“He can. But he won’t know that the bridge is gone, will he? He’ll be expecting support that will never come. I’ll wager Morgarath won’t hurry to tell him. He knows Horth would give it all away if he found out. Let me tell you, it’ll be the toss of a coin to see which way that battle goes. That’s the problem with these clever-clever plans! You take away one element and the whole thing can come crashing down.”
There was a short silence while the other Skandians thought about what he had said. A few heads nodded in agreement and Erak continued.
“I’ll tell you, boys, I don’t like the way things are shaping and I say we should take the chance to get to Horth’s ships through the fens.”
“Why not go back the way we came?” asked Svengal, but his leader shook his head emphatically.
“And try to get down those cliffs again, with Morgarath after us?” he asked. “No, thank you. I don’t think he’d take too kindly to deserters. We’ll go along with him as far as Three Step Pass, then once we’re in the open, we’ll head east for the coast.” He paused to let this sink in. “And we’ll have these two as hostages in case the Araluens try to stop us,” he added.
“They’re kids!” said Nordal derisively. “What use are they as hostages?”
“Didn’t you see that oakleaf amulet the boy was wearing?” Erak asked, and instinctively, Will’s hand went to the oak leaf on the thong around his neck.
“That’s the Ranger’s symbol,” Erak continued. “He’s one of them. Maybe some kind of trainee. And they look after their own.”
“What about the girl?” said Svengal. “She’s no Ranger.”
“That’s right,” Erak agreed. “She’s just a girl. But I’m not handing any girl over to the Wargals. You’ve seen what they’re like. They’re worse than animals, that lot. No. She comes with us.”
There was another moment’s silence as the others considered his words. Then Horak spoke. “Fair enough,” he agreed.
Erak looked around at the others, and saw that Horak had spoken for them all. The Skandians were warriors, and hard men. But they weren’t totally ruthless. “Good,” he said. “Now let’s get on the road again.” He rose and moved toward Will and Evanlyn while the other Skandians repacked the remains of the brief meal. “Can you walk?” he asked Will. “Or does Nordal have to carry you again?”
Will flushed angrily and rose quickly to his feet. Instantly he wished he hadn’t. The ground heaved and his head swam. He staggered and only Evanlyn’s firm hand on his arm prevented him from falling. But he was determined not to show weakness in front of his captors. He steadied himself, then glared defiantly at Erak.
“I’ll walk,” he managed to say, and the big Skandian studied him for a moment, an appraising look in his eye.
“Yes,” he said finally. “I daresay you will.”
28
BATTLEMASTER DAVID CHEWED THE ENDS OF HIS MUSTACHE as he frowned at the plan outlined on the sand table. “I don’t know, Halt,” he said doubtfully. “It’s very risky. One of the first principles of warfare is never to split your forces.”
Halt nodded. He knew the knight’s criticism was intended to be constructive, not simply negative thinking. It was Sir David’s role to find any faults in the plan and weigh them against its possible advantages.
“That’s true,” the Ranger replied. “But it’s also true that surprise is a powerful weapon.”
Baron Tyler walked around the table, considering the plan from another viewpoint. He pointed with his dagger at the mass of green that represented the Thorntree Forest.
“You’re sure you and Gilan can guide a large cavalry force through the Thorntree? I thought nobody could get through there,” he asked dubiously, and Halt nodded.
“The Rangers have charted and surveyed every inch of the kingdom for years, my lord,” he told the Baron. “Especially the parts people think there’s no way through. We can surprise this northern force. Then Morgarath will be caught out as well, when no Skandians turn up behind us.”
Tyler continued to pace around the table, staring intently at the designs drawn there and the markers set in place in the sand map.
“All the same,” he said, “we’ll be in a pretty scrape if the Skandians defeat Halt and the cavalry over here in the north. After all, you’ll be outnumbered almost two to one.”
Halt nodded agreement again. “That’s true. But we’ll catch them in open country, so we’ll have the advantage. And don’t forget we’ll be taking two hundred archer units as well. They should even the numbers a little.”
