David Dalglish - Clash of Faiths

He glanced back, and this time saw a disturbing sight. Running low to the ground were several hundred men, racing ahead of the fire. Amid the smoke they were difficult to spot, but luck had been with him, a heavy gust pushing the smoke away so he might see. Cursing, he took stock of the new threat.

“It must be the bandits,” he said.

Nicholls turned, for a moment confused. Following Gregane’s point, he saw the group and frowned.

“I see no heavy armor,” he said. “I think you’re right. What do we do?”

The fight was not yet theirs, but they could not afford to be pressed from two directions, no matter how weak that second force might be. It seemed overkill to use his knights, but the bandits were on open ground.

“Take half,” he told Nicholls. “Wipe them out quickly, then return.”

“Right,” said the knight, drawing his sword. Calling out orders, he trotted ahead, two hundred and fifty men riding behind. Gregane turned his attention back to the forest, trusting his fellow knight to deal with the distraction. At first he smiled, for Arthur’s line had clearly broken, but then he saw his men remained in tight formations just within the tree line. They certainly didn’t look like an army giving chase.

“Find out what’s going on,” he told one of his riders. The man shot off, rode a half-circle behind the lines, and then returned.

“They built themselves a ditch,” said the rider. “Fell back, and now are killing any trying to climb across.”

Sir Gregane swore, then spurred his horse onward.

“To me!” he cried, and several nearby took up his cry to ensure he was heard over the chaos of the battle. “To me, fall back!”

His men did as they were told, and Gregane clenched his teeth as Arthur’s men launched an assault. Gregane’s footmen, torn between standing their ground and retreating as ordered, suffered terrible casualties before reforming their lines outside the trees. Those that chased turned back, vanishing into the forest. Gregane rode past his lines, estimating numbers. Hundreds dead already, if not a thousand. Still, he outnumbered Arthur, but such brutal losses…

“Get the archers,” he told his vanguard. “I want them shoving every last body into the ditch. We’ll charge across the dead, both theirs and ours. Rob, Ash, ride to either side and find out just how far that ditch goes. I want them flanked come our next charge.”

The two knights saluted and obeyed. As the archers rushed forward, and his men reset their lines, he glanced back to see how long until Nicholls returned. Instead, his mouth fell agape at the sight. The fire had spread, ignoring the wind as if it were possessed. Already a quarter mile of grassland burned. Gregane swore at whatever sorcery had to be involved. A second fire appeared to have erupted at the feet of his charging knights. Every which way he saw horses sprinting, some with riders, some without. The leather of their saddles, and sometimes their very bodies, burned. Those that had survived appeared locked in combat, though he was too far to know how that went. Amidst all this strangeness was a strong blue light. No matter where his knights rode, no matter who struck at it, the light never faded, never broke.

“Sir,” said Rob, returning from his side. “It goes on for at a tenth mile, though most of it appears unguarded.”

“They’ll shift over should they see us moving,” Gregane said, but he eyed the stretch of forest with a thought. “We have numbers, though. They can’t cover it all.”

Ash returned, the young knight telling of a similar setup. It seemed in what time they had, Arthur had done nothing but build the enormous ditch, hoping to use it as a killing ground. With the trees to hide them from the arrows that could break them, the strategy was simple but sound.

“Pull back two squads,” Gregane said. “Send one to each side. March until you see no one guarding the ditch, then wait for my signal.”

“Yes, sir,” said the two knights before riding off to do as they were told. Gregane watched the forest a while longer, until it was clear little combat occurred. Steadily the archers grabbed bodies, and guarded by his shielded footmen, hurled them into the ditch. Outnumbered, and with their own ditch between them, Arthur’s men couldn’t dare charge. Body by body, their only defense vanished, and from three sides Gregane would strike.

Assuming the fire didn’t come to consume them all. Another glance back showed it getting closer, though it’d still take an hour to reach them. He shuddered to think how quick it might have spread if the wind had been toward them instead. As for his knights, he found himself stunned at how few their numbers had become. More stunning was how they turned and bolted in retreat. Anger grew in his chest, and when Nicholls came leading, Gregane let out his fury.

“Armorless bandits?” he roared. “My best-trained, defeated by mere peasants with clubs?”

“They hurled fire like sorcerers,” Nicholls said, refusing to lower his head or show weakness at the outburst. “And armorless or not, they wielded heavy weaponry, and struck at our horses. The fire alone spooked them, and they had a wizard whose very words sent our mounts running at random. We could not control them.”

“The blue light,” Gregane said, trying to calm down. “What of that?”

“Shield of a paladin,” Nicholls said. “A skilled man. He stands like a mountain, and nothing moves him. I saw Oren ram his horse straight into that shield, and it was the horse that fell.”

Gregane was stunned. He looked about, counting, and couldn’t believe it.

“A hundred dead?”

“Thirty to the fire,” Nicholls said. “The rest to the brigands. We killed as many as we lost, but know I mean it when I say that paladin cannot link up with the rest of Arthur’s men, or we will all suffer.”

Gregane looked to the forest, suddenly fearful of a strange sorcerer and a holy warrior of Ashhur both guarding the line. If they could ward off mounted knights in open field, what could they do in such close combat?

“You say the wizard could disturb the horses?” he asked.

“He did. They turned and startled every which way. No rider can fight like that.”

“Then don’t ride. All of you, dismount. If my own vanguard cannot defeat them, we are not worthy to call ourselves knights. Now go! Come back with that paladin’s head, or not at all.”

Nicholls saluted, but Gregane could see the hesitation in his eyes. Damn fool. They would outnumber them near two to one. How could they lose? Only the fire posed a threat, a fire that continued toward them like a crawling monster. Struggling to keep his patience, he once more turned his attention to the forest. Alone, he marched toward his troops, drawing his sword. Enough of giving commands. Soon the ditch would be full, and both Ash and Rob would have their hundred men in position. It wouldn’t matter how many casualties he suffered in the long run. Once Arthur fell, the North would remain Sebastian’s, now and forever.

Gregane could only hope that such an honor, of killing Lord Arthur, would belong to him, and him alone.

Valessa waited with Mallak in the lower portion of Deer Valley. Ever since waking that morning, and seeing nothing but distant campfires miles away, she’d had a nagging fear they’d been betrayed. The only question was by whom.

“Velixar would never lie,” Mallak said when she voiced her fears. “Not to us. Not to anyone. If someone lied, then it was to him. Let us be patient, and see what becomes of this.”

Valessa spent the time sharpening her daggers and imagining them plunging into Arthur Hemman’s eyes for what he’d done to Claire. Mallak cooked their morning meal, and she ate, tasting nothing of the nuts and salted pork slivers. The sun rose, and still they heard no sound of marching feet, saw no sign of approaching armies. Time crawled along, until at last Velixar and Darius appeared in the distance, walking into the valley by themselves.