Normally, the command pavilion should have been jammed with men, but Damin had arranged for Lerrien, Kraig and only a few of the High Prince’s most trusted slaves, dressed in armour to make them look like officers from a distance, to be stationed in the pavilion. The real battle would take place some miles from
here, further down the valley, but the absence of the High Prince and a pavilion over which to observe the battle would strike a warning note with any enemy general worthy of his command. Axelle Regis and his officers had to believe this was where they were making their stand and that the ten thousand men below were all they had to throw into the fight.
Rorin bowed as he entered the open pavilion and approached the prince. “Your highness, Lord Lionsclaw sent me to check if you have any further orders.”
Lernen took his eyes off the battle long enough to glance down at Tejay, who was securing the wounded young soldier more safely to her saddle with her back to the tent. “Why doesn’t he come here and ask me himself?”
“The Fardohnyans are overpowering the weaker cavalry on the right,” Kraig informed them, saving Rorin from having to answer. Kraig had taken the news about his reassignment to the High Prince’s entourage rather stoically, but as he took just about everything rather stoically, it was hard to tell what he really thought about it.
“Warhaft’s men?” Rorin asked. He turned, shielding his eyes against the lightning, and stared down over the battlefield. “Already?”
“I know that name,” Lernen mused, the battle momentarily forgotten. “Why do I know that name?”
“He’s a vassal of Lord Hawksword’s,” Rorin reminded him. “His wife, Lady Kendra, has petitioned you, your highness.”
“Why?”
“She wants you to grant her a divorce.”
“Doesn’t she like her husband?”
“She wants to marry your nephew Narvell, your highness.”
“Hmmm …” Lernen replied thoughtfully. “It would really be much better for everyone if he died in battle then, wouldn’t it? Much neater. Less argument.”
“I … er …” Rorin replied, having no idea how to answer such a suggestion. “I suppose …”
“I tell you what,” Lernen announced. “We’ll let the gods
decide. If she’s to be rid of this husband she no longer wants, let the gods take him in battle today. If he survives the day, obviously the gods think she should keep him.”
“That’s a very … interesting solution, your highness.”
Lernen smiled. “I’m very wise. It’s because I’m the High Prince, you know. What were we talking about?”
“Your court’esa was just noting that the Fardohnyans are overpowering the weaker cavalry on the right. Lord Warhaft’s mean.”
“Well, there you go, then. The gods have …” In a sudden burst of panic, Lernen forgot all about the Lady Kendra and her marital problems and grabbed the big Denikan by the arm. “Hang on … does that mean … are we losing?”
“No, your highness,” Kraig assured him. “This is as it is meant to be.”
“Are you sure?” Lernen asked nervously. “It doesn’t sound like we’re winning. Doesn’t the enemy overpowering us mean we’re losing?”
“We want them to break through, your highness,” Rorin reminded him. “This is just a feint, remember?”
“But that means they’ll come this way, doesn’t it?”
“We’ll be long gone before the Fardohnyans reach us, your highness,” Kraig assured the High Prince. “But your presence here is required to disguise the ruse, just as you fleeing at the right moment will reinforce the notion your forces have been routed and you believe they are defeated. This will draw the enemy into our trap.”
“So … I’m doing something important, then?” Lernen asked, with sudden childlike excitement. “This whole battle, this clever ruse … it’s all up to me?”
“Most assuredly,” the Denikan replied solemnly.
“Well, in that case,” the High Prince announced, squaring his shoulders manfully, “tell Lord Lionsclaw to get back out there and at least try to give the impression he’s fighting this damned war! Off you go!”
Rorin glanced at the Denikan, rolled his eyes, and then bowed to the High Prince. “My lord is currently escorting a wounded Raider to the medical pavilion and was hoping, on
his return, to have the honour of escorting you to the fallback position, your highness. Once you give the order, of course.”
Lernen frowned and looked up at the Denikan slave. “Is that a good idea?”
“An excellent idea, your highness,” the big man agreed.
“Oh, well … all right then, you may tell Terin Lionsclaw he can wait and escort me when the time comes.” The prince turned to Kraig. “When will that be?”
“A good hour at least,” Kraig predicted. “Any sooner and your enemy will smell the trap.”
What followed was the most nerve-racking hour of Rorin’s life. Miraculously, the rain held off while on the plain below both infantry masses were caught in a bloodbath that was part cut and slash and part pushing and shoving. The actual fighting was only going on between the first ten or so ranks of men. The rest of the battle seemed to be made up of the troops at the rear trying to push their way into the fight, even if it meant trampling their own dead and wounded to do it.
As Rorin watched, the Pentamor and Greenharbour infantry that made up Hythria’s centre line slowly but inexorably yielded before the pressure of the numerically superior Fardohnyans, until they had pushed deep into the middle of the Hythrun troops. The flanks, made up of Izcomdar’s light cavalry and a smattering of Elasapine horse, gave every indication it was barely holding on, but hold on they did, while more and more Fardohnyans poured into the funnel.
