“Aye, my lord-the ogres are no longer able to strike at the men of the Vingaard Arms.”
“It appears as though the brute is keeping his word,” Dayr murmured, raising his eyebrows in a gesture of mild surprise. “I hadn’t been entirely sure until now.”
Jaymes shook his head very slightly. “I was sure he would pull the ogres back. But I am not yet convinced that he is keeping his word.”
“And our archers are now down from the heights. They wouldn’t have time to return to their firing positions if Ankhar’s company makes haste.”
“I’m sure they’ll get out of there as fast as they can,” said the army commander.
A few moments later, the sun’s shadow reached the requisite position. The two men watched as the companies beside the river slowly backed away from each other, the humans moving toward the lower terminus of the narrow ravine, the goblins to the foot of the trail that twisted so precariously along the canyon’s wall. When perhaps three hundred yards of distance was between them, the formations abandoned their battle lines and formed into narrow columns, each starting up its respective route of retreat.
“Now we arrive at the moment of truth,” said Jaymes. “Or perhaps I should say, ‘the Truth.’ ”
“I have heard that he calls himself this,” Dayr remarked. “Even under the most severe interrogation, his warriors insist that their general is the Truth.”
For several long moments, the mutual withdrawals proceeded quietly. The last of the human warriors filed into the ravine, disappearing from the sight of the two commanders, though some goblins were still visible making their way up the winding trail. The head of that column approached the first switchback and continued upward, vanishing momentarily as the trail cut under a broad overhang of rugged limestone.
“After the barbarians are across the river, do you want me to pursue them in the direction of Dargaard?” asked Dayr. He shuddered at the thought of that dark and haunted fortress.
“That will not be necessary. Ankhar’s troops will not head toward Dargaard,” Jaymes declared.
“Oh? What do you predict?”
“He will concentrate on the east bank of the Vingaard, to hold us at bay, while he gathers his strength against Solanthus,” the marshal stated. “He has already brought his central army to the west of that fortress, while his southern force is screening the territory in the Garnet foothills.”
The city of Solanthus had been besieged for two years, ever since Ankhar’s horde had first rampaged across the plains-before Jaymes Markham had taken command of the Solamnic Army. Though the city had resisted the barbarian’s few attempts at storming the walls, it also remained out of reach of relief columns and supplies from the rest of Solamnia.
“You think he will make another attempt to conquer Solanthus, then?” Dayr replied, moderately surprised. “Those walls have held him at bay for more than two years.”
“Yes, but he has made no serious attack,” Jaymes answered. “And now we have bested him in three major battles in the open field. Each time he has been forced to give up another sector of the plains, and with Solanthus to his rear, still resisting, he will see that, inevitably, we intend to break his siege, if he keeps losing ground.”
“I understand that the situation is dire in that city,” the general said. “It is all the clerics can do to maintain food at near starvation levels. Though I hear that the duchess has rallied the people courageously, that she eats no more than the commoners.”
The lord marshal nodded. “She has a core of steel, that’s clear.”
Dayr agreed somewhat ruefully. “When Duke Rathskell married her, I thought she was a trite little wench, suited only for the bedroom. Now he’s dead, and she is holding the city together. I am, frankly, surprised. I confess I did not give her credit for that kind of spine.”
“Nobody did,” Jaymes said. “Sometimes adversity seems to bring forth remarkable strength.”
A trumpet blared some distance away, and both men turned quickly at the unmistakable sound of alarm. The general grimaced, while the marshal’s lips tightened in anger. “Liar!” he said between clenched teeth. “So the one called the Truth is a liar after all.”
“But his ogres cannot have returned to the ravine-they were too far away!” countered Dayr.
Jaymes nodded, pointing downward, where the column of goblins was halfway up the cliff, still winding along the narrow trail. Soon they would vanish from sight as they continued behind the curve of the canyon wall. But moments later, the scout came into view, lashing his horse into a froth as he galloped toward the two commanders.
“My lords!” he shouted, thundering closer and pulling up in a skidding stop. “Treachery! Ankhar’s Thorn Knights-at least one of them-has appeared in the ravine. He has created a cloud of deadly gas that sinks and slithers along the trail, killing every man caught within. The survivors are fleeing back toward the river, but the cloud is moving quickly-it seems certain they are all doomed.”
“The bastard!” snarled Dayr. “We should have kept the archers in position-we could pick off those goblins and show him the fruits of his treachery!”
Jaymes ignored his general, instead striding up to the nearby signalman who stood listening to the scout’s report in shock, his banners neatly coiled at his feet. “Raise the red pennant-now!” snapped the marshal.
Quickly the man did as he was told. Another scout rode up, confirming that the men of the trapped company were perishing in the magically conjured gas cloud. The Thorn Knight, of course, had teleported away immediately; there was no chance of exacting vengeance upon the villain. The lord marshal displayed no reaction upon hearing this news, even as his general practically wept with frustration and rage.
The crimson banner snapped in the breeze as the flagman hoisted it upon a slender pole. He waved it back and forth in response to the marshal’s curt command. Dayr and the nearby soldiers watched anxiously, knowing better than to ask Jaymes what was going on. Below, the vile gas, a greenish yellow in color, seeped from the bottom of the ravine. No man could escape that corridor of death.
The cliffs above the fleeing goblins suddenly shattered in a gout of smoke, fire, and blasted rock. The huge shelf of stone split free from the canyon wall and tumbled down toward the helpless warriors, burying some in the cloud of debris and carrying the rest to doom on the rocks a hundred feet below. Several breaths passed before the sound of the explosions-a stunning eruption of noise that bellowed and rumbled through the canyon like a violent thunderstorm-reached the watchers on top of the cliff.
“You placed charges there?” Dayr asked in astonishment. “You didn’t trust the truce?”
The marshal shrugged. “Captain Powell made the arrangements. The red flag was the signal to light the fuses,” he said.
Debris continued to tumble downward, an avalanche of stone and gravel and dust that swept the cliff and the winding trail clean of goblins. So great was the destruction that, in many places, the entire pathway was carved away from the cliff. A cloud of dust lingered for a long time, obscuring their view, but as it gradually settled toward the water, it became clear that not a single one of the enemy warriors had survived the blast.
General Dayr wondered aloud. “The black powder is precious… and the preparations are always extensive. Had you planted the explosives in case Ankhar betrayed you? Or… you were planning to ignite those fuses all along?”
Jaymes looked at him, his expression cold and emotionless. “This is war,” he said curtly. “And the objective is to kill the enemy. I know this, and Ankhar knows this.”
And the war would go on.
CHAPTER THREE
Jaymes ordered his army to concentrate all three wings on the west bank of the Vingaard, south of the great fork in the middle of the plains. The generals put his orders into action while he himself traveled with only the two dozen Freemen of his personal guard. Captain Powell knew his commander well enough that, for the most part, the escorting knights rode several hundred yards behind Jaymes. The party followed the meandering course of that mighty river, so the lord marshal could enjoy a few days of relative leisure before immersing himself again in the complexities of command.
