“They are nearby, lord,” reported the goblin scout, “but they have yet to cross the river. They are gathered just beyond the nearest ford but made camp early, with great tentings and tarpings to hold off the rain, and fires to warm chilly human flesh. They cook and boast, even as they shiver and stare into the darkness. They are blind as moles and did not even see us as we skulked through the night.
“Good. This as I hoped. You think they stay there for long time?”
“I cannot be sure, great lord. They were not digging, as humans do when they wish to make a dirt-fort. So they may be planning to cross the river in the morning.”
“We not give them time,” Ankhar decided. “Rib Chewer, gather worg riders. Strike mountain flank of Sword army before dawn. Your wolves make the attack. Hold back a dozen. They beat drums. Sound like marching troops.”
“Marching, O great lord? Not riding?” Rib Chewer narrowed his eyes, trying to imagine the half-giant’s strategy.
“Aye. They sound like army marching around their flank, at foot of mountains. Make lord believe you there in great numbers, that we try to go around his left and make for city. Strike quickly, then dance away. Do not let them unite strength against your fleet riders.”
The goblin scout grinned, a wicked slash of sharpened teeth gleaming across his leathery face. “It shall be as you wish, my lord. They will chase and harry, but not catch us.”
“Yes. Go now. Ride through the night,” Ankhar said, pleased with all he had heard. “Strike before first dawn. In the darkness, humans easy to confuse.”
“What of the rest of great army? Thousands of gobs and hobs, all thirsting for blood?” Laka asked, as she sidled up behind the great war leader, giving him a momentary start-he whom she had suckled at her breast when he was an orphaned babe. “You not make us wait here in the darkness, my lord?”
“No,” Ankhar said, shaking his great, shaggy head in annoyance. “Important work at riverbank. Test this hedgehog. See how sharp are his quills.”
Horns blared through the darkness, shrill alarms ringing across Duke Rathskell’s camp. The lord burst out of his tent, buckling on his rapier, dismayed to see it was still raining. There was no shred of daylight to break the impenetrable murk of the night.
“Curse this blackness,” he snapped. “What’s going on? Are we being attacked?”
“Excellency!” A torch-bearing guard ran up to him to report. In the garishly flaring light the man’s eyes were wild with fear. “The pickets on the left flank report a fierce assault. Goblins on worgs, striking hard. And sounds in the night, a drumbeat of marching footsteps! It seems as though the monsters are indeed stealing a march on us, coming around the east flank!”
“Damn the enemy’s cunning!” gasped the duke. “It is as I feared! The horde seeks to pass us by, to close upon Luinstat, perhaps even Solanthus itself, while all of our troops are here in the open.”
Captain Rankin, the leader of the infantry, came running from the darkness, anxiously buckling his sword. “What are your orders, Excellency?” he asked breathlessly.
“Pull in the pickets from the right,” Rathskell ordered. “Reinforce the left with everyone we have. Get the knights mounted, prepared for a countercharge! I will be boiled in oil before I let these wolf-riders get the best of veteran knights on good horses. We’ll show them how a real army does battle!”
He frowned as he gave the last order, remembering how the heavy war-horses had bogged down the previous night when they had tried to chase off a few worg-riding goblin scouts riding close. Still, there was nothing for it-without his knights mounted, he would be going to battle like a fighter with his feet nailed to the ground.
“What about Thelgaard?” asked Rankin. “Should we send to him for aid?”
Rathskell spat on the ground. “No. The stubborn fool will only cling to his trenches. Let him rot where he sits-if he cannot hear the sounds of our trumpets, let him slumber away like a baby while we do the man’s work of killing!”
A footman brought Rathskell’s charger up. The duke was making ready to mount when he thought of something else. “Even so,” Rathskell declared, “this Ankhar has displayed some wiles. I think we had best send a message to Caergoth and beseech his lordship to cross the river at the earliest light, to come up to the front with whatever haste he can muster,”
“Aye, lord-I will send two riders, at once! They will take separate paths to ensure that at least one of them gets through.”
“Good,” Rathskell said, swinging his lithe body into the saddle. In truth, he had faint hopes for Caergoth’s help.
The Duke of Thelgaard awakened to a gray dawn. A steady patter on his tent had kept him awake through most of the night, and his bulky frame stubbornly resisted his initial movements. Finally he was obliged to shout for his footman, and the long-suffering servant immediately entered, helped the lord to sit up on his creaking cot, and fetched his boots, cloak, and chest-armor.
His aide entered and bowed as the lord was wrestling with his heavy, brass-buckled belt.
“Any reports from the night?” asked Thelgaard, who-as usual-had left instructions he not be disturbed except in the event of an emergency.
“There were sounds of disturbance off to the east, from Rathskell’s camp. Trumpets, some riders, but he sent no message.”
“Bah. The old woman is chasing shadows, no doubt,” grumbled the huge duke, giving his underarm a good scratching. “Our lines report no trouble?”
“No, lord. It has been a quiet night on all sides of the square.”
As the duke was buckling on his heavy steel breastplate-a family heirloom pre-dating the War of the Lance-sounds reached him. Not a sentry’s trumpet but the clash of steel against steel. A human voice shrieked in unmistakable agony.
“Impossible!” spat the duke. “There must be some fool making a mistake he will regret!” Thelgaard glared at his alarmed aide, who had the presence of mind to keep his mouth shut.
The huge lord snatched up his crown-emblazoned shield and lumbered from his tent, gaping in astonishment as he saw men dashing every which way. The noise of battle came from the south, along the flank of his square facing the expected goblin horde, but in the space of a few seconds the sounds had spread to the east. Torches flared, and screams rang out quite clearly from that direction.
He was under attack from two sides! Even as he tried to grasp this complicated circumstance-his mind flashed, unwillingly, to Solanthus’ warning about the gap between their two armies-a trumpet blared, signaling more enemy troops had been sighted.
This trumpet warning came from the north.
“Excellency! They’re striking us from three sides!” cried Captain Dayr, racing up on his mount. “Goblins are coming against us in ranks. They’ve already rolled in the pickets, are hitting our main lines hard. They’ve got us trapped against the river and have started to penetrate the boundaries of the square!”
“Impossible!” snarled Thelgaard again, knowing it was all too possible. “How can they do that?” he asked lamely.
“They streamed through the gap in the darkness. The attacks were timed to start at first light. They strike with discipline and order, my lord, and seemed to have pinpointed the weakest links in our line. They stole a march on us!”
“What of Caergoth? Is he coming up fast?” the duke asked, feeling, almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, that it was a vain hope. Duke Walker was a methodical man-his camp would barely be stirring at this hour, much less have completed the fording of the river, and the several-mile march needed to reach his allies.
Dayr shook his head impatiently.