All we need to do now, Rorin thought, is spring the trap before the Fardohnyans realise they’re in it.
“Your highness,” Kraig suggested abruptly. “Now might be a good time to issue the order.”
The High Prince looked at the Denikan blankly. An hour was a long time in Lernen Wolfblade’s world. “What order?”
“The order to retreat, your highness. We must make the enemy think they have routed your army.”
“But … isn’t retreating … just … you know … running away?”
“This is not running away, your highness. Remember? This is withdrawing to a strategically superior position.”
“No!” Lernen announced petulantly, crossing his arms like a defiant child. “I’ve been thinking about this. We’re staying right here. The people of Hythria look up to me! The soldiers of Hythria need a leader! I will not be seen to do anything so cowardly!”
Kraig looked at Rorin with exasperation. The young sorcerer shrugged. He had no more idea than the Denikan as to how they should deal with Lernen Wolfblade in this mood. Damin was the expert when it came to handling the High Prince.
“Rorin!” an impatient voice hissed.
He turned to find Tejay Lionsclaw standing on the slope behind him, still disguised in her armour, waiting for Lernen to implement the next phase of their plan. She had been gone this whole time, and had returned leading both her and Rorin’s horses. Presumably, the young man she’d risked her life to rescue was safe in the hands of the physicians now.
“Tell him to give the order!” she urged in a loud whisper, obviously having overheard Lernen’s foolish declaration. “Now!”
Rorin shrugged helplessly and turned back to the High Prince. “Your highness, you must sound the retreat and then abandon this place,” he begged as the noise of the battle grew even closer. “The Fardohnyans have to believe they’ve routed us, or they won’t follow our troops into the ambush.”
“An ambush is a cowardly way to win a war!” Lernen Wolfblade declared. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Oh! For pity’s sake!” Tejay snapped. “An ambush is the only way to win a war when you’re outnumbered two to one, you old fool.”
Rorin debated trying to stop her, but Tejay was in no mood to allow anyone to stand in her way. She pushed past Rorin and planted herself in front of the High Prince, hands
on her hips, glaring at him through the narrow eye-slits of her helmet.
“You give that order right this minute, Lernen Wolfblade, then get your arse out of here and back to the real command post, or so help me I’ll put you over my knee as if you were one of my boys and slap some sense into you myself. We’ll see how cowardly your pasty-white backside looks to the Fardohnyans then, eh?”
Lernen squinted at her in surprise. “Lady Lionsclaw?”
There being no further point in subterfuge, Tejay lifted the helmet from her head, letting her thick blond hair tumble out.
Lernen gasped in shock. “My lady! You’re pretending to be a Warlord?”
“So are you, Lernen Wolfblade,” she accused. “Now give the damned order!”
Lernen studied her fearfully and then nodded, as if too scared to defy such an angry woman. Relieved beyond measure, Rorin signalled to one of the waiting messengers to pass the order along. A few moments later the horns rang out, sounding the retreat.
The troops below, waiting for the command, immediately broke and ran in chaotic disarray. After a moment of stunned disbelief a cheer went up from the Fardohnyans as they realised the enemy was on the run, and then, just as they planned, the Fardohnyans followed.
“Axelle Regis has now lost control of the battle,” Kraig remarked to Rorin, watching the retreat with satisfaction.
“How can you tell?”
“Because the Fardohnyans are following our soldiers without waiting for orders,” Tejay answered for him. “Once men move as a group in a direction you haven’t sent them, you no longer own the battlefield.”
Kraig inclined his head in agreement. “We should leave now. Another few minutes and those soldiers will be on us. Your highness?”
Still staring at Tejay Lionsclaw in dismay, with hardly any resistance at all, Lernen let Kraig lead him to his waiting
horse, where the big Denikan picked him up and sat him in his saddle like a father lifting his child onto a pony.
A few minutes later, the command pavilion abandoned, Rorin was mounted again, following Tejay Lionsclaw, the High Prince, Prince Lunar Shadow Kraig of the House of the Rising Moon and the few trusted retainers Damin had appointed to watch over his uncle as they cantered away from the scene of the first engagement.
“Where do you suppose the Fardohnyan cavalry are?” Rorin asked Kraig as they urged their horses toward Lasting Drift a few minutes ahead of the fleeing Hythrun and the advancing Fardohnyans.
“Gathering as we speak,” the Denikan predicted grimly.
It was only as the rain started to hit Tejay’s armour beside him with a metallic plinking sound—even before he felt the first drops on his face—it occurred to Rorin that even though he had sailed through this battle untouched, there were probably two or three thousand men on the field, from both sides, either dead or dying behind them.
And the tragedy of it, he knew, was that unknown to the Fardohnyans, whooping victoriously in the wake of the fleeing Hythrun, the worst was yet to come.