The remainder of the journey back to Harvesthold would have been pleasant if Matt didn’t have a gigantic threat looming in the back of his mind. There wasn’t any rain, and the persistent chill of the early spring had faded into the dull warmth of the returning sun. In amongst the sheer rock and overhanging trees of the Broken Hills, it should have been easy to forget his troubles and enjoy the song of the birds and the joy of seeing the light filtering through the leaves.
Unfortunately, the ache in his head was a constant reminder of what he was facing. Matt didn’t know how much worse it would get if he fully lost the Sortenmoors or the Broken Hills, but he suspected it wouldn’t end well for him. Retreat wasn’t going to be an option, then, and the forces he had on hand were minimal to say the least.
After Gwelfed and Mulwan had left, he had asked Lord Angru to send a messenger to Bridgeton. His orders there were simple; if there was still no sign of the enemy, he wanted everyone but the militia to withdraw to Greyspring. It would give Bridgeton enough of a garrison to hold the crossing for a while, and the rest of his troops could try to reinforce if an enemy came. If the Alliance really had been moving through the Alterians’ territory, he wanted those troops close enough to call on, however.
Unfortunately, there wouldn’t be much else he could rely on. Lord Angru had four banners of Westguard available, but the rest of the Hard Scythe forces were deployed in Winterfast. Other messengers were on their way to Shadowfen, Heartlight, and Redspire, but any reinforcements from those places might take too long to reach Harvesthold.
Technically, he could try to stall the enemy. Just by moving around, he could pull the enemy’s attention away from places like Celriiston, Greyspring and Harvesthold, but it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, the Alliance would work their way around the Oath and send a part of whatever behemoth of an army they had built to take more of his Kingdom. Maneuvering and running weren’t going to keep the enemy from his throat this time.
He spent the rest of his journey worrying over various scenarios, fighting to come up with more and more ideas on what he could do to fight the threat. His complete inability to find a good solution was disheartening, to say the least. By the time Harvesthold came into sight, he was nearly at his wits’ end.
It was for that reason that it took him a while to realize that banners were flying over the city. Not just the usual flags for the Westguard garrison and the High Clan, but also the flags of more troops than he’d seen the first time. Had the Clan called out the militia? Without training, they’d barely be any better than cannon fodder, but maybe…
Then he registered exactly whose personal heraldry was flying over the Greathold itself. He blinked in surprise. It was Grufen’s heraldry, but he was still supposed to be in Winterfast. What could he be doing here when…
His thoughts trailed off as a cluster of riders left the gates of Harvesthold and rode towards his group. They were led by someone on an icestag, who rode with a confident gait and an impossibly smug grin. He couldn’t quite believe his eyes, even as she rode up to him.
Tanya couldn’t hardly contain her obvious satisfaction as she smirked at him. “Hello, cowboy king. Miss me?”
It took a while to figure out what exactly had happened. The entire time, Tanya was just sitting there grinning at him, like she had finally managed to surprise him.
He wasn’t about to admit that, however. She’d never let him hear the end of it.
“So who is guarding Winterfast? I thought—”
Tanya just waved away the question. “Grufen already had things mostly worked out, and the nobles who were still giving him trouble just needed a bit more convincing. It took me a while to talk them around, but I managed. As if there was any doubt.” She sniffed and tossed her hair.
Matt just stared at her. “What if they rebel again? We went to a lot of effort to bring them back in line.”
“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem.” Tanya smiled. “Voice Tabinthra—you’ll like her, she tells great stories—was already starting to get the nobility there to jump through hoops, and the Assembly of Winterfast called out some militia. To fend off any northern invasions while the nobles are gone, you see.”
He blinked. “While they’re… you brought them with you?”
She smiled. “Oh yeah. They managed to make up a second banner of Winterknights, along with reinforcements for the Frost Elves you already lost. All I had to do at that point was convince the Margrave that it would be a good idea to see how his home was doing, and here we are!”
