shields?”
This the dukes did.
Soon the king’s archers were joined by six hundred more from the dukes’ armies. Moments later, another swarm of arrows descended upon them, and this time many of them struck true. Eibithar’s bowmen had brought shields as well as their bows and quivers, but still a number of them fell, their screams making Aindreas flinch beneath his shield.
“Loose your arrows at will!” Gershon called.
And a moment later the moor seemed to sing with the thrumming of so many bows. Cries of pain rose from the Aneiran army, like a distant echo of those that had come from Eibithar’s sons a few seconds before.
More darts fell around Aindreas, and more were sent hurtling toward the enemy.
“This is madness,” the duke muttered.
“I quite agree.”
Gershon was closer than Aindreas had known.
“I didn’t mean-”
“It’s all right, my lord. I believe I understand. But I’m at a loss as to what to do. It’s too dark and too dangerous to send the swordsmen forward, particularly with both armies loosing arrows blindly at one another.”
“What if we set one volley aflame?”
“My lord?”
“We wouldn’t even have to light all of them. We wouldn’t want to, because it would make them too easy to avoid. But if we light some of them, we might be able to see where the enemy is.”
“A fine idea, my lord,” Gershon said, sounding as if he thought Aindreas a genius. “I’ll speak with the captains right away.”
It took some time to get the arrows wrapped in oilcloth and lit, and in the meantime the armies traded volley after volley. Finally Eibithar’s archers loosed the flaming arrows and the duke followed their arcing flight wondering what their fires would reveal.
Only when they struck, though, did he understand how badly he and the others had miscalculated. Several of Aneira’s bowmen lay dead on the ground and perhaps two hundred others could be seen dodging the arrows that continued to fall. But the rest of the army was gone.
“Demons and fire!” Gershon rasped. “They’ve gone on. It was all a ruse.”
The Aneiran archers turned and ran, and after a moment’s hesitation, the swordmaster called for his men to attack. Instantly the king’s army surged forward, followed closely by the soldiers of Labruinn, Tremain, and Kentigern.
“How far ahead do you think they are?” Caius asked, as the soldiers overran Aneira’s men.
Gershon had already remounted. “They could have gained an hour on us. Maybe more.” He spat a curse. “I’m a fool!” He rubbed a hand over his face. “We’ll have to drive the men even harder now, keep them at a trot for as long as we can.”
The dukes climbed onto their horses, and Eibithar’s army resumed its pursuit of the Solkarans. There were fewer of the enemy ahead of them now, but still enough to make a difference in Kearney’s battle with the empire. The soldiers, heartened by their easy victory over the archers, maintained a remarkably brisk pace for some time before finally flagging as the night wore on. As dawn approached, Gershon was forced to call a respite. The soldiers seemed utterly spent, and Aindreas felt what little hope he had left wither and die.
But when the sky began to brighten at last, revealing the Solkaran army, the duke’s spirits lifted. It seemed that the Aneiran swordsmen had not left their bowmen as early as Aindreas had feared. Or perhaps they too had taken some time to rest during the night. The Aneirans had increased their advantage, but not so much that they could not still be caught. He sensed that the soldiers behind him realized this as well and he felt the lethargy of a long night being lifted from Eibithar’s army.
Looking past the enemy, the duke saw far in the distance several thin plumes of pale smoke rising into the morning sky. He thought he could see tents as well, and a great host of men. The battle plain. It would still be several hours before the Aneirans reached the other armies gathered there-he could only assume that Kearney’s forces held the southern ground-but that made the morning’s pursuit even more urgent.
“It seems the king has held them,” Lathrop said, already mounted and ready to ride on.
Gershon gave a curt nod, his expression grim. “All the more reason to keep moving.”
Lathrop eyed him in the dim grey light. “I quite agree, swordmaster,” he said pointedly. “I was merely observing what I suppose was already obvious to you.”
The swordmaster’s mouth twitched. “Forgive me, my lord.”
“I already have. I believe it’s time you forgave yourself. We all shared equally in what happened during the night. And to be honest, I’m not certain there was anything else we could have done. The Solkaran’s deception didn’t make their arrows any less deadly. Until we defeated the archers, we couldn’t resume our pursuit. I thought you dealt with them as well as anyone could have. And your decision to light our arrows aflame was quite brilliant.”
“That was Lord Kentigern’s idea, my lord.”
Lathrop looked at Aindreas, raising an eyebrow. “Really.”
“Don’t look so surprised, Tremain. I still have occasional lucid moments.”
“So it would seem.”
Aindreas had to grin. Truth was, he had always liked Lathrop.
Gershon rode back to address the men, and though Aindreas couldn’t hear all that the swordsmaster said, he could imagine well enough. He had rallied armies himself, and the words never changed much. Judging from the earsplitting roar that greeted Trasker’s words, it seemed to work on this morning.
They started forward again moments later, and almost immediately began to gain on the enemy. It seemed that the Aneirans were slowing their pace deliberately, as if they suddenly understood that they were to be crushed between the two armies of Eibithar. Throughout the morning Gershon’s forces drew nearer to them, his soldiers singing so loudly that the Solkarans could not help but hear.
Aindreas kept an eye on the distant armies as well. They were fighting again, and though the distance was too great to make out much of what was happening, it didn’t seem that the battle lines moved at all. He could only imagine the carnage.
“Our soldiers may well tip the balance.”
He turned to find Lathrop riding beside him.
“They may indeed, if there’s anyone left alive when we get there.”
“I’m sorry to have to ask this, Lord Kentigern, but I feel that it is my duty as a loyal subject of the king. Can you be trusted not to betray us at the end?”
He should have expected this. It shouldn’t have stung at all. Just because he had chosen to turn from the path he had been on did not mean that the arrogance and self-righteousness of Glyndwr and his allies would magically disappear. Yet the question cut his heart like a blade, perhaps because he had always thought that Tremain was different from the rest, that he might have understood, even as he continued to stand with the king.
“Yes, Lord Tremain. I can be trusted. Before leaving Kentigern, I swore to you on Brienne’s memory that I would keep faith with you and your king. Do you honestly think that I would dishonor her in that way?”
“Aindreas, I’m sorry. But I had to-”
“No,” the duke said. “You didn’t.” He kicked at his horse’s flanks and rode ahead of the man. And for the rest of the morning he kept to himself.
By midday, they were once again as close to the Aneirans as they had been the previous evening. They were also near enough to the battle to make out the colors of the pennons fluttering in the wind above the armies of the realm. The purple and gold of Eibithar flew over the King’s Guard, and Aindreas also saw the colors of Thorald, Heneagh, and, of course, Curgh.
Seeing the brown and gold of Javan’s house, the duke felt his chest tighten with old, familiar pains-grief, fury, bloodlust. Maybe Lathrop had been justified in asking about his intentions after all. Could he really fight beside Curgh’s duke, beside his son?
