Douglas Niles: The Crown and the Sword

As news of his arrival spread, men came streaming from the other encampments, adding their cheers. He came to the center of the great encampment, where the bulk of the knights were amassed. Though they were the backbone of the Solamnic Army, in actual numbers the knights formed only a small percentage of the troops. It was the pikemen who formed the battle lines, the archers who provided the covering fire, and the dwarf heavy infantry who would assemble squares to stand against any attack. Then and only then could the fleet and powerful horsemen of the knighthood fight with all their ability.

The marshal took time to greet some of the knights personally. He reached down to clasp the hands of several Caergoth Steelshields as he rode past. These were the Rose Knights who had carried the day when Jaymes had first struck north across the Garnet River, pushing Ankhar’s army back from the position it had held for six months following the half-giant’s initial, nearly triumphant campaign. Then there came the doughty veterans of the Newforge Regiment, Knights of the Sword who hailed from besieged Solanthus; they had pledged to lead the assault that would free their surrounded city. Just beyond them, standing at attention with their snow-pure steeds behind them, were the Crown Knights of the White Riders-the unit that had broken Ankhar’s ogres so recently in the north, paving the way for this great concentration of force.

All in all, more than twelve thousand men were congregated here, and the army commander could not help but be pleased by the sight of his army. His three generals awaited him in the center of the camp. He dismounted, allowing his horse to be led away for a rubdown by several eager young squires, and stretched the kinks of his four-day ride out of his back and shoulders. He joined the generals at their small fire, taking a seat on a small stool.

“Any urgent news?” Jaymes asked.

General Rankin acted as spokesman for the trio. “No word from Palanthas, nor from the Compound, my lord.”

“Regent du Chagne still prefers that his own legion guard the city, does he?” asked the marshal, shaking his head.

“Perhaps he is worried more about you than about Ankhar,” suggested General Dayr.

Jaymes smiled tightly. “Probably he should be worried about me. But I don’t have time for him now. Solanthus requires our attention, and we’ll have to make plans with the assets we currently have on the field.”

“That should give us plenty to work with,” declared Sir Markus Haum, the general of the Rose. He was a steadfast veteran with a very impressive mustache and had rejoined the army in the winter after narrowly surviving an attempt on his life. Among the three, Jaymes regarded him as his most trusted, capable field commander. “Our forces are spread within ten miles of this very spot, ready and willing to go where you send it, my Lord Marshal.”

Jaymes nodded. “What of the crossings? I presume Ankhar has them well guarded?”

“Aye, sir,” Dayr confirmed rather glumly. “He has pickets posted for a hundred miles north and south of here, with strong detachments at every ford.”

“We tried a probe with boats, as you ordered,” General Rankin said. “We sent three hundred scouts, all of them volunteers, across the wider part of the Vingaard, a score of miles downstream from here. Ankhar’s bastards waited until the boats were almost to shore, and then those damned ogres bombarded them with boulders. Most of the boats were sunk, and barely eighty men made it back to our bank alive.”

“Unsurprising,” Jaymes acknowledged. He had in fact expected a disastrous result with such an experiment, but he had to give the tactic a try. The loss of so many men was a steep cost, but it was a price he must pay in return for intelligence regarding his enemy’s dispositions. “Has there been any word from Solanthus?”

“The last messenger to make it through the siege lines arrived more than a month ago. We’ve tried to send men in, but sporadic reports-by homing pigeon-indicate that none of them have made it through. There’s a cloud of magic around that place, no doubt caused by the Cleft Spires. Though it blocks our scrying attempts, it is also an asset-for it certainly protects the city against the magic of Ankhar’s Thorn Knights as well.

“So Solanthus is still holding out. Discipline and morale are reportedly good, my lord, but the shortage of food is becoming the worst predicament. Most of the food is going to the fighting men, of course, so the suffering is greatest among the citizenry. It will not be long before the youngest and oldest citizens will be starving to death.”

“And the duchess herself?”

“She pleads for help, as soon as possible. But she also promises to hold out until we can break the siege,” reported Rankin. “She’s but a slip of a thing, and… well… when she married Duke Rathskell, we all made assumptions about her that have turned out to be wrong. By the gods-my men and I respect her now. We should be there with her!”

For several years Rankin had been the captain in charge of the duke’s army. Following Rathskell’s death, he had retained his office but had been outside the city with his mobile forces when Solanthus was surrounded. Now his eyes grew moist and his voice broke from the obvious passion of his desire to return to the city and fight for its freedom.

Jaymes himself showed little emotion in his face or voice. “The talents of the duchess obviously go far beyond the bedroom, you mean?” he asked.

Rankin nodded, flushing slightly. “I admit I made a poor judgment of a great lady, my lord.”

“We all made the same judgment, I’m afraid,” Dayr noted quickly, coming to Rankin’s rescue. “But she’s a better man than her late husband ever was.”

“Indeed.” The marshal nodded, reflecting privately.

“Good riddance to Rathskell, in any event,” Markus huffed. Each of the generals knew that Duke Rathskell had died on Jaymes Markham’s sword, but none of them saw any reason to mention the fact. Nor would they mention the fortune in gems that had vanished upon the duke’s death, though they must suspect that those stones were now being used to fund the expensive, and secret, operations of the distant, mysterious Compound.

“Excuse me, my lords?”

They looked up at the approach of a young knight, a clean-shaven officer who wore a tunic of white, emblazoned with small symbols of the Crown, the Rose, and the Sword.

“Sir Templar? Please, join us,” Jaymes offered.

“Thank you, my Lord Marshal. Welcome back-I am pleased to see that Kiri-Jolith has blessed you with a safe journey.”

“Well, he didn’t place any undue obstacles in my path, and for that I myself am grateful,” Jaymes replied. “What can we do for you?”

Templar was a knight-priest, a Clerist like Sergeant Heath, one of the new breed of clerical warriors who had begun to join the ranks of the Solamnics during the later campaigns of the War of Souls. With the disappearance of Paladine, the traditional high god of the knightly orders, the Clerists had been working hard to rebuild the faith of the troops. Some of them maintained devout worship of the merchant god Shinare, while many others, such as Templar, were devoted followers of Kiri-Jolith, the Just.

“Well, my lord… it’s the dwarves. We have several good, solid priests among their ranks, and they are trying their best. It’s just that… well…”

“Tell us-spit it out, man!” encouraged Dayr.

“Well, the dwarves are refusing to take the Oath-they serve in the ranks of the Solamnic Army. But they won’t speak the words that pledge their commitment to all of the knightly cause!”

“Well, they’re not knights, after all,” Jaymes said. “They’re not required to take the Oath. And it seems that too vigorous efforts to bend them to that ideal might only drive them away. I have known more than a few dwarves in my time, and every one of them is stubborn to the core. But also quite honorable, in their way.”