Holding The Line (22 page)

The two trackers that had been sent ahead were now returning to the column with some haste. They reported a mile or so ahead in an area of open ground, near a stream, there targets were feasting upon the copse of a stag. The troops quickly prepared, with the officers making sure each knew their role. After a quick briefing describing the lay of the land and number of targets, they quietly pushed on.

They were now quite certain, from all reports, that Orlac were not as perceptive as normal wild animals. In fact, it would appear their sense of smell and hearing was considerably poor. This would prove very beneficial to such a force as the one now hunting them down. Breaking from the tree line and spotting the targets. The archers and infantry dismounted and tied their horses back from where the fighting would take place.

The lancers would hold back a little for now, and not move into position until after the first moments of engagement. The infantry lined their shields side by side, forming a wall ten men long, and one row behind the other. The front row held their shield low to the ground, the ones behind, would when needed, place theirs atop making a large barrier. For now though, the second row kept down. Behind them were the archers, who all lined up and took aim.

With the new arrows ready, they pulled back the strings, just as the first of the four Orlacs looked up from the feeding frenzy. The blood of its prey dripping and sinews of flesh could be seen from its jaws. A second joined, also noticing the intrusion, the two beasts then howled and went to charge. Twenty arrows were simultaneously fired, though some missed, all the creatures did have at least one hit. The front Orlac had six buried deep into its chest area, and staggered forward before slumping to the ground. The second creature had two hits, and quickly closed the gap, but was also felled as the next volley scored multiple close range hits. The arrow heads puncturing deep through the black fur.

The other two were now not far off, having also left the feed to attack the humans. Both had sustained injuries, and the front one reached the infantry. The second rank quickly raised their shields as the creature smashed into them. The men behind braced themselves, as the huge momentous force thumped into them. A few of them were knocked back a little but quickly regained their composure, holding the line solid.

The Orlac shook its head, dazed somewhat at smashing in to the row of metal shields. Four lancers emerged from the side of the battle, thundering into the rear Orlac who was joining his mate by the shield wall. Only one of the lances was needed, as its rider plunged the weapon straight at the creatures head, causing it to split open, like a dropped melon hitting the floor. The beast wobbled around for a few paces, its body still not aware half of its head was missing. Eventually it stumbled to the ground, collapsing in a heap, leaking a thick black pool of blood.

The last wounded creature, used its claws to pull at the shields, and its superior strength succeeded in ripping apart the wall. However before it could make its advantage tell the archers behind filled it full of arrows. The destructive force of the new arrowheads, from such close range, caused the beast to be thrown backwards. Some had torn huge holes almost right through the creature.

Several of the infantry, pulled swords, and to ensure each creature was definitely dead, started hacking off all the heads. This was a success, and the first offensive strike from Corlan. The detailed planning, new ammunition and training had paid dividends. These fearsome hunters had now become the hunted. Even the men involved were impressed by the ease at which they had overcome such creatures. Now the first fight had been won, they regrouped and started out on the hunt for more.

In New Easton, General Skalton was telling the King and more importantly Prince Luken how they were now to be guarded. Whether they liked it or not, he told them. Privacy would be given in their own quarters, though guards would remain outside the doors. Whilst in the keep, two Royal Guards would accompany them everywhere, no questions asked. If they wished to leave the security of the keep, then a full guard detail of six men would escort them.  Luken looked across at his brother, as if they were two naughty children being told off by their strict father.

Luken of course had already had to endure, the Generals insistence of being guarded on his trip from Hamalin. Levin had been tasked with that job for part of it, and so enquired perhaps a similar arrangement would suffice again. "No. For starters, you cannot expect a fourteen-year-old boy to defend you against trained killers. Secondly he is needed elsewhere; we value that young man too highly to stick his neck on the line for you." Luken grimaced, "Charming. You know Thomas; you really do have a way with words sometimes." The General smiled, ignoring the tongue in cheek remark, "Thank you sire, but no matter the compliments, you will both do as you are told."

