The Exodus Sagas: Book III - Of Ghosts And Mountains (37 page)

“I see a path through it. Permission to charge the field to Southwind, my king?” Alexei knew it would not be without danger, yet against the ogre, he cared not.

“Granted, on my terms however. General Fandruss, take the long left route to draw their numbers. Captain Shilde, take the long right. Both of you take five hundred each. I will lead up the middle with Lady Aelaine by me with five hundred and the honor guard, slowly. I will leave one thousand in reserve with the supplies. Lord T’vellon, when I give the signal, my forces will part whatever comes at us, giving you, the remining five hundred cavalry, and your own men a straight shot to your keep.” Mikhail had fought many wars, and he sensed when the enemy was waiting for something, even if they could not be seen. He knew, from the recent battles, that they wanted
him
, the crown, more than anything else. It had proved that someone beside another ogre uprising was surely behind these attacks. This bait was for him to take, not to assure the fall of Southwind Keep.

“Forward!” Mikhail received the nods and salutes, raised his golden blade to the air, and rode ahead to face whatever was waiting. His squires went into action, passing orders, relaying plans, and assisting knights with their gear.

One brigade went far to the south, a mile or more around near the foothills of the Thoran Mountains, General Fandruss in the lead. The second, led by Kendrynn Shilde, went over the hills and forest to the north of the vale. The king weaved toward the trenches, at a walking pace, giving his commanders time to align themselves with him in case of attack. He looked to the odd hills between the ditches with spikes, they seemed different.
Surely these are recently dug, and certainly for us should we arrive. Now, where are the ones who prep---“

“
Rrraaarrrggghhh!!! Ugventh edek arglisham!!!”

The grasses and coverings tore open from ahead, behind that, and from all sides. The small hills were not hills at all, they were false tents, massive mounds of dug and lifted field. The ogre emerged, by the hundreds on a battle cry toward the main force of the king. They had waited through the onslaught of arcane ice storms, waited until the king was close, and waited until his forces parted their obstructions. A hail of twelve foot spears descended toward the ranks of armored horse, royal guard, and Chazzrynn infantry.

A quick wave of her hand up, then down, Aelaine’s arcane powers forced the very earth and stone in front of their army to explode into an arc in the sky. Two hundred or more spears impacted harmlessly, the front line with the king covering themselves with shields meant to block spears, instead they stopped a massive spray of dirt and mud. The stones recinded into the ground, for a moment there was silence. Mikhail stared across the dust and debris to an ogre with plate armor, a horned helm, and a enormous greatblade with more knicks and divets than he had men. The ogre stared back, his hundreds of bestial soldiers waiting his battle cry to charge.

“Surrenders you, king of little falcon mens! Sajorgarne, son Avegarne, command you to do this!” He raised his blade high. He was told by his rotted father and the magical elf lord to take the king prisoner, to offer surrender after they had trapped them. He had worked for days on learning how to roughly say it. Yet, Sajogarne could not remember what response he needed to hear in this sing-song Agarian tongue.

“Men of Chazzrynn do not surrender to ogre, Sajogarne son of Avegarne!
We surrender to no one! Charge!”
It was too close for a volley of arrows, too tight here to hold on foot, the King knew he had to make a path for Lord T’Vellon and his riders to reach Southwind. The ground was wet from the ice storm, muddy now from the trenches and explosion from the earth, ahead was the only option despite the surround.

The small horns blew, the flags dove forward, and the steeds charged through the broken terrain into the ogre wall. A symphony of ogre yells followed, rushing to meet the enemy. The wall of eleven foot beasts moved in, trying to stand close to stop the cavalry in the muck and not allow them to solid and open ground. Lances lowered, deafening hooves by the hundreds thundered the earth, and King Mikhail pointed his blade at Sajogarne as he charged with his men. Lady Aelaine was chanting, the horses running wide open, then the ogre slowed. Their feet stuck in hardened mud, arcane magicks turning it to solid rock just before the king landed his attack.

