Theros Ironfield

Chapter 21

The army hiding in the forest waited for over an hour with no news. The wait was unnerving. Nothing could be seen in the town. Nothing could be seen in the fields surrounding the town. Nothing.

A soldier crept through the underbrush to the baron’s side. “Sir, no sign of anything,” he whispered. “The scouts have seen no sign of the enemy.”

Moorgoth nodded and the soldier crept back into the underbrush, back to his place farther up the line. They continued to wait.

Suddenly, from their front, came a rumbling sound, rolling from the town and growing louder. Moorgoth rose to his feet and looked into the town. He pulled a spyglass from a pouch on his belt, and put it to his eye.

Smoke was rising. Flames flickered on the far side of the town. The smoke was obscuring his vision, but the baron could make out individual buildings and the roads between them. He kept his eye on the main road that led into the town.

The next sound he heard was that of horses, galloping through the streets. He couldn’t see them yet, but he knew the sound of hooves thudding against hard ground.

A flash of steel. Another flash. Moorgoth moved the spyglass, followed the road down, and focused on two riders.

They were his men.

The baron put the glass down. He could now see the two clearly, galloping up the road. Behind them, he could see more horses thundering out of the town. He brought the glass up again. Yes, he recognized the maroon uniforms. They were his cavalry.

In a sharp voice, he yelled orders back to a runner.

“Those are our cavalry. Tell Captain Jamaar to hold his squadrons behind the forest until I call for them by bugle. Tell him to send me word of how he did. Understand?”

The young man nodded and was off into the woods at a run.

The first two riders galloped into the woods. Once out of sight of the town, the two riders dismounted. The runner raced forward to confer with the two. One of the riders remounted, just in time to lead the rest of the cavalry through the woods to the rear. The other rider returned with the runner to Baron Moorgoth’s position.

“Good day, sir. It was a fine fight, but a tough one,” the officer called.

“Lieutenant Boromus, isn’t it? You are second in command of the light cavalry. Am I right?” Moorgoth asked the young officer.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“Did you achieve your objectives?”

The officer shook his head. “Not all objectives, sir. We rode into the center of the town. The town guard gave us a fight at first, but they weren’t organized. We threw them off. You were right, sir. There is a spy in our midst.” The soldier was grim. “They were waiting for us.”

“Damn!” Moorgoth swore softly.

“When we beat back the town guard, we began rounding up the civilians, marched them into the central marketplace.” The officer paused.

“Go on,” urged the baron.

“There were more civilians than we thought and they were ready for a fight. They fought like devils from the Abyss, sir. At one point, they dragged one of Captain Jamaar’s heavy cavalrymen from his saddle and beat him to death. We pushed the people back, but there was a lot of bloodshed.

“The town guard regrouped and charged us on the west side of the town square, attacking us from the rear. They killed at least four and wounded four more before we could manage to turn around and make the battle more even.”

Moorgoth could see that the man was nearly exhausted. “Go ahead, drink some water.” He offered the cavalry officer his waterskin.

“Thank you, sir.” Boromus took a drink. “Once we’d whipped the town guard, we dismounted and held the horses on the east side of the town, ready for us to pull out, according to plan. We thought we had the civilians all penned up, but a bunch must have been hiding. They must have sneaked through the buildings, instead of going out in the streets where we could have seen them. They killed the guards we had set over the horses, and then cut the animals loose. We stopped them, but we lost a lot of men and mounts and supplies.”

“What happened next?” the baron asked, frowning.

“We fought on, both against the civilians in the square and the guard. We held on until midafternoon, as you had ordered. Then, we ran as fast as we could from that hornet’s nest. Sir, I can tell you, I’m looking forward to razing that cesspool of a town. I’ll …”

Moorgoth let the man rant. He could see that Boromus was cracking from the strain. He needed to let off steam. The baron waited patiently until the man had calmed down.

“You said that you had not achieved all of the objectives,” Moorgoth continued. “Your only objective was to have the calvary cause trouble in the town until midafternoon. It sounds as if you did that well enough.”

“Sir, I didn’t think it was in your orders to lose half of the cavalry! Half, sir. Half are dead. What you saw riding out of the town is it-around fifty of us. There were some wounded, but they’re surely dead now.”

Moorgoth looked down at the ground. Again he swore silently. He swore vengeance for his men. The town would pay.

“You did well. You held on, and that’s what counts. Go back to your captain.”

The officer looked at him in tight-lipped anger and despair. “Sir-” he began, but he couldn’t continue.

Moorgoth understood.

“Your captain is dead, right? You’re in command now. Is that right?”

The young officer nodded.

“Very well, you shall have the rank to go with it. You are now Captain Boromus. I wish it were under better circumstances. The fighting for the day is not yet over. Get your men fed and rested. I may call upon you again. Coordinate with Captain Jamaar. Go back to your unit.”

The man nodded, but did not salute. He crawled back through the underbrush to his horse. Mounting, he slowly made his way back to his troops.

