Forest For The Trees (Book 3) (37 page)

Men on both sides hesitated.  The Taurs took no
notice.  It would take the ground opening up and swallowing them to deter their
bloodlust once they had the scent in their billowing nostrils.

Marik spent the brief moment searching furiously for a
magical counterattack.  What information Dietrik and the others had pried from
the prisoners suggested that very few of their mages were ever assigned to the
frontlines.  Mostly they traveled with the largest detachments, spending most of
their time checking the safety of local resources such as food and water rather
than casting defensive spells.

No countermeasure came.  He breathed a tremendous sigh
of relief that he felt with lungs two miles behind him.  Attacking with his
feeble mage skills a force containing any sort of magic user was always begging
for trouble.  A quick check ensured that Skelton’s group had recovered from the
surprise first.  They were beating a hasty retreat.

He returned to his five ordinary senses in time to
hear Gibbon, rage lacing his words, shouting loud enough at Torrance that the
archers across the hillock could listen in.  “—a right to be informed!  At no
time did you
people
see fit to inform me I was dealing with a
mage
!”

“King Raymond is fully aware that Ma—”

“Why wasn’t
I
aware?” Gibbon cut Torrance off. 
“I’m the senior military officer!  I have a right to be privy to all details
concerning the composition of these forces, unless you’ve been trying to hi—”

“Why aren’t the crossbows shooting?” Marik demanded
over the lieutenant.  Both advisors jerked their head toward the ruined town.

Crossbows on both sides should have begun firing into
the pursuing enemy forces.  Rodolph’s group had re-entered the woodland
corridor.  The others ought to be on his heels.

A quick overflight revealed the flaw.  Tadd’s forces
had been forced sideways in order to flee.  Skelton’s men were curving back
exactly as planned…between the Arronaths and the lurking crossbow squads.  Not
a single one could fire for fear of killing allies.

He swore before either man could puzzle out the
current state of affairs.  The strike elements were too far away to send orders
to.  How was he supposed to fix a problem when all he had were the most
rudimentary signals possible via sound?

The Arronaths charged after their retreating
assailants; the only part of the plan to go right.  Too right.  Hardly any
space separated the escaping men from the pursuers.  Any shots fired would have
to come when the majority had already passed his archers, into the enemy’s
back.

Marik could see the results of this…himself standing
before the assembled council to answer charges of gross negligence, ineptitude,
malfeasance, possibly deliberate sabotage or any other crime they felt angry
enough to hit him with.

Sergeant Skelton backed up Gibbon’s claim by making
the best decision he could have.  Rather than angling into the corridor, he
kept his squad in its tight turn until they were aimed ninety degrees further
south, galloping straight past the gap in the trees.  He rode the horses hard,
paying little heed to the dangers of unseen terrain.

The Arronaths plunged after him.  Coming out of their
maneuver, they were broadside to the hidden archers in the trees.  Quarrels
were quickly loosed into their exposed flank.

Surprised cries added to the confusion among the enemy
ranks.  Skelton saw his chance and ordered his men to scatter into the trees. 
His men leapt from their saddles to scamper like rabbits.

Two further volleys were loosed before the
black-armored soldiers organized under frantic shouts from an unseen voice.  A
thick knot of them moved toward the northern woods while the Taurs were urged,
through whatever sorcery was employed against their primitive minds, to
penetrate the southern.

The northern volleys stopped immediately when archers
dodged through the trees in hopes of finding their melee-armed shieldmates. 
Wild shots streaked through the branches when the southern group found the
Taurs coming their way.  Marik could see most of their auras beating a hasty retreat,
though easily a quarter put their faith in the heavy artillery in their hands. 
He had made a point during the march of educating the soldiers about the best
methods for killing a Taur.  While he gave them points for courage, he silently
cursed them for not fleeing with their comrades.  They might take down a Taur
with a lucky shot in the dark, but he needed every man, and especially every
crossbow, for future engagements.

Rodolph led the way down the corridor at a faster pace
than he had set during the approach.  The Crimson Kings rode behind him, able
to breathe easier since Skelton’s quick thinking had opened a considerable gap
between them and the danger.  Marik could see the blue auras of horses running
wild over the field of glowing green.  He could not fault Skelton for cutting
them loose so his men could navigate the dark forest on foot.

Nevertheless, the horses were nearly as important as
the crossbows.  They would have to be recovered if the mounts kept from
stampeding for the horizon.  Undoubtedly they would have already if the thick
trees were not boxing them in.  The cries from the Taurs had them spooked.

“Start passing the word,” Marik muttered.  Drifting
through the etheric realm always prevented his ears from functioning.  He could
still force words from his mouth despite being unable to hear them.  “We caused
them some damage, but they aren’t taking the bait.  Their commander must be
smart enough not to enter the corridor.”

Auras moved a hundred feet into the trees, searching
for the archers who had assaulted them.  The Galemaran auras were much further
back, moving deeper with every moment.  His archers had escaped in time. 
Already the Arronaths were pulling out from the trees, returning to their
ruined town and what shelter it provided.  Their leader must understand it was
far easier to defend a position than to take one.  They would not be fooled
into becoming vulnerable by moving out of a defensive position.

Marik returned to the hillock.  He arrived in time to
hear the last Screamer go off, arrows of a unique pitch that everyone
recognized as the signal to make their way back to camp.

“It didn’t go off as well as I’d ho—”

His words were interrupted by the tortured screams of
souls in purgatory.  Gibbon spun so quickly his footing slipped, sending him to
the ground.  Even Torrance jerked in surprised fright.

