He returned with the limb to the camp on the following day to find the wizard had, once again, lapsed into uncomfortable, restless sleep. Ankhar waited impatiently while Laka brewed another cup of the vile, but restorative, tea. He watched her mix ingredients that looked like bark and berries with some unidentifiable components that might have been dried animal parts, pulling all the varied elements from different pouches and pockets on her person.
While he was pacing about the fire, Ankhar was approached by Rib Chewer. “The army of the knights is coming this way still,” Rib Chewer reported.
“How far away now?”
“Less than ten miles, by my best mark,” the goblin-whose idea of distances was imprecise at best-replied.
“They are getting close, then. We must make ready to face them very soon,” the half-giant concluded.
Finally the tea was ready, and the army commander took it in to the magic-user. Once again Hoarst sat up on his cot, breathing easily for a few hours because of the potion. He instructed Ankhar to trim the leaves from the willow branch then told the army commander to leave him alone while he went to work with his tiny, razor-sharp knife.
The half-giant paced back to the fire, where his stepmother sat on her haunches, staring into the flames.
“Can you make another brew of that terrible tea?” he asked. “In case the Gray Robe cannot finish before the effects wear off?”
“I can make another batch, and still another and another,” Laka replied with a shrug. “But it is a dangerous blessing-for though it makes him well for a few hours, if he drinks enough of it, the stuff will build up in his system.”
“And then what?” Ankhar asked.
“Then it will kill him,” she replied, reaching for her mortar and pestle and starting to grind up another batch of herbs.
“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten me,” Jaymes Markham said as he greeted Dram Feldspar.
“You ain’t that lucky,” said the dwarf, who was feeling his usual disgust with traveling by horseback. He was dusty and saddle sore. Still, he clasped his old companion’s hand in a firm grip as he slid down from the saddle and stretched the kinks out of his muscles. “Got anything cold to drink around here?” he wondered.
“I’ve been chilling a cask in the stream over there ever since I heard you were on the way,” Jaymes replied. He dispatched a pair of men to fetch the barrel while he turned his attention to the wagons that were still rumbling into the camp-the wagons that Dram Feldspar had brought down from the New Compound.
“Six of them, eh?” the lord marshal remarked, impressed.
There were an even half dozen bombards, one each on the leading wagons of the train, their muzzles extending out the back of the bed. Each bombard wagon was hauled by eight oxen. The following wagons were smaller and varied in type and cargo. Many of them were filled with kegs containing the black powder. Others were piled with rocks, each stone carved to an identical smooth, perfectly round sphere. Jaymes took in the whole train with his hands on his hips, nodding in satisfaction.
“We got a range of more than a mile in our tests,” Dram finished explaining an hour later as he pulled on a cold beer. He was unmistakably proud.
And with good reason, Jaymes acknowledged.
“Ankhar’s army is over the next ridge, with his left flank anchored on the mountains. Our numbers are about equal to his, so up until now it’s been a standoff,” the lord marshal said to his mountain dwarf companion as he poured them each a fresh tankard.
“Old friend,” he said, raising his glass in a toast, “I think you’ve just changed the odds in our favor.”
It was the goblin warg rider Rib Chewer who at last brought Ankhar the news he had been waiting to hear-and dreading he would never receive.
“The fire-monster has crossed over the mountains,” reported Rib Chewer. “He moves down through these valleys, coming toward your army.”
“How far away?”
“Less than one day’s march, for sure.”
“Excellent,” growled Ankhar. He immediately went to fetch his mother, who emerged from her tent, clutching the small, ruby encrusted box that she had repaired. With Rib Chewer on foot leading the way, the army commander and his stepmother proceeded up the nearest valley leading between the foothills. Ahead of them loomed the tall, snowy crest of the Garnet Mountains.
By the time the half-giant and his mother, who despite her frail appearance could scramble overland with remarkable speed, had hiked ten miles from the army camp, Ankhar detected the smell of smoke. They came across a low ridge to see an entire forest smoldering, blackened trunks still casting up clouds of smoke. Only the moist ground and verdancy of the forest had prevented a major conflagration from erupting.
And there, looming against the backdrop of the blackened landscape, rose the elemental king. His cavernous eyes, flaring like the coals of the Abyss, burned brightly as the half-giant boldly stepped within view of the monster. Ankhar raised his emerald-tipped spear, waving the weapon over his head in a taunt.
The elemental king roared, the sound so ferocious it was like a physical assault. Ankhar roared back challengingly, and the conjured creature charged him.
The ground shuddered underfoot as the great creature advanced upon the half-giant. Whirlwinds swirled around its massive legs, tearing up trees and sending great spumes of water into the air as it cut across the mountain stream. It roared closer, rearing high, the sound of its cries echoing back from the ridges, filling the valley with noise…
Until Laka opened her small, ruby-encrusted box.
CHAPTER TWENTY — FOUR
The battlefield lay where the Garnet Mountains flowed down onto the plains, some fifty miles east and south of Solanthus. The few villages in the area had been long abandoned. Finally the maneuvering was done, the units in place for a decisive showdown. Morale was high on both sides, and with the two-year siege behind them, the Solamnics and Ankhar’s army were equal in one respect: they were ready for the matter to be resolved.
Horses kicked and whinnied with eagerness, the drooling warg wolves snarled, and men, goblins, ogres, and dwarves sharpened their blades and through narrowed eyes, studied the enemy’s positions. All the warriors on both sides sensed there would be no more marching, no more feints and impasses and skirmishes. A great battle was nigh.
The two armies formed opposite each other alongside the northeast fringe of the Garnet Mountains. Ankhar’s army, facing north and west, held its left flank anchored on the precipitous slopes of a rocky ridge. Jaymes, in turn, maintained his front toward the south and east, and by the use of light cavalry and skirmishers, intended to keep his right flank flexible enough to respond to any threat that might materialize in the high country.
The Palanthian Legion had swelled the ranks of the Solamnic force to an unprecedented number. The three knightly armies were well rested. Nearly two months had elapsed since the crossing of the Vingaard, and the time had been put to good use. Many of the wounded had recovered and been brought forward to rejoin the army. Stocks of arrows and replacement weapons had been expanded by the diligent work of the armorers until all units were fully equipped. One enterprising quartermaster had sent away as far as Kalaman to purchase a herd of more than six hundred good, strong horses.
Bloodgutter, meanwhile, had sent urgent messages to the wilds of Lemish, promising booty, land, and slaves to new volunteers. As a result, Ankhar was able to welcome reinforcements totaling hundreds of ogres and thousands of goblins.