The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador (48 page)

Rendin wanted them to come back, to be ready to fight with his army, but he knew there was no hope of recalling them. “Give Sir Beldin my congratulations and tell him to withdraw his cavalry to the center to rest. I want his infantry facing the north, and I'll fill in the northwest with my own troops.”

“
Yes, Sire.”

What they had now were six possible points of contact, five if Beldin stayed well back of the northeastern branch, not accounting for the Parnithons and anything else that was thrown at them from the heights of these mountains. He wondered if he could get more eyes on top of one of them before he saw Beldin sending more scouts up the nearest one. He smiled. He'd have to give the man an honor of some sort for today.

The scouts had hardly made it over the edge before they began dropping ropes that they had secured to rocks on the top. Archers began to climb the ropes as quickly as they could, making Rendin smile anew. “Someone send Beldin my compliments and ask him who taught him how to fight.”

But no sooner had he said it did the scouts begin to signal the troops below. “They've made visual contact,” Tasten said from behind. “Two columns from two directions, the north and northwest. Make that four... four from each.”

“
Sire!” A courier came to a skittering halt in the midst of the Renault bodyguard. “Theddalt sends his praises and requests more troops sent south. They've made contact and by now have surely engaged with two columns from the east and two from the west.”

Rendin looked from man to man before he nodded his head. It made sense to pressure him the hardest from the north, rout his forces first there and drive him south. The worst news of the day was dawning on him; he wouldn't be able to survey the entire battle, and thus could not be certain his decisions were benefiting his men as they should. “Divide the reserves and send them to bolster both the northern and southern fronts with the majority to the north. Tell Beldin he commands the north. He has the Chaplains to come to his aid and the superior cavalry force. I'll take direct command of the south.”

He turned to look at everyone present one last time. “Let us not hesitate, lest death think us cowards,” he said before kicking his heels and riding south to join the battle.

“
My lord.” Another courier appeared just as Sir Beldin had finished organizing his wounded. “The king sends his compliments and congratulations.”

“
Tell him I am honored.”

“
He requests that you place your cavalry in reserve to rest them, and to place your infantry facing north. Your archers should support them, and he will send up his own troops to guard your left flank to the northwest.”

“
That is very generous of the king.” Beldin looked south to where he could see the Renault bodyguard shimmering in the canyon. “I will do as he commands.”

“
Thank you, my lord.”

“
Thorn!” He shouted over to his infantry commander, the bright colored blue and green patchwork of his surcoat a comfort to see. “Plug the northern canyon with your men and draw up the archers behind you. My horse need a moment's respite.”

“
Yes, m'lord!”

Beldin turned to find the remaining scouts he had hired from the merchants in the south. He had hoped to use them in mountaineering, but this was far more extreme. “Can you get more of your boys to the top of the mountain behind us?”

“
Yes m'lord, but the wolves...” The wrinkled old man was wiry, and deceptively strong, Beldin knew.

“
Parnithons,” Beldin corrected. “There won't be any more, not for a while yet, and they'll be coming up the mountains in front of us in any case. But I want you to take ropes and get as many archers up there with you as you can. Take a unit of swordsmen up as well if they can manage the climb in their gear, and they can protect you from the Parnithons.”

“
Aye aye, m'lord. S'long as we get paid.”

“
If any of you make it through the day I'll pay him double. Now go.”

And with a little yip of glee, the old deckhand rushed off to find his remaining men. The king's soldiers were already filing north to fill in his left flank, where the Parnithons had attacked his scouts not even an hour before. Their tall, spiked helms glittered in the desert sun and trailed the Renault green in simple ribbons as they went. He was surprised the Parnithons hadn't been quickly followed by the main force, though he supposed the Granhal were meant to do more damage than the Chaplains had allowed.

He set himself to checking on his lines when the shout went up that the scouts above had spotted something. No sooner did he hear that than did he see his outriders racing back towards him, ragged and so few in number it made his heart break.

“
Form the line!” He shouted at his spearmen along the front row. “Two holes for our friends, then close up immediately! Archers, strings on your bows!”

They had at least another half mile to go, but were being steadily overcome by another unit of Granhal. They weren't going to make it. “Heavy cavalry, to me!”

He quickly selected a unit of a hundred men out of the First Cavalry and turned to make his way out through the lines.

“
My lord!” The shout of one of the king's couriers came to him over the noise of the armored horses trotting forward, but he didn't have time. He dug his heels into his own horse and sped out through the ranks.

There were possibly ten of his outriders left, racing their horses as hard as they could. The Granhal were hot on their heels, howling and galloping and swinging their axes. His blood froze to come into contact with these monsters twice in one day, but he forced the fear down and rode as hard as he could towards them.
They're as mortal as you, you fool.
With sword in hand he shifted his trajectory, aiming to pass just by the lead horse.
Come on, come on!
He couldn't bear to see his men run down like this.
Only a few more yards!

And then suddenly they were past. He shouted at them to ride home before swinging his blade up to catch the first Granhal in the eye. It had been so focused on its prey that it hadn't seen him coming, but the rest were not so distracted. He brought his sword back around in time to parry a blow from an incoming ax, which almost threw him from his saddle before his line of cavalry were through the Granhal and on the other side.

Sir Beldin wheeled his horse around, the only mount among them not wearing full armor, and raised his voice as loud as he could. “For the Shale!”

His men echoed the chant as the Granhal turned and came to face them. He lowered his sword and the knights charged forward, splintering the rest of their lances on the hopping Granhal as nearly a third of the knights were dropped from their horses. Whether the animals themselves had been attacked or the men had been carried off the horses made little difference; the impact with the ground in full plate was severely disorienting in all cases.

