At the moment the ogre army looked more like a disorganized mob. A few of the troops were up on the mountainside, apparently inspecting the rock piles where the dwarves of New Compound had been buried alive. The others were carousing through the ruined town. From where Jaymes was, it appeared as though nearly all were drunk. Certainly they were not expecting battle.
“We’re going to strike at once,” the emperor declared curtly.
“Certainly, Excellency,” General Weaver declared. He gestured to the base of the cliff wall to the left, where a dense pine forest concealed the ground. “I suggest we send a flanking force through there, and take them from two sides at once.”
“No time,” Jaymes retorted after a brief pause. “The ground is too rough for troops; it would take them hours to get into position.”
“Perhaps a reconnaissance up there, my lord?” Weaver suggested.
“No, I cannot accept any delay!” snapped the emperor. “They are ripe for attack now-surely you can see that. We strike at once!”
“Of course, Excellency.”
The two men quickly made their way back to the legion. The skirmishers had deployed in front, with the ranks of the light infantry arrayed behind. Jaymes was pleased to see the three companies of New City men who had been mauled so badly at Apple Ford claimed positions in the center of the line. They would redeem themselves, he knew. The heavy infantry and cavalry formed a third line, with the archers ready close behind.
“I want a general advance!” Jaymes ordered, once again climbing into his saddle. “All infantry units, close in on the double! I want the cavalry ready to charge as soon as I give the words. Go in quietly at first, but as soon as they see you coming, I want you to shout your loudest-break their morale from the very start!”
With a flick of the signalman’s flag, the great lines began to move up and over the moraine, breaking into a trot as they hurried down the smooth, grassy slope on the far side. In a moment they reached the river, the well-drilled units smoothly forming columns to rush across the three log bridges Ankhar had so thoughtfully put in place for them.
Hundreds of men were across the river by the time one of the ogres in the town raised a howling alarm. His cry was answered by the challenge of five thousand human soldiers as the first ranks of Palanthian Legion hurtled into the attack.
The ogres were clearly shocked by the sudden appearance of the army of humans. Many turned to fight, while others simply fled through the streets of New Compound, toward the great plaza along the lake.
“Go!” cried Jaymes, spurring his roan in the lead of the attack. “Cut them down!”
Giantsmiter was in his hand, and he slashed through the face of a foolish ogre who had turned to gape at the unexpected attackers. Arrows flew over the front rank, plunging among the disorganized barbarians. Men split into companies and platoons, charging into buildings where they saw ogres taking refuge. A dozen bulls, some staggeringly drunk, were trapped in a pigsty, and men with spears stood around the fences and stabbed until all of them were dead or dying.
There were no dwarves in view, so Jaymes could only hope they were still behind the stone barricades in the mines. He slew ogres wherever he could find them and cut down a few hobgoblins for good measure. The fierce exultation of battle filled his heart once again, and he was startled by the savage delight he felt. It had been a very long time since he had wielded his blade against a foe.
And where was Ankhar? Reining in just for a moment, allowing the tide of his men to sweep past, the emperor sat his saddle and looked across the melee raging through the town. He would find the enemy commander and make sure he never made war again.
It was a personal matter.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Why not send Bloodgutter’s ogres into fight now? Look! We lose battle!” demanded Bullhorn, frightened enough that he dared to challenge Ankhar’s plan with his question.
The human soldiers were storming through New Compound, and Bullhorn’s ogres-who, as novices to conquest, had been more stupefyingly drunk than most-were being butchered by the score. Half the town already seemed in the attackers’ hands, and yet a whole bunch of Ankhar’s army wasn’t even fighting!
“Where is Bloodgutter?” Bullhorn wailed, trying to ignore the throbbing in his head. “Make him fight too!”
“No!” roared the half-giant. “I stick to my plan!” He raised his fist but was satisfied when the ogre chief backed away without further protest.
The bull was simply too stupid to see the plan was, in fact, working to perfection. Events had begun when Rib Chewer’s scouts had reported, a day earlier, that a fast-marching column of humans was approaching the valley of New Compound. Ankhar had been careful to post those scouts, while cautioning the goblin warg riders to avoid discovery. The speedy gobs on their wolves had observed the approach of the enemy column without being detected.
Never very smart with numbers, the goblin chief nevertheless had managed to convey the fact that the new force was not as large as the great armies they had faced a few years before. He was also astute enough to deduce that the human war leader himself-he called himself emperor! — was leading the army.
So Ankhar had made a few stealthy preparations. General Bloodgutter proved himself worthy of his rank as he kicked and cajoled his two thousand veteran warriors away from the booty of the dwarf town. Marching them around the fringe of the valley, he had concealed them in a band of rough forest at the very base of the eastern precipice. Ankhar was pleased and impressed by the fact that, even as the enemy attack unfolded, Bloodgutter’s ogres had remained quietly hidden-just as the half-giant had ordered.
Rib Chewer and his riders, on their fierce, lupine mounts, he had positioned behind the stocks of wood along the lakeshore, where they could not be observed by anyone coming up the valley. The goblins had not fed their mounts for more than a day, and the huge, shaggy warg wolves were ravenous and ill tempered-just waiting to be unleashed on the unsuspecting foe.
As a final touch, Ankhar had ordered two of his few remaining sivak draconians-most had perished when the bridge exploded-to wait by his side. They would fly to Bloodgutter when the time was ripe, and Ankhar would spring his trap.
He snorted in amusement, even as a dozen of Bullhorn’s ogres, bloodshot eyes wide with terror, were cut down by swordsmen not so very far from where he stood. The humans were advancing into the plaza, coming around both sides of the massive, smoldering pile of ashes left over from the great victory fire.
The enemy general was the one who had led the armies that defeated Ankhar in his earlier war, the half-giant knew. That disgrace was about to be avenged.
“Silverclaw! Crookfang!” barked the one called the Truth.
“Aye, great lord!” replied the two sivaks, bowing to the ground, flapping their great wings in readiness.
“Fly to the woods,” Ankhar ordered. “Tell General Bloodgutter that it is time for him to burst forth!”
“Now!” Jaymes ordered. “Lancers, charge!”
The ogres had done exactly as he had expected, falling back across the wide central plaza but forming only an irregular defense on the open ground instead of seeking shelter between the buildings and sheds across the square. Lacking pikes, holding a front that boasted several ragged gaps, they formed a perfect target for a lethal cavalry charge. It was a marvelous situation!
And in the perfection of the situation, the emperor felt a sudden misgiving.
Angrily he tried to shake away the nagging feeling. After all, his enemies were drunk, obviously, even staggeringly so. Jaymes himself had slain an ogre who had been too busy puking in the gutter that he could barely raise his head as death rode him down. How could a foe like that be capable of battlefield deviousness?