Rage of a Demon King (49 page)

Erik grinned. “No you don’t.”

Roo grinned back. “You’re right. I’m taking the children to someplace they can play and eat and get fat.”

Erik laughed. “Then get out of here!”

Roo had found that two of his wagons had made it to Ravensburg. He did as he had promised and paid the two drivers a year’s wages. He then let them go and turned one of the wagons over to Milo and Nathan, keeping the other one for himself.

Erik rode to the second wagon. Milo and Nathan sat on the driver’s seat, while Kitty, Freida, Rosalyn, her husband, Randolph, and their sons, Gerd and Milo, huddled in the back. Erik smiled at the older boy, who now clearly resembled his true father, Stefan von Darkmoor. The boy sat in his stepfather’s arms, asking excited questions in his own two-year-old’s dialect of the King’s Tongue, while his mother held the baby in her arms. Erik said to Nathan, “When you get to Darkmoor, find Owen Greylock. He’ll find you a safe place to stay.”

Kitty stood up and Erik moved his mount close enough to the wagon so that he could embrace her. They held each other without speaking, then Erik let her go.

Nathan flicked the reins and the horses moved away, and Erik sat watching his life move from him. His mother; her husband, who was a rare and wonderful man; Milo, who had been the only thing remotely like a father in his boyhood; Rosalyn, as much a sister to him as if his mother had given birth to her; and Gerd, his nephew, though only a few knew that fact. And, most amazingly, Kitty, a slender young girl who meant more to him than he would have imagined possible before he met her.

Erik watched until the wagon disappeared into the frantic town. Other townspeople piled their belongings into wagons, onto carts, or into bundles
they would carry on their backs, in preparation for abandoning their homes. Anything important to a family’s livelihood was being carried away: tools, seeds, cuttings from the most productive vines, books and scrolls, inventory. Randolph’s family had managed to dismantle their bakery, salvaging every item of hardware—the iron doors to the stone ovens, the flat iron oven bottoms and cooking racks—and every other valuable item, leaving only the empty stone ovens and some wooden cooling racks behind.

Some families had every belonging in their possession piled high atop whatever cat or wagon they owned, while others grabbed only valuables, abandoning years of accumulation, furniture, clothing, and other household goods, sacrificed in the name of speed. Some townspeople had already left, driving small herds of sheep, goats, or cattle, or carrying away chickens, ducks, and geese in wooden crates.

Soldiers hurried by, moving to positions determined months before Erik arrived here. Erik put aside the feeling of personal loss that gripped him, and turned his attention to the defense of his hometown.

He considered everything Greylock had ordered him to do, and thanked the gods that the General and Captain Calis had been so thorough. He knew that soon the most desperate fighting since the fall of Krondor was about to resume.

Everything Erik had read in Knight-Marshal William’s library had reinforced one thing overall: war was fluid, unpredictable, and those who were best prepared for any eventuality, able to seize opportunity, were the most likely to survive.

And that was exactly how Erik thought of it these days: survival. Not victory, but simply enduring
longer than the enemy. Let them die first, was all he prayed for. And he knew that if any detail of preparation eluded him, it wouldn’t be for a lack of effort on his part.

Erik turned his horse and rode off to oversee the first line of defense.

Men dug furiously, building up the breastwork across the pass west of Ravensburg. Axes rang out in the afternoon as trees were felled. Erik wiped his brow and glanced at the hot sun. Thoughts of snow were difficult on a day like this. Yet he knew that in the mountains of his home province, winter could arrive as soon as a month from now. But his homegrown instincts told him this would probably be a late and light winter. The look of the plantlife and the behavior of the wild animals communicated to him silently that eight weeks or more would pass before anything like a serious snowfall would occur, and three months was possible.

Erik remembered the one year—he had been no more than six—when no snow to speak of fell through the entire winter; only a slushy sleet, and that passed quickly.

Erik decided to stop worrying about the weather and concentrate his attention on things over which he had some control. Two riders were heading his way, one from the south, the other from the west.

