“My lord,” Jasper reported, pointing up the path. “The battle is just over that hill.”
Astride Maggie, Alaric pulled up to a halt before the captain of his rangers and glanced at the hill that rose just beyond the edge of the forest ahead. Alaric’s army was marching along what could be generously named a track, a narrow and winding path bordered by light forest that traveled for no more than a hundred yards in either direction. The path followed a small stream. Beyond the trees on either side, the land opened into rolling pasture fields, dotted with wildflowers and empty of the cattle, sheep, or goats that had once grazed there. Once more, Alaric was struck by just how empty this land had become.
Jasper had found this farmer’s cow path, what was essentially a hidden route. It served to conceal his army’s approach, keeping them mostly out of sight from prying eyes. At least, Alaric hoped so.
Alaric’s back was stiff from riding. He dismounted, his armor making a heavy chinking sound as his boots touched the ground. Duncan, who had been riding alongside Alaric, also came to a halt and slid off his horse, moving his mount aside to allow the van of the column to continue the march forward toward the battle.
The day had grown hot, sweltering, the kind of heat that sapped a man’s strength and muddled his thoughts. Despite the shade offered by the trees, Alaric was perspiring heavily under his armor. Sweat trickled down his brow, stinging his eyes. He could feel the moisture pooling in the small of his back and his boots. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It came away dusty and dirty.
The air was thick with the scent of pine and dirt. Alaric glanced at Duncan, whose eyes scanned the way ahead as if he could will the battle into clarity beyond the hill that rose before them. The first of the men marched by, and then it became a continual stream, their boots crunching the dirt rhythmically.
“How is the fighting going?” Duncan asked the ranger, voice laced with concern.
“From all appearances, not good, my lord,” Jasper replied grimly. He knelt upon one knee and began sketching out a map in the dirt at their feet, his fingers moving with practiced precision. “This is the river, the Sken. This is the hill right there.” He jerked a thumb behind him, indicating the direction from which he had come, then drew a line in the dirt. “It’s more of a low ridge about a quarter mile in length, flat on the top and thoroughly bare. It has been heavily grazed, and the dirt has been worn away to bare rock. The other side of the ridge is open and slopes down at an easy grade, traveling a little over a half mile to the river.” Jasper paused and looked up at Alaric.
“I see,” Alaric said. “Continue.”
“The king’s army is here with about six to seven thousand men.” Jasper’s finger circled a spot on the dirt map. “They have their backs up against the river with nowhere to go, other than a swim.” He drew a line tightly around it, forming a half-oval. “Averndale has positioned their army here. They have around nine thousand in total.”
“Do they have any reserves?” Duncan asked, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the makeshift map. “Has Averndale held any of their formations back, kept them out of the fight?”
“A short while ago, they committed everything,” Jasper said, “except for a small force of cavalry, maybe a hundred horses. Their king is with the cavalry. Last I saw them, they were about here.” Jasper touched the very center of the enemy’s line. “Thorold has been moving around the battlefield but hanging back from the fighting. He seems to be observing, commanding from a safe distance. Wherever he goes, his cavalry goes with him.” Jasper looked up. “They are acting kind of like a personal guard. It is also clear the battle has been going on for several hours.”
Alaric studied the dirt map intently, the makeshift lines and symbols, along with Jasper’s description, becoming a vivid mental picture. Kevahn’s forces were outnumbered. That much was clear. They had the river at their backs, a natural barrier that would make retreat all but impossible. That might mean they would fight harder for it. Then again, he did not know the true quality of his king’s army. They could break and give up if the pressure became too much.
The heat of the day seemed to press down relentlessly as the gravity of the situation sank in. He ignored the sweat dripping down his temples, mingling with the dust and grime of the march, his thoughts racing as he considered his options.
Between his six companies on hand, the four hundred militia, and the five hundred men-at-arms from his bannermen, he was bringing more than two thousand men to the fight. This would come close to evening the odds, but he also had the element of surprise on his side. That was a serious factor that could not be overlooked. If the enemy had known of their approach, Thorold would have already redeployed some of his forces to counter him, and Jasper would have reported such.
