❖ Chapter 62 ❖

SITTING WITH HIS back to the rough bark of a rotund oak tree trunk, Valerdwin pulled his cloak tighter about himself. He was sure his breath would be visible in puffs of smoke if he could see it. It was pitch dark. No star, not even the moon had the power to pierce through the heavy cloud cover. No light, no warmth, and the chill that comes with the knowledge of what was about to happen, threatened to freeze him to the bone. Yet, not ten yards from his spot, a little, but hearty, fire burned merrily away. It was not visible from where he stood, since he had built a sort of makeshift hut around the little with the supplies that were left here for him to do so. That tiny fire was far too important for the lowly task of keeping a person warm, or even the noble pursuit of cooking life’s sustenance. This fire was for one thing and one thing alone: to help him vanquish his enemy. He took some comfort in the fact that he was not alone. Ten of his men were scattered throughout the forest, sitting silently in the dark as he did, waiting patiently for the right moment. All of them ready to bring a terrible hell down upon their enemy.

Valerdwin tested his bow for the eight-hundredth time. And just as it was the very first time he tested it, his longbow was taut and strong and ready. Its arrows, most fitted with gooey tar bombs, lay in the hut waiting for their turn as well. Of course, he kept three arrows at his side in case of an enemy patrol. He had heard that their foot patrols always traveled like that.

He thought back on how he and his men had set fires outside the Venordaladian’s main war camp. A small group of enemy soldiers started to pursue Valerdwin and his men northward, when suddenly they gave up the chase and returned to their camp. After continuing north to this spot and setting everything up, Valerdwin had sent one of his men back south again to see what the enemy was doing. His scout returned in short order, telling him that a large portion of the Venordaladian army was moving north towards them. It was better than Valerdwin had hoped.

Then, he heard them coming. The dull sound of thousands of footfalls, low clinking of coat after coat of chain mail, the neighing and heavy breathing of hundreds of horses. Coming en masse. He nocked one of his arrows, sat up and listened, trying not to move a muscle.

Soon, he saw the light from hundreds of torches as the Venordaladian army drudged northward toward the camp. He let them pass. His fight was not to attack them as a force. He had a different mission. So, he stayed wary and bided his time, waiting for the right moment to act. He hoped his men would do the same. The light from all those torches partially illuminated the woods. He could see the outline of all the trees around him. He scanned the shifting shadows furiously in case of…. Then, he saw the silhouette of two men coming towards him. Without a thought, he aimed and let loose an arrow. Immediately, he grabbed a second shaft, loaded it, and let it fly at the second shadow. He heard both men drop. And there was no other sound. After a time of no sound save the low rumble of the men and horses of the slow moving army, Valerdwin got up, unsheathed his short sword, and started toward where he saw the men drop. After a little bit of searching, he came across two large lumps that flashed bits of metal in the nearby torchlight. Valerdwin tensed up, pointing his short sword directly at the unmoving lumps. He crept up closer and still no movement. Then, he was right upon them. He kicked one hard in the side. No response. He kicked at the other, and it was the same. Nothing was alive here. Valerdwin relaxed. He turned to go back to his tree and his waiting when he remembered: they always travel in…threes!

Suddenly, he felt a searing pain in his back on the left side. He could feel the blade being extracted from his back. Still holding his own sword, Valerdwin whirled around with all the strength he could muster and swung at his attacker. But the other man was too fast and with his blade, the Venordaladian slapped the sword from Valerdwin’s hand. It fell somewhere on the dark forest floor.

“Stand down or die,” said the Venordaladian, whose face was covered in darkness.

“Catch me first,” said Valerdwin, and he turned and ran along the path he had come. If he could only get to his bow….

Valerdwin heard the man close behind him, panting hard and running hard, too. The archer held his hand on the wound in his back to keep it from doubling him over in pain. He skirted around a large root that he had almost tripped over earlier. Behind him, he heard a thud and some wild rustling as his pursuer found the treacherous root. After some thrashing and cursing, the man was again working his way through the forest after Valerdwin. Finally, the archer found his tree, dropped to the ground, and began to search for his bow. After feeling around this way and that, he found his taut, curved companion. But…where was that last arrow? On his hands and knees, Valerdwin franticly scratched at the ground around him, searching all around for the missing arrow, that one thing that would make his bow the deadly weapon it was meant to be. Even at close quarters, even in the semi-dark, Valerdwin was confident his arrow would find its mark. Then, he felt the sharp poke of a sword tip in his back. It did not penetrate the skin…yet. It was meant as a warning. Valerdwin stopped his searching and remained still.

“I see you have managed to catch me,” said the Archer.