Matt was struggling to take it in. Grufen hadn’t left any of his banners in Winterfast; he’d brought four more banners of Westguard, along with another four of War Reapers, the elite troops of his Clan. Between those Orcish warriors and the two banners of Winterknights, four banners of Frost Elf Skirmishers, and the four banners of Westguard that had already been in the city, he actually had a sizable force in place now. True, he’d normally want better troops than a bunch of former rebels that wanted to kill him, but Grufen was dependable, and it was better than the nothing he’d already had.
While he’d been mulling the situation over, Tanya had been looking around with growing impatience. “Hey, where is Melren, anyway? I have some questions for him. After all, I’m just about done with my second Source.”
She looked so unbearably smug about it that Matt had to laugh. He shook his head as she gave him a withering look. “I’m sorry, I just… I left him down south at Bridgeton. He was taking care of a project for me, but he should be on his way back north already. We might be able to meet up with him in a few days.”
“Good. I just have a little bit left to go, and I’ll have the chance to learn the spells he’s been promising me.” Tanya raised her eyebrows at him. “How has your progress been going?”
Matt rolled his eyes. “I’ve been doing fine. Almost have the Spring part of my foundation finished. After that, I’ll just have Body left, and I’ll be ready for some new tricks too.”
“Well, I’m glad you learned something then. Though you still managed to get yourself hurt. I’ll have to talk with the Imp about that…”
There was something vaguely threatening about the way she said the words, and Matt gave her a stern look. “He was doing the best he could. We all were.”
She glared at him. “Which means you were doing something dumb enough that even your lifeguards and advisors couldn’t keep you safe. Are you going to tell me what it was?”
Matt winced. He tried not to look around at his lifeguards. “Sometimes the safe way isn’t the way things need to get done, Tanya. I’m not going to risk everyone else’s life just to save mine.”
Tanya muttered something under her breath, and her attendants chortled a little behind their hands. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed. “Well, at the very least, I’m here to make sure you don’t take it any farther than you have to. What’s up next on your agenda, anyway? Nothing dangerous, right?”
He winced. “Actually, it might be better if you head to Redspire. I can try to meet you there.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. “That bad, huh?”
Matt sighed. “There’s an army coming that might be… hard for me to stop. I don’t want you to be in harm’s way if they break through.”
“I’m not going anywhere unless you are.” Tanya held up a hand when he started to respond. “We both know you’re not going to convince me. Just save your breath.”
He glared at her. “You know, I could just order you to go.”
She gave him another smile. “I’m sure that helps you feel better about all this. Now, let’s get going. You probably have a lot of plotting to do.”
It was all the more irritating that she was right. He sighed and tried to ignore the looks between his lifeguards. The way Gorfeld was trying to hide a grin did not help, either. Matt shook his head and tried to focus. He had a chance, now. All he needed was a good, clear picture of what he was fighting.
The next few days were agonizing in their own way.
At least part of each day was spent visiting with Hard Scythe nobles, in one way or another. They were far more accepting of him now, and he could already tell that Tanya’s influence was starting to make itself felt. She’d already conned at least half of them into donating something to help fill or finance the Maiden’s House back in Redspire. He wondered if she had done the same in Winterfast.
Matt spent the rest of his time either practicing his mantras, or obsessively studying the maps of the terrain around Harvesthold. By the end of the first day, he felt like he could name every hill and road within a day’s ride. Before the second day was over, he could almost picture half of the Broken Hills in his head. He spent a few hours of the third actually riding out with his lifeguard, checking the spots he thought could best serve as choke points or ambush spots. It was impossible to know which route the Alliance was planning to use to reach Harvesthold, but at the very least he could use the knowledge when they came for him.
It was on that third day, as he wearily went over the mantras yet again, that the foundation for Spring slid into place. Matt knew it was a minor victory, especially compared to Tanya’s progress, but he was still buoyed by it as he went to sleep that night. Perhaps the Alliance wasn’t coming after all, or perhaps they were delaying so long that he’d be able to gather the troops he needed to stop them.
