High Mage: Book Five Of The Spellmonger Series (57 page)

Yes, Commander,
Terleman said, smartly. 
Shit, at least they didn’t attack in winter,
he pointed out. 
This would be a lot harder to do in the snow.  I guess those iron shoes weren’t pertinent.

We have no idea what the goblins are planning,
I countered as I began to walk to my quarters. 
But if they were using those shoes for traction on ice and snow, that moment has passed. 
I saw Rondal coming out of the mess pavilion we’d set up in the bailey to feed everyone, and I gave him the sign to make ready.  He caught my eye and understood at once.  In moments, dozens of men were streaming out of the tent on their way to their stations. 
Deploy your men, Commander.

It would be my pleasure, Marshal.
He sounded enthusiastic.  I hoped that was a good thing.

I spent almost an hour preparing.  That sounds like a lavish amount of time, but there was a lot to it.  I had high-quality armor, now, my heart protected on back and breast by dragonhide salvaged from the huge beast we’d slain at Castle Cambrian.  Cormoran had had it made especially for me, and had given Sire Cei a similar set of armor.  The dragon’s hide was not only supremely tough, but its anti-magical properties would protect my torso from combat spells of a direct nature.

My helmet was a short-cheeked, low-crowned close-fitting affair with an intricate visor.  It was well-padded with wool and cotton, and it was enchanted for protection and durability.  I wore Twilight on my back, of course, and carried a half-dozen warwands at my belt, but my new toy, Blizzard, was my weapon of choice for this battle.  And of course my sphere floated belligerently over my shoulders.  In battle I could send it overhead, out of direct danger, but I didn’t mind having it around, reminding everyone who I was.  It saved on the effort of returning a salute.

I had two quick glasses of spirits before I mounted the stairs to the spire we had chosen as our command center.  Lanse of Bune had set up a simple but workable diorama of the battlefield for our study, and there were maps and dispatches on trestle tables all over the place.  Against one wall were four Beastmasters who were in rapport with hawks overflying our foes.  So far the goblins had not caught on to that trick.  Their priests were obscuring their march from scrying, but our scouts in the sky were quite capable of seeing their approach.

And what an approach it was.  I glanced at the diorama, where cunningly-carved little figurines represented friend and enemy alike.  It was being updated with every fresh report.  Our forces were represented by toy soldiers defending a blue painted line across the floor.  The river fortification on the south side of the bridge was packed with men, as were the townlands behind it.  The drawbridge had been lowered, allowing the goblins the freedom to plunge into the icy depths of the river and drown as our archers shot them from the other side.  And we had a dozen or more catapults and trebuchets built in behind the bridge.  Any attempt at approaching the site with a siege train would see it struck hard on its way.

Naturally the townlands north of the river had been well-seeded with spells and enchantments to make an attack burdensome on the gurvani.  I had placed dozens of berserker spells myself in the days leading up to this battle.  Even getting to the bridge was going to be problematic.  I hoped.

But the forces arrayed against us were strong.  According to the map, there were thousands of fell hound riding gurvani pouring into the region, sweeping away the last bit of resistance before the main column arrived.  We had not left much behind.  The Kasari rangers had laid their snares and traps and withdrawn to south of the river, and only a few outposts along the road remained.  Those retreated at the first sign of trouble, as ordered.

Now it was just a matter of holding that bridge.  As long as it took.  To let them pass was certain doom, and I had the greatest strength I could muster, here. 

The battle had come at last.  And I was as ready as I could make myself.

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Battle Of Gavard Crossing

I had no idea how they did it.  But it changed the war.  The gurvani enchanted the Poros river at its highest Spring flood stage . . . and turned it into solid ice.

Goblins don’t like water.  They don’t swim, they don’t use boats, and they hate to be wet.  The Poros, and the other great rivers of the Riverlands, were natural barriers to their troop movements.  The Poros was one big wall of water keeping them north.  Making them rely on a handful of bridges and fords to cross.  The idea of an amphibious goblin attack was ludicrous.

But now the Poros was frozen.  Not just the first few inches – it didn’t take much magic to reveal that the entire thing – and all of its tributaries – was frozen from surface to depths.  Frozen
solid.
  Instead of a wall, the Poros was now one large bridge into the heart of Gilmora . . . a bridge the thousands of goblins and fell hounds who had gathered north of the river did not hesitate to use.

It was sudden.  I made it to the castle gates a mere hour before the first howling packs of goblins ranged through our area.  We spent just long enough disabling the siege engines we’d put together so carefully, lest they were turned on us, before we retreated.  The last defenders from the bridge made it back to the castle just moments before the first fell hounds padded into the townlands. 

Of course we did not let them pass unmolested.  We had plenty of defenders, and a goodly number of cavalry . . . not to mention the best warmagi in the world.  The goblins sent thousands after Castle Gavard that night, and they found fierce resistance.  Warmagi and soldiers fought in the streets outside, and then at the castle gates.  Arrows poured down from the walls at any hound foolish enough to come that close.  Knights and men-at-arms ranged the perimeter of the castle, challenging any goblin stupid enough to stand still. 

It was a bloody night, and dawned a bloody sun.  The goblins never made a concerted attack, just harassed us enough to keep the majority of our forces pinned down.  It was more of a nuisance than a fight for survival, but it kept the sentries and archers busy.  A couple of warmagi used the opportunity to try out new offensive spells.  But I was more concerned about the wider battlefront, now that the Poros was no longer a barrier. 

Reports began pouring in, mind-to-mind, by Mirror, and by traditional means.  Within a few hours we were starting to get a larger picture of the battle.  Our headquarters was chaos.  There was little need for us at the castle walls, yet, but there was plenty to do when it came to spreading the word.  Our agents were using the two Mirrors we’d installed here liberally.  Several more magi were detailed just to communicate mind-to-mind, passing instruction and intelligence to Terleman and myself as we tried to manage the crisis. 

