down after we rout," Teriandyln observed quietly to Daried.
"Possibly," Daried answered. He wasn't certain of that yet. Sarthos and his Chondathans were up to something sinister; he could feel it. He thought again of calling for the retreat, but it would be hard to get the Glen-folk away at this point… even if they would agree to go. They were not likely to flee until they had seen whether the Chondathans could hurt them or not.
"Let them get closer, lads!" Earek called to the villagers. "Don't waste arrows on those shields yet. Wait until you can choose your marks and make your arrows count!"
The footmen slogged closer, crouching behind their shields. The line began to drift to their right, as each man in the line consciously or unconsciously closed up under the shield of the man beside him. Steel and leather rasped with each step, and a chorus of challenges, catcalls, and foul oaths rose up from those sellswords who were inclined to shout or snarl defiance at the archers waiting for them.
"Fire!" Earek shouted.
The bows of the Dalesfolk thrummed, and arrows streaked out from the thicket, buzzing like angry wasps. Many glanced from shields or breastplates, but the Dales-folk had waited for such a short range that their powerful bows were perfectly capable of driving a yard-long shaft through armor, given a clean hit. For their part, the elf archers did not try to power their missiles through a foe's armor. Instead, elven arrows found throats, eyes, or underarms, places where a swordsman's cuirass did not guard him. Mercenaries shrieked, swore, or stumbled to the ground, wounded or dying. With each man that fell, gaps appeared in the shield wall, and more arrows sleeted into the mass of soldiers.
The Chondathans let out a roar of rage and surged forward, charging to bring the archers to sword's reach. Despite the weight of their steel, they covered the last few yards of the open field faster than Daried could have imagined. Men dropped and died with every step, but still they came on-and now Daried saw their plan. Across the field, the waiting horsemen spurred their mounts forward, charging in the wake of the armored footsoldiers. With the Dalesfolk and elves occupied in shooting the men right in front of them, the riders covered the open space unmolested.
"Teriandyln! Stop the cavalry!" Daried cried.
The wizard barked out the words of a spell, and hurled a scathing blast of fire at the oncoming riders. A tremendous detonation left a dozen men and horses dead in the field, and a black pall of smoke rose over the field. At once Teriandyln turned and threw another spell at a different group of riders. "There are too many!" he shouted back at Daried.
While the wizard wove his deadly spells and arrows continued to scythe through the Chondathan ranks, Daried drew a slender wand from his belt and turned his attention to the line of swordsmen swarming into the trees. The wand was Teriandyln's, but Daried could use it well enough. He leveled it at the first group of Chondathans and snapped out its activating word. A brilliant blue stroke of lightning blasted five men from their feet. Recklessly Daried triggered the wand again and again, trying to stop the attack in its tracks.
For a moment, he thought they might succeed. Scoured by arrows and lightning, the footsoldiers faltered at the very edge of the woods, and the wheeling bands of horsemen beyond shied away from Teriandyln's fiery blasts. But then a wave of dull thuds or booms like distant thunder rippled through the woods behind Daried and his warriors, filling the shadows beneath the trees with a sulfurlike stench.
"Devils! Devils!" came the cry.
Daried wheeled in sudden horror, and found a gang of hamatulas-barbed devils-materializing in the middle of the defender's ranks. Eyes aglow with emerald hate, the fearsome creatures immediately tore into any villager or elf hapless enough to be within talon's reach. Blasts of hellfire blackened the trees and seared flesh.
Without a moment's thought, Daried slid easily into the bladesinger's trance and glided forward to meet the hell-born fiends. The furious battle around him faded into a strange, dull silence. Distantly he noted the skirmish of Chondathan swordsmen and Dalesfolk archers around him, the desperate cut and parry of men and women fighting for their lives, but he simply avoided the fray and moved to the first of the monsters.
The creature grinned maliciously and hurled a great orb of green fire at Daried, but the bladesinger whispered the word of a spell and caught the whirling ball of flame on his swordpoint. He flicked it over his shoulder at a Chondathan swordsman behind him, immolating the man with the devil's fire. Then there was a sudden clash of talons and barbs against elven steel, and the creature recoiled, bleeding from several deep cuts. Daried spun from a high guard to a low crouch, and used the lightning wand in his left hand to strike down another three swordsmen before returning to his duel against the hamatula.
"Now you die, elf!" the hamatula hissed.
