The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (22 page)

Aul’s Brodor faltered but caught its footing and stayed abreast of Fenrel’s mount. He was nearly upon the Zodrian, but Aul knew this could not last. The Southern animals were fleet of foot. They were chosen to harass and befuddle the Keltarans. If the Zodrians did mean to enter the valleys to the east, they would be fifty yards ahead of the Keltaran by the time they reached it. This was a race the Keltaran were meant to lose. Why? Aul’s mind raced to decipher the latest of the Zodrian’s puzzles.

Foam sprayed from the mouth of Flair’s stallion as the colonel pushed the horse to its limits. Ahead of him, his men coaxed their mounts into a tight line. The northern valley approached rapidly. Flair glanced back and was relieved to see he already outstripped the Keltaran riders by fifteen yards.

Blood streamed from the flanks of Fenrel’s Brodor as the prince mercilessly spurred his mount forward. The beast snorted and whinnied as the prince screamed to the riders keeping pace with him.

“Speed!” shouted Fenrel. “More speed! None shall escape us!”

Aul’s mount surprised its rider by keeping pace with the front dozen of the Keltaran cavalry. Ahead of him raced the Zodrian officer. The young man trailed his fellows, but already increased his lead over Aul and Fenrel by thirty yards. This race turned to madness. If the Zodrians chose to, they could lead the Keltaran all the way back to their capital. Fenrel would never catch them at this pace. Aul grimaced. The Keltaran were being led, but to what end? The Zodrians ahead slowly tightened their formation and coalesced into a long, single file line.

The front rider in Flair’s group raced into the valley and followed its curve out of sight. Flair prayed that these men held the horsemanship he had seen on the training grounds. They were all militiamen from Southern ranches, expert riders chosen for their skill. Their mounts were “cutters”. Fast horses bred to cull other horses from the herd for branding and sale. Now this horsemanship and the ability of these special horses meant life or death for every rider in the line.

The horses raced forward and horse after horse was swallowed into the valley’s mouth. Flair nearly reached the mouth of the valley himself when he tightened the reins on his stallion. The horse needed to be entirely under his control in order for this maneuver to work. The Southlander squeezed his knees into the sides of the animal. It would know from the pressure he placed there which direction to slide as they moved through the valley.

He was fifty yards ahead of the Keltaran charge when the walls of the narrow valley rose up around him. He dropped his speed by half but still moved at a quick pace. The valley curved and the path ahead hugged the northern wall.

A sea of weapons rose from the ground in front of him. The curve of the valley hid them from view until the last moment and the shadows cast by the giant hill helped disguise their presence. Flair pushed his stallion further to the left and decreased his speed even more so as not to overrun the rider before him. Within moments he traversed the slim path fashioned between the bristling weapons and the steep sided, northern hill.

Ten strides later and the colonel fought to maintain his concentration. The northern hillside bulged into the valley, significantly narrowing the space. Flair spied a group of men clinging to the steep walls of the valley, but dared not look to them directly. If the plan worked, Nyven’s archers would not be called upon.

A shout brought the colonel’s heart to his throat. A rider three positions ahead of Flair hugged the slope too closely and his mount’s footing became unbalanced. The beast stumbled.

Immediately, the rider yanked hard on his reins, pulling the horse’s head back and away from the slope. At the same instant, the rider swung onto the left side of the stallion. The horse’s knees buckled and horse and rider tumbled northward onto the nearly vertical slope of the hill. The riders immediately behind barely slowed as their mounts danced over the flailing hooves of the fallen stallion. As Flair passed, the fallen rider scrambled up the slope to the safety of the line of archers and the downed stallion struggled to its feet and continued down the path.

A few moments more and Fenrel would enter the valley. Aul and a handful of others kept pace with him. The prince smirked with pleasure. His threats to the lieutenant were effective. Aul pushed his mount to its limits to remain on Fenrel’s left shoulder.  When the Zodrians were defeated, however, the mercenary would need to be removed. Aul had lost too much of the desperation that made him valuable to Fenrel.

