Karli smiled and a tear of relief ran down her cheek, despite her attempts to restrain it. “Thank you,” she said.
As the two women and four children were led away, Erik said to Luis, “What happened to your shoulder?”
Luis said, “Long story. I’ll tell you tonight.”
Erik nodded. To Roo he said, “Why don’t you go with your family and we’ll visit later. I still have a lot to do.”
“Apparently,” said Roo. “Until later.”
They rode off and Erik accepted Jadow’s mocking salute. “Report, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir, Captain sir!” said Jadow with a grin.
“All right, that’s enough.”
“Anything you say, Captain sir!”
Erik leaned over and said, “Would you like to be a corporal again, Sergeant?”
“Don’t tease me with promises you won’t keep, you evil man.”
Erik grinned. “What have you seen?”
“There’s a tough bastard up to the north leading the enemy, named Duko, General Duko. He’s staying put, pounding at that little pass between Eggly and Tannerus. The Earl of Pemberton and the Duke of Yabon both have heavy infantry dug in there, with some Cortesian archers holding the higher ridges, keeping the enemy down in the pass. They’re tough little bastards and can pick your teeth with their arrows. So most of Duko’s men are just hitting the barricades across the trail, over and over. It’s a bloody mess, a regular grinder up there, but other than that, most of the enemy’s forces are heading this way.”
“Any word on Fadawah?”
“None. Seems the Lord High Bad Man is staying close to the Emerald Bitch.” Jadow scratched his chin. “This is a pretty messed-up invasion, my friend, if you see what I mean.”
“I see exactly what you mean.” Erik said, “Go get some food, and when your men are in billets, take a night of rest. I want you and your company to pull back and see what you can do in the next town, Wolverton. The enemy should come right through it, so see if you can come up with some nasty surprises for them so they might slow down a little.”
Jadow grinned. “Nasty surprises are my specialty, Captain.”
“When you’re done, get back here. I need you to supervise the flying company on the northern flank.” Erik saluted, and Jadow and his sixty men rode off.
Erik returned his attention to the matter at hand, but part of his mind was preoccupied with his family, particularly with his young wife, who was only a ten-minute ride away.
The inn was crowded, so Milo, the innkeer, put Roo, Karli, Helen Jacoby, Erik and Kitty in the kitchen, all of them packed in around the table used to prepare meals. The children had already been fed and sent off to bed. Even without them, things were so tight Kitty sat upon Erik’s knee, a condition neither seemed to mind much.
Erik ate hungrily, his first hot meal in days, and his mother’s cooking to boot. Milo had opened several bottles of his better wine and was pouring rounds.
Robert d’ Lyes was bunking in with Gunther, Nathan’s apprentice, and Milo was at a loss over where he was going to put everyone. Freida said, “The children can have our room for the night.”
Nathan said, “Milo’s got them upstairs.”
“Not Roo’s children, I mean Erik and his wife.”
Erik blushed and Nathan laughed. “He’s hardly what I’d call a child, dear.”
Freida said, “He’s my boy, and that’s little more than a slip of a girl. Anyway, they need some privacy.”
“Well,” said Nathan, “I’m going to be at the forge all night, anyway, so you’re the one who’s going to have to find another place to sleep.”
“I’ll just throw a quilt under this table and sleep here. I’ll have to be up early, too, for we’ve got hungry mouths to feed again.”
Erik knew that Nathan and his mother lived in a small building just outside the smithy, and while it had once been little better than a dirty shed when Tyndal, Erik’s first master, had lived there, Nathan and his mother had turned it into a tidy little bedroom.
Milo said, “Erik, do we have to leave?”
Erik nodded. “First light, day after tomorrow. A couple of days after that, we’ll be fighting a battle here. We have to hold them outside of town while the northern and southern flanks withdraw. Then they hold while we pull back, and if all goes according to plan, we break them at Darkmoor.”
Milo sighed. “This inn is all I have.”
Erik nodded. “I have some money. When this war is over, I’ll help you rebuild.”