They were fragile hopes, but as he slipped into the dreams on that third night, it was all he had to cling to.
The morning of the fourth day, there was a knock at his door. He looked up from the map he had been marking to see Gorfeld and Grufen waiting for him to wave them in. “Margrave Grufen, Gorfeld. Any news?”
Gorfeld was the first to speak. “A few spots of good news, sire.” He held out a handful of parchment. “Captain Creps reported that he and the troops under his command have reached Greyspring. They had no sign of any Alliance forces anywhere near Bridgeton before they left, and we received a message from the militia they left in place that the situation has not changed.”
Matt nodded. He felt another familiar stab of pain between his eyes. “Good news, indeed. What else?”
Grufen hesitated before he spoke. Matt had already spoken with him about abandoning Winterfast. The Margave had been both appropriately apologetic and completely unrepentant. He’d mostly pointed out that he had the authority to direct the troops under his command, that he considered his mission in Winterfast to be finished, and that he had been trying to join the campaign against the Alliance.
The fact that his wife was smirking away beside him, seeming to be extremely happy, was just coincidental, of course.
Still, Grufen had been entirely committed to preparing Harvesthold for the coming fight, and his voice took on a more optimistic tone than Matt had heard so far. “Reinforcements have arrived, sire. Two banners of Redguard from Heartlight, and a banner of Shadow Hunters from Shadowfen.” He glanced down. “Also, there were apparently a few banners of Irregulars already on the road from Redspire. They should be here within a day, I believe.”
“Irregulars?” Matt frowned. “Which ones?”
Gorfeld was the one to answer, a broad smile on his face. “The banners that fought with you at the Battle of Seven Princes, my liege. Apparently, Voice Cholia had protested them being sent away from the city to the eastern front, but agreed to have them sent here instead.”
Matt snorted. “I suppose I’ll need to have another discussion with her if we survive all of this.” He sucked in a deep breath and sighed. Every banner helped; he just had to keep telling himself that fact. “Is there anything else? Any word from Gwelfed?”
Grufen shook his head. “No, sire. Not yet.”
Matt grimaced. Until he managed to get accurate information on what the Alliance was bringing, making plans to counter them would be pointless. Could the Alliance or the Alterians have caught her and Mulwan? He’d been hoping that Mulwan’s skill with illusions and Gwelfed’s natural scouting abilities would complement each other nicely, but they were still mortal. Perhaps he’d overestimated…
He blinked as he heard running boots in the corridor. Gorfeld exchanged a look with Grufen, and Matt pushed himself up out of his chair. All three of them were already moving towards the door when the messenger arrived.
“They’re back, sire.” The Orc paused, gasping for breath. “Your scouts. They’re back.”
Neither Goblin looked like they had been having the best week so far. Mulwan seemed utterly exhausted; her expression spoke of exhausted magic and bone-deep fatigue. Gwelfed looked only a little better. She was sporting a minor wound along her cheek, and another had been crudely bandaged on her thigh. Clearly, they’d gotten a bit more action than they’d expected.
Gwelfed was the one who talked first, and her voice was grim. “Sire. I need to report to you.”
Matt nodded. “Go ahead, Gwelfed.”
She opened her mouth and hesitated, looking at the healer that was working on them. “I am fine for now, sire. And my report is best for you alone.”
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He felt his heartbeat quicken, and he gestured for the healer to leave. Neither Grufen nor Gorfeld moved an inch, however, and Matt turned back to Gwelfed. “The Margrave and my steward are people you can trust, Gwelfed. Now, what did you find?”
Mulwan was the one who answered from where she was slumped in a chair. “The entire Army of Heroes, sire. They’re coming, just like you thought they were.”
He’d expected it, but the words still seemed to knock the breath out of him. Matt shook off the wave of dread and tried to focus. “How many? How fast are they traveling?”
Mulwan glanced at Gwelfed, and the Grimfen scout answered. “They’re traveling slow, sire. Lots of supply carts, and the roads aren’t very good between the Princedom and our Kingdom. They won’t make the border for another two days, at least.”