It sprang at him, arms spread wide, seeking to impale the bladesinger on the forest of spikes covering its body. Daried folded to the ground and ran it through the belly, rolling under its feet as it crashed to the ground behind him. Jagged spines caught him at the shoulder and the top of his back, but he simply set the pain aside and rolled up onto his feet, continuing his blade-dance.
More battle magic crashed and thundered in the thicket, blasts of fire and stabbing forks of lightning. He glimpsed Nilsa, moving gracefully among the trees as she drew and shot, taking a man with every arrow. Then he spotted another barbed devil, crouching over the torn body of Feldyrr, a moon elf. The monster leered at the dying elf as it clenched its talons in his chest.
Daried knocked the devil away from his warrior with darting daggers of magic. The devil staggered to its feet with a hiss of rage. It hurled its fearsome will against the bladesinger, trying to paralyze him with its terrible magic, but in his trance Daried was hardly conscious of such things. While the devil glared at him, he spun close and sliced its throat open with a long draw cut, leaving it to crumple to the ground beside Feldyrr's body.
He danced through a knot of mercenary swordsmen next, leaving one man blinded with his magic and another dying from a thrust through the belly. But then he was driven out of his trance by the staggering impact of a barbed devil hurling itself into his back like a battering ram of red-hot steel. Agonizing hooks and spikes pierced Daried's flesh in a dozen places, but his golden mail held just enough to keep him from being killed at once.
The devil on his back hissed and spat fire, burning Daried as it tried to clamp its foul black fangs in the back of the bladesinger's neck. He struggled in the dirt and underbrush to get his feet under him or get an arm free so that he could get away, but the devil's strength was terrible. It tore a bloody gobbet of flesh from his shoulder, and despite himself Daried screamed.
"Get off me!" he snarled.
"You did not like that?" the creature hissed in his ear. "Ah, how you will sing before I am through with you, delicious elfling!"
Daried reversed his grip on his thinblade and tried to stab at the monster, but the devil swatted the blade out of his hand. Desperately Daried rolled back in the other direction, and found the lightning wand with his groping fingers. Quick as a cat he jammed the end of the wand over his shoulder into the devil's face, and blew its head apart with a stroke of lightning that picked him up and flung him down a dozen feet away.
His mail charred and smoking, Daried climbed unsteadily to his feet. The arming-coat under his mail was sopping wet with his own blood. Ignoring the clamor of battle all around, he staggered over to the devil's twitching corpse and retrieved his thinblade. Then he straightened up as much as he could, and tried to make sense of wha
t was going on around him. It seemed that the battle still continued, though scores of dead or dying humans-and some elves, too-littered the ground.
"Aillesil Seldarie," he breathed.
The Dalesfolk hadn't been overcome yet, but it didn't seem possible that they could keep fighting against such odds. At least no more barbed devils remained in the fight.
"I had a feeling we would meet again, elf." Daried wheeled and found himself facing the wizard Sarthos. The Chondathan lord wore a breastplate worked in the image of a snarling dragon, and wore an ornate helm over his stubbled scalp. The human smiled cruelly.
"A shame you are wounded already," he said. "I hoped to try you at your best. That would have been a contest to remember."
He carried the Morvaeril moonblade bared in his hand.
"You should take care with your wishes, Chondathan," the bladesinger rasped. "You might get exactly what you want."
Ignoring the hollow unsteadiness of his legs and the stabbing aches that crisscrossed his back, he raised his thinblade in challenge. Slowly he circled Sarthos, taking the measure of his opponent while the battle raged all around them.
The mercenary struck first. Snarling the words of a sinister spell, he threw out his arm and launched a black bolt of crackling power at the bladesinger. But Daried was still warded by the parrying spell he'd used to deflect the fireball the first barbed devil had thrown at him. He managed to interpose his thinblade and bat the ebon ray back at Sarthos. The ray caught the mercenary wizard on his side and spun him half around, its frigid darkness draining away strength and vitality.
Sarthos struggled to fight off the effects of his own spell, and Daried saw his chance. He stumbled in close to the Chondathan and managed to cut the man badly across the arm and face before Sarthos reeled away, blood streaming from his wounds. The bladesinger pressed his attack, stretching for his last reserves of strength as his blade glittered and flew, weaving in the complex and perfect patterns taught by the swordmasters of Evermeet.
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