The figure was still for a moment. His two companions looked to him for a response and Bellamus wondered whether he had gone too far. He had no doubt who would win a contest of strength if the Anakim decided not to accept his feeble flag. “I did,” said the warlord, at last. “I wish you’d sent it attached to the rest of my father’s body.”
Roper. “You don’t have many men, my Lord Roper,” observed Bellamus, looking up at the ridge. “Enough for a surprise attack, not enough to repel our forces. Unless there are more that I cannot see, I think you will struggle, even with your good position.”
“We have enough,” said Roper, as though surprised Bellamus would think such a thing. “Where is Lord Northwic?”
“Below, with the army. You wouldn’t gain much by killing me here.”
The stern exterior cracked and Roper burst out laughing. He glanced at Bellamus’s bodyguards, who could not understand the plosive words he and Bellamus exchanged and sat tense upon their horses. “I’m not so sure about that. I hear Lord Northwic is capable, but you? You’re something a little different, aren’t you?”
“Perhaps a little, my lord,” said Bellamus modestly. Roper was smiling to himself and Bellamus found himself unexpectedly liking this lad.
“Well, Bellamus, we won’t kill you. Not here. Not under a white flag. But I’d like to know what you did with my father’s sword.”
“Bright-Shock, was it?” queried Bellamus. Roper did not object. “It’s being put to good use,” he said. He saw Roper’s eyes rake his person, searching for some evidence of the blade, and Bellamus chuckled. “Forget it, my lord. You won’t get it back. I must congratulate your smiths on its quality, though.”
Roper grunted. “It is hard to see which Sutherner would have use for an Unthank-silver blade. Well, Bellamus, did you have something you wanted to discuss? Because I must say we have conclusive ideas about what’s about to happen.”
“What is about to happen?” asked Bellamus, bluntly.
The Black Lord laughed again. “You should attack us, Bellamus,” he said. “And you will find out.” He nodded at Bellamus and turned his monstrous horse back towards the col, followed by his two companions. Bellamus watched them go for a moment before turning back towards the mists.
“A general who rides a destrier?” said one of his bodyguards as soon as they were out of earshot. “What is the range of that thing, four hundred yards?”
“A strange choice,” agreed Bellamus. More appropriate would have been a courser: faster, lighter and much better suited to spilling orders over a battlefield. A destrier—a full and heavily muscled battle horse—was a shocking beast to ride into combat but would tire quickly beneath a general. Still, Bellamus had been impressed by Roper, who seemed to have grown into his role in what must have been testing circumstances.
They collected the horsemen who waited below and descended back into the mist, Bellamus silent and his face crinkled. Swallowed again by the haze, it was not long before he discovered his restless infantry waiting for him. Lord Northwic was there on horseback, pushing his way up to the front of the line, followed by a great banner featuring a black bear on a white background.
“You’ve seen them?” he called out to Bellamus.
“I’ve spoken to them,” said Bellamus, pulling his horse about, next to Northwic. “Roper is in command, riding what looks like a hippopotamus.”
“A what?”
“Forget it.”
“How many of them are there?”
“Perhaps thirty thousand,” supplied Bellamus. “And they’re defending a col further up the valley.”
Lord Northwic frowned. “Why? They’re hoping we’ll attack them?”
“I doubt it,” said Bellamus. “They’re up to something. This is planned.”
The mists were dissolving in the sunlight that permeated the valley, obliterating the frost that encrusted the grass. Thousands of men were gathering around Bellamus and Northwic, and knights dressed in their full plate armour were beginning to appear on their flanks.
“Well, we know where a sizeable portion of their army is,” said Northwic. “Let us wipe it out.”
“Yes, yes, but what are we missing?” said Bellamus, distractedly.
Northwic raised an eyebrow as if to say it hardly mattered. He turned away and began assembling the soldiers, barking the longbowmen into an advance, pulling those warriors with shields to the front of the line, pushing the knights back in reserve.
Bellamus ignored all this. He rode aside from the preparations, the frown still on his face. What are they trying to achieve here? If this is a diversion, it’s a big one. He looked up at the col, becoming visible as the mist continued to evaporate. It was a formidable defensive position, but gave the Anakim few options for springing surprises. So if there was more to this situation, it was unlikely to be here. What if it is a diversion? What are they distracting us from? There was one obvious clue to that: they had attacked the southern end of the valley. If this was a diversion, it was probably calculated to tie up their forces away from the northern end. And what is at the northern end?
Bellamus grew still. “Dear God.” He looked around for Lord Northwic, who was by this point a hundred yards away. Bellamus did not immediately react. For a moment, he merely stroked the mane of his horse gently. He patted its warm neck a few times. At the northern end of the valley: the wagon park. Their supplies, their equipment; their lifeline in this alien world. At that moment, the vast majority of their army was flooding towards this Anakim force. They had responded mindlessly, like a pack of dogs, to this simple threat, and had left the irreplaceable undefended. Bellamus had no proof, but it suddenly seemed glaringly obvious. “And we’ll be too bloody late,” he said
