Theros Ironfield

Chapter 8

Klaf pounded his armored fists together. “Yes! Yes! That’s it! Keep up the pressure.”

From the command group’s vantage, they could see clearly only the front lines. The left and right were obscured by the troops of the center regiments. The skirmish infantry, out in front of the main lines, had driven the elven archers from the front of the elven battle line. Most of the skirmishers had fallen when the front line of the enemy army stopped advancing and fired a devastating volley of arrows. Then, the minotaurs had hit them. The elven archers were no match for minotaur warriors in hand-to-hand combat.

Klaf could see the two armies moving closer and closer. Both sides were taking casualties now from archery. Klaf’s mercenaries on his left flank were pouring their own long-range archery into the elven lines. The two battle lines closed to within two hundred yards.

Klaf turned to the bugler. “This is it, lad! Sound the charge!”

The bugle call rang out clearly across the battlefield. Within moments, it was drowned out by the minotaurs’ war cry. The sound was like banshees howling. Forward they went, battle-axes and swords swinging, hungering for elven flesh to tear and rend.

The elves stopped cold at the sight. Their officers ordered the ranks to close up. The front rank knelt. They fired a volley into the charging, near-berserk minotaurs. Hundreds dropped, but many hundreds kept coming on. Elves fumbled to reload. Many dropped their bows and drew swords, preparing to receive the charge.

The two lines met with a huge crash of steel and bone. The sheer size of the minotaur warriors, combined with their crazed battle frenzy, were enough to smash holes in several places in the front regiments of elves.

Klaf was well pleased. His heavy infantry was making short work of the first corps of elves. The charge had cleared over a third of the elven infantry from the first elven corps, or so he could see from where he stood. If he could get that front corps to rout, then they would run back through the following corps, panicking them or at least disrupting their ranks. The morale of his troops would shoot up like an elven arrow to the sun. The key was shock of impact and follow-through force. He had to commit his reserve force of warriors.

He slapped the bugler on the right shoulder. The din of battle was incredible. It would be difficult to hear the call. Klaf yelled, “Sound the advance!” and motioned to Olik to carry the army standard forward. The clear notes of the bugle sung out over the crash of armies.

The reserve corps began to march forward into the melee.

A bright flash in the center of the minotaur line drew Klaf’s attention. An explosion ripped apart a ten-foot circle in the front lines of the lead minotaurs. Twenty warriors fell in the blast. Klaf could not see the source of the explosion, but he knew what it was. Every seasoned battlefield commander knew the sight of battle magic. Somewhere there was an elf war-mage. He had to be close to the front lines, too. The range of spells was limited in field conditions.

Klaf turned and motioned for two of his bodyguards. “Did you see that explosion down there?” The two nodded. Klaf continued. “Get down there, find that elf wizard, and rip him to pieces!”

The two warriors saluted and ran off as fast as they could. This was their moment of glory. They skirted past the warriors in the first corps, and through one of the developing holes in the elven line. Breaking out behind the lines of the first elven corps, they ran straight down the rear of the elven ranks. Several elves turned to fight them, but the minotaurs moved so quickly that the elves lost sight of them.

Klaf kept his eyes fixed on the two warriors. If the war-mage was to continue, Klaf’s whole battle plan could become unhinged. The minotaurs were not magic-using soldiers. Honor and glory lay in battle, not in spellbooks and trickery.

He spotted an elf surrounded by a small group of four bodyguards. Klaf did not notice the elf before, but now he was obvious. The elf in the center must be either the commander of the first corps or the wizard casting the spells. Either way, his death would aid the minotaurs. The two warriors crashed into the group, axes swinging.

Another explosion rocked the front of the minotaur line. This time Klaf saw the elf in the group conjure the fireball. It was to be his last spell. Seconds later, the wizard fell. The attacking minotaurs had cut down the bodyguards and were hacking the wizard limb from limb. Elf soldiers from the rear of their brigade turned and engaged the two elite warriors. Four more elves fell before the two minotaurs were cut down. Klaf nodded in satisfaction. The warriors had completed their mission, and died with extreme honor.

Up and down the line, elves and minotaurs were exchanging blows. The minotaurs had the upper hand, though. Their size and battle skills outweighed the elves’ finesse with swords. The main elven advantage of archery was useless in close-quarter fighting. Still, the minotaurs were paying the price of battle. Many warriors fell in the fight. Their deaths only drove their comrades to fight harder.

* * * * *

Theros dug faster. The thunder rumbled over the ground. The source of the sound was from the rear. He glanced up to see Hran buckling his great battle-axe onto his back. Theros recognized the sound now-it was the thunder of horses’ hooves.

