The Mirror And The Maelstrom (Book 4) (7 page)

The pair worked the battle in symmetry. The lead rider wore a cape of blue that trailed behind him like a banner on the breeze. A sparkling metal net spun above him, catching the sun and igniting from its light. The net lashed out, hooking onto a speedy tracker who previously evaded all attempts to snare him.

The net wielder instantly secured the trap, reined his horse and spun to the right. The tracker jerked backward, lost his footing and flipped into the air. The second horseman, a silver haired Zodrian in gold breast plate,  set upon him. The Zodrian darted past the net and slammed a long spear into the Hackle. The beast’s howl carried all the way up the mountainside to Nagret’s position. The tracker died in agony, pinned to the ground by the spear. The Zodrian snatched a second spear from a holder secured to the flank of his horse. The blue cape rode hard, advancing on another victim.

Nagret’s jaws snapped at the air in frustration. His vision drifted to the Frizgard five hundred yards northeast of the battle. The tree line thickened at this point and left the Frizgard invisible to the field of battle. Between the river and the tree line stood the milling forms of hundreds of Hackles. Several red robed priests moved amongst them, keeping them still.

Nagret swept his vision to the west. Similar forces lie hidden there. The sounds of war agitated his troops, but Nagret issued explicit orders. He commanded the priest’s to cut the throat of any Hackle who might betray their position. Woil’s most important lesson proved a hard one to learn. Patience multiplies results. The Malveel lord bared his fangs in pleasure. King Macin of Zodra was in for a surprise.

Macin reined in his mount and fell in behind Corad. The Rindoran king hammered the flanks of his stallion, putting the proper distance between himself and Macin. The Hackles ahead of them fanned out. The number of targets thinned. Corad unlatched the net from the horn of his saddle and studied the retreating Ulrog. A massive beast a dozen yards ahead appeared the obvious choice. However, a tracker five yards past the large fighter would reap more benefit.

The trackers proved to be a major asset to their Malveel lords. Prince Gage correctly ascertained that the removal of as many trackers as possible would result in a leaderless Horde.

Corad made his decision and turned to the Zodrian king trailing him. He nodded toward the more difficult target and received a white-toothed grin in response. Corad could not help but return the smile. Macin’s enthusiasm was infectious. Why hadn’t they united like this years ago? What price had pride played in the dire straits of their nations?

Corad spun back to the sprinting Ulrog. He signaled to a subordinate then pointed toward the battle Hackle. The subordinate understood and moved in on the large Ulrog. Corad’s mount shot past the larger beast and closed on the tracker.

The wait seemed unbearable. The Hackles he would lose did not concern Nagret. Certainly it rankled him to lose valuable assets, but more importantly he desired victory. His first true engagement with the enemy as commander had thus far resulted in the loss of  three dozen Hackles. If the enemy somehow discovered his trap and escaped, he would own nothing to show for these losses. Conquest required sacrifice, but sacrifice without victory would be frowned upon.

The Malveel lord stared with intensity at the deadly race below. The blue cape rounded on a large Hackle but passed the stone man and closed on a speedy tracker. The net flashed and as before the tracker jerked backward. The Zodrian moved in and another spear dispatched one of Nagret’s messengers.

The Malveel saw enough. Now was the time to strike. The slits of the Malveel’s eyes widened and filled with the molten hatred of Chaos.

Corad danced his mount to the left and flicked the net in his hand. It snapped free from the writhing body of the tracker. The Rindoran king swung it across his saddle and glanced at his handiwork. The tracker stopped kicking and went still.

A shout to his right drew Corad’s head up. A spear flashed inches from his face and dove into the throat of a raging battle Hackle bearing down on the king. The large Hackle franticly clutched at the weapon and spun into the ground gurgling black blood from the wound. Corad’s Rindoran subordinate charged forward with a shredded net still fastened to his saddle.

Corad exhaled deeply and turned in the direction of the shout. Macin of Zodra stood tall in his saddle, arm extended before him.

“Pride before the fall, Corad,” laughed Macin. “Admire our work only when it is complete, else you may find no time to admire it at all.”

“Lesson learned,” smiled Corad in reply.