Moorgoth shook his head. Half? Over half! Over half of his cavalry was gone. The cost alone was crippling, but the loss of good soldiers was worse. Those had been some of the finest mercenaries ever to come his way.

His attention focused on the top of the rise to the left front. A lone rider stood on the ridgeline. Moorgoth raised his spyglass again, to see the rider better.

Through the glass, he could see an armored warrior on a white charger. He could see the emblem on the breastplate-a bird. The rider was half a mile away and Moorgoth could make out nothing more. Yet he knew what that emblem was-a kingfisher, the symbol of one of the orders of the Knights of Solamnia.

The knight rode down the hill toward the town. The smoke of the fires on the far side of town stained the pleasant summer sky.

Moorgoth lost sight of the knight when he drew close to the town. The baron turned to order his men to get ready, but he needed to say nothing. Everyone was watching the knight. They crouched in their hiding places, ready to move. Excitement rustled among them like wind through tree leaves.

Two minutes later, the knight came charging out of the town, galloping over the hill in the same direction from which he had come.

“Settle down,” said Moorgoth to his men, though he knew they couldn’t hear him. “Settle down, boys. Now we get into the hard part. We have to wait for the main force of the knights to arrive. We even have to sit here and watch them assemble, right in front of us. And we don’t dare make a sound. It’s going to be hard.”

He motioned behind him for the runner.

“Pass this word to all of my officers. If any man makes a sound or moves so that the enemy finds us before we’re ready, I’ll cut his throat myself. Go ahead and pass the word.”

Another runner came up, crawling forward to the baron’s position.

“Sir, Commander Omini sends his regards.”

Moorgoth glared at the man. “I don’t need Omini’s regards! What’s his damned news?”

“He wishes to inform you, sir, that his scout reports a force of mounted heavy cavalry and another of foot soldiers moving at a quick pace toward the town.”

Moorgoth was immensely cheered. They were racing right into his trap!

“Good,” he said to the runner. “You tell Omini that I want his brigade flat on their bellies until they hear my bugle call. Tell him to recall his scouts and hide.”

The runner, crawling on all fours, saluted. Moorgoth fought to hide his laughter. Crawling on all fours and saluting looked extremely idiotic.

* * * * *

Sunlight flashed off armor. The knight had returned to the ridgeline about twenty minutes later. Moorgoth studied him with the spyglass. Through the glass, he saw the knight look directly at him.

The baron dropped down to his belly. Quickly, he looked up. He was all right-he’d been standing in the shade. He had feared that the knight had seen the reflection of light off the glass’s front lens. The knight must have been just scanning the forest.

The knight was joined by another, then another, and then by twenty more. One held a standard-a white flag hanging from a long pole with a crosspiece. The emblem on the flag was the same black-and-red kingfisher that the knight wore on his armor.

The party of knights stood at the top of the ridgeline for several minutes, looking around. Moorgoth found he was sweating. All it would take was one fool to sneeze and the knights would know they were walking into an ambush.

Silence.

Ten of the knights broke away from the main group and galloped down the hill toward the town. A bugle call rang out across the valley.

The baron looked nervously behind him. One of his men might have mistaken that bugle call for their own. He waited tensely for his soldiers to leap forward-too early.

Nobody moved. Everybody watched the ridgeline.

Moorgoth breathed again.

The main force of knights came down the hill, walking their horses. Over the ridgeline, a column of knights, four across, appeared. Behind the knights came their foot soldiers. They marched eight across and kept up with the cavalry.

Moorgoth brought his glass up again to study the infantry. They all wore leather cuirasses and steel helmets. Most were armed with swords or axes. They carried large shields on their backs. As he watched, he saw a break in the column, and behind came a group of two hundred archers. They did not wear any sort of armor. They carried longbows strapped over their shoulders.

The baron looked around. He could see the anxious expressions on the faces of his soldiers. He gave them a stern look meant to reinforce discipline-that’s what mattered most in an ambush. He motioned for his bugler.

The baron turned his attention back to the army crossing the distance between the ridge and the town. When the last of the infantry had cleared the ridge, but the first of them had not yet entered the town, he knew it was time.

He stood up. The bugler, alert, stood up beside him.

“Bugler, sound ‘archers advance,’ ” the baron ordered.

The twelve notes rang out in perfect pitch across the field and through the forest. At first, nothing happened, as if no one had heard the call.

Then, suddenly, a thousand archers, from all across the front of the forest, moved forward, lining up in front of the trees.

They stopped, planted their arrows in front of them, and drew back their first nocked arrows. A lone officer held up his sword. With a single yell and a swift downward motion of his sword, he commenced the battle.

“Loose!”

The arrows leaped from the longbows almost in unison. Quickly, each archer retrieved his next arrow from the ground in front of him, nocked it, and raised his aim to achieve the maximum range.

“Loose!”

The second volley flew skyward, before the first had even hit the ground. Many of them found their targets. A shower of arrows rained down on the unsuspecting infantry, caught out in the open.

