The lines were silent as Matt rode back to his side of the field. His soldiers had obviously seen the new enemies revealed. They could count just as well as he could, and they knew they were suddenly the ones who were facing long odds. He’d have to put heart back into them, but first he had to know how screwed he was.
“Karve. What are we looking at?”
The Margrave responded quietly, taking a moment to look back across the field at the banners that were emerging from the trees. “There’s at least four banners from each member of the Alliance there. They probably sent them as an escort for those royals. Teblas must have sworn loyalty to them when he heard—”
“I know.” Matt had pushed the rebels into siding with the invaders. The news of Itrelia’s defeat and the truce with the Noble Races would have been bad enough. Hearing about Suluth’s death and the invasion of the Copper Hills had to have shoved Teblas right over the edge and into the Alliance’s arms. “What can they do?”
Karve seemed to pull himself together a little. “I can see Ponthuul Prancers. They are cavalry archers from the Hill Elves, can move just as quick and easily as the Leapers. Looks like the Onyx Clans sent some of their Crossguard. Heavy armor, crossbows almost as long as the Dwarves are tall, bolts can punch right through a shield. Two kinds of mages; one group’s a bunch of Stormcallers from the Circle of Heavens. They really like using lightning and wind. The others are Mistweavers, probably the ones who were using the illusions. The Greymark Circle’s good at those.”
He paused, glancing behind them again. “Two batches of Knights as well, some mounted, some on foot. The foot soldiers are probably Murdersworn from the Knights of the Raven. Heavy armor, thick shields, tough to stop in melee. Cavalry’s probably Chargemasters from the Order of Lion’s Roar. They boost their warbucks with magic, could probably charge straight through a wooden wall and not notice.”
Einreth spoke up from Matt’s other side. “My liege, we need to get you away from this battle. Our prospects… do not look good. It will be bad enough if we lose the army, but if they take you…”
She didn’t have to finish. Matt had never declared a successor or had an heir. If someone killed him here, they’d be the new ruler of the Kingdom, just like when he’d killed the Red Sorceress. It meant that even if Teblas hadn’t wanted to kill him for personal reasons, it was still the most valuable thing to do for the enemies that faced him. He made a mental note to address that once the battle was over—if he had survived, of course.
Matt shook his head. “No. I stay here.” He didn’t add that if he lost his army here, there wouldn’t be much to keep the enemy from immediately marching north. They could take Shadowfen easily with these troops, and Redspire wouldn’t have much time to prepare itself either. He’d gambled on being able to destroy Teblas, and then have time to prepare for the invaders from the Alliance in the spring.
His enemies hadn’t waited, though. They were here, and these weren’t even all of their forces. Which meant he had to conquer here, or his Kingdom would fall. One way or the other, he was committed.
Then he raised his eyes and saw the battlefield again. He studied it as they drew close, trying to imagine how the enemy would see his troops. What would they want to see? How could he use that to turn the fight against them? Teblas hadn’t given him much time, but a couple of hours would be enough to make some changes.
If only he’d been able to taunt Teblas into a duel! He’d been so close, and the rebel had obviously not heard anything about Matt’s newfound magic. Too bad all he had were some basic mining techniques and…
His thoughts stopped. Then he smiled. “Karve, I have orders. They’re probably going to spend some time forming up and resting from their march, so we have about that long to get things ready. Here’s where I want them positioned…”
“I want you to distract those Stormcallers. Keep them off balance and unable to focus on anyone else. Don’t let the Mistweavers distract you; I want you keeping the lightning away from the infantry. Use your illusions to avoid being hit, just like you did at Folly’s End.” Matt tried to make it seem like a forgone conclusion. It was likely going to be much harder than it sounded, but he had no choice. A commander worked with what he had.
The four captains of the Shadow Hunter banners were nodding seriously. They were positioned on the southernmost position in the Forks, in the section just before everything turned to swampy earth and tangled forest. Matt was counting on their speed to help them work around and strike the mages from behind. With luck, they’d manage it, and he’d be able to keep their heavy mages from tearing his troops apart from afar.
One of the captains, a woman named Maeluth, shook her head. “Sire, we’re fast, but they are lining up cavalry of their own to counter us. What if those damn Prancers come after us?”
Matt shook his head. “Don’t worry about them. They’ll be elsewhere.” In fact, he expected them to follow Teblas and head north, but he didn’t bother explaining why.
