Fire And Ice (Book 1) (81 page)

             
She knew he was probably right, but she could not help feeling that this was their chance.  “No.”  Roland swung his head to face her.  “We are not defeated yet.  I will not retreat as long as we have a chance at victory.”

             
He saw the resolve on her face and nodded quickly.  “Then I will lead my men to the aid of Robert.  I will have Martin take the middle.”

             
“No Commander,” she disagreed.  “I will tell Martin.”

             
He had to know what she meant by that.  “Then I will say now that it has been a pleasure knowing you,” he said respectfully.

             
“You too,” she replied simply.  “Renly!”  She waited for the young Knight to approach as Roland rode away with his gray clad horsemen trailing him.  She forgot that the Knight was actually a few years older than her.  “Follow me.” 

             
“Where are we going?” he asked, but she did not waste the time to answer.

             
Down on the field her army was being pushed back for most of its length.  More so towards the south and the center.  The northern flank was still holding but just barely.

             
Renly had no choice but to follow her as she led the escort down between the trees to where Martin and her Knights waited.  Each man held a steel tipped lance twice as long as a man.  Polished shields painted blue and gold were strapped to their left arms. 

             
She noticed another thing to worry about, as if there were not enough already.  The snow had stopped and a breeze was blowing in from the east which did not feel like a natural one.  It seemed that her wizards were losing their battle as well. 

             
“Your Majesty?” Martin greeted her in surprise.

             
“Ready the Knights to charge,” she ordered.

             
“Are you going to stay here?” he asked carefully.  When she only looked at him he swallowed.  “I do not think that would be wise.”

             
She was tired of arguments concerning her safety.  Men were dying and they were going to lose this battle unless the tide could be turned.  “I am going,” she told him to end the subject.  She fitted actions to words by digging her heels into her mount’s ribs.  The black took off with a lurch.  She drew the short sword from its sheath.  To either side of her appeared the Knights of Soros and Martin.  They all wore determined expressions.  Especially, Martin.  She did not mean to make it harder on them by putting herself in danger, but it needed to be done.

             
Just before they reached the boiling mass of embattled soldiers, Martin and some of the closer Knights leapt forward to lead the way, their lances level with the ground.  Midian steel points met Makkuran armor.  The invaders fell in a wave.  Once used the broken lances were  discarded and swords drawn. 

             
One of the gray beasts appeared in front of them with bits of flesh hanging from its claws and blood staining its pointed teeth.  Her Knights attacked it with vigor.  Two golden cloaked bodies toppled from their saddles before the thing was finally subdued.

             
Before she knew it they had driven deep into the ranks of battle.  A Karand broke past her defenders and came at her with a wild cry on his lips.  Instinctively she blocked his clumsy attack and slashed her blade down across his neck.  Before she had time to think a Makkuran appeared with a long, slightly curved blade that she barely knocked aside in time.  She thrust outward and her sword hit the space between the top of the helmet and the face guard.  She felt the sickening crunch as it penetrated the man’s eye socket.  Pulling out her blade, blood splattered onto her face.  She ignored the red stained blade and watched for the next attack. 

             
The momentum from their charge slowed and eventually halted.  Her Knights formed a protective circle around her and fought inspired. 

             
The wind picked up and more lightning fell from the gray sky to strike Westerner and Easterner alike.  The Maji apparently did not care who died as long as their enemies were among them, or maybe it was due to the efforts of Thalamus and his fellow wizards. 

             
Katelyn risked a glance around them.  They were surrounded.  She caught sight of a pocket of Knights to her left, but they were soon surrounded as well.  The enemy were just too many.  She cursed herself for ignoring Roland’s advice, even if it had felt right at the time.                             

             
Martin pointed to the north with his sword and she raised herself up in the stirrups to see.  On the wooded ridge to the north and the snow covered land to the northwest men appeared.  There had to be thousands of them. 

             
“Voltians?”  Martin hazarded a guess as he struck out at a Karand.

             
Katelyn had a sudden feeling.  Just as she knew that it was after noon without seeing the sun, she knew who they were.  She looked around and saw the banner on the ground.  The man who had carried it was lying in a patch of red stained snow nearby.  “Get that!” she ordered and a Knight who had lost his horse picked it up and handed it to her.  She held it up high and started to wave it from side to side while still keeping a grip on her sword.  Another bolt of lightning struck nearby and her horse stumbled, but kept its feet over the shaking ground. 

             
“What are you doing?!”  Martin shouted at her.

             
“Signaling!”  She was too busy concentrating on staying in the saddle and keeping the banner aloft to explain.                The wind that had been blowing stopped as if it had never been.  She saw the light from another lightning strike hit the ground.  It was not on the battlefield, but on the low hill to the east.  Katelyn saw something standing out among the dark tree trunks to the north.  It was a figure dressed in a white robe. 

             
“Who are you signaling?!”

             
“The Northmen!” she shouted back and allowed herself to feel some hope.

              They were trapped this time.  An Ithanian ship was closing in from both sides.  There was no direction left to turn as the enemy came along side.  Armored soldiers jumped across the water to his deck.  “Fight!”  Treska ordered his crew not knowing what else to say.