The rider from the west reached him first, and saluted. He wore the garb of the Krondorian garrison, bloodstained and filthy. He said, “Captain. We got jumped by a company of Saaur. The green bastards cut us up before we could get organized.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to see the
enemy come riding into view any minute. “They seem to resent what the lancers did to them, so they go looking for light cavalry and mounted infantry to punish. Anyway, I got loose. I figure they’re going to regroup with the advance units and be here by sundown tomorrow or dawn the day after.”

Erik said, “Good. Go into town and get some food and rest.” He glanced around. “I don’t think we’re going to need any trailing scouts in the future, so report in the morning to my first sergeant, a loud bully named Harper.” Erik smiled. “He’ll find you some work.”

As the first rider left, the second reined in opposite Erik, and saluted. He wore the uniform of the Pathfinders. “We’re getting a bit more pressure than anticipated, Captain. I don’t know how much longer we can maintain an orderly withdrawal.”

Erik reviewed the troop disposition to the south. “You should be facing moderate pressure. What’s happening?”

“I don’t know, sir, but the Earl of Landreth is in charge.”

“What happened to Duke Gregory?” The Duke of the Southern Marches, a court governor of the Vale of Dreams, had been put in charge of the southern elements of the retreat, coordinating his efforts with Greylock’s defense of the center. He had ample resources, given that the garrisons withdrawn from Shamata and Landreth were under his command.

“Dead, sir. We thought you knew. Messengers were dispatched last week.”

Erik swore. “They never reached General Greylock or myself.” They had assumed the invaders would keep a significant portion of their army turned toward Kesh,
in case the Empire sought to take advantage of the confusion to enlarge their domain, but from what this soldier had just said, the southern wing of the defense was collapsing too quickly. Erik said, “Ride into town, get a fresh horse, and grab something to eat. I’m sending two companies of archers to give you some help in the withdrawal.” Erik reviewed the maps he had memorized and said, “Suggest to the Earl he let the front to his south collapse, pulling the soldiers on that flank around him, to his left as he withdraws. Then have them dig in at the town of Pottersville. But there he has to hold for another three days; four is better. By then we’ll be fighting here and we can’t have them flanking us. If he can keep them stationary for that long, he can start sliding northward along the line, using the road
to the town of Breonton. Once there, he can turn tail and run to Darkmoor, but not before.”

The Pathfinder nodded. With a tired smile, he said, “I assume you won’t mind if these
suggestions
originate with General Greylock?”

Erik smiled and nodded. “Of course. I wouldn’t presume to order the Earl to do anything.” Then he lost his smile. “But we don’t have time for you to run to Darkmoor, have Owen tell you exactly the same thing I just did, then run back down to the Earl. So if the Earl asks, tell him those are the General’s orders and I’ll deal with any problems that might arise from that deception down the road.”

The Pathfinder nodded. “You know, Captain, when we all get to Darkmoor, we’re going to have a very mixed command; a lot of the nobles aren’t going to enjoy being told what to do.”

Erik smiled. “Well, that’s why Prince Patrick plans on being there.”

“The Prince is in Darkmoor?”

“That’s the word. Now, get something to eat, then get back down to the Earl of Landreth.”

The Pathfinder saluted and rode off. Erik looked at the trees being dragged over to fortify the barrier across the King’s Highway. Two large ridges overlooked the position, and while Erik watched, crews of muleskinners were hauling catapults up goat trails to emplacements that had been hand-carved out of the rocks. Any congestion along the highway on the enemy’s part would result in high casualties.

Erik nodded in approval. He was going to get more draft animals out in the next hour to drag away the stumps and would turn the men to that task as soon as the last tree was felled. The enemy weren’t going to have any cover as they approached Ravensburg if Erik von Darkmoor had any say in the matter.

Twice skirmishers had neared the defenses outside Ravensburg, and at the last minute, darted away, returning to the west. Erik waited on the second crest of the highway, high enough to command a panorama of the center of the battlefield, and close enough to send messages quickly to the front.

Word had reached them an hour before that heavy fighting was under way at both the south and north ends of his ten-mile defense. Those were the two most difficult trouble spots, for everything depended upon them holding, forcing the enemy to slide along conveniently provided routes, down into the center, where Erik could let them spend lives trying to punch through.