Another captain glanced across the field. “That may be true, but those Chargemasters are still fast enough to catch us, and they definitely are going to be guarding the enemy’s flank. How are we supposed to get past them?”
He grinned at her. “They won’t be coming after you, Captain. After all, I’m giving them a much juicier target.”
“You’re going to hold here. When they come forward, I want you to start shooting the Mistweavers. Keep them from doing anything useful as the enemy closes.”
The Frost Elves around him seemed skeptical, which was probably justified. He’d ordered the Skirmishers to deploy just north of the Shadow Hunters, almost directly facing nearly an equal number of Knight Chargemasters. It was not the best matchup. Heavy cavalry charging a line of archers across an open field spelled near disaster for the infantry. Matt knew that better than anyone; after all, he’d done nearly the same thing during his first battle, and his troops hadn’t been nearly as heavily armored as these Knights were.
None of the captains seemed to have missed that fact, either. Two of them were staring out across the field as if they were watching their inevitable death approach. Another was glancing between Matt and the captain of the Winterknights, who were lined up just behind the archers, as if expecting the Elven noble to protest.
The last of the Skirmisher captains simply stared Matt directly in the eyes. His voice was low and serious. “Sire, if those Knights reach us, then we are dead. We cannot hold against the weight of that charge. If we are overrun, then the flank of your army is lost, and the battle soon after.”
Matt nodded easily. “You are right, Captain…”
“Xorl, sire.”
“Captain Xorl is entirely correct. If those Knights charge you, you’re dead.” Matt looked around at each of the captains, seeing acknowledgement in their eyes. Good. He didn’t want them to be fools. “That’s exactly what we want them to see. We want them to charge in here on their warbucks without a care in the world. Then, when the time comes, you need to throw down your bows and charge them. Use your spears to take them down. Whoever takes the prince in their ranks will get an Award of Valor.”
The captains blinked. Xorl seemed confused, but his fear seemed to have lessened. Before any of them could protest, Matt turned to the Winterknight captain. “Divide your banner in two, and after the Skirmishers charge, I want you to move out and hit the Mistweavers. They won’t be ready for a cavalry charge, so make it count. Pull back if you need to, but give the Skirmishers time to finish the job before you do.”
She seemed a little taken aback by the orders, but the Winterknight nodded. Matt looked around at them, smiling. “I am not abandoning you, friends. I am giving you the chance to perform the duty you were meant for. Today, you’ll defend the Kingdom and bring honor back to your Houses and families. The bards will sing about this day for generations. Just have a bit of faith in me…and charge when you get the chance.”
Einreth was waiting for him with the contingent of Red Moon troops. She’d already arranged them just to the north of the hill where the dead town waited. Her Red Guard troops were stationed in a double line, with her banners of Bloodsworn in the middle. Across the field, four banners of Murdersworn faced them, backed up by the Crossguard and the Stormcallers. It was an imposing weight of force to be facing, but the Lady of the Red Moon seemed unimpressed. She’d heard his plans, after all. He supposed it wasn’t the worst vote of confidence that she seemed happy to face so many enemies.
“Are you ready?”
She nodded. “Yes, my liege. We’ll hold them here.”
Then she glanced to the south, where the Frost Elves were lined up in their vulnerable position. They hadn’t even positioned themselves right next to the knee deep river in front of them. “You’re sure they’ll hold? I cannot promise to stay here if we are hit from the side and back.”
“I promise, Einreth. They’ll hold better than anyone expects.” It might have seemed insane to promise that, but Matt had spent a bit of extra time in the area. The Frost Elves had been nervous, at least until they saw him using his magic to tunnel through the earth in front of them. He’d hidden the explosions of dirt and stone by pushing it into the river to be swept away, or directing it back into the small ditches they’d already dug. Hopefully, the enemy hadn’t seen it; he hadn’t noticed them adjusting things, at least.
Which meant that the Knights had no idea that the entire ground in front of the Skirmishers was one huge network of tunnels, concealed by barely a few inches of dirt. They’d hold up well enough if a squirrel ran across them, or if the wind blew some more snow on top. When four banners of heavy cavalry tried to charge across them, however… well, their triumphant assault was going to fall quite literally on its face. The chaos and injuries caused by that disaster would give his own troops the chance to swarm over them and even the odds.
At least, that’s what Matt hoped would happen. There would be only one way to find out.
