Warrior King, page 27
“Are you suggesting there’s a Death Mage in the area?” asked Charlaine.
“An area such as this would naturally draw the attention of such a person.”
“That makes this even more disturbing. An Elf lord informed us of the tombs, which would indicate they’re the only ones who know about the place’s reputation.”
“In other words, an Elven Necromancer?” said Teresa. “It’s certainly not beyond the realm of possibility.”
“If that were the case, why would they attack us?”
“Animated creatures, like skeletons, have no ability to reason. They carry out the last orders given to them by whoever brought them back from the dead. I would theorize that we’re camped close to one of their tombs, one which the Death Mage didn’t want discovered.”
“Didn’t or doesn’t?” asked Charlaine.
“It’s possible the caster in question may have been dead for years. Then again, if they’re Elvish, they could be out there in the dark, watching us.”
“If it comes down to it, can we defeat them with weapons?”
“Most assuredly,” replied Teresa. “Skeletal warriors are a little harder to destroy than living ones, as they have no vital organs, but can still be broken into pieces. I suggest employing maces or hammers, but even a sword can prove effective. I think it’s unlikely, though, for them to attack us; they’re not particularly good at fighting.”
“I’m surprised to hear you say that. I would’ve thought ancient warriors would retain their knowledge.”
“That’s a common misconception. They are not the spirits of the dead, merely animated corpses that no longer hold any flesh, imbued with dark magic, enabling them to carry out basic tasks, but they lack a true mind.”
“Yet they can fight?” asked Charlaine.
“Yes, but the skill they fight with is based on the relative power of the mage who created them. My advice is to double the number of sentries and ensure everyone on duty is wearing their plate armour. And we might want to move the horses a little closer as a precaution.”
“Will skeletons attack horses?”
“I doubt it. I’d be more concerned with our mounts panicking and running off. I don’t like the thought of spending all morning chasing them down, do you?”
“No,” replied Charlaine, “most definitely not. It seems your presence here has proven most fortuitous.”
* * *
Teresa kept the camp lit using her magic, but by daybreak, she was exhausted. The Temple Knights were mounted and on the move before long, eager to escape the hilltop and the shrieks that had echoed through the darkness.
A full day’s march brought them to the northern edge of the Barrows, where the land stretched out into a grassy plain. The presence of birds, along with the occasional hare, was proof that the desolation of the hills was well behind them, lifting everyone’s spirits.
They rode northeast until the Goldenwood came into view, then paralleled its edge. By Charlaine’s reckoning, they should reach the ford by mid-afternoon, but maps of the area were notoriously inaccurate, and she didn’t want to raise her command’s hopes until the river was within sight.
Teresa was riding beside her, her bare head basking in the radiance of the sun, when she suddenly turned eastward. “Did you hear that?”
Charlaine was instantly on the alert, raising her hand to signal the column to halt, then waited. “See anything?” she asked, her hand now resting on her sword.
“I can’t be certain,” replied the Sister of Mercy. “I thought I caught a glimpse of something moving, but I suppose it could be the wind.”
Behind them rode the company commanded by Temple Commander Katinka. Usually, a captain led a company, but since the flight from the Antonine, the order found itself with an overabundance of senior officers. Katinka also acted as the second-in-command of the expedition, in case something should happen to their Temple General.
“Outriders, if you please, Temple Commander,” called out Charlaine, “and keep a close eye on that forest.”
“Yes, General,” came Katinka’s reply. Twelve Temple Knights left the larger formation, taking up a position to the east. They marched two abreast, their column extended to protect the flanks of the expedition. The other companies sent out their own riders, the effect rippling down the length of Charlaine’s entire command.
“Resume the advance,” she ordered, urging her horse, Stormcloud, into a trot.
Having been on edge in the Barrows, the possibility that something was on their flank left their nerves worn thin. Charlaine wondered if she was being overly cautious, but it was better to be prepared than not, even if there ended up to be no real threat. “Where’s our Elf?” she asked.
“Back chatting with the Mathewites,” replied Teresa. “Shall I go and fetch him?”
“If you would be so kind.”
Teresa veered off to the side, waiting for the company behind to pass, then headed south, towards the trailing end of their army.
A glint of light flickering in the distance caught Charlaine’s attention. Was it sunlight reflecting off the surface of the river, or just her imagination playing tricks?
Theran Silverhand was of indeterminate age, yet his hair was white as the purest snow. Like the other Elves of the Goldenwood, he wore silver fish-scale armour, but no helmet, nor, it appeared, did he carry any weapons other than a short dagger hanging loosely from his belt. “You wished to see me, General?”
“Yes,” replied Charlaine. “We’ve detected some movement in the woods to our right, and I wondered if you could use your magic to determine what’s causing it.”
“That will be completely unnecessary.”
“Why is that?”
“I can plainly see what you are referring to.”
Charlaine strained, but at this distance she could discern little more than trees. “Then perhaps you might explain what’s moving around over there?”
