The Beacon: The Wedge (5)
Episode 38: "A Perfect Battlefield"
Lorens III Ankara, Grand Marshal and King of Margonne, pulled his horse, Ranger, off the road and trotted up to the top of a small rise to examine the parched grassland before Blayne’s walls. Although his army had been in the enemy’s sight for the last mile of its march, the meager blocking force that had gathered before them remained disorganized. The main body of Leitani troops, still encamped in a hodgepodge of tents on either side of the East Road, appeared unconcerned that the Margonni army strode toward them a little more than a mile away. Smoke from cookfires curled skyward, and fighters had gathered around them, eating and talking, their backs to their approaching enemy.
Three-quarters of a mile from the wall, fewer than a thousand warriors had gathered to bar the Margonni army’s way, but even they were milling around as if unsure of what they would do. After a short while, a hundred horsemen joined them, dashing excitedly, brandishing feathered spears, and shouting curses at the advancing Margonni, giving an air of revelers at a festival rather than men soberly facing an imminent life-and-death struggle.
Shaking his head at their antics, Lorens considered the landscape between his troops and the Leitani. It sloped down toward the walled town and river beyond, tilting to the left where the Highwater River flowed. Through long use and erosion, the dirt road, which ran straight to Blayne’s central gate, lay lower than the surrounding countryside, but it would cause neither his infantry nor cavalry much difficulty. Ahead, only a few low walls and fences marked separate holdings. Honestly, it’s the perfect site for a battle, the king thought. I could not have designed it better.
“What do you think, gentlemen?” he asked his marshals, who had joined him with all their aides. “Will they give us a fight? Or are they all bluster?”
“They sent—what?—a thousand to counter five times that?” Marshal Vytor Vash sneered, lifting his helmet from his head to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “That hardly seems serious.”
Marshal Terosh Mortimor scoffed. “What do they hope to achieve with such a tiny force? That rabble will not even slow us down. One flight from our archers would halve it, and a cavalry charge would finish the rest! Most likely, they will fall back, goading us into giving chase into their main force.”
“Undoubtedly,” Lorens swept his eyes across the mass of Leitani, pursing his lips. They all look the same from here. There is no way to tell who is in charge. They all look like rabble, dressed in hunting clothes. Aloud, he asked his marshals, “Should we try to talk to them? Try to avoid this slaughter? I cannot think that they can hope to win.”
Vash grunted. “If they were another nation, with a proper military, I’d say it would be a gracious diplomatic gesture. But they are rebels, twisted by a demon, no less, into insurrection. We cannot give any quarter to such flagrant rebellion.”
“I agree, lord,” Mortimor said, crossing his arms. “I am loath to remind you, but they gave your son and others no chance to avoid their deaths.”
Wincing, the king took a deep breath and cleared his throat before responding. “Then we are in accord, gentlemen! I promised unrelenting war upon these Azuri-worshipers, and I will not break my oath. Thank you for your counsel.”
After a long moment, he asked, “Have our scouts returned?”
“Not yet, lord,” Mortimor answered, “but I expect them anytime. We should know what’s on our flanks soon.”
Lorens paused only a moment before commanding, “Stop the army here, Mortimor. I want to hear what the scouts report before considering my options. Let the men rest for an hour, and perhaps our ‘hesitation’ will cause our foe to show his hand.”
“Yes, lord,” Mortimor answered, walking his horse away to convey the king’s orders to his aides and officers.
“Make sure the scouts report directly to me,” he said to Vash. “Immediately upon their arrival. No delays.”
“Yes, lord,” Vash responded.
“Also, find the highest point around,” the king said, adjusting his gloves. “I want a better view.”
Vash nodded and moved away to send a commander to fulfill the king’s wishes.
Lorens did not have long to wait before the first scout returned. Assigned to probe forward of their southern flank, the same older, grizzled scout who had reported to the king earlier that morning detailed in his gruff voice Marshal Telsiora’s holding of the bridge over the Highwater and the rough defensive works being dug there.
“How many men guard the bridge?” the king asked.
“No more than fifty, sire,” the scout replied, his well-chewed cigar now a stub. “The rest are still on the south bank.”
“Good,” Lorens smiled. “It sounds as if Telsiora has done well and stands ready for the next act in our play.” He rubbed his hands together. “He waits only for our entrance!” Reaching into a saddlebag, he pulled out a cigar and handed it to the scout. “With my compliments! You earned it,” he said. Eyes wide, the scout spat out the sodden stub and thanked his king profusely before leaving to report to his commander.
