Master Of The Planes (Book 3) (60 page)

Marvenna allowed herself a smile of grim satisfaction. The host of Hershwood gone and a couple of hundred hotheads with them.  It was a price she could easily afford for the end of this disturbance to her realm’s equilibrium. Indeed it was a price she would happily have paid earlier if only she had realised it. 

“Go then,” she said.  “I wish you good luck and good bye.”

Jay was used to hard riding.  In a past existence he had ridden out with his father and his brother, delighting in the power of their thoroughbred mounts.  They had leapt hedgerows and churned up the muddy lanes laughing at how wonderful life was, with little idea what a cloud was about to obscure their sun.

This ride was something different. He rode as fast, but desperation and fatigue took the place of joy and energy. He clung to the neck of his horse as it followed the diminished company up the winding slope to the eastern gate of the fortress of Mattucairn at the top of Colnhill.

Torsden had stopped his horse on one of the narrow hairpin bends, counting the cavalry as they went past, calling out words of encouragement.  Jay was the last of them, the last of the survivors.

“Come on lad,” the Northern Lord called to him.  “Come on, get that nag of yours up here.”

“I can’t” Jay could feel the weariness settling thickly upon his limbs.  “I’m done in.”

“Sure you’re not.” Torsden leant down to seize the reins to Jay’s horse.  “Come on the pair of you. I’ve seen you boy, I’ve seen you cleave one of those creature’s skulls from crown to chin. There’s not much you can’t do.”

“The fucking thing just sealed right up,” Jay retched at the memory.  “Those two fucking eyes just blinked at me from either side of the hatchet and when I pulled the blade out it just pushed its split head back together and the fucking thing sealed right up.”

“I know lad,” Torsden urged them up the final slope.

“It’s not fucking possible.”

Torsden sucked in a breath as the gate loomed ahead.  “Well there we both know you’re wrong, boy seeing as how we’ve both seen different.”

The portcullis clattered down behind them and Johanssen was there weaving his way through the crowd of exhausted and dismounting horsemen. “Lord Torsden,” he called as he espied the giant figure slipping from his mountainous saddle.  “Lord Torsden, your report! And where is the rest of your command?”

Torsden nodded towards the six hundred shattered cavalrymen, most sitting on the ground heads in their hands while others came in mute silence to lead the steeds away.  “That’s it, Johanssen.  That’s all of it.”

“You took two thousand with you!”

“And I was lucky to bring this many back.  If it wasn’t for Olsen’s suicidal charge, there’d like as not be none of us left to tell the tale.”

“I had thought you could out ride any force you could not out fight,” Johanssen said icily.

Torsden’s shoulders heaved in a great sigh.  “Well clearly I was wrong, Johanssen.  If we both survive the next twenty four hours I will happily let you remind me of my error for the rest of our Goddess-sworn lives, but for the moment we both have more pressing matters than a childish game of ‘I told you so’.”

“What did this to you?” Johanssen demanded.

“Trolls,” Jay mumbled as he slipped from his own saddle.  He stumbled and would have fallen if Torsden had not caught him by the arm.  “They called themselves trolls. Big leathery monsters that won’t fucking die.”

“Trolls?”

Torsden nodded.  “They don’t have much need for weapons, tend to prefer pulling people’s arms and legs off, much like I used to do with the flies I caught as a lad.”

“How many?”

Torsden shrugged.  “Well, we ran into about a thousand of the beggars, but when the bastards just won’t die, it doesn’t really matter how many.  They are basically infinite, and they’re coming this way.”

“We have high walls atop a steep hill, they won’t get in.”

Jay shook his head in abject denial.   Torsden gave a slighter sideways twitch of his chin, more gently disabusing of the constable’s hopeful confidence. “I’ve seen them leap, Johanssen, forty foot sideways from a standing start, twenty feet straight up.  These bastards won’t need scaling ladders.”

“You’re saying we can’t defend this place.”