❖ ❖ ❖

A flickering parade of torches poured out of the trail at the far end of the meadow. These tiny bits of unsteady light began to fan out across the entire width of the meadow and merged into one long, bright line of dancing lights. Their enemy had arrived and in full force. And by the looks of that line of torches, there were many more of them than his father had ever calculated in his plan. Materializing out of the forest shadows before him was a massive, seemingly unstoppable army. And it was his job to somehow stall them. And he was ready.

Frankirwin had positioned a squadron of one hundred horses, two lines deep, before the gates of the camp. Each rider carried a large torch and many of the horses were pulling carts with tall torches mounted upon them. He knew his line of light was no way as impressive as that of the Venordaladians. But, he just needed to detain them here for a time and force them to proceed with caution, and perhaps, instill a tiny bit of doubt. Frankirwin nodded, and a man with a short metal war horn blew it. The sound echoed as if there were a dozen trumpeters.

Immediately, his lighted small cavalry rushed ahead at nearly a full gallop towards the forming enemy line. He had insisted that they practiced this maneuver a thousand times, so he was now confident that his knights knew every rock, every bush, every possible obstacle in their path, allowing them to move swiftly in the dark.

“Open the rear gates!” commanded Captain Frankirwin. “Archers ready your tar bombs and arrows. Make your arrows true or the enemy will be upon us too quickly.”

Live archers lined the wall, bows at the ready, standing next to little pots of fire into which they would dip their tar bombs. Men manned the levers to swing the straw army into action.

Frankirwin gazed out into this dark night and watched his line of torches barrel down upon the enemy. Then the enemy’s line began to hurriedly reformed to repel the pending attack. It was evident to Frankirwin that they had come expecting a siege campaign upon this wooden fortress, not a frontal cavalry assault charging at them out of the night. He counted silently. Any moment now. And then it happened. His line of knights and carts abruptly swung around and started to race back towards the camp.

“Come on, come on, take the bait,” said Frankirwin, urging on the enemy.

As his knights rushed as fast as they could through the night back to camp, Frankirwin saw the enemy’s knights break ranks and give chase.

“Yes!” said Frankirwin triumphantly. “We are about to have visitors! Everyone! Get your mount ready!

Horses were being brought up for the archers to use for their escape when it was time.

“Harbadells, take your wagons and head for the bridge, now!” Frankirwin yelled, and the dozen or so Harbadell men who had stayed behind to spread the straw thick all over the inside of the camp and help with the last minute preparations jumped on their wagons and rushed out the back gates, nodding to Frankirwin as they passed.

Then, the captain went to the open front gate and watched his men approach quickly. He could see them pressing their horses to make the temporary safety of the camp. Frankirwin stepped aside as the main body of his knights and the cart riders came pouring into the camp in a great ruckus. Looking down the meadow, he saw that the enemy knights, racing towards him, showed that they too could maneuver well in the night. A small group of Palzintine knights to the right and left sides of Frankirwin’s line broke away and headed towards the edge of the woods. Once there, they all tossed their torches into the forest, turned, and dashed for the safety of the main gate. Instantly, the forest on both sides of the camp walls erupted into flames with the help of some well-positioned barrels of oil and pitch that cut off any flanking move around the camp’s walls.

“All of you! Get to the bridge as fast as you can!” Frankirwin shouted above the din. “Get those gates closed!”

Then, Frankirwin turned around and saw Keshvillana emerging from a tent. She ran to him.

“Are you crazy? Why are you still here?” chided Frankirwin, annoyed at having noncombatants around at this time.

“It is Maleesheah! She has suddenly taken sick. I could not just leave her,” said Keshvillana defiantly.

Frankirwin waved one of the carts to stop.

“There is a sick woman in that tent. Get her and this one out of here now!” ordered Frankirwin pointing to the small tent from which Keshvillana had emerged.

“Yes, Captain,” said the driver, and the man guided his cart over to the tent.

The large wooden main gates slammed closed and several men put long heavy planks through metal straps to lock the gate securely…at least for now. Frankirwin climbed the ladder to the catwalk that lined the top of the wooden walls. He looked out. The enemy knights were nearly upon them. Frankirwin watched as the enemy knights stopped short just below the walls. He raised his arm to signal the archers, who in unison dipped the arrow tips into the pots of fire. A volley of flaming projectiles leapt into the air like angry fireflies and flew in a short arc over the heads of the enemy knights and dropped just behind them. Suddenly, a mass of flames erupted just behind the Venordaladian knights, trapping them between the fire and the wall.

“Archers, loose at will,” shouted Frankirwin.

He looked back in the main area of the camp and spotted Keshvillana struggling to unhook a draft horse from an empty cart. Frankirwin jumped down and ran over to her.

“Do you have a death wish, Harbadell woman?” he scolded her. “Val was right about you being stubborn."

