The Burning Bridge

30

accompanied by archers, advanced on Morgarath's left flank in a probing movement, retreating hastily when a battalion of heavy infantry formed up and moved forward to meet them.

The lightly armed skirmishers scampered back to the safety of their own lines, ahead of the slow-treading Wargals. Then, as a company of heavy cavalry trotted forward toward the Wargal battalion's left flank, the Wargals re-formed from their column-of-fours marching order into a slower-moving defensive square and withdrew to their own lines.

As in most battles, the first moves were inconclusive, and for the next few hours, that remained the pattern of the battle: small forces would probe the other side's defenses. Larger forces would offer to counter and the first attack would melt away. Arald, Fergus and Tyler sat their horses beside the King, on a small knoll in the center of the royal army. Battlemaster David was with a small group of knights making one of the many forays toward the Wargal army.

"All this to-ing and fro-ing is getting me down," Arald said sourly. The King smiled at him. He had one of the most important attributes of a good commander: almost unlimited patience.

"Morgarath is waiting," he said simply. "Waiting for Horth's army to show itself in our rear. Then he'll attack, have no doubt."

"Let's just get on with it ourselves," growled Fergus, but Duncan shook his head, pointing to the ground immediately to the front of Morgarath's position.

"The land there is soft and boggy," he said. "It would reduce the effectiveness of our best weapon-our cavalry. We'll wait till Morgarath comes to us. Then we can fight him on ground that's more to our liking."

There was an urgent clatter of hooves from the rear, and the royal party turned to watch a courier spurring his horse up the last slope to the knoll where they waited. He hauled on his reins, looked around until he saw the King's blond head, then dug in his spurs again, eventually bringing his horse to a sliding stop beside them. His green surcoat, light mail armor and thin-bladed sword showed him to be a scout.

"Your Majesty," he said breathlessly. "A report from Sir Vincent."

Vincent was the leader of the Messenger Corps, a group of soldiers who acted as the King's eyes and ears during a battle, carrying reports and orders to all parts of the battlefield. Duncan indicated that the man should go ahead and give his message.

The rider swallowed several times and looked anxiously at the King and his three barons. All at once, Arald knew this was not going to be good news.

"Sir," said the scout hesitantly. "Sir Vincent's respects, sir, and:there appear to be Skandians behind us."

There were startled exclamations from several of the junior officers surrounding the command group. Fergus swung on them, his brows drawn together in a frown.

"Be quiet!" he stormed and, in an instant, the noise dropped away. The aides looked shamefaced at their lack of discipline.

"Exactly where are these Skandians? And how many are there?" Duncan asked the scout calmly. His unruffled manner seemed to communicate itself to the messenger. This time, he answered with a lot more confidence.

"The first group is visible on the low ridge to the northwest, Your Majesty. As yet we can see only a hundred or so. Sir Vincent suggests that the best position for you to view the situation would be from the small hill to our left rear."

The King nodded and turned to one of the younger officers.

"Ranald, perhaps you might ride and advise Sir David of this new development. Tell him we are shifting the command post to the hill Sir Vincent suggested."

"Yes, my lord!" replied the young knight. He wheeled his horse and set off at a gallop. The King then turned to his companions.

"Gentlemen, let's see about these Skandians, shall we?"

Shading his eyes, Baron Arald peered at the small group of men on the hill behind them. Even at this distance, it was possible to make out the horned helmets and the huge circular shields that the sea raiders carried. A small group had even advanced down the near side of the hill and they were easier to make out.

Just as obvious was their choice of the typical Skandian arrowhead formation as they advanced. He estimated that several hundred of the enemy were now in sight, with who knew how many more hidden on the other side of the hills. He felt a great weight of sadness upon his shoulders. The fact that the Skandians were there meant only one thing: Halt had failed. And knowing Halt as he did, he knew that probably meant that the grizzled Ranger had died in the attempt. He knew Halt would never have surrendered-not when the need to stop the Skandians breaking through to the army's rear was so vital.