Grufen nodded. His eyes were locked on the Goblins. “And how many, soldier? Did you see how many banners they had?”
There was a pause. Mulwan closed her eyes and leaned back against the chair. Gwelfed seemed to fight against some strong emotion that Matt couldn’t entirely read on her face. Her hands clenched, and then she hung her head.
“At least a hundred, sire. A hundred banners. More than I’ve ever seen in my life.”
It took some time for the shouting to die down after that.
The details spilled out of both Goblins over the next hour, and they painted an uglier picture than even Matt had expected.
Grufen had been in disbelief, but Mulwan had confirmed Gwelfed’s account. There were upwards of one hundred banners on the road to his Kingdom, and every single one was flying the colors of the Alliance.
Those numbers almost made any attempt at defending his nation a joke. He had been fighting to scrape together close to twenty banners in Harvesthold. A hundred banners would swamp his troops like a wave. Matt didn’t even know if there were a hundred banners left in his entire Kingdom, let alone right here, where he needed them most.
He had no idea how the Alliance had managed to field such a number. It should have bankrupted them. Even just feeding them should have taxed everything they had. What kind of madness had they unleashed on the world, thanks to their Oath?
Of course, the bad news wasn’t quite done yet.
“They aren’t armed normally, sire. At least, most of them aren’t.” Gwelfed tapped the arm of the chair where she rested. “A good bunch of them are armed with bows, but the ones they carry are… odd.”
Grufen was glaring down at the Goblins, the Orc’s expression seeming close to a thundercloud. “Explain.”
Mulwan picked up the report, darting a pleading look at Matt. “They seemed a lot more powerful than normal. Like they were curved oddly, and larger than normal. The range they had was a lot longer, too.”
Gwelfed chuckled painfully. “I’d say. We were still outside normal range, and a bunch of them sent a flight of arrows our way. That’s how I picked up the wound in my leg.”
Matt frowned. “So they were longer than normal?”
“Yes, sire.” Mulwan nodded. “As tall as a Knight or an Orc, actually. It seemed like the Knights holding them had a bit of trouble drawing them, but once they pulled the arrow back…”
He glanced at Grufen, but the Margrave said nothing. “Go on.”
“A lot of the infantry carried a new kind of spear. Longer than anything I’ve ever seen.” Gwelfed shook her head. “It was like watching a hedge of spearpoints. They had to be at least two or three times as long as a man was tall, and made from heavy, sturdy wood.”
Matt felt himself go very, very still. “You’re sure they were that long?” The Goblins nodded, and he felt his breath start to quicken. “Did you see them marching with them? Or practicing with them?”
Mulwan nodded, and her face was grave. “Yes, sire. At first, I thought they’d be useless in a fight. If someone ducked past one, they could carve up the Knight holding it before they managed to reach for a dagger. But then…” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “They march with them in formation. The ones in front make a hedge with their spears, and the ones behind them point forward past the front rank. It forms a wall of spears that seemed almost impossible to cross. Like a hedgedog, or a moving palisade made of men and steel.”
Feeling a little numb, Matt forced himself to swallow and nod. “Was there anything else? Anything else that you saw?”
Gwelfed raised her hand. “Two more things, sire. At the rear, I could see a bunch of Dwarves clustered around a bunch of weird carts. There was a long arm, and a lot of other equipment, like a weight. I saw them set one up, and it flung something a very long way. Far beyond what a bow or a sling could do.”
He grimaced. “Did it look something like this?”
It took him a moment to construct the spell for the Haunted Dust. He raised his hand, and a quarter sized model took shape on the floor. Matt was fairly sure that he got the counterweight wrong, and maybe he oversold the size of the rock in the sling, but Gwelfed still nodded vigorously. “Yes, sire. That looked like it exactly.”
Matt let the image fall to pieces. He stared glumly at the dust it left behind while Grufen snorted. “And this device hurled a boulder? How large?”
