Douglas Niles: The Crown and the Sword

Ankhar glared, spit into the ravine again, and growled deep in his chest. Finally he nodded.

“Let us make this truce. Our warriors will live to fight another day. I agree with you. Better soldiers die in battle than drown in a thunderstorm.”

“Good,” Jaymes replied. He studied Ankhar’s face, looking for any hint of treachery-or sincerity. “So, too, shall I agree to a truce.” He looked up at the sky. “It is past noon now. The shadow of the sun will reach that white layer of stone, halfway up the cliff, in about two hours. Shall we let the truce take effect at that time?”

“Yes. To last until sunset over the plains. There will be no killing during that time.”

“Very well,” said the man. He nodded thoughtfully. “Your warriors fought well. It was only a fierce charge of knights that, in the end, broke your line.”

“Bah. My Thorn Knights’re not here. Their magic would shatter any charge-kill your tin can riders!”

“So they might have. But they did not.” Jaymes shrugged as if it were a matter of no great concern. Yet he knew that the half-giant spoke the truth. The Thorn Knights had formerly served Mina and the One God in her campaign to conquer Ansalon. They were formidable wizards, devoted to the dark arts in the furtherance of their own power. In many battles their presence had proved decisive, but their numbers were few. Jaymes was well aware those potent wizards might have made a difference and was glad they were absent from this battle.

“I go now, to tell of the truce. I withdraw my company,” Ankhar said. “Next time, may we shed each other’s blood.”

“So we may,” the human replied. “I will not wish you luck in that endeavor.”

The half-giant chuckled, the sound an odd mixture of cruelty and humor. “I wish you luck-to stay healthy until that day,” he said. “So I may kill you myself.”

“Aye-and the same to you,” replied the marshal, the commander of all the Solamnic Armies.

Still facing each other, the two leaders backed warily away from the edge of the narrow crevice. Jaymes reached behind, took the bridle of his roan, and swung easily into the saddle. As he cantered away, he glanced back and saw that the half-giant was still watching him with those too-small, too-intelligent eyes.

The signalman caught the attention of the captain of the Second Company of the Vingaard Arms, the unit trapped on the shelf beside the river. He waved his flags at the rim of the precipice. The orders were simple: “Prepare to withdraw,” followed by, “Await the command to execute the order.” A simple wave of the company’s Crown pennant returned the acknowledgement that the message had been received and understood.

General Dayr and Marshal Jaymes stood beside the flagman, watching the shadow that had already crept far up the canyon’s wall. In another quarter of an hour or so, it would reach the strata of white rock that signaled the commencement of the agreed-upon truce. A scout rode up, and both commanders turned to regard him.

“The ogres are indeed withdrawing from the rim of the ravine,” the man reported without formality. “Already they have marched more than a mile, and when I departed from the scene just moments ago, they were making steady progress away.”

“Are they out of range by now?”

“Aye, my lord-the ogres are no longer able to strike at the men of the Vingaard Arms.”

“It appears as though the brute is keeping his word,” Dayr murmured, raising his eyebrows in a gesture of mild surprise. “I hadn’t been entirely sure until now.”

Jaymes shook his head very slightly. “I was sure he would pull the ogres back. But I am not yet convinced that he is keeping his word.”

“And our archers are now down from the heights. They wouldn’t have time to return to their firing positions if Ankhar’s company makes haste.”

“I’m sure they’ll get out of there as fast as they can,” said the army commander.

A few moments later, the sun’s shadow reached the requisite position. The two men watched as the companies beside the river slowly backed away from each other, the humans moving toward the lower terminus of the narrow ravine, the goblins to the foot of the trail that twisted so precariously along the canyon’s wall. When perhaps three hundred yards of distance was between them, the formations abandoned their battle lines and formed into narrow columns, each starting up its respective route of retreat.

“Now we arrive at the moment of truth,” said Jaymes. “Or perhaps I should say, ‘the Truth.’ ”

“I have heard that he calls himself this,” Dayr remarked. “Even under the most severe interrogation, his warriors insist that their general is the Truth.”

For several long moments, the mutual withdrawals proceeded quietly. The last of the human warriors filed into the ravine, disappearing from the sight of the two commanders, though some goblins were still visible making their way up the winding trail. The head of that column approached the first switchback and continued upward, vanishing momentarily as the trail cut under a broad overhang of rugged limestone.

“After the barbarians are across the river, do you want me to pursue them in the direction of Dargaard?” asked Dayr. He shuddered at the thought of that dark and haunted fortress.

“That will not be necessary. Ankhar’s troops will not head toward Dargaard,” Jaymes declared.

“Oh? What do you predict?”

“He will concentrate on the east bank of the Vingaard, to hold us at bay, while he gathers his strength against Solanthus,” the marshal stated. “He has already brought his central army to the west of that fortress, while his southern force is screening the territory in the Garnet foothills.”

The city of Solanthus had been besieged for two years, ever since Ankhar’s horde had first rampaged across the plains-before Jaymes Markham had taken command of the Solamnic Army. Though the city had resisted the barbarian’s few attempts at storming the walls, it also remained out of reach of relief columns and supplies from the rest of Solamnia.

“You think he will make another attempt to conquer Solanthus, then?” Dayr replied, moderately surprised. “Those walls have held him at bay for more than two years.”

“Yes, but he has made no serious attack,” Jaymes answered. “And now we have bested him in three major battles in the open field. Each time he has been forced to give up another sector of the plains, and with Solanthus to his rear, still resisting, he will see that, inevitably, we intend to break his siege, if he keeps losing ground.”

“I understand that the situation is dire in that city,” the general said. “It is all the clerics can do to maintain food at near starvation levels. Though I hear that the duchess has rallied the people courageously, that she eats no more than the commoners.”

The lord marshal nodded. “She has a core of steel, that’s clear.”

Dayr agreed somewhat ruefully. “When Duke Rathskell married her, I thought she was a trite little wench, suited only for the bedroom. Now he’s dead, and she is holding the city together. I am, frankly, surprised. I confess I did not give her credit for that kind of spine.”

“Nobody did,” Jaymes said. “Sometimes adversity seems to bring forth remarkable strength.”

A trumpet blared some distance away, and both men turned quickly at the unmistakable sound of alarm. The general grimaced, while the marshal’s lips tightened in anger. “Liar!” he said between clenched teeth. “So the one called the Truth is a liar after all.”

“But his ogres cannot have returned to the ravine-they were too far away!” countered Dayr.

Jaymes nodded, pointing downward, where the column of goblins was halfway up the cliff, still winding along the narrow trail. Soon they would vanish from sight as they continued behind the curve of the canyon wall. But moments later, the scout came into view, lashing his horse into a froth as he galloped toward the two commanders.