Bennett spent the next seventy-two hours with little opportunity for sleep or repast, he had much to achieve and little time to do it, and he went about his preparations at a manic pace. His first priority was to dispatch a string of watchers to strategic points along the predicted Wolf Lord's route to Stephan's settlement. Giving them fast ponies that they could quickly relay any intelligence of their enemy's movements, or numbers back to him.

This task he handed to Stephan's men, deciding after a lengthy discussion with the old man, that they would be best employed in an ancillary role in any conflict. As he had guessed most of these men, though keen to defend their homes and families, had little real skill with weapons and would likely prove more hindrance than help in the thick of battle.

While the sentries positioned themselves as they had been instructed throughout the surrounding countryside, Bennett spent his hours extensively touring the local surroundings, formulating a battle plan that would take full advantage of the guerrilla strategies of his own force, and expose the weaknesses of heavily armored, mounted knights.

In less than a morning's scouting, he had found a perfect location that he felt would play right into his hands. A steep-sided, rocky valley, the only direct point of entry a mounted troupe could easily navigate. Lothar would have to travel via this route or be forced to deviate many miles to the south, coming in behind Stephan's settlement from the east, even then he would still have to ford the river. The experienced fighter taking a gamble that Lothar would indeed ride through this place, as he always did, suspecting no local resistance. Straight into the waiting arms of his own death.

Bennett smiled at the thought, that soon the city would be his. The valley opened fairly wide toward the western end, Bennett finding this less than ideal, but other than that minor detail the place was perfect for the attack he had in mind. At once he sent Stephan's men to the tops of both of the valley's steep, uneven sides, toward the eastern end where it narrowed abruptly. Instructing them to position as many large boulders as they could maneuver onto the high overhanging edges. All it would take was some slight leverage at the right moment and the stones should do their lethal work, aided by a force of well-placed archers at the eastern end, most should not survive to make a retreat.

Then there was the matter of the ones that did? Well, he and his bloodthirsty killers would have their blades ready and close in from behind, taking advantage of the ensuing panic to finish the job and butcher the wounded.

With this clear plan in mind, the valley was readied for the ambush, under Bennett and Sven's careful direction. Being ever mindful to disturb little, and conceal all positions and defenses carefully, as they had to make this opportunity count.

Bennett did not include his own warriors in the labors of setting up the ambush, this was a job for Stephan's men alone. Realizing that his men would take the largest proportion of the risk during the battle he allowed them the luxury to rest up, feast, and drink plenty. Asking only that they be prepared to move at any time, and that their weapons be sharp and ready.

The first watcher had reigned in his tired, lathered horse just before midnight. Its hooves slipped and clattered on the cobbled courtyard. Bennett and his followers were already on their feet, crowding the skittish animal and its rider. Stephan appeared from his home just as suddenly, accompanied by his house guard.

"The Wolf Lord is on the move," the exhausted messenger could barely get out.

"How many?" Bennett questioned. The horse danced about under its rider in tight circles, tossing its head, wild-eyed.

"About thirty, all mounted, heavily armored, and he is with them, riding out front." The statement came with difficulty as the man fought to control his restless mount in the tight crush of the crowd. "No foot soldiers, and no archers, just his horse that's all."

At this there was an audible sigh of relief from many of Stephan's people who had braved the chill, windy darkness, leaving the warmth of house and hearth to hear the latest news of their foe. Bennett raised his hand to quiet the crowd, sensing their careless abandon, wanting every man there to face the harsh reality of the present situation.

"The war is not yet won." He reminded them sternly. "Not until I have Lothar's scalp!"

Stephan grimaced at this comment, as did many others there. By now he secretly loathed this bully of a man that he was forced to suffer in his midst. However, Bennett's own men went wild, their joy at the impending confrontation showing them for the bloodthirsty savages they really were.

"Let's move out without delay, our enemy should reach the pass by early morning. You all know your positions and the battle plan. So let's go!"

With that he dismissed the milling crowd, singling out the messenger who by this time had dismounted and had handed the reins of his horse to a waiting stable boy. Before the exhausted man could take his rest, Bennett further queried him on many points, Stephan as well, just to be doubly sure of the enemy's strength before the hour of confrontation came.