He looked over the Red Moon soldiers. They seemed solid, especially the Bloodsworn. The enemy was probably hoping to smother them with crossbow bolts and lightning blasts, then send in the Murdersworn to finish it. The harassment of the Shadow Hunters would hopefully lessen the problem, but it was still a terrible set of odds to face. “If you get the chance, aim for their princes. These Alliance troops couldn’t care less about the Copper Hills, and if they see their leaders fall, it might convince them to run home.”
“I know, sire.” Einreth smiled at him. “Go. I’m sure the others could use your direction.”
He nodded to her and then continued north. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see six banners of cavalry pacing his movements. Teblas, his Leapers, and the Prancers, all looking to hit wherever he was hiding the moment the battle started.
It was just as he hoped, but even if it was according to plan, having that many troops interested in his head was unnerving. Just one more thing he couldn’t worry about, at least not yet.
His next stop was the dead village, where the Irregulars had been stationed.
They were lined up in three clumps, all ready to use the gentle slope of the hill to their advantage. The Defenders were once again with the Vulgars in the center; the Wagoneers had joined the Axes on the left, and the Scouts and Slingers were on the right. Across the field from them were six banners of Leaffall militia, an oddly shaped mob of patchwork armor and roughshod weaponry.
“It’s almost insulting, is what it is.” The captain of the Axes spat on the ground, and then glanced apologetically at Matt. “It’s like they think we aren’t worth all the troops they’re sending elsewhere.”
“They don’t.” Matt smiled. “Which means they’re going to be pretty surprised when you charge.”
The captain of the Scouts paused, surprised. “Charge, sire? We can probably hold them pretty well here.”
“You’ll do better than that, I’d say.” Matt turned and pointed at the distant militia. “That is a bunch of raiders and bandits that they’ve lumped together and tried to call soldiers. I’d give good odds that the closest they’ve come to a real fight is when a farmer stood up to them. Are you going to tell me you guys can’t stand up to them after you’ve fought Winterknights and Skirmishers?”
Captain Rugord gave him a broad smile, his wagoner’s axe laid across his shoulders. “Good point, sire. We’ll handle them for you.”
“Once they’re beat, see if you can hit the enemy from the sides. Don’t just chase their mob across the field. Those Red Moon boys will probably need the help.” A rough chuckle ran through the group at the idea of Low Folk riding to the rescue of the nobles, and he nodded. “Anything else?”
The captain of the Vulgars raised his hand. “What about the Margrave and the others? Are they going to need any help?”
“I’ll be giving them all the help they need, Captain. As long as you lot got those carts broken up?”
“Broken up, tied together and covered in dirt, just as ordered, sire.” Rugord’s expression told Matt that the captain had no earthly idea what the boards could be used for, but that was fine by him. He didn’t need to explain everything to the soldiers.
“Good. I knew I could count on you.” Matt looked around at them and raised his voice. “Fight hard, do your best, and we’ll all do the Kingdom proud today.”
Karve nodded to him as he approached. “Sire. We’re ready.”
Matt nodded. The Margrave was stationed with the banners of Spears and Footmen, guarding the space between the dead village and the headwaters of the Forks. They were solidly entrenched in the place; the Crown Guard knew very well how powerful those ditches and earthworks would make them, when the enemy came for them.
Not that Matt expected there to be all that much direct combat. Four banners of militia were lined up across from the earthworks, but they would have been easy to break if it hadn’t been for the four banners of Defiant just behind them.
The enemy’s plan was clear in this case. Rather than fighting the Crown Guard directly, they were hoping to use the militia to keep the Defiants safe while the archers peppered the troops with arrows. Any return fire would be scattered to the wind, making the entire thing a miniature siege until something else on the battlefield shifted. Teblas was probably hoping that the rest of the army would have crumbled long before it was necessary to charge Karve’s position—or that he could arrange for the sturdy troops to be flanked.
Either way, Karve would be in for a rough time, but at least he wouldn’t have any risk of being immediately overwhelmed. At least, that was what Matt hoped.
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He looked back across the field and caught sight of those cavalry banners still shadowing him. When he glanced at Karve, the Margrave was watching him closely. “It appears you attracted the Headhunter’s attention, my liege.”
Matt grimaced. “Yeah, looks that way.”
“You didn’t tell me you were planning on challenging him to a duel. I’m not sure it would have been wise.”
He gave Karve a level look. “I’ve won duels before, Karve. I could’ve ended it without all of this.”
