The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (5 page)

The Ulrog scribe stepped into his path and stared hard eyed at the giant.

“Trust Keltaran,” snarled Nostr. “It is time for you to trust. Time for you to understand that I see what others do not.”

Granu was taken aback by the fire within the scribe’s eyes.

“Move to the heights,” snapped Nostr spinning toward the junction and pointing to the roaring Malveel below, “or you drag your comrade to a certain and needless death.”

Granu hesitated, looked to the slope as it wound into the icy mists of Tar Hdjmir above, then turned and dragged a weary Cefiz upward. Nostr watched the pair depart. Turning, he eyed the group at the junction. The Ulrog scribe sighed, then confidently charged down the stone pathway.

Cefiz coughed and hacked as Granu supported him in their journey upward. The Guardsman again colored a pale gray and Granu worried for his friend. Soon the stone causeway and the Ulrog were out of sight.

“I fear this action is folly, my friend,” whispered Cefiz weakly.

“We have adequate provisions to last several days if we can find a recess to shelter from the wind and ice,” huffed Granu then smiled. “Have faith Zodrian. Avra provides for his children.”

“If the scribe is mistaken and the Hackles follow, he has wasted our energy and put any escape to the Frizgard out of reach,” wheezed Cefiz.

A roar echoed up the massive cliff wall from the mists below. The pair halted and stared at one another.

“Then let us pray he is correct,” returned Granu.

CHAPTER 3: A FIRE STRUCK

They traveled nearly two days on the road from the great city. At first the riding was easy. The roads arrayed about the capital like spokes on a wheel. Their surfaces were strong and reinforced by the king’s laborers over centuries. Cavalry, archers and infantry made good time as they marched over these roads. Supply wagons pulled by ox and draft horse followed closely behind. They too made excellent time and the newly formed army held tight as it crawled west.

However, over time and distance the roads crumbled and the formation spread. Horsemen found it difficult to pace their mounts and infantry grew weary from the sun. The wagons found difficulty as well. Ruts and sinkholes marred the road and the going became more difficult.

Disabled carts were dragged to the roadside and their contents transferred to other wagons as repairs were initiated. Men equipped with thin boots or ragged leather shoes limped forward and were removed from the line. They were ordered to catch the main group as best they could. After a time, a muddle of soldiers, archers and cart men trailed the main army hobbling toward the Dunmor.

Occasionally, the army passed through a town or village. At first these towns were of respectable size. Their proximity to the capital afforded them both commerce with the great city and the protection offered by her army. However, as the distance from her walls grew, the villages shrunk and their buildings became simpler.

The townspeople stepped from their homes and cheered their soldiers, but the shouts were tempered with a sense of gloom.

Near dawn of the second day of marching, the army encountered refugees. These folk were from the border and most distant villages. They fled from the Keltaran. Word spread throughout the western portion of the realm and homesteaders and fur trappers rushed toward the protection of the walls of Zodra.

Often whole families in tiny mule drawn carts stepped from the road and stared in wonder and dread as the entire army slowly wound past them. Prayers were muttered and tears shed by all. More than once a father or son hugged his family and fell in line within the ranks of Manfir’s force. Brelg or another of the sergeants saw to it that the man was properly outfitted with sword or pike.

Soon Flair began to call to the villagers as the force passed through the towns furthest from the capital.

“Good people. For your own well being you must evacuate your homes and move east. Leave nothing of use behind. No food. No roaming livestock. No tools. No weapons. If you cannot carry it with you, destroy it.”

So the army of Manfir passed the last of the small villages of Zodra, departed the remnants of the western road, and marched into the rolling hill country of the western plains. The hills were of no great significance here, their slopes gradual and their heights low. A drought hung in the area as of late and the grasses lay stunted and dry. The draft animals and cavalry mounts required extra foraging time to find sustenance and streams ran low in their beds.

After several hours trudging over these lands, Manfir spied darkness in the distance. The horizon punched skyward in a fist of five massive humps laid closely together. The army approached and many of the men looked on the Bear’s Knuckles for the first time in their lives.

The hills inspired awe in those who had never ventured far from the capital. The Knuckles were tall. Their slopes were steep. The base of each hill rose abruptly from the rolling plains and challenged the heartiest of hikers.  The passes between them were narrow, dark places.

The face of each hill mirrored the lands about them. Several small trees grew on their surfaces and a few rocky outcrops peppered the Knuckles, but predominantly their arching slopes were covered with nothing but the stunted grass which populated this area of Zodra.

The army marched directly at the center hill and soon passed through a ten-yard wide alley between the rapidly ascending slopes of two of the Knuckles. The tight alley forced the cavalry to ride three abreast. The infantry bunched up and marched through six men wide. After ten minutes at this pace Manfir and his cavalry exited the alley and passed the first row of the Bear’s Knuckles onto a wide open plain. Nearly a league in the distance a nearly identical yet slightly taller row of hills stretched toward the sky. Scouts spurred their stallions and shot across the expanse as the army slowly crawled forward.

“In the heat of battle we will need rallying points for our retreats,” said Flair to Manfir.  “When we are routed from the hills to the West, it is important for every man to set his sights on the same destination. If we are broken and scattered across these hills, we are lost.

“When we retreat, the Keltaran will think they have shattered our force. The Anvil will be surprised when they advance and find another line of defense so rapidly set up. The men I have detailed on each hill will arrange defensive positions and establish a command post on the summit of each hill chosen.”

“You seem to have thought of everything,” smiled Manfir.

“The more prepared we are the better our chances,” shrugged Flair.

“Well, you have made them as favorable as you can,” returned Manfir smiling.