Hran unhooked the weapon from its holster and tested its weight. It was a finely balanced weapon, carved from end to end with markings and symbols and scenes of battle. While Theros watched in amazement, Hran stepped out into the roadway and readied his axe in a battle stance.

A white stallion with armored barding burst out of the forest, flew past Hran. An elf rider in armor plate sat atop the beast, sword held high.

A second and a third galloped past Hran, without coming close enough to bother him. The fourth rider yelled an elven war cry and headed straight for the smith. The horse threatened to plow the minotaur under, but at the last moment, Hran neatly sidestepped the horse and brought his battle-axe up into the horse’s path, slicing into its chest. The animal pitched forward, throwing its rider onto the ground. Before he could recover, Hran embedded his axe into the elf’s back. Hran recovered his axe, almost too late.

Elven armored cavalry streamed through the camp, killing anything that moved. Very few minotaurs offered resistance. Hran was one.

One rider came around the side of the wagon. He swung a gleaming sword at Theros, who very nearly lost his head to the elf. The rider’s horse was forced to jump over the forge, causing the rider to falter in his swing.

Wishing desperately that he had a weapon, Theros could do nothing but dive headfirst into the shallow pit. He was up almost immediately, trying to see how Hran was doing, but the forge was in the way.

The elves kept coming. One rode past with a burning torch, and tossed it onto the smithy wagon. The pitch from the torch spattered onto the wood sides and immediately caught fire. Within seconds, the whole side of the wagon was in flames. Even the wet canvas that they had rolled up was beginning to burn.

Theros rose to his knees just in time to see another armored horse bearing down on his position. Again, he threw himself into the dirt. The horse and rider flew over the forge and onward, probably never even noticing the human slave that hid there.

Theros rose once more. The thunder of hooves was now behind him and going the other way, toward the armies battling on the field. There was a sudden hush. Theros stood and looked around. The wagon with all of the smith equipment and supplies was blazing.

Hran stood in the road, an arrow protruding from his shoulder. He paid it no heed. A group of the mounted elves turned and charged back through the camp, herding those who ran before them, cutting them down when they caught them. Hran did not run.

The first of the elven heavy cavalry charged straight for Hran. Weaponless, Theros could do nothing but watch the unequal battle. The elf yelled a war cry and brought down a thin lance. Hran tried to sidestep the blow as he had done before. This time he was too slow. The lance split open his side, cutting straight through the leather armor. Blood spurted out. Hran grabbed his side with one hand, but brought the axe up with the other. His swing was wide, the rider sped past him.

The elf behind the first came on with the same maneuver. This one, however, held the lance point too low. Hran swatted the point of the lance into the ground just in front of him. The elf vaulted straight out of his saddle before he knew what had happened. The horse ran past, the elf fell a few feet to Hran’s right. Quickly, he hobbled over and brought his axe down on the elf’s head. Blood and bone and brains spattered.

Hran charged forward to meet another elf mounted on horseback. Blood ran from the minotaur’s side. Hran was weakening. The elf dropped his lance, and drew his sword. As Hran approached, the elf slowed his mount and caused it to rear up. Hran went for the horse’s underbelly. He was too slow, though. The lack of blood and the sheer exertion were just too much for him. The horse kicked Hran in the chest, sending him sprawling backward.

The elf jumped off the horse, and ran forward to finish the smith where he lay. The elf brought his sword down in a mighty swing, but Hran rolled away. He staggered to his feet, but the elf was ready. The elf thrust forward with his long sword, striking Hran through the heart.

Hran looked down at the wound. He tried to bring up his axe, but it slipped from his grasp. The elf withdrew his sword, and Hran pitched forward into the dirt, face first. The elf ran off after his mount. The rest of the elven cavalry were already far off across the camp.

Sudden fury shook Theros. He sprinted to Hran’s side. Theros rolled the big minotaur over, and pulled him to a sitting position. Hran stared out unblinking into the destroyed and burning camp. He was dead.

Tears that pain could never wring from him welled up in Theros’s eyes. Hran, his slave master, had been mentor and friend.

The bodies of eight elf warriors lay strewn across the road. Theros dragged Hran away from the forge and pulled him up beside the shallow trench that had saved the young man’s life. Hran had died a true warrior. He had slain eight of the best elves that the Silvanesti Nation could muster.

Theros began to dig again. As he dug, anger welled up inside him. This was no act of honor that had cost Hran his life. The elves had intentionally circled around the back and attacked the rear guard while the minotaur main forces were arrayed on the field. Looking over to the commissary wagon, he could see that the elves had slain the human slaves, as well as the minotaurs, all mostly unarmed.

It had been the plan of a coward. A coward without honor.

Theros continued to dig.