John Flanagan: The Burning Bridge

"Aye, sir. I'll see to it. There's nothing like a skirl or two on the pipes to get a man's blood prancing!" Saluting hurriedly, he turned away toward his men, shouting as he ran: "McDuig! McForn! Gather your wind and set to the pipes, men! Let's hear 'The Feather Crested Bonnet' from ye!"

As the two barons rode on, they heard behind them the preliminary moaning of bagpipes coming to full volume. Fergus winced and Arald grinned at him.

"Nothing like the skirl of the pipes to get the blood prancing," he quoted.

"In my case, it gets the teeth grinding," replied his companion, surreptitiously nudging his horse with his heel to move them a little farther away from the wild sound of the pipes. But when he looked at the men behind them, he had to agree that Arald's idea had worked. The pipes were successfully drowning out the dull chanting and, as the two pipers marched and countermarched in front of the army, they held the attention of all the men in their immediate vicinity.

"Good idea," he said to Arald, then added, "I can't help wondering if that's an equally good one."

He gestured across the plain to where the Wargals were emerging from the Pass and taking up their positions. "All my instincts say we should be hitting them before they have a chance to form up."

Arald shrugged. This point had been hotly debated by the War Council for the past few days. "If we hit them as they come out, we simply contain them," he said. "If we want to destroy Morgarath's power once and for all, we have to let him commit his forces in the open."

"And hope that Halt has been successful in stopping Horth's army," Fergus said. "I'm getting a nasty crick in my neck from looking over my shoulder to make sure there's no one behind us."

"Halt has never let us down before," Arald said mildly.

Fergus nodded unhappily. "I know that. He's a remarkable man. But there are so many things that could have gone wrong. He could have missed Horth's army altogether. He may still be fighting his way through the Thorntree. Or, worse yet, Horth may have defeated his archers and cavalry."

"There's nothing we can do about it but wait," Arald pointed out.

"And keep an eye to the northwest, hoping we don't see battleaxes and horned helmets coming over those hills."

"There's a comforting thought," said Arald, trying to make light of the moment. Yet he couldn't resist the temptation to turn in his saddle and peer anxiously toward the hills in the north.

Erak had waited till the last few hundred Wargals were moving down Three Step Pass to the Plains, then forced his small group into the middle of the jogging creatures. There were a few snarls and scowls as the Skandians shoved their way into the living stream that was flowing through the narrow, twisting confines of the Pass, but the heavily armed sea raiders snarled back and handled their doublesided battleaxes with such easy familiarity that the angry Wargals soon backed off and left them alone.

Evanlyn and Will were in the center of the group, surrounded by the burly Skandians. Will's easily recognizable Ranger cloak had been hidden away in one of the packs and both he and Evanlyn wore sheepskin half capes that were too large for them. Evanlyn's short hair was bundled up under a woolen cap. So far, none of the Wargals had taken any notice of them, assuming them to be servants or slaves to the small band of sea raiders.

"Just keep your mouths shut and your eyes down!" Erak had told them as they shoved their way into the crowd of jogging Wargals. The narrow confines of the Pass echoed to the tuneless chanting that the Wargals used as a cadence. The sound ebbed and flowed about them as they half ran with the stream. Erak's plan was to move eastward as soon as they had cleared the Pass, ostensibly with the purpose of taking up a position on the right flank of the Wargal army. As soon as an opportunity presented itself, the Skandians would break off and escape into the swampy wilderness of the fenlands, traveling through the bogs and grassy islands to the beaches where Horth's fleet lay at anchor.

They shuffled along, twisting and turning with the convolutions of the Pass. The narrow trail led down through the sheer mountains for at least five kilometers and Will could understand why it had always been a barrier to both sides. Morgarath's men couldn't move out in any large numbers unless Duncan held back and allowed them to. Similarly, the King's army couldn't penetrate the Pass to attack Morgarath on the plateau.

Black walls of sheer, glistening-wet rock towered above them on either side. The Pass saw sunlight for less than an hour each day, right on high noon. At any other time, it was cold and damp and shrouded in shadow. All of which served to help conceal the presence of the two younger members of the party from prying eyes.

Will felt the ground beneath his feet beginning to level out and realized they must be in the last extremities of the Pass-down at the level of the Plains. There was no way he could even see the ground ahead of him, trapped in the seething, jostling crowd. They rounded a final bend and a lance of daylight stabbed into the Pass, forcing him to throw up a hand to shield his eyes. They had reached the entrance, he realized. He felt a shove from his left.

"Get over to the right!" Erak told them and the four Skandians formed a human wedge, forcing their way through the crowd until they were on the extreme right-hand side of the Pass. There were growls and angry grunts from the Wargals as they shoved their way through, but the Skandians gave as good as they got in terms of threats and abuse.

The sunlight hit them like a physical barrier as they emerged from the darkness of the Pass and, for a moment, Will and Evanlyn hesitated. Erak shoved them on again, more anxious now as he could hear a familiar voice calling commands for the Wargals to deploy.

Morgarath was here, directing operations.

"Curse him!" muttered Erak. "I'd hoped he'd be out with the vanguard of the army. Keep moving, you two!" He shoved Will and Evanlyn along a little faster. Will glanced back. Above the heads of the Wargals, he could see the tall, thin form of the Lord of Rain and Night, now clad entirely in black mail armor and surcoat, still seated on his white horse and calling instructions to the milling, chanting Wargals.

Gradually, they were moving into ordered formations, then taking their position with the main army. As Will looked back, the pale face turned toward the group of hurrying Skandians and Morgarath urged his horse toward them, unmindful of the fact that he was trampling through his own men to reach them.

"Captain Erak!" he called. The voice wasn't loud, but it carried, thin and cutting, through the chanting of the Wargals.

"Keep going!" Erak ordered them in a low voice. "Keep moving."

"Stop!" Now the voice was raised and the cold anger in it instantly silenced and stilled the Wargals. As they froze in place around them, the Skandians reluctantly did the same, Erak turning to face Morgarath.

The Lord of Rain and Night spurred his horse through the throng, Wargals falling back to make way for him, or being buffeted out of the way if they failed to do so. Slowly, as his eyes locked on those of Erak, he dismounted. Even on foot, he towered over the bulky Skandian leader.

"And where might you and your men be bound today, Captain?" he asked in a silky tone. Erak gestured to the right.

"It's normal for me and my men to fight on the right wing," he said, as casually as he could manage. "But I'll go wherever you need me if that doesn't suit."

"Will you?" replied Morgarath with withering sarcasm. "Will you indeed? How terribly kind of you. You:" He broke off, his gaze on the two smaller figures whom the other Skandians had been trying, unsuccessfully, to shield from his gaze.