The pair led their force to the center of the western slope of the largest hill in the last line of Knuckles. Slowly the army filed from the valley and took up station in front of their commander. Manfir faced his army. Behind him to the West lay a flat, open field filled with wildflowers and grasses. Beyond the field lay a long line of spruce trees and over their tops the snowy heads of the Zorim Mountains glistened in the distance.

“We have done well to arrive at the Dunmor without encountering the Anvil,” announced Manfir. “My compliments to you men. It has been a long and wearisome journey but alas we cannot rest. The enemy will be upon us soon and we must prepare.”

The prince’s right hand swept across the hills aligned behind him.

“There is your salvation,” exclaimed Manfir, “and the salvation of all mankind. We must use these hills as a tool for our protection. Remember. We are not here to make a stand. We do not draw a line on this ground and dare the Keltaran to cross it. Instead, we intend to dismay and disrupt our invaders. Harry them. Confuse them.

“For too long we have been the pawns in a game of war played by the mountain folk. Now we will play them. They do not expect this and certainly will not understand it. That is our advantage.“

Manfir’s hand shot toward the top of the largest hill in the line.

“Look to the hilltop,” commanded Manfir.

A group of men raised a golden pennant atop a tall staff.

“When the pennant falls, whether it is my choice or the actions of our enemies, you will retreat to the next line of hills. There we will regroup under the next golden pennant and await the advance of the giants. They will have expected a rout of our forces. Again this will work to our advantage. Remember, the longer we keep them occupied here among the Dunmor, the more time we allow Corad Kingfisher and his Rindorans to arrive and aid us.

“We may not stop the giants from advancing on our homeland, but we will make them pay for setting foot on Zodrian soil with thoughts of conquest. This hill will be our first stand against our enemies, but know that it will not be our last. The Keltaran will come expecting a weak defense from us, knowing we are the scraps and remnants of a nation already stretched to her limits. Let us prepare this place and show them that even the scraps of Zodra are a force not to be taken lightly!”

Cheers erupted from the assembly and swords were slammed against shields.

“Archers. Chose locations thirty yards down from the hilltop and dig in. Infantry. Build your barricades thirty yards below the archers. You will draw the Keltaran toward the hill and the archers will rain death down upon them as they advance. Commanders. Do not become dead heroes. When the pressure on the line becomes too great, retreat to fight at the next location. Dead heroes do not serve the cause.

“Cavalry. Get to the eastern slopes of the hill and remain hidden. Split your force in two and await my signal. When it comes, one unit will swing around the hill from the North and the other from the South. The Keltaran’s ranks should be exposed and there you will do your greatest damage. Again I say, do not over extend yourselves. They are too many and we are too few. Damage them and retreat. If you can attack again without cutting yourselves off from the main force, do so but remember your task is to keep the Keltaran from surrounding the hill. Keep them to the West. In order for Colonel Flair’s plan to succeed we must be able to retreat to the East. Does everyone understand their tasks?”

The guardsmen bellowed a roar of approval and cheered vigorously. The men quickly spread out and the hill transformed into a hive of activity. Trenches were dug. Fieldstone and boulders were pried from the earth and piled about the hill. The horsemen of the group disappeared behind the edges of the hill and after picketing their horses, they returned to lend a hand in the preparations. The mood was heavy but positive.

“Sergeant Brelg,” called Manfir to the slopes of the hill above.

“Yes, your Highness,” shouted Brelg. 

“Strike up a fire from any tinder you find in the grove,” called Manfir. “Make it large and keep it roaring, sergeant. It would be a shame if the Keltaran missed us on their way to the capital.”

The hillside erupted in laughter and another cheer rose from the assembled force. Manfir turned the Black toward the western horizon and squinted at the mountains in the distance.

“It is the best I can do, dear Lord,” whispered the prince. “I pray it will be enough.”

Fenrel sat atop a massive Keltaran warhorse staring to the eastern horizon. The horse’s shaggy hair lay in clumps about its massive frame. It stamped and threw its head, chomping on the bit fitted tightly into its mouth. The Keltaran captain glared at the open fields stretching for leagues in front of him then spat on the ground.

“We move forward,” snarled the giant to the men assembled on similar mounts about him.

Silence enveloped the entourage. Fenrel knew its source. His underlings were uncertain, but none attempted to question his authority. They witnessed what happened to those who dared. But still, this was the ultimate test. His countrymen remained weak minded. They struggled to see the possibilities of where he led them. They could only envision a tradition of conservative warfare and subservience to the Zodrian Empire.

No more. They would use the mountains no more. The Keltaran grew strong during their years of cowering in the granite prison Hrafnu fashioned for them. The Zodrians on the other hand grew weak. Amird and his Ulrog accomplished what generations of Keltaran could not. The mighty Zodrian Empire grew vulnerable. They stood weak and defenseless. Their army ranged the Northern Marches battling the stone men who simply toyed with them.

What of Zodra’s vaunted allies? The Elves retreated further and further into their woods, deaf to the calls of their allies. The entire world south of Zodra grew too accustomed to her protection to even consider protecting themselves. The Eru were too busy with their own troubles to worry about the Keltaran. Izgra delivered on that promise handsomely.

The Zodrian capital stood open to conquest and Fenrel would be the first leader in his nation’s history to dare attack her. No Keltaran leader ever attempted to march on the capital. Fenrel laughed. For all their ferocity in battle his people truly were a simple bunch. Never thinking in the grand scheme. Never seeing the true nature of what they could become, rulers of the world.

Izgra promised Fenrel all of Zodra south of the capital. However, Izgra didn’t see the value he gave up. The capital was the key. By rights it should be Fenrel’s city. Gretcha was the true line to the throne, not the bastard descendants of Manreel. Once the captain held Zodra, he held the hub of the world. He held the ability to control all the resources and people of that huge expanse of land. Whether they chose to willingly follow or were forced into service was of little consequence. Fenrel would rule through terror and intimidation.