Marik’s eye twitched.  He recognized that sound, would
remember it long after old age had sapped recollection of his own name and
history.  The southern archers had gotten a lucky shot after all…and taken one
of the white-robed sorcerers controlling the beasts.  At least two Taurs, by
the sound, were clutching their skulls, screaming in either pain, fury,
confusion or all three.  Within moments they would begin a rampage against every
living creature within reach of their claws.

He looked worriedly to Torrance, who immediately
re-gathered his poise, saying, “I believe you should send a rider to intercept
the archers from the northern position.  They ought to approach their
tree-lines to provide covering fire against any Taurs that might move into the
corridor seeking our men.”

“Right,” Marik agreed.  “Gibbon, find the nearest man
with a horse and send him off!  I’ll keep watch…just in case.”

Watching the battle movements from above reminded him
forcefully of the diorama Tybalt had tested him with.  No different did the
scene below unfold, with individual auras moving in accordance to the movements
of other auras.  He could see the shadowed forms of men within each, adding to
the disjointed sensation that he looked down on carved soldiers representing
larger forces, reenacting great battles from the past.

Three Taurs had slipped their mental bonds.  They were
the only enemy elements still battling.  Surviving white-robes had directed the
other ten beasts to return.

Curiously, he could see a man who had fought through
the press of bodies to the ruined town’s outer edge.  He stood only feet away
from the soldiers.  What drew Marik’s attention to him was the slight shift in
the etheric mists surrounding his body.  Marik focused his attention.

No serious change could be seen when he examined the
mass diffusion.  The free-floating mists appeared the same as everywhere else. 
It was only the act of change that enabled him to see it in the first place.

He envisioned a straight line inked across parchment. 
A knife carefully cut a perfect circle in the center.  Hands rotated the circle
halfway.  Because the line was perfectly straight, at the completion, the line
and paper would appear whole, unbroken.  The change was only discernable while
it took place.

What magics did this man employ?  It must be sorcery,
since he could see the robe draping his shoulders plainly.  The color was lost
to the differences in planes.  He would recognize magecraft, had learned the
traces magicians left on the etheric.  Here was the answer to a question he had
wondered about.  It seemed clear that
any
branch of magic would affect
the raw energies composing the etheric plane.  Sorcery was harder to detect,
yet it could be done.

It meant little right then, but later it could mean a
great deal.

The man swooned.  Two soldiers steadied him on his
feet.  Marik paid close attention, seeing one of the rioting Taurs slow in its
rage.  After a moment it turned, making its way back to the others.  Both
soldiers slung the white-robe’s arms around their shoulders and carried him
back to safety.

Enough quarrels had found marks in a second Taur to
slow it.  One crossbowman steadied his aim.  His shot tore into the monster’s
throat.

Unfortunately, that would be the only undisputed
victory of the night.  The last Taur attacked with such frenzy that branches
were snapped, bursting in every direction as lethally as the flying quarrels. 
Archers quickly scattered after flesh was shredded by the wooden shrapnel.

Shots from the northern forces followed the lone Taur
that had been leashed at the cost of great effort on the white-robe’s part. 
None were close enough to cause any concern to the Arronaths.  The last of the
southern archers finally retreated in the face of such wanton destructive force
by a single creature.

“As soon as the last archers come in, we need to put
up a scouting screen to our rear.  It looks like they won’t be coming after us
in the dark but we need warning if they start repositioning at daybreak.”

Torrance nodded in agreement while Gibbon returned
from lower down the hillock.  “A meeting with the three force leaders as soon
as we return to camp will help bring a successful conclusion to the skirmish.”

“You call that a gods damned success?” Gibbon barked. 
“I’ve rarely seen a battle plan go as badly awry!”

“It is always a success to learn vital information
about an enemy, lieutenant.  We lost very few men, yet I believe we will find
that we learned much of value.”

“I must have been watching some other battle,” Gibbon
snarled.

“We’ll put that off until we have a chance to review
everything,” Marik ordered.  “Mistakes are supposed to be learning tools,” he
quoted Harlan, a comment made on the road to Kingshome long ago when Chatham had
been exploding with criticism about Marik’s swordsmanship blunders.  “I think
we’re all glad that these weren’t mistakes serious enough to cause permanent
damage.  Or worse.  Let’s get moving before it gets light enough to reveal who
we really are.”

*        *        *        *        *

Nine horses shuddered in exhausted trembles.  The
tenth had fallen to the ground.  Weak kicks disturbed the dusty earth.  Saliva
worked into a foam girding its equine lips.

Xenos paid it no obvious attention.  In fact his mind
was focused with far greater devotion to its approaching death than to Major
Mellcoff, who had descended in person to greet his new commander.  Poor though
they were, the escaping life energies from the animal were a sweet refreshment
following the hard journey.  He had found no opportunity to perform services
with his few faithful owing to the need to make the highest possible speed.

It had been years since he felt his power at such a
low level.

“I apologize,” he said with a winsome smile.  “I am
afraid I missed that.  It has been a long day, you understand.”

“Perfectly, councilor.  I mean…general.  Sir.” 
Mellcoff’s uncertainty was betrayed by every line in his face.  “I have
received no orders to the contrary from the command sections.  General Adrian
appears to have been killed by the locals across the mountains and Colonel
Mendell has assumed command.  But no instructions have been sent to me by him,
or any officers serving him.”

“I see.  This is your reasoning behind slowing the
Citadel’s forward advance, is it?”

Mellcoff reddened under his sunburned features.  “The
previous orders had been posted by General Adrian.  Until proper communications
with the leading officers is reestablished, I must assume that continuing
recklessly along the former plans puts all the elements at the same risk the
general suffered.”