Warlord (49 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Fallon

BOOK: Warlord
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Rorin cried out as she was knocked down. The last of the archers were running past him, many of them dragging their wounded companions. Desperate to reach her, he still wasn’t clear to go to Tejay’s aid, when the sound of horns split the thundery morning. Although he was only vaguely aware of it, behind him the much better disciplined Pentamor and Greenharbour infantry moved up to take their place.
Tejay was still closer to the Fardohnyans than her own lines when the first of the Fardohnyans caught up with her. Tejay must have heard the man approach. She staggered to her feet, turning just as the Fardohnyan raised his arm to strike her with his war axe. Almost casually, and despite the fact she was wounded, alone and had the whole Fardohnyan army bearing down on top of her, she ran her assailant through without flinching, and then grabbed the reins of her horse again and resumed her desperate bid for safety, slashing wildly at another Fardohnyan as he tried to prevent her reaching her own lines.
Sick with fear, Rorin was seriously contemplating picking her up and moving her bodily out of the fray when rescue appeared in the shape of a Pentamor captain Rorin didn’t even know. The officer must have also seen the danger to the Warlord of Sunrise. Before Rorin even thought of asking for help, the man shouted something behind him and a squad was rushing forward to surround the Warlord. The Fardohnyans overtook them just as the Raiders reached Tejay and her companion, but the Pentamor men were prepared for the attack and retreated in a much more orderly fashion than the Sunrise Raiders had, fighting off the Fardohnyans as they went with the wounded Raider and Warlord in their midst. Tejay stumbled along in the middle of them with the arrow still sticking out of her calf.
They caught up with Rorin a few moments later, a hair’s breadth ahead of the Fardohnyans. The men parted for them as they stumbled through to the safety of their own lines. Rorin flew from the saddle and caught Tejay as she staggered and fell again, crying out in agony as someone behind her bumped the arrow protruding from the back of her leg.
They made it through just as the two armies crashed into one another and the din left him speechless. It didn’t sound like men. The battle was a constant roar made of screams and cries and curses that all blended together to create a wall of intolerable noise. He shuddered and looked down at Lady Lionsclaw.
“My la—lord!” he cried over the unbearable cacophony, as he lowered her to the ground. “Can you make it a bit further? You
have
to make it a bit further.”
Tejay glared at him through the narrow slit in her helmet. She was not in so much pain that she’d forgotten the danger of answering him where they could be overheard, although given the battle noise surrounding them it was unlikely. She tried to stand up, but she wasn’t able to put any weight on the leg. With the battle behind their position now, Rorin dropped the magic shield again and wrapped his will around her, using it to lift her onto his own horse. Desperate to put the roar of the battle behind them, Rorin picked up the reins of her horse. Leading Tejay’s mount and the wounded soldier she’d rescued, Rorin pushed his way back through the attacking troops toward the position on the rise overlooking the field of conflict where the High Prince was waiting with his entourage.
It took quite some time to get off the field, but finally he got his two wounded charges clear of the melee. When he looked up at the pavilion, somewhat to Rorin’s surprise the Denikan prince-in-disguise, Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig of the House of the Rising Moon, was standing at the very front of the tent, watching over the battle with a brass telescope.
Rorin glanced over his shoulder, shaking from the narrowness of their escape. Fortunately, there was little chance they’d be caught up in it further. From now on the main battle was in the hands of the officers and men of Pentamor and Greenharbour.
Tejay glanced up at the command tent and then looked down at Rorin. “Get that damned thing out of my leg.”
He eyed the arrow warily. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said with a grimace. “It’s really just a flesh wound …”
“I can heal it,” he offered.
“No wonder Damin puts up with you.” He couldn’t see her expression because of the helmet, but she sounded impressed. “Do it then, lad. Before someone comes down to enquire what we’re doing.”
Taking a deep breath, Rorin gripped the shaft of the arrow and pulled. It came away easily. Tejay didn’t so much as whimper as he did it, and she was right, it was little more than a flesh wound, slicing into the muscle of her calf, one of the few places she was unprotected by the decorative jewelled armour she wore.
He placed his hand over the bleeding gash and drew on his magic, feeling the flesh knit as it healed. A few moments later he opened his eyes and looked up at her. He couldn’t read her face, but the set of her shoulders was visibly more relaxed.
“You really are a handy lad to know, aren’t you?” Tejay sounded as if she’d just come from ordering an inventory of the cellars, not narrowly escaping a battle with her life. Rorin was amazed. He was trembling like a leaf.
“I do have my uses, my … lord. Did you want me to heal your young friend there, too?”
Tejay shook her head and gathered up her reins. “I’ll take him to the medics. It’ll give me an excuse not to join Lernen for a bit longer. You go up there and give the High Prince my apologies. Tell him I’ll be along presently.”
A little bemused by her manner, Rorin left the Warlord of Sunrise with the young Raider draped over her horse, and headed up the short slope to the command pavilion.
“Rorin!” she called after him. He turned to look at her. “Your eyes.”