Duncan voiced the thoughts of all of them.

"They're Skandians, all right." He glanced around the hilltop. "We're going to have to fight a defensive battle, my lords," he continued. "I suggest we begin to pull our men into a circle around this hill. It's as good a spot as any to be fighting on both sides."

They all knew it was only a matter of time now before Morgarath advanced, to crush them between the two jaws of the trap he had set.

"Rider coming!" called one of the aides, pointing. They all turned to face the way he indicated. From a copse of trees at the right-hand end of the ridge, a lone rider burst into sight. Several of the Skandians gave chase, hurling spears and clubs after him. But he was stretched low over his horse's neck, his gray-green cloak streaming behind him in the wind, and he soon outdistanced the pursuit.

"That's Gilan," Baron Arald muttered, recognizing the bay horse he rode. He looked in vain for a second Ranger behind Gilan, hoping against hope that Halt might have somehow survived. But it was not to be. The Baron's shoulders sagged a little as he recalled the force that had marched off so boldly into the Thorntree Forest. Of all those men, it seemed that only Gilan had survived.

Gilan had hit the flat land now and was still riding full pelt. He saw the royal standards flying on the knoll and swerved Blaze toward them. In a few minutes, he drew rein beside them, covered in dust, one sleeve of his tunic ripped and a rough, bloodstained bandage around his head.

"Sir!" he said breathlessly, forgetting the niceties of addressing royalty. "Halt says can you-"

He got no further as at least four people interrupted him. Baron Fergus's voice, however, was the loudest.

"Halt? He's alive?"

Gilan grinned in reply. "Oh, yes, sir! Alive and kicking."

"But the Skandians:?" King Duncan began, indicating the lines of men on the far ridge. Gilan's grin widened even further.

"Beaten, sir. We caught them totally by surprise and cut them to pieces. Those men there are our archers, wearing helmets and shields taken from the enemy. It was Halt's idea-"

"To what purpose?" Arald asked crisply, and Gilan turned to face him, with an apologetic nod of his head to the King.

"To deceive Morgarath, my lord," he replied. "He's expecting to see Skandians attack you from the rear, and now he will. That's why they even made a pretense of trying to stop me just now.

"Our own cavalry is just beyond the brow of the ridge. Halt proposes that he should advance with the archers, forcing you to turn and face the rear. Then, with any luck, as Morgarath attacks with his Wargals, both the archers and your main army should open a path through the center, allowing the hidden cavalry to come through and hit Morgarath when he's in the open."

"By God, it's a great idea!" said Duncan enthusiastically. "Odds are that we'll stir up so much dust and confusion that he won't see Halt's cavalry until it's right on top of him."

"Then, my lord, we can deploy the heavy cavalry from either wing to hit the Wargals in the flanks." The new speaker was Sir David. He had arrived unnoticed as Gilan was explaining Halt's plan.

King Duncan hesitated for a second or two, tugging at his short beard. Then he nodded decisively.

"We'll do it!" he said. "Gentlemen, you'd better get to your commands straightaway. Fergus, Arald, take a section of the heavy cavalry each to the left and right wings, and stand ready. Tyler, command the infantry in the center. Have them shout and cry out and beat their swords on their shields as these 'Skandians' approach. We'll make it sound like a battle as well as look like one. Have them ready to split to the sides at three horn blasts."

"Three horn blasts. Aye, my lord," said Tyler. He dug his spurs into his battlehorse's side and galloped away to take command of the infantry. Duncan looked to his remaining commanders. "Get to it, my lords. We don't have much time."

From behind, one of his aides called out, "Sir! The Skandians are moving downhill!" A second or so later, another man echoed the cry: "And the Wargals are beginning to move forward!" Duncan smiled grimly at his commanders. "I think it's time we gave Morgarath a little surprise," he said.