The Grand Crusade (36 page)

“I would agree.”

“Then the second case is likely to be the one that comes to pass. Someone in her court passes word to the Aurolani and they send troops. In that first encounter we will have a chance to maul them. After that, we’re fighting every step of the way to the shipyards, up the Boreal Pass, and on into Aurolan.”

“We’ll want to have that encounter well past Logbal, then, so we can use the city as a place to fall back to.”

The Jeranese general shook his head. “I’d rather not. It will be a town without defenses, so falling back would just mean the slaughter of innocents. Once the Aurolani know we have dragonels, they will bring their own.”

“If they have any in Noriva.”

“Good point, but one we can hardly count on. If they had to, they could ship them in from Muroso or Saporicia.”

“At least that would relieve some of the pressure on the troops in the south.”

Adrogans nodded in agreement. “True, it would, but so will pressing forward, hitting hard, moving quickly. We were able to take Svarskya because we did nothing that conventional military wisdom would have dictated. We fought a winter war using guile and trickery. We have to continue to do that, because if they don’t know where we are, they have to waste time and energy finding us. All of that wears their troops down, stretches their lines, and makes it easier for us to find a weak spot to exploit.”

“I agree with all that.” Caro laid his hands on the table and leaned forward, lowering his voice a little. “I know our troops are good, and the dragonels will make them better, but we don’t even number six thousand. What would you guess she will have opposing us? Bear in mind we assume she is massing to launch a fleet south, so she will have to be staging troops to board the ships.”

Adrogans rose from the table and stalked over to the back of the pavilion, where a map of the world had been pinned to a board. He studied it for a moment, then shook his head. “I have no idea, my friend. We can count on Alexia having as many as fifteen thousand under her command. I would put the Aurolani force at that number or more—up to twice that many. And, just as we faced thekryalniriin Okrannel, I am even willing to bet there are other unexpected things that will augment her force.

“As for the troops gathered to ship out, let us take a guess. How many people would you want to take Narriz or Yslin?”

Caro shook his head. “Narriz I do not know well. Yslin, however, I would want ten thousand.”

“And if the assault came in from the sea, with ships bearing dragonels that battered the waterfront into rubble? What if you could land troops there, unopposed? How many would it take, then? All they have to do is bottle up troops up in their towers, then bring the dragonels along to crash those towers down.”

The Alcidese horseman paled slightly. “Maybe five thousand.”

“You’re more conservative than I am. I would put it at three, and only because I think the citizenry would fight as well. Nar,riz would require two.”

“Two thousand?”

“I was actually thinking only two. Blasting the city from the sea would lead the people to surrender. You might need a garrison force of several hundred, but it would fall quickly, especially if the fighting in the north was fierce.”

Caro thought for a moment, then nodded. “These dragonels really can be devastating, can’t they?”

“Yes, quite. The Draconis Baron was right in refusing to share knowledge of them.” Adrogans tapped the map where the Boreal Pass led from Aurolan down into Noriva. “We’ll use your number. Five thousand. That’s what we will face.”

“An even fight. It will be horrible.”

“If we leave it an even fight.” Adrogans smiled slowly. “Your exploits, King Caro, are just the beginning of making sure Chytrine underestimates us. If she feeds us her troops one mouthful at a time, we’ll chew them all up and make it to her home in time to spit out the bones.”

T~‘trlestoke’s army made swift progress through Oriosa for a variety of reasons, H and that both pleased and worried the prince. The primary reason was the JLJ good condition of the roads. The King’s Highway curved up and around from Meredo, past Bokagul, to the Muroso border at Tolsin. Good roads meant the troops and supply train could move quickly. Speed was going to be of the essence if he was going to be able to rendezvous with Princess Alexia’s forces— which he desperately wanted to do.

Their progress also made him happy because the deeper they got into the country, the closer he was to being on the battlefield dealing with the Aurolani. Between the Midlands and Norweshire, the tiny region known as Dales provided an excellent battleground. The hilly countryside had only a few sites where an organized battle could be waged. Because he fully expected a dragon to be deployed to destroy his force, and because he could meet it with Dranae, he wanted to be able to lure the Aurolani into one of those fields. He would be able to deploy his reserves as flanking forces that could pour onto the battlefield as needed and chase the fleeing Aurolani when their forces broke.