Torsden looked around the broad bailey.   Everywhere little groups of people were gathering, soldiers or civilians, all looking towards the shattered company in the shadow of the gatehouse. They would all recognise that an epic disaster had occurred, one that would affect them all in ways they had not yet been told of.  For the time being they gathered waiting and trying to second guess at the darkness of their own futures.    

“It was always difficult to defend, Johanssen,” Torsden said. “Long straight walls take too many men to guard and it is not just these damnable trolls that we face.  They were set upon us only to try and prevent us bringing back reports of the enemy’s numbers and movements.”

“There is more,” Johanssen grew pale.

“At least sixty thousand, maybe seventy.  Mostly orcs and those lurching undead, but others too.  They are coming this way.”

“Sixty thousand?”

“The undead do not move fast, but we cannot stay here. We will be encircled and trapped and then they will let the trolls have us.”  Torsden gave a sad frown and clapped Johanssen on the shoulder. The constable scanned the fortress confines, his lips moving in mute calculations.   “We could withstand a long siege, I grant you.  With enough men we could hold off most assaults, but I have seen those trolls in action.  There is no defence.”

“Then we must withdraw?”

Torsden nodded.  “We must begin immediately, with the civilians.  They can take nothing more than they can carry at a jog.  I and my troops will cover the retreat.”

Johanssen shook his head. “No Torsden.  We will not evade battle for ever and when it comes we will have need of whatever cavalry you can muster.”

“I insist,” Torsden drew himself up to his full height. “I have led my men to disaster, let me reclaim some honour as a rearguard.”

Johanssen smiled up at him.  “You have brought us news, Lord Torsden, at a great price maybe, but news we needed if we are to have any chance to evade this peril. I would count your honour well acquitted by your actions here thus far.  Now if you will forgive me, please see to your men.  This is my command still, and I have a rearguard to form.”

“What of the queen?”  Jay dragged from his memory other intelligence that he had been privy to as Johanssen’s aide.  “She is marching to join us, do we retreat on her position.”

Torsden shook his head.  “The arms of the enemy are stretching out to envelop us to north and south.  The safest road lies straight due east to Medyrsalve, not north-east to Nordsalve.”

“Then who will warn the queen,” Jay said.  “She will stumble unawares onto their advance guard?”

Johanssen and Torsden exchanged a glance before the constable reached over to ruffle the boy’s hair.  Jay shook off the affection.  “You will tell her, Jay,” Johanssen said.  “Go find a priest, tell them I sent you and that you need a spell of refreshment and invigoration.”

“I will find you the fastest horse we have,” Torsden added.  “Make sure you tell the queen to turn back, to take shelter behind the Derrach.”

Jay looked from one to the other.  Some secret unspoken thought was shared between the northern lords.  “You’re sending me away?” he said.  “You’re sending me away, because you don’t expect to survive, you don’t expect anyone to survive.”

Torsden rested both his mighty hands on the boy’s shoulders. “You’re a good lad Jay, now just go find yourself a priest, like the constable says.”

“They are sure it is him, not some fool flying his standard?”  Quintala’s eyes were wide, her face gripped with an excitement bordering on elation.

Willem nodded.  “Some of the gutshredders managed to swim the width of the Saeth. There can be no doubt, he led the charge into their encampment himself bareheaded and flinging bolts of lightning that fried five orcs at a time.”

Quintala’s mouth curled into a smile. “I have him now Willem, I have him now.  Summon the wolf riders and the cavalry, we ride out in an hour.”

The outlander was shaking his head. “He must have come down the valley of the Torrockburn in the night where our patrols were weakest and then swung south to carve out a path along the eastern bank of the Saeth.   He aims to destroy all our eastern pickets.   Even now we will be too late to save near on two thousand orcs.” 

The half-elf looked up sharply. “You have an observation to make Willem? Then make it!”

