by Wilson Harp
“It seems the gods always win,” Tal said.
“It’s ever so. Since they are the gods, they cannot help but side with the one who does their will.”
Tal shrugged. “That may well be.”
“Look at the good omen, Tal.”
“What omen?”
“This blessed rain. Even if the High King were to decide to crown Bator’cam with another claim on the throne, he can’t until the sun shines on the palace.”
“I know. Never understood why, but father was very specific about it.”
“It has to do with the tales,” Daelcor said. “The old stories.”
“Which stories? I don’t remember anything about sunshine and thrones.”
The priest slowed. “I don’t think they are meant to be well known, some of those tales. But we hear them as young men in the temple. At the moment of coronation, the gods bless the throne and the king. He and the throne shines with a brilliant light. It’s been that way since Atlas sat on the throne which Balket carved for him.”
“I hadn’t heard that tale.”
“The windows are high up in the throne room. They have to wait until the sun will line up with one of them to coronate the next king. Of course if the sun is hidden…” Daelcor spread his hands and looked up at the sky.
“Then the sun can’t strike the throne and the coronation can’t take place.”
“So the gods bless you, my prince. They deny Bator’cam the throne as you prepare to dislodge him from the city.”
They reached Tal’s tent and entered. “Come and sit, we’ll catch up and have some bread. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
“Very, but I’ll go find Meleus and check his bandages. He needs to lie down and stay there for the rest of the day.”
“I’ll have food sent to you,” Tal said. “I’m going to rest while I can.”
Daelcor left the tent and Tal sat on some blankets near a low table.
“Tal?” Siande entered the tent.
“Come and sit by me. Keep me company for a few minutes.”
Siande smiled at him and joined his table. “We have some new people in the camp,” she said. “Including two who work with wood. I recognized them.”
“Where do you know woodworkers from?”
“When I would come and watch you in the yard, I talked and watched the work. These two men made the shafts for the spears in addition to other work.”
“Did they?” Tal said as he smiled. “That’s useful information.” He leaned over and kissed her. “I’ll have them brought to me and maybe we can get some heavy spears made.”
“I was thinking of it, Tal. Even if you had heavy spears, you don’t have enough men who could carry them, nor armor for them in the field.”
“My prince,” Jubaas opened the tent. “A rider comes.”
“My pardons, Siande,” Tal said. “This may be the answer we are hoping for.”
Tal left the tent at a sprint, Jubaas ran beside him and pointed out the rider as he cantered toward the camp.
“Do you recognize him?” Jubaas asked.
“It’s one of Indaric’s men. This is a fast response, I sent a runner two days ago.”
The horseman saw Tal and Jubaas run towards him and waved. He stopped his horse and led it forward.
“My prince,” he said as Tal approached. He bowed deep and held his position.
“My good greetings to you. Do you have word for me?”
The man winced as he stood upright. “I bring word from Lord Indaric. He is despondent over the loss of the king, Prince Olatic, Prince An’toko, and the Princesses. He hopes Mestor will recover quickly from these wounds, and prays the gods will provide a clear answer.”
“But what of men? Chariots?”
“The Lord Indaric has been in contact with the other Lords who served King Fa’amuil and it’s been decided in council to pray for the results the gods intend. They will keep a watchful eye on development and will bring tribute to the new king.”
Tal clenched his fists at his side. “Tell Indaric if I gain the throne…” Tal swallowed and closed his eyes. He opened them again and released his fists. “Tell Lord Indaric when I gain the throne, I look for his coming where he will be welcomed as an important part of Mestor’s future.”
The horseman’s shoulders settled and he bowed to Tal again. “May the gods bless you in your journey.” He remounted and rode away from camp.
“No chariots. No men. Not even any spears,” Tal said.
“It didn’t sound like your brother will receive any aid either.”
“A dab of salve on a gushing wound. Bator holds the city and all of its resources. I have two hundred bowmen and forty men capable of holding spears I don’t have for them to hold.”
“It’s close to three hundred bowmen now.”
“Three hundred?” Tal nodded. “If I could find a way to protect them, it’d be a powerful force. But a charge of chariots would scatter them and they would run if they faced a wall of spears.”
“True, no doubt. But I’m sure you will come up with a way to use what you have. After all, you are a Prince Commander of Mestor, and your brother is not.”
Tal nodded. “I need more, though. Praset will give the battle plan for Bator. Lortum will likely be on his right. Even if I had three chariots, it would make a difference.”
The men were silent and let the minute drift by. They both stared down the road after the messenger who had not announced the news they desperately needed to hear.
“I need to get back to the men,” Jubaas said. “Although, we have so many it is difficult to keep control. Would you appoint another officer?”
“Choose the other officer yourself, make sure he can be firm and hold order. If you feel like you need a third, you can take a hundred each.”
Tal returned to his tent and entered with a growl.
“The news wasn’t good,” Siande said.
“No, it wasn’t,” said Tal.
“Come and eat, I brought some food for you.”
Tal dropped onto the blankets next to the low table and grabbed a piece of bread from the table.
