A Darkness Unleashed (Book 2) (35 page)

Slar lifted her chin. “I am proud of you.”

His lips met hers in a deep kiss that escalated into a long, slow burn of passion. An hour later, his belly full of meat and his eyes unable to remain open, Slar leaned in close to Tealla’s ear. “I will have a pillar carved with your father and brother’s runes in our new fortress at Dragonsclaw. They will be remembered by warriors young and old for the remainder of time.”

Tealla hugged him and kissed the point of his ear. “Thank you, my Warchief.” She sighed, and her long lashes closed together. Her voice slurred as she slipped off to sleep. “I only hope someone is left to read them.”

Her soft snores taunted him while he laid there, her final words haunting him even more so. Before the first light of dawn crept through the cracks in his tent, Slar glided out from under her arm. He donned his armor and sword, leaving her to sleep.

The sounds of a waking camp met him outside the tent. Different guards stood there, these of Wolf Clan. Slar sighed. “Today, warriors. Today we change the world.”

When Wild Tiger’s horde was at last crushed before the walls of Gavanor by a unified army of Gannonites, Hadoners, Sarians, Elves, and Dwarves, it was believed that the Orcish threat had been destroyed beyond their ability to return. The siege of Kerrigier was lifted and the other Free Cities liberated. Still, the fear that came with Wild Tiger’s attack became the foundation of the Great Concord, which literally founded Highspur. The majesty of that fortress has been made clear in this History. – “History of Gannon” by Elyn Bravano

J
aerd stared at the eastern horizon, his heart willing the sun to rise. Only a hint of gray crept into a sky still dotted with stars over the enemy camps. The scent of beans hung over their hill, this time enhanced by the aroma of frying bacon.
Too bad it’s the last of it. No need to let the men know. With any luck, a wagon train will arrive today.

Tomas Harte appeared at his shoulder, coalescing from the pale cyan of pre-dawn. He sniffed the air. “It’s a good day to have a solid breakfast. Likely we’ll not have time to break for lunch.”

Turning to the paladin, Jaerd lifted one eyebrow. “Do you think King Arathan will fully commit today?”

“Do you believe we should have committed our forces yesterday and had this slaughter over with?” Tomas lifted his chin, focusing his gaze on Jaerd.

Folding his arms, Jaerd turned back to the swelling dawn. “It is not my place to question His Majesty.”

A huff escaped from between the paladin’s lips. “So you say. And such is the problem with a glorious tyrant…no one questions.” Tomas looked to the east as well, the dawn shadows deepening his thoughtful expression. “Arathan has fought more battles than any man alive, I’ll grant, but he knows that as well. It has made him arrogant and deaf to anything but agreement. He has surrounded himself with generals and nobles that match that desire – men who know only how to say yes to their king.”

A slice of pink topped the farthest rise, and Jaerd felt a sense of hope peak in his heart with it. “I’ve seen that in Gavanor. The duke promoted me because of just such concerns.”

“Arathan and his advisors have missed something key, mostly because of their ignorance of the enemy.” Tomas folded his hands behind his cloak. “Six orc banners hang above the enemies’ lines. There are seven orc clans, since back in the Elder Days.” He looked again at Jaerd. “The Mammoth Clan is missing. And what worries me most is that Mammoth is known to be the largest clan of all.”

The pit in Jaerd’s stomach that had kept him from sleep sank further into his bowels. He flashed a look at their latrine. “Perhaps the Mammoth Clan, because they are so large, refused to join this horde. I thought the orc clans were usually at each other’s throats?”

The paladin shook his head. “Dorias and I agree that if the powers we believe have risen are truly driving this horde, then there is no doubt that all clans will be taking part in the war. The odds of more than a few clans united are so rare they make it almost unthinkable the Mammoth Clan will stay in the Northlands alone.” He scrubbed his beard. “The question is, just what role are the Mammoths going to play?”

They stood in a moment of silence, both watching the rosy glow turn black and purple into blue.
It’s not so different from any sunrise at home, standing on the hill at the Gryphon. It has been so long since I stood there.