After the messenger was dismissed the two headmen conferred for a time, Stephan revealing to Bennett that this was indeed a small show of force on Lothar's behalf. He believed that his enemy's army contained at least thirty archers, and some fifty foot soldiers, besides the mounted knights that were on their way. Despite this Bennett was pleased, to him deposing the head man was all that mattered, sure that with Lothar's death, he would earn the right to rule in his stead.

*****

The ambush was in place shortly before the light of dawn broke the gloom, all preparations had gone smoothly and to plan. A blustery south-westerly wind was on the rise, this would further aid their cause, they would hear Lothar's approach early, and it would serve to render his force deaf to their presence. Messengers were constantly arriving now to report on the enemy's progress and it was clear that they were definitely heading this way, due to arrive as predicted sometime before mid-morning.

Under the command of Will, Stephan's men, twenty or so, selected as they were unskilled in the use of weapons, waited concealed on the escarpments above, ready for the moment when the knights would be far enough down the valley that they could launch their deadly tons of rock. Further on toward the valley's more constricted end, Renard had under his command thirty or so archers, their task to prevent anyone pressing through under their hail of missiles, forcing them to retreat back the way they had come.

As an emergency backup, standing at the ready some ten grim-faced spear men, the last line of defense. The best and bravest of Stephan's untried force waited beneath Renard's position, as protection for the archers ranged above. There in the eventuality that the worst was to happen and someone did break through their lines. All delegated hoping this would not eventuate as theirs would be the most difficult and dangerous of tasks. None among them wishing to witness the sight of a fully armored, sword-wielding knight on a ton of horse flesh, bearing down on them as they held a spear braced in their hands, hoping for the best.

The final force, Bennett's, had been divided into two groups, positioned on either side of the valley's open western end. One under his leadership, the other under Sven's. All lying silently in wait flat on their bellies, concealed perfectly by the cover of grass, rocks, and low-lying scrub. Most brandishing sharp-edged weapons such as axes or machetes, some even had swords.

Bennett lay there now watching the sun climb ever higher into the sky, mentally preparing himself for the kill as he always did on days such as these. Feeling the indomitable warrior spirit course through his veins, his senses knife-edge sharp, feeding on the adrenaline the moment provided. Loving wholly this life he led, tempered with death and destruction.

Indeed with his heightened senses this morning it felt good to be alive, and he was practically salivating with the bloodshed soon to come.

He inspected his weapons one final time, running his thumb down his machete blades, his weapons of choice, today he would wield one in either hand. These iron weapons were easy to come by and did their work well, the perfect tools for dispatching horses if one was accurate and quick. He checked again his handgun, loving the look of the beautifully engraved weapon, ever careful not to let its highly polished surface catch the fast-improving light. Re-holstering it in his belt and opened his ammunition pouch, taking stock of the last of his precious bullets. Finally brushing his hand over the dagger concealed in his boot, his last line of defense should it be needed. Certain though that it would not be required this day.

*****

Lord Lothar rode the desolate, desert landscape without a care, so full of confidence was he. After all, he possessed a superior force that no rebel band, no matter how desperate, would dare to engage in open battle. All his highly trained men were heavily armored and their horses too, sporting a combination of chain mail, metal plate, and hardened leather offering good protection, and presenting an intimidating spectacle as they closed the miles toward their intended target.

As far as he was concerned Lothar just intended to ride into the foolish old man's lands, retrieve the promised girl by force, and any other bauble that took his fancy. Intimidate Stephan to negotiate a resumption in much-needed supplies for his fort, perhaps make a few examples of some peasant folk, and torch a few farms. That accomplished he would subsequently depart, dictating his terms for future compliance to Stephan, and leave for the comfort of home, and the joys of his virgin bride. With this in mind, he urged his heavy horse on with a sharp kick from his metal spurs, feeling instantly the large beast respond to the persuasion breaking into a canter. His men followed suit in close formation.