“Our army is hemmed in, then?” Duncan’s brow furrowed deeply as he tried to grasp the full implications of their situation. “Roderick is in a desperate position, yes?”
“That is correct.” Jasper nodded. “The fighting looks hard and difficult. From a distance, I did observe boats bringing men to the other side.”
“You mean away from the fight?” Duncan looked over at Alaric, concern plain in his gaze.
“That is what it appeared like they were doing. When they returned, they did not appear to be bringing reinforcement.” Jasper glanced at the dirt map. “From what I can see, our king has at least another thousand men on the other side of the river.”
“Which means he did not get everyone across,” Duncan said sourly.
Alaric didn’t much like that boats were taking some back to the other side of the river. He supposed it was possible the wounded were being evacuated to safety, but he doubted it. In every battle he’d ever been part of, the injured were considered and tended to last. If boats were being used, the grim reality was that some of the nobles, maybe even the king himself, were fleeing what they considered a lost cause. If true, he did not have much time to intervene, for the army would not last much longer, especially if its leadership had gone.
His eyes scanned the faces of his men as they continued to march past him, most glancing over curiously at the impromptu meeting. They clearly were wondering what was being discussed.
Rikka and Kiera rode up, their presence drawing attention as the column moved over to let them pass along the narrow path. Rikka’s eyes were sharp, taking in every detail of the scene, while Kiera’s face showed a calm determination, her posture radiating confidence.
The oppressive heat of the day was stifling, but Alaric pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. The strategic advantage of surprise could not be underestimated. If he could deploy—strike swiftly and decisively—he might break the enemy’s lines and force a retreat. His mind raced through possible maneuvers, considering how best to use the terrain and the strengths of his troops.
“Our enemy is fully committed,” Alaric said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his mind. At the same time, he felt a mounting excitement. “You are certain there are no other reserves, other than Thorold’s cavalry?”
“Yes, my lord,” Jasper said, standing and brushing the dirt from his hands. “It seemed that way to me. Thorold committed all he had a short time ago.”
“We’re about to catch them wholly by surprise,” Duncan said. “That will come as a rude shock.”
“I think so too,” Alaric agreed. “Once they spot us, it will be difficult for Thorold to disengage from his current fight to face us.”
“That would be my thought,” Jasper said.
The main worry was the enemy’s cavalry. Alaric’s own mounted contingent was still farther back along the line of march and had yet to come up. To rest the horses’ strength under this heat, Keever had commanded them walked and not ridden.
Alaric glanced at the men marching by. Though his army was very close to the battle, he understood it would take time to get them up and deploy from a marching column into a line of battle. How much time did he have? How long would Roderick’s army hold?
“What are your orders, my lord?” Duncan asked, his eyes locking onto Alaric’s. Leading his horse, Eld had come up a few moments before and stopped, listening in.
Alaric thought for a moment more, then made a decision.
“You will lead the infantry,” Alaric said to Duncan. “I want you to deploy them on this ridge that’s ahead, two ranks only. We will spread our army out across the entirety of the ridgeline. That way, we will look like a far larger force. Place Materin’s men in a large block, four ranks deep, behind the line in the center. When it comes to engagement with the enemy’s main body, use them to thin the enemy’s ranks at the focal point of attack. We will want to break the cohesion of the enemy’s line. Once organized and ready, you will advance to contact, understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” Duncan said. “And what of our horse soldiers?”
“There’s no advantage to revealing all we have on hand. Our cavalry will remain concealed behind the hill until I see what King Thorold does with his own. I will react accordingly at that point. Depending upon what Thorold does, there is a chance I may even alter the basic plan. Understand so far?”
“I do, my lord.”
“Any questions?”
“No,” Duncan said.
