Fire And Ice (Book 1) (79 page)

             
“You know Terence.  You sound more like a Midian than a wizard.”

             
He shrugged a bit embarrassed.  “I guess it is being back here.”               

             
The Knight who had been standing silently behind her shifted his feet meaningfully causing her to turn her head.  One of the other wizards was walking towards them from between two tents.  It was Dianas.

             
She stopped beside the two of them, ignoring the Soroson Knight.  She did not squat but stood looking down at them.  “I did not know you were so curious about Herrinhall, Your Majesty.  Perhaps we could arrange a tour if you should ever happen to visit.”  She offered no apology for eavesdropping on the conversation.  To her it probably wasn’t eavesdropping if she could hear.  She did make her offer with a lopsided grin.  Maybe she did know.

             
Katelyn, nonplused by the statement, replied with a matching grin.  “I would like that.  Unfortunately, I do not know when I might have the time for an extended journey.”  She stood still holding the hilt of her sword in her left hand.  “Good luck in the battle, Terence.”  She faced the female wizard.  “Dianas.”  She turned to leave.

             
“I hope you find the time someday soon,” Dianas stated in an odd voice.  Katelyn glanced back at her and saw the same lopsided grin, like she knew something you didn’t, but that was not unusual when one dealt with wizards. 

             
“Good luck to you too, Katelyn.”  The Queen smiled at the young wizard with a genuine gratitude for using her name and not her title.

             
The combined Northern and Holdon fleet left the highlands that encircled Lake Midia and descended to the plains of the Sun and Taragosa.  The darkness of night slowed their progress, but Storvik assured him that they could navigate any river or sea in the world, day or night.

             
The towns they passed along the way offered only a little information on what was going on to the south.  And that, with cautious looks towards the ships at anchor in the river.  Anyone with half a mind would know they belonged to Northman and there were a lot of ships.  All he could gather, after assuring them he was who he said he was and that the Northmen were here to help, was that the army was indeed at Stockton, preparing to hold at the river. 

             
They estimated it would be the day after tomorrow at the soonest when they reached a spot along the east bank to disembark.  That would put them a couple of miles north of the bridges at Stockton.  That would also give them a chance to form up out of sight of the enemy if they didn’t have scouts ranging that far north.  He couldn’t count out the possibility.

             
Right now he was just anxious to get there, and urged the ships to travel faster.  They were so close, and he could only hope that they would be in time.  The news he had gotten wasn’t fresh enough to be certain either way.  Katelyn could be in battle tomorrow or it could have happened today for all he knew.  That was the frustrating part.  He didn’t know.

             
He forced his impatience down and put a hand to the hilt of Ice.  He had been doing that a lot lately.  The steely substance that looked like its namesake was cool to the touch yet comforting like a splash of water on the face in the morning.  There was something else he felt along with the coolness.  He wasn’t sure how to describe it.  He felt a tingling, but it really wasn’t a tingling, that ran from the blade into his hand.  It was more like a sense of something flowing into him, but that wasn't really right either.  From his hand it ran up his arm and then across his chest.  The feeling was cool like the sword but at the same time felt alive like a flame.  From his chest it spread to his other arm, his legs, his head.  He felt infused by it but at the same time it was distant, just out of reach.  His mind could not comprehend what it was.  This was not the first time the feeling came over him.  That came at the first moment he touched the blade.  He understood it no better then than now.              

             
Tenobius said the blade had power, and in Coran’s hands it would be enough to defeat his enemy, but only if he believed it would. 

             
How could he believe in something he did not understand?

             
The more he thought about it he didn’t think he could defeat Elthzidor.  That was the stark reality he was trying to come to terms with.  But Tenobius also told him that no one else could defeat the Ra Majin.  Only Ice had the power to do that.  Why?  The First Wizard refused to elaborate.  Not that it would matter.  If Elthzidor won then the lives of everyone he cared about would be forfeit. 

             
Maybe I do not have to defeat Elthzidor,
the thought came to him along with an idea. 
Maybe a draw will do just as well.  Elthzidor’s death is all that I need.  If I die in the process than Katelyn will still be safe.  Midia will still be safe.
          