“Into the valley,” shouted Fenrel. “Hunt them down!”

The prince knew one thing for certain. The valleys between the Knuckles were narrow and steep sloped. The Zodrians were no fools. Fenrel watched them narrow their lines as they moved toward the valley. They wished to keep their speed and not risk bunching up. They intended to race straight through to the plain beyond this line of hills. If the Keltaran held any hope of catching them, they needed to keep their speed. If a few of his cavalry lost their footing as they were bumped into the valley walls, so be it. They would still emerge on the other side as a much superior force.

 Stamina, thought Fenrel. That was his ally. The thin, fast horses of the Guard might outstrip him on a sprint across the plain, but the Brodor was bred to work for days.  Once again he hammered his spurs into the flanks of his warhorse.

Aul glanced to his prince. The determination and bloodlust in Fenrel’s eyes were alarming. The prince spurred his horse on without any consideration of the possibilities.

Aul’s own Brodor seemed to thrive from the race with Fenrel’s beast. Aul and Fenrel moved slightly ahead of their brethren and their horses’ heads lunged forward in unison.

Aul stared toward the open mouth of the valley as it loomed toward him. What lay beyond? Another Zodrian trap? Undoubtedly. By what means? A stand by the Zodrian pike men? The space was far to narrow for the Zodrian infantry to be effective. At best ten men standing abreast might span the little valley. The armored Brodor and their riders would mow them down and shatter that defense.

Would the Zodrian cavalry turn and face their pursuers? Again possible, but highly unlikely. The Zodrians were much more effective on the open plain. Even outnumbered the Zodrians were better off harassing the Keltaran than attempting to weather a charge by a line of Brodor.

Barricades? Possible and much more likely. They would slow the Keltaran charge, but not halt it. Perhaps the Zodrians placed archers in the valley. They would need to be upon the slopes to protect themselves and create excellent sight lines. However, the slopes were extremely steep and footing would be difficult. The unbalanced stance would add to the archer’s ineffectiveness. Aul clenched his teeth. What were these Zodrians planning?

Flair exited Hindle’s forest of weapons. Ahead of him a group of infantry stood beside a train of old wagons loaded with wood and large barrels. Flair reined in beside them.

“Colonel Ipson, is everything ready?” asked Flair.

“Yes,” replied Ipson.

“Remember to wait for Nyven and his men to exit the valley,” stated Flair. “If you see any Keltaran approaching, consider Nyven lost and proceed.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Ipson.

Flair spurred his horse and charged east. Ipson spun and addressed his men.

“Turn them over, gentlemen,” shouted Ipson. “Build it high. We don’t want anyone jumping the barricade.”

His supply soldiers wedged long poles beneath the edges of the huge wagons and levered them onto their sides. With a crash and a rumble the wagons toppled into the center of the valley sending their contents across its floor. Other men quickly grabbed the wooden debris and stacked it across the valley obstructing it completely.

The thunk of an ax echoed down the valley as a pair of men waded through the refuse hacking into the large barrels. Their tops splintered and cracked as oil splashed over the barricade of wood. When the supply crew finished, a three-yard high barricade, dripping in flammable oil, lay stretched across the valley. Ipson and his men stepped back and surveyed their work. The supply commander smiled and struck flint to a torch held by one of his men, careful to keep it clear from the barricade.

The Keltaran raced into the valley and Aul was immediately struck by the limited visibility. Shadows made it difficult to see directly ahead of him let alone fifty yards beyond. The noise added to the confusion. The Brodor’s hooves were amplified in the valley, overwhelming Aul’s senses. At this breakneck speed the ride would be dangerous. However, knowing an enemy awaited him at some point made it tenfold. Aul grimaced. The Keltaran could end up killing themselves if one of the front riders stumbled. A horse simply needed to lose its footing for a catastrophe to ....

 Recognition raced into the lieutenant’s consciousness. A trap! The Zodrians again intended to defeat the Keltaran without even engaging them. They laid a trap. Aul turned to Fenrel and shouted in alarm.

