“Brutish. Plays dumb, but he’s not. Oblivious to proper manners, though.”
They shared a laugh. The orc-blood had interrupted their conversation twice, and after the second time, Antonil had sent him to another table. On his way, the elf had zapped his rear with a thin bolt of electricity.
“And the wizard, that mercenary leader…Tarlak?”
Bram settled into his own blankets and shifted back and forth so the grass smoothed out below him.
“Thinks he is far funnier than he really is. Held his liquor better than anyone else there. And he’s a total ass.”
Ian lay down and scooted closer to the fire.
“Think he’d really turn me into if frog if I had kissed the elven lady?” he asked.
“Probably. I might have paid him just to see it, so long as he could reverse the curse.”
Bram laughed at Ian’s incomprehensible grumble. They remained silent for a moment, both staring up at the stars.
“What of their men, and the angels? Do you think we stand a chance?”
“They’ve fought more battles than our own have,” said Bram. “And they’re driven on by desperation and ideals…a potent combination. They will defend, and kill without remorse. Ker will survive. I am certain of that now.”
Ian thought a moment, and Bram knew that was a sign the man was trying to say something he thought he might not like.
“Their ideals,” he said. “You mean their faith? It’s infectious. With the priests of Karak gone, they’ll pour into Ker once this war ends. We may not owe them loyalty through any official means, but neither were we sworn to Karak. It took slaughtering all of their priests and paladins to free us from their grasp. I would hate to do the same to them. These people are better than that. They deserve better, especially if they stand with us as allies.”
Ian paused again, and Bram inwardly sighed. Couldn’t he just be quiet and go to sleep?
“You know,” said the knight. “There was one other thing that struck me as odd. They have no camp followers. None at all!”
Bram broke out into laughter.
“Sleep well,” he said. “Tomorrow we march for Bloodbrick.”
T hey left early morning, traveling west. They reached the Corinth River by midday, and from there they followed it upstream until they arrived at the bridge. Already the defenses were in full construction. Bram met the nobleman responsible, a Lord Peleth who had provided over two thirds of the initial builders and defenders, totaling near two thousand. After their rushed greeting, they went to survey the defenses while the rest of the arriving army set up camp.
“We’ve heard many wild rumors,” Peleth said as he walked ahead. He was a large man, his belly round and his pants held tight by an over-extravagant gold buckle. While they walked, he gestured wildly with his right hand and massaged his goatee with his left. “Men and women fleeing Mordan have told us their priest-king holds sway over the dead, and that his soldiers fight with a fanatical zeal. We’ve tried to build our defenses accordingly.”
He led the king through a maze of tents leading to the bridge. Just before the bridge they stepped into and then out of a deep trench.
“In case we have to fall back,” Peleth said.
“I’m no simpleton,” said Bram.
Peleth shrugged and continued on. The bridge itself was a pale imitation of the Gods’ Bridges, but the Corinth was no Rigon River, either. Neither top nor bottom had arches: instead there were seven columns on either side propping up the flat crossing. Despite its name, the bricks were a faded gray.
“We’ve built several lines of defense,” Peleth said, pointing to the palisades of wood wrapped together with rope. “Just a few, and kept them low enough to strike over the tops. It’ll be tough climbing over if we have to retreat, though.”
“Then I suggest we don’t retreat.”
“I don’t expect us to lose the bridge,” Peleth said. “Only reason why I didn’t make a retreat any easier. Like I said, I’ve been talking to these people, and I know what’ll happen. If they’re that damned certain to win, they won’t try to crush us on the bridge. They’ll wade right through the water and to Karak with the casualties. Rain’s been low, and it’ll only go up to their chests.”
“Do we have the men to protect the riverside?” asked Bram.
Peleth gave him a smug grin. “Just you wait until you see what I’ve got waiting for them should they try to cross.”
They left the bridge and went to one side. Bram looked about and was sorely disappointed.
“Where are the palisades along the banks?” he asked. “We have time, and wood from the forest nearby. Why leave the riverside defenseless?”
“Look closer into the water,” Peleth said, his smug grin not at all lessening.
Bram leaned over, but saw only mud and his frowning reflection.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Exactly. I’ve been wanting to try this since that Moore the Red pulled a similar tactic on me up near Lake Cor. Brought me a whole mess of smiths. Follow me.”
He led them back into the camps, toward the heavy sound of hammers. Sure enough, ten master smiths worked around hastily constructed forges, their helpers hurrying to and fro. Bram saw them working on either square plates of iron, or thin spears of metal.
“I don’t like riddles,” Bram said. “What is all this?”
“Here,” Peleth said, reaching past one of the smiths and grabbing a strange object. “Take a hold of this.”
Bram accepted it, and he turned it over in his hands. It was an iron plate, flat and twice the size of his hands. Attached to its center was a four inch barb.
“Watch,” said Peleth, taking it out of his hands and placing it on the ground. He hovered his foot above it, gently letting the tip press against his boot.
“You hope to hamper them when they charge,” said Bram.
“Not just hamper them. I’ve had them working on these nonstop for weeks now. The ore’s low quality, had a stockpile of it for ages wondering what to do with it. These’ll work perfect. They’ll be rushing ahead, all hollering and hoping to catch us by surprise, but then they’ll plant foot on these beauties. They’ll drown, Bram. These won’t let go, and they’re not light. Get a whole mess of men behind, pushing and shoving to move forward, and they’ve got nowhere to go but down into the water. Best of all, no one will have a clue what’s going on until it’s too late.”
Bram grinned at the simplicity.
“Not bad,” he said. “Though I think we should still set up some palisades. How many do you have of these devils?”
“Over a thousand,” said Peleth. “My men have been shoving them into the water night and day.”
“A thousand?” He looked at the contraptions with a whole new respect. “Damn. I’m glad we’re not the ones trying to cross.”
“And don’t you worry about holding that river side,” Peleth said. “I may not look the warlord, but you’ve been treated with silk gloves down in Angkar. Up by the lake, we have the real bandits. You get your knights and hold that bridge, where the fighting is bloody and honorable. Down here in the mud…I got my own plans. My men’ll be ready. I promise you that.”
Bram smiled, clasped the man’s wrist, and pumped it twice.
“This works, I’ll make sure your lands double in size,” he said.
“The other lords won’t like that,” Peleth said.
Bram picked up one of the spike traps and held it before his face.
“The other lords didn’t give me these,” he said.
“S o where are you going?” Harruq asked as he neared.
Jerico winced, and he was glad the half-orc couldn’t see his guilty reaction.
“Was hoping to do this quiet,” he said. “But you’re not one to cooperate just for the sake of being nice, are you?”
Harruq laughed. They stood at Jerico’s campfire near the outer edges of the camp. His tent, however, was
