Theros Ironfield

Chapter 7

The clouds were beginning to break and dots of sunshine began to play across the field separating the minotaurs from their foe, the elves.

Theros was but one small cog in the minotaurs’ huge war machine. As he labored in the rear, the machine geared up to creak forward.

The minotaur leader, Commander Klaf, hastened out of his tent, near the back of the assembling troops. He shouted to the standard-bearer and bugler. “What is going on? Why did you sound the battle call?”

His officers pointed. Klaf looked across the field. Elves were pouring from the woods and beginning to form around their own standards.

“Great Sargas! Bugler, sound the ‘officers to me’ call.” The bugler brought the great horn up and blasted out the notes. The entire camp had come alive when the call to arms had been sounded. Now it was time to get moving, not stand around like children waiting to be fed.

Klaf stood with his arms crossed, studying his enemy from across the nearly mile-wide field. As always, the elves were taking their time, forming into pristine companies, all in precise lines and columns. The elf commander had three infantry corps in his command. He placed one corps forward and the other two side-by-side behind the first. Klaf motioned to the standard-bearer.

“So what do you think, Olik? Where would you say all of their archers are going to be? That’s what we worry about most.”

The younger officer hesitated for a moment, still studying the enemy formations. “The rear two corps must contain their archers, sir. I cannot believe that the elves are stupid enough to challenge us with their infantry alone. Surely they will use their might in archery to try and bring our numbers down. I don’t see any cavalry, either, Commander. Do we know if they have any?”

The older minotaur nodded. “They must have cavalry, but I do not see it. Damn them! The elves always play these silly games. Why don’t they just come out and fight?”

Three minotaurs ran up to the officers, two more racing behind. All were in various stages of dress, none fully ready for battle.

The tallest, Bak, spoke first. “Are they forming to attack now? Great Lords of the Abyss! We aren’t ready!”

Klaf turned to the huge warrior. “Set the example, damn you! I expect your troops to be formed before the enemy is ready. Now go! Go!”

The officers turned and ran back to their tent lines, all bellowing orders to their subordinates.

Olik planted the army standard in the ground. It was a twelve-foot pole with a crosspiece attached near the top. An orange and red banner hung down from the crosspiece, showing a black raven with glowing wing tips. The very top of the pole was adorned with a gold spearhead, and two gold tassels hung down. The banner was normally cased in a leather sock, but when the horns of battle rang out, clear as the morning sun, Olik decided it was time for the banner to be unfurled. The banner would show the enemy that they were fighting against a mighty army.

Olik had been chosen specially as the standard-bearer for the Third Army because he was a foot taller than any other minotaur in the army. His job was to keep the standard flying at all costs. To let it fall would be a disgrace for the army. To let it be captured would be the worst of all possible fates, worse even than defeat. Olik would fight to the death to defend the standard.

The elves had begun to straighten their lines and close together for the march across the field. The minotaur officers were shouting at their warriors to form into regiments and straighten their own lines. Across the field, a fanfare of trumpets sounded, and with a great shudder, the three corps of elves began to push forward.

Minotaurs were still coming out of tents, still pulling on pieces of armor, still fumbling for weapons, still tightening straps. Officers and junior leaders were doing everything in their power to get their troops in place.

One minotaur was completely drunk. An officer raced up behind him and bashed him on the back of the head in an attempt to sober him up. The soused minotaur fell facedown into the grass. His officer left him for dead and went back to his unit.

Olik, still watching the advance of the elven army, shook his head and looked over to Klaf. “We have to slow their advance, sir, to allow our troops enough time to get into formation. We don’t even have our skirmish line out yet!”

Klaf shook his head. “We can’t engage them with archery. My archers aren’t in place. Such an attack might even cause them to quicken the pace. What if we …” He hesitated, looked over at his standard-bearer and friend.

“What, sir?”

“What if we offered to parley?” Klaf said.

Olik was shocked. “You can’t be serious, sir? Parley … with elves?” He almost spat the word.

“It will slow them down,” the commander noted.

“True.…” Olik was not yet convinced.

Klaf had made up his mind. “Quick, go back to the tent line and grab some tent canvas and a spear. You and I, along with several warriors, will go forward under a flag of truce. They will honor that. They have to honor that!”

Shaking his head, Olik ran off at a trot. A few moments later, he emerged from a tent with a spear and a ripped section of white cloth. He ran back to the command group.

Olik looked miserable. “Do you really mean to go through with this, sir?”

Klaf turned his attention away from the enemy. He glanced back to see his troops rushing about in confusion.

“If the elves reach us now, they’ll cut us to pieces. Do you know of a better way to stop them?”

Olik said nothing.

“Right, come with me.” Klaf marched forward, through his assembling troops. As he walked past his warriors, he yelled out to some of them, calling them by name, attempting to boost morale.

“Ready to kill some elves today, Rajan?

“Good day for a fight, eh, Bratag?

“Muddy enough for you, you giant lug, Mosex?”

The soldiers waved and shouted. Klaf and his small group moved forward through his own troops’ lines and out toward the enemy. Halfway, Klaf ordered the white banner raised.

“No need to get shot for this,” Klaf said. He looked back at his own army. Units were jostling to get into line. The mercenary human longbowmen hired to provide the army some mode of long range missile fire were too far to the left side. The skirmish line had not yet deployed.