Gaps formed immediately in the Solamnic infantry column. Dead and wounded fell everywhere. Their officers responded quickly. They shouted for a charge. Shaken, but certainly not broken, the infantry charged forward.

The Solamnic officers’ instinct was correct. If the men had stayed where they were, they would have been cut down. As it was, many more fell from the second volley of arrows. But the third volley missed completely, overreaching their targets. Now came the hardest task for Moorgoth’s archers. They had to hit a moving target.

The charging infantry could see only the archers to their front. They were heartened-archers were no match for good heavy infantry. Behind them, the Solamnic cavalry heard the fighting and turned their horses to race back to the battle. Bugles blared, sounding the alarm and ordering the charge.

This was the toughest part of the battle for Baron Moorgoth. He had to keep his infantry hidden. The Solamnics were getting closer, but every flight of arrows took down a few more. Closer they came.

When they got to within two hundred yards, the archers poured on the fire. Their officer ordered them to fire at will, allowing the archers to choose their own targets. The baron yelled over the din of battle to his bugler.

“Sound ‘infantry advance!’ ”

The bugler nodded and brought the brass instrument to his lips. The clear, cold sounds of the order issued out. Men surged forward to join the fight. It seemed that the very trees had come alive. The infantry rushed to meet the charge.

The archers ran back to the safety of the woods. They were no match for well-armed and armored attackers. The baron’s infantrymen swarming out of the trees would handle that task.

The soldiers had no time to form into ranks. They ran forward into the tired and depleted ranks of the oncoming Solamnics. The two sides met with a thunderous crash, sounding like fifty trees falling to the ground at once.

Due to their overwhelming numbers, not all of Moorgoth’s men could get into the fight. There just weren’t that many Solamnics to go around.

The archers caught their breath and watched the fight intensely. If the Solamnics broke through, it would be up to the archers to stop them. Luckily for them, it did not look as if the main infantry was going to break or fail.

Moorgoth motioned for the runner again.

“Tell the command group to fall back from the fight and join me here. Then go tell the cavalry commanders that I want them to ride hard to the back of that hill.” He pointed to the ridge that the Solamnics had only recently crossed. “Tell them to listen for my call. When it comes, I want them to charge into the Solamnics’ rear. Now go!”

The baron’s heart was pounding. He lived for the excitement of battle. He looked out to the fighting not fifty yards away. His infantry was pushing back the Solamnics. They were faltering, their lines starting to give way.

“Push them, damn you!” Moorgoth yelled to no one in particular. As if they had all heard him, the baron’s infantry line surged forward. The Solamnic infantry broke.

They were no longer a unit, or a group of units. Now, they were individuals, fleeing to save their lives. The Solamnics ran toward the town.

The baron’s infantry started to pursue.

Moorgoth turned to his bugler. “Quick, sound ‘form line!’ ”

The notes carried out over the noise.

Officers yelled and senior nonofficers shoved and prodded men back into position.

The command group of four armored bodyguards and two officers moved toward the baron. Moorgoth motioned for the bugler to follow him and he left the trees to join them. The red-and-black banner flew proudly in the wind.

Moorgoth moved into a run. He ran through his command group and forward to the infantry line just ahead.

“Come on!” he ordered. “Follow me.”

The bodyguards and officers did as they were told.

Moorgoth broke through the ranks to see what was going on. His infantry were beginning to straighten into lines. Several infantrymen were forward of the front line, pulling wounded survivors of the fight toward the rear, into the woods. They took only men in maroon uniforms. The Solamnics were either left to die where they had fallen or helped along the way with a stab through the heart.

Then, in his moment of triumph, the baron saw the danger. Instead of attacking piecemeal, as he had expected, the Solamnic cavalry were forming in the field. They numbered around eight hundred, the baron estimated, confirming his scout’s report.

Moorgoth ordered the bugler to call “officers to me.”

He was infuriated by the arrogance of the knights. Their commander stood out in front of his cavalry, and instead of ordering a charge, it appeared that he was giving a speech!

The baron’s own officers came in at a dead run.

“Gentlemen, I’ll make this quick. When you hear the retreat bugle call, have your men run back into the woods. Be ready to come out again fighting. Have your archers prepared to pepper them once we’re in the trees. Understand?” He looked around. “Good. Once we’ve broken the charge, the fight’s on. Do your best. Now, hurry!”

The officers sprinted back to their various commands and began shouting orders. On the top of the ridge, the knights’ commander had concluded with something inspirational. The knights raised a rousing cheer.

Lances up, they began their advance at a trot.

The cavalry was a sight to see. Eight hundred armored knights and horses, moving forward in brilliant lines, all the heraldry of many families proudly displayed. They broke into a canter.

Quickly, the distance between the two armies was shrinking. As they advanced, the command group could see more and more details of their foe. They kept their lines straight as they moved forward to meet their enemy.

At five hundred yards, bugles called out from several places in the advancing cavalry line. Their lances came down into horizontal positions, couched to kill upon impact.

The knights broke into a full gallop.