Part 19 (2/2)
Duncan voiced the thoughts of all of them.
”They're Skandians, all right.” He glanced around the hilltop. ”We're going to have to fight a defensive battle, my lords,” he continued. ”I suggest we begin to pull our men into a circle around this hill. It's as good a spot as any to be fighting on both sides.”
They all knew it was only a matter of time now before Morgarath advanced, to crush them between the two jaws of the trap he had set.
”Rider coming!” called one of the aides, pointing. They all turned to face the way he indicated. From a copse of trees at the right-hand end of the ridge, a lone rider burst into sight. Several of the Skandians gave chase, hurling spears and clubs after him. But he was stretched low over his horse's neck, his gray-green cloak streaming behind him in the wind, and he soon outdistanced the pursuit.
”That's Gilan,” Baron Arald muttered, recognizing the bay horse he rode. He looked in vain for a second Ranger behind Gilan, hoping against hope that Halt might have somehow survived. But it was not to be. The Baron's shoulders sagged a little as he recalled the force that had marched off so boldly into the Thorntree Forest. Of all those men, it seemed that only Gilan had survived.
Gilan had hit the flat land now and was still riding full pelt. He saw the royal standards flying on the knoll and swerved Blaze toward them. In a few minutes, he drew rein beside them, covered in dust, one sleeve of his tunic ripped and a rough, bloodstained bandage around his head.
”Sir!” he said breathlessly, forgetting the niceties of addressing royalty. ”Halt says can you-”
He got no further as at least four people interrupted him. Baron Fergus's voice, however, was the loudest.
”Halt? He's alive?”
Gilan grinned in reply. ”Oh, yes, sir! Alive and kicking.”
”But the Skandians...?” King Duncan began, indicating the lines of men on the far ridge. Gilan's grin widened even further.
”Beaten, sir. We caught them totally by surprise and cut them to pieces. Those men there are our archers, wearing helmets and s.h.i.+elds taken from the enemy. It was Halt's idea-”
”To what purpose?” Arald asked crisply, and Gilan turned to face him, with an apologetic nod of his head to the King.
”To deceive Morgarath, my lord,” he replied. ”He's expecting to see Skandians attack you from the rear, and now he will. That's why they even made a pretense of trying to stop me just now.
”Our own cavalry is just beyond the brow of the ridge. Halt proposes that he should advance with the archers, forcing you to turn and face the rear. Then, with any luck, as Morgarath attacks with his Wargals, both the archers and your main army should open a path through the center, allowing the hidden cavalry to come through and hit Morgarath when he's in the open.”
”By G.o.d, it's a great idea!” said Duncan enthusiastically. ”Odds are that we'll stir up so much dust and confusion that he won't see Halt's cavalry until it's right on top of him.”
”Then, my lord, we can deploy the heavy cavalry from either wing to hit the Wargals in the flanks.” The new speaker was Sir David. He had arrived unnoticed as Gilan was explaining Halt's plan.
King Duncan hesitated for a second or two, tugging at his short beard. Then he nodded decisively.
”We'll do it!” he said. ”Gentlemen, you'd better get to your commands straightaway. Fergus, Arald, take a section of the heavy cavalry each to the left and right wings, and stand ready. Tyler, command the infantry in the center. Have them shout and cry out and beat their swords on their s.h.i.+elds as these 'Skandians' approach. We'll make it sound like a battle as well as look like one. Have them ready to split to the sides at three horn blasts.”
”Three horn blasts. Aye, my lord,” said Tyler. He dug his spurs into his battlehorse's side and galloped away to take command of the infantry. Duncan looked to his remaining commanders. ”Get to it, my lords. We don't have much time.”
From behind, one of his aides called out, ”Sir! The Skandians are moving downhill!” A second or so later, another man echoed the cry: ”And the Wargals are beginning to move forward!” Duncan smiled grimly at his commanders. ”I think it's time we gave Morgarath a little surprise,” he said.
31.
FROM HIS COMMAND POSITION AT THE CENTER OF HIS ARMY, Morgarath watched the apparent confusion in the King's forces. Horses were galloping back and forth, men were turning where they stood. Shouts and cries drifted across the plain to the Army of Rain and Night.
Morgarath stood in his stirrups. In the far distance, he could see movement on the ridge to the north of the kingdom's army. Men were forming up and moving forward. He strained his eyes to see more clearly. That was the direction from which he expected Horth to appear, but the rising dust kicked up by all the movement made it difficult to see details.
Although the bulk of Morgarath's forces were the Wargals, whose minds and bodies had been enslaved to his own will, the Lord of Rain and Night was surrounded by a small coterie of men whom he had allowed to retain their own powers of thought and decision. Renegades, criminals and outcasts, they came from all over the country. Evil always attracts its own and Morgarath's inner circle was, to a man, pitiless, black-hearted and depraved. All, however, were capable warriors and most were cold-blooded killers.
