The Princess's Dragon (30 page)

Arrows rained down on the cavalrymen but they raised their shields and kept charging. Their steeds continued to gallop, unfazed by the arrows sticking in their chest or flanks. More arrows fell upon the men, but again the lethal rain failed to halt their charge. Josef ordered the catapults to fire but he hesitated too long; the artillerymen couldn’t fire too close to their own front line so their missiles passed harmlessly over the horsemen. The cavalrymen crashed into the wall of pikes, the first wave striking down around them from their dying mounts even as their fellows executed astonishing jumps over the struggling bodies and past the front line into the swordsmen, trampling many beneath their horses and slashing at the rest with demoralizing ease.

Derek quickly dispatched the horse and rider that hit the pikes next to him first, yanking his sword free and burying it in the body of the next horse, smashing the rider with his shield as the horse fell forward in death. He continued to eliminate those cavalrymen that approached him with exceptional skill and nearly inhuman speed. Men fell all around him and at the back of his mind he realized that too many of them were his own men but he didn’t allow it to distract him. There was nothing he could do besides take down as many of Onian’s men as he could, and he gloried in the feel of action after so much time sitting around.

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The horsemen succeeded in cutting their way through the front line and Onian sent a battalion of his footsoldiers to follow up on the attack. Th

e mass of troops charged the beleaguered Arivan defenders when suddenly the tide of battle turned. Th e horsemen found

themselves knocked from their mounts by fi reballs. A powerful and invisible force pushed the advancing swordsmen back, knocking the front row to the ground. Sparkles of light burst out in the faces of the grounded horsemen, blinding and confusing them even while their mounts raced away in terror as impish fl ames scorched their hides.

Derek dispatched two more confused cavalrymen before he found the time to locate the new source of aid. As he suspected, the old wizard from the Woods stood next to an extremely uncomfortable General Josef on the commander’s stand. As Derek watched, the old man raised his glowing staff again, gestured with his other hand and pointed the staff at the battlefield at the same time that Josef ordered a volley of arrows. A fierce wind blew up and carried the archer’s arrows far beyond their normal range, directing them with unerring accuracy into the enemy. Another spell sent forth a wall of wind, forming a shield before Ariva’s front line.

Onian ordered a retreat and his army fell back. The horsemen who managed to escape made haste in their retreat but many found themselves trapped behind enemy lines, and the Arivan soldiers and mercenaries recovering from their abrupt change in fortunes swiftly dispatched the remaining enemies.

The invisible shield of wind remained between the two armies, and Derek directed his men to rest, calling for the healers to pull the wounded and dead 179

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from the field. He ordered the troops waiting in reserve to replace the battle-weary front line and sent the discharged soldiers back to the camp even as the fresh troops took up their battle positions. Derek made his way back to the camp, wiping his bloodstained sword on the uniform of one of his kills before sheathing it and striding through the front line, stopping to clasp soldiers on the shoulders or arms in greeting and praise.

Derek bypassed the commander’s stand and headed for his pavilion, determined to corner the wizard after he’d had a chance to drop his gear with one of the many servants that kept the war camp running as smoothly as possible. The servant would clean, polish, and see to the repair of his armor and weapon while he confronted the wizard that had managed to avoid him for so long. Instead, he discovered a visitor in his pavilion.

The king himself awaited him within, and Derek drew up short, startled to see him and his entourage of royal guards. During wartime, the Warlord’s power became absolute, his word law above and beyond even that of the king.

It was an ancient law enacted by Ulrick himself after he united the valley tribes as their king, because it anticipated the potential for war-hungry rulers. No king wanted to turn his power over to a subordinate, and the Warlord didn’t possess the initial power to enter a war, so Ariva never fought a war they started.

The king’s presence here today served no purpose, as Derek’s command took precedence. Still, Derek respected his king and bowed to the other man in greeting.

“Your Highness, I hope everything is well in the capital?”

