The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare (72 page)

There would only be a brief respite, an opportunity for the Legions to regroup and decide on their next stratagem, before Drogue whipped his own people into some kind of attack force. During the pause, the Lady Rey took a moment to send Jarrod the crow back to Mark and Delphine with an account of the first exchange, and of their unequivocal success. She felt it might cheer and relax them to hear good news, and make them feel included in the action. Jarrod, delighted, puffed out his feathers with pride, and flew off to execute his mission. Neither he, nor the Lady Regent noticed the sharp yellow eyes that turned to follow the crow’s flight path, the curved beak that clamped shut, and the quick mind that began to piece together a few interesting details…

Almost as an afterthought, Jorelial Rey sent another of the talking birds back to Theriole with the same heartening update. The Royal Guard, and all those who had taken refuge within the sturdy walls, would be grateful to hear the hopeful tidings.

Drogue’s forces were already beginning another advance. He had rearranged his companies, and the men and beasts approaching them now looked rough and ruthless. It seemed certain the Legions would not just have to hold their position this time around. As directed, the unicorns arrayed themselves along the forefront of the lines, with the exception of Shar, who had other work to do, and Wynne, who made good on his promise to carry Tvrdik on the field. The proud equine was smaller than an ordinary horse, but the young mage, though tall, was slender, and did not weigh much. Tvrdik and Wynne sat poised to one side where they had a better view of what was going on. Behind the unicorns were arrayed a contingent of Lady Brendelle’s warriors, along with General Boone’s best, trained soldiers all, carrying long spear-like poles, and ordinary defensive shields. The poles were tipped with non-lethal darts which had been dipped in a potion that Andrus and his physicians had whipped up. This draft, if introduced into the bloodstream in only miniscule amounts, would, with the swiftness of thought, overpower the recipient with irresistible sleepiness for hours. Boone’s and Brendelle’s warriors had been trained to stay out of harm’s way, while pricking or scratching as much exposed skin as they could get near with the envenomed tips – a difficult and dangerous task, but one tailor-made for these brave warriors who were chomping at the bit for action. In this way it was hoped they could reduce the active numbers of their foe by a significant margin. Lady Brendelle had insisted on commanding this unit herself, a move that inspired confidence in the soldiers who were being asked to fight in a way that was unfamiliar to them.

Somewhere in the rear of the camp, a party of physicians and herbalists was busily brewing new batches of the sleeping potion, and preparing a supply of envenomed tips. The remainder of the healers had set up a station to handle the grim possibility of casualties in this second onslaught, something that seemed unavoidable. Some of the bards continued to support their fellows from the sidelines, with fierce drumming and vocal gestures, but the majority had now been reassigned to join a group of women and youths whose task it would be to comb the fields at every safe opportunity, moving any wounded to the healing station, and also collecting and removing all fallen weaponry. This task was an important step not only to deprive the enemy of any means to inflict harm, should any of them awaken while the battle was still joined, but also to remove temptation from the Legion members themselves. It was a real possibility that even those most committed to non-violence as a principle might resort to old instincts when faced with the prospect of death or injury in the actual heat of battle. Better to keep the tools of war out of reach from both armies.

The talking animals had mostly drawn courier duty. Besides those who had been sent on long range missions, Stewart and his compatriots were poised to carry orders back and forth on the field, between sections and commanders. As Tvrdik glanced up he saw the silhouettes of a dozen dragons perched on the high ridge above the valley, awaiting a signal to swoop in and harass the enemy. They all understood that they were constrained as much as possible to harmlessness, but there was no reason they could not have a little fun and turn a few hairs white in the process.