“There was not enough room on the cart,” spat Keshvillana, as she yanked harder on the harness.

“Forget this one. I will take him,” said Frankirwin. He grabbed her away from the draft horse and ran almost carrying her over to a tall, dark-brown stallion. “Here, take my horse and get out of here. Go over the bridge and keep on going till you are safely back with your people.”

Without argument, she nodded. He put his hands together and made a human stepping stool for her to climb up on his mount’s back. With a lot of vigor, he shoved her upwards. Once she was securely on his mount’s back, Frankirwin slapped the horses behind and sent them on their way. He returned to the wall.

“Their knights are dying, but some of the soldiers have already arrived and are clearing away the burning straw piles,” said one of his men.

“One last volley, then raise the straw army,” yelled Frankirwin. “And get yourself as far from this place as you can. We shall form up on the bridge.”

The archers sent another volley of arrows hurling out into the darkness, then abandoned their spots on the wall, jumped to the ground and then scrambled to get to their horses to evacuate. The men working the levers cranked down hard on their contraption and up popped the straw soldiers, complete with their silvery armor.

As the last of his men were leaving, Frankirwin himself went around and tipped over the large fire pots, spilling their flaming liquid all over the freshly scattered straw. In no time at all, the entire inside of the camp was ablaze. Looking around at the inferno he had just created, Frankirwin felt satisfied. Then, he heard a loud boom at the gates. They were already using a battering ram. He and his men had done their part to first stall the enemy here until the bridge was ready and then to get the enemy so agitated that it would pursue them this night into Rosverdar. Now, it was up to Valerdwin to seal the deal.

Frankirwin ran over to the draft horse that was by now bucking in his harness frightened of the flames and commotion.

“Whoa there, big boy,” Frankirwin tried to sound as calm and reassuring as he could. “It will be all right. Let me get this harness off, and we will be gone from all this. I promise thee.”

The draft horse settled down from its bucking, but still shifted nervously. The captain, now alone in the burning camp, worked furiously to unfasten the beast. The thick leather straps were bound too tightly and would not give. Frustrated, Frankirwin drew his sword to cut the horse free. As he lifted his blade, arrows began to rain down from everywhere out of the black sky. Suddenly the massive draft horse bucked and then fell over. Frankirwin dove out of the way, but he did not get far enough from the falling animal. His foot and ankle were caught up underneath it.

“Blast! To be burned alive while being trapped by a dumb animal,” complained Frankirwin to the dead carcass.

There were several more deafening booms at the front gate and one of the locking beams cracked in half. Then, Frankirwin heard dozens of loud horrible roars. He recognized those roars from the battle at the Delar Ravine.

Lizard Beasts!

So, they brought those monsters with them, he thought. He needed to get out of there very, very soon. Feverishly, he worked at pulling his foot and ankle free from the heavy carcass that had him pinned down. After some work and a lot of cursing, thankfully his mother was nowhere nearby to hear such language, Frankirwin finally freed his trapped foot. He tried to stand but collapsed back down from pain. He wondered if it was shattered or even broken. Then, he heard a familiar neighing. He glanced over to the rear gate to see Keshvillana emerge galloping his horse back into the camp, smoke and flames nearly surrounding her. Frankirwin stood up on one leg. Seeing that he was injured, Keshvillana jumped down and clasped her hands the same way that Frankirwin had done earlier.

“I shall give thee a boost,” said the Harbadell woman.

“Are you sure you can?” asked Frankirwin, doubtful that she could do it.

Then, another loud boom and another locking beam split under the onslaught.

Frankirwin had no choice, so he put his good foot in her hands and up he went. She did not get him up there fully, and he had to claw a bit to get on, but he was impressed by her effort. Then she calmly walked his horse next to the dead draft animal, climbed up on its carcass to give her leverage and hopped easily up his horse. She turned his mount way from the fiery scene, and they galloped away, leaving the now raging inferno and the clamoring enemy behind them.

“You were not supposed to come back,” scolded Frankirwin. “Why did you?”

“I know that draft horse. He can spook easy around such excitement,” said Keshvillana with a touch of sadness in her voice.

“Well, thank the Heavenly Father for a farm girl’s instincts,” said Frankirwin.

As they rode, she pointed through the trees to the far end of the meadow to where a humongous tower of fire suddenly engulfed the entire rear of the meadow.

“What is that?” she asked.

“That…is Valerdwin,” was his reply.

“You mean he is still back there! With them!” exclaimed Keshvillana in horror. She pulled up on the reins, causing Frankirwin to almost fall to the ground.

“Do not worry,” assured Frankirwin. “He knows what he is doing. He is most likely long gone by now.”

The captain wished fervently that his own words were true as Keshvillana kicked his horse to urge it into a gallop towards the bridge.