When he finally gave the order to withdraw, those northern and southern units were to cut off any engagements,
if possible, and hurry to Darkmoor. Erik would try to give them one additional full day, then it would become a full retreat, without any pretense of a delaying action. Owen and Erik had considered Calis’s original plan and modified it; Calis had wanted another delaying action, while Erik had argued, and convinced Owen, that the enemy were so conditioned to have the center delay that they would be cautious when the defenders abandoned Ravensburg, giving Erik the time he needed to get as many men away as possible. Erik was positive that each man not lost in a delaying action was going to be twice as valuable to the Kingdom in the defense of Darkmoor.

Now they waited. Swords, spears, and arrows were sharpened, traps were readied, horses were rested. Men sat quietly, some inspecting their armor and weapons again and again, against the possibility of having missed some flaw that might prove fatal. Others waited motionlessly, a few slept, and others said prayers to Tith-Onanka to keep them courageous, while still others made peace with the Death Goddess, against the time of their meeting her.

Erik watched, reviewing every preparation over and over, looking for mistakes, miscalculations, and potential problems. Signal men stood beside him, flags ready, to relay commands to units on the ridges to the north and south.

The chosen field of battle was a small, flat expanse of ground, nestled between a narrowing in the hills, a funnel along the King’s Highway, and the first line of defense was a low-running ridge with a notch through which the road passed. That was the point where Erik had erected the first barricade. A log rampart had been thrown across the road, giving
Erik an almost level battlement from the ridge lines on the right and left. The enemy might attempt to scale the rocks on either side, but Erik counted on the placement of his bowmen to repulse them.

The battlement had been created to look haphazard and quickly erected, but it wasn’t. Erik was counting on the enemy’s underestimating the defenders’ ability to hold against an all-out rush.

The day passed slowly. Then the sound of enemy riders came from the other side of the clearing. A dozen horsemen emerged at the highest point of the King’s Highway, the last rise on the west before reaching the cleared battleground. They reigned in and sat silently, observing the defenders. One man, the leader, spoke, and two of the riders turned back the way they had come and rode off. Then the leader signaled toward the defenders’ barricade, and two of his men cantered their horses forward.

Erik said, “Pass the word; if they come within twenty yards of the barricade, they die. If they stay beyond that distance, they can ride their horses into the ground for all I care.” A long, narrow trench had been dug before the barricade and carefully concealed. Erik did not want it inspected by the enemy’s scouts, but he had no objection to their returning and telling their leaders the way was clear.

The runner saluted and raced off toward the barricade, reaching it and passing the orders. At the farthest reach of the defenders’ bow fire, both riders swerved off the road, turning in a quick loop, waiting for the defenders to fire on them. When not one arrow sped in their direction, they came to a stop on the road. Both men turned and looked at their leader. The man signaled, and one signaled in return.

The two riders left the highway, moving to the verge of the road, one on each side. They walked their horses along, slowly.

“The lads are looking for traps,” came the familiar voice of Sergeant Harper. “Clever of them.”

Erik hadn’t noticed Harper’s appearance, so focused was he on the two riders. “Everything ready?”

Harper said, “As it has been for hours. What are we going to do about those two?”

“Nothing. Let them think we’re saving our arrows for the first assault.”

“What if they get too close to the trench?”

“Then they’re dead. I’ve already passed the word.” Harper nodded his approval. “It’ll be good to hold here a bit and bloody the bastards. All this running backward tires a body.”

“There’s going to be nothing good about any of what’s about to happen, Sergeant.”

“That’s what I meant, Captain; I’m just putting it in a different way.”

Erik shook his head and smiled. “Well, if you’re so ready to be cutting heads, maybe I should move you to the front.”

“Well, let’s not be doing anything so rash,” Harper said quickly. “I expect there’ll be enough fighting to go around, this day.”

“I expect,” agreed Erik.

The advance riders moved along the road, and finally, when they were only a few yards shy of the point where Erik had ordered them killed, they turned and rode quickly back to their leader. The riders then sat motionless, waiting for the column of men who were coming down that road.