More riders thundered past their position in hot pursuit of the remaining Hackles.

“My lord, are you injured?” called Corad’s subordinate.

“No,” returned Corad. “All is well. Retrieve a replacement net. We have work to finish.”

The subordinate tugged on the reins of his mount then froze and stared past Corad at the Scythtar Mountains. An inhuman shriek sliced through the noise of pounding hooves and stomping stone feet. Corad followed the line of sight past the trees and up the cliffs and ledges of the Scythtar. A plume of red flame spewed into the sky from a distant black figure perched on a stone slab high above the raging river.

The battlefield silenced. The human army reined in their pursuit and stared to the cliffs above. The Hackles slowed their retreat and turned on their pursuers. A new noise filled the chill air of the northern plains. The thunder of hundreds of stone feet and the sharp crack of broken timber flooded the air.

Corad stared in dismay. A wave of Hackles smashed through the tree line to the west and charged on his position.

“Corad,” barked Macin sternly.

The Rindoran king looked to his brother-in-law. Macin sat pointing to the east. Corad witnessed an equal number of Ulrog moving in on him from that direction. His thoughts sprang to the safety of his men. They sat frozen in confusion an additional hundred yards closer to the tree line than he and Macin. Corad Kingfisher hammered the flanks of his stallion and the animal lunged toward the group.

“To the men, Macin!” called Kingfisher. “We must lead them from this catastrophe!”

Macin clenched his teeth, nodded his assent and followed closely behind his companion.

Dravgo of Aquaba arrived too late. The trap had been sprung. He stared at the battlefield from a small hill nearly a league south. The action was difficult to see from this distance. However, the Malveel flame, arcing into the tree line below, was the only sign he needed. He turned to the young man accompanying him.

“It began as I said it would,” commented Dravgo. “They have been led into a trap. If you consulted with me before starting this campaign, I would have educated you on recent tactics employed by the Ulrog. As it is, we will find salvaging this situation difficult.”

The old soldier turned and surveyed the plain behind him. Three hundred battle tested Zodrian cavalry sat atop their mounts. Behind them sat another hundred Rindoran cavalry.

“Your kings are in danger gentlemen!” called Dravgo. “We ride into the heart of the battle! Rally to your commanders and bring them home!”

A roar went up. Shield and spear beat upon one another. Dravgo eyed the uncertain young man beside him.

“Do not look so dismayed, Prince Gage,” smiled Dravgo. “If it’s a man’s time, it’s his time. Consider yourself that much closer to seeing the glory of Avra.”

“It is not my time that worries me,” said an ashen-faced Gage.

Dravgo nodded his understanding and raised his saber on high. The cavalry tensed in their saddles.

“For our kings!” shouted the general as the saber slashed toward the northern horizon.

King Corad reached the main body of his force at the same time the Ulrog rushed in from both directions. The Rindoran king abandoned his net and chose a two handed grip upon his trident. Previous encounters with the Ulrog taught him the toughness of the creatures’ hides. It required all the king’s strength to remove the weapon from their pierced flesh.

The battle immediately deteriorated into the chaos of war. No lines existed and no combatant worked in unison with an ally. The Ulrog attacked anything that moved, slashing at horse and rider alike. Timely jabs of Corad’s trident kept cleavers at bay. His mount danced amongst the Ulrog. To remain stationary was to die.

Macin charged into the mix not long after Corad. The Zodrian king strapped a long shield to one arm and with the other he slashed downward with a great broadsword. His mount transformed into a weapon. Macin directed the armored black stallion with his knees and heels, spurring the beast forward when a Hackle stumbled into its path. The powerful horse knocked several of the stone men off balance. The tridents and spears surrounding Macin quickly dispatched the beasts.

The numerous gray lumps scattered across the battlefield evidenced the effectiveness the human army displayed in neutralizing the first Ulrog rush. However, more and more Hackles poured into the fight. They closed in tightly on the human army and their endless supply presented all the proof needed to determine the future outcome of the battle.

“We need to make progress south!” shouted Macin over the melee.