An archer unit consisted of two men: one archer and one accompanying spearman, mutually supporting each other. Against lightly armored infantry, they were a deadly combination, able to cut down large numbers at a distance, then retreat before their enemy could come to grips with them.
“But,” insisted Baron Tyler, “let’s assume that the Skandians do manage to win through. Then the tables will be turned. We’ll be fighting a real enemy in the northwest, with our rear exposed to Morgarath’s Wargals coming out of the pass.”
Arald managed to suppress a sigh. As a strategist, Tyler was notoriously cautious. “On the other hand,” he said, doing his best to keep the impatience out of his voice, “if Halt succeeds, it will be his force that Morgarath sees coming around from the northwest. He’ll assume it’s the Skandians attacking us from that direction and he’ll bring his forces out onto the Plains to attack us from behind. And then we’ll have him—once and for all.”
The prospect seemed to appeal to him.
“It’s still a risk,” Tyler said stubbornly. Halt and Arald exchanged a glance, and the Baron’s shoulders lifted slightly in a shrug.
Halt said, in a dry tone, “All warfare has a risk attached to it, sir. Otherwise it would be easy.”
Baron Tyler looked up angrily at him. Halt met his gaze evenly. As the Baron opened his mouth to say something, Sir David forestalled him, smacking one gauntlet into his palm in a decisive gesture.
“All right, Halt,” he said. “I’ll put your plan to the King.”
At the mention of the King, Halt’s face softened slightly.
“How is His Majesty taking the news?” he asked, and Sir David shrugged unhappily.
“Personally, he’s devastated, of course. It was the cruelest possible blow to have his hopes raised and then shattered again. But he manages somehow to put his personal life to one side and continue to perform his duties as King. He says he’ll mourn later, when this is all over.”
“There may be no need for mourning,” Arald put in, and David smiled sadly at him.
“I’ve told him that, of course. He says he’d prefer not to have false hopes raised once more.”
There was an awkward silence in the tent. Tyler, Fergus and Sir David felt deep sorrow for their King. Duncan was a popular and just monarch. Halt and Baron Arald, on the other hand, both felt the loss of Will deeply. In a remarkably short time, Will had become an integral part of Castle Redmont. Finally, it was Sir David who broke the silence.
“Gentlemen, perhaps you might begin preparing your orders. I’ll take this plan to the King.”
And as he turned away to the inner sections of the pavilion, the barons and Halt left the large tent. Arald, Fergus and Tyler walked quickly away, to prepare movement orders for the army. Halt, seeing a dejected figure in Ranger green and gray waiting by the sentry post, moved down the small hill to talk to his former apprentice.
“I want leave to go across the Fissure after them,” said Gilan.
Halt knew how deeply he felt the hurt of Will’s loss. Gilan blamed himself for leaving Will alone in the hills of Celtica. No matter how many times Halt and the other Rangers told him that he had taken the right course, he refused to believe it. Now, Halt knew, it would hurt him even more to be refused. Nevertheless, as Rangers, their first duty was to the kingdom. He shook his head and answered curtly.
“Not granted. You’re needed here. We’re to lead a force through the Thorntree to cut off Horth’s me
n. Go to Crowley’s tent and get hold of the charts showing the secret ways for this part of the country.”
Gilan hesitated, his jaw set. “But…” he began to protest, and then something in Halt’s eyes stopped him as the older Ranger leaned forward.
“Gilan, do you think for one moment that I don’t want to tear that plateau apart stone by stone until I find him? But you and I took an oath when they gave us these silver oak leaves, and now we have to live up to it.”
Gilan dropped his eyes and nodded. His shoulders slumped as he gave in.
“All right,” he said in a broken voice, and Halt thought he saw traces of tears in his eyes. He turned away hurriedly before Gilan could see the moisture in his own.
“Get the charts,” he said briefly.
The four Skandians and their prisoners had trudged across the bleak, windswept plateau for the rest of the day and into the evening. It wasn’t until several hours after dark that Erak called a halt, and Will and Evanlyn sank gratefully to the rocky ground. The ache in Will’s head had receded somewhat through the day, but it still throbbed dully in the background. The dried blood on the wound where the jagged rock had hit him itched abominably, but he knew that if he scratched at the irritation, he would only open the wound and set the blood flowing once more.
