The first day on the field, the armies watched each other warily, jockeying with slight changes in position, skirmishing with scouts and light cavalry although neither commander made a move to open up major hostilities. The lancers on their fleet horses brawled with Rib Chewer’s goblins on their warg wolves for much of the afternoon, the fracas fading away with the daylight. No great change resulted, but riders on both sides returned to their camps boasting of enemies slain and new glories attained.
On Ankhar’s part, he was content to wait and see what his opponent tried to do while, at the same time, waiting for even more reinforcements to come up from the south. They continued to arrive-a hundred and fifty hobgoblins from near the Lords of Doom, several wandering tribes of gobs marching out of the Garnet range. Most important to the half-giant, he was secure in the knowledge that the king of the elementals was once more his prisoner, his slave to command. That imposing monster, for now, remained trapped in Laka’s ruby box. But when the time was ready-and that time would be very, very soon-the king would be released to once more walk upon the world, to wage war, and to destroy.
Jaymes, to Ankhar, was making a show of useless busy work: His troops were deployed. They dug ditches and erected barriers of sharpened stakes. But the half-giant didn’t realize the real purpose was to distract him from activity on the western slope of a low ridge overlooking the field, a slope concealed by its crest from enemy observation.
It took the better part of two days for a team of Kaolyn Axers to chop through the pine forest on that concealed slope and clear a road up to the flat ridge that rose to the extreme right of the Solamnic Army’s position. The work was grueling, but Jaymes had chosen this ridge as the best firing position for the bombards, and his troops knew better than to question their commander’s judgment.
So the dwarves had chopped down hundreds of trees, while a whole regiment of militiamen-armed with picks and shovels instead of swords-followed along, digging and ditching and leveling out the path so the huge freight wagons could be hauled up into the foothills. Planks and logs were laid to smooth out the roughest parts of the road, while sturdy retaining walls were constructed on the steepest stretches, ensuring even a steady rainfall would not be enough to wash out the newly created road-a road created for a single, critical purpose.
General Weaver pleaded for his Rose Knights from the Army of Palanthas to have the honor of striking the first blow in the morrow’s battle, and the army commander agreed.
“Thank you, my lord-and I want you to know that this request comes not just from me, but from every one of my men. Too long we have waited in our city while the war raged across the mountains. We are eager to make our own contribution to the cause of Solamnia.”
“That’s a pretty speech,” Jaymes remarked. “I have no doubt that your men will fight as well as you talk.”
“I want you to know, sir,” said Weaver, “that we knights of Palanthas have chafed for a long time under the command of the lord regent. He might hold his title by birthright, but to us he does not embody the tenets of the knighthood. You, on the other hand, are a warrior that any man would feel honored to serve. Your example makes us believe that, perhaps, there’s hope we will once again have a nation to call our own.”
Then the general drew himself up to his full height and clapped a fist to his chest. “My lord,” he declared, mustache quivering, “Est Sularus oth Mithas!”
At the eleventh hour, the army was further augmented by a regiment of heavy infantry dispatched from Kaolyn. Wearing black plate mail armor, carrying an assortment of axes and wicked-looking battle hammers, the fighters marched into the camp singing a battle song and were cheerfully welcomed by the Solamnics and all of their allies.
“I think old King Metast wants to protect his source of income,” Dram noted with a chuckle. He had told Jaymes about the transaction for Kaolyn steel, of course.
“We can use their steel, and we can use their numbers,” the lord marshal noted with pleasure.
At last, the road up the back of the ridge was completed, and the heavy wagons were hauled to the crest-though, for the time being, they parked just below the summit on the west side to avoid being seen from the enemy lines. The real battle would begin in the morning.
The long night passed quietly. Those who knew how to write penned missives for home and helped their less literate comrades to compose brief notes as well.
Jaymes himself walked calmly among the men of all four wings of his armies, speaking to knights and militia volunteers, lords and squires. He praised the work of the Rose Knights, congratulated the men of Solanthus and the Sword Army on their accomplishment in liberating that long-besieged city, encouraged General Dayr and the battered warriors of the Crown Army. The Freemen, his personal bodyguards, walked beside him and remained vigilant while the commander relaxed, joked, and shared a drink or a piece of bread with the men as he passed among them.
The lord marshal himself made sure to get an unusual amount of rest, turning in before midnight and ordering that he not be disturbed until two hours before dawn. He pulled a thin blanket over himself, stretched out on his cot, and fell asleep immediately. His dreams were comforting, as he was visited by images of Coryn and oddly enough, Moptop Bristlebrow. Curiously, his new wife was as absent from his dreams as she was from his waking thoughts.
When an orderly came to wake him at the designated time, Jaymes emerged from his tent refreshed. He broke his fast with a few pieces of bread and cheese and mounted his horse, riding among the camps, observing-and being observed-as the units assembled.
By dawn, the knights-more than two thousand five hundred of them-had saddled their horses and formed up with lances and armor polished to a splendid shine, horses groomed and combed. Men led their horses by their long bridles, remaining dismounted until the moment of truth, when they took their places in the forefront of the army. The Palanthians under General Weaver formed a long front rank, while the Crown, Sword, and Rose contingents waited in three massive columns behind their comrades from the gleaming city on the bay. The Palanthian knights would strike in their long line, while the following columns maneuvered to seek gaps of opportunity in the enemy formations.
“My Lord Marshal!”
Jaymes looked up to see one of the Solanthian lords-Lord Martin-approaching on horseback. The nobleman’s expression was grim but excited. “I have another company of militia from the city… just reached camp last night. A thousand swords.”
The lord marshal nodded approvingly. “We’ll hold them in reserve for now. But have them ready.”
“Aye, aye, sir. And good luck, my lord,” said Martin before riding back to his own company-heavy infantry from the city, armed with halberds.
Jaymes mounted his horse, the steadfast roan mare that had carried him for so many miles across the plain. Captain Powell and the Freemen, armed and alert, arrayed their mounts in a casual circle around the lord marshal. The army commander was about to ride out with his staff when there came a stir of excitement from the men nearby.
“It’s the White Witch!” one exclaimed before glancing in chagrin at the lord marshal-who was known to disapprove of that appellation for the Lady Coryn.
But Jaymes Markham was not paying any attention to the man. Instead, he was staring at the place where his men milled away from a swirling puff of sparkling air, clear proof of magic. The lord marshal dismounted as Coryn stepped forward from the shimmering air, the nearby soldiers scrambling to get out of her way. She walked up to him with a pensive look in her eyes but with the hint of a smile playing about her lips.
He took her by the arms and looked at her closely. “I’m glad you’ve come,” he said. “I didn’t expect it-didn’t dare hope for it. But I’m glad you’re here.”