served as ammunition. With the crossbows cocked and loaded, suspended beneath his cape, he felt better.
After dusk they got a brief respite as, at last, the pursuing army seemed to be sapped by the day-long battle. The humans were tired, too-dead weary, in fact-but the knowledge that survival depended on continuing southward provided powerful motivation, kept them moving long past the point of exhaustion.
During one of these lulls the Rose officer introduced himself to Jaymes as Captain Marckus, in the service of the Duke of Caergoth.
“Where’s your commander?” the swordsman asked.
“I saw him ride past, earlier,” Marckus remarked dryly. “He had a good horse under him.” The captain leaned over in his saddle and spat onto the ground. Then he squinted, staring at Jaymes.
“You look like you’ve held a command in your life,” he said. “Perhaps, as I have noticed, you know how to make ordinary men stand, to give courage with a word and a look. That’s not a thing that comes to many men. Tell me, were you once a knight?”
Jaymes scowled darkly. The question stung more than he had anticipated. “I did stand with the knights at Mason’s Ford,” he replied. “We held these bastards off over a long, bloody day.”
“Fair enough,” said Marckus, with a nod. He turned to ride back toward his end of the line, but his eyes lingered over the embossed hilt of Jaymes’s sword, now hanging at his side. “Nice weapon,” he said, before spurring his horse away.
The retreaters kept moving during the long, surprisingly cold night. The fighting faded away owing to the enemy’s fatigue, and the men kept marching southward in silent ranks. No one wanted to stop-and everyone understood that to fall behind was to die.
Near dawn, gray light suffused the plains, and the mass of men waiting to cross the bridge was visible even from two miles away. In a panicked throng, terrified soldiers scrambled, begged and pleaded for a chance to move onto the long span of white stone.
When Jaymes looked to the north, he saw that the army of Ankhar had made good use of the night’s rest. The goblins and other troops were refreshed, moving quickly, converging on the mass of terrified and disorganized humanity thronging at the entry to the bridge. Once again the worgs were in the lead, but now ogres and draconians were plainly visible, hastening to keep up with their mounted brethren. A compamy of armored men, apparently Dark Knights, rode at both flanks of the pursuing force.
The warrior rode over to Captain Marckus, who was staring at the scene. The veteran knight’s mustaches drooped, and his face was lined, as though he had aged ten years overnight.
“You should go down there,” Jaymes encouraged, pointing at the knot of disorder at the very terminus of the bridge. “Try to get them moving in some semblance of order-as fast as possible. They need an officer, someone to steady them. I’ll try to get our boys here to make a stand and gain for the rest a chance to get across.”
Marckus seemed ready to argue-no doubt he felt his place was here at the rear, facing the enemy.
“These men know you,” Jaymes argued. “You wear the crest of their duke. If they obey anyone, it will be you.”
The captain nodded, then offered a salute. “You’re a brave man,” he said.
“See you on the other side,” Jaymes replied.
He put the spurs to his horse’s heaving flanks and rode along before the line of swordsmen. The first rank of goblins on fleet wolves was bearing down rapidly, barely a mile away now.
“All right, lads,” Jaymes called out, assuming command. “The fools still haven’t learned their lesson. Let’s see if we can teach them how the men of Solamnia make war.”
“Chase!” roared Ankhar, striding back and forth through the increasingly ragged ranks of his mighty army.
His troops had won the great battle, he knew, but the full work was not done. If they could keep up the pressure, smash the remnants of Caergoth’s army on this side of the Garnet River, his would be a victory for the ages. If not, the humans would regroup.
Unfortunately, Rib Chewer’s worg riders were sadly depleted, many killed or wounded, the rest worn out and spread across twenty miles of foothill and plains. Blackgaard’s Dark Knights had done a great deal of killing in the early stages of the retreat, but now the huge horses were exhausted, barely capable of a staggering walk. He had two small companies of armored knights still fresh, and these were posted on the flanks of his pursuit force.
Yet Ankhar knew he was on the brink of an historic victory. If he could annihilate his enemy, the power of the knighthood would be broken across all Solamnia. The half-giant was determined to make that riverbank a killing ground.
He himself was so weary he could hardly stand, but he would not let that fatigue show.
Ankhar looked around, wishing he could have Laka’s counsel, but he couldn’t find her. He had told her to stay back from the fighting once it began, and her feeble legs would not allow her to keep pace with the pursuing army. Well, she would hear about the victory soon enough, and she would have to be satisfied.
“Come!” he roared, waving the emerald spearhead, the enchanted talisman of Hiddukel, over his head.
It may have been his imagination-or the bright sunlight-but it seemed the glow was not as intense as it had been at the start of the day.
Selinda had been restless for five days after arriving in Caergoth, but there was nothing to do but wait. For a time there had been no news. Then, yesterday, the rumors began to trickle in. She picked up from her servants and even from several courtiers of the duke’s court distressing rumors of invincible enemy hordes, a crushing defeat.
She proposed to Powell that they ride out onto the plains to see what was really going on. When he had suggested, not joking, that he would clap her in chains before allowing her to ride beyond Caergoth’s high walls, she had agreed to stay and wait.
Still, she sprang to her feet when she heard the first herald’s cry, and she was already down in the great hall when the Duke of Caergoth came striding through the doors of his mighty keep, flanked by Captain Reynaud. The nobleman stopped, shocked and a little confused, seeing Selinda waiting for him.
“How fared the battle?” she asked.
“Oh, fine,” he said. “I… I am so glad to see you. Can I offer you a glass of wine?”
“Aren’t there more important things right now?” she asked, stunned at his nonchalance.
“None that I can think of,” he said, snapping his fingers and sending a steward hurrying to the wine closet.
“I was terribly sorry to hear about the Duchess Martha,” the princess said. “Her death must be awful to bear.”
“These things happen,” he said, shrugging. “A small thing, compared to the killing out on the plains.”
“Was it a victory, then?” Selinda asked hopefully.
“Hard to say. Too soon to tell,” the duke replied dismissively before taking a large gulp of the wine the steward had just handed him. “I need to see my priest,” he added, “but then we’ll be having dinner-something splendid, to be sure. Can you join us?”
The princess frowned but saw she wasn’t going to get more information out of the duke, not right now. “Very well,” she said. “Thank you. When?”
Duke Crawford didn’t reply. He had already exited, heading for the temple of Shinare at a most undignified trot.
Through the long, dry morning the throng made its way across the bridge in steady ranks, paced by Captain Marckus’s steady voice and confident air. Jaymes and his diminishing company held the line against constant attacks. The goblins found renewed energy when they sensed the survivors were on the verge of escape.
For two hours the men of Solamnia fought a pitched battle at the north end of the long bridge. Jaymes commanded the soldiers at the rear, as Marckus moved others across the span as quickly as possible. Archers in the bridge towers added to the defense, and Ankhar’s troops were not able to rupture the determined front.
Finally, the rear guard was the last unit, standing in a tiny knot between the towers at the northern end. Leaving the ground littered with their dead, the pursuing goblins had fallen back slightly beyond the reach of the deadly crossbows on the bridge towers.
They waited as though to see what these last humans would do next. No need to fight and die in such close quarters, after all.
“Let us face the enemy here, men,” Jaymes announced. “Stand shoulder to shoulder, and don’t let them onto