Drogue’s re-formed army approached, marching in rhythm and looking grim indeed. Sweat slid down the faces and necks of every Legionnaire standing to face them. Without warning, the attackers broke into a run, brandishing weapons and yelling obscenities. This time they were determined to break through the defenders’ front lines and force a real engagement. But the stalwart unicorns lowered their heads and sent out a flash of white light through their horns that blinded everyone on the field. Once again, Drogue’s warriors found themselves knocking into each other in confusion, tripping, falling, stopped in their tracks or flailing out wildly at each other with their weapons. It was another delaying tactic. The unicorns were capable of repeating the maneuver, but without the element of surprise, it would be a less effective tool the next time. Drogue was wiser, and impatient this time. Behind his charging foot soldiers, he had positioned a pair of catapults, hidden until the last moment with camouflage. Tvrdik caught sight of them at the last moment, just in time to see two gigantic boulders, covered in flaming pitch, hurtling toward the tight, ordered lines of the Legion. He raised his staff in an instant and shouted something; the boulders froze mid-air, their flames doused, and then shattered into pieces. Responding to this, Jorelial Rey and Tashroth led several of the largest dragons in to the source of the lethal projectiles, where their strong forelegs lifted the offending machines into the air and flung them far afield, shattering them against the rocky cliffs. They would not be a danger to the Legion again.

But, the damage had already been done. The Lady Regent’s impenetrable front lines had scattered in every direction to avoid the falling debris. There were casualties, as dozens were hit by bits of plummeting sharp stone, and had to be taken to the infirmary site. Tvrdik cursed himself for not handling the surprise attack in a less dangerous way, but at least he had stopped the worst from happening. Still, Drogue’s army was swarming into the momentary breach created by the catapults, and the battle was finally joined in earnest. Now, it was all chaos and courageous individuals locked in life and death struggles. Tvrdik and Wynne rode back and forth along the edges of the field, trying to turn as many weapons as he could into useless, harmless, everyday objects. He turned pikes to snakes that slithered through the wielder’s hands. He super-heated swords and knives so that they burned their owners’ hands and were dropped to the ground in a shower of curses and yowls. Cudgels and clubs he turned into bunches of seaweed that slapped harmlessly at the intended victims and clung with slimy stubbornness to those who waved them about. Once more, Drogue deployed his archers, and once more, the arrows racing through the air flew away under their own power. The usurper had to resign himself to the fact that bows and arrows would not avail him on this field. Tvrdik was like a tornado, twisting and waving the staff, operating on instinct, no time for thought, shouting out spells and taking in all that was occurring around him as if it were playing out in slow motion before his eyes.

Meanwhile, the courageous pole brigade threaded through the field, skillfully defending themselves and each other from the blows that were aimed at them, while felling as many of the enemy as possible with their drug-soaked thorns. Luckily, this potion was very fast-acting. Many of the Legion’s finest saw their lives flash before their eyes while their adversaries dropped in the middle of a well-aimed thrust or swing, split-seconds away from separating a defender’s limb or head from his torso. As they saw how well the tactic worked on the field, however, and found their rhythm, they soon littered the ground in every direction with snoring warriors who never knew what hit them. The harpers, women, and youth went among the pockets of inert bodies, gathering all the weapons they could carry, and removing them to a stockpile well away from the fray, back behind the defenders’ lines. If they found anyone wounded, from either side, they helped conduct them off the field and to assistance.

At the river bank, Ondine and company were making any meaningful confrontation impossible, flooding the banks with foaming waters and turning them to a slippery mud-slick of gigantic proportions. Any of Drogue’s warriors who thought they could gain ground by edging through the mud found themselves with gallons of water and pelted with a hail of river rocks. Anywhere the trees could reach at the edges of the valley, they also seized the opportunity to swat at the hapless men-at-arms that Drogue kept urging forward. Careful not to deliver any bone-crushing blows, the leafy dryads nevertheless slowed, annoyed, and knocked over a good many of the enemy as they attempted to pass. Several trees suffered wounds for their loyalty, as frustrated soldiers lashed out at their unexpected attackers and hacked away branches.

