“The entire legion?” he asked.
“Yes, they’ve been taking positions and getting ready to march.”
“Good God, they’re moving on the town. We’ve got to go. Come on.”
They rode through the gloom just prior to dawn, but they weren’t the only ones.
* * *
Toag rose early. He had hardly slept, he was just too excited. He’d led his own clan on many raids, but this was no raid. This was an invasion by a Skellmarian army, and it hadn’t been seen in his lifetime. He met with the other clan leaders. His plan was simple. They had constructed a narrow bridge, not much more than a reinforced, plank walkway, wide enough for one man at a time. Toag doubted that it would hold his own weight, certainly not two men at once. One clan would take the bridge upriver, where it would reach safely from bank to bank and where they would be safe from the sight of the townspeople. The clan would cross and make their way back downriver, take control of the drawbridge, and lower it so that the rest of the army could cross. They would then invade the town. It was a solid plan, but it all hinged on the clan that was chosen to make the initial crossing. He needed men with the unique combination of strength, intelligence, and small stature. He and his army would be trapped on this side of the river if the crossing clan failed. They might risk the freezing waters, but the current was too swift with snow melt-off for them to risk it. They might lose as many as half of their strength just trying to get across the river, and they would all be washed far downstream. The crossing clan was their only chance.
Toag looked at his clan leaders before making the announcement. They all looked anxious to be chosen, but he had already made up his mind. The rest would have to win glory through battle.
“Ruggle Clan,” he said. “You are chosen.”
“Ruggle Clan will make you proud, Great One!”
“Good, we will wait for you to lower the bridge, then we will begin our conquest. May your blood run hot!”
“May your blood run hot!” echoed the other chieftains.
“Go, prepare your clans,” Toag ordered. “Our time has come!”
* * *
As dawn broke over the mountains, three things happened at once. First, Zollin awoke to the realization that the wizards from the Torr were on the move. He and Brianna hurriedly readied themselves and, with Kelvich in the lead, they began making their way toward town. They didn’t want to reveal themselves, but they knew something was happening and they didn’t want to be caught waiting around when it did.
Second, the King’s Legion, led by Branock and Whytlethane, marched on the town of Brighton’s Gate. Branock had every intention of bringing Zollin under his control, but he also needed to eliminate his rival. He’d given Orbruk secret orders to have his archers fire on Whytlethane at Branock’s signal. If the arrows didn’t get past the elderly wizard, Branock planned to use the distraction to kill him personally.
Meanwhile, the Ruggle Clan used the bright, spring sunlight to ensure they made it across the river safely. There were twelve men in all, each with a curved, short sword and a small pick axe. They moved swiftly, but silently, toward Brighton’s Gate, where the townspeople were just starting to stir from their homes. Fires were being kindled and breakfasts were started.
Zollin, Kelvich, and Brianna had just caught sight of Quinn and Mansel when the first of the Skellmarians came within sight of the drawbridge. It was guarded, one of Quinn’s ideas that the town hadn’t neglected yet, but the two men on duty were half asleep and totally unaware of the threat. The Skellmarians waited until the entire clan was in position and then slowly started moving toward the bridge.
“What are you doing here?” Quinn asked.
“I felt the wizards moving,” Zollin said. “We couldn’t wait.”
“It’s not just the wizards,” Mansel added. “The whole army is marching.”
“What are we going to do?” Brianna asked; Zollin couldn’t determine if she sounded fearful or excited.
“If we sneak away, the wizards will know it and the town will be totally defenseless,” Kelvich said. “They don’t deserve that, even if they haven’t been honorable.”
“I agree,” said Quinn. “But I don’t want to move into a position where we might be trapped or cut off, either.”
“Then we should ride down,” Zollin said. “Wait for the army before they get to the town.”
“No, we’ll be trapped there,” said Quinn. “We need better ground if we’re going to make a stand.”
“What if we cross the river?” suggested Brianna. “We can negotiate from a position that makes a big part of their army useless.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Quinn. “We can reveal ourselves and still have a good escape route if they won’t see reason.”
“And if they still attack the town?” Kelvich asked.
“Why would they?”
“To force Zollin to surrender.”
“If we ride away,” Brianna suggested, “and pretend not to care about Brighton’s Gate, they’ll have to decide between killing their own people and pursuing us. We can’t fight an entire army, and it might be the best way to ensure the town’s safety.”
“I don’t have any better ideas,” Kelvich said.
“Alright, let’s go,” Quinn agreed.
They rode swiftly toward the town, but at the same time the Skellmarians attacked the guards at the drawbridge. They crept toward the unsuspecting men and stabbed them from behind, covering their mouths as they fell so that it was an almost silent attack. The remaining clan members spread out to protect the two who were trying to figure out how to lower the bridge. Quinn and the others rode swiftly through the town, their horses kicking up mud and causing curious townsfolk to peek out their windows.
The Skellmarians had just begun lowering the bridge when Zollin and the others rode into view. They pulled their horses to a sudden stop in shocked disbelief, not only at the shaggy barbarians lowering the drawbridge, but at the army of Skellmarians that was forming up on the far bank.