The entrance to Stephan's rich farmlands lay just beyond, already he could make out the rocky break in the terrain and the stunted scrub that signaled the valley's entrance that lay ahead. The settlement lay nestled only a few miles further to the east, and Lothar was impatient to get this business over with.

This being the case he reached the entrance of the valley at a flying gallop. At such breakneck speed, the knights had no warning of the ambush, until the first of the massive boulders came crashing down on top of them, crushing all in their wake. The entire section of the pass erupted into a wall of deadly, moving rock, as tons of displaced soil and stone came showering down about them from both sides.

Horses and men alike went down in those first confusion-filled moments, the panicked shouts of men and the tortured screams of their injured mounts, were horrible to hear. Despite all the conditioning and training, the war horses panicked, many bearing ghastly injuries and broken legs. Some still managing to find their feet, bolting back over the top of their unfortunate riders to escape the landslide and the carnage all around.

Then followed the barrage of arrows peppering the ground about them, a maelstrom of death issuing from somewhere high out front. Some finding their mark, and many more maiming those left standing. Further adding to the pandemonium was the lingering thick cloud of dust from the rock fall, choking and blinding the remaining men as they attempted to collect their wits. Trying to stave off the volleys of missile attacks they immediately formed a shield wall as a protective phalanx around their injured leader, who had suffered horrific wounds. The lower half of his body was crushed by his falling mount, which now exhaled its last blood-filled breath, and struggled no more beneath the heavy rubble.

Lothar's remaining men fought desperately to free their leader from his predicament. The stoic man doing his best to fight down the rush of pain, nausea, and faintness that threatened to overcome him as they did so. Ordering his remaining force, which now numbered less than half, to retreat back down the valley, out of the range of the intermittent arrow fire. Some of his men by this time had taken up their crossbows and opened fire blindly on the assailants above, covering their backs. Though he was in great pain, Lothar did not panic, he had faced death many times before, and today was no exception. Knowing that if he had any chance of leaving here alive they must beat a rapid retreat and head swiftly for the safety of his walls.

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The thunderous roar of the rock slide was Bennett's cue to attack, his entire force erupting with battle fury from their concealment in the grass and low scrub. Swiftly and eagerly they covered the distance toward their target, dodging the occasional fleeing riderless horse, the dust cloud veiling their murderous intent until the final moments.

Bennett and his horde baying for Lothar's blood rushed the huddle of knights, blades drawn. Who by this time had regrouped, settling their terrified mounts, forming them into a tight circle, shields and swords facing outwards, with the man Bennett sought protected in their center.

"Go for the horse's legs!" Bennett screamed at his men, sensing their sudden hesitancy at the sight of the bristling phalanx of armor and swords. The giant man rushed right in leading by example, regardless of the risks he now faced. Driven almost to reckless abandon by the near proximity of the man whose head he must now have.

Bennett worried for a second, hoping the archers above would now hold their fire, but he had little time to dwell on such matters his attention snapping back to the huddle of knights who were now attempting to push slowly forward past them, keeping tight formation. Limiting the opportunities for a sword thrust to their flanks with their interlocking shields.

Bennett's warriors took their leader's cue and came on in, thrusting low with their weapons, hoping to bring some of the big animals down. Gareth swung his heavy axe, spraying blood and splintering bone. Sven wielded a long spear, that immediately found its mark, embedding its length between the overlap in a horse's armor plate, and narrowly avoiding a kick from the equine's massive hoof. The animal went down heavily in a screaming, thrashing heap, temporarily breaking the defensive wall.

Bennett's rabble instantly descended on the fallen soldier, cleaving him with their hungry blades, and rushing the vulnerable space left by the knight's demise. They had fought mounted men on many occasions before, but never against such organized and heavily armored foes.

All the while Lothar's tight knot of men were attempting to force their way past the wall of slashing, bloody weapons, bravely defending their leader from these unknown adversaries, attempting valiantly to break free despite being vastly outnumbered. In the press of hacking swords, nervous horses, and frantically fighting men, Lothar's second-in-command Daemon shot his Lord a worried glance. The realization at once paramount that his Lord was losing his fight with his torn body and consciousness. Detailing another knight to support the fast failing man over the cacophony of the skirmish. All the while hacking and slashing at the ever-closing rabid horde with his short sword, making little headway.