Beldin wove through the center of the Granhal, who numbered half of his knights in total, but Beldin suddenly found his men were severely outmatched. He hacked down at a Granhal whose misstep had cost it its momentum, then dodged another who had aimed to tackle him off his horse but instead cleared its hindquarters.

He rushed through their line, then turned his horse to find that only five of his knights had made it through with him. The rest had either been brought up short or were on the ground fighting the Granhal man to man. Beldin kicked forward, angling towards a Granhal that was raising its ax to strike a man on the ground. He came through just in time, catching the back of the monster's neck with his blade and separating its spine so that the ax flew wide. He pulled right, dodging an ax, then swung down to knock away yet another dual-headed blade.

Another Granhal stood over a fallen knight, and realizing he wouldn't be able to bring his sword around in time, Beldin did the next best thing. His horse might not have been fully armored, but it was a warhorse, bred and trained for the heat of battle with the Relequim's armies. They had fought together in a number of skirmishes in the last few years, and now that training shone as the horse rammed the Granhal from behind with its chest, sending it flying over the downed knight.

Their momentum lost, Beldin leaped from the horse's back, slapping it on the haunches as he shouted for it to run. He spun, dodging the ax that was meant to behead him and quarter his horse in the same motion. Both targets evaded their fate with dexterity, and Beldin launched himself back up to counter, bringing his sword up and through the chin of the assaulting Granhal. Its frozen mask of a face erupted tar-like blood before he hauled down on the blade and kicked it over dead.

“
Get up!” He shouted at the knight on the ground. “Get up or we're both dead!”

There were still knights in the fight, but now they barely matched the Granhal in number. They were losing the fight.

A long howl echoed through the canyon, causing Beldin to swallow involuntarily. He turned to find the largest Granhal among them standing behind him, its curved horns reaching to the sky and bringing its full height to well over ten feet. The monster had a rune blazing on its chest, the deep blood-red glow of the Relequim, which flared to life before it sprang forward.

The Granhal came in bounds of fifteen feet, closing the gap to Beldin in seconds. He dove to the side as the ax came down, twirling in the air with his sword out to catch the blow and deflect it from its aim. The impact was massive, dropping him instantly to the ground, and left his arms numb as he slid to a stop on the dusty clay. He shook his head and rolled to his feet. The Granhal stood there staring at him, its brow dropped deep in hatred, its long, jagged teeth frozen in a perpetual grin.

Beldin's gut dropped to be faced with the Demon's elite, but there was no escaping this fight. There was no fleeing now. He gripped his longsword with both hands and shouted for his fathers as he ran forward to meet the beast. The Granhal spun, its long-handled ax flying so fast that Beldin could barely see it. He dropped to his knees more out of instinct than perception, the notched iron blade whistling overhead and clipping the mast from his helm as the Granhal howled and continued to spin. Beldin dove forward to his left as the ax came hurtling down, crashing into the ground with enough force to lodge itself in the earth.

Beldin was close enough to strike, and he swung his blade for the back of the Granhal's legs. But the Granhal was faster and kicked out to the side, connecting with Beldin's skull and saving itself from anything worse than a gash on its lower back. It screamed in rage against the pain, but Beldin barely heard it as his world erupted into lights and bells as he slid on his back to a stop.

He got up as quickly as he could, the world swirling around him as the dust compounded his inability to see. A giant black blur approached at a steady saunter, until suddenly it launched towards the sky. Beldin wobbled on his feet in place before he realized what was happening. He fell forward, doing his best to roll out of the way as the massive skin-clad boots of the Granhal shattered the ground behind him.

The monster twisted instantly, catching Beldin on his knees with the flat of its ax and launching him ten feet back the way he had come. He slid to a stop and stayed there for a second as he pieced the world together on his back. He sat up, pushing with his elbows to get on his side and stand. Around him stood thirty Granhal, each walking forward to watch as their champion finished the skirmish.

There had been a hundred heavily armored knights with him. How had they only killed twenty of these things?

And then a new shout was heard on the wind.

The Granhal turned their attention north in an instant as the Chaplains came streaming in from the branch to the northeast just ahead of the inbound column of monsters. The Trench howled with a furious joy as he swung his bloody war hammer over his head and dove straight into the Granhal.

The monsters responded in kind, leaping into action to gather momentum and connect with the knights head-on. The clash was so violent that Beldin covered his face in the crook of his arm, the world still grinding off its axis slightly as he fought to clear his head. The huge destriers in their white armor didn't balk at the Granhal, taking the collisions head-on and winning every single connection. The war hammers followed close behind the horses, shattering horns and splintering skulls in sickening crushes and cracks.

The Granhal howled, hammering into the armored chests and flanks of the Chaplains' mounts, but the axes were turned, the horses barely flustered by the attacks. Beldin watched in awe as the horses circled and paused as if one with their masters. The dents in their armor barely registered against their determination as the Chaplains clove one skull and then another. Before he knew it, the Granhal were dead.

“
Come, little lord.” The Trench was reaching down for him before he was fully aware it was over. “Let's get you to safety before the real trouble arrives.”

Sir Beldin took his hand and in a blur found himself riding back towards his own lines on the back of the oversized warhorse. “How did you kill them so easily?”

“
The creatures of the enemy cannot stand against the righteous,” the Trench laughed. “You should repent of your sins, boy. There is no armor like the wrath of God.”