“We’ve got to stop them!” Quinn shouted.
He spurred his horse forward just as the other ten Skellmarians charged forward. Quinn reined back on his horse hard, causing the beast to rear suddenly. Quinn toppled out of the saddle and fell into the muddy street. Zollin was about to stop the drawbridge from lowering when he realized his father was in trouble. He had to decide between saving Quinn and stopping the drawbridge. He didn’t hesitate, but released the flaming magic within him and lifted his father out of the road. Mansel and Brianna were ready, with arrows nocked and drawn. As soon as Quinn was clear, they shot the two leading Skellmarians. The others didn’t hesitate, but jumped over their companions and continued forward. Brianna had just nocked another arrow to her string when Zollin set Quinn down on her horse just behind her. She fired her second arrow, which found a home in a Skellmarian’s leg, then turned her horse. The others followed her, racing back to the town, shouting a warning to the people as they rode.
The bridge was down now, and the Skellmarians were swarming over, their battle cries echoing off the mountains.
“Zollin, see if you can slow them down,” Quinn yelled. “Mansel, ride out to the army. They have to know the town is under attack.”
Mansel angled his horse away from the main street that ran north and south through the little town. He whipped the reins and shouted for the tired horse to run faster. Quinn and Kelvich began shouting for the townspeople to take up arms. They needed to hold back the advancing horde until the army could arrive. It might take several minutes before they got any relief, and although the drawbridge was narrower than the original structure, it would only take a few moments before the entire war host was across the river and advancing on the town.
Zollin slid off of his horse and raised his staff over his head. Lightning cracked and popped up and down his arms and body, before shooting out and blasting three of the Ruggle clansmen off their feet. The other four stopped for a moment, pondering whethe
r attacking was the right idea, while their chieftain ran past them, bellowing a war cry. Zollin lifted the man high into the air and then set him ablaze. The clan leader screamed in agony, a high pitched warble that made the barbarians’ blood run cold. Then came Toag, shouting encouragement to his hesitating army before throwing a pick axe with all his might. It arced over the Ruggle Clan, who were frozen in the street, watching their clan leader burning to death in the air above them.
Zollin saw the ax and deflected it easily enough, but the act of valor had restarted the Skellmarians’ courage. They resumed their charge. Zollin dropped the flaming Ruggle chief on top of his clansmen and then turned and hurried back into town. Archers had taken position and were shooting arrows toward the barbarians, but at extreme range there was no way to take good aim. Quinn was busy lining everyone up. The women, with their bows, behind the men, who were firing longbows, but also had swords and axes.
The road on either side of the bridge was open ground, muddy, but passable. The barbarians spread out, shouting and taunting the townspeople. There were almost two thousand Skellmarians. They all wore shaggy animal skins, their faces dark with dirt and oil, their weapons of choice curved swords of varying size and ice picks that were more climbing tool than weapon. They had no shields, but the thick hides they wore would stop an arrow unless it was fired directly at a specific target and from fairly short range, as Brianna’s and Mansel’s had been.
“Hold your fire!” Quinn shouted. He was limping from his fall, but he was still moving. He had his sword in hand and was standing in front of the town’s defenders. “The King’s army is near,” he shouted. “You only need hold them off for a few minutes. Hold your fire until they are closer and aim true. Wait until I give the order, and perhaps we can push back their first charge and give the army time to arrive.”
The townsfolk were murmuring as Zollin hurried back up to his father. Brianna had taken up position with the other women, behind the men, but she had her bow ready, an arrow nocked and a determined look on her face.
“Zollin, we have to find the wizards,” Kelvich said.
“But we can’t leave these people.”
“We’ve done all we can for them. We can’t let you be taken unaware.”
“Alright,” Zollin admitted.
He gave Brianna one last look, and she nodded at him. Then he ran after Kelvich.
* * *
Mansel saw the army marching slowly ahead. The town was blocking their view of the Skellmarians. He galloped toward the group of riders with long lances and banners flapping in the morning wind. He was waving one arm and shouting at them. They did not respond until he came to a skidding halt a few feet away from them.
“The Skellmarians are attacking!” he shouted.
“What? Where?” demanded Orbruk. He was a big man, with a curly, black beard and a puckered scar on his cheek that cut through the whiskers to his chin.
“On the far side of the town,” Mansel explained. “It’s an entire army.”
“A raiding party more like,” Orbruk said in haughty tone. “Billips!”
“Yes, sir!” said one of the other knights.
“Take charge of the legion. I shall take a few of the cavalry and mop up this rabble.”
“But, sir, there are hundreds of them!” Mansel said in shock.
“Oh yes, I’m sure, the hills are alive with them,” Orbruk said with a sneer. “Carry on, Billips.”
Orbruk spurred his horse forward and turned down the line of soldiers. Mansel followed. When they reached the cavalry division, Orburk called out several names, seven in all. They fell in behind their leader and galloped toward the town. Mansel tried to keep up, but his horse was simply too tired and he fell behind. When the knights rounded the buildings on the outskirts of town, they found over a hundred Skellmarians moving to flank the town’s defenders. The two groups were surprised, and while the mounted soldiers were able to cut down three times as many Skellmarians, they were quickly overwhelmed.
