“Bring your forces up to mine, then,” Thelgaard said with an indifferent shrug. “I have my own right anchored on the Upper Vingaard, and I do not care to relinquish that security. If you are too timid to await developments on the plain, all you need do is march into the gap on your right, joining me here. You should have nothing to fear, then.”
Rathskell glowered but managed to suppress his anger and reply. “A simple march, at night, in the rain, leaving my tents and baggage train exposed? I think not. Besides, I am stretched thin as it is, and if I pull too far this way I leave our whole force open to a flanking maneuver, if this Ankhar takes his troops on a wide circuit away from the river.”
“You give this scoundrel, this half-giant leading the ogre horde, credit for cleverness he does not possess,” said Thelgaard.
“He was clever enough to overwhelm Garnet in one afternoon,” Solanthus responded. “I would have a care not to underestimate him, if I were you.”
“You worry about your concerns, and I will worry about mine. Did you not hear about Mason’s Ford? Five days ago, a few knights and a rabble of peasants were enough to give these wretches pause. Do not inflate your fears, my good duke.”
Rathskell’s face flushed at the insult, but he grimaced and once again maintained his poise. “Yes, I heard about that fight-and a noble stand it was. Perhaps this barbarian, this Ankhar, will learn from his mistakes. He has crossed the North Garnet and comes toward us swiftly enough. He may not repeat his blunt tactics again.”
“You jabber like an old woman! He is a monster, an illiterate subhuman!” Thelgaard proclaimed, to the approving nods of his own entourage. Let his men see how a real lord infused his men with confidence!
“Surely you can spare a screening force, at least? Horsemen who could cover the gap and report on any developments?” Though Rathskell was making an effort to be reasonable, his mustache was quivering with indignation. “You have yourself in a square formation here, covering a mere quarter mile of frontage, with half your force arranged solidly on the riverbank. I have the same amount of men spread out in a line two miles long!”
“Your deployments are your own concern, of course,” Jarrod of Thelgaard replied. “I have simply taken wise precautions to see that I cannot be outflanked. I do not intend to place the safety of my army in the hands of anyone other than myself.”
“Suit yourself, then,” Solanthus replied through clenched teeth. “You well know that I cannot close the gap, since I would place both of our forces open to a flanking run across the plains-and it would cut me off from my own city, if Ankhar moves east. We must count on Caergoth to uphold his promise. But if they come through that gap, Excellency”-he sneered at the honorific-“you understand that you will be on your own.”
“That,” said Thelgaard, a broad grin cracking the bristle of his great beard, “is a risk that I am well prepared to take.”
He was still grinning as his noble counterpart mounted and led his party of officers back into the rainy night.
Ankhar raised his hand, thrusting the glowing speartip high over his head in the rain-soaked night. The green light, Hiddukel’s blessing, stabbed through the murk and mist, a beacon to all his vast legions. The half-giant howled as he waved that enchanted weapon back and forth, feeeling the rush of power surge through his veins.
The great horde numbered more than six thousand now, with several more tribes of gobs having come down from the mountains, drawn like bees to honey as word of the sacking of Garnet spread. From the high valleys they had joined the ranks, eager and willing to obey his orders, with the promise of more pillage and plunder just ahead.
The trading center of Luinstat was to be his next target, and he knew the markets and warehouses there were stuffed with goods from across Solamnia. Three armies of knights had emerged from their cities to defend the place, but at last report the human forces remained scattered, with the largest still on the other side of the river. The two smaller armies stood nearly astride Ankhar’s northward path.
“Halt!” roared the hulking commander, and the thousands of troops around him immediately came to a standstill upon that command. The half giant nodded, pleased at the increased discipline, the steadiness of march and unity of purpose that his followers had developed, improving with every passing day.
“You learn!” he crowed. “You march together now, like veteran soldiers. You attack together! Attack when Ankhar gives the order, not when you see foe. Sometimes Ankhar tell you to retreat. Sometimes retreat can turn enemy into fools!
“These my words. They are Truth!”
“Truth! Ankhar! Truth!” The cry was echoed from six thousand throats, the deep sound booming across the plains. Again and again the goblins and hobgoblins echoed the words.
“We make camp here for the night, brave ones,” Ankhar roared. “Prince of Lies tells me that tomorrow we feast on blood!”
The answering roar washed across the great leader’s shoulders. He didn’t feel the rain, and even the thick shroud of the night was naught but a filmy barrier to his keen, dark-sensitive eyes. Now those eyes made out Laka coming towards him. The old crone grinned, making a display of her sharp teeth, shaking the rattle she had made from the skull of a human slain in the sacking of Garnet.
“Portents favorable, mighty lord,” the crone cackled. “Humans have doubts. They fear Ankar’s might, cunning, and courage.”
“That what I hoped,” he replied evenly. “Will Hiddukel aid us?”
“No doubt, son. He whisper doubts in lordly ears, shake courage of men when they sleep. He sew confusion and hesitation so you, chosen one, may reap harvest in blood.”
Ankhar raised his broad nostrils, sniffed the moist air, and nodded in pleasure. “I smell wolf. Outriders approach.”
His warriors were making their crude beds on the open plain-no tents and bedrolls necessary for these hearties! — as the first of the worg-riders loped into camp. The massive wolves seemed to grin with their long tongues hanging down from their fanged jaws. Several of the goblin riders slipped from their saddles and hastened to approach the hulking war-leader.
“What word of foes?” demanded Ankhar.
The captain of the scouts, the lean and wiry goblin known as Rib Chewer, knelt in the mud at the half-giant’s feet. “My lord, they appear confused. There is one force solid upon the riverbank, no more than two leagues south of here. Compact like a hedgehog it is, a camp bristling with spears. But blind and stupid as a hedgehog too-with no outriders or pickets more than an arrow’s flight from the main body.”
“Which troops are these?”
“They fly the banner of the White Crown, lord. The other group of knights, they who flaunt the sigil of the silver sword, is a league away from the crowns, away from the river. They are poised in line on the plain, facing to the south, and very well-entrenched it seems.”
“There a league of space between them?”
“Aye, lord,” the goblin replied. “There is nary a picket nor a watchman in all that gap. The Sword Knights have a line at least as long, with outriders even farther toward the mountains. They gave us a merry chase, but their great steeds could not perform on the muddy ground.”
“No.” The half-giant nodded in satisfaction. He knew that the wolves were light and lean, steady of endurance and quick and savage in attacking. They made perfect light cavalry, especially when they were guided by the most intelligent and articulate of his scouts.
“What about other great army, Rose Lord’s troops? They look so splendid and move like drunken snails.” Ankhar scowled into the night. That was the force that worried him most, those gleaming knights on horseback and in chariots, the catapults and ranks of deadly crossbows. He had been dismayed to learn, from his oracle, Laka, that the mighty Rose Lord’s army had marched from Caergoth, but they had approached the river at a very lackluster pace, and he hoped that his own rapid advance would bring him to battle before the Rose Lord was on the field.