“That,” said Thelgaard, a broad grin cracking the bristle of his great beard, “is a risk that I am well prepared to take.”
He was still grinning as his noble counterpart mounted and led his party of officers back into the rainy night.
Ankhar raised his hand, thrusting the glowing speartip high over his head in the rain-soaked night. The green light, Hiddukel’s blessing, stabbed through the murk and mist, a beacon to all his vast legions. The half-giant howled as he waved that enchanted weapon back and forth, feeeling the rush of power surge through his veins.
The great horde numbered more than six thousand now, with several more tribes of gobs having come down from the mountains, drawn like bees to honey as word of the sacking of Garnet spread. From the high valleys they had joined the ranks, eager and willing to obey his orders, with the promise of more pillage and plunder just ahead.
The trading center of Luinstat was to be his next target, and he knew the markets and warehouses there were stuffed with goods from across Solamnia. Three armies of knights had emerged from their cities to defend the place, but at last report the human forces remained scattered, with the largest still on the other side of the river. The two smaller armies stood nearly astride Ankhar’s northward path.
“Halt!” roared the hulking commander, and the thousands of troops around him immediately came to a standstill upon that command. The half giant nodded, pleased at the increased discipline, the steadiness of march and unity of purpose that his followers had developed, improving with every passing day.
“You learn!” he crowed. “You march together now, like veteran soldiers. You attack together! Attack when Ankhar gives the order, not when you see foe. Sometimes Ankhar tell you to retreat. Sometimes retreat can turn enemy into fools!
“These my words. They are Truth!”
“Truth! Ankhar! Truth!” The cry was echoed from six thousand throats, the deep sound booming across the plains. Again and again the goblins and hobgoblins echoed the words.
“We make camp here for the night, brave ones,” Ankhar roared. “Prince of Lies tells me that tomorrow we feast on blood!”
The answering roar washed across the great leader’s shoulders. He didn’t feel the rain, and even the thick shroud of the night was naught but a filmy barrier to his keen, dark-sensitive eyes. Now those eyes made out Laka coming towards him. The old crone grinned, making a display of her sharp teeth, shaking the rattle she had made from the skull of a human slain in the sacking of Garnet.
“Portents favorable, mighty lord,” the crone cackled. “Humans have doubts. They fear Ankar’s might, cunning, and courage.”
“That what I hoped,” he replied evenly. “Will Hiddukel aid us?”
“No doubt, son. He whisper doubts in lordly ears, shake courage of men when they sleep. He sew confusion and hesitation so you, chosen one, may reap harvest in blood.”
Ankhar raised his broad nostrils, sniffed the moist air, and nodded in pleasure. “I smell wolf. Outriders approach.”
His warriors were making their crude beds on the open plain-no tents and bedrolls necessary for these hearties! — as the first of the worg-riders loped into camp. The massive wolves seemed to grin with their long tongues hanging down from their fanged jaws. Several of the goblin riders slipped from their saddles and hastened to approach the hulking war-leader.
“What word of foes?” demanded Ankhar.
The captain of the scouts, the lean and wiry goblin known as Rib Chewer, knelt in the mud at the half-giant’s feet. “My lord, they appear confused. There is one force solid upon the riverbank, no more than two leagues south of here. Compact like a hedgehog it is, a camp bristling with spears. But blind and stupid as a hedgehog too-with no outriders or pickets more than an arrow’s flight from the main body.”
“Which troops are these?”
“They fly the banner of the White Crown, lord. The other group of knights, they who flaunt the sigil of the silver sword, is a league away from the crowns, away from the river. They are poised in line on the plain, facing to the south, and very well-entrenched it seems.”
“There a league of space between them?”
“Aye, lord,” the goblin replied. “There is nary a picket nor a watchman in all that gap. The Sword Knights have a line at least as long, with outriders even farther toward the mountains. They gave us a merry chase, but their great steeds could not perform on the muddy ground.”
“No.” The half-giant nodded in satisfaction. He knew that the wolves were light and lean, steady of endurance and quick and savage in attacking. They made perfect light cavalry, especially when they were guided by the most intelligent and articulate of his scouts.
“What about other great army, Rose Lord’s troops? They look so splendid and move like drunken snails.” Ankhar scowled into the night. That was the force that worried him most, those gleaming knights on horseback and in chariots, the catapults and ranks of deadly crossbows. He had been dismayed to learn, from his oracle, Laka, that the mighty Rose Lord’s army had marched from Caergoth, but they had approached the river at a very lackluster pace, and he hoped that his own rapid advance would bring him to battle before the Rose Lord was on the field.
“They are nearby, lord,” reported the goblin scout, “but they have yet to cross the river. They are gathered just beyond the nearest ford but made camp early, with great tentings and tarpings to hold off the rain, and fires to warm chilly human flesh. They cook and boast, even as they shiver and stare into the darkness. They are blind as moles and did not even see us as we skulked through the night.
“Good. This as I hoped. You think they stay there for long time?”
“I cannot be sure, great lord. They were not digging, as humans do when they wish to make a dirt-fort. So they may be planning to cross the river in the morning.”
“We not give them time,” Ankhar decided. “Rib Chewer, gather worg riders. Strike mountain flank of Sword army before dawn. Your wolves make the attack. Hold back a dozen. They beat drums. Sound like marching troops.”
“Marching, O great lord? Not riding?” Rib Chewer narrowed his eyes, trying to imagine the half-giant’s strategy.
“Aye. They sound like army marching around their flank, at foot of mountains. Make lord believe you there in great numbers, that we try to go around his left and make for city. Strike quickly, then dance away. Do not let them unite strength against your fleet riders.”
The goblin scout grinned, a wicked slash of sharpened teeth gleaming across his leathery face. “It shall be as you wish, my lord. They will chase and harry, but not catch us.”
“Yes. Go now. Ride through the night,” Ankhar said, pleased with all he had heard. “Strike before first dawn. In the darkness, humans easy to confuse.”
“What of the rest of great army? Thousands of gobs and hobs, all thirsting for blood?” Laka asked, as she sidled up behind the great war leader, giving him a momentary start-he whom she had suckled at her breast when he was an orphaned babe. “You not make us wait here in the darkness, my lord?”
“No,” Ankhar said, shaking his great, shaggy head in annoyance. “Important work at riverbank. Test this hedgehog. See how sharp are his quills.”
Horns blared through the darkness, shrill alarms ringing across Duke Rathskell’s camp. The lord burst out of his tent, buckling on his rapier, dismayed to see it was still raining. There was no shred of daylight to break the impenetrable murk of the night.
“Curse this blackness,” he snapped. “What’s going on? Are we being attacked?”
“Excellency!” A torch-bearing guard ran up to him to report. In the garishly flaring light the man’s eyes were wild with fear. “The pickets on the left flank report a fierce assault. Goblins on worgs, striking hard. And sounds in the night, a drumbeat of marching footsteps! It seems as though the monsters are indeed stealing a march on us, coming around the east flank!”
“Damn the enemy’s cunning!” gasped the duke. “It is as I feared! The horde seeks to pass us by, to close upon Luinstat, perhaps even Solanthus itself, while all of our troops are here in the open.”
Captain Rankin, the leader of the infantry, came running from the darkness, anxiously buckling his sword. “What are your orders, Excellency?” he asked breathlessly.
