Part 42 (2/2)
This was no time to impose.
Mostly he relived his companions.h.i.+p with Mocker and Haroun. They, with the exception of Haaken and Reskird, had been his oldest friends. And the relations.h.i.+p with his fellow Trolledyngjans hadn't been the same. Haaken and Reskird were quieter souls, part-time companions always there when he called. There had been more life, more pa.s.sion, and a lot less trust with the other two.
He reviewed old adventures, when they were young and couldn't believe they weren't immortal.
They had been happier then, he decided. Beholden to none, they had been free to go where and do what they pleased. Even Haroun had shown little interest in his role of exiled king.
”Somebody's coming,” Trebilc.o.c.k whispered.
A runner zipped across the gap between village and stream. He splashed into the river.
”Get him, Michael.”
Trebilc.o.c.k returned with a Marena Dimura. ”Colonel Marisal, he comes, The Desert Rider, yes. Thousands. Many thousands, quiet, pads on feets of his horses, yes.”
”Michael, Aral, Colonel, pa.s.s the word. Kill the fires. Everyone up to battle position. But quietly, d.a.m.n it. Quietly.” Of the scout, ”How far?”
”Three miles. Maybe two now. Slow. No scouts out to give away.”
”Uhm.” Badalamen was cunning. He looked up. The gaps in the clouds were larger.
There would be light for the bowmen.
”Ragnar. Run and tell Jarl I want him to start moving right away.” Ahring's task would be difficult. His mounts wouldn't like going into action at night.
The men had barely gotten into position. Shadows were moving in the town. El Murid's hors.e.m.e.n came, leading their mounts. Soon they were piling up at the bridge.
Ragnarson was impressed with Badalamen. His maneuver seemed timed to reach Vorgreberg at sunrise.A hundred men had crossed. Ragnarson guessed three times that would have crossed upriver. Five hundred or so had piled up on the south bank here.
”Now!”
Arrows. .h.i.t the air with a sound like a thousand quail flus.h.i.+ng. Two thousand bowmen pulled to their cheeks and released as fast as they could set nock to string.
The mob at the bridge boiled. Horses screamed. Men cursed, moaned, cried questions. In moments half were down. Fifteen seconds later the survivors scattered, trying to escape through brethren still coming from the town.
”Haaken!” Bragi shouted. ”Go!”
Blackfang's Vorgrebergers. .h.i.t the chill Spehe. Miserably soaked, they seized the far bank, formed up to prevent those already over the bridge from returning. Once bowmen joined them they forced it, compelling the hors.e.m.e.n to withdraw upstream or swim back.
Badalamen reacted quickly.
Hors.e.m.e.n swept from the village in a suicidal, headlong charge, startling the infantrymen screening Haaken's bridge- head. Arrows flew on both sides. More horses went down by stumbling than by enemy action.
Another force swept up the north bank of the Lynn, against the Kaveliners there.
The south bank riders. .h.i.t the thin lines protecting the Spehe crossing, broke through. The arrows couldn't get them all.
The struggle became a melee. Ragnarson's troops, unaccustomed to reverses, wavered.
”Reskird!” Bragi called. ”Don't send anyone else over. Spread out. Cover them if they break.” With Liakopulos, Dantice, and Trebilc.o.c.k helping, he scattered his forces along the bank, made sure the archers kept plinking. Victory or defeat depended on Ahring now.
Across the river Haaken Blackfang bawled like a wounded bull, by sheer thunder and force of will kept the Vorgrebergers steady. He seemed to be everywhere.
Something drifted down from the north. It glowed like a small moon, had something vaguely human within it....
The fighting sputtered. Both sides, awed, watched the Unborn. Here, there, El Murid's captains silently toppled from their saddles.
Haaken started bellowing again. He took the fight to the enemy.
A huge man on a giant of a stallion cantered from the village. In the moonlight and glow of the Unborn Ragnarson saw him clearly. ”Badalamen,” he guessed. He was surprised. The man didn't wear Tervola costume.
His appearance rallied his men. Ragnarson yelled at his bowmen. Some complained they were short of arrows.
”It's in the balance,” he told Trebilc.o.c.k. ”Tell Reskird to send more men over.”
Radeachar and Haaken cleared the west bank again. The Midlanders didn't have to fight their way ash.o.r.e.
”Wish I could get my hands on that b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” Ragnarson said of Badalamen. The reinforcements hadn't made much difference. Badalamen's men were, once more, confident of their invincibility, of their G.o.d-given destiny.For Radeachar had attacked the eldritch general with no more effort than a bee stinging the flank of an elephant. Badalamen had hardly noticed. His only response was to have archers plink at the Unborn's protective sphere.
Soon, despite their numbers, the Kaveliners were again on the verge of breaking.
Then Ahring arrived.
Not at the point of greatest danger, but up the Lynn, at the other bridge.
He led with his heavy cavalry. His light came behind and on his flanks. The knights and sergeants in heavy plate were unstoppable. They shattered the enemy formation, leaving the survivors to the light horse, then came against Badalamen from behind. The news reached him scarcely a minute before the charge itself.
Here Ahring had more difficulty. He was outnumbered, faced an inspired leader, and had little room to gain momentum. Nevertheless, he threw the desert riders into confusion. Haaken . and Reskird took immediate advantage.
Ahring and his captains drove for Badalamen himself, quickly surrounding the mysterious general and his boydguard.
Ragnarson laughed delightedly. His trap had closed. He had won. While his men slaughtered his enemies, he planned his march down the Lynn to relieve Gjerdrum.
In the end, though, it proved a costly victory. Though the last-gasp might of Hammad al Nakir perished, Bragi lost Jarl Ahring. Badalamen cut him down. The born general himself escaped, cutting his way through the Queen's Own as though they were children armed with sticks.
Radeachar was unable to track him.
His entire army he abandoned to the untender mercies of Ravelin's soldiers.
TWENTY-NINE: A Dark Stranger in the Kingdom of Dread
The dark man cursed constantly. The Lao-Pa Sing Pa.s.s, the Gateway to s.h.i.+nsan, penetrating the double range of the Pillars of Heaven and the Pillars of Ivory, had no visible end. These mountains were as high and rugged as the Kratchnodians, and extended so much farther....
He was tired of being cold.
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