The whistling of an arrow brought the minotaur warriors in Klaf’s party back to the situation at hand. They froze as the arrow slammed into the soft ground not a foot in front of Olik. Three elves on horseback rode forward from their center positions. As they did so, elf commanders all over the field ordered their units to halt. Seconds later, the elven army had come to a standstill. The three elf officers moved forward, one holding a spear with a white scarf attached.

The four minotaurs stood and waited. The diminutive horses of the elves seemed to dance across the field as they approached. At a distance of a hundred feet, the group stopped.

The lead elf stood up in the saddle and yelled in Common. “Minotaur warriors! What is this? Some sort of a trick? Or are you truly wanting to parley?”

Klaf began to laugh, then checked himself. He yelled back. “This is a parley. We want to talk.”

The elves moved forward cautiously. All kept their hands away from weapons, as did the minotaurs. The minotaurs knew that they were in range of some skilled archer somewhere, or more likely a unit of them. The elves knew that if the flag of truce was violated, then they would have to face in hand-to-hand battle these four well-armed and experienced minotaur warriors, one of whom stood nearly nine feet tall!

Two of the elves remained mounted when they came within hearing distance. The third dismounted.

“I am Harinburthallas, son of Harinbutthal. I command the Northern Wing of the Imperial Army.”

“I am Klaf, son of Klak, son of Krak. I am the commander of the Third Minotaur Army. I come to discuss the terms for your surrender.”

The elf looked astonished. “My surrender? Are you blind? I outnumber you at least two to one. My archers are far superior to that rabble of humans that you have on your left flank, and you do not even have your skirmishers deployed. Most assuredly you are going to offer your surrender to me!”

Klaf stared at the elf in feigned amazement. He looked over at Olik, who shook his horned head no, indicating they needed more time. Klaf took a step toward the elf.

“Do not dare to insult the honor of my army, or of any minotaur warrior. We are servants of Sargas! I will not surrender to you! You do not have enough honor among you all to lace up the strap of my boot, much less accept my surrender, even if I had the intention to do so.”

He glanced over again at Olik. The huge standard-bearer was looking over his shoulder. A second later, his gaze returned to his commander, and he nodded yes.

Klaf concluded. “I see that a parley with you elves is to no avail. I wish you honor on this day of battle.” He turned, and so did the other minotaurs in the party. They marched back to the army lines.

As they headed back, Olik rode over to Klaf. “So, do you think they took you seriously about surrender?”

Klaf shook his head. “I have heard of this General Harinburthallas. He is one of their best. He knew that we were delaying. He could have refused to talk, however even elves have some smattering of honor. But that is why they rode horses, to speed things up. Notice that already the elf general is back with his army.”

Klaf broke into a trot, followed by the three other minotaurs. A minute later they cleared their own skirmish line and continued to the space between the skirmishers and the main infantry line. The skirmish infantry were armed and armored lightly. Their job was to slow the main advance of the elves, and to force them to form into battle lines early. As they formed, the main infantry would charge through and hit the elves as they were still changing formations.

Klaf stopped to look over his troops. The minotaur warriors all fell silent as they saw their commander eyeing them. Klaf reached over and took the spear with the white cloth from Olik. He turned it over, and thrust it into the mud as deeply as he could. The white cloth was almost completely obscured.

A huge cheer went up across the army, spreading from the center, where every warrior could see their commander, out to the wings. Even the human longbowmen cheered. Klaf took his battle-axe from the harness strapped to his back, and held it aloft. As he did so, Olik raised the standard high above his head. Again, the cheer went up.

The small group passed through the front lines and positioned themselves on a knoll between the front corps and the rear reserve corps. The rest of the army staff, four officers and a phalanx of twenty of the best bodyguards, joined the commander.

Klaf looked up to find his skirmishers racing forward to engage the enemy’s front line of infantry. The middle of the first elven wing split down the center in an obviously rehearsed move. From their rear, elven light cavalry charged forward to engage the minotaur skirmish infantry.

The fight was on.

* * * * *

Theros could hear the battle raging. From his vantage point in the rear, though, he could see nothing. Barracks and supply tents stood between him and the field of battle.

He knew only that somehow, someone had gained them some time. He and Hran worked at a feverish rate collecting all of the tools, benches, anvils and spare parts that went into the smithy. The stone forge remained where it was, its coals still red-hot.

All around them other parts of the rear were also packing up, getting ready to move-either forward or back. The commissary unit across the road had eight human slaves loading meat and other edibles into covered wagons.

Hran stopped Theros as he picked up the last of the arrowheads that he had been working on earlier. Hran handed Theros a shovel.

“You’ve seen a minotaur army only in victory. You’ve never seen what happens in a defeat. I do not like the omens of Sargas for this battle today, so here is what I will have you do.

“Dig a small pit here near the forge. If the going gets rough, I want you to hide in it. You have no armor or weapons, and you’ll die if there’s fighting around and you’re in the way. I’ll ensure that the forge is stocked up and ready to get back to work in case we win. Now start digging.”

Theros hated the thought of hiding in a pit, but he had to face facts. He had no way to defend himself. He began to dig.

Hran kept leaving his work stoking the fire, raising himself up to stare in the direction of the battle.

“What is it, Hran? What’s troubling you?” Theros asked.

“Get back to work! Now dig!” Hran searched around the ground for tools or other pieces of armor or weapons that should be stowed.

Behind them, the sound of thunder began to build.

Behind them?