             
Arrows were exchanged briefly before it came down to swords.  Treska threw himself into the fight along with his men.  He pushed aside a thrusting blow and scored a hit on the man’s side.  The armor saved the Ithanian from a mortal wound but he went down.

             
It was not going well as more and more of his crew fell to Ithanian swords.  Treska decided he would not sell his life cheaply.  As two more invaders moved towards him he heard wild cries coming from the Ithanian ship to starboard.  The two facing him turned to see what the noise was and Treska struck, wounding one.  Before he had a chance to attack the other one, the man went down from an unseen blow. 

             
A very large man with shaggy red hair appeared before him.  Looking around, Treska could see that all across the deck Northmen were driving back the Ithanians.  The ship to port was trying to break away when the Northmen swarmed over it as well.                

             
“Good fight,” the Northman with the red hair smiled at him.  Then he lifted a short handled axe and threw it overhand to stick out of a retreating Ithanian’s back.  The Northman laughed and ran to retrieve it. 

             
Treska watched with a certain detachment as the crews of the Ithanian vessels were systematically hunted down and killed.  The Northmen laughed and joked with each other when it was done.  A few of them went to search below decks and some others were checking the pockets of the dead.  Treska turned away and knelt down to his wheel man who had joined in the fighting.  The man was dead.

             
The Northman with the red hair returned to stand over him.  “You fought bravely,” he complimented Treska.

             
“Thanks,” Treska replied noncommittally.  He was watching two large Northmen searching a body.  The Ithanian lying between them groaned. 

             
“Are they going to take care of the injured?”  Treska asked.  It didn’t seem right to just leave them to die.

             
The Northmen laughed.  He was watching too as the two men lifted the moaning man and unceremoniously tossed him over the side.  “There.  He is taken care of.”  He laughed again.  “You should get ready to sail.  There is more sport out there.”  He gestured to the sea.

             
Treska saw more ships to the northeast, but most of them were Northern or Midian. “Where?”

             
“Oh, there are a few over there, but the first group we encountered was a screen for the transports.”

             
“What?  Transports?”

             
“Yeah.  On their way to Midia.”              

             
Treska stood and surveyed his deck.  Unfortunately, his ship was in no shape for more combat right now, and neither was his crew.

              This time there were survivors.  The third attack on his position today and all three had gone into the woods after testing his men.  This was the first time that any had come out again.  The survivors met up with another group of mounted warriors that was heading their way, that would be the fourth.  Then they all galloped towards Oran and his command.  There was a man out in front of the Easterners.  His hair was cut very short and he wore a dark red robe.  By description he had to be one of the Maji. 

             
Oran didn’t bother to call for archers, since they had expended their supply of arrows in the last attack and hadn’t had a chance to go out and retrieve any of them.  He couldn’t just sit here and wait for them to come to him either, not with a wizard who could burn them down from a distance.  “Ready!” he called and his men tightened the grip on their reins.  “Charge!”

             
They galloped out to meet them.  The mage threw a ball of fire and someone screamed as it consumed him.  Oran kept on.  Another fireball streaked by his left shoulder and another person cried out.  He was almost there.  The mage was looking right towards him and raised his hand again.  Oran tensed, he readied himself for the attack.  The fire headed straight towards him.  With reflexes he thought were long gone with his youth, he fell to the side of the saddle, holding the reins to keep from falling all the way to the ground that was speeding by.  At the same moment he threw his sword sideways.  It spun in the air and landed in the center of the wizard’s chest.  The Maji had a surprised expression on his face as he slowly toppled from the saddle to be trampled by the horses of those behind.                

             
The loss of the Maji took the heart out of the rest.  The fight was short and only a few Easterners were left to retreat back the way they had come.

              Rob faced the onslaught with a courage that was inspired by the man at his side.  He saw his father for the warrior he once was as the King of Westland cut a wide swath through the enemies around him.

             
The Karands were mostly gone and they now faced Makkurans in their scaled armor and Karians with their short spears.  The men of Westland had been steadily moving forward when those gray creatures had appeared leading the reserves of the enemy army.  Since then the battle had turned desperate.  They were now forced to retreat as they fought for every step.  

             
One of the Orgog carried a long sword that a man would need two hands to swing.  Several of the guards of Westland fell before it until Robert faced it himself.  The King pulled back on his reins and his mount reared up on its hind legs.  It fell forward to strike at the beast with its steel shod shoes.  The creature fell to the ground, but not before ripping out the belly of the horse.  The mount fell and the King was thrown.  Rob led the men in attacking the writhing

Orgog, they couldn’t let it regain
its feet.  They stabbed down at the beast until it finally stopped moving.  Rob tried to help his father who was lying nearby, but when he jumped to the ground and turned him over, Robert Tenrell was already dead.  Somehow the Orgog had reached him with a flailing claw before it had died.

             
Wordlessly, Rob remounted and with a terrible fury renewed the attack.

              Coran rode up, the beneficiary of one of the few horses brought by the Northmen, and saw the field of battle for the first time.  Men were everywhere, fighting and dying.  It was a terrible scene to witness.  The Northmen to either side of him watched the same scene with a different reaction.  Their faces shown with a growing anticipation.  There were other things going on as well.  The winds were blowing in from the east, and occasionally lightning would appear and strike an area of the field, sending a blast of snow and bodies into the air.