The Zodrian king blocked a cleaver slash from one of the larger Hackles before him.  Corad replied by retrieving his net and latching it over the shoulders of the nearest Hackle. He hammered the flanks of his stallion and dragged the Ulrog toward the line of its brethren. With a quick maneuver and release of the net, the Hackle flew into the line, knocking a dozen Ulrog to the ground.

Macin was ready. He followed the Rindoran’s lead and trampled in amongst the Ulrog with a troop of cavalry closely following. The horse’s iron shod hooves hammered the Ulrog on the ground. The enemy line arrayed before Macin broke. More Zodrians and Rindorans spied the gap and rushed to it.

Corad and a small group of Rindorans held back, keeping the way open for their comrades. Corad’s long handled trident swept before the Ulrog in a wide arc, forcing them back. Riders shot past Rindoran king into the gap. It widened with each new lance added to Macin’s rallying point.

Macin chanced a glance to the north. Corad’s blue cape fluttered over the battlefield. A large silver trident spun and stabbed at the gray lumps trying to close the gap’s opening. Macin turned to the south. The Ulrog blocking his retreat grew thin. The window for escape opened.

“Retreat!” shouted the king. “To the south! To the south!”

He spun his stallion and the steed rumbled toward the thin line of Ulrog blocking his way. In an instant the burnished steel of his mount’s armor crunched into the hardened stone bodies. Macin nearly lost his balance. The black claws of the Ulrog raked on the armor of his mount but found no flesh to lock upon. Macin’s attendants stabbed and slashed with lance and sword and they broke free. Nothing blocked their escape to the south.

Hope jumped into the heart of Prince Gage. Horses and riders poured from a gap in the Ulrog line. With each passing moment their numbers swelled. The blue banner of Rindor shot from the gap.

Dravgo rode hard beside the prince. The reinforcements still galloped a long ways from the fight, but if the kings could distance put distance between the Ulrog and themselves, Gage and his force might arrive and slow the tide of disaster.

Macin and the first riders through the gap spun and took defensive positions. In order for the others to free themselves the gap needed to be maintained. More riders pounded through and filed in behind the king. As their numbers grew so did their resolve. Macin ordered two lines of cavalry on either side of the gap. They moved against the packed Ulrog. Their large mounts and pointed weapons forced the Ulrog even further apart. Macin chanced another look to the north. Only Corad and his immediate attendants remained within the swirling melee of Ulrog Hackles. The Rindoran king’s blue cape whipped in the wind. A brilliant light burst over Macin’s head.

The High Priest Zorith panicked. Nagret would take his head. The battle seemed won but inexplicably many of the humans slipped from his grasp. Zorith held his priests of Amird in reserve to this point. However, if the humans escaped without a single priest joining the fray, the Malveel would flay Zorith. He ordered the red-robed priests to close the gap. They quickly plunged through the throng. The priests’ hands ignited in the fire of Chaos. Red flame washed down upon anyone in proximity to the gap.

Horses reared in terror, snorting and stamping as they fought the direction of their riders. Macin himself reacted quickly. His raised shield caught the brunt of the attack and grew hot from the fire of Chaos clinging to it. Most of his riders, however, possessed less luck. They sped from the gap, their clothes raging with fire. The attack also fell upon many Hackles. Huge, gray shapes staggered and stumbled, encased in the crimson glow of fire. Their Ulrog comrades dove from their path.

A flash of blue to the north drew Macin’s attention. He needed to retrieve Corad then sprint to safety. The flash abruptly disappeared as a renewed crush of Hackles closed in on the Rindoran king. Macin laid into the stallion’s flanks and plunged back through the gap.

Gage still rode a half league from the battle when the gold breastplate of King Macin disappeared back into the darkness of the Ulrog Horde.

“Fool,” snarled Dravgo from beside him. “His men look for leadership not martyrdom.”

Gage winced at the implication. He tried to coax more speed from his mount, but the horse could give no more. The Zodrians retreating from the ambush began to reach Dravgo and his force.

“Get behind us and support the rear!” shouted the general to the haggard cavalrymen.

Those retreating swung wide of the newcomers and bolstered their numbers from behind. The gap in the Ulrog line completely evaporated. A jumble of frenzied gray shapes obscured Corad’s position. Dravgo looked to the young man beside him. Gage’s set his jaw and wild despair entered his eyes.