Milo didn’t seem convinced, but he accepted that at face.
Erik said, “How are Rosalyn and the baby?”
“Fine,” said Milo, a pleased expression on his face. “She and Randolph had another, a boy they named after me!”
“Congratulations,” said Erik.
“I sent word to them you were back, though how they could not know with all these soldiers running around calling your name would be a mystery. I’m a bit surprised they’re not here yet.”
Erik said, “Well, Randolph and his family have the bakery to dismantle and move.”
“That’s true. Still, I expect they’ll want to see you before they evacuate.”
Erik said, “I need to talk to them.”
Kitty kissed his cheek. “Talk to them tomorrow.”
Erik grinned and blushed again. “Very well,” he said softly. Then, looking around the table, he said, “Well, I’ve got to be up early tomorrow.”
Everyone laughed. Erik’s blush deepened, and he took Kitty’s hand and they left the kitchen.
After they were gone, Nathan said, “Roo, you’ve done well.”
Roo blew out his cheeks in an exaggerated sigh of relief and said, “Now that I know I’m still alive, yes, I’d say I have.”
The others laughed, and they began catching up with one another, letting the familiar surroundings lull them into a momentary illusion that trouble was far away.
At dawn the next day, Roo sat on the wagon box, his wife at his side. In the bed of the wagon, Luis rode with Helen and the children. Roo smiled as he asked, “See you soon?”
Erik nodded, astride his horse. “But not for a while, if you’re smart. By the time I’m in Darkmoor, you should be halfway to Malac’s Cross. Besides, don’t you have some estates or something in the East to keep you busy?”
Roo shrugged. “I have enough to keep me afloat if we get through all this. But in a funny way, I hate to miss what’s coming.”
Erik grinned. “No you don’t.”
Roo grinned back. “You’re right. I’m taking the children to someplace they can play and eat and get fat.”
Erik laughed. “Then get out of here!”
Roo had found that two of his wagons had made it to Ravensburg. He did as he had promised and paid the two drivers a year’s wages. He then let them go and turned one of the wagons over to Milo and Nathan, keeping the other one for himself.
Erik rode to the second wagon. Milo and Nathan sat on the driver’s seat, while Kitty, Freida, Rosalyn, her husband, Randolph, and their sons, Gerd and Milo, huddled in the back. Erik smiled at the older boy, who now clearly resembled his true father, Stefan von Darkmoor. The boy sat in his stepfather’s arms, asking excited questions in his own two-year-old’s dialect of the King’s Tongue, while his mother held the baby in her arms. Erik said to Nathan, “When you get to Darkmoor, find Owen Greylock. He’ll find you a safe place to stay.”
Kitty stood up and Erik moved his mount close enough to the wagon so that he could embrace her. They held each other without speaking, then Erik let her go.
Nathan flicked the reins and the horses moved away, and Erik sat watching his life move from him. His mother; her husband, who was a rare and wonderful man; Milo, who had been the only thing remotely like a father in his boyhood; Rosalyn, as much a sister to him as if his mother had given birth to her; and Gerd, his nephew, though only a few knew that fact. And, most amazingly, Kitty, a slender young girl who meant more to him than
he would have imagined possible before he met her.
Erik watched until the wagon disappeared into the frantic town. Other townspeople piled their belongings into wagons, onto carts, or into bundles they would carry on their backs, in preparation for abandoning their homes. Anything important to a family’s livelihood was being carried away: tools, seeds, cuttings from the most productive vines, books and scrolls, inventory. Randolph’s family had managed to dismantle their bakery, salvaging every item of hardware—the iron doors to the stone ovens, the flat iron oven bottoms and cooking racks—and every other valuable item, leaving only the empty stone ovens and some wooden cooling racks behind.
Some families had every belonging in their possession piled high atop whatever cat or wagon they owned, while others grabbed only valuables, abandoning years of accumulation, furniture, clothing, and other household goods, sacrificed in the name of speed. Some townspeople had already left, driving small herds of sheep, goats, or cattle, or carrying away chickens, ducks, and geese in wooden crates.
