Artesans of Albia: 02 - King's Champion (40 page)

Anjer opened his mouth, but then shut it again. His lips thinned and he shot Sullyan a look. She gazed back. There was nothing she could say. They both knew that once Ky-shan had set his course, nothing short of a full-blown gale would make him veer. He had clearly meted out his own form of justice, and she now had a bodyguard rather than companions. In the light of Vanyr’s malice, she didn’t feel like refusing them.

Turning her back on Anjer’s irritation, she concentrated on the scene below. Another friend was about to hazard his safety, and she wasn’t sure how she would cope if he didn’t return. Her heart offered silent prayers to the gods.

* * * * *

C
ount Marik walked down to the lower town lighter of step than he had felt for years. No thoughts of death troubled his mind. He had absolutely no intention of sacrificing himself. Just an hour earlier he had taken an emotional farewell of the Princess Idrimar, and was still in a state of shock at finding that her feelings for him were not just a passing fancy. Indeed, he was having trouble coming to terms with his own emotions. He had been more than half in love with Sullyan for some years, despite knowing it was hopeless. His melancholy nature was well suited to thoughts of doomed love. Yet this love—the Princess’ love—might actually be attainable, and he was finding such good fortune hard to understand.

When the Princess had waylaid him in the Palace, she had made it clear that she would not tolerate him dwelling on the past. He quickly understood that she was determined to have him when the war was over, and if in the meantime he covered himself with glory, well, so much the better. As he walked out into the sunlight with Idrimar’s blessings in his ears and her kisses on his lips, Marik’s soul soared like a tangwyr. Suddenly, he felt capable of achieving whatever his heart desired.

On joining his small escort in the lower town, Marik mounted his horse. Followed by his men, he galloped through the Citadel’s southern gate. Cheers from the battlements sounded in his ears as he led his little company back toward the forest. Once under the trees, he quickly met up with Nazir and the remainder of his command. They were waiting for him where Anjer had told him they would be. They flocked around him, greeting him, eager to learn their orders. Marik explained the new strategy and the role they were to play.

“Remember, lads, we are not to engage Rykan in combat. Our purpose is as decoys. We will only fight if absolutely necessary, to retain his interest and fuel his anger. We are not to engage him before he reaches the Plains. The Hierarch has other plans for him—vital plans—and we’re here to help them succeed. Is that understood?”

They roared their agreement and Marik grinned, wheeling his horse to lead them deeper into the forest. They would have to strike southwest for quite a way in order to skirt the main troop column and avoid the skirmishes that frequently broke out on its flanks. For Marik to succeed in his task, he would have to be quick. Anjer didn’t want news of the Hierarch’s reserves reaching Rykan before this maneuver had a chance to work. Knowing this, the Count and his band made all possible speed through that day, resting only briefly. They made a late and hasty camp, and before he slept, Marik quested for contact with Ephan.

His Artesan skills were scarcely even Apprentice strength, so Marik had to rely on Ephan recognizing his psyche. As soon as the General realized who it was, he immediately accepted the link. Ephan wasted no time on pleasantries.

Count Marik. How soon can you and your men join us?

Sometime before nightfall tomorrow, General. I’m pushing as hard as I can, given the terrain, the weather, and the bad light.

Make sure it’s no later or we risk losing this chance. Kryp’s troops are holding Rykan for now, but they can’t do it much longer. I can spare you fifty men, Count, but I’ll need to send the rest to reinforce Kryp. Otherwise Rykan could break through and destroy our advantage.

I understand, General. We’ll be moving before first light. I’ll contact you again tomorrow.

Ephan broke the link and Marik checked his sentries. Then he went to get what rest he could.

He and his men were moving before the sun was fully up, the forest dark and still under a covering of snow. The going was tricky, treacherous for the horses, and they had to skirt sporadic outbreaks of fighting between small units of Ephan’s men and outriders from Rykan’s forces. By midafternoon, however, Marik was nearly ready to position himself for his risky but essential undertaking.