A sudden shout sounded from the tent the paladin shared with the wizard. “Wake!” Dorias dashed out into the air, tossing his cloak over his shoulders. “Boris! Wake!”

The earl strode from behind his tent, still in full armor. “What is it, wizard? You’ll rouse the whole army.”

“Good that I do. Merl has arrived upon a horror!” Dorias waved for Tomas and Jaerd to come closer. Even Gwelan came out of his tent armed and ready. “He left the eaves of the Bloodwood early to regain sight of General Darax’s camp.”

Earl Boris stomped closer, his expression more urgent. “What did your raven see, sir?”

“They are dead!” Dorias cried out. “Crushed and slaughtered by some vast force while they slept. Merl circled over the camp a long time and found no survivors. They were overwhelmed before most could draw their weapons.”

Boris clutched his hands. “Who did this?”

The wizard shook his head. “Merl hurries south along a wide, heavily trampled trail. Among the dead Bluecloaks he found a number of orcs.”

Jaerd sucked in his breath, the horror of fifteen thousand dead comrades dawning in his mind. “At least they took a few with them.”

A meaningful tone to his voice, Dorias spun his finger in the air. “The dead orcs had swirling tusk tattoos.”

“Blast me in the bloody Flames!” Boris spat on the ground. “Looks like we’ve finally found the Mammoth Clan.” He stepped toward the picket lines, cupping his hands over his mouth. “Sergeant! My horse!”

Jaerd moved to follow. “We need to get this news directly to the king.”

Boris held up his hand. “I will take it myself, Captain. The king will only listen to me. You take command of the rear guard.” He pointed at Tomas. “Listen closely to the Lord Harte. His advice will save your ass.”

An enlisted man led Balthar out into the open of their camp, the dawn glittering off the black stallion’s silver-studded tack. Boris jumped into the saddle and gave his horse a heavy spur. Balthar leaped forward and galloped down the rise toward the river. Boris’ blue cloak fluttered behind him like a banner.

“He’ll rush us into trouble,” Dorias said, gritting his teeth. “He’s too much like his father.”

Tomas shook his head in disagreement. “He also has a touch of his mother’s sense.”

Emerging from the shadows, Gwelan Whitehand buckled a leather helm on his shaved head. “Great men are often impetuous.” He drew his longer sword and began rubbing it with a cloth. “It’s what puts us out in front of the rest of you.”

Beckoning their messenger over, Jaerd gave the man a hard expression. “Get word to the line commanders, we’re going to be needed today.” The messenger snapped a salute and dashed down the line of the rear guard.

Jaerd pointed at the sergeant who had brought the earl’s stallion. “Get Capt…I mean, General Mandibor up here.”

The sergeant saluted and trotted off toward the Free City command tent.

His heart racing, Jaerd stepped in close to Tomas and forced a whisper. “There are eight thousand Free City men in my command, and I only have a dozen Bluecloaks of my own. I don’t even have a lieutenant.” He lowered his voice. “Mandibor is a brazen fool, but he’s now a general by rank. How does a captain give orders to a general?”

“You make it happen. The Earl of Mourne ordered you to take command of the rearguard.” Tomas clenched his fist in front of Jaerd’s face. “Take
command
of the rearguard.”

Comprehension working its way through his mind, Jaerd waved to a pair of Bluecloak enlisted men, a sergeant and a corporal. “Come here, you two. You are the first to report ready today.” The men jogged over and stood at attention in front of him. “Give me your pips, sergeant.”

The man paused the barest of seconds before removing the bronze discs from his collar. Jaerd pinned two of them on the corporal’s tunic. “You are now master sergeant of this detachment. Well earned, Sergeant…”

“Maidson, sir,” the man replied, a stunned look on his face.

“Master Sergeant Maidson of the king’s rearguard, congratulations.” Jaerd pointed to the man who snapped back a sharp salute. “And you, Sergeant…”

“Roper, sir.”

Jaerd reached up and plucked a single star from one side of his own collar and pinned it to the shocked soldier. “I am giving you a battlefield commission. You are now Lieutenant Roper, adjutant to the commander. Me, as it is now, though if I fall you listen to the Lord Harte. Understood?”

