«They are driven beyond the need, for sleep. Dawn tomorrow.»
Pindanon spat upon the earthen floor.
«Then we must decide now how we will stop them once they are here,” Ander declared, hands running lightly over the Ellcrys staff.
«Simple enough,” Pindanon snapped impatiently. «Defend Baen Draw. Cordon it off. Stop them at the narrows before they reach the valley.»
Ander took a deep breath. «That was tried at Halys Cut. It failed. The Demons forced the Elven phalanx by sheer strength of numbers. There is no reason to believe that it would be any different this time.»
«There is every reason,” Pindanon insisted. «Our strength is not divided here as it was in the Breakline. Nor will the Demons be fresh and rested, if they march straight from the Flats. Cavalry may be used in support where it could not at the Cut. Oh, much is changed, I promise you. The result will be different this time.»
Ander glanced momentarily at Allanon, but the Druid said nothing. Pindanon came a step closer.
«Ander, give me command in your father’s stead. Let me set the defense as I know he would set it. The Elves can hold the Draw against those creatures, whatever their strength. Your father and I know… ”
«Commander.» The Elven Prince spoke softly, firmly. «I saw what the Demons are capable of doing at Halys Cut. I saw what they did to a defensive line that my father felt certain would hold them. This is a different sort of enemy we fight. It hates the Elves beyond understanding; it is driven by that hatred — so much so that dying means nothing. Can we say the same, we to whom life is so precious? I think not. We need something more than standard tactics if we are to survive this encounter.»
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Allanon’s brief nod.
Pindanon bristled. «You lack faith, my Lord Prince. Your father would not be so quick…»
Ander cut him short. «My father is not here. But if he were, he would speak to you as I have spoken. I seek suggestions, Commander — not an argument.»
Pindanon flushed darkly, then turned suddenly toward Allanon. «What has this one to say? Has he no thoughts to offer on how these Demons are to be stopped?»
Allanon’s dark face was expressionless: «You cannot stop them, Commander. You can only slow them.»
«Slow them?»
«Slow them so that the bearer of the Ellcrys seed may gain time enough to find the Bloodfire and return.»
«That again!» Pindanon snorted. «Our destiny in the hands of that girl! Druid, I do not believe in old world legends. If the Westland is to be saved, it must be saved through the courage of her men–at–arms — through the skill and experience of her soldiers. Demons may die as other things of flesh and blood.»
«Such as Elves,” the Druid replied darkly.
There was a long silence. Pindanon turned away from the others, hands clasping angrily behind his back. After a moment, he wheeled back on them.
«Do we stand at Baen Draw or not, Prince Ander? I hear no suggestions but my own.»
Ander hesitated, wishing Allanon would say something. But it was Stee Jans who stepped forward, his rough voice breaking the silence.
«My Lord, may I speak?»
Ander had almost forgotten that the Legion Commander was there. He glanced at the big man and nodded.
«My Lord, the Free Corps has faced similar odds on more than one occasion while in the service of the Borderlands. It is a matter of pride with us that while our enemies have frequently been stronger than we, still we have survived and they have not. We have learned some hard lessons, my Lord. I offer one of them to you now. It is this — never settle a stationary defensive line where superior numbers will overrun you. We have learned to split our defensive front with a series of mobile lines that shift with the flow of battle. These lines attack and retreat in sequence, pulling the enemy first one way, then the other, striking always on the flanks as the enemy turns to repel each new assault, withdrawing beyond the enemy’s reach when the strike is done.»
Pindanon snorted. «Then you neither gain nor even hold ground, Commander.»
Stee Jans turned to him. «When the enemy has been pulled far enough out in his efforts to catch you, when his lines have thinned and split, then you close ranks to either side and collapse on him. Like so.»
He placed his hands in a V and brought them together with a clap. There was a startled silence.
«I don’t know,” Pindanon muttered doubtfully.
«How would you defend Baen Draw?» Ander pressed.
«I would use a variation of what I have just described to you,” Stee Jans replied. «Longbows on the slopes of the Kensrowe over the mouth of the Draw to harry the advance. Foot soldiers at its head, as if you meant to hold it as you tried to hold Halys Cut. When the Demons attack, stand for a time then give way. Let them break through. Give them a rabbit to chase, a cavalry command to draw them on. When their lines are strung out, their flanks exposed, close on them from both sides, quickly, before they can fall back or be reinforced. Use lances to keep them from you. The Demons lack our weapons. If you stay beyond their reach, they cannot harm you. When you have destroyed their front ranks, let the rabbit pull trough a second rush. Take them another way; keep them off balance. Concentrate on their flanks.»
He finished. The Elves stared at the Borderman. Pindanon frowned.
«Who would be the rabbit in this?»
Stee Jans smiled crookedly. «Who else, Commander?»
Pindanon shrugged. Ander looked over at him questioningly.
«It might work,” the old warrior admitted grudgingly. «If the rabbit is any good, that is.»
«The rabbit knows a few tricks,” Stee Jans replied: «That is why it is still alive after so many chases.»
Ander glanced quickly at Allanon. The Druid nodded.
«Then we have our plan for the defense of the Sarandanon,” the Elven Prince announced. His hand clasped Pindanon’s, then — that of the Iron Man. «Let us make certain now that it succeeds.»
Later that night, when all was in readiness for the morrow’s battle and he was alone, Ander Elessedil paused to reflect on how fortunate it was that Stee Jans had been present at his meeting with Pindanon. It was only then that it occurred to him that it might not have been good fortune at all, but a foresight peculiar to the enigmatic dark wanderer they knew as Allanon.
Chapter Thirty–Two
They buried Arion Elessedil at first light of dawn. His brother, Pindanon, and four dozen of the Home Guard interred him in the traditional manner of the Elves, at the birth of the new day, at the time of beginning. They bore him in silence to an oak–shaded bluff below Baen Draw that looked west over the blue expanse of the Innisbore and east across the green valley of the Sarandanon. There the firstborn of Eventine Elessedil was laid to rest, his body returned to the earth that had given it life, his spirit set free once more.
They left no marker to the Crown Prince. Allanon had warned that there were some among the Demons who would search out such testaments and prey upon the dead. There were no songs, no words of praise, no flowers — nothing to show that Arion Elessedil had ever been. There remained nothing of Eventine’s firstborn but memories.
Ander saw the tears in the eyes of those who gathered with him and felt that memories might be enough.
Less than an hour later, the Demons attacked the Elves at Baen Draw. Down out of the northern hills they streamed, their screams and howls shattering the stillness of the dawn. They came as they had come at Halys Cut, a mass of twisted dark bodies surging forward like the unleashed waters of a flood.
At the lower end of the Draw, the Elven phalanx waited, rows of lancers and Pikemen standing shoulder to shoulder with weapons braced. As the foremost Demons clawed their way toward them, Elven longbows hummed along the slopes of the Kensrowe and the air was filled with feathered arrows. Demons convulsed and fell, buried beneath those who came after. Wave after wave of dark shafts ripped through their ranks, and hundreds died in the