He stared at her blankly and then realised what she meant. He was still drawing on the magic of the Harshini. His eyes were still totally black and if he confronted the High Prince like that, who knew what his reaction might be. Tejay’s poise wasn’t an act at all, he decided. She was thinking much more clearly than he was.
With a final wave to the brave young woman posing as the Warlord of Sunrise Province, Rorin let the magic go, waiting a moment for his eyes to return to normal before he scrambled up the slope to report to the High Prince.
 
N
ormally, the command pavilion should have been jammed with men, but Damin had arranged for Lerrien, Kraig and only a few of the High Prince’s most trusted slaves, dressed in armour to make them look like officers from a distance, to be stationed in the pavilion. The real battle would take place some miles from here, further down the valley, but the absence of the High Prince and a pavilion over which to observe the battle would strike a warning note with any enemy general worthy of his command. Axelle Regis and his officers had to believe this was where they were making their stand and that the ten thousand men below were all they had to throw into the fight.
Rorin bowed as he entered the open pavilion and approached the prince. “Your highness, Lord Lionsclaw sent me to check if you have any further orders.”
Lernen took his eyes off the battle long enough to glance down at Tejay, who was securing the wounded young soldier more safely to her saddle with her back to the tent. “Why doesn’t he come here and ask me himself?”
“The Fardohnyans are overpowering the weaker cavalry on the right,” Kraig informed them, saving Rorin from having to answer. Kraig had taken the news about his reassignment to the High Prince’s entourage rather stoically, but as he took just about everything rather stoically, it was hard to tell what he really thought about it.
“Warhaft’s men?” Rorin asked. He turned, shielding his eyes against the lightning, and stared down over the battlefield. “Already?”
“I know that name,” Lernen mused, the battle momentarily forgotten. “Why do I know that name?”
“He’s a vassal of Lord Hawksword’s,” Rorin reminded him. “His wife, Lady Kendra, has petitioned you, your highness.”
“Why?”
“She wants you to grant her a divorce.”
“Doesn’t she like her husband?”
“She wants to marry your nephew Narvell, your highness.”
“Hmmm …” Lernen replied thoughtfully. “It would really be much better for everyone if he died in battle then, wouldn’t it? Much neater. Less argument.”
“I … er …” Rorin replied, having no idea how to answer such a suggestion. “I suppose …”
“I tell you what,” Lernen announced. “We’ll let the gods decide. If she’s to be rid of this husband she no longer wants, let the gods take him in battle today. If he survives the day, obviously the gods think she should keep him.”
“That’s a very …
interesting
solution, your highness.”
Lernen smiled. “I’m very wise. It’s because I’m the High Prince, you know. What were we talking about?”
“Your
court’esa
was just noting that the Fardohnyans are overpowering the weaker cavalry on the right. Lord Warhaft’s mean.”
“Well, there you go, then. The gods have …” In a sudden burst of panic, Lernen forgot all about the Lady Kendra and her marital problems and grabbed the big Denikan by the arm. “Hang on … does that mean … are we
losing?”
“No, your highness,” Kraig assured him. “This is as it is meant to be.”
“Are you sure?” Lernen asked nervously. “It doesn’t sound like we’re winning. Doesn’t the enemy overpowering us mean we’re losing?”
“We want them to break through, your highness,” Rorin reminded him. “This is just a feint, remember?”
“But that means they’ll come this way, doesn’t it?”
“We’ll be long gone before the Fardohnyans reach us, your highness,” Kraig assured the High Prince. “But your presence here is required to disguise the ruse, just as you fleeing at the right moment will reinforce the notion your forces have been routed and you believe they are defeated. This will draw the enemy into our trap.”
“So … I’m doing something important, then?” Lernen asked, with sudden childlike excitement. “This whole battle, this clever ruse … it’s all up to me?”
“Most assuredly,” the Denikan replied solemnly.
“Well, in that case,” the High Prince announced, squaring his shoulders manfully, “tell Lord Lionsclaw to get back out there and at least try to give the impression he’s fighting this damned war! Off you go!”
Rorin glanced at the Denikan, rolled his eyes, and then bowed to the High Prince. “My lord is currently escorting a wounded Raider to the medical pavilion and was hoping, on his return, to have the honour of escorting you to the fallback position, your highness. Once you give the order, of course.”
Lernen frowned and looked up at the Denikan slave. “Is that a good idea?”
“An excellent idea, your highness,” the big man agreed.
“Oh, well … all right then, you may tell Terin Lionsclaw he can wait and escort me when the time comes.” The prince turned to Kraig. “When will that be?”
“A good hour at least,” Kraig predicted. “Any sooner and your enemy will smell the trap.”
What followed was the most nerve-racking hour of Rorin’s life. Miraculously, the rain held off while on the plain below both infantry masses were caught in a bloodbath that was part cut and slash and part pushing and shoving. The actual fighting was only going on between the first ten or so ranks of men. The rest of the battle seemed to be made up of the troops at the rear trying to push their way into the fight, even if it meant trampling their own dead and wounded to do it.