Karve nodded. “You have won duels. Einreth told me about what happened at Heartlight.” He then raised an eyebrow. “Fighting an experienced duelist is a much different challenge compared to a double handful of overconfident lordlings. He might have killed you. Then where would we have been? The whole Kingdom would have gone under the Alliance’s boot.”
“I had to take the chance.” Matt couldn’t help how defensive he sounded. It didn’t help that Karve simply continued staring at him with no reaction. “All right, all right, it was… hasty. It doesn’t matter. It didn’t work.”
“Perhaps. Something tells me you’ve just challenged him to a more complicated version.” Karve glanced out to where the Leapers were stirring. “If that’s the case, I advise you to avoid fighting him directly, sire. Let your soldiers fight. The Kingdom cannot afford for you to lose your head—figuratively or literally.”
Matt looked back and forth between the Margrave and the enemy. Then he snorted in frustration. “Who’s been teaching you words like ‘figuratively’?”
Karve laughed. “Lady Einreth has had a refining influence, perhaps.” Then he extended his hand. “Fight well, my liege.”
He took the Margrave’s hand and shook it. “And you, Karve.”
“Why in all the hells are we stuck here, sire?”
Captain Snolt’s exasperated question was as close to a friendly greeting as Matt supposed he was going to get. He smiled at the man, conscious of the jittery postures of the Warg Riders around him. “All according to plan, Captain. Did the Irregulars leave the boards in the right spots?”
Snolt nodded, and Matt looked across the river. He’d stationed the four banners of Warg Riders in a fairly useless spot, north of where Karve was waiting with the rest of the Crown Guard. Technically, they could have been guarding the camp, but realistically, the waters of the river were too deep for anyone to ford. The Riders would have a better chance of sprouting wings than they would charging across that water. Anyone who knew anything would see the Riders position as a fallback, a chance for Matt to run north while the rest of his army was crushed behind him.
Which was why both the Leapers and Prancers were waiting on just the other side of the river, clearly intending to give chase. The Riders might be able to make good time, but Matt knew that the cavalry would run him down the instant he tried to get away. Some of the Goblins might escape, but Matt had no doubt that Teblas would ride every bicorn to death to take his head.
Fortunately, he wasn’t planning on running. At least, not in that direction.
He saw Snolt opening his mouth again, and he gave him a firm look. “You’re going to have your chance to fight, Captain. Trust me.”
Snolt paused. Then he nodded, turning to look at the river. “If you’re sure, sire.”
“I am.” Matt tried not to sound exasperated. “You really do need to get control of that bloodlust, Captain.”
The Goblin snorted. “I’m a Rider, sire. It comes with the job.” Then he shifted uneasily on top of his battle-scarred mount. “It just doesn’t sit right to stay here while all the others are fighting.”
“You won’t Captain. Believe me, we’ll all put in plenty of work today.”
A horn blew across the field, and Matt looked south. More horns followed as the enemy began to form up and advance, their pace showing their enthusiasm and high morale. Even their mobs of militia seemed ready to rush into the fight, though their officers were doing well at keeping them in order. Too bad; if they had rushed forward, they might have been easier to drive backward once they reached his lines. Further to the south, he thought he could see the Shadow Hunters sprinting out and to the side of the incoming warriors, already trying to flank the enemy and get to the Stormcallers.
Then he turned his attention back to the cavalry coming toward the river. He saw the Elves on their greatelks start to draw arrows back, and grimaced. “Captains, get your people under cover. We’re about to have company.”
The Warg Riders obeyed the orders immediately, retreating a short distance so that they could take cover behind some of the wreckage left behind by the destruction of the supply carts. Arrows arrived a few moments later, zipping in from above to strike carts that had been tilted up on their sides. They punched holes in tents and tore openings in sacks full of grain. Matt grimaced as he saw one Rider hit in the leg; one of their companions was there immediately, removing the projectile and bandaging the spot.
He couldn’t afford to be distracted, however. Matt turned back to the river and began to form the framework in his mind. It came together easily; he’d actually been practicing the thing regularly, and had tried it briefly during the chaos earlier, as the Irregulars had chopped up half of the carts. The Earth magic inside him roiled and clashed, as if sensing the opportunity to be unleashed.