At least, thought Will, Erak hadn’t kept them tied or restrained in any way. As the Skandian leader put it, there was nowhere for the two prisoners to run.
“This plateau is full of Wargals,” he’d told them roughly. “You can take your chances with them if you choose.” So they’d kept their position in the middle of the party, passing bands of Wargals throughout the day, and heading constantly to the northeast, and Three Step Pass. Now, the four Skandians eased their heavy packs to the ground and Nordal began to gather wood for a fire. Svengal tossed a large copper pot at Evanlyn’s feet and gestured toward a stream that bubbled through the rocks close by.
“Get some water,” he told her gruffly. For a moment, the girl hesitated, then she shrugged, took up the pot and rose, groaning softly as her tired muscles and joints were called upon once more to take her weight.
“Come on then, Will,” she said casually. “You can give me a hand.”
Erak was rummaging in his open pack. His head snapped around as she spoke.
“No!” he said sharply, and the entire group turned to look at him. He pointed one blunt forefinger at Evanlyn.
“You, I don’t mind wandering off,” he said. “Because I know you’ll come back. But as for that Ranger, he might just take it into his head to make a run for it, in spite of things.”
Will, who had been thinking of doing just that, tried to look surprised.
“I’m no Ranger,” he said. “I’m just an apprentice.”
Erak gave a short snort of laughter. “You may say so,” he replied. “But you dropped them Wargals at the bridge as well as any Ranger might. You stay where I can keep an eye on you.”
Will shrugged, smiled wanly at Evanlyn and sat down again, sighing as he leaned his back against a rock. In a few moments, he knew, it would become hard and knobbly and uncomfortable. But right now, it was bliss.
The Skandians went ahead making camp. In short order, they had a good fire going, and when Evanlyn returned with the pot full of water, Erak and Svengal produced dried provisions, which they added to the water as it heated to make a stew. The meal was plain and fairly tasteless, but it was hot and it filled their bellies. Will thought ruefully for a few minutes of the pre-prepared food that came from Master Chubb’s kitchen. Sadly, he realized that such thoughts of Master Chubb’s kitchen and his times in the forest with Halt were no more than memories now, and the meal was suddenly even more tasteless than before.
Evanlyn seemed to sense his deepening sadness. He felt her warm, small hand cover his and he knew she was looking at him. But he couldn’t meet those vivid green eyes with his own, feeling the tears welling up in them.
“It’ll be all right,” she whispered. He tried to talk, but couldn’t form the words. Silently, he shook his head, his eyes downcast, staring intently at the scratched surface of the wooden bowl the Skandians had given him to use.
They were camped some meters from the side of the road, at the top of a slight rise. Erak had stated that he liked to see anyone who might choose to approach. Now, rounding a bend in the road several hundred meters away, came a large group of horsemen, followed by a troop of Wargals, running to keep up with the horses’ trot. The sound of the Wargals’ chant came to them on the breeze once more and Will felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising.
Erak turned swiftly to the two of them, gesturing them back into the cover of the rocks behind their campsite.
“Quick, you two! Behind them rocks if you value your lives! That’s Morgarath himself on the white horse! Nordal, Horak, move into the light to screen them!”
Will and Evanlyn needed no second bidding. Staying low, they scrambled into the cover provided by the rocks. As Erak had commanded, two of the Skandians stood and moved into the glare of the firelight, drawing the attention of the approaching riders away from the two small figures in the half-light.
The chant, mingled with the clatter of hooves and the chink of harness and weapons, came closer as Will lay on his stomach, one arm covering Evanlyn in the darkness. As he had done before, he scooped the hood of his cloak over his head, to leave his face in deep shadow. There was a tiny gap between two of the rocks and, knowing he was taking a terrible risk but unable to resist, he pressed his eye to it.