The Goblins exchanged a glance before Mulwan answered. “Maybe twice the size of a Knight’s head? It flew far, much farther than any spell or arrow I’ve seen launched.”
“That’s what they’re designed to do.” Matt shook his head. “They fling those rocks extremely far, extremely accurately. They can hit the same spot time after time until whatever they are hitting is destroyed.”
Gorfeld looked at him curiously. “You’ve seen such things before, sire?”
Matt looked at him. “I have. It’s called a trebuchet.” He made a gesture, and more dust rose from the floor. “And the spear formations probably looked like this.”
The Goblins watched as a formation of dust-men marched around the floor, spears held high. Gwelfed frowned as she looked up. “Yes, sire. That’s it exactly.”
“Pikes. They’re called pikes.” Matt shook his head. “And I’m betting those bows you saw are an attempt at something called an English longbow. Maybe not completely accurate, but close enough.”
They were all staring at him now. It was Gorfeld that spoke first. “Sire, where did you see these things? Was it while you were across the Blackstone?”
“Not here.” Matt shook his head. “They weren’t invented here. I’m guessing because you all use magic instead of this kind of thing.”
Grufen nodded slowly. “This… trebuchet?... does seem redundant. A skilled warmage might be able to do far more damage, even if they do have to get closer.”
“Those pikes did seem dangerous, but only if you didn’t have mages to disrupt their formation too.” Mulwan seemed thoughtful as she considered the possibilities. Then she grimaced. “Though with those bows covering them, I’m not sure you could get most mages close enough to matter.”
Matt shrugged. “That wasn’t a concern when they were first used, anyway. After all, they didn’t have any magic to worry about. We didn’t have magic back on Earth.”
Gorfeld jerked in surprise. He looked around the room as if searching for eavesdroppers. “You’re certain, sire?”
“Absolutely.” Matt called back his spell, and this time, he formed all three of the intrusive things. The pikemen marched along, with the longbowmen behind. Behind them were the trebuchets, already hurling miniature boulders into a distant wall. “It was how we fought for a time. A long time ago.”
His steward had gone pale, but Grufen was simply staring at the formations as they marched. “It does seem effective, I suppose. Those trebuchets would be a nightmare to face in a siege, but they don’t seem to be very useful in the field.”
Matt nodded. “You’re right. They’re meant to be used as siege weapons. The walls of Bridgeton or Harvesthold would break easily for them.” He sighed. “Even Redspire probably wouldn’t stand much of a chance, honestly. Not for long.”
Grufen grimaced. “And those pikes will be hard to deal with on an open field. Was there cavalry with them too?”
Mulwan nodded. “Yeah. I’d say at least ten banners’ worth. Probably much, much more.” She attempted a weak smile. “Nothing odd about them, at least.”
Gwelfed was still watching the figures on the floor. “So this is how they fight in your world, sire? It seems so different.”
Matt shook his head. “It’s how we used to fight. Not how we fight now. We’ve created things that are much, much more dangerous.” He hesitated, not wanting to push things any farther than he had to. Then he banished the marching figures and pulled up a new pair of shapes in midair. He didn’t need anything accurate, but a tube there, a stock here…
A moment later, a pair of models hovered over the floor. They weren’t much, just an old-fashioned musket and pistol. “Did you see anyone carrying anything like these? Or wheeling something like this around?” The guns were joined by another shape, that of a cannon, pointed discreetly away from the others.
The two Goblins studied the shapes for a moment, and Matt waited with a feeling very much like dread. He might be able to fight the other things, but if there were already guns in the world…
Gwelfed shook her head, followed shortly by Mulwan. “No, sire. Nothing like that. I think we got close enough to see, too.” She touched the bandage on her thigh.
Matt let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Good. That’s good.” He let the images dissolve with something very much like relief.
Then he realized they were all still watching him. Grufen was the one who spoke. “Sire, what were those?”
Matt looked at them and smiled. “They were what we invented next. Call it… mundane magic.” He shook his head. “I don’t think we are anywhere near ready for anything like that, though. I don’t actually know how to build them, anyway.”