Erlestoke did realize his intentions were optimistic, but he still wanted to get to Dales. Even if he didn’t meet the enemy, the wooded hillsides would be wonderful for hitting and running, something he would be forced to do if faced with a superior force. Having Bokagul at his back would be good as well. He wasn’t certain what to expect from his kinsmen. He hoped for support, but would settle for neutrality and guard against treachery.

But the fact that there had been no opposition so far surprised and worried him. His father had let him pass unopposed around Meredo. The lords of the Midlands and Midmarch had always been closer to Meredo than Norweshire, Hawkride, and the East Country, so he was marching right toward his father’s

strength. Sythara, the county with the longest border with Alcida, tended toward neutrality in internal politics, and had strong family ties with Alcida.

On the sixth day they approached the junction of three roads. The Sythara Road went south to Alcida. The Toloso Road headed east-southeast to the capital of the East Country, passing through the county of Hawkride, a place best known for containing the ruins of a city called Atval. It had been destroyed by dragons in days long past, but had once been a place of glory. While the current rulers could claim no line back to the rulers of Atval, they all had married cadet branches of their families into those of the Hawkriders. But, instead of loyalty, they merely got contempt.

So it really did not surprise Erlestoke when scouts reported that an army of a thousand or so warriors from Hawkride stood astride the road. It did strike Erlestoke that they were barring the northern King’s Highway, and not the Toloso Road, but such was their pride.They could not abide the idea that I might just ignore them and ride past. The scouts further reported a score of nobles and warriors were waiting at the crossroads beneath a pavilion and a flag of truce.

Erlestoke called his military leaders together and got them to deploy their troops on a broad front. As he and a small group rode forward to parley, he intended that his troops crest the hills that surrounded the crossroads. His troops numbered roughly three times those of the Hawkriders. Having that display of strength backing him would likely make his adversaries slightly less bold— though there was nothing in Hawkrider character to suggest they would be cowed into submission.

He chose his companions carefully and rode forth with only six in his entourage. Nay, Borell, Dranae, Rumbellow, and Redgrave joined General Quantusa of the Jeranese Crown Horse. She was his most senior military leader. The command of the troops behind them was left to General Percurs of the Alcidese Throne Guards. If there looked to be trouble, Percurs would deal with it.

Erlestoke’s party reached the pavilion, but he did not dismount. He remained instead in the saddle and leaned forward, resting his hands on the stock of his quadnel where it rode in a saddle scabbard by his right knee. The prince looked down at the two nobles lounging in chairs, sipping wine from crudely thrown goblets. He thought he recognized one of them, but both were rather young so he could not be certain.

“I believe, my lords, you have an army astride the road I wish to take.” One of the two—the more cadaverous, with a sallow complexion and hair thinner than his newly grown beard—slowly stood. He wore a tabard over a coat of mail; both hung to his knees. The center of the tabard was Oriosan green, though closer to spring colors than evergreen, with white side panels and sleeves. A sword belt secured it at his waist and on his breast was a hawk in flight. His mask, likewise green with a white stripe outlining it, bore marks that suggested his father was dead and that he had attained the rank of count. Even more curious was a mark beneath his right eye—a crown that indicated he was in line for the Oriosan throne. As with Hawkriders in general, he had a hawk’s feather dangling from the mask at the left side.

Erlestoke almost raised a hand to his own mask to feel that same mark, but he refrained. That mark was on his life mask, which he had abandoned in the last days of Fortress Draconis. His mistress had taken it and their son south—and likely are somewhere in Meredo even as I sit here. The mask he currently wore was simply black, and matched the one sewn on a field of green that had become his force’s banner.

The Count of Hawkride lifted his chin and affected to peer down a slender nose at Erlestoke. “My troops are here to defend my nation. You are an outlaw. You will leave my nation now.”

