Ashore, Markus bade his mounted men to form companies. The first three of these he directed southward, to ride to the aid of the beleaguered troops trapped at the eastern end of the ford. The others, as they came across, he dispatched across the plains, or northward to link up with the forces of General Rankin, commanding the center of the great attack.
“General! They’re sending fire ships!”
The alarm was brought to him by a breathless messenger. Markus looked onto the river and saw several massive barrages, ablaze, drifting along with the current. In another few moments they would come into contact with the wooden-flammable-bridge.
Once again it was Sir Templar and his knight-priests who came to the rescue. The young cleric roused himself and started to weave another spell. Within moments a cloud took shape in the air, dark and glowering, that hovered directly over the blazing barges. Soon a light drizzle started to fall from that cloud, and the rain quickly became a soaking shower. Soon the fire rafts merely sizzled, steaming heaps of ash, drifting harmlessly, utterly doused. Carried by the current, they eventually nudged against the pontoons, but presented no threat to the bridge or the attacking Rose Army.
The Rose Knights were all across now, and the columns of infantry came behind. They, too, spread across the plain. Hundreds of men rode toward the horizon, unimpeded by defenders.
An officer rode up from the south, and Markus recognized one of his captains, a man whose company had been attacking at the ford.
“How fares the crossing?”
“The knights who came across the bridge made a flank attack, General, and carried away the defenders at the edge of the ford. Our men are advancing to the east even as we speak.”
Only then did Markus relax. He eased himself from his saddle, for the first time noticing the aches and weariness of a long day’s battle. But the fight had been worth it.
The Army of Solamnia was across the Vingaard.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
‘Use that whip, dammit!” barked Dram Feldspar, as the heavy freight wagon struggled through the last leg of the ford over the Vingaard River.
The hill dwarf teamster in the driver’s seat, already lashing his team of six oxen for everything he was worth, didn’t bother to reply to the mountain dwarf. Instead, he roared at the beasts, hauled on the reins, and called the laboring animals every manner of vile name. The massive bovines responded by lowering their heads, straining in their harness, and hauling the massive wagon up the bank and out of the water. Rivulets streaming from the cargo bed, the wagon rumbled and skidded into the ruts on the muddy road.
“Now you, there-move!” shouted Dram, turning to the next-and last-in the long line of wagons. He reached up to grasp the bridle of the massive draft horse leading the team and tugged until his face turned an alarming beet red, as if by dint of his own strength he could pull the animal and heavy wagon where he wanted it to go.
Whatever small contribution he made, it worked. The four big horses pulling this last wagon surged and strained, and finally pulled free of the river. The broad, hair-skirted hooves of the team churned through mud, and the wagon rocked and jolted through the ruts worn by the wheels of previous vehicles, finally rumbling onto the plains road.
Dram’s legs were about ready to give out. Sweat ran in his eyes, and his left shoulder throbbed where he had been kicked early on in the fording process. But finally the entirety of the huge wagon train was across the Vingaard and rolling toward the distant heights of the Garnet Mountains. The big vehicles carried everything needed to rebuild the Compound on its new site, including all of the raw materials, equipment, and personnel to resume operations. Fortunately, as they moved away from the river, the roadway hardened and the dry, solid ground allowed the laboring beasts to pick up speed.
Wearily Dram returned to his horse, where it was being held by a young hill dwarf. Normally he detested traveling by horseback, but now he was honestly grateful to pull himself up into the saddle and to let the animal carry him along. He rode a stocky, short-legged gelding-little more than a pony, actually-but the gruff mountain dwarf had become rather fond of the steed during the long days of riding across the plains.
Now he spurred the gelding into a trot, conscious of the fact he looked far from graceful as he clutched the reins with one hand and the bridle with the other. The saddle jarred and shifted beneath him, and it was all he could do to keep his balance. But it was important he catch up with the head of the column, already several miles away across the plain.
He jounced and bounced past dozens of large wagons. Many were hauled by teams of draft horses. These contained the household supplies as well as food and other sustenance (thirteen wagons hauled thirty-two casks of beer, each) for the whole community that lived and worked in the Compound. The even larger freight wagons, hauled by teams of oxen, carried the vast stockpiles of precious black powder, as well as the charcoal, saltpeter, and sulfur that were the raw materials of Dram’s work.
Other oxen dragged massive timbers of ironwood, hewn from the coastal forests and first hauled up and over the Vingaard range, now drawn hundreds of miles to the east, following Jaymes’s orders to reestablish the Compound in the Garnet Mountains. The Compound had been closed down and packed up in a little more than week, and by that time Dram’s agents had returned after purchasing every wagon within a hundred miles.
It had taken the long wagon train five days to reach the Vingaard River and two more to get all the wagons across. It was fully a week after the fording that the massive column finally drew near to the lofty, snow-peaked mountains of the Garnet Mountains. Dram had sent a scout party, led by his wife, ahead of the main body. As the mountains took shape on the horizon, Sally returned to the caravan to inform him they had located a valley with the requisite characteristics: flat ground in the bottom, plenty of water, and hardwood forests nearby.
“It’s right up there, through that notch in the foothills,” she explained, pointing. Though she had been apart from him for a week, she avoided meeting Dram’s eyes.
“Good,” he replied. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Look, I know this is hard on you-leaving the Vingaards and all. I just want you to know that I’m grateful; I’m glad you’re here.”
“I am here,” was her reply. She left unspoken the truth they both understood: she was a dutiful wife and would follow her husband wherever he needed to go.
“All right!” Dram shouted, urging on the lead wagons. “We’ve got a destination. Let’s roll on up there so we can get to work!”
As befitting Solanthus’s status as a stoutly fortified city, the ducal palace was more like a castle than a grand manor. Situated near the center of the city, it was easy to find, and as the kender and lord marshal emerged from between the Cleft Spires, they made their way directly to the grand structure. Four tall towers rose, one each at the corners of the walled compound, which occupied an entire city block.
The streets themselves were nearly abandoned. The swordsman drew minimal interest from the few passersby, though the citizenry inevitably gave the kender a look of horror and clutched whatever purses and valuables they carried tightly to themselves as they hurried past.
Moptop ran ahead of Jaymes as the two approached the massive gate at the front of the palace. Immediately a pair of guards scrambled from a little hut beside the gate, one taking each of the kender’s arms and lifting him right off the ground.
“Hold it right there, you rascal!” one declared, shaking the little fellow rather more than was strictly necessary.
“Hey! Ow! That hurts!” cried Moptop, squirming fruitlessly in the double clasp.