“What did they promise?”
“Nothing,” said Tal. “They are going to wait until it’s over and then swear to the new king.”
Siande nodded. “My father will have a simple plan for the battle. Bator can’t make decisions, so he will stay with whatever plan he has been given.”
“That’s true,” said Tal. “He’s comfortable with things he can recite, like prayers and rituals.”
“So do something which makes him either change his battle plan or fail.”
Tal chewed on the bread as he thought. “If I were Praset, I’d send the chariots in a charge. I would form a double line with the spears and send the bowmen to the flanks. It would box me in. If I used my bowmen to slow the charge, his bowmen would devastate my spearmen before they closed the field. If I hold my bowmen back to fire on their bowmen, the chariots will have taken my spearmen.”
“You need to find a way to slow the chariots and still counter their bowmen.”
Tal shrugged. “We have enough to do both. I could send a hundred bowmen to the flanks and that would counter his. Without scouring the countryside, he won’t have more than hundred bowmen. But he still has close to four hundred heavy spears and enough men to carry them if they put young recruits and old soldiers into the lines.
“I could put two hundred bowmen to the front and stop the charge. A hundred bowmen to my flanks and counter his bowmen. But his spears would still crush us. And that’s if we can get your woodworkers to make enough heavy spears and the smiths to attach some of the spearheads from the short spears to the long shafts.”
Tal sighed and took a drink of wine. “So much to do and no time.”
“There is still time, my prince. You will think of a solution.” Siande pulled herself up from the table. “I’ll be back after I take Janu his dinner.”
“How is he?” Tal asked.
&
nbsp; “He cries himself to sleep at night and asks for his mother, but Shala says he is doing well considering. She takes good care of him.”
“Thank her for me, and return soon.”
Siande smiled at Tal. “I will. You rest and you will think of a solution.”
Tal closed his eyes as she left. He ran through the battle in his mind over and over, but he never saw a solution. If he had chariots or heavy spears, he could win the battle. But without them, he feared it was hopeless.
“Tal?” Daelcor asked as he stuck his head in the tent.
“Come in,” Tal grumbled. He had his arms draped over his eyes and didn’t move them for the priest.
“Meleus sleeps. I’ll want to go back soon, but I wanted to tell you some things you will want to hear alone.”
“Please, what news do you have?”
“Your mother has declared you kinslayer, you know that, right?”
“Of course,” Tal said. “Praset named me so when he came to capture me.”
“Do you know she has also claimed you could be an imposter who killed and replaced the real Prince Taldirun?”
Tal sat up. “What? Who would believe such a rumor?”
“It’s your scar. She‘s asked if anyone ever remembered the prince having a red scar across his face. The people are willing to consider it because she is the High Queen and she is also in mourning.”
Tal snorted and twisted his lips into a mockery of a smile. “Mourning. She had my father killed and then seeks pity as a widow.”
“Even if you win the battle, Tal, she won’t give up her hold on the throne of Mestor that easy.”
“Easy? If I win this battle, it will be repeated for generations as one of the great triumphs in history. If I can defeat Bator’cam and take my father’s throne, my mother will have no influence in Mestor.”
Daelcor twisted his face. “Tal, listen to me. She’s the High Queen now. She’ll always have influence in Mestor because of who she is. The most dangerous factor in all of this is she’s not satisfied with being High Queen. She arranged not only for your father and the High Queen to be removed, but she also arranged for Bator to take the throne. She means to control Mestor while she is High Queen. She’ll be the most powerful woman of all time, and if you stand against her, there is no action too harsh for her to consider.”
Tal felt a wave of grief wash over him. His father and brother were the two most noble and regal men he knew. They were ambitious, but they also could accept failure and their own limitations. Tal hoped to one day be sent on a tour of the barbarian lands like Olatic experienced. He was to represent his father before the thrones of other kings and sail into Mestor’s harbor with ships laden with goods from far off lands for the glory of his family.
Now all dreams and hopes were shattered. Even if he prevailed, the glory of his father’s kingdom was over. His father’s wife had ended it for her own ambition.
“You’ve given me news I did not want to hear, but you were correct, I did need to hear what you had to say. I will think on these things once I have discovered how to win this battle.”
“I’ll leave you to your thoughts and planning.”
Tal dropped back on the blankets as Daelcor left. He thought about the last week. It was just ten days ago he arrived at the shrine. Seven days since he saw the wolves. Six days since he snuck back into Mestor.
He thought of the wolves and how they guarded their kill against the bears. He saw the wolves moving in his mind. Bowmen, spearmen, and chariots, all moving at once. If only he could get his men moving the same, he could win any battle.
Siande returned and lit a lamp.
“You weren’t asleep, were you?”
“No. Just thinking.”
“I’ve been thinking, too.”
“About the battle? What do you know about the battle?”
“Nothing. The only real fighting I’ve seen was when those bandits attacked.”
“I knew what to do against them.”
“You did, and it impressed me, truly. But I was thinking about the spears.”