The new lieutenant thudded his fist against his chest. “Yes, my Captain.”

Jaerd clapped his shoulder. “Good. Now, both of you stand behind me and frown when Mandibor gets here.”

The Free City general strode up within moments. Two of his Range Riders, already in their black armor, marched behind him. Their stern faces focused on Jaerd.

“So,” Mandibor said with a short salute, “the earl is gone and has left you in charge.” He looked at the scant number of Bluecloaks around Jaerd’s camp. “Not much of a command. Don’t worry. My soldiers are here to aid you should the rearguard see action today.” One of his men chuckled.

Drawing himself up, Jaerd closed the ground between them. His new aides met him step for step. “You should know that our vanguard was crushed in the night, and an entire clan of orcs swarms southward, possibly on both sides of the river.” He pointed to another rise near a bend in the river to their north. “You need to get your men arranged in defensive lines along there. Place your cavalry in a reserve position. We don’t know yet what numbers they are, but put your veterans on your right. We cannot have them cut off our retreat back to the Lond if that becomes necessary.”

A brazen set of horn blasts echoed across the battlefield, their tones deepened with the aid of magic. The bustle of a wakening army shifted into a rush to arms. Warriors swallowed bowls of porridge and crammed down fistfuls of fresh-fried bacon, before scrambling to throw on armor and grab their weapons.

Mandibor’s face sank and the stern expressions of his men faltered. He looked at Jaerd, fear etched across his features. “I don’t have much experience in real battles.” He lowered his eyes. “My one try could have ended better.”

The shock Jaerd felt held his tongue for a moment. What he had planned to be a fiery argument with an arrogant, over-promoted fool, turned into advice for a scared young man with a great deal thrust upon his shoulders.

Jaerd grabbed the Kirathi by his arms. “Go back to your men. Be forceful but fair, and get them in formation on that rise. You and your Range Riders cover the right flank. Your men move well enough together.” He met the nervous glances with a solid calmness. “We don’t know for certain they are coming down this side, but they’d be fools not to, and I don’t think we are dealing with fools.” Jaerd threw one thumb over his shoulder. “We will remain on this hilltop to await further orders. They will be passed to your chain-of-command immediately.”

Mandibor and both his men saluted.

“Good,” Jaerd said. “If the battle goes poorly and we lose communication, your job is to get as many men from any unit, back to the bridge. Burn it once the enemy sets foot on it. There are mages there for that purpose.”

His fist slapping to his chest, Mandibor bowed his head. “Blessings of the Five Talismans on you, Captain. May we see each other on the other side.”

Jaerd returned the salute and watched Mandibor and his aides jog away. He turned to his new lieutenant. “Send out the fastest rider we have left to find the supply train. They need to send another dozen men to Novon with news, and double their speed this way.”

“Yes, sir!” The fresh lieutenant with a sergeant’s face dashed away.

“Master Sergeant!” Jaerd turned to the former corporal standing at attention. “Get out to the supply wagons. Unhitch every horse and arm each teamster. Load every saddlebag with as much jerky, beans, and hardtack as they can. If we need to fall back, we won’t need the wagons slowing us down.” He waved at the base of their ridgeline. “Get them down there and ready to cover the army should they come running this way.”

The Bluecloak’s face fell for a single moment, but then he snapped it back along with a second salute. “Yes, Captain!” He turned and dashed off toward the gathered wagons.

Tomas Harte softly tapped his own chest with a fist. “Well done, Captain Westar. Be assured that Dorias, Gwelan, and I will have your back.”

“Speaking of which…” Jaerd turned to look at the Ravenhawke. “…has your raven found the enemy?”

Dorias shook his head, his face knotted in concentration. “The winds fight him, but he wings his way along their trail. They seem to have run all night.”

Careful to keep his voice even despite the nerves tingling in his gut, Jaerd shifted the cloak on his shoulders. “Can your bird tell us anything of their numbers? Are they on both sides of the river?”