Theran paused, his eyebrows raised as if something had just occurred to him. “I must apologize. I sometimes forget you Humans do not possess the keen eyesight of us woodland folk. Over yonder is a spear of Elves, likely led by a talon.”
“A spear? How many warriors is that?”
“A close approximation would be one of your… what do you call them?”
“A company?”
“Yes, precisely.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t announced their presence,” said Charlaine.
“But they have… Ah. I see the problem. They, too, overestimated your ability to see them. Would you like me to ride over and invite them out into the open?”
“That won’t be necessary. I assume they’re on their way to guard the ford?”
“I presume so, for I cannot conceive of any other reason why they would be this far from Nethendril.” He paused. “Of course, they might be from Halieth; that’s a little closer.”
“How many Elven cities are there?”
“There are… My apologies. I received orders not to speak of such things. It seems I may have revealed a little too much.”
“I shall not repeat it,” replied Charlaine, “but is this city of Halieth in danger if the Holy Army marches this way?”
“I should think not,” said Theran. “It lies some miles to the east.” Again, a pause. “My goodness. Once again, I have let slip information meant to be kept secret.”
“We are no threat to the Elves of the Goldenwood.”
“This I understand, but even the best-intentioned people may be captured, or inadvertently reveal information they shouldn’t.”
“Like you just did?”
The Elf smiled. “Quite. Not to appear rude, but are there any other matters which require my attention?”
“Do you know how much farther it is to the ford?”
“It is right ahead of us. Can you not see the duck sitting on its bank?”
“I cannot,” replied Charlaine.
“Then you must take my word for it that we are close, so close, that you shall likely be crossing within the hour.”
“I wasn’t aware Elves measured time in hours.”
“Really?” said Theran. “Who do you think invented the sundial?”
“With all due respect, Magister, we Humans are long past using those. We have clock towers now, or at least we do in our larger cities.”
“Then how do you tell time in smaller villages?”
“It’s the Church’s responsibility to ring the bell. In larger villages and towns, they use an hourglass, but in more rural communities, they only ring the bell to mark sunrise, noon, and sundown. I’m told the traditions vary a little across the Petty Kingdoms, but that’s how it works in Hadenfeld.”
“Remarkable. I have never seen a clock.”
“So you’ve never been to Eisen?”
“No. If you recall, I joined the march once you were already on the road.”
“I’m well aware,” said Charlaine. “I’m not complaining, but I’m curious whether there was a reason for your late arrival?”
“The cities of men are filled with vermin.”
“You dislike us that much?”
“Not at all,” said Theran. “I refer to literal vermin—rats and such. I find such creatures most repugnant.”
“Do you not have these creatures in Elven cities?”
“Not the ones I have been in.”
“But you’re an Earth Mage!” said Charlaine.
“I fail to understand what that has to do with anything?”
“I would think you could use your magic to get rid of them.”
“Theoretically, I could, but from what I have observed, Eisen is a large city, and it would take weeks, if not months, to cleanse the place of them. Then, they reproduce so frequently the city would fill up again. An army of Earth Mages would be needed to make any sort of progress on an endeavour of that magnitude.”
“And have you an army of mages?”
“Admittedly, we have more than our fair share,” replied Theran, “but they are spread throughout the cities of the Goldenwood. Mind you, Nethendril has more than usual, including the High Lord, but Enchanters are more common.”
“And will they accompany the Elven expedition to Esthafen?”
“Some may, although I cannot claim to know the High Lord’s mind.”
“Out of curiosity, how does one employ such magic in battle?”
“Enchanters typically use their spells to enable warriors to fight better. This can be achieved by temporarily enchanting their weapons to penetrate armour or by imbuing the warriors with a powerful enchantment that makes their armour more effective. There are more spells than that, but I focus on the magic of nature.”
27
Skirmish
Autumn 1107 SR
Ludwig arose to a thick fog that obscured his view of the camp. He called out and soon heard Gustavo’s voice approaching.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to delay the march, sire. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a fog as thick as this. I can barely make out our men.”
“Hopefully the sun will soon burn it off,” replied Ludwig. “For now, send some men to the supply wagons and find out if they need any help distributing the rations.”
“Blasted fog,” boomed out a distant voice, and then Sigwulf came into view. “Can’t see a thing. It’s unnatural, I tell you.”
“You suspect that it’s magical? Surely you’re not suggesting the Holy Army has mages amongst its ranks?”
“Years ago, I would never have thought the Stormwinds or Sartellians were working for the empire. Times are changing, and so must we.”
“And what would you have us do?”
“Let’s find that Elven mage of ours. Perhaps she can do something.”
“Like what?” asked Ludwig. “She’s an Earth Mage, one whose primary focus is the living world. I doubt she could lift a fog.”
“It couldn’t hurt to ask?”
“True enough. Let’s see if we can locate her, but stay close. I don’t want to spend all morning trying to find you again.”
“What should I do?” asked Gustavo.