“I said we should not leave the screen so thin, I said that holding the bulk of our eastern detatchment at the bridgehead made the north and south flanks too weak, too vulnerable, while the infantry at the bridgehead were always too slow to come to aid the north or south wings should they be attacked.”

“You doubt my generalship, Willem?”

The outlander’s response was an eloquent silence.  Quintala frowned as she buckled on her sword belt. “You have too little imagination, Willem. You say two thousand orcs and you think only of soldiers to stand in line of battle. I say two thousand orcs and I see bait, bait my brother has finally taken.”

“You meant for this to happen?”

“The bridgehead detachment can march to the entrance of the Torrockburn valley.  They may be too slow to catch my brother, but they should be fast enough to block off his path of retreat.”  She nodded as realisation slowly dawned on the outlander’s face.  “Aye, you see it now.”

“Rugan is trapped on the plain between the river and the mountains.”

“And it is a long ride south before he will find another pass through the hills that will take him back to the illusory safety of Medyrsalve.”  She gave a grin. “A very long ride south.”

Willem frowned.  “But the master gave orders that you were not to engage with him.”

Quintala scowled, was there no one in this castle who was not a spy for Maelgrum, checking that she conformed to her orders of restraint and passivity.  “I am not to invade Medyrsalve, that much is true.” She spread her palms disingenuously. “But I must defend my own territory against invasion.”

“Listcairn is not to be abandoned, your principal duty lies in this tower,”  his eyes flicked upwards  to the room above where they both knew the medusa’s corpse lay, preserved at Maelgrum’s mysterious pleasure.

Annoyance tugged at Quintala’s features. “I’m not abandoning Listcairn,” she snapped. “I’m leaving you in command.”  She raised a coiled hand to him, fingers poised to cast an enchantment.  “Unless you think you are not up to that task, Willem.”

The outlander stepped back, paling at the threat implicit in the half-elf’s twisted fingers.   Quintala stepped closer, eyes blazing.  “Are you about to challenge me, Willem, or to fail me?” She flashed a quick smile.  “It amounts to much the same thing.”

“No,” Willem kept his voice remarkably even.  “I will do neither, Lady Quintala.  But I would not like you to risk the master’s displeasure.”

She jerked her hand, he shut his eyes, leaning back in instinct driven fear. She opened her palm and patted him lightly on the cheek.  “Then you will have to keep Listcairn safe until my return.”

His glare might have been taken as defiance or assent.  Quintala decided it meant the latter.  “Good boy, Willem,” she said. “Never come between a half-elf and her brother, not when they have unfinished business.”

Pietrsen trotted up besides Niarmit.  “We should stop soon, your Majesty.  There is a brook beyond the next rise.  We can water the horses there and pitch our camp on the high ground.”

Niarmit glanced to the west squinting through splayed fingers at the sun perched above the western horizon.  “We have another hour of daylight, we should press on.”

The Master of Horse frowned.  “The levies are not used to hard marching, your Majesty, not yet.  If we camp now we will still raise Colnhill tomorrow.”

Niarmit shook her head. “We must combine our forces as soon as possible. It can not be long before Maelgrum makes his move. I would not like for us to be caught apart and defeated in detail.”

“Aye, your Majesty, but another hour will not greatly advance the time at which are forces are conjoined, but it will increase the risk of our thrashing about in the dark making a disorganised and poorly defended encampment in an unsuitable location.”

Niarmit scowled, but she had to admit the strength of Pietrsen’s argument. “Very well then, the top of that rise it is.” She pointed at the escarpment just as it was breasted by a figure on horseback.  The outriders of their column spurred towards the newcomer, who in turn urged his horse down the slope in a cloud of dust.   Niarmit shielded her eyes to see through the mix of shadows and dust.  “One rider, a man on a horse.  Ridden hard, I’ll warrant he brings tidings from Colnhill.”  

“Wait here, your Majesty,” Pietrsen ordered.  “Let me see what news it is that travels in such haste.”