“Good. I want to pick up the pace, get as many men on the ridge as soon as possible. Now, go, before our forces reach the ridge. Bring organization to the coming chaos. The quicker we get formed, the sooner we can begin the advance and join the battle.”
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“Very good, my lord.” Duncan mounted up and kicked his horse into a trot, riding forward along the line of marching men.
“Jasper,” Alaric said, his voice firm as he turned to the captain of his rangers, “bring in your scouts. They are good with a bow. Find Materin once he’s deployed on the ridge and join up with him. Help him as best you can, understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Jasper replied and moved off in the direction Duncan had gone, disappearing among the column of march. A shout from ahead rang out, and within moments, the pace was stepped up to a quick march.
Alaric turned to Rikka, his expression softening slightly. He noted she was still wearing a sword. “This battle is likely to get ugly. Is there a chance I can convince you to remain out of harm’s way?”
“Don’t even bother trying,” Rikka replied, her eyes flashing with determination. “Especially with an enemy wizard on the field.”
Alaric had forgotten that; his grip tightened on the reins of his horse. “You are certain he is here?”
“I am,” Rikka said. “I can feel him and the power he is holding on to. With each step forward, the sensation grows. He is somewhere ahead, close, and has not spent the mana he clings to.”
“Meaning he has not used his magic?” Eld asked.
“That is correct,” Rikka replied.
“Can he sense you?” Alaric asked.
“Undoubtedly.”
Alaric did not much like the sound of that.
“But I doubt he has ever faced one of my kind in battle.” Rikka’s tone hardened, becoming deadly. “I shall make it an eye-opening experience for him.”
“How can you be certain?” Alaric asked, suddenly curious. “How do you know he has never faced one of your kind?”
“Because I am.” Rikka glanced over at Eld before looking back at Alaric meaningfully.
Understanding, Alaric gave a slow nod. He supposed the wizard was human, for there weren’t very many elves around. Then again, he might not be. Alaric reminded himself of their conversation concerning other races. How would this wizard impact the battlefield? How would Rikka counter him? He had so many questions and even fewer answers. After a moment, Alaric gave a mental shrug and decided to focus on what he understood and could control, the physical fight ahead.
“Keep her out of trouble,” Alaric said to Kiera. “That is, if you can.”
Her eyes hard, Rikka turned her gaze to him. She raised an eyebrow in question.
“Trouble? Like you, she is strong-willed and makes up her own mind as to what must be done,” Kiera said gravely, glancing over at Rikka. “My place is at her side when she finds it.”
Alaric let go a resigned breath. He had meant it in jest, but Kiera was right. Rikka was her own animal and would do as she saw fit. In a way, he and Rikka were much alike, maybe too similar… that was why they worked. He glanced at the woman he loved and in her gaze saw a glimmer of amusement.
“I’ll watch over her as well, my lord,” Eld said. “That is, if you would permit me to do so.”
“I would be grateful for that, sir knight,” Alaric said and mounted back up. The time for conversation was over. Alaric had an army to manage. Nudging his horse in the flanks, he started her forward, the anticipation building within him for what was to come.
Ahead, the track opened and began to climb upward. Through the scattered trees, he could see the bald hill and ridgeline above, its rocky surface gleaming under the sun. It was very close. His men were already snaking up it, and almost to the top.
Alaric increased his pace, urging his horse into a steady trot. Though he’d already passed along orders that would set the stage for what was to initially happen, he needed to see the battlefield with his own eyes, to assess things for himself.
The terrain was rough with some scree and many rocks, but Maggie navigated it with practiced ease, her hooves sure and steady. He emerged from the cover of the trees and guided his horse upward. Ezran kept pace with him, his face set in a determined scowl. Rikka followed close behind, flanked by Kiera, Thorne, and Eld.
Although he was on horseback and not on foot, Alaric suddenly had a flashback to the Cardinal King’s final stand in the holy land. He vividly recalled the desperate fight up the hill to reach the battle, to relieve the Cardinal’s beleaguered forces. On that fateful day, he had arrived too late, the sight forever burned in his memory, an army encircled and dying. His heart chilled at the thought. Was he too late now? Would Roderick’s army break before he could get his own into action?