His men armed with crossbows had done better, taking out some of the archers ranged above, though realizing the aerial attack had ceased, they began to turn their attention to the sea of warriors surrounding them.

The red dust cloud had begun to dissipate, giving Renard a clear view of the battle's progress below. He had ordered his archers to stand down as Bennett drew close, telling them to conceal themselves and await further instructions. Avoiding the crossbow fire, he swiftly skirted the top of the cliffs seeking a better vantage point above the skirmish. He could witness the bloody contest, a tight knot of mounted men desperately struggling to hold out against the viciousness of Bennett and his minions, slowly being worn down, their noble mounts hacked to pieces beneath them, and his father's enemy Lord Lothar barely conscious in their center looking as though he would not see the sunset.

Renard's observations of the carnage below had not gone unnoticed, his keen eyes spying the impending danger at once, and he moved without thinking, in an act of pure instinct. Swiftly launching an arrow squarely into the unprotected throat of a crossbowman, felling him instantly. The bolt meant for him thudding uselessly into the earth close by. Even as he did this a cunning plan presented in his mind as he took out the remaining three, all before their quarrels could find their marks.

Daemon saw the men go down despite his own fierce struggle, chilled by the miraculous display of marksmanship from up above, hardly believing that all the arrows had found their targets unfalteringly despite the gusty, and strengthening wind. Deciding that if he did not make the attempt to break now they would all most certainly be slaughtered where they stood.

He was in a desperate situation but he knew what he must do, and he set about it immediately, barking orders to his men whilst madly deflecting blows with his dented shield, and his sword seeking flesh with every thrust. Daemon's men knew what he had in mind and readied themselves for the order. "Break!" Came Daemon's shout. At once all the horses rushing forward making no attempt now at formation, pushing Bennett's frenzied warriors aside, bowling many of them over with the sheer brute power of their weight.

Bennett did not balk at this, instead using the break to his advantage, dropping low and wildly slashing with his machete at one of the beast's undersides as it careered past him spraying him with blood and entrails, disemboweling the animal. The horse did not get more than twenty feet before it crashed down in a crumpled heap.

Bennett immediately engaged the shaken but still uninjured rider, his sheer power and size easily overcoming the man, batting the sword from his grasp, forcing him to defend himself with nothing but his shield and a small dagger. Bennett rounded on him his merciless gaze chilling to behold, seeing the man was already beaten, slicing at him ruthlessly with the twin machete blades, striking sparks against his plate, denting it with the force of his blows.

"Form up!" Came Daemon's next order.

Bennett was all but oblivious as he strove to finish the desperately defending soldier, who was surprisingly agile considering his heavy armor. The brute's anger was now on the rise as the man evaded his final strike time and time again, attempting to push and shove him with his shield, seeking desperately to get his blade where it would do some good.

"Charge!" Daemon called, at the same time a group of three knights bearing their injured Lord broke for the west and the safety of home.

The second in command wheeling his massive bay horse about, along with eight of his remaining men, charging back into the fray, hoping to buy some time. Daemon considered this was a desperate option, but he could see few other choices at this moment, and he went in hard determined to make this last charge count. Already he had picked his mark, muttering a soldier's prayer to his God, he charged at Bennett's exposed back.

Renard saw all from his lofty vantage point, watching the knight's final charge with morbid fascination. Noting Lothar's escape, he notched an arrow and let it fly, even before he fired the shot he knew it would never reach its mark, he was out of range, and the strong wind was not in his favor. Watching it thud uselessly many feet away into the shifting sands. He notched another arrow, and for the first time that day, he felt the twinge of nerves, as he sighted it carefully at Bennett's throat, breathing deeply to reach that inner calm that accurate aim required. However, the massive speeding horse and its rider were suddenly in the way.