Steel lances and blades cut through ogre hides and flesh, the cacophony of horse into beast and the collision of forces was resounding on the field. Ogre warriors cleaved and hacked at man and steed alike. Armored men drove their weapons into hard stuck ogre soldiers, cutting them down like trees. Mikhail crashed into Sajogarne, his falcon shield taking a heavy blow, then another as the ogre loosed his feet from the stone. The king struck twice, his broadsword cutting clean once into the shoulder of his foe. The son of the ogre king grabbed his white horse, and hurled it to the ground. Mikhail reached his shield over its forearm, both ogre and king and even stallion tumbling over into a spiked trench.

Aelaine’s black wand drew from her black robes and blue sash, she pointed it unleashing a spray of twisting flaming cinders that weaved into enemy targets. Ten ogre fell back from the impact into their own traps, those that were not impaled burst into flames and screamed for the end in the ditches. Atop her steed, surrounded by honor guard to protect her, she aimed again.

“Ofiliaphre xuun xurie datho!”
Gray light hummed and flashed, she gazed at Sajogarne and twenty ogre around him. Their rusty blades and crude weapons turned to gray tentacles and wrapped around their wielders’ arms.

Sajogarne struck down at the kneeling king of Chazzrynn, his once greatblade, now a disembodied curling tentacle, splattered onto his opponents’ shield with a sickening slap. Mikhail slashed the shin of the ogre commander, then the other, deep cuts forcing his foes retreating steps into spikes that impaled the back of its thighs. Sajogarne reached and grabbed the king, lifting him in the air to smash him onto wooden spears.

The cavalry was in disarray, footmen moving into the melee now, the pace of the bloodshed had quickened. Battle horns from the north and south sounded as the reserves took formation in anticipation of the king’s call for withdrawl. General Fandruss and Captain Shilde charged downhill into the vale, looking to flank the concentrated ogre forces. Still blocked at the bridge and the trenchless open field, the ogre of Sajogarne stood their ground to not let the main forces escape.

Mikhail, just before his imminent hurl, raised his blade. “Make a path through the center, Lord Alexei
, charge!”

The king slammed his broadsword down the unexpecting mouth of Sajogarne. The crossguard took a tusk, the blade knocked out three teeth, and the swordtip shot out the back of his enemy’s throat. The ogre warrior smashed Mikhail onto a spike of wood, impaling him through the right shoulder, then fell to its knees. Sajogarne went limp, eyes rolling up at the sky, then he fell onto the spikes next to the king, dead.

A flash of light ripped, then another, three bolts of blue light tore into the ogre that held the area south of the broken bridge. Aelaine looked to the thirty dead and dying then turned her steed west, making her way toward the fallen king, honor guard and reserves following.

Without word, without a cry to battle, Lord Alexei and his cavalry gained charging speed from the eastern fields. Through desperate battles, over trenches, leaping ditches, and steeds hurdling every obstacle, they made it to the cleared path of dead ogre, courtesy of the Lady of Lazlette. Alexei could not see the battle with his king, just a mass of blood, ogre, horses, and mud. The men of Southwind turned to a lowpoint in the river as the armies from the north and south collided into the main ogre masses. The beasts that pursued were cut down from downhill charging cavalry as Alexei T’Vellon bolted his horse down a small dock and cleared the river, five hundred strong on horse behind him. Up the hill at the edge of the vale they tore, the thunderous drum of horses, accompanied by the sound of steel being drawn, alerted all in Southwind that their Lord had returned.

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“One more pass is all, then back to the keep!” Lavress yelled behind him, his horse was slowing as was the mare of Liogan Andellis. He looked west, he had not even gotten close to the whirlwind of Eliah Shendrynn atop the mysterious black swirling clouds.

“My horse is nearly done master Lavress, and they are gaining! I thought you said he would notice you and---“

“I know what I said, just keep turning, one more pass!” The hunter spurned his steed again, faster and faster through the western fields. The trolls and ogre on foot, even those on heavy haired brahmas, gave chase to the insane elf and the boy that rode with him. Just what Lavress wanted, hundreds confused and trying to capture them and prevent an escape. Yet Lavress was not trying to escape, merely giving the men inside a chance to rally to Chancellor Marcus and get a semblance of a defense.