Gorfeld nodded slowly. “Was that knowledge common on your world?”
He snorted. “Well, the basics, maybe, but you’d have to have a lot of specialized study to actually be able to construct one from scratch. You’d need to know all kinds of chemicals and forging techniques that most people on my world don’t use.”
“Then that may be why the Alliance hasn’t been able to make them.” Gorfeld gestured to where the marching figures had once moved. “Did many people know about those other weapons?”
Matt nodded slowly. “Yes. They might have had a better idea about how to build them as well, since they are much… simpler.” He looked at the floor. “They would have needed to have at least some knowledge of history, but they might have picked it up reading random books or articles.”
Grufen grunted. “Yet you have not shared this knowledge with us, sire.”
He winced at the hint of rebuke in Grufen’s voice. “I didn’t share it for a lot of reasons, Margrave. First of all, because you are already used to fighting a certain way, and we haven’t had the time or luxury to switch things up.”
The Margrave nodded, but remained silent, as if waiting for Matt to continue. “Secondly, because these weapons come with certain severe drawbacks. They can be expensive to produce, require a specialized kind of training to use, and only work under certain conditions. Aside from that, as you already know, they will have some weaknesses to the magic you all wield here. It would be easy for our enemies to adapt to them and destroy us if we weren’t careful with them.”
Grufen was still watching him, as if he somehow knew there was more. “And?”
Matt sighed. “Thirdly, these weapons come with another kind of cost.” He pointed, and the figures reformed. “The best way to employ a lot of weapons like these is to use a large number of soldiers. The best way to get a large number of soldiers is to draft them from your lower classes—the serfs, the peasants, whatever your society calls them.”
Gwelfed frowned. “We do that already, though. With the Irregulars, and the Crown Guard.”
He shook his head. “The Irregulars, before now, were always temporary. They’ve never been given much training, and I doubt any monarch relied on them before. The Crown Guard, on the other hand, were much more like bodyguards. You were the professionals that the monarch could use to keep the nobles from controlling all of the troops. It kept the nobility more loyal and allowed the ruler to put down rebellions more effectively.”
Grufen coughed and exchanged a look with Mulwan. “An… interesting idea, sire.”
Matt ignored the irony in the man’s voice; neither of them had forgotten the fact that Grufen had once been a hairsbreadth from rebelling against the Kingdom. “In any case, this new kind of army is different. It would be like if the Crown Guard was most of the military, all of the time. Instead of small numbers of troops, mostly made up of nobles, you’ll have large amounts of armed Low Folk.”
Gorfeld spoke up, his tone carefully measured. “You armed many of the Low Folk, sire. When you made them freeholders.”
He pointed at the Imp. “Yes, I did. A wise man once said that if a prince wants to have the trust of the people, he should arm them.”
Gwelfed raised her hand. “I don’t see why arming them is a bad idea, then.”
Matt laughed, a short, bitter sound. “He gave that advice to a group of people who invaded his home and tortured him for two weeks by dangling him from the ceiling. He was not being nice.”
The Goblin scout blinked. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.” He shook his head. “The problem with arming the Low Folk and not doing anything else is that once a people is armed, they will want certain things. They’ll want respect, and dignity, and a guarantee that they can live their lives without abuse. If the monarch doesn’t give those armed Low Folk those things, and someone else makes them promises…”
“Then they’ll turn on the monarch.” Gorfeld’s eyes went wide. He looked down at the figures again. “That’s why you gave the freeholders their freedom as well as their arms. You were trying to prepare us for something like this.”
Matt shook his head. “Not just that. I truly believed it was the right thing to do. People are not property.”
Then he looked down at the figures. “The Alliance, though… They’ve armed these peasants, but I’ll bet they haven’t given them anything like freedom. If anything, their peasants are probably even more chained down than they were before. Even if the Alliance destroys the Kingdom, they’ve doomed themselves along with us.”
Mulwan grunted. “Cold comfort for us, though. I’d rather they just burn on their own.”