“A man who rides that fast will not have the breath to tell his story twice,” Niarmit said, spurring her own horse towards the convergence of the newcomer and the column’s scouts.

As she drew closer she could make out the slight figure of the rider, arms waving in agitation, a familiar set to his shoulders that had her stirring her steed still faster.  The circling riders of Nordsalve, a trio of skirmishing scouts, obscured the messenger from clear view.  But the occasional glimpses between the flashes of the soldier’s polished armour confirmed her first impression of the small dark figure.

“What is it Jay, what has happened?”  She demanded as soon as she was within earshot.

The soldiers parted at her voice and Jay’s pale face came into view. “Your Majesty, the enemy is on the move.”

“How many?”

“Sixty thousand at least.”  The boy hurried his news out, anxious to say more while the Queen and her advisers were still too stunned to react.  “Johanssen has withdrawn from Colnhill, abandoning the fortress of Mattucairn.”

Pietrsen frowned.  “He did not think it could be defended at all? And the Lord Torsden let him go?”

Jay shook his head.  “There is something else rides with the enemy, a new foe, dreadful.   No castle could be held against them.”

“What make of enemy? Are they of the undead?” Niarmit asked.

“Not undead no, yet still they cannot die.”  Jay spluttered.  “They call themselves trolls.  They can leap great distances and every wound you inflict is healed almost before you have withdrawn the weapon.”

“If such beasts exist,” Pietresen admitted with a pale face.  “Then I would understand why Johanssen thought flight the better choice.”

Jay was shaking his head.  “They have withdrawn to the west I am come to warn you.   You must turn back.  Johanssen is mounting a rearguard to try to cover the retreat. But I fear the trolls are closing with him.  I saw them cross my trail an hour or so ago moving fast.”

“Where is Johanssen?”

“The constable said he would head for Coln Forest. He wanted to make a stand with the forest at his back, to give his men a chance to slip away and regroup if the action should go badly.”

“That’s about ten miles south of here, your Majesty,” Pietrsen said.

Niarmit nodded.  “I know it.”  She frowned.  “Our cavalry could be there in an hour.”

Pietrsen shook his head.  “No, your Majesty, the foot soldiers would never make it, and you cannot send the cavalry alone.”

“I’ll not send them, Pietrsen.  I’ll lead them.”

Jay’s face paled in shock.  “I was sent to warn you away, your Majesty, not to draw you into this desperate struggle.”

“Think, you fools,” Niarmit snapped.  “If we scatter our forces in every direction, Johanssen to the east, me back to Nordsalve then this juggernaut of Maelgrum’s will roll on never meeting anything strong enough to slow it, still less stop it in its tracks.”

Her words did little to mollify the cares of either the Master of Horse or the boy.   Niarmit gripped at Pietresen’s arm. “I want you to take the infantry around the east of Coln Forest, your orders are to link up with the main body fleeing from Mattucairn on the far side of the forest.”

When Pietrsen frowned, she squeezed his arm fiercely. “Come those are my orders, there is no time.  Our best chance is to concentrate the troops we have.”

“And what will you do, your Majesty,” Jay asked. 

“Johanssen is right to fight a rearguard action, to buy some time for the mainforce.   If I take the cavalry south to his aid, then we may make that rearguard a more potent affair, one that makes the enemy sit up with a start and buys still more time.”

Jay was shaking his head, tears in his eyes.  “You do not understand, your Majesty.  These are trolls in the vanguard of Maelgrum’s army. They cannot be stopped.”

“They live you say?” Niarmit asked.

The boy nodded.  “They live aye, but they do not die.”

Niarmit reached down to pull the Helm of Eadran the Vanquisher from her saddle bag. “Nothing living can hurt or lay hand on me while I wear this,” she said.  “So let us pit the untouchable against the unkillable and see who shall have the victory.”

They looked at her a mixture of shock and disbelief.  “You have my orders, let’s be about them.”