The rain of arrows stopped, and the enemy charged. On the face of it, the charge seemed insane; the Orcs and Elves were headed straight for a fast-flowing river of deep water nearly thirty meters across. If nothing altered their charge, they’d be washed downriver, the momentum of their advance crushed by the flow. Their bodies would end up among the rocks and waterfalls that broke the river into the shallow Forks below.
When they reached the far shore, however, the cavalry leaped skyward. He thought he caught the hint of magic in the air as they drifted up higher and higher, their initial jump becoming a graceful arc. The sight of it was awe-inspiring. At least six hundred beasts and riders flew through the air in three separate waves. They floated up, crested, and began to descend in a waterfall of armored flesh, some of them firing more arrows as they descended gently towards the near shore.
Matt watched them come, searching among them for the Headhunter himself. Teblas had to be there; the rebel would never give up the chance to strike the decisive blow directly. It was as much a part of him as his insistent rage over the death of the Sorceress.
Eventually, he gave up. It didn’t matter, but what he did next would.
As arrows zipped down among his men, Matt ignored them and reached out to channel the magic into the soil. The power of the Trickster’s Sneaky Pit once again flowed outward, and the shore before him became a morass of mud.
He didn’t make it as deep as he had in the arena at Heartlight; he wasn’t looking to bury the cavalry in up to their necks, after all. Instead, Matt made the pit trap shallower, barely half a foot of mud and sand that almost instantly drew in water from the surrounding, waterlogged soil. The lack of depth helped him to make the patch wider instead, spreading it from a handful of meters across to nearly twice the length and width of a football field. It happened all in an instant, solid ground becoming a quagmire before the first enemy rider even touched it.
Had they merely been charging across it, the field would have been a mild disaster. Mounts would have slipped and fallen, or at the very least been slowed by the sudden pit. Riders who fell would have been weighed down by their armor, half-helpless as they wallowed in the mess.
They were not merely charging. Six hundred cavalrymen and their mounts plunged into the pit at the end of their leap, and all the grace and beauty of their magic deserted them. Bicorns bellowed and greatelks shrieked as their legs snapped or feet slid. Riders spilled from saddles, crushed down into the mire by those coming from behind. Weapons disappeared into the earth, abandoned or dropped as the mass of flesh and armor writhed in agony. Those who had hit the pit first were smashed to the ground flat as the following waves came crashing down on top of them.
The screams of the mounts tore at Matt’s soul almost as much as the howls of the Orcs and screams of the Elves. What he’d just done was horribly, manifestly unfair, and he had no doubt that it would haunt his dreams, no matter what the uncanny valley would have shielded him from.
Still, he remembered his duty and turned to Captain Snolt. “Riders! Form up!”
The Goblins had been staring in shock, and his orders shook them out of their daze. Riders leapt into saddles, and Wargs snarled as they sensed vulnerable prey before them. Matt’s lifeguard formed up around him, with Snolt and the rest of the Royal First close by. Matt gave them a chance to form ranks just outside the range of that muddy, struggling mass.
Then he dropped the energy of the spell and let the pit become soil again. The mud didn’t disappear immediately, but it hardened into simple earth and clay once more. Orcs stared in shock as they were suddenly up to their calves in solid dirt; Elves pulled themselves free of suddenly firm ground. Some of them, the more clever and less stunned, turned their eyes to the Wargs now waiting right at a perfect charge distance.
Matt swept his mace forward. “Charge!”
The Riders howled along with their mounts as they swept forward. Their enemies before them had barely any time to struggle upright, to free themselves from the sodden earth, before Matt’s troops were on them. Even as lightning struck from a clear sky to the south, and as shouts and screams rose from the rest of the battle, his cavalry rolled over them like a lethal wave of fangs, claws, and curved steel.
He didn’t join them. His hands ached to swing his mace, but Matt knew that the force in front of him hardly counted as an enemy anymore. They were still trying to stand, to pick up weapons, to get back onto their crippled or fallen mounts. As he watched, half of them had already panicked. A few fools were already trying to swim the river, with predictable results as the current swept them away.
Feeling a little hollow, Matt turned to his lifeguard. “Get the boards ready. I want all four sets of them down there as soon as they finish.” His guards eyed him, as if questioning whether he would charge down into the chaos the moment his back was turned. If he was honest, the temptation was certainly there. Whether it was simply to wipe away the horror of it by throwing himself into the middle of the fight, or to seek out and end Teblas personally, he felt the tug to join in the slaughter.