Grufen nodded. His expression was so serious and calm that Matt wondered if the Orc was simply overcompensating for his own fears. “So it sounds like whoever gave them these tools knew what they were, but not how to use them. Like a farmhand with a masterwork blade.”
Matt nodded. “Yes. That seems likely.”
The Margrave gestured to the miniature figures. “Then I trust you could find a way to counter their advantages. I imagine you do not intend to simply wait here for them to arrive.”
Grufen’s words brought Matt back from the edge of panic where he’d been hovering. He forced himself to think about the situation rationally, without the background noise of how unfair the situation had become.
The army in front of him was an incredible threat. On open ground, the larger numbers of Alliance soldiers would just swarm his troops. He could picture the pikes moving in around his outnumbered forces, hedging them in while the cavalry picked at his flanks. Even with the magic he had available, there was no way he could break enough of their formations to win an open fight.
A siege was similarly doomed. The trebuchets weren’t as quick as magic, but they’d be effective. Any walls he hid behind would be turned to rubble, and then the horde would march right over his weakened defenders. It was not how he wanted to die, but if he didn’t stop them before they got to Harvesthold, it would be how it ended.
Running might have worked. Their supply lines had to be awful, and a horde like that one could only forage so much before the rations started to run dry. He could have gone scorched earth and simply left them with nothing to steal between here and Redspire. Their army would fall apart as hunger set in, leaving them ready to rout. It would have been perfect if his coronation oath wasn’t forcing him to stand and fight.
So, running wouldn’t work, an open fight was suicide, and a siege was a slow death. Matt shook his head, trying not to feel desperation creeping in. It was like he was some barbarian chief staring down the advance of the Roman legions. Now that he thought about it, it was similar; the heavily organized infantry, the implacable advance, the awe-inspiring numbers. All they needed was an Augustus or Caeser, and he’d really be in trouble.
Then again, armies didn’t always win by discipline and numbers. Rome itself had faced defeats before. Matt’s eyes narrowed as he thought back to some of the history he’d studied. There was even a pattern to the worst defeats Rome suffered. Hannibal had pulled it off at Lake Trasimene. Arminius had done it again in the Teutoburg Forest. Bulgarians had done it to the Byzantines at Pliska; the Swiss had managed it against the Austrians at Morgarten the same way.
The figures faded away, and a map of the land surrounding Harvesthold appeared instead. Matt looked along the roads, searching for a spot. His one advantage would be the fact that he would be the one that chose where the battle was fought. Their Army of Heroes was too large and too slow to catch him unless he waited for them, and the Oath of Enmity would be like a leash to drag them along. There had to be at least one place he could use, and if he could just find it…
His eyes settled on a ridge to the south. It was gentler than the others, with a road that curved between it and a steep ravine. Forest clung to its flanks, thick enough that no one had bothered building a village on it.
If he remembered the maps right, it was called Forran’s Ridge. As fine a name as any.
He nodded, and the map collapsed back into dust. Then he turned to Grufen, who was still watching him steadily. “Find a mount. I have a location I need to see, and you need to come with me. Gorfeld, have Nelson saddled and ready for me. I want a messenger sent to Greyspring; Captain Creps needs to bring his troops here immediately. We don’t have much time.”
They all stiffened in response. Grufen bowed, ill-concealed relief on his face. “Yes, sire.”
Gorfeld tilted his head. “We aren’t retreating, my liege?”
“Not an option, Gorfeld.” Matt grinned carefully. He saw Gwelfed and Mulwan starting to get to their feet and waved them back down. “No. You two are already probably going to be getting awards for your service. Don’t be selfish; give someone else a chance to earn them while you rest, all right?”
Mulwan gave him an obstinate glare, but Gwelfed just laughed and slumped back into her seat. “As ordered, my liege. Just don’t count me out for the big one, all right? I wouldn’t want the rest of the Royal First to think I was slacking.”
“I’ll make sure they know. Just rest.” Matt nodded and motioned for Gorfeld to join him. The Ridge was waiting for him.