Alaric shoved such thoughts from his mind, for they were counterproductive. He was here to fight a battle, and this time, he would not be marching his men away in retreat. He intended to lead them to victory, to do what he could to crush Thorold’s army. Determination hardened within him, his resolve becoming an unshakable force.
Maggie’s hooves clattered over bald stone as he and his horse climbed the last few yards to the summit of the hill. A wall of sound from the battle below hit him before he even saw it—the clash of steel, cries of the wounded, screams, shouts, and indistinct commands. Then the battle came into view, men locked in brutal combat of block-like formations organized into lines and successive ranks.
Tugging on the reins, he stopped his horse and stared, taking in the scene with a strategist’s eye. Duncan and Alaric’s officers were already shouting, calling out orders to transition Jes company from a marching column into a line of battle, even as additional men rushed up the hill and to the summit in a continual stream.
Down the opposite side of the hill, the battlefield stretched out below him, a tapestry of turmoil and bloodshed. Alaric’s mind raced, analyzing the positions, the flow of the fight. He could see Roderick’s men holding their ground, but just barely. They were under intense pressure. That much was plain.
The place where the battle had begun was marked by lines of bodies and a clear trail of carnage. The initial clash had taken place in the middle of the field, and Thorold had driven Roderick’s forces all the way back to the river’s edge. That would have been a titanic effort, a hard push. Alaric had seen such things done before and found himself impressed.
Roderick’s line formed a half-circle, with Thorold’s superior numbers pressing heavily against it. Alaric could well imagine the press of the line, the horrors unfolding within it, for he had experienced it himself. Men were being crushed alive by the weight of numbers or mercilessly trampled underfoot as they fell, wounded, or accidentally lost their footing and tripped. The air was thick with the sounds of battle—the clash of steel, the screams of the wounded, and the shouts of commanders struggling to maintain order.
Alaric ignored the men hastily forming into a line behind him. He studied the terrain closely. The slope down the hill was pastureland. Without animals to graze it, the grass was overgrown, reaching just above knee height. It was hemmed in with stone walls, but overall, it was largely open ground, with only a few rock outcroppings.
“Lovely,” Alaric said to himself, feeling a moment of supreme triumph. His planning and audacity were about to pay off. “Just lovely.”
“What?” Rikka asked, riding up and stopping her horse next to him. “What is lovely about battle? I have always found it ugly.”
“This is beautiful ground to fight over,” he replied, waving a hand forward while still studying the battle playing out below. Behind the lines, enemy wounded staggered back and away from the fight. Some crawled on their hands and knees. “I could not have asked for better.”
Alaric’s gaze swept across the friendly lines, searching for his king. He did not see him, nor Roderick’s personal banner, a lion’s head set in gold over a black field. However, he spotted other standards: Laval’s and Kanar’s, amongst others.
His attention then shifted to the enemy’s cavalry. They had been in motion, moving to the right of the line, but had now come to a stop. Alaric spotted Thorold’s standard amongst them. The enemy king was turned his way, staring intently at the force that from his perspective was likely sprouting from the ridgeline itself. Alaric recognized Thorold’s armor, for it flashed brilliantly with reflected light from the sun.
Several of the mounted enemy soldiers were pointing in their direction. Alaric almost grinned with excitement. He imagined the consternation and shock Thorold must be feeling as an unexpected force appeared in his rear, and a powerful one at that.
Suddenly, two horses galloped away, making for opposite ends of the main line. He knew what was happening. Thorold was passing orders to pull men from the rearmost ranks to face this new threat, to begin to form a scratch line to face off against him.
Alaric studied his own men. Speed would be of the essence. Already, Jes, Lee, and Keskow’s companies were on the hill, redeploying into a line of battle. Men were hastily jogging up, falling rapidly into the growing ranks. It wouldn’t be long before the rest of his little army was up and in position.
