A puzzled look came over Matt's face. He started to say something, but Taylor beat him to it. "What do you mean, when you two get back?"
It was too late for him to explain. They had arrived at the front, and could hear the shouting of thousands of men in the far distance.
Eochaid was furious when he heard what had happened in Kasdan's lodge. He was not concerned with the loss of the hostage, since he had not seen the value of that in the first place, nor was his wrathful demeanor because of the guards. They deserved what they got for disobeying orders. However, Etar was another matter. The girl was an orphan who had been taken into his family at the age of twelve years. Her mother, Algana, had died in childbirth, and her father, Segann the Champion, had been killed a few years later during a battle with invaders from the big island to the east. He was still livid when Kasdan walked into his lodge unannounced. The king bit his lip and trembled at the sight of him.
Kasdan wore his usual blank expression. He glanced around the room and saw that Eochaid was alone. "Have all your warriors arrived as instructed?" His tone was natural, as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
Eochaid remained silent for a long moment. Nothing like the coming of this stranger had ever happened to his people. He was beginning to think that their situation with him might be worse than with the Tuatha. An inner voice had been asking him for some time now about how much longer he would tolerate disrespect from this man. He glanced at his spear propped against the wall but decided against attempting revenge at the moment. As befitting a king, he allowed reason to overcome anger.
"They are here and ready to assemble," he answered.
"Good. Have them in the street with their weapons two hours before dawn. Form them into one continuous column, six men across. Have the unit commanders stand at one hundred foot intervals alongside the column. Select a hundred of your best warriors and assemble them at the head of the column. Allow a gap of a hundred feet between them and the rest of the men. I will meet with you here an hour from now. Summon Sreng and your generals to the meeting, and I will explain our battle plan." Without waiting for Eochaid to reply, he walked out the door and disappeared into the milling crowd.
Eochaid did as he was instructed. Two hours later, they all stood at the head of a massive column of men that stretched almost a half mile along the street. There were so many that the street could not contain them all, requiring the overflow to spill out the eastern gate into the valley beyond. Still dark, fires had been lighted every hundred feet along both sides of the street so the men could align themselves properly. Each unit commander carried two long, slender poles, one topped with a red flag, the other with a white one. The flags were to be used as signals to start and stop the column on orders from the front. If the red flag were raised, all subsequent red flags along the line would be raised to halt the column. White would be the signal to resume marching. An hour before dawn, the white pennant was raised, and the massive army marched out the west gate toward their final battle with the Tuatha de Danann.
The Vryanians came to full alert at the unnerving sound of so many furious voices. The noise reverberated off the hills, rising and falling like the wind, as the huge army of barbarians drew nearer. High above the Moytura plain, no more than a dark spot against the deep purple sky, a sentinel vreel reported an estimated ten thousand men streaming toward the river from the southeast.
Matt and the others stood gazing across the water at a string of low hills that marked the plain's southern border. In his imagination he saw Kasdan at the head of the Fir Bolg army, urging them on, driving them into a frenzy of hate and fear. He knew that Kasdan was armed with a .357 magnum weapon, and would not hesitate to use it if he got within range of them. From where his group was standing, it would be an easy shot from the opposite bank of the narrow river. He resisted the urge to ask Taylor to move to the rear of the Vryanian soldiers, already knowing that she would not do it. Even though they were wearing L-suits, which the .357 bullets could not pierce, their heads were still vulnerable.
He stepped to where Jake was standing and said, "If Kasdan opens up on us with that revolver of his, we could go down fast standing out in the open like this."
Jake nodded. "I know that. But being out here in the open is paramount to our battle strategy. We've got to let him see us. Besides, I doubt he'll start shooting right away. He's not seeing this as just an opportunity to kill you and Taylor. For him, it's a chance for revenge. He'll want you to suffer some before you die. And remember, he knows little or nothing of the antimatter wands. The havoc the vreels can create will certainly screw up whatever plans he's made. He'll fall into our trap alright. We just have to give him an opportunity to do it." He slapped Matt on the back. "And don't forget, two of us are armed with nine-millimeter pistols, and he doesn't have an L-suit."