The view was restricted to a few meters of space. Erak stood on the far side of the fire, facing the approaching riders. Will realized that by doing so, he had placed the glare of the firelight between the new arrivals and the spot where he and Evanlyn lay hidden. If any of the Wargals looked in their direction, they would be staring straight into the bright firelight. It was a lesson in tactics he filed away for future reference.
The sounds of horses and men stopped. The Wargal chant died abruptly. For a second or two, there was silence. Then a voice spoke. A low voice, with a slight snakelike sibilance to it.
“Captain Erak, where are you bound?”
Will glued his eye to the crack in the rocks, straining to see the speaker. Without a doubt, that cold, malevolent voice had to belong to Morgarath. The sound of it was the sound of ice and hatred. The sound of nails scraping on tile. The blood ran cold to hear it and, beneath his hand, he felt Evanlyn shiver.
If it had a similar effect on Erak, however, he showed no sign of it.
“My title, Lord Morgarath,” he said evenly, “is not ‘Captain,’ but ‘Jarl.’”
“Well then,” replied the cold voice, “I must try to remember that, in case it is ever of the slightest interest to me. Now…Captain,” he said, laying stress on the title this time, “I repeat, where are you bound?”
There was a jingle of harness and, through the crack in the rocks, Will saw a white horse move forward. Not a glossy-coated, shining white horse such as a gallant knight might ride, but a pale horse without sheen or life to its coat. It was huge, dead white and with wild, rolling eyes. He craned slightly to one side and managed to make out a black gloved hand holding the reins loosely. He could see no more of the rider.
“We thought we’d join your forces at Three Step Pass, my lord,” Erak was saying. “I assume you will still go ahead with your attack, even though the bridge is down.”
Morgarath swore horribly at the mention of the bridge. Sensing his fury, the white horse sidestepped a few paces and now Will could see the rider.
Immensely tall, but thin, he was dressed all in black. He stooped in the saddle to talk down to the Skandians and the hunched shoulders and his black cloak gave him the look of a vulture.
The face was thin, with a beak of a nose and high cheekbones. The skin on the face was white and pallid, like the horse. The hair above it was long, set to frame a receding hairline, and white-blond in color. By contrast, the eyes were black pools. He wa
s clean-shaven and his mouth was a thin red slit in the pallor of his face. As Will looked, the Lord of Rain and Night seemed to sense his presence. He looked up, casting his gaze beyond Erak and his three companions, searching into the darkness behind them. Will froze, barely daring to breathe as those black eyes searched the night. But the light of the fire defeated Morgarath and he returned his gaze to Erak.
“Yes,” he replied. “The attack will go ahead. Now that Duncan has his own forces deployed and in what he thinks is a strong defensive position, he’ll allow us to come out onto the Plains before attacking.”
“At which point, Horth will take him in the rear,” Erak put in, with a chuckle, and Morgarath stared at him, head slightly to one side as he considered him. Again, the birdlike pose made Will think of a vulture.
“Exactly,” he agreed. “It would be preferable if there were two flanking forces as I’d planned originally, but one should be enough.”
“My thoughts too, my lord,” Erak agreed, and there was a long moment of silence. Obviously, Morgarath had no interest in whether Erak agreed with him or not.
“Things would be easier if your other countryman had not abandoned us,” Morgarath said eventually. “I’ve been told that your compatriot Olvak has sailed back to Skandia with his men. I had planned that they should come up the southern cliffs to reinforce us.”
Erak shrugged, refusing to take blame for something outside his sphere of influence. “Olvak is a mercenary,” he said. “You can’t trust mercenaries. They fight only for profit.”
“And you…don’t?” the toneless voice said with scorn. Erak squared his shoulders.
“I’ll honor any undertaking I’ve made,” he said stiffly. Morgarath stared at him again for a long, silent moment. The Skandian met his gaze and, finally, it was Morgarath who looked away.
“Chirath told me you took a prisoner at the bridge—a mighty warrior, he said. I don’t see him.” Again, Morgarath tried to look through the light into the further gloom. Erak laughed harshly.
“If Chirath was the leader of your Wargals, neither did he,” he replied sarcastically. “He spent most of his time at the bridge cowering behind a rock and dodging arrows.”