Elsewhere they were less orderly in their attacks.  Thousands of hounds spread out after crossing the river and ran in great packs to the few villages and manors still inhabited in the region.  They bypassed many of our fortified outposts in favor of concentrations of poorly=protected humans.  But they spared no settlement their dreadful touch.  Their hounds could not run as fast or as far as horses, but they tired less easily and recovered more quickly.  They made good time.  By dawn’s first light they were already twenty miles south of us, encountering elements of the 3
rd
Commando.

We had some help.   Besides being an increasingly good assistant castellan, Sir Festaran was a mage knight of very slight power.  That did not bother him – he had mastered a few cantrips and could use magesight.  With a little effort he could even summon a small magelight.  But that was not where his Talent had taken him.  Sir Festaran’s particular
rajira
allowed him to estimate just about anything with uncanny accuracy, and we used that Talent liberally.

As reports came in and were relayed to Lanse of Bune’s map team, Sir Festaran looked over the figures and made adjustments and corrections.  Day broke through the arrow slits in the wall while the young knight worked with wax boards and parchment, trying to assess the truth of the dispatches.

“Thirty five thousand,” he reported, sleepily.  “That’s how many have crossed so far.  Thirty five thousand goblins in one night,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief of his own figures.  “There are at least another hundred thousand  and more yet on the road.  We’ll know more when we can get the hawks in the air.”

“Dara is flying?”

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Festaran shrugged.  “There’s a war on.  Terleman gave the orders.”

I didn’t bother Terl with the question – if he needed my youngest apprentice risking her life in the air over Gilmora, I wasn’t going to second-guess.  When the Poros froze solid, we all became expendable.

At morning’s first light, our situation looked dire.  Gavard was effectively cut off from everyone else by a ten-thousand strong infantry force that had camped out nearby, with hundreds of fell hound cavalry patrolling and running down stragglers.    It wasn’t an insurmountable obstacle, but it was keeping us from marching quickly to the rescue of anyone else.  They hadn’t attacked in force yet, but they didn’t need to. They had reinforcements arriving every hour.  Ours were a hundred miles up the Poros, their barges frozen in place.

The rest of the goblins that crossed in the initial invasion had spread out across the Gilmoran countryside in a vicious onslaught of fire and iron.  Most of it was already deserted, thanks to their first invasion, but they spared no cot as they burned their way into the light of day.  They were moving south, east and west, and they were moving fast.  They would encounter more densely inhabited areas within days.

But they weren’t unopposed.  The Royal Commando units were alert to their approach, and by the time the first fell hounds encountered Commando pickets, the men were ready.  The First Commando stopped the headlong advance toward the western baronies cold.  The infamous Battle of the Bloody Dawn was fought that morning at Drensic, and a thousand goblins and their hounds were slaughtered by six hundred 3
rd
Commandos in a half-hour long engagement before the castle gate.

They made a song about that one.

A hundred other battles that morning were just as bloody, if less noteworthy.  We had been taken by surprise.  Our strategy had been focused on blunting the force of a powerful wedge, not fighting dozens of vicious skirmishes and chasing packs of hounds across miles of countryside.  The larger concentrations of troops we had put together were useless against the piecemeal terror raids and sudden attacks at castles and manors all over Gilmora.

Some places got hit hard and fast.  Penny’s manor was protected adequately.  When the legion assigned to invest the place arrived, it walked into a devious magical trap.  There were no survivors.  Pentandra does not appreciate uninvited guests. 

Other places were not so fortunate.  Thirty miles to the southeast a small castle in Rernse was invested by half a legion overnight.  The skeleton garrison managed to keep the gate locked, but they were in dire peril.  A fortified temple to the southwest was under assault for two days, a small band of warbrothers and refugees battling against ten times their number of gurvani.  The human confederates of the goblins were particularly rapacious in their conquests.  They put hamlet after hamlet to the torch and slew all who stood against them.

I stood in the headquarters room and received dispatches as they arrived by messenger, hawk, Mirror and mind-to-mind.  The Kasari were particularly helpful in bringing reports to High Magi in the field to be relayed back to us.  But every report was more grim than the last, and there was no end in sight. 

I felt defeated.  We’d been outflanked.  Out maneuvered.  There were a hundred thousand more goblins coming down the Cotton Road, and they’d march straight to Barrowbell over our corpses.

By midmorning I was fighting despair.  The King was demanding answers and I had few to give him.  Terleman was just as overwhelmed.  And every hour more goblins joined the throng outside our castle.

Toward noon, it became clear we’d have to do something about that. 

At the time, I was livid with rage.  How could things have gone so wrong, so quickly? Why hadn’t I foreseen this possibility? I paced back and forth through the headquarters room, my sphere following behind me like a faithful hound.  I felt like a failure.  I stopped periodically to stare at the diorama to see just how bad things were, and every time they seemed to be getting worse.  Lanse of Bune had a grim expression on his face as he swept the last representative
of the Second Commando off of the board.

“Killed to the last man,” he said, shaking his head.  “The warmage got away with a few priests and some  auxiliaries
when he got separated from the unit and saw it was hopeless.  He’s headed this way now.”

“Damn!” I swore.  The Second Commando had been the backbone of our defense of the center of Gilmora.  “How many gurvani there?”

“Three thousand more than we thought,” he admitted.  “And a couple of those siege worms.  That’s what got them.”

I had yet to see one of the huge beasts in action, but from the descriptions Tyndal and Rondal had given me after their encounter with one here last summer, I could imagine how such a battle might go.