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Rorick was the first grand strategist of his time, and Conel was his best pupil. His encounter-battle with the Hygerians at Dryx ford showed his ability to react instantaneously, to force the battle to follow a shape he forced upon it, and to counter enemy stratagems so promptly it seemed he anticipated them.
Nor was he content with a victory. He knew the position in which Rorick and his men stood. He knew that he could not afford the day’s time lost in the battle and the necessary rest and regrouping after, so began an immediate forced march on the next day.
-The Hygerian War
Randell of Avantir
The Hygerians tried cavalry next, charging over the cobbles stones, their horses’ shoes throwing up sparks as they came in, determined to ride down the men in the gateway. The Warriors remained steady, bending their bows and loosing with a strange calmness. As the horsemen came closer, some of them cast their javelins at the men facing them. At that time, Rorick shouted a command and a line of spearmen moved forward through the ranks of archers to present a line of glittering spear-points to a seemingly invincible charge.
They did not halt it entirely; it was dim enough that the horses did not see, until the last moment, what they were charging against, and thus many of them impaled themselves. But they destroyed the effectiveness of the charge, for though that front rank of spearmen was broken up and thrown back, the horses in the second rank piled up against those in the first rank, stumbled over the dead and dying men and horses. Into this disorganization stepped the Warriors, shields up, swords ready, and in moments those of the cavalry who could were retreating.
They had a rest for some time as the Hygerian commanders conferred. Rorick inspected his men. “All of you with bows. See to it that every arrow counts. They will come this time determined to destroy us, and we must hold this gate a little longer.”
From above the gate someone called down, “Milord, five flaming arrows over the forest!”
“That will be the Prince. Hold fast, now. Help comes.”
Yet he wondered privately just how far in the forest the war-host might be. He knew the road through there was not one which would allow for great numbers of men to pass swiftly, and it would most certainly be a while before enough men could come through to them.
Then the Hygerians were coming again, perhaps five hundred of them, advancing in grim and purposeful lines across the courtyard. Rorick noted they were a more disciplined and organized lot than most Hygerian infantry they had met so far.
Their arrows did much to equalize the numbers before the foe-men reached them, though the javelins at close range made up for that to some degree. It was in the hand-to-hand fighting the decision was made; iron clashed, swords flickered and thrust, and men fell. Only one incident of that struggle remained with him, when a huge Hygerian swung an axe at him, a blow he caught squarely on his shield and felt it buckle under the impact. For the rest, it was cut, thrust, parry, with no time for noting the man one fought against.
Suddenly the Hygerians were retiring, leaving corpses piled in front of the Asbalnian line. “We cannot stand against another such attack, Milord,” said Beran, at Rorick’s elbow. “If our Prince does not arrive soon, there will be few enough of us here to greet him.”
Rorick’s grim look fell upon him. “There is a resolve upon me, having once more gazed upon my ancestral home, that the gates should not be closed again while I yet live. Speak to the men, lead out those who wish to go, but I will not leave Avantir while it remains in the hands of the Hygerians.”
“Too late, Milord, they come again.”
And it was true. As well as surging across the courtyard once more, they had parties moving around the wall as well, intent on removing the Asbalnians above the gate. As they moved across the light of one of the torches, Rorick recognized the lean, pinched features contrasting with the plump body of the man who led them, Draxon!
Then behind them was the sound of hooves, and shouts of “Make way! Make way for the Horsemen!”
Through the intervals in the Asbalnian ranks they came, long lances lowered, and infantry, dusty and sweating from a long march, came behind them. Rorick turned to Beran. “Ten men to follow me!”
Then he was headed for the wall.