“Good,” Hoarst replied. He spoke a spell that bestowed the same power on himself, and together the two men soared upward, passing the sheer cliffs, rising effortlessly to the very crest of the long, tall ridge. They crossed another valley-a gorge, really-where the Black Army engineers were building a slender bridge high above a raging torrent. Blackgaard pronounced himself pleased with the progress of the span, the last link in his road.
Finally Blackgaard and Hoarst the Gray stood on top of a pinnacle of rock, high above the road and the pass, higher up even than the summit of the High Clerist’s Tower. They looked down upon the narrow passage, the only connection between the city of Palanthas and the whole vast lands of Solamnia across the plains.
A column of knights was riding along that road, moving quickly through the pass without pausing at the great fortress. The garrison troops of the tower had turned out to watch the column pass, and even without benefit of magic, Hoarst was able to identify the tall rider at the head of the column. The white banner of his personal guard, the Freemen, trailed over the group as they picked up their pace, starting down the long, winding track to the plains.
“The emperor rides to deal with the threat that he knows,” the Gray Robe said in satisfaction. “He attacks the army that he sees as a threat to his new nation.”
“Do you think Ankhar will be able to withstand the knights if the emperor marshals his armies?”
Hoarst shrugged. “It is not important. The significant detail is that all of his military strength is on the east side of the Vingaard Mountains now. This pass, below us, controls all access to and from the city.”
Blackgaard nodded. “And my army is only a day’s march away from here. We can catch up with them down the road as soon as that bridge is finished.”
“The fortress is still a challenging target,” Hoarst noted. “But I believe my magic will be able to help you gain the top of the outer wall.”
“Good-that’s all I need. If I can obtain the wall, the fortress will fall. And when I take the fortress-”
“And when you control the fortress, you’ll control the road to Palanthas,” Hoarst concluded.
The captain nodded in agreement. He drew a deep breath, as though he couldn’t quite grasp the enormity of their opportunity. But he had seen the maps, the dispositions, and he saw the future.
“Then inevitably the great city must fall.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
It was only natural that, after the great victory on the border, the ogres of Lemish would want to celebrate for a few days. After all, they had destroyed a great army camp and a dozen frontier outposts with very few losses among their own forces and almost total annihilation of the enemy troops. Indeed, if any of the knightly forces had escaped, they had done so without attracting the ogres’ notice. The victorious army gathered at the site of their original triumph. In a nod to hygiene, Ankhar the Truth ordered the troops to haul the bodies of the slain knights more than a mile away onto the plains, downwind of their encampment.
After that task was completed, Ankhar turned them loose. He had learned quite a bit about managing an army during his first campaign against the knighthood. As a result, he let the ogres and their lesser allies gorge themselves on captured food rations and drink themselves silly on the many expropriated casks of rum, dwarf spirits, and ales. He participated in the guzzling, the wild dances, and the general feasting. He was grateful that he had brought Pond-Lily from Lemish so she could share his triumph, admire his prowess, and warm his bed at night.
But after two days of merrymaking he remembered he had more important matters to concern him. As the conquerors began to exhaust the captured stocks of liquor, the half-giant ordered his troops to assemble on the morning of the third day. Those captains who were slow to rise-which included all of them except Bloodgutter-were roused with heavy kicks of the half-giant’s own hobnailed boots. Those captains, in turn, were hastily scattered to administer the same persuasion to their men. Sounds of groaning and thumping, retching and grousing, echoed through the messy camp.
Within a few short hours, the whole force had been roused and prodded into some semblance of an assembly-that is, they all stood in a great circle, while Ankhar mounted a flat-topped boulder in the center. Already the tallest warrior in his army, he strutted and puffed atop the rock, relishing his power and glory.
“You ogres! You gobs and hobs! You are part of a great army!” he bellowed, his voice roaring across the plains. Even so, the army was too large for those in the back to hear, so Ankhar paused to allow his captains to repeat his words, relaying the message to all.
“We killed many knights and footmen here on the border. But this is just the beginning!” His words were met with great shouts of approval, and he bared his tusks in a grin, letting the admiration of his army wash over him like a warm wind.
“Today we march! We take war to the knights wherever we find them! We kill, and we take booty. We will be rich, my warriors!”
Again his words provoked cheers. Ankhar raised the Shaft of Hiddukel over his head, and the green light emanating from the massive wedge of emerald seemed to cast all the plains in that same hue.
“I am Ankhar! I am the Truth! The Prince of Lies is my only master! And you, my warriors, are the Swords of Truth!”
The half-giant turned slowly through a complete circle, brandishing his mighty weapon, showing the glowing spearhead to all his troops. They cheered and shouted and bellowed as he grinned broadly.
“Now! Today! We march!” he shouted finally, gesturing to the west with the shaft. Immediately the ogres surged in that direction, hobs and gobs scattering to get out of the way of their massive comrades.
There was no strict formation to the march, though the veteran wargmaster Rib Chewer managed to gather his thousand wolves and their goblin riders together at the fore of the army. The fleet, savage mounts loped ahead of the mass, scouting for enemy resistance, making sure no devious ambush lurked hidden in a ravine, along a riverbank, or was masked by the tall grass.
Guilder the aurak probed into the future with his spells and peered into distances ahead of even the fast- riding warg riders. The sivaks flew overhead, returning to report there were no knights, no companies of human warriors, anywhere in their path.
“On all the plains,” crowed Laka to her son, proudly. “There is none who dares to stand against you!”
The old shaman held her rattle high then, with startling abruptness, swept up into the air. She cackled gleefully, clutching the wooden handle, allowing the brightly glowing talisman to bear her back and forth in the skies over the army. She was flying!
“Come down here this instant!” Ankhar barked.
She only laughed, flying higher. “See the power of Hiddukel!” Laka shouted. “Behold the might of the Prince of Lies! He bears his humble servant in his mighty fist!”
She swept higher, so all the warriors could see her and be impressed. They all gaped in awe as she finally swooped down to land breathlessly before the astonished figure of her stepson, Ankhar the Truth.
“How did you do that?’ he demanded.
“I watched the dracos. I prayed to my Prince. And he bade me fly!” she replied, gloating.
There was a new swagger about her as she strutted up to the company of sivak draconians and their captain, Guilder. They greeted her warmly, as one who had demonstrated a power they thought only they themselves possessed, and Ankhar was amazed.
But it was time to resume the march. Heart Eater, Bullhorn, and Bloodgutter pushed through the mass of ogres, coming to march close beside the army commander. They thundered along, each captain burly and powerful, master of a whole tribe of ogres. They stood only shoulder height beside Ankhar, though each of the trio seemed to bask in their master’s glow, puffing up in his shadow. They competed with each other over who would stand closest to Ankhar, elbowing and jostling, snarling and snapping their jaws.
Even so, none of them barked so much as a protest when the withered old hob-wench pushed between them next to her stepson. The bull ogres meekly deferred to Laka. As always, she clutched her death’s-head rattle, and she regarded the half-giant seriously as she fell into step beside him.