Then, a horn blew, and Thorold’s cavalry was in motion again, armor and lance points gleaming under the sunlight. They wheeled, sweeping across the entirety of the field, well out to Alaric’s right, forming into a line from which they could charge. From the precision of the movement, it was plain to him that his enemy’s mounted force was disciplined and well trained, a distinct threat.
Alaric understood exactly what Thorold intended. He was positioning himself to hammer down upon the flank of Alaric’s infantry line once it started moving off the hill and onto flat ground. It was an effective tactic. If successful, the momentum of such a charge could easily roll up Alaric’s line and break it.
Unfortunately for Thorold, and thanks to his son, Alaric now had a superior mounted force, even if the bulk of it was inexperienced. His gaze shifted back to the enemy’s king, who, like a venomous snake about to strike, was positioning his cavalry with great care.
Keever rode up, joining him on the hill. The bannerman surveyed the battlefield, a tight expression coming over him. He held a small gray towel in hand and wiped sweat from his brow, more mopping it up than anything else. After a moment, he looked over at Alaric.
“Your orders, my lord? What would you have your mounted wing do on this fine day?”
“Keep your horse soldiers back, out of sight on the other side of the hill, but ready to go into action at a moment’s notice.”
“We can do that. My men will move up after the infantry and remain just under cover behind this hill. Is that sufficient?”
“It is,” Alaric replied as motion to his right caught his eye. Rikka had ridden over to a man, one of Ganister’s boys, who had just dismounted from his horse. He held a large pennant, which had just been unfurled, clearly at her order. Carrying it, he began moving through the ranks to the front of Alaric’s line, where Duncan stood. Under the sunlight, the banner stood out. It was a striking display of artistry. The wind seemed to grab it, snapping it taut for a prolonged moment before it began fluttering proudly in the breeze.
The pennant’s field was a rich tapestry of blue and gold. On the blue side was a majestic golden lion, while on the golden half a castle was embossed in sable. At the very top of the pennant, a crown rested, a direct symbol of the Ordinate, the emperor’s crown. Bordering the pennant was a delicate trim of silver, reflecting the light of the sun, almost in a glowing halo.
Alaric’s heart began beating faster at the sight of his ancestral family’s standard. It wasn’t the one they normally flew from the battlements of Dragon Bone’s Rest. Most wouldn’t recognize the banner for what it truly represented, but some would. It spoke of a direct connection to a royal lineage, one long vanished from this world, the banner of his true family, Set’Tangenica.
The sight of it filled him with a renewed sense of purpose and pride. It was a symbol of the responsibilities and honor he carried into battle, along with those who had come before him—his family, his house, his ancestors. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his heritage settle more comfortably on his shoulders. Long had he hidden what—who—he was, and he suspected that was now over.
No, he knew it was over.
He would no longer hide and work to conceal his ancestry. Alaric’s gaze fell upon Eld, who rode at Kiera’s side, following after Rikka. There was no point in it, not anymore. Word was already out, and soon, like a wildfire, it would spread.
“So be it,” Alaric breathed. “What will be will be.”
Pulling her horse to a stop, Rikka stared directly at him, her expression fierce and intense. She looked to the royal standard and back to him. There seemed a fire ablaze in her eyes, one that Alaric found matching within his breast. It had begun to burn fiercely.
He shifted his gaze back to his standard. How long had it been since that was raised over an army about to march into battle?
“What will you do, my lord?” Keever asked, dragging Alaric’s attention back to the present.
Alaric shifted his gaze back to Thorold, who had finished moving his line of cavalry, positioning his horse for a perfect strike once the infantry began advancing down the hill. The enemy king had placed himself in the exact center of the line and just ahead of it, as if daring Alaric to move.
Alaric nudged his horse forward, angling Maggie toward Duncan. He had a battle to fight and orders to pass along, for he would soon deal with Averndale’s king. “I am going to cut the head off the snake.”