Then he heard Karve’s advice in his mind, and he sighed. “Go. Hurry, or else the next part of the plan will be too late.” They nodded and set about carrying the planks forward. Each of them had been tied together with rope the Irregulars had salvaged from somewhere, and large clumps of dirt were gathered around each end of the ropes.
Mat examined them and then sent the lifeguard down with the whole collection. Below, the fighting was already almost over; the few who were still breathing had either surrendered or were surrounded and utterly without hope.
He spurred Nelson forward. It was time for the next step in his plan.
Snolt rode up to him as Matt approached the river. His face had been smeared with blood, giving the Goblin an especially vicious appearance. “I never should have doubted you, my liege!”
It wasn’t a helpful interruption as Matt was trying to form his next Spell, but he accepted the pause in his preparations. “Did Lord Teblas survive?”
The Goblin shook his head. “No, sire. He went down fighting, but the Riders from the Fourth brought him down.” Snolt snorted. “They’re starting to call themselves the Headhunters now, the braggarts.”
Coming from the captain of the ‘Royal First’, the complaint was a bit much, but Matt let it slide. “And the Elven princess that was with them?”
Snolt grew a little grim. “She’s gone too. Not sure if the fall killed her or the crush after the charge, but she was dead beneath her own mount.”
“I see.” Matt fought the urge to sigh. A hostage might have been useful for negotiating a peace treaty, but his troops didn’t have the luxury of hesitation. Nor did he.
As he went back to the Spell, Snolt continued in an almost rapturous voice. “A fine battle indeed, sire! Something they’ll write about in the stories back home.”
Matt smiled. “We’re not done yet, Captain.” He watched as the lifeguard set the boards in place along the shore. It was hard to ignore the fact that he was standing in a butcher’s yard, filled with the dead, wounded, and dying. Of course, the continued screams and fighting to the south gave his task an urgency that helped him to focus. People were still dying, and more would fall if he didn’t end this soon.
The Captain grinned at him. “Of course, sire. We can just ride back around the lines and…” His words trailed off. When he spoke again, he sounded far more cautious. “What are those for, sire?”
He smiled as the final pieces of Haunted Dust Spell took shape within him. Matt extended his hands and felt the magic flow through him. “Have you ever heard of a pontoon bridge, Captain?”
Before Snolt could answer, the magic flowed through Matt and into the dirt clumped around the ends of the ropes. Matt took control of them, anchoring two for each set of boards on the near shore of the river.
The other two of each set he sent shooting straight up into the air, as high as he could make them go. Boards clattered and clashed as they extended to their full length, forty meters above the ground. Murmurs of awe and surprise rose from the Riders, but Matt ignored them.
Instead, he focused on lowering the ends of the makeshift bridges, pivoting them down and across the river. The ropes stayed taut, making the bridges as straight as a ruler. He felt the magic within him start to strain at his control as the far ends reached the other side of the river. Matt fought against that feeling, trying to stay calm and in control as he anchored both sides of each bridge.
Then he spoke, his voice filled with strain. “Captain Snolt, get everyone across the river. Now. Form up on the far side.”
Snolt spun around and nodded, his eyes wide and wild. “Yes, sire. Immediately!” He turned and started shouting orders. Startled Riders leapt back onto their Wargs, and Matt felt the strain increase as the first of them crossed the river. It only increased as more and more Wargs flooded onto the bridges and made their way across, but he gritted his teeth and bore through it.
By the time the last Riders were beginning to cross, Matt felt his energy finally starting to flag. He’d always been unsure if he could maintain it while he crossed himself; now he was certain that was a bad idea. Instead, he grabbed one of the last Riders and spoke through gritted teeth. “Tell Snolt to hit the Defiants in the flank. I want those archers running before he even thinks of going after anyone else.”
The startled Rider nodded, and Matt let them go. A few moments later, the last of the Riders was across, and Matt finally let the Spell collapse. He saw the bridges immediately tumble into the river, their support vanishing. In moments, the boards had been swept away down the rocks, and Snolt was waving from the opposite side as they rode south.
Matt watched them go for a moment, wishing he could have joined them instead of standing on the remnants of the battlefield. The captured Elves and Orcs were crouching, weaponless and beaten, beside the corpses of their comrades. He looked over at them, considering.
Then he turned Nelson south, motioning for half of the lifeguard to stay with the prisoners. It was probably more than enough to handle the situation.
At least, it would be unless everything else had gone wrong.