Daemon was perilously close as Bennett's machete finally tasted blood, embedding its sharp edge deeply beneath the desperate man's armpit, the powerful blow chopping into his rib cage and lungs as the soldier raised his dagger to strike, the pointed weapon raking Bennett's bare chest with a superficial wound, as the man fell down in surprise choking on mouthfuls of his own blood.

The massive bay horse its raven mane and tail flying, thundered up behind him bearing down at breakneck speed. Bennett frantically attempted to extricate the deeply embedded weapon but failed to do so. Snatching up his one remaining machete, he ducked just in time as the rider descended, rolling away clear of the horse's trampling hooves, feeling the rush of a slivered steel missing him by bare inches.

The knight reined his horse to an abrupt standstill, to him this battle was now personal. Lothar his Lord and greatest friend may not even live, at best he may never be whole again, and many others had been slain that Daemon had been proud to call his friends. This was time for payback, and the usually controlled commander felt fury boiling in his veins as he gazed on this savagely, impressive warrior.

He had little time to search for motives. With this hatred and need for revenge he spurred his mount forward, using the horse's power and weight, attempting to knock the massive brute to the ground. Missing Bennett completely, surprised at the big man's speed and agility as he limberly dodged aside, receiving a stinging blow to his chain-mailed thigh for his efforts, his own weapon slicing nothing but thin air. Again he turned his mount to charge, white foam flecking his bay horse's coat, sand flying out from under the beast's massive feathered hooves, determined this time to run the man down, wanting nothing more than his sword to taste his enemy's blood.

Renard held his aim, the knight and his solid horse repeatedly blocking his shot time and time again. The wind was blustery also, making his judgment difficult. Renard would have to avail himself of all his archery skills, breathing deeply, his eye never leaving his intended target, arrow notched, waiting for an opening to present itself.

Bennett was tired of this knight's game, as neither man had yet gained the advantage, his observations telling him that he had to eliminate his mount if he was going to win. A risky but necessary endeavor, as the big man was beginning to tire. A quick scan about revealed that he was on his own, his men were all still busily engaged in their own battles dragging down the last of the knights. There were no warriors close by, he could expect no backup from the others.

The horse was on him again in no time, the look around had cost him dearly, the speeding animal already almost on top of him, and he had no room to jump to the side. The horse's shoulder threatened to crush him against the jagged rock face. He had bare seconds to react and his available options were few. Electing to hold his ground and raising his remaining blade in front of him clasped firmly in both hands, as the horse crashed into him and his extended weapon. Bennett seeking frantically to drive it deep.

The collision had such force that the iron blade snapped off in his grasp, embedding deeply in the magnificent war horse's chest, blood sprayed and the stallion screamed. The jarring force of the impact ripped the pommel of the broken weapon clear from Bennett's grip. His hands and arms were numb with the shock of the blow, the steed falling hard, shoving Bennett savagely up against the rocky barrier behind, winding him, and grazing large cuts in his back.

Bennett felt the sting of the man's sword also, tearing along his left arm, the off-balance soldier again wide of the mark, as he rode his stumbling, mortally wounded beast to the ground. Dropping off its back, and throwing himself in full fury at the now injured giant. Bennett kept his back to the wall as the knight rushed in, raw fury for vengeance lending him speed and added bravado, as he covered the few short paces toward his obviously injured and tiring adversary.

With nothing remaining to defend himself with but his handgun or his dagger, Bennett pulled the pistol, firing it in the nick of time at point-blank range. The bullet exploded in the angry man's face, pulverizing his features completely, and showering Bennett with bone, blood, and brains. As he did so his hand clutching reflexively at his throat, not comprehending initially in the chaos of the struggle, what had even happened.

As the dead almost headless man slumped down before him raking his sharp sword down Bennett's thigh in one last parting shot, the big man was amazed as his own blood oozed steadily from the gash in his neck.

More ominous still he took in the quivering arrow, its shaft protruding starkly just beyond him in the sand. An arrow meant for him? He wondered darkly, or an accident? Raised his eyes to the cliff tops, yet seeing nothing through the blood and sweat, for the first time seriously doubting the integrity of his prized archer, as he turned to rejoin his now victorious men.