One of them now rode to Morgarath's side.
”My lord!” he cried, a smile opening on his face, ”the barbarians are behind Duncan's forces! They're attacking now!”
Morgarath smiled back at the young man. His eyes were renowned for their keenness. ”You're sure?” he asked, in his thin, flat voice. The black-clad lieutenant nodded confidently.
”I can make out their ridiculous horned helmets and their round s.h.i.+elds, my lord. No other warriors carry them.”
This was the truth. While some of the kingdom's forces did use round bucklers, the Skandians' s.h.i.+elds were enormous affairs, made of hardwood studded with metal. They were over a meter in diameter and only the huge Skandians, heavily muscled from rowing their wolfs.h.i.+ps across the winter seas, could bear such heavy s.h.i.+elds in a battle for any length of time.
”Look, my lord!” the young man continued. ”The enemy are turning to face them!”
And so they appeared to be. The front ranks of the army facing them were now milling in confusion and turning about. The shouting and noise rose in pitch. Morgarath looked to his right, and saw the small hill where the King's standard marked the enemy command post. Mounted figures were pointing, facing the north.
He smiled once more. Even without the forces from across the Fissure bridge, his plan would be successful. He had Duncan's forces trapped between the hammer of the Skandians and the anvil of his own Wargals.
”Advance,” he said softly. Then, as the bugler beside him didn't hear the words, he turned, his face expressionless, and whipped the man across the face with his leather-covered steel riding crop.
”Sound the advance,” he repeated, no more loudly than before. The bugler, ignoring the agony of the whip cut and the blood that poured down his forehead and into his eye, raised a horn to his lips and blew an ascending scale of four notes.
Along the lines of the Wargal army, company commanders stepped forward, one every hundred meters. They raised their curved swords and called the first few sounds of the Wargal cadence. Like a mindless machine, the entire army took up the chant immediately-this one set at a slow jog pace-and began to move forward.
Morgarath allowed the first half-dozen ranks to pa.s.s him, then he and his attendants urged their horses forward and moved with the army.
The Lord of Rain and Night felt his breath coming a little faster, his pulse beginning to accelerate. This was the moment he had planned and waited for over the past fifteen years. High in his windy, rain-swept mountains, he had expanded his force of Wargals until they formed an army that no infantry could defeat. Without minds of their own, they were almost without fear. They were inexorable. They would suffer losses no other troops would bear and continue to advance.
They had only one weakness and that was facing cavalry. The high plateaux were no place for horses and he had been unable to condition their minds to stand against mounted soldiers. He knew that he would lose many of his own troops to Duncan's cavalry, but he cared little about that. In a normal confrontation, the King's cavalry would be a decisive factor in their battle. Now, however, split between the Wargals and the attacking Skandians, their numbers would be insufficient to stop him. He accepted the fact that Duncan's cavalry would cause immense losses among his troops without a qualm. He cared nothing for his army, only for his own desires and plans.
”Faster!” he cried, sliding his huge broadsword from its scabbard and wielding it in gigantic circles over his head. The Wargals didn't need to hear the word. They were bound to him in an unbreakable linkage of minds. The cadence of the chant increased and the black army began to move faster and faster.
In front all was confusion. The enemy, first turning to face the Skandians, now saw the new threat developing at their rear. They hesitated, then, for some unaccountable reason, they responded to three horn blasts by drawing to either side, opening a gap in the heart of their line. Morgarath screamed his triumph. He would drive his army into the gap, separating the left and right wings of the army. Once an army's front line was broken, it lost all cohesion and control and was more than halfway defeated. Now, in their panic, the enemy was presenting him with the perfect opportunity to strike deep into their hearts. They had even left the way open to their own command center-the small group of hors.e.m.e.n standing under the royal standard on a hill.
”To the right!” Morgarath screamed, pointing his sword toward King Duncan's eagle standard. As before, the Wargals heard the words and his thought in their minds. The army wheeled slightly, heading for the gap. And now, through the chanting, Morgarath heard a dull drumming sound. An unexpected sound.
Hoofbeats.
The sudden doubt in his mind communicated instantly to the minds of his army. The advance faltered for a moment. Then, cursing the Wargals, he drove them forward again. But the hoofbeats were still there and now, peering through the clouds of dust raised by the enemy army, he could see movement. He felt a sudden, overpowering surge of fear and again the Wargal army hesitated.
And this time, before he could mentally flail them forward, the curtains of dust seemed to part and a wedge of heavy cavalry, fully armored and at the gallop, burst into sight, less than a hundred meters from his army's front line.
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