Soldiers hurried by, moving to positions determined months before Erik arrived here. Erik put aside the feeling of personal loss that gripped him, and turned his attention to the defense of his hometown.
He considered everything Greylock had ordered him to do, and thanked the gods that the General and Captain Calis had been so thorough. He knew that soon the most desperate fighting since the fall of Krondor was about to resume.
Everything Erik had read in Knight-Marshal William’s library had reinforced one thing overall: war was fluid, unpredictable, and those who were best prepared for any eventuality, able to seize opportunity, were the most likely to survive.
And that was exactly how Erik thought of it these days: survival. Not victory, but simply enduring longer than the enemy. Let them die first, was all he prayed for. And he knew that if any detail of preparation eluded him, it wouldn’t be for a lack of effort on his part.
Erik turned his horse and rode off to oversee the first line of defense.
Men dug furiously, building up the breastwork across the pass west of Ravensburg. Axes rang out in the afternoon as trees were felled. Erik wiped his brow and glanced at the hot sun. Thoughts of snow were difficult on a day like this. Yet he knew that in the mountains of his home province, winter could arrive as soon as a month from now. But his homegrown instincts told him this would probably be a late and light winter. The look of the plantlife and the behavior of the wild animals communicated to him silently that eight weeks or more would pass before anything like a serious snowfall would occur, and three months was possible.
Erik remembered the one year—he had been no more than six—when no snow to speak of fell through the entire winter; only a slushy sleet, and that passed quickly.
Erik decided to stop worrying about the weather and concentrate his attention on things over which he had some control. Two riders were heading his way, one from the south, the other from the west.
The rider from the west reached him first, and saluted. He wore the garb of the Krondorian garrison, bloodstained and filthy. He said, “Captain. We got jumped by a company of Saaur. The green bastards cut us up before we could get organized.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to see the enemy come riding into view any minute. “They seem to resent what the lancers did to them, so they go looking for light cavalry and mounted infantry to punish. Anyway, I got loose. I figure they’re going to regroup with the advance units and be here by sundown tomorrow or dawn the day after.”
Erik said, “Good. Go into town and get some food and rest.” He glanced around. “I don’t think we’re going to need any trailing scouts in the future, so report in the morning to my first sergeant, a loud bully named Harper.” Erik smiled. “He’ll find you some work.”
As the first rider left, the second reined in opposite Erik, and saluted. He wore the uniform of the Pathfinders. “We’re getting a bit more pressure than anticipated, Captain. I don’t know how much longer we can maintain an orderly withdrawal.”
Erik reviewed the troop disposition to the south. “You should be facing moderate pressure. What’s happening?”
“I don’t know, sir, but the Earl of Landreth is in charge.”
“What happened to Duke Gregory?” The Duke of the Southern Marches, a court governor of the Vale of Dreams, had been put in charge of the southern elements of the retreat, coordinating his efforts with Greylock’s defense of the center. He had ample resources, given that the garrisons withdrawn from Shamata and Landreth were under his command.
“Dead, sir. We thought you knew. Messengers were dispatched last week.”
Erik swore. “They never reached General Greylock or myself.” They had assumed the invaders would keep a significant portion of their army turned toward Kesh, in case the Empire sought to take advantage of the confusion to enlarge their domain, but from what this soldier had just said, the southern wing of the defense was collapsing too quickly. Erik said, “Ride into town, get a fresh horse, and grab something to eat. I’m sending two companies of archers to give you some help in the withdrawal.” Erik reviewed the maps he had memorized and said, “Suggest to the Earl he let the front to his south collapse, pulling the soldiers on that flank around him, to his left as he withdraws. Then have them dig in at the town of Pottersville. But there he has to hold for another three days; four is better. By then we’ll be fighting here and we can’t have them flanking us. If he can keep them stationary for that long, he can start sliding northward along the line, using the road to the town of Breonton. Once there, he can turn tail and run to Darkmoor, but not before.”
The Pathfinder nodded. With a tired smile, he said, “I assume you won’t mind if these suggestions originate with General Greylock?”