              Torvilin watched the dark shapes as they floated down the river.  There were too many for him to count.  Northmen and someone else.  He couldn’t be sure.  Not that it really mattered to him.  They were just more pieces of meat for the butcher that was Elthzidor. 

             
He had his own priorities and didn’t give a fig for the lives of his fellow Midians.  Even less for barbarians.  He wanted one thing and he was going to get it. 

             
From the rumors heard in the towns they passed- he had to disguise himself so no one would know who he was and alert his quarry, and because they were unlikely to talk with a Voltian-  he would have to wait for the big battle that was brewing to the south to be over with before he could collect his prize.

             
He could wait. 

             
For a little while. 

             
Naras figured that it was time for him to make a decision about which way to go.  Elthzidor wanted him to find Coran, but it was becoming clear that he was no longer in the North.  Naras decided to head back south and if he couldn’t find Coran along the way, he would go to Elthzidor.  If he had been able to send a message it could have saved time, but Elthzidor was keeping his messengers close by until the fighting was done.  That had been the man’s third mistake.  The first was not killing Coran as soon as possible.  The second was not killing the girl.  Considering Elthzidor’s new orders she might be dead by now, but somehow he doubted it.  It didn’t really matter to him.  In a day or so it would be decided.  If it was Elthzidor he found or someone else, he had already been paid quite handsomely. 

              Treska surveyed the fleet that waited patiently all around him as they bobbed on top of the grey-green waves.  There were many ships like his own, traders who had come to fight.  There were some warships from the Plain, Taragosa, and Westland too.  But both groups knew that any hope for victory lay with the swift ships packed together to the west.  If they were going to defeat the Ithanian fleet he was told about then it would be because of the Northmen. 

             
The latest word was that the Ithanian fleet had set sail from their anchorage north of Kellbiring.  They were coming north towards Arryvestra, and towards them.  He thought of his children and hoped to see them again when this was all over. 

Chapter 42

A Day of Blood

              Katelyn awoke with a faint light coming through the curtain of the tent and the sounds of movement in the camp.  Horse’s hooves were scuffing dirt, men’s mail shirts were jingling as they walked, and low voices of people preparing themselves for battle could all be heard in the morning air.

             
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes, threw aside the covers, and rose from her pallet.  Alys was already dressed in her riding clothes and had her brown hair tied back.  Since that day in the woods her friend had been taking her role as a Sundarrion very seriously.  It matched the expression on her face. 

             
Alys held out the black pants and blue shirt for her to dress in.  After that Katelyn belted on her sword belt and rubbed her hand on the black handled sword with the sun and rose engraved upon it.  It was a comforting feeling.  She lifted the blade an inch and let it drop back to make sure it would clear the scabbard.  Alys grabbed her own blade with determination and belted it on as well. 

             
“You are not going with me,” Katelyn told her and waited for the expected response.

             
Alys stared back defiantly.  It was the first time she ever displayed anything close to defiance.  “I am.  I will be at your side.”

             
“No,” Katelyn told her firmly.  “You may have learned a lot in the last few months, but you are not yet ready for combat.”  Katelyn was not sure that she was either but she knew she was better prepared than her adopted sister.

             
“Are you planning on fighting?”  Alys asked her suspiciously.

             
“No, but I will be close to it.  I also have more practice than you do.”  She waited, but Alys had that look that said she would not back down.  “I will order you to stay here if that is what I have to do.”              

             
“Fine.”  It was said with a sigh.  “I will stay and help with the wounded,” Alys finally acquiesced.  Her last act was to place the crown of Summerhall on the Queen’s head.

             
Katelyn stared at her friend not knowing what to say, wanting to say too much.  Alys seemed to understand and nodded. 