A short time later, Marshal Vash rode back, informing him that his aide had found an eminence just to the northwest that would provide an unhindered view of the battlefield to the Highwater Bridge and beyond. Within seconds of Vash’s announcement, they heard the pounding of hoofbeats approaching from behind, and the marshal grinned. “Our escort,” he said. “I summoned a company of light horse to flush out anyone loitering in the area. The horses were restless.”
The king burst into laughter, his first genuine laugh since his son had perished in Palisade. “That’s the Vash I know!” he cried. “You are a man of action, my friend! Let’s get the entire staff up there to see what we can see!” Lorens swung Ranger around and dug his heels into his flanks to get in front of the oncoming horsemen, waving to them to follow him.
Chuckling, Vash kicked his horse and followed. Soon, passing the king, he led them to the path that would take them to the top of the nearby hill. Bewildered by the king’s sudden departure, the other aides followed, a few griping that they would have liked to have had some warning.
The Jester is a clean YA fantasy novella about a young man with many interests and skills who yearns to discover what he does best. First, however, he must figure out who stole the king’s dagger, and along the way, he experiences adventure, entertainment, and perhaps a wee bit of romance! Click here for the first episode!
Upon reaching the hilltop and dismounting, Lorens inspected the battlefield again, seeing the situation at the Highwater for himself. He swept his gaze northward along the town’s wall, noting that the Leitani remained unorganized. Calling for his small glass, he extended and peered through it, trying to find the enemy’s commander, Kitron Nekhesh, but he gave up after several minutes, assuming he remained in the large, conical tent near the camp’s center. He swung the glass northward, past the outlying tents, wondering if the battlefield had enough breadth to send a flanking force around to hit the camp from the north, blocking any flight in that direction.
It was faint, a smudge of discoloration on the horizon, but he saw it and recognized it. Dust. Something was raising dust north of Blayne, heading toward it. Focusing the glass on the front of whatever it was, he tried to keep his hands steady to see as clearly as possible. Then he saw them. Flags. Pennants. Upright spears flashing in the sunlight. An army, a Margonni army, was approaching from the north. Thorne! Lorens realized suddenly. Borgond Thorne is bringing troops to the fight!
“Vash!” he called more loudly than he needed. “I have a job for a man of your talent!”
“Yes, lord?” the marshal answered eagerly, walking toward the king.
Lorens handed him the glass, telling him to train it on the road heading north out of Blayne.
The marshal immediately saw the dust hanging in the air. A few seconds later, he said, “Thorne! I’d recognize that flag anywhere! Who else flies a wicked white thorn on a dark green field! He seems to have several hundred men with him. It’s hard to tell, but I’d wager most of them are levies. The dukes don’t have many men-at-arms.”
The king agreed. “But he comes bravely to defend his duchy! Good man!” He pressed a gloved fist to his lips, considering. “Vytor, take this light horse company and a doughty battalion of infantry from your division around the backside of these hills and meet Duke Thorne before he gets much closer. Take command—courteously, mind you—and organize the force as best you can. You will flank the enemy at my command. I will send a messenger when I need you to move. My intention is to attack at noon, and I expect to send the messenger not long thereafter. I will send heavy cavalry around on the right to attack in concert with you. We drive them south, toward the bridge.”
“Yes, lord,” Vash said, saluting. He grinned. “It will be my pleasure, lord!” He turned and began shouting orders to his aides. He and his staff were mounted and moving in less than a minute.
The king turned and called his aide, Captain Dunstan Haviland, to him. “Captain,” he said, “write a note to Marshal Telsiora. Tell him we will begin our assault upon the Leitani at noon, and we will drive their host toward him. He is to conduct an orderly retreat southward, as we planned. Send it at once by our swiftest messenger.”
“Yes, lord,” Captain Haviland replied, bowing. “Would you care for refreshment after I execute your order?”
“Just some ale, captain,” Lorens said, giving him a boyish grin that made him appear years younger. “I’m much too excited to eat anything!”
A note:
Because of their earlier defeats at the ford and the bridge, the Leitani army's inaction before Blayne’s walls baffled the king and his officers. Some officers, the king among them, suspected many in the camp were drunk or hungover, as many of them appeared to be in either a festive mood or dull and ailing. Others surmised they expected another large Leitani army to appear out of the northern hills to strike the unaware Margonni from the rear. A third group supposed the rebels believed another emanation from Azuri would settle the matter for them, and they would reap the spoils of war without lifting a weapon. Whatever the case, they did little to prepare for the imminent Margonni onslaught.
If you enjoy what you read on this Substack, please consider buying me a cup of coffee!
Foolish of the Leitani to be so blasé about the approaching Margonni Army!