The rider nodded. “I’d like that. After two years of fighting this barbarian, I should like to meet with him face-to-face to take his measure with my own eyes.”
“As you wish,” the general replied.
“What, do you imagine, is the purpose of this parley?”
“I suspect he will bargain for mutual withdrawal of those troops you see down there by the river. The battle, of course, is over, yet the potential for slaughter remains. You see, our men-that’s the Second Company of the Vingaard Arms-might make their escape through yonder ravine, but a hundred ogres have been posted upon the far rim. If our men try to withdraw, they could be crushed by the rocks dropped by the ogres from above. At the same time, Ankhar’s goblins are likewise trapped. If they withdraw up the cliffside trail, our archers will be able to cut them to pieces. In either case it is likely that no more than a handful of the enemy troops will survive to escape the gorge.”
“But Ankhar’s army is already retreating. I presume there is a reason why we cannot simply wait him out, bring out the company when the ogres have left.”
“The rains, my Lord Marshal. Up in the Garnet range it has been pouring for several days, and the river is rising by nearly a foot with every passing hour. If we don’t pull the men out of there, the matter is moot; by tomorrow morning, they will all have drowned.”
The marshal nodded, taking in the scene again with those sharp, penetrating eyes. The cliffs, the river, the ravine, and the trail were all as the general had described. If the men in the gorge were not soon plucked to safety, they were doomed.
“Very well,” said Marshal Jaymes Markham. “Send word to Ankhar through his messenger; tell him that I will meet him and parley.”
The half-giant was an impressive creature, standing nearly twice as tall as the man glaring at him across the gulf of the narrow crevice. Ankhar was unarmed, as was Jaymes; this had been a fundamental condition of the parley. Still, the creature’s mere fists looked capable of crushing the skull of a human soldier, and the glower on his face suggested that crushing a man’s skull was a very tempting notion right now.
Jaymes studied the hulking barbarian who had been his adversary over the past two years. Ankhar’s brow loomed over his eyes like the craggy outcrop of a cliff, accenting the bestial features of the ogrish face. The eyes were small in comparison to the overall size of the huge face, but they glittered with a certain cold, appraising intelligence. The man had the unsettling awareness that the half-giant was studying him with the same curiosity he himself felt.
“You are called the Lord of the Rose?” asked the half-giant in a voice like the growl of a bear.
“Some call me that, but I claim no such title for myself.”
“You fight under the white banner, with Crown and Sword and Rose all woven together. That seems to me like you claim the sign.”
The man shrugged. “You can take it any way you like. I don’t see a banner over your own army, yet your troops shed blood aplenty, just the same.”
The half-giant’s broad mouth curled into a cruel, tusk-baring smile. “They have killed many men, in the name of the Truth. I am the Truth. They rejoice in drinking human blood, in taking human women-and miles of land!”
“Yet you have given many lands back, this last year. Three times you have faced my army and three times been defeated.”
Ankhar shrugged. “The war goes on. Many more men will die. This is Truth.”
“Right now, the truth is that your company and mine are trapped together on the bank of the river,” Jaymes noted. “If we hold our positions, neither group can escape-each would be destroyed by troops on the heights if they try to make higher ground.”
Ankhar snorted contemptuously. “Let them stay where they are.”
“Was it not you who requested this parley? What, then, was your purpose?”
“Perhaps I want a face for my enemy,” growled the half-giant. “You fight well… for a human.”
“I fight when I must-and when I fight, I fight well.”
“I will kill you soon enough. For now, I see you, and spit upon you!”
“You’re a creature of the mountains, I am told,” Jaymes replied evenly. “Do your agents tell you of the storms in the Garnet range? It has been raining, hard, for days. The creeks and streams are full, spilling down toward the plains.”
The glowering brow furrowed for a moment in thought. If he was surprised by the information imparted by Jaymes, he gave no indication. “So the river rises? All our men will drown?”
“It looks that way to me,” Jaymes said. “I prefer my men to die bravely, not drown ignominiously, and I am willing to let your troops live also, in fair trade.”
The half-giant hawked and turning his head to the side, spit noisily. “A fair trade? So that your men can take more of my mountains? Drive my people from the plains? Kill them?” His voice had dropped to an angry snarl.
“I make no apologies. Nor will I enumerate the list of crimes committed by your ‘people’-the wrongs that make it necessary for us to wage war against you.”
The half-giant bellowed then almost instantly grew calm. “What do you suggest?”
“I offer to pull my archers back from the rim of the cliff, so that your company can march up the trail and rejoin your army as you cross the river. In return, your ogres will withdraw from the heights over the ravine, so that my own men can file out of the deathtrap that the gorge will soon become.”
Ankhar glared, spit into the ravine again, and growled deep in his chest. Finally he nodded.
“Let us make this truce. Our warriors will live to fight another day. I agree with you. Better soldiers die in battle than drown in a thunderstorm.”
“Good,” Jaymes replied. He studied Ankhar’s face, looking for any hint of treachery-or sincerity. “So, too, shall I agree to a truce.” He looked up at the sky. “It is past noon now. The shadow of the sun will reach that white layer of stone, halfway up the cliff, in about two hours. Shall we let the truce take effect at that time?”
“Yes. To last until sunset over the plains. There will be no killing during that time.”
“Very well,” said the man. He nodded thoughtfully. “Your warriors fought well. It was only a fierce charge of knights that, in the end, broke your line.”
“Bah. My Thorn Knights’re not here. Their magic would shatter any charge-kill your tin can riders!”
“So they might have. But they did not.” Jaymes shrugged as if it were a matter of no great concern. Yet he knew that the half-giant spoke the truth. The Thorn Knights had formerly served Mina and the One God in her campaign to conquer Ansalon. They were formidable wizards, devoted to the dark arts in the furtherance of their own power. In many battles their presence had proved decisive, but their numbers were few. Jaymes was well aware those potent wizards might have made a difference and was glad they were absent from this battle.
“I go now, to tell of the truce. I withdraw my company,” Ankhar said. “Next time, may we shed each other’s blood.”
“So we may,” the human replied. “I will not wish you luck in that endeavor.”
The half-giant chuckled, the sound an odd mixture of cruelty and humor. “I wish you luck-to stay healthy until that day,” he said. “So I may kill you myself.”
“Aye-and the same to you,” replied the marshal, the commander of all the Solamnic Armies.
Still facing each other, the two leaders backed warily away from the edge of the narrow crevice. Jaymes reached behind, took the bridle of his roan, and swung easily into the saddle. As he cantered away, he glanced back and saw that the half-giant was still watching him with those too-small, too-intelligent eyes.
The signalman caught the attention of the captain of the Second Company of the Vingaard Arms, the unit trapped on the shelf beside the river. He waved his flags at the rim of the precipice. The orders were simple: “Prepare to withdraw,” followed by, “Await the command to execute the order.” A simple wave of the company’s Crown pennant returned the acknowledgement that the message had been received and understood.
General Dayr and Marshal Jaymes stood beside the flagman, watching the shadow that had already crept far up the canyon’s wall. In another quarter of an hour or so, it would reach the strata of white rock that signaled the commencement of the agreed-upon truce. A scout rode up, and both commanders turned to regard him.
“The ogres are indeed withdrawing from the rim of the ravine,” the man reported without formality. “Already they have marched more than a mile, and when I departed from the scene just moments ago, they were making steady progress away.”
“Are they out of range by now?”