             
Katelyn nodded back once then ducked out of the tent into a scene of varied activity and surprise.  Men strode about purposefully armed with swords or pikes or bows and wearing armor of chain mail or breastplate.  A few carried round shields of iron-bound wood.  All of them were moving in the general direction of the river.  Some were mounted and rode in groups, others formed up into ranks and marched in step with each other.  They came together in the groups that they had arrived in.  She watched a mounted column of men in the blue and gold of Summerhall ride by.  On the road another group of infantry formed up wearing the three stars of Westland.  Every one of them wore an expression of determination.  It was time to fight and they were ready.  The surprise was the inch of new snow that covered the ground and dusted the sides of tents.  The sky was a solid gray that hid any potential knowledge of more to come.

             
There was something else in the air, a faint rhythmic booming that she could barely make out over all the activity.  If anyone else heard it they did not show it except for a few tight faced glances towards the east. 

             
She spotted Lord Oran outside the main pavilion holding the reins to his horse.  He wore his armor and the black sur coat with the silver hawk of Tyelin.  A black handled sword swung from his hip.  Lord Roland was speaking to him.  The Lord of Holdon wore solid gray except for the red fox large on his chest.  The hilts of two swords stuck up above his shoulders and another at his hip.  As she approached she could hear what they were saying.              

             
“...take your group south of the fields to protect the village and our left flank.”  Roland was giving Oran instructions.

             
“Who has the right?” the Lord of Tyelin asked.

             
“Onatel volunteered.  He is a solid man.”

             
Oran was studying the piece of map in his hands.  “If I station my men this far north it leaves the woods between me and the main army open.”

             
Roland smiled.  “Do not worry about that.  If they try to go that way they will get an unpleasant surprise.”  They both turned to her as she stopped next to them.  “Your Majesty.”

             
“My Lords.” 

             
“Your Majesty,” Oran said.  “I do not mean to be rude, but I must be going.”

             
“Of course.  Good luck.”

             
Oran mounted his horse and rode away towards the bridge and the black cloaked horsemen of Tyelin.  He had to go around the Westland infantry that was now marching to the battlefield.  She was watching the departing Oran, who rode beside Semprin Tertirian, and so didn’t immediately notice Martin as he approached with three other Soroson Knights.  The Commander was impeccable in his golden armor, light blue sur coat and golden cape that hung from his shoulders.  One of the Knights was Renly, who led her horse by the reins.  Roland’s mount was brought as well by one of his gray clad warriors.  The two of them mounted, Roland, like he was born in a saddle despite his armor and weapons weighing him down.

             
“Have you eaten?” the Commander of the Knights asked her.

             
“No.”  She felt too nervous to eat.

             
“Here.”  He handed her the end of a loaf of bread and some dried meat.  “You should eat.  It will most likely be a long day and there may not be time later.”              

             
She took the proffered food and thanked him.  The bread was dry in her mouth, but she forced it down anyway.  Between two mouthfuls she asked about the booming noise.

             
Roland’s face tightened slightly just like the others.  “Drums.  They started before dawn when the Makkurans began bringing men up to form lines.  I am guessing it is their way of trying to frighten us.”

             
She listened but the sound was not very unsettling.  “It does not seem so bad to me.”

             
Roland urged his stallion forward and she followed with Martin and the escort.  “Wait until you get closer.” 

             
They rode between more men hurrying to fall into their designated lines.  They passed out of the camp where the stake-filled ditches ran almost directly up to the end of the bridge.  They had to wait for a column of horsemen from Arryvestra to cross over first before they did.  She knew that most of the Arryvestrans had been kept at home in case the Ithanians attacked.                              

             
She could see the dull blue water of the Blood maybe a hundred feet below her.  The sides of the canyon were steep and close together.  Up river it widened and she could just make out the beach where the village should be.  That was one of the few places along the Blood where ships could be loaded or unloaded.  On the other side of the bridge was dug another ditch with more sharpened stakes and an earth wall to keep anyone unfriendly from gaining control of the crossing. 

             
They continued to follow the highway through the scattered trees where mounted officers waited to direct arriving units to their places on the battlefield.  The road ascended to the crest of a hill that separated the area near the river from a wide open valley and then kept on straight down its center.  The ridge ran left and right, curving slightly eastward in both directions.  More trees decorated their slopes, especially to the north.  Another low hill rose in the east, bordering that side of the field of battle.  The ridge rose higher towards the south where she could just see the top of an old tower above the trees that covered the hillside.  That would be the old watch tower that had been used at various times in history when bandits were bolder and governments weaker.  She had asked Roland if they could use it as a vantage point, but he pointed out that it would be behind the enemy lines as soon as the battle started.  