Erlestoke was not sure what surprised him the most. Hawkriders seldom wanted to admit they were part of Oriosa, much less claim it as their nation. The count’s open defiance of Erlestoke hinted at a trap, but that could just have been the count believing lies the King had told about support nearby. While he suspected the count was not going to believe King Scrainwood actually intended him to sit on the throne, having that mark might win him some support from other lords who wanted at least the appearance of legitimacy from any new ruler who replaced the king.

Erlestoke kept his voice even. “I have no desire to kill Oriosans.” He refrained from saying, “Or Hawkriders.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I have urgent business to the north, in Muroso and beyond. Do not hamper me.”

“A veiled threat, Erlestoke?” The skinny man laughed, and in that laughter Erlestoke caught enough that he was able to recognize the man. “If you have no desire to kill Oriosans, I suggest you turn around and march back to Saporicia.”

“I can’t do that, Count Wightman.”

“Then it seems there is little we can do.”

Erlestoke sat back in the saddle. “We could find a way past this impasse. Instead of our armies fighting, we could settle this matter ourselves, man versus man.”

Wightman’s face went grey. “You would demand satisfaction of me?”

“Of course not, my lord, for you have not offended me. If each of us was to choose a champion, and their combat were to decide things, your duty and honor would be acquitted. When my man defeats yours, we will pass unmolested.”

“And when he fails?”

Erlestoke opened his hands. “It seems I would have to return to Saporicia.”

“Very well.” Wightman turned and pointed to a very large man in mail and Hawkride livery. “Trusher, you will be my champion. Byard, you will be his second.” He came about full circle and looked at Erlestoke. “An exchange of strokes?”

“Until one man cannot rise? Yes.” Erlestoke turned and nodded to Dranae. “Would you mind?”

The large man smiled. “My pleasure to serve.”

Dranae slid from his saddle and the men of Hawkride craned their necks back to look up at him. A few of them laughed, but most just got a bit ashen-faced. Erlestoke liked their reactions, but noticed their leader did not seem to make much of Dranae’s size.

Borell also dismounted. “Highness, he will need a second.” Erlestoke nodded. “Of course.”

The Hawkride champion moved from the pavilion onto a patch of meadow where green tendrils were just beginning to grow up through the winter-bowed gold grass from the season before. He eyed Dranae up and down, then sneered dismissively. Trusher accepted a full helm with only a narrow eye slit, then pulled on gloves. He drew a broadsword that seemed serviceable enough, but had some arcane runes etched the length of the blade.

Wightman smiled. “I trust you do not mind that he wields a magickal blade.”Ah, that explains the lack of fear. “Does he?”

“Yes, this is Temmer reforged. Its pieces were recovered from Fortress Draconis and it was re-created. He is invincible with it.”

“I’m certain he is.” Given the man’s size, which was huge, the prince was pretty certain he’d have triumphed over all of the warriors he’d faced in Hawkride. “Dranae, will that sword be a problem?”

“None, Highness.” Dranae pulled on a helmet with a steel cage. “He’ll get the first blow since we are the invaders?”

“Yes.”

“Understood.” Dranae stalked toward his enemy. Grass crunched beneath his feet and slowly rose to hide the evidence of his passing. The only weapon he bore was a stout club, iron bound at the end, which was as thick as Erlestoke’s upper arm.

The Hawkride warrior brought his sword up in a salute, then spoke in a loud voice. “I am Sir Fawke Trusher, Champion of Count Wightman, as was my father before me, and his before him. You are an invader, and I vow you shall step no further into my nation.”

Dranae bowed toward his foe. “I am Dranae. I have fought at Vilwan, Wruona, Fortress Draconis, and even in Sarengul. I have no grand lineage, and I am not invading Oriosa, but coming to its salvation. You, sir, have the first blow.”

Trusher looked about him, from Count Wightman, to the semicircle of Hawkriders backing him. He raised his sword over his head, and said, “May Turic receive you happily.”

The sword flashed down in a heavy blow that caught Dranae on the left shoulder. Mail popped and bent, then the sword bit through it. Blood splashed

on the blade and began to drip through the mail. The heavy blow had not gone deep enough to shatter bone, but it had carved flesh and muscle, doubtlessly driving rings deep into the wound. More importantly, it staggered Dranae, making him drop his maul, and drove him to one knee.