“Of course; we have very competent councilors and an even more competent queen. We decided that we cannot sit back and do nothing while our people are dying in this war. When the wizard from the Woods came to us and requested we accompany him here, we set out immediately. We hope he can assist the soldiers and bring a swift end to this conflict. Please do not mistake us, Lord Derek, from the news we have received from the frontlines.

You have performed an admirable job at holding off the curs that howl at our gates. We simply wish for life to return to normal.”

“I assure you, my liege, I am as eager as yourself to see the end of this battle. The wizard’s aid will undoubtedly serve us and has already done so, granting my men a reprieve and routing Onian’s cavalry, arguably one of the best military units Halidor possesses.”

The king nodded in satisfaction. “Good, that is excellent news. We cannot

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stay long, but we hope we will witness the fall of Onian and his cursed allies before we must return to the capital.”

“Of course, Your Highness, we all hope for that. You are welcome to stay as long as you are able; feel free to use my own pavilion, the only one suitable for royalty. I trust the queen and your children are still well.” Derek started unbuckling his armor to hand to the waiting servant. Before the king could reply a soldier raced into the pavilion.

“My Lord, Onian rallies, his troops prepare to make a move!” Derek glanced at the king and his guards.

“You should find a place of safety, Your Highness. I suspect that our wizard has finally forced Onian’s hand.” He buckled his breastplate back in place and retrieved his shield.

“What do you mean?”

“I am afraid that now Onian will reveal whatever weapon he held back.”

“What makes you think he possesses such a thing?” Lord Derek spared one last glance for his king before he strode outside.

“Call it a hunch,” he replied, closing the heavy tent flap on his parting words.

In another part of the encampment, one of the king’s cloaked outriders removed their concealing cloak to reveal a slender archer. In the chaos of the milling camp, few would notice that the archer, carrying a massive and strangely built bow and a quiver filled with black arrows, bore the stunning and delicate features of a woman beneath the feathered uniform cap. Elona skirted the most populated portion of the campsite, seeking the archer’s stands even as the men erupted into action at the signal that Onian’s men made to strike again. Elona quickened her pace and shot up the steps to the archer’s stand with the other soldiers crowding back to perform their duty. None of the men, young and middle-aged alike, noticed her, their attention fixed on the horizon and the enemy army there. The artillery captain simply waved her and the others to their positions, and Elona took her place at the far end of the stand.

Taking out the far-seeing tube she had recovered from Sondra’s workroom, Elona surreptitiously scanned the enemy troops, searching the Bladen uniforms for the target she sought. Sure enough, just as her informants had told her, Prince Galaden waited amongst the Bladen soldiers, his ornate helm conspicuous amongst the dull colors of the troops around him. It didn’t surprise her that he wanted to personally direct the men his father promised for Halidor; what did surprise her was how close he’d come to Ariva’s frontline.

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Even now he sat upon his mount just out of artillery range, his arrogant stance mocking the front troops of Ariva.

It chilled Elona that even the wizard’s arrival didn’t seem to disturb the enemy. Still, she came here for a specific purpose, tucking her hair beneath a uniform cap and risking her father’s intense wrath and the dangers of warfare.

She put away the far-seeing tube and drew her bow. The sleek weapon, designed especially for her by the engineers who accepted her handsome payment for their silence, operated using a system of small pulleys, which allowed even a thin woman like herself to draw the massive bow, increasing the tension on her missile, and hopefully expanding her range enough to strike her intended target. The special arrows, made of the nearly feather-light blackwood found deep within the Woods themselves, should assist in reaching the distance she required.

Still, she planned to wait as long as possible in the hope that Galaden would grow over confident in his heavy, metal suit of armor and brave the missiles of his enemy to lead his men forward. Fortunately, she had an excellent aim and the gap in his helm beckoned like the bull’s-eye on a target.