Using his feeble Artesan powers, he contacted Ephan, showing the General where he was. The pale-eyed man rode into the camp at nightfall, bringing Marik his extra men. He was accompanied by the commander of one of the units detailed to effect the pincer movement. The three leaders, plus those Marik had chosen to help him coordinate his swelled forces, sat down to discuss the minutiae of their strategy.

The temperature was dropping and a light snowfall began. Marik hoped it would last. A good covering of snow would conceal his troops and aid their surprise move on Rykan. Ephan’s units would begin their push just after dawn, as soon as there was enough light to see by, hopefully catching the enemy before they were fully alert. A good overnight freeze would slow everyone’s reactions, so it was essential for Marik’s and Ephan’s men to be up and limbered well before dawn. Warm men and horses would move faster than those still cold from their blankets.

“Drive your men in fast and sure, Count,” said Ephan as he took his leave. “Force Rykan as far south as you can. My units will harry the rest of the column northward, where they’ll naturally run to close ranks with their fellows. A good, fast execution should see Rykan well out of touch with his men inside a couple of hours. Then let him chase you back toward the Plains. Kryp and I will give you all the support we can. I wish you good fortune.”

Marik grinned and flipped Ephan a salute. He had a good feeling about this and went to his rest well content.

He had his men up long before dawn. They were tense with anticipation and quickly had the camp dismantled and the horses saddled. Marik rode through them, as much to keep warm as to give final instructions. Xeer was at the head of Ky-shan’s band, and Nazir was in charge of Ephan’s troops. All knew their place in the general plan. Marik and his own men, each one a trusted retainer, were the spearhead. They would drive deepest into the enemy in search of Rykan.

Finally, Marik received Ephan’s instructions to proceed to their positions where they would await his signal telling them the drive had begun. The snow had continued to fall during the night, but dawn brought rising temperatures and the wind was noticeably warmer. This meant melt water dripping off trees and down necks, and the going underfoot would turn slushy. Those on horseback wouldn’t have much trouble, but the majority of the enemy was on foot and would find the going treacherous.

As he moved his men into position, Marik did his best to keep warm. The grey light slowly penetrated farther into the trees, and finally he heard the sounds that told him the assault had begun. Screams and roars and the clash of steel echoed through the forest. His men were fidgeting, anticipating the command to move, and Marik’s own stomach curdled with tension. He was more excited than afraid, more avid for revenge than fearful of the consequences.

He signaled his men to draw swords, waiting impatiently for Ephan’s command. When it came at last the sun was well up and so was Marik’s blood. Eagerly, almost joyfully, he yelled, “On, lads!” and his entire unit forged ahead, the horses straining at the rein. The forest resounded with the clamor of fighting and it all seemed horribly close. The cold air conducted sound well, and Marik kept his eyes alert as he rode toward his goal.

When they caught sight of men fighting, Marik gave a prearranged signal. Smoothly, his own unit surged to the fore while Nazir’s split left and right. Xeer’s command brought up the rear. Putting heels to their mounts in this diamond formation, they charged at full speed into the gap between Rykan’s men and Ephan’s. The commander in charge of Ephan’s units now turned his men northwest to herd the column after their fellows. Marik was left to complete the sundering and force Rykan to turn southwest.

As expected, there was fierce resistance. Rykan’s elite guards, identifiable by their black and silver uniforms, were experienced warriors, trained by the Duke himself. Fearlessly, they came at Marik’s men, determined to beat them back. Once or twice during the mêlée, Marik caught sight of an officer in black and scarlet, but he saw no sign of the great lord himself.

Marik and his spearhead concentrated on driving their wedge deeper into Rykan’s position, leaving the other units to distract and engage his men. Marik fought hard while his warhorse helped with hooves and teeth. His men crowded close around him, protecting him, more intent on advancing than killing the enemy. Although resistance was stout and continuous, they made good progress, and suddenly Marik caught sight of someone he had been watching for, as his presence was a sure indication that Rykan must be nearby.

The man was dressed in the black, silver, and scarlet of a general, but his cloak bore a pale blue trim. Ungainly and fat, he sat astride a powerful, stocky warhorse. He was wheeling the animal about, trying to see what was happening. Although he held a naked sword in his hands, Marik knew he wasn’t much of a swordsman. He drove straight for him, roaring his name.