Up above, Jorelial Rey and Tashroth were wheeling and diving all over the theater of battle. Shouting words of praise and encouragement to the Legionnaires whenever she passed in earshot, she became a beacon of courage, a reminder of restraint, and an inspiration that spurred her troops to feats of which they had not believed themselves capable. In addition, she was now leading the company of dragons over the center of Drogue’s force, diving, shrieking, flaming, harrying, and sometimes plucking an unlucky soldier or two up in their talons, to be deposited unharmed on the sidelines later. Though the dragons hurt no one, the terror these maneuvers struck in the hearts of those who were either chosen, or came near to being carried off, often sent them running from the field for good. The unicorns galloped here and there, dodging weapons, poking combatants painfully in the buttocks, and sending out random blinding bursts of light from their magical horns. More than once, an unexpected flash averted some tragedy about to happen. Shar, who could not channel light through the ash wood horn Tvrdik had fitted him with, made himself available for the transport of the wounded from the field to the infirmary.

And there were wounded. As near as Tvrdik could tell, no fatalities. But every time one of the brave Legionnaires fell with a broken bone or a nasty slice, he winced in anguish, feeling personally responsible that some lethal weapon or another had escaped his magical attention with dire results.

The fighting was filling the valley now; all of their tricks and maneuvers had slowed, but not defeated Drogue’s army. Even with almost half of his original force defected, asleep, or weaponless, there always seemed to be another wave of ruthless soldiers, consumed with hatred, who were determined to break through the lines of defenders. Tvrdik tried to be everywhere, depriving the savage dogs of their bite in whatever ways he could. Jorelial Rey and the dragons kept up a continuous schedule of assault from above. But more was needed. It was time to reveal their surprise ace. Up soared Tashroth, high above the action, bellowing his harrowing, unearthly call to attention. Every eye turned upward to see General Rey’s right arm raised high in the air. When she was sure she had the attention of all her company, near and far, she made an abrupt gesture like punching the air. Another line of Legionnaires stepped forward onto the field, carrying large oval shields before them. Tashroth shrieked again, and in unison, all of Mrs. Praeger’s fabric covers slid to the dust, and flashes of bright blue pierced the air.

There was a pause in struggles everywhere on the field as eyes turned toward the flash of glowing blue, some in curiosity and apprehension, and others in knowing expectation and relief. The moment seemed to stretch out in stillness and silence, like a reader closing his eyes to rest them at the turn of a page, or a breath held suspended before the exhalation. And then, line upon line, slow, steady, and inexorable, the shield-bearers began to march forward.

In hindsight, it was a foolish move – in fact, considering the circumstances, it was downright idiotic. But almost no one knew where they were, and with whom. The battle, miles away, was almost sure to have already begun, and would be claiming the attention of anyone who mattered. Darian had been so restless in the house for the past few days. It was the first morning since they had been there that dawned with a promise of relief from the oppressive heat, even if it was a bit overcast. At the time, there seemed no harm in venturing out on the mountain to pick the last of the berries. It gave the young king something to do out in the fresh air, something that had purpose. And later on Lynette and Nelrose could help Mark’s mother bake some tarts, and they all could enjoy the fruits of the morning’s labors. It was a quiet, lovely morning on the mountainside, despite the clouds. There was a breeze, and there was birdsong, alpine flowers, and a rich harvest.

Chasing the tasty treasures from bush to bush, the infant king wandered off a little further from Delphine’s side than was prudent, but she always had him in her sight, and Mark was paying more attention to the both of them than to his own gathering. He was poised, some twenty arm-lengths away, to spring into action if the need arose. Glancing up from the berry bushes every few seconds, he saw the gap between Darian and Delphine continue to widen, and began to think that he should intervene. But he was so mesmerized by their innocent carelessness, their laughter, their seeming obliviousness to the realities of war, or the burdens of royalty. For that moment, they were just a charming young woman and a golden-haired little boy, enjoying a moment of play. His heart swelled to see them like that, and he fell in love with them both in the sheer simplicity of their delight. Not wanting to intrude on such a perfect moment – not wanting to re-introduce them to fear, uncertainty, and heaviness without cause – he hesitated. He held his tongue, held his position. Perhaps if the day had been brighter, one of them might have seen the shadow that fell over them much sooner…