"I know him well enough to suspect he won't be out in front of the Fir Bolg, Jake. My guess is that he'll be somewhere near the front line, but he won't be obvious."
"There's another thing. Don't forget Kriss. If I know my Special Forces operatives, they're probably already on that ridge with their scopes to their eyes. Chances are good that we won't even have to get our hands dirty," Jake said.
Matt didn't answer. His attention was focused on the grassy rise across the river where the leading edge of the Fir Bolg army was pouring out onto the plain. Hundreds of them were already turning east along the riverbank, forming a horizontal line. More and more warriors filed out from behind the rise, moving along the bank until they formed a solid wall across from the Vryanians. When the first rank was completed, a new rank began to build behind it. Successive ranks formed in a like manner until they stood six files deep all along the battlefront. They stamped their feet, screamed, shouted, beat their swords against their shields, and swayed like tall grass in the wind. The front rank was twenty feet back from the riverbank, leaving a stage for what came next.
Dozens of naked men, their bodies painted a ghastly blue, came from behind the warriors and began dancing and hopping around on one foot. They carried short sticks in their hands, and wore pouches around their waists. Pointing the sticks at the soldiers on the opposite bank, they chanted spells and threw small painted stones from their pouches at them. The same spectacle was taking place all along the front.
"Druids," Jake said to Sedan and Tykel. "It's an ancient religion. There won't be any attack until they finish casting a spell on your men."
"We have never seen them before," Tykel commented. "How long will their dance last?"
"No way to tell," Jake replied. "It could go on for a few minutes or an hour. But while we're waiting, we'll get our own Druids started. Contact the vreel captains and tell them to start the music." Tykel smiled at Jake's colloquialism and turned toward the area where the vreels were hidden.
While Jake and Tykel had been talking, Matt was looking beyond the raging lines of men at what was happening directly behind their ranks. Groups of about a hundred men each, had formed into three thick wedges pointing toward the river. One of them was positioned straight across from the center of the Vryanian lines where he and the others were standing. At that point the barbarians had left a wide gap in their ranks, only two men deep instead of the six-deep everywhere else. If those two ranks were to suddenly part, the wedge could rush straight across the river and drive directly into the heart of the Vryanian formation. He took out his mini-scope and scanned it at ten-power. All the men appeared to be larger than their counterparts on the front lines. There was no jumping around, yelling, or shaking of spears in their ranks. They stood silent, obviously waiting for something. He looked for the taller, more massive form of Kasdan among them but saw nothing. All of them were dressed in various combinations of leather shirts, pants, fur mantles, and makeshift helmets of different styles. If Kasdan was among them, he was well disguised.
Jake expected him to be in the front ranks with King Eochaid and his commanders, but that had not happened. A small group of Fir Bolg warriors
clothed somewhat differently from the rest of the men had assembled a few feet in front of the wedge. The largest of them, a man with a heavy black beard, wore a metal helmet with a foot-long spike on top. A shield rimmed with polished copper hung from his left forearm. Colored beads and quills adorned the edges of his shirt and leggings. His singular appearance left little doubt that he was the Fir Bolg king.
A tall, slender man wearing a thick leather vest and brown pants stood beside the king. Bright copper greaves adorned his legs up to the knees. In addition to a short sword hanging from his waist, he held a long javelin in his right hand; however, the usual heavy point was missing. It appeared to be designed more for throwing than for stabbing. As though in contempt of the Vryanian tridents, he carried his shield slung over his back instead of holding it across his chest. His stance was relaxed, head cocked sideways. Matt thought he could see the man's eyes staring directly at him. Several men with bright feathers hanging from their spearheads stood behind him. Two of the blue Druids, twisting and writhing, bouncing up and down, chanting and throwing colored stones into the river, stood one on each side of the king.