             
She had heard tales of battles all of her life, but none of that had prepared her for what she saw when looking over what would soon be a killing ground.  Across the shallow valley elements of the opposing army were moving into position.  The opposite side even more than this one was swarming with men hurrying to fill in gaps in their own lines. 

             
“Boom...Boom...Boom...Boom..”  Roland was right.  The drums of Makkura were much louder here.  The sound seemed to echo back and forth across the valley.  It was almost as if the drums were speaking to her.  She thought they said,
we are many...We are strong.
..
You are not...You will die...
   Of course they weren’t speaking but she could imagine that was what the drummers were thinking when they struck the taught leather drumheads.  It must be what the Makkurans thought which was one of the reasons they used them.  The other reason being the effect it had on their enemy.  She saw the faces of her men entering the valley and noted the slight tightening of faces if not outright frowns, or even worse the looks of fear that were quickly hidden behind a blank mask.     

             
She stopped with Roland in the middle of the road at the top of the hill where Thalamus was also watching the field. 

             
“Where will you and the wizards be?”  Roland asked  the gray haired man.              

             
Thalamus pointed to the right side of the road.  “Down that way a little bit to start.  Once things get going we will try and see where our counterparts are located.  Then we will try and deal with them.”

             
“How many are there?”  Katelyn had to ask.

             
“Of them or us?” he asked.

             
“Both.”

             
“I cannot be sure, but I believe there are eight of them, not counting Elthzidor.  There are five of us counting me,” he said it without emotion, I have five silvers they have eight.  “I must go and see that they are ready.”  He turned his mount to leave.  “Your Majesty.”  He inclined his head before riding off at a walk.

             
Five was not nearly enough, not to face eight plus Elthzidor.  With the First Wizard they might have a chance, but it would take everything he had.  That had been another reason for Coran going North originally.  To get the wizards that were at Herrinhall.

             
Roland surveyed the battlefield.  “The Bloodriders are being held in the reserve position.”

             
“Bloodriders?” she asked in confusion.  This had been the first time she had heard the name.

             
“Sorry.  Aemon learned that their heavy cavalry are called the Bloodriders.  They are supposed to be highly trained warriors,” he said and sounded a little worried.

             
“Will they be a problem?”

             
“I do not think so.  Our Knights are being held in reserve too.”

             
“All except for a hundred, who are staying by your side, your Majesty,” Martin interjected.

             
She ignored the man’s protective talk.  “Where will you be?” she asked Roland. 

             
“Right here.  Where I can see the whole field.”

             
“Then this is where I will be too,” she stated with determination.

             
“Are you sure it is wise to stay here?”  Martin asked apprehensively.

             
“I have to.”  She kept her own face neutral.  It would not do to let the men streaming past her see her react to the sound of the drums. 

              It was midmorning by the time the flow of troops to the field had finally stopped.  For the last couple of hours the two sides had exchanged bow shots, most of which fell short.  Katelyn waited anxiously with Roland on the hilltop.  Martin had gone a ways down the hill to check with the Knights.  Renly was left in charge of the hundred who enclosed her in a circle of protection. 

             
Men waited nearby on fast horses to carry any messages from Roland if it became necessary.  Another man held a horn ready to blow signals at a command.  There was a tension in the air, an eerie silence that was punctuated by the rhythmic booming of the enemy drums that never ceased. 

             
The ranks of the West were arrayed in a long line across the valley.  At the center was Aemon and his Taragosans.  He had demanded the right since they were in his kingdom.  On the right was King Robert, his son, and the army of Westland.  She hoped that they would survive.  On the left was Loras and the other Lords of the Sun Plain, including Stannis, Alys’ brother.  She was informed that he had been the first to arrive on the field, just before dawn.  She felt a little bad for him.  Stannis was not like his brothers or his father.  If he survived this day she would have to see what might be done for him.