Caldar enquired about the safety of Vanessa, and of cause on Lukens side, Sarena and the children. Thomas Skalton also had plans for them, "each will have a guard, if they ever step foot out of the keep." Caldar thought, Vanessa was not going to like that. She had already told him, having people following them round every hour of every day made her uncomfortable. If the baby Hope were left in the care of Dareen, then even she would be assigned a guard. He told them no chances would now be taken. They had all come so far, made a stand and finally started to fight back. He would not let them see it all fall apart from some slack measures on his behalf.

Much to Taylor's annoyance, his mum had spent the morning using the pendant to talk to Sandred, not only was that unfair, but she had not even let him a go. He sat there with his arms crossed, pulling faces behind her back. If his dad were here, he would have given him a go. He and Sandred were old friends; they had known each other way before he had even met his mum. Sarena turned to look at her son, and caught him just as his tongue was poking out. "Taylor!" she shouted.

The youngster looked abashed, more from the fact he had been caught than for any regret. "What is the matter, can you not see I am busy. I need Sandred to explain things to me, so I can help your father." Taylor pouted, "Well if I was doing it, I already know lots." Sarena sighed, "Oh! so that is what this is all about. You are sulking because I am talking to Sandred and not you." Taylor dropped his head, "I am not sulking," he said sulkily. Sarena thought the boy was probably feeling left out, so offered him a deal. If he were good, she would let him hold the pendant and have a little talk to Sandred at the end. That was providing the old wizard was okay with it.

As Sarena had to learn from scratch, everything about the elemental magic of her husband, it inevitably meant any further lessons for Luken were some way off. He wished in some way, he and Dagon could have gotten on better. It was just the way of things, it had been a difficult relationship from the outset, and had rarely improved. Being as he was, for now at least, virtually a prisoner in his own rooms, he had not been permitted to go and bury Dagon's body. General Skalton had however, followed his wishes and laid him to rest in a spot near the river. He thought Dagon would have approved of the final resting place Luken had given him, and in some small way, that gesture made him feel better.

On the border of Besemia and Corlan, Lord Willem watched as the darkness slowly disappeared and the rising sun bought the new day. Having made a number of minor attacks against the North Besemians, he had decided to up the stakes. Today he would make a bold move, which could see him all but eliminate the forces that opposed him. The only question and niggling doubts he still had, was how many men would he have to sacrifice to achieve his goal.

Using his preferred tactic of shield walled infantry, protecting archers, with cavalry at his flanks, his forces were nearly in position. During the hours of darkness, they had left the safety of the defensive line, and made the short distance forward. Of course, he also had planned one or two surprises. For starters, his men would make their attack from the north.

The majority of the northern defences were along a line facing his own. During the night, he had moved his men in a wide arc, and lined them up to hit them from the other side. This would mean that essentially the opposition was trapped, between his army and his defensive fortifications. At first light, he would move his men forward to engage, and as that time was fast approaching, he fidgeted nervously upon his horse.

He could already see the enemy soldiers running around wildly. His bold move had caught them by surprise. He gave the signal, and twelve hundred men marched forward, across an enormous line.  The defenders launched their volley of arrows, and his men raised their shields to protect the lines. He watched as most were deflected harmlessly, though one or two found their way to a target, the first of his casualties.

His infantry stamped to a standstill, and his archers returned fire. A long arc of white feathered shafts soared upwards, before raining down on the defenders. He watched as more of the North Besemians were moving from the far side of the camp to help the side he was attacking. Not yet time to play his trump card, he thought.

After a further exchange of arrows, a few of his men fell, though the same was could be said of those opposing him. His infantry was now closing in; soon they would be easy targets for enemy archers. He gave another signal, and three loud blasts of a horn sounded across the battlefield.