Then, as the Fir Bolg screeching continued, the most electrifying sound that Matt had ever heard suddenly drowned their frenzied clamor. It sounded as though a thousand fiddles, oboes, bugles, tubas, flutes, drums, sirens, and claxons were all mixed together to create a maelstrom of nonsensical sound. The Druids froze in place; the Fir Bolg warriors ceased their screaming taunts. The noise of impending battle fell silent as the thunderous sound of a Vryanian symphony roared out over the Moytura plain.
While the Fir Bolg line was fanning out, and the hundred-man wedge was waiting to move into position behind Eochaid and his generals, Kasdan, who was indeed concealed in the center of the formation, felt a return of the anxiety he had previously experienced. He glanced up at the ridge off to his left. Nothing out of the ordinary was visible to the naked eye, so he took a moment to scan it with his mini-binoculars. It was a difficult act, considering that he had to remain stooped over and keep his knees bent to avoid detection because of his height. The foliage on the ridge was dense, with scattered stands of squat trees growing in the upper areas. Massive outcroppings of broken granite jutted up along the crest.
His instincts told him that someone was on the ridge, waiting. He scrutinized the area for a couple of minutes and was about to put the glasses away when he saw a flicker of movement near one of the boulders. He waited for a long moment, focused on the spot, but it did not repeat. The wind rippled the heather as it drifted across the heights. He was about to mark it off as imagination, when a similar event occurred a hundred feet further along the ridge. He let out a breath and smiled. He had been correct all along! Someone or something was hiding under cover of the foliage. This unexpected situation changed his initial plan of crossing the river with the wedge.
As he was putting the binoculars away, a sudden, violent noise from across the river shook the land. Startled, he jumped to his feet, towering a foot above the tallest man in the group. Matt, Taylor, Jake, and the Marines on the ridge, who had also been watching the wedge, all saw it. Realizing what had happened, Kasdan cursed himself and stooped back into the mass of men, but the damage had been done. Everyone who had an interest in him now knew his whereabouts.
His surprise attack on Leahy was spoiled. Moreover, he did not know the identity of the watchers on the ridge. If they were who he suspected they were, it would be necessary to eliminate them before continuing his plan to kill Leahy. His cold mind began considering how it could be done. He had already noted that the river flowed in the direction of the ridge, passing close around its southern end on its way to Lough Corrib. He nodded to himself as it became clear how he could do it.
Sreng, who was standing with the king, was as startled as any of the others by the shocking sound. He flinched and dropped into a defensive position, javelin pointing forward. Thinking that the terrifying noise signaled the start of hostilities, he drew back and hurled the javelin across the narrow river toward Matt's party. Like an arrow speeding toward its target, the long shaft reached the height of its trajectory and plunged down into the group. It struck Dbarr in the left arm, ripping away some of the forearm muscle.
Dbarr spun and went to his knees, blood gushing from the wound. One of the medics that had been stationed at random throughout the ranks, saw the javelin strike Dbarr and rushed to his aid. He took a long, silver colored glove from his medical kit and slipped it over the wound, sealing it off just below the elbow. Next, he pressed a small triangular shaped device onto the forearm and tied it down with a strap. When he was finished, Dbarr got back to his feet. He raised his arm to chest level and flexed the fingers inside the silvery glove. He nodded to the medic, who then disappeared back into the ranks. Taylor, who saw what had happened, shook her head in amazement at Dbarr's rapid recovery.
Now the damage was done; Sreng had set the example. The Fir Bolg had struck the first blow. More javelins began to fly across the water. One of them found its mark in the second rank of the Vryanian center phalanx. It struck one of the soldiers in the left side just below the ribs, ripping through his abdomen and out his back. He fell at the feet of his comrades, writhing in agony. They covered him with their shields and braced for another attack. The front rank of men dropped to one knee and raised their shields as more spears from across the water found their targets. The Fir Bolg assault was beginning all along the battlefront. They charged toward the water, screaming, threatening to cross, only to back away again.