Energy flowed through Fenrel’s veins. The thrill of the chase gripped him. Knowing his superior numbers and expecting nothing short of glorious victory, the prince thrilled at the thought of the mighty Zodrian Guard fleeing before him like a buck pursued by a pack of timber wolves.

Something distracted him. On the edge of his vision, in the shadowy darkness of the valley, he caught sight of Aul waving frantically toward him. Fenrel turned to see the lieutenant shouting at him, but the pounding of the Brodors’ hooves drowned out the words. He could see alarm written on Aul’s face, but Fenrel sneeringly dismissed it. The caution of fools would not steal his victory.

Aul watched his commander glance in his direction then turn away as he slammed his spurs into the flanks of his Brodor. The prince committed and with him so did the Keltaran cavalry. Aul’s men were racing to their deaths. How could he stop them? The big man swung back to the slowly curving valley ahead.

The magnitude of their error materialized before his eyes. There ahead in the shadows lay the trap. Almost invisible in the darkness he could see a forest of sharp tipped weaponry stretching up and out to greet the hard charging Keltaran. Aul instantly made his choice. The lieutenant yanked hard on his reins, slamming his Brodor into the prince’s mount.

Aul launched from his saddle. Fenrel’s mount lost its footing and the prince lost his seat as well. Several mounts directly behind the prince also buckled and sent their riders flailing through the air. Others were directed hard to the right and left of the pile, racing into the steel forest erected by Hindle.

The surreal nature of his death stunned the lieutenant. Time slowed for the young man. He floated forward toward the sharp tips of pike and spear, aware of all but oddly detached from it.

All about him the shrieks of horses and the surprised cries of men filled the air, but to Aul they sounded far off and distant. His body seemed to float for an age in the darkness of the valley. Below him he saw the Zodrian weaponry stretched out like grass in a field. He tumbled forward and felt his feet slowly fly over his head, carried forward by the momentum of his charge. He twisted in the air and found himself staring at the fair blue sky unfurled beyond the gray valley walls stretching up around him.

CHAPTER 14: BLUE SKIES

Aul stared into the cloudless blue sky of his childhood. He heard his father call to him and he hid. Chores. He dreaded them. He was off to sport with his friends once more. He would claim he never heard those calls. One day he would obey, but not today.

The darkness deepened as Aul descended to the death cradled in the valley below. The valley walls rose like mountains around him.

His memory flashed to his early days in the Anvil. Disorderly and malcontent, he was sent home where he faced his father again. Disappointment. Frustration. Prayers and pleas. One day he would obey, but not today.

A crash followed by pain. Aul looked to his belly and saw the glistening head of a rusty Zodrian pike protruding from his armor. Stunned but strangely at peace. He felt little. The sounds and chaos of the valley remained distant and hazy. The bright blue sky called to him, but the giant desperately needed to look to his men. He fought the urge to find peace in the sky above. Slowly he turned his head to his right. Men and horses lay pinned on a field of weapons. They struggled and fought to extricate themselves from the trap. There were fewer than Aul had anticipated. Good. Perhaps his maneuver saved a few lives. Aul turned back to the sky above and relaxed.

The blue skies threatened to expose the work he and his friends visited upon a farmer in their community. A rival of the farmer tired of his prices being undercut. Aul and his friends accepted a “proposal” to destroy the farmer’s crops. It was the first time he sold himself for profit.

As they ran from the burning fields, a man traveling the road saw the smoke and flames. The man ran toward the farmer’s house. Shouts for help. Buckets and water. As his friends ran ahead Aul turned at the shouts, the voice familiar. Aul’s father roused the farmer and together they doused the flames. Aul turned and fled. One day he would obey, but not today.

Pain alarmed him. Cries from his men. The giant attempted to turn left but found his shoulder pinned and movement impossible. His body broke into spasms and Aul sensed pressure on his legs. The blue sky grew brighter then dimmed. A hazy figure hovered over him. It called to him.