Exhausted as he felt, Matt rode hard with the remnants of his lifeguard. He circled around where Karve had been located, hoping that the Margrave was more than capable of pushing forward once Snolt hit the Defiants in the back.
He came up on the hill where the dead village had once stood. He knew he could trust Rugord and the other Irregular captains, but their troops were still technically militia. How well they would follow orders and carry out his plans when they were more than ‘advance and kill everyone in front of you’ was up for debate.
The Irregulars had already pushed forward off the hill by the time he reached there, but the slope gave him a brief look at the entire rest of the battle.
To the north, things were more or less what he had expected. Snolt and the Warg Riders had charged at full tilt into the flank of the Defiants, taking the archers by complete surprise. Deprived of their support, the militia in front of Karve had suddenly routed, with the Spears pushing forward and the Footmen pelting the fleeing peasants with crossbow bolts. The entire northern flank of the enemy had been turned.
East of the hill, he could see the Irregulars still fighting their way forward. They hadn’t been able to drive their opponents off entirely, but that had been partially because their advance had drawn the attention of the Dwarven Crossguards. Even as he watched, long steel bolts rained down on a portion of his Scouts and Defenders, cutting them down even through their shields.
The Irregulars weren’t the only targets of the Dwarven crossbowmen. They had also fired at his Shadow Hunters, trying to defend their allies among the Stormcallers. Lightning still slashed down among the dodging Wargs, though many times their attacks landed on illusions or empty air. Still, it appeared the Goblins had suffered harsh casualties; even with illusions, there weren’t nearly as many Hunters as there should have been.
Yet the Hunters’ loss had been Einreth’s gain. Her troops had pushed forward, meeting and driving back the Murdersworn in front of them. The Dwarves’ distraction had cost the Knights dearly; they looked close to breaking themselves, and Einreth’s Orcs were nearly to the point where they could bring the Dwarves into melee combat.
Then he turned to the south, where he had hoped his traps would catch the Knights and mages off guard enough to allow the Frost Elves to survive. His heart in his throat, he turned, half expecting to see a few banners of Knights swinging around to take Einreth in the side.
Instead, he saw a furious, bloody melee in the middle of a network of pits and trenches. It was nearly impossible to tell who was winning or losing, but the Elves were holding. More than that, the Winterknights had managed to bring the Mistweavers into melee. Matt’s jaw dropped as he watched the heavily armored Frost Elves riding down the Wizards, ignoring magical blasts and misdirection to cut down the mages where they stood.
He turned, feeling something close to a sick sense of awe run through him. As he looked out over the battlefield, he saw the collapse sweep through the enemy lines. The militia standing against the Irregulars saw the Defiants dying and their fellow militia routing. Their morale gave out almost immediately; he saw them start to flow away and run like water pouring from a cup.
As the militia ran, the Irregulars charged forward, their path to the Crossguard suddenly clear. Vulgars and Wagoneers abandoned their smaller friends to charge straight at the Dwarves, their polearms flashing and striking. The Dwarves didn’t manage to get off another volley before the Orcs hit them. Their heavy armor held for a little while, but as they were driven back and occupied, the Murdersworn finally broke. When they ran, Einreth’s Bloodsworn caught up to the melee as well, tearing through armor with their magical weaponry. It wasn’t long before the Dwarves were running as well, with a wall of howling Orcs in furious pursuit.
With the center and opposite flank in full collapse, the remnants of Teblas’ army ran too. The Mistweavers gave up and fled, even as the Winterknights rode them down. A few more strikes of lightning swept out from the Stormcallers, but the Shadow Hunters distracted them with a few more volleys, just long enough for the Axes to catch them. Moments later, the Wizards were fleeing the field, along with the broken wreckage of the rest of the army.
To the south, the Knights that had been trapped in the pit were the last to realize that the battle was lost. When they did, however, it was almost entirely too late. As they struggled their way out of the melee and the mud to run, they found themselves cut off by Einreth’s Red Guard and even some of the Slingers who had chased the Stormcallers in an odd direction. Most of them who managed to break free either rode frantically further south, willing to risk the mires there rather than face more enemies, or simply threw down their weapons and surrendered as their situation became clear.
That quickly, it was over. Matt watched his soldiers continued their pursuit, knowing it would be fruitless to call them back or even give orders. He sat back on his warbuck, watching as his army chased the enemy from the field, and finally, quietly, relaxed. The battle was done. He’d won. He’d won!