From in front his defensive lines stood another thousand men. Infantry and archers alike, who all quickly moved forward to positions so, they could attack from the south. He now risked his entire strength; a bold move, which he hoped, would end this stalemate for the last time. With nearly two and a half thousand infantry and archers now engaged in battle, all he had left was his cavalry. These of course numbered several hundred, but it was not yet their time.

The panic was obvious, as the defenders were torn on which side to defend. Now he needed to push home that advantage, though he knew this would certainly cost him a high number of casualties. He ordered his men to charge, and hoped the northern side of the enemy camp, would be less well protected. His infantry smashed into those opposing him, and a large number of hand-to-hand battles broke out.

He had ordered his archers to assist, and they now took up positions looking down at the enemy. Their task was to cover the infantry, and pick off as many of the foe as possible, without trying to hit their own. As such, they took up positions along the edge of the enemy camp, using the mastery of their art to pick out individual targets.

He heard another smash, and that told him his men had also struck from the south. He ordered another blast of the horn, three more blasts. Now his cavalry would join in, safe from the enemy archers, they could swing the battle inside the enemy camp, his way. Hundreds of horses flooded the field below him, as he watched his infantry start to group up. They had for now, done their part. It was time to let the large warhorses and riders upon them chase down the panic-stricken defenders.

The enemy tried to hold a line, but his cavalry smashed through it with ease, and then the carnage started. The rows of huge lumbering horses thumped the defenders aside. Having lost all cohesion the army of the North Besemians tried to flee. As the camp was surrounded, they had nowhere to go. It was a case of fight and die, or they perish attempting to escape. These were not troops of any particular calibre and soon the battle became a rout.

In just over one hour the last of the enemy, who would not surrender, was slain. Lord Willem was certain these men, did not think as normal men did. It was as if someone else controlled their minds. Something inside them telling them it was not possible to surrender. Running away did not seem problematic for them, but either way they were put to the sword.

At last, he could now make a long overdue move to reclaim his nation's capital city. Firstly, he needed to clear up this mess, and then give his men chance to savour their victory. He trotted his horse amongst the dead and dying, as he watched, his own injured were being carried off the field, to receive treatment. As he rode, he tried to make a mental note of the men wearing his colours. There were a few, more in some places than others.

It appeared the initial charge down from the north had seen him lose the most. He could see at least ten all in a line where they had succumbed to a volley of arrows. Most of the corpses in the middle of the camp appeared to be enemy ones, though one or two of his cavalry were mixed amongst them. On the southern edge, the body count was less on both sides.

He rode back to the relative calm of Casham. His latest reports would need sending back to his fellow council members in the south, and he needed to send word of his progress to his allies in the west. He also needed to finally get word to his operatives working in Bashek. He had to let them know he was coming, and for them to prepare for that scenario. If they were not in control of a gate, he would not get his men inside. Another long standoff was what he did not want.

He sat in his make shift office in Casham, that had been his place of work since arriving earlier in the year. He afforded himself a glass of wine and sat back in his chair, satisfied that at long last he had struck a decisive blow. The South Besemian's had taken their first step at retaking back the lands they had lost to the Darekians.

Chapter 18.

Fenlor chanted his spell, dripping his blood into the flames, seeking the whereabouts of his Orlacs. Within the last two days the numbers had alarmingly diminished, and he was not sure why. He suddenly felt a shudder as he felt another of his demonic creatures fade from existence.

Each of these had been born from his own blood, created by his very life force. As he was currently making contact with them, he felt their pain. Another fell, then another, and he realised his pets were being eradicated. He raged, those remaining from Corlan must have gotten brave and started fighting back.

He had sent assassins to deal with this pupil of Sandred, the one that had been responsible for his forces failure at Easton. He had not heard if they had been successful or not, but it was rare such men failed. He had earlier attempted to search for anyone wielding magical powers. Though at such distances it was hard to detect, he could not find anything. Perhaps they had already struck and hopefully that would be the last that he would here from that particular nuisance.