“Sonten, you slimeson! Stand and fight, you miserable coward! Where’s your master, running safe somewhere? Tell him I’ve come looking for him. Tell him I’ve a score to settle!”

Even as Marik roared his challenge, other members of Rykan’s elite guard converged on him. Madly, he drove them off, still heading directly for Sonten. He saw the General turn pale at the sight of him and spur his horse away, running from Marik’s onslaught.

Not quite as reckless as his words suggested, Marik checked he was not alone before kicking his horse after the frightened General. His other units were doing their work, forcing Rykan’s guard further away from their fellows and preventing them from hindering Marik. This left the Count free to follow Sonten, who was sure to lead him straight to Rykan.

Sure enough, through the press of trees Marik soon made out a core of men, all mounted, all wearing the colors of Rykan’s elite guard. Sonten galloped straight for them, yelling, “Your Grace, your Grace! We must ride, we are surrounded!”

You miserable excuse for a man
, thought Marik, remembering Sonten’s condescending manner when they had spoken in Rykan’s palace. He had been so superior, so confident, when Marik was trapped and in fear of his life.
Now the sword is in the other hand,
thought Marik.
Now we’ll see what sort of general you are!

The men Marik could see were huddled together, gathered around a central figure mounted on a fiery bay stallion. He heard a deep, commanding voice yelling orders and recognized those silken tones. He smiled grimly. Then he saw the bank of crossbows leveled at him and his men and abruptly yanked his warhorse to a squealing, dirt-showering halt.

He screamed, “Back, BACK!” and his command veered away, scattering wildly as the multiple ‘
thunk
’ of bows sounded, heralding the deadly bolts. One grazed Marik’s sleeve, tearing the fabric but missing his skin. He heard the harsh cry of a stricken horse and saw one of his men go down. Unable to help, he left the man to fend for himself, knowing he would sell his life dearly.

Desperately gambling that there was no second bank of bowmen, Marik roared at his men to wheel and charge before the bows could be re-armed. They abandoned their flight immediately and followed the Count as he reversed direction and came at Rykan once again.

Marik’s other units were now approaching from two different directions, driving the enemy before them. Rykan saw them and yelled to his men, suddenly advancing to meet Marik. Unwilling to engage him directly, Marik swerved his horse, drawing Rykan’s guard with him and forcing the Duke to follow or be left unprotected. He caught the malevolent yellow glitter of Rykan’s eyes as the Duke briefly locked gazes with his most despised foe.

He was yelling something, but there was too much noise for Marik to hear what it was. The Count let his warhorse run before the enemy, not getting too far ahead. He was relieved to see Xeer and the pirates veering right and left through the trees, harrying Rykan’s guard and even cutting some down. The shrieks of the fallen and the roars of his pursuers filled Marik’s ears. He forced his attention back to Rykan and caught another glimpse of that dark, predatory face as Rykan urged his guard to capture the Count.

Taking a brief moment to check his direction, Marik found he was heading too far southwest. He needed to turn now and run farther north while not letting the Duke close too soon with the rest of his troops. He hoped that Ephan’s commander had shepherded the column far enough north by now so he would have room to play cat-and-mouse. The last thing Marik wanted was for Rykan to lose interest or suspect an ulterior motive, so he swerved his men aside and had them melt into the trees, hoping to see Rykan and his guards go pounding past.

To Marik’s annoyance, the Duke hadn’t entirely lost his caution. He had counted heavily on Rykan’s eagerness to capture him and hadn’t fully considered the man’s natural cunning. Rykan, it seemed, suspected a trap and was holding back.

Marik now pinned his hopes on Nazir. His men were farther behind and wouldn’t have seen what had happened. They would only know that the enemy had faltered and would see their chance to wreak havoc among the rearguard. Soon, more screams and ringing steel told Marik his luck was in. By the sound of it, Nazir’s units had crashed full-tilt into the back of Rykan’s, scattering them like windblown leaves.

Marik grinned in satisfaction and began leading his company back to where he thought Rykan might be. He circled to the south, as quietly as possible, his men riding cautiously through the woods. Those with crossbows held their weapons ready.