Erik smiled and nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t presume to order the Earl to do anything.” Then he lost his smile. “But we don’t have time for you to run to Darkmoor, have Owen tell you exactly the same thing I just did, then run back down to the Earl. So if the Earl asks, tell him those are the General’s orders and I’ll deal with any problems that might arise from that deception down the road.”
The Pathfinder nodded. “You know, Captain, when we all get to Darkmoor, we’re going to have a very mixed command; a lot of the nobles aren’t going to enjoy being told what to do.”
Erik smiled. “Well, that’s why Prince Patrick plans on being there.”
“The Prince is in Darkmoor?”
“That’s the word. Now, get something to eat, then get back down to the Earl of Landreth.”
The Pathfinder saluted and rode off. Erik looked at the trees being dragged over to fortify the barrier across the King’s Highway. Two large ridges overlooked the position, and while Erik watched, crews of muleskinners were hauling catapults up goat trails to emplacements that had been hand-carved out of the rocks. Any congestion along the highway on the enemy’s part would result in high casualties.
Erik nodded in approval. He was going to get more draft animals out in the next hour to drag away the stumps and would turn the men to that task as soon as the last tree was felled. The enemy weren’t going to have any cover as they approached Ravensburg if Erik von Darkmoor had any say in the matter.
Twice skirmishers had neared the defenses outside Ravensburg, and at the last minute, darted away, returning to the west. Erik waited on the second crest of the highway, high enough to command a panorama of the center of the battlefield, and close enough to send messages quickly to the front.
Word had reached them an hour before that heavy fighting was under way at both the south and north ends of his ten-mile defense. Those were the two most difficult trouble spots, for everything depended upon them holding, forcing the enemy to slide along conveniently provided routes, down into the center, where Erik could let them spend lives trying to punch through.
When he finally gave the order to withdraw, those northern and southern units were to cut off any engagements, if possible, and hurry to Darkmoor. Erik would try to g
ive them one additional full day, then it would become a full retreat, without any pretense of a delaying action. Owen and Erik had considered Calis’s original plan and modified it; Calis had wanted another delaying action, while Erik had argued, and convinced Owen, that the enemy were so conditioned to have the center delay that they would be cautious when the defenders abandoned Ravensburg, giving Erik the time he needed to get as many men away as possible. Erik was positive that each man not lost in a delaying action was going to be twice as valuable to the Kingdom in the defense of Darkmoor.
Now they waited. Swords, spears, and arrows were sharpened, traps were readied, horses were rested. Men sat quietly, some inspecting their armor and weapons again and again, against the possibility of having missed some flaw that might prove fatal. Others waited motionlessly, a few slept, and others said prayers to Tith-Onanka to keep them courageous, while still others made peace with the Death Goddess, against the time of their meeting her.
Erik watched, reviewing every preparation over and over, looking for mistakes, miscalculations, and potential problems. Signal men stood beside him, flags ready, to relay commands to units on the ridges to the north and south.
The chosen field of battle was a small, flat expanse of ground, nestled between a narrowing in the hills, a funnel along the King’s Highway, and the first line of defense was a low-running ridge with a notch through which the road passed. That was the point where Erik had erected the first barricade. A log rampart had been thrown across the road, giving Erik an almost level battlement from the ridge lines on the right and left. The enemy might attempt to scale the rocks on either side, but Erik counted on the placement of his bowmen to repulse them.
The battlement had been created to look haphazard and quickly erected, but it wasn’t. Erik was counting on the enemy’s underestimating the defenders’ ability to hold against an all-out rush.
The day passed slowly. Then the sound of enemy riders came from the other side of the clearing. A dozen horsemen emerged at the highest point of the King’s Highway, the last rise on the west before reaching the cleared battleground. They reigned in and sat silently, observing the defenders. One man, the leader, spoke, and two of the riders turned back the way they had come and rode off. Then the leader signaled toward the defenders’ barricade, and two of his men cantered their horses forward.
Rage of a Demon King Page 48