Mansel wanted to ride to their aid, but he could see that it was suicide. Orbruk was hacking furiously with his long sword, but the Skellmarians were smart enough to fall back, first on one side and then the other. One group feinted forward, while the group on the opposite side attacked. They caught the knight unaware. Some grabbed him and began pulling him down from his horse. Another hacked the horse’s neck, sending the animal crashing forward to the ground. The barbarians didn’t hesitate, even though Mansel heard the knight calling for mercy. They slammed their curved blades under the plates of armor again and again. They were totally caught up in the blood lust and, after hacking the bodies of the soldiers to pieces, they looked up for their next foe. Mansel rode along the edge of the group of Skellmarians, using his sword deftly, and taking full advantage of his horse’s momentum, both to give strength to his blows and to actually trample down two of the barbarians. Then he turned and galloped back toward the army. The enraged Skellmarians followed him, and the army at last saw their foe.
“Left wheel turn!” ordered Billips. “Sound the charge for the cavalry!”
The other officers were shouting orders, and the army began to turn. They were slow, too slow to make much difference to the villagers, Mansel saw. But the mounted soldiers were riding to his aid at last. Several galloped past him, cutting into the thinning group of Skellmarians, who at last turned back toward their war host.
“What has happened?” cried one of the soldiers.
“There are hundreds of Skellmarians attacking the village right now,” Mansel shouted at the man.
“Where is Orbruk?”
“Dead!” Mansel told him in a grim voice. “And all the villagers will be, too, if you don’t do something.”
“Fin, Lorek, scout the situation, but don’t engage,” the man ordered.
“You have to hurry!” Mansel told him.
“I can’t rush into a fight with no intelligence. We’ll all be slaughtered.”
It only took the scouts a few moments to return.
“The boy’s right, Joren,” said the one named Fin. “Biggest gathering of Skellmarians I’ve ever seen. Orbruk managed to disrupt the group flanking on this side, but if they sent another group to the far side, the townspeople will be slaughtered.”
“Take the rest of the division and ride to the other side. If there is a flanking party, stop them. Otherwise hold your position until I arrive.”
“Yes, sir,” said the soldier, saluting. Then he snapped his visor shut and shouted for the other cavalry soldiers to follow him.
Mansel and Joren turned and rode back to the officers. Joren reported, and Billips gave orders for the foot soldiers. He sent five hundred into the town proper at double quick to protect the villagers. The other hundred and fifty were ordered to move toward the edge of the village where Orbruk had been killed. The archers followed the smaller group. Joren was sent with another knight to command the cavalry on the far flank. Once the foot soldiers were in place, the horsemen were to sweep them toward the other flank and smash them into the soldiers and archers. It would have been a good plan if there had only been a few hundred Skellmarians, but the legion was out numbered, and, by splitting their forces, they became even more vulnerable. Mansel turned his horse and rode as fast as he could back to the front line to report to Quinn.
Chapter 13
Branock had wasted no time once the report of the Skellmarians came in. He spurred his horse forward to find Zollin. He could feel the boy’s power; it was as potent as freshly cut hay in summer time. Whytlethane followed him, and they made their way into the town proper. They were well back from the line of defense set up by the villagers when they came upon their quarry.
Zollin was standing in the street. He had his staff in one hand, angled across his body. He was looking straight at the two wizards, who approached slowly. Kelvich was hidden in a small house, watching the scene from the window. He could tell the power of the bald wizard was greater than that of the elder wizard. Still, he
waited to see what would happen before using his own unique magic to control the one closest to him.
“Zollin, we meet again,” Branock said in a jovial voice. “You are looking well.”
“I’m sorry I cannot say the same about you, Branock,” Zollin replied.
“It is a drastic change, but not an unwelcome one, I assure you. Will you come with us? We really must insist that you do.”
“Never,” Zollin replied coolly.
“Must it come to blows? I mean, really, you can’t honestly hope to destroy us both.”
“Turn and ride away—or, better yet, help the people here. I have no wish to fight you,” Zollin said.
“You will come with us, boy, or I will destroy you,” Whytlethane said angrily. “I grow tired of your prattling on as if you were an equal. We are wizards of the Torr, bow to us or die.”
Zollin merely shook his head no; he could feel the power building up inside the elder wizard and, for an instant, he wondered if his defense would stand up to the magical blow he knew was coming. He had practiced with Kelvich, but the sorcerer couldn’t replicate the power that these two wizards possessed.
“As you wish,” said Whytlethane quietly.
“Whytlethane, don’t!” shouted Branock, but it was too late.
The elder wizard held out his hand and produced a pillar of green plasma energy. It wasn’t like the blue lightning of Zollin’s staff, nor was it fire. It looked like molten lava, only the color was different. It was energy in a liquid form, and Zollin recognized it immediately, even though he’d never seen it before. His shield was up, an invisible barrier that separated him from the other wizards. The plasma hit the magical wall and was stopped cold. It spattered and burned whatever it touched before fading away.
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