the city. But he had not counted on the captain who had ridden like a man possessed to warn of his advance across the border. He had not counted on the indomitable spirit and resolve of the Anuirean troops.
And he had not counted on Michael’s ability to inspire them. In calling Michael the “Pretender,” Arwyn had devalued him, and in devaluing him, he had underestimated him, as well.
Both armies took up position and settled down to wait for dawn. The soldiers took their rest upon the ground, with their weapons by their side, ready to form for battle on a moment’s notice, but Michael did not rest. With Aedan by his side, carrying his standard, he rode among the troops, talking to them, asking about their families, calling many of them by name-it was amazing to Aedan how many of those names the emperor could remember-and Aedan watched their faces light up as Michael rode among them, encouraging them and speaking to them like a fellow soldier, not a monarch.
To one group: “So, a brisk evening walk, a short rest beneath the stars, and we’re ready for the morning’s work, eh, boys? We’ll show them what we’re made of, won’t we?”
To another: “Well, are you boys ready to give Arwyn a sound thrashing?
Shall we push him all the way to Thurazor and let the goblins have his liver for breakfast?”
And to some troops from Elinie: “What do you say, boys, shall we get this nonsense over with so you can all go back to Elinie and fish the Saemil? I hear the trout there grow this big-” holding his hands three feet apart-“and jump right out of the river and straight into your frying pans! I think
maybe I’ll go with you after we’ve taught these louts a lesson. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone fishing.
He has the gift, thought Aedan. Seeing him now, relaxed and confident, bantering with them in a friendly manner, they would never have suspected that only a few days ago, he had been locked within his chambers, plunged into deep depression and drinking himself into a stupor. He was just as vulnerable to weakness as the rest of them, but he never for a moment let that show. His confidence gave them confidence. His refusal to feel fatigue gave them energy. And even Aedan started to believe. He felt his spirits rising and suddenly, defeat did not seem possible.
When dawn came, Arwyn’s troops attacked. By then, Michael had Korven pass the word to all the officers. “We shall let Arwyn come to us,- he said.
“We shall let them make the charge, and see us standing here, implacable, immobile, like a wall on which his attack shall break. Let each man stand in silence. I want no battle cries. Let them see our faces-fearless, still, and resolute as death.”
As the Army of Boeruine made their charge, the Anuireans stood firm, silent and motionless as statues. Aedan saw Michael anxiously scanning the charging ranks for Arwyn’s standard. Yes, there it was, slightly to the left and in the forefront, as could be expected. Arwyn was a warlord in every sense of the word. He would not remain behind in safety, watching from a rise as his troops attacked. He would ride in the vanguard, with his standardbearer by his side, so that his troops could see him leading them.
As Aedan watched them come, he thought, by Haelyn, he has brought them all. He has pulled back all his troops from the forest borders of Alamie and the Five Peaks, the forces from Talinie and Taeghas, and the garrisons in Brosengae. And there were goblin fighters with them, wolfrider detachments from the Prince of Thurazor. He must have left no one behind to guard the rear, thought Aedan. This time, it was all or nothing.
As the front ranks met, trumpet calls were sounded in the rear of Michael’s army, and on cue, they quickly started advancing, moving to the left and right, reforming into wings to envelop the flanks of Arwyn’s charging troops. Michael spurred his mount, and with sword raised, charged into them like a scythe cutting through wheat.
Immediately, his staff set spurs as well, trying to form a protective circle around him, but trying to protect Michael was like trying to catch the wind. He had set his sights on Arwyn’s standard, and his gaze had never left it.
Now, he tried to cut his way through to his enemy, the man who’d take his throne.
The clanging of steel against steel filled the air, as did the shouts of men and the neighing of horses. In almost no time at all, the ground was churned up by many feet and hooves, the grass torn and trampled, and the choking dust rising. Holding aloft the standard in one hand and his sword in the other and controlling his plunging mount with his knees, Aedan had no benefit of shield, but Sylvanna stayed on his left flank, protecting it while he struck out on his right, trying to stay near the emperor.
The battle was a wild melee now, and in the tumult and the confusion and the dust, the fighters
335 could know each other only by their colors and devices. Arwyn’s flanks were being battered, but he had the advantage of superior numbers, and his center remained strong. Here and there, fighters penetrated deep into the body of the opposing army, on both sides, while in other places, the ranks held on for longer until there were men on both sides hemmed in by their opponents and forced to turn in all directions as they fought.
The noise was deafening. Men fell and were trampled by the surging bodies all around them. Spears