As Rorin watched, the Pentamor and Greenharbour infantry that made up Hythria’s centre line slowly but inexorably yielded before the pressure of the numerically superior Fardohnyans, until they had pushed deep into the middle of the Hythrun troops. The flanks, made up of Izcomdar’s light cavalry and a smattering of Elasapine horse, gave every indication it was barely holding on, but hold on they did, while more and more Fardohnyans poured into the funnel.
All we need to do now, Rorin thought, is spring the trap before the Fardohnyans realise they’re in it.
“Your highness,” Kraig suggested abruptly. “Now might be a good time to issue the order.”
The High Prince looked at the Denikan blankly. An hour was a long time in Lernen Wolfblade’s world. “What order?”
“The order to retreat, your highness. We must make the enemy think they have routed your army.”
“But … isn’t retreating … just … you know … running away?”
“This is not running away, your highness. Remember? This is withdrawing to a strategically superior position.”
“No!” Lernen announced petulantly, crossing his arms like a defiant child. “I’ve been thinking about this. We’re staying right here. The people of Hythria look up to me! The soldiers of Hythria need a leader! I will not be seen to do anything so cowardly!”
Kraig looked at Rorin with exasperation. The young sorcerer shrugged. He had no more idea than the Denikan as to how they should deal with Lernen Wolfblade in this mood. Damin was the expert when it came to handling the High Prince.
“
Rorin
!” an impatient voice hissed.
He turned to find Tejay Lionsclaw standing on the slope behind him, still disguised in her armour, waiting for Lernen to implement the next phase of their plan. She had been gone this whole time, and had returned leading both her and Rorin’s horses. Presumably, the young man she’d risked her life to rescue was safe in the hands of the physicians now.
“
Tell him to give the order!
” she urged in a loud whisper, obviously having overheard Lernen’s foolish declaration.
“Now!”
Rorin shrugged helplessly and turned back to the High Prince. “Your highness, you
must
sound the retreat and then abandon this place,” he begged as the noise of the battle grew even closer. “The Fardohnyans have to believe they’ve routed us, or they won’t follow our troops into the ambush.”
“An ambush is a cowardly way to win a war!” Lernen Wolfblade declared. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh! For pity’s sake!” Tejay snapped. “An ambush is the
only
way to win a war when you’re outnumbered two to one, you old fool.”
Rorin debated trying to stop her, but Tejay was in no mood to allow anyone to stand in her way. She pushed past Rorin and planted herself in front of the High Prince, hands on her hips, glaring at him through the narrow eye-slits of her helmet.
“You give that order right this minute, Lernen Wolfblade, then get your arse out of here and back to the real command post, or so help me I’ll put you over my knee as if you were one of my boys and slap some sense into you myself. We’ll see how cowardly your pasty-white backside looks to the Fardohnyans then, eh?”
Lernen squinted at her in surprise. “
Lady Lionsclaw
?”
There being no further point in subterfuge, Tejay lifted the helmet from her head, letting her thick blond hair tumble out.
Lernen gasped in shock. “My lady! You’re pretending to be a
Warlord
?”
“So are you, Lernen Wolfblade,” she accused. “Now give the damned order!”
Lernen studied her fearfully and then nodded, as if too scared to defy such an angry woman. Relieved beyond measure, Rorin signalled to one of the waiting messengers to pass the order along. A few moments later the horns rang out, sounding the retreat.
The troops below, waiting for the command, immediately broke and ran in chaotic disarray. After a moment of stunned disbelief a cheer went up from the Fardohnyans as they realised the enemy was on the run, and then, just as they planned, the Fardohnyans followed.
“Axelle Regis has now lost control of the battle,” Kraig remarked to Rorin, watching the retreat with satisfaction.
“How can you tell?”
“Because the Fardohnyans are following our soldiers without waiting for orders,” Tejay answered for him. “Once men move as a group in a direction you haven’t sent them, you no longer own the battlefield.”
Kraig inclined his head in agreement. “We should leave now. Another few minutes and those soldiers will be on us. Your highness?”
Still staring at Tejay Lionsclaw in dismay, with hardly any resistance at all, Lernen let Kraig lead him to his waiting horse, where the big Denikan picked him up and sat him in his saddle like a father lifting his child onto a pony.
A few minutes later, the command pavilion abandoned, Rorin was mounted again, following Tejay Lionsclaw, the High Prince, Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig of the House of the Rising Moon and the few trusted retainers Damin had appointed to watch over his uncle as they cantered away from the scene of the first engagement.
“Where do you suppose the Fardohnyan cavalry are?” Rorin asked Kraig as they urged their horses toward Lasting Drift a few minutes ahead of the fleeing Hythrun and the advancing Fardohnyans.
“Gathering as we speak,” the Denikan predicted grimly.
It was only as the rain started to hit Tejay’s armour beside him with a metallic plinking sound—even before he felt the first drops on his face—it occurred to Rorin that even though he had sailed through this battle untouched, there were probably two or three thousand men on the field, from both sides, either dead or dying behind them.
And the tragedy of it, he knew, was that unknown to the Fardohnyans, whooping victoriously in the wake of the fleeing Hythrun, the worst was yet to come.

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