The enemy was weaving when they wove, turning when they turned, trying to cut them off and wrangle them. Each time they were within spears reach, Lavress bolted the opposite way, Liogan in tow. Five circles they had made out far from the keep, just the two of them on horse, distracting the enemy forces and drawing them out. The savage elf had assumed that it would also bring Eliah Shendrynn closer to him, within a spears throw, but it was as if Eliah did not recognize him, or did not care. Lavress watched, in between his daring display of horsemanship, as the robed highborne traitor simply soaked in the sun from atop his arcane swirling platform and issued commands from time to time. He began to doubt it was him at all, despite the identical resemblance. For years they had fought back and forth across the continent, but now, it was as if it were someone else up there, someone who did not know.

“Almost there!” Lavress ducked a spear, then he heard the whinny of Liogans steed and the sound of trampling. He turned, the boy dropped the spear as he rolled and drew his broadsword as he stood. His horse was run down by two brahmas that followed into the ground, ogre riders launching over them and spilling to the field.

Lavress turned to charge to the boys rescue and pull him up onto his steed, then he fell. The earth came fast after the spear punctured the neck of his mare. Lavress rolled, blades out before he was up, a hundred fifty armed ogre and naked troll warriors yelling in victory.

“Run, to the keep!” Lavress sprinted, grabbing Liogan again and pulling him to keep up. Only ten trolls and twenty five ogre stood in their way.

“We will never make it past, Lavress!” Liogan Andellis raised his shield over his head, knowing they could not cut down so many so far from the gates.

The trampling was close now, getting louder as if the ogre had another army behind them that had taken charge. The field shook. Lavress could not tell which way the sound came from anymore. He saw the gate, then a knight of Southwind charge out of it, then another, then ten, a hundred, they did not stop coming. A charge of cavalry burst from Southwind, headed straight into the western fields, right for them. It was Lord Alexei T’vellon and his knights. Lavress was never so happy to see the man he despised than right now.

Lavress and Liogan watched as the five hundred cavalry followed the Lord of Southwind into the exhausted ogre and troll army. Within minutes, it was over. Outnumbered three to one and on the receiving end of a vengeful charge without mercy, the remaining forces from the Western Wastes looked for their elven leader and his cloud, yet saw nothing. He had gone. Morale dropped, orders in two languages rang out differing plans, and what remained was less than fifty that made it into the woods to the west in full retreat.

The men of Southwind clamored their shields and raised their blades as more soldiers reached the field and began the dirty work of finishing the injured ogre and gathering their fallen comrades. Lord Alexei galloped his horse to Lavress and Liogan, lifting his steel visor and sheathing his blood covered blade.

“
You
? That was your daring diversion on the field?” Alexei looked to Lavress.

“No my lord, it was my idea. I released the prisoner to assist me.” Liogan bowed his head.

“Well done, Liogan Andellis. Chancellor Marcus says that
your plan
saved the keep, as did the
assistance
of our
guest
, Lavress Tilaniun here.” Lord T’Vellon smiled, bowed his head, and reached down and patted Lavress on the shoulder, knowingly.

“Thank you , my lord.” Liogan looked to Lavress, receiving an elven smile that assured him that the stretch of the truth was acceptable. All three men turned to the sound of horns and trumpets in the castle.

“Come, my brave horsemen, the king arrives in Southwind.” Alexei drove his horse to the keep, giving Lavress one last nod of respect and apology, though he said nothing.

Lavress needed no words, the eyes of the man before him told him clearly that he knew he had made a mistake, and owed him gratitude for his bravery. The elven hunter bowed in return, saying nothing.

In the keep, the cheers and trumpets were gone. The men were huddled and converging in the courtyard, silent. They made way for their lord as he dismounted and his two heroes walked in beside him. The crowd parted, only a small bit of room between blood and mud covered men in armor. Lady Aelaine looked troubled with her head on the shoulder of Kendrynn Shilde as the honor guard and Chancellor Marcus Mederris carried a stretcher toward the north tower. Alexei, Lavress, and Liogan got close, close enough to see King Mikhail being lifted up the stairs. His gray beard and plate armor were splattered with blood and dirt, his balding head cut and swelling, his blue cape and golden blade were carried by a squire that also had his helm. A spike of wood was broken off in his shoulder, all the way through and pointing up above his chest nearly two feet. The men were silent as Marcus whispered to the king. No one could tell whether it was prayer, last rites, or simply words of comfort.