“Make your way to the wagons, and I’ll join you once we’ve located Karalindel.”
The captain disappeared into the fog.
“Where do we begin?” asked Ludwig.
“I thought I heard her earlier,” said Sigwulf. “She was over in that direction.” He pointed but then turned to his right. “Or was it over there? I appear to have lost my bearings.”
“Then pick a direction, and we’ll call out as we go.”
Sigwulf froze. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“It sounded like horses.”
“Hardly surprising, given the composition of our army.”
“I suppose that’s true.” He shrugged. “I could’ve sworn the horses were behind us.”
The clatter of steel drifted towards them.
“That sounds like fighting,” said Ludwig.
“Agreed, but we’re still miles from the Holy Army, aren’t we?”
“We assumed they’d be camped near Esthafen, but perhaps that’s not the case.”
“We saw no sign of them when we set up camp.”
“Then it’s someone else,” offered Ludwig. “Either way, we must investigate.” He drew his sword, then began jogging towards the sound.
A rider briefly emerged from the fog, visible for only a moment, but his dark grey tabard left no doubt about his loyalties.
“Cunars!” yelled Sigwulf. “How in the name of the Saints did they find us?”
The sound of fighting grew more pronounced, and then a man stumbled into view, blood pouring from a gash on his temple. He took three steps before collapsing, face down, onto the ground. Ludwig rushed towards the fellow, only to witness his exposed spine, the result of a massive axe wound to the poor man’s back.
“You must be careful,” said Sigwulf. “Perhaps you should turn back and don your armour?”
“We haven’t the time.”
They advanced farther, the battle noises growing in intensity, the ground slick with blood, bodies lying left and right. The attackers finally came into view, a half-dozen mounted Cunar knights trampling bedrolls and attacking with wild abandon. This was no organized offensive; it was a slaughter!
Sigwulf let out a roar and rushed forward, striking out with his sword. It did little against the plate armour of his opponent, but it served to draw the fellow’s attention away from his current target.
The knight turned, smashing out with a mace, but the huge northerner pulled back, avoiding a direct hit as the head of the mace grazed his chest, ripping some links from his mail shirt.
Ludwig stabbed out, trying to hit the Cunar’s armpit while his arm was extended, but once again the knight’s armour protected him.
The Cunar lifted his arm in preparation for an overhead strike against his foe, and Sigwulf used the opportunity to step closer, discarding his own sword to grab the knight’s leg. A grunt of exertion escaped as he pulled the man from the saddle, but the huge northerner hadn’t anticipated the knight would fall towards him, sending them both crashing to the ground.
Ludwig reached out, grabbing the Cunar’s arm, trying to prevent the mace from being utilized. The Temple Knight had the presence of mind to swing his shield around, driving it into Ludwig’s side, knocking the King of Hadenfeld off his feet.
Sigwulf, even with the breath knocked from his lungs, managed to push his opponent off him, then drew a dagger from his belt, and in the blink of an eye, was on the knight, thrusting the blade into the helmet’s eye slits. The man went limp, the mace and shield falling from open hands.
A weight bumped against Ludwig’s back as the bulk of a warhorse pushed against him. He turned, prepared to restrain the beast, only to find a second Temple Knight smashing down with a warhammer. A quick shift to one side avoided the blow, and then Ludwig stabbed out, the blade striking armour, but once again doing no damage. He backed up, hoping to avoid being hit by a further attack.
The warhorse pressed forward, knocking him to the ground, and he rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the shod hooves. Hands grabbed him, dragging him to safety, and then Gustavo was there, leading a group of men armed with spears. They stabbed out, driving the horse back until the Temple Knight turned and fled, joining his surviving comrades, their rampage complete.
* * *
“By the Saints,” said Sigwulf, walking amongst the wounded. “They carved their way through an entire company.”
The fog had lifted, revealing the path of destruction where the Temple Knights had wreaked such terrible damage.
Ludwig stood, letting a limp hand drop from his own. “I knew this man,” he said. “He served me in Verfeld, and now he’s dead. How did they know we were here?”
“Perhaps I can answer that.” The Elf’s high-pitched voice interrupted them. She moved closer, staring down at the dead warrior. Tall, even for an Elf, her golden hair and pale face gave those around her the impression they were in the presence of something ethereal.
“You suspect magic?” asked Ludwig.
“That is but one possible reason.”
“But not the one you suspect?”
She smiled, but it seemed unnatural, as if she was struggling to present a friendly face. “Before I answer that, let me ask you a few questions.”
“Go ahead,” said Ludwig.
“Is it possible a traitor could be in your midst?”
“Possible, but not likely.”
“Would a rider from Seiburg have had enough time to reach the Holy Army and warn them?”
“No. The road through Kurslingen takes much longer, and our sentries would’ve spotted any rider coming our way.”
“Then there remains but two possibilities.”
“Which are?”
“The use of magic, or a military leader who anticipated possible threats and put out patrols of their own. Which do you think is more likely?”
“The latter.”