Derek rejoined the front line just in time for the charge. Bladen’s footsoldiers, led by mounted captains, moved into position nearly within artillery range to charge the Arivan line. The wizard’s shield of wind still roared between the two armies, but Onian ordered a charge anyway, and Bladen’s men moved forward, bringing up their shields as Ariva’s artillery released a volley of lethal arrows.

Only a few soldiers fell, the rest of the arrows bouncing harmlessly off upraised shields. The next volley struck more men but made little dent in their numbers, though Derek saw a commander topple from his horse, an arrow embedded right through the slit in his helm. Still the troops advanced, though they moved slowly, cautiously. Derek shouted to the field captain closest to him.

“Beware, watch the enemy further back. Bladen’s advance is a feint. Onian plans something else and needs the distraction.” The field captain nodded and sent word down the line. A field messenger raced up to the commander’s stand and relayed the word to the wizard and the General. Derek caught the wizard’s nod in acknowledgment; he also suspected something big.

Derek returned his study to the troops hanging back behind the advancing soldiers in Bladen’s colors. He spotted movement that he might have missed had he not been watching. Most of the men remained focused on Bladen, though they wondered why Onian persisted despite the wind that still howled

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between them and carried Ariva’s arrows beyond their normal range to the enemy.

Two large carts rolled behind another unit of foot soldiers. Derek wished he could see clearly from this distance, but a shriek tore his attention away from the carts, and a cry went down the line as six death priestesses floated into the sky from the concealment of Halidor’s troops.

“Damn!” Derek watched the women, in black, flowing robes, their eyes covered by black blindfolds, float up to the wall of wind. They levitated inches from the ground. The cry went down the line, “Morbidon priestesses!” as every soldier shivered in fear.

The priestesses of the god of death were all blind, their eyes removed when they became initiated into the order so that they may focus always within themselves and increase the strength and accuracy of their death magic.

Halidor must have held them back, believing that they would not be necessary against Ariva, but it appeared that Onian decided to use them to counter the wizard’s magic. Immediately, the old wizard started casting defensive spells, but even for him, shielding over a mile of soldiers from the powerful death magic occupied him completely.

The wind wall died down, and Bladen’s troops continued their advance.

The Arivan soldiers readied themselves, relying on the wizard to deal with the eerie, wraithlike women that hovered over the battlefield, their forms lacking substance and completely unaffected by Ariva’s arrows or catapult artillery. The death priestesses didn’t falter at all as their hair whipped around them with the power of their magic, and they gestured and chanted. They fired spell after spell at the magical shields that the old wizard struggled to hold and repair, his entire attention focused on his defensive spells while a small contingent of warriors formed a physical shield around him where he stood, a highly visible target on the commander’s stand.

The Arival soldiers met the charge of Bladen’s swordsmen, and many of Arctuor’s men died on Arival pikes. Those that managed to cut through the front lines engaged the veteran mercenaries in a bloody swordfight, the ringing chaos of metal and screaming men sounding out over the field as fighters struggled to retain their footing in the blood-soaked mud.

Once again, Derek easily dispatched any soldier that neared him. The sight of his battle prowess rallied his men, and they began to chant, “Warlord!

Warlord! Warlord!” as he hacked, slashed, and bashed the enemy, moving 184

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with all the grace of a performing acrobat through the mud and piled corpses.

Suddenly, no more enemies met his sword and Derek looked around to find that Bladen’s men retreated, racing back to their own side with great haste. The Arivan soldiers cheered and heckled the enemy, but Derek felt his gut clench.

Now was the time for Onian’s endgame.

He watched the enemy, saw the covers ripped from the mysterious carts.

High priests of Morbidon gathered around the carts and Derek could not hear their chanting but he felt that he could feel it. Even now, the death priestesses still engaged the wizard, holding him hostage with their magical struggle. Two hideous creatures arose from the massive carts and the cheers of the soldiers died out as they noticed the yellowish-white giants rising up as if from the grave itself.

“By the gods,” Derek whispered. He’d heard of them, but never in his life had he seen such an abomination.