“What about them?”
“Do you need them?”
Tal sat up. “Of course I need them. Otherwise their spearmen will kill the bowmen.”
“Why?”
“Why? The sharp bronze points will go into their flesh.”
“But are heavy spears the only way to stop their spearmen?”
“What do you mean?”
“What about shields? I’ve seen you use shields in the practice yard.”
“Siande, shields and short spears are used for sparring or single combat. They aren’t used in battle.”
“Why?”
“Because the heavy spears will push the shields down and to the sides in the hands of skilled soldiers.”
Tal’s eyes widened. “Go find your woodworkers. Tell them to not make the heavy spears. Have them talk to the smiths and start making shields as fast as possible.”
Siande stared at Tal as a smile grew on his face. “I know how to beat Bator, and even your father will not see it.”
Chapter 18
Tal looked at the open field and grinned. The walls of the city loomed above, far enough the bowmen on the towers could not reach the battle, but close enough those on the walls could observe the outcome.
“That’s a big smile,” said Jubaas.
“I want Praset to see. And he’ll be right there,” Tal said.
“If this works, he’ll hate you the more for it.”
“Let his anger consume him. He’ll be in Atlas and the only time I’ll see him is at the council of kings.”
“Where will Bator’cam set up?”
Tal pointed along the wall. “He’ll march his spearmen out of the city first and let them wander in small groups so we won’t know how wide or how many ranks deep they’ll be. Then his bowmen will gather near that ridge. They will count our men and guard their escape back to the city. When the chariots come out, the bowmen will move in behind the spearmen right before the charge. Then they will move onto the flanks of the spearmen as they march forward.”
“A simple plan.”
“Bator couldn’t manage much more,” said Tal. “And I know he won’t be able to manage what I do.”
“Come, the fires are ready and meat is roasting. Let’s go and rest this evening.”
Tal looked at the walls of Mestor in the gray dimness of a sun which set behind endless clouds. When the sun struck those stones, they shone yellow, except at sunset when the dying rays of light turned the walls of his city into a deep reddish-bronze color. Tomorrow he would shed the blood of the people of his city. He would kill them in order to be their king.
Tal followed Jubaas back to the tents and spent a sleepless night with those thoughts.
The next morning, he was up with his officers long before his men. The field had become soaked in the last week, and a steady rain that morning had turned it into a quagmire of sticky mud.
“Do you think they will meet us today? Yeltis asked.
“They shouldn’t, but they will,” said Tal. “And it’s to our advantage for once. The chariots will not be able to charge near as fast as they should in this swamp, but Bator will be desperate. I know his mind. He believes the reason the gods withhold the sun is because he’s not defeated me. The only way to lift these clouds and end this season of rain is to see me dead.”
Tal and the officers carried shields from the wagons out to the field where the men would form ranks. By the time they finished, the clouds had lightened and the men were awake. The camp buzzed with activity when the blast of a horn echoed from the city.
“They will take the field today,” said Tal.
The men ate and dressed for battle.
“My lord, what position should I take?” Yelsit asked.
“If I had a banner, you would be my bannerman. But instead, take a shield and spear and fight on the far end of the line. I will need someone strong there to encourage the others.”
“Tal,” Siande said. “You have a banner.”
Tal smiled when he heard her voice, but by the time he turned to her, his face was stern. “You were left at Folsit for a reason,” Tal said. “Meleus needs someone to keep him.”
“Shala can keep him for a few hours. I worked through the night to finish this so you could have it should Bator’cam face you today.”
She held out a large, folded piece of green cloth.
“A banner?” Tal said. “Whose?”
“Yours,” she said. “Take it and see.”
Tal nodded to Yelsit and the two men unfolded the banner. It was a field of green with a silver wolf on it.”
“A wolf?” Yelsit asked.
“It’s perfect,” said Tal. “We’re a pack of wolves.”
“And you are our king,” Siande said. She reached up, pulled his head down, and kissed his lips.
“Be about your business and return to me,” she said.
Tal handed his portion of the banner to Yelsit as he watched Siande leave.
“I’ll find a suitable staff,” Yelsit said.
“Yes, go. And be quick. You’ll stand behind me and they will see a new banner in the field.”
The spearmen of Mestor marched out of the city onto the field. The scouts agreed there were close to three hundred heavy spear which would be arrayed against them. Sixty bowmen joined them, less than what Tal expected.
“They’ve given some of their less experienced bowmen spears,” he said to Jubaas as they looked across the field. “Get your bowmen ready to take their positions. When we see the chariots leave the gate, we must form up.”
“Chariot,” came a cry from the back of the camp.
Tal looked as a chariot from the north rumbled into view. It was a smaller chariot, designed to carry men long distances. Three men and a driver approached at a slow pace.
“It’s Indaric and a couple of others. I don’t recognize them, but they must represent some of the other lords.”
“Why does he come?” Jubaas asked. “Does he bring news?”
Tal shook his head. “See, he stays on the road. He’s come to witness the battle and to approach the winner.”