The Vryanians did not react to the ploy. They remained in place, waiting, obedient to the plan laid out by their generals. Jake watched the barbarians closely, studying their technique. Charging, then stopping short and retreating was a tactic designed to draw enemies into a prearranged trap: in this case, to draw them into the river where they would be at a disadvantage.
The javelins continued to rain down onto the Vryanian ranks, causing moderate casualties in the well-shielded phalanxes. After a few minutes the mock attacks subsided, and the Fir Bolg ranks began to maneuver. The wedge where Kasdan was hidden braced for the attack. The warriors directly in front of it moved off to each side, leaving an opening large enough for the formation to rush through.
Anticipating the charge, the Vryanians responded. The two center phalanxes began to move backwards. Matt and his group, finding themselves in a protective pocket between the two squares, retreated with them. They stopped a hundred yards back from the river's edge. Seeing the opening, Eochaid, Sreng, and the king's son, Slainge, charged into the water. The wedge followed them, screaming berserker war cries. Kasdan, feigning a fall, stumbled and fell in the middle of the stream. Some of the warriors stepped on him or jumped over, but others tripped on his big body and fell into the water with him. The main force took less than two minutes to cross the river. Those who had fallen regained their feet and followed quickly. All except one.
Kasdan rolled onto his back and began floating downstream. The heavy fur cloak he wore over his camouflage clothing became saturated and pulled his body deeper into the water. The stream was shallow, less than three feet deep, which enabled him to push along with his feet. Everything but his head was concealed beneath the surface. From the top of the ridge, his head would appear to be an insignificant piece of flotsam drifting downstream. He estimated that at the rate the current was flowing, he would reach the other side of the ridge in less than ten minutes. As the battle raged on, he looked up at the morning sky, clear blue in the rising sun. It was a sight he had always enjoyed.
As the wedge rushed into the water, Kriss and his men braced, looking for a shot, but the formation remained solid, disciplined, and determined as they approached the opposite shore. Failing to find a target, Kriss attempted to radio Matt but got no response.
"Kasdan's still in there somewhere, Major," Bobby Glass radioed.
"I didn't see him leave," Childs added. "If that big guy we saw earlier was really him, he's keeping a low p
rofile in the center of the wedge."
"Copy that," Kriss responded. "This is the closest we'll ever get to taking him out. If you see a shot, take it. Don't worry about collateral injuries. Just be careful about shooting into that crowd on the other side of the river. I don't know who they are, but I have a feeling they may have the ability to shoot back with something other than those tridents they're carrying." The other two acknowledged that assessment. The battle below them was heating up.
The Fir Bolg wedge reached the opposite bank with Eochaid in the lead, Slainge beside him. The remainder of the army followed their example and charged into the water, screaming war cries as they ran toward the Vryanians.
In response to the approaching assault, the first four ranks of the phalanxes along the front broke formation at their center and began streaming out to their left and right. The rear four ranks stood steady. In less than a minute the maneuver was completed, creating a massive line four ranks deep, fifty yards back from the water. As the Fir Bolg force approached, the Vryanian formation began a slow retreat, shields and tridents ready to receive the attack. The center of the line retreated more rapidly than the ends, forming the phalanx into an enormous bow-shaped alignment.
The wedge continued straight for the center of the line. Too late, Eochaid realized that he was being pulled into an encircling formation. Part of the retreating Tuatha line had already broken away from the main force and was closing in behind him, cutting off any possibility of retreat. Worse, as the enemy trap closed the king saw something that completely unnerved him. Seven of the enormous flying chariots had risen into the air and were coming straight toward them. Many of the Fir Bolg who saw the vreels approaching threw down their weapons and fled back across the river.
Eochaid saw them running away, and knew that for his immediate group it was either fight or die. Anxious, he looked for the wizard who had promised him victory, but he had vanished.
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