The Trees And The Night (Book 3) Read online

  Flair wove his way through the bodies of injured and dead Keltaran never taking his eyes from the giant purposefully striding toward him. Some of the men below him groaned and gasped for help, but the young man needed to ignore them. If their Keltaran comrades were reasonable, these men would receive help momentarily.

  Within moments Flair stood ten yards from the Keltaran. The pair studied one another for a moment. The giant was old. Gray streaked the wild red hair flowing to his shoulders. Scars covered a powerful body growing lean with age. The Keltaran carried a worn battle-ax, a weapon that had seen much action.

  The Keltaran flipped the ax handle into his hands and slammed its head into the rocky soil. Flair remained stone still. The weapon stood almost as tall as the young man. The Keltaran leaned forward on its handle and eyed Flair critically.

  “You are young,” growled the giant with a hint of surprise.

  “You are old,” replied Flair flatly.

  Utecht allowed a light chuckle.

  “Your archers have done a good deal of damage,” stated the giant.

  “That was their intent,” returned Flair.

  Utecht snarled at the boy. He admired the Zodrian scheme but could take no pleasure in its results.

  “It was but a delay to your defeat, boy,” stated Utecht. “In all my years in the Anvil I have never seen such a mismatch between our forces. You will be overrun.”

  “Perhaps,” smiled Flair. “I have not been in the Guard long, but time is not required to see the mismatch in leadership on this battlefield. I intended to converse with a ranking member of the Anvil, yet see no insignia upon your person.”

  Utecht narrowed his eyes at the boy, acutely aware of the misstep by Fenrel and his lackeys. The giant felt no need to concede this point to the Guardsman.

  “They confer and devise your downfall,” replied Utecht. “They elected not to bother with the cries of mercy you surely come to deliver.”

  “On the contrary,” smiled Flair, “it is mercy I come to offer.”

  A puzzled expression crossed Utecht’s face and the giant laughed.

  “Surely you do not waste our time with ludicrous suggestions concerning terms for our retreat,” laughed Utecht shaking his head. “You are a bold one, boy.”

  “No,” replied Flair soberly. “I do not pretend to ignore the dire situation my army is in. However, I see others, children of Avra in more dire need.”

  Flair turned and waved a hand across the battlefield strewn with the bodies of the injured and dead.

  “These children of Avra do not deserve to lie here,” said Flair.

  Recognition entered Utecht’s face and the Keltaran grimaced.

  “Those still gasping for air do not need to perish staring into the harsh face of the morning sun while the men who sent them to this fate argue over the best way to produce more corpses.” said Flair moving toward the giant. “The first order of business for your leaders should have been to collect their dead and dying.”

  Utecht’s head lowered slightly as the truth of the boy’s remarks took hold.

  “I do not pretend to know you, Keltaran,” continued Flair, his voice full of passion, “but I know of you. This is not your way.

  “Your list of grievances against my people is long and filled with truth, but in your quest for vengeance do not lose your souls. Retain your honor.”

  Flair and Utecht stared at one another for a long moment. Finally the giant bowed.

  “You are young,” stated Utecht again, “but your age belies your wisdom. What is it you propose?”

  “Send two dozen unarmed soldiers to collect your dead and wounded,” said Flair. “They may come and go unmolested by my archers and my troops as long as they display their own flag of parlay. When your men have cleared the field they may lower their flag and the usual honor of parlay will apply.”

  Utecht’s huge hand rose and he stroked the red and gray beard covering his heavy jaw.

  “There is much compassion and honor in what you propose, Zodrian,” stated Utecht. “If I didn’t know better, I would think you a student at the Monastery of Awoi.”

  “You don’t know better,” smiled Flair, “and the Abbot of the Monastery has carried its message beyond the borders of Keltar.”

  Utecht raised an interested eyebrow, but did not pursue his question. The men lying among the grasses of this battlefield needed attention, not conversation.

  “Do you agree with this proposal?” asked Flair.

  “I agree with this proposal,” replied Utecht, “but am uncertain if I hold the authority to do so.”

  Now it was Flair’s turn to be puzzled. He furrowed his brow, unsure of what to say. Utecht swept his hand behind him.

  “I am no different from any other man standing along the tree line,” continued Utecht. “Our commanders left us whilst they scheme. I may agree to your proposal, but who is to say what Prince Fenrel will do upon his return.”

  Flair clenched his teeth.

  “I challenge you, Keltaran!” blurted the young man.

  “You what?” exclaimed Utecht.

  Certainly the boy did not hold this entire conversation in order to challenge the Keltaran to single combat at the end of it.

  “I challenge your thinking,” snapped Flair. “You are not like any other man arrayed behind you. None stepped from that line but you. None held the courage to recognize the need of his army and step forward to take control. It is men like you, men who step forward even though they were not singled out, who change history.

  “I challenge you to look at yourself and recognize your duty to the men lying here at our feet. Accept my proposal and if Fenrel of Keltar finds fault in your judgment make him see his error.”

  Flair stared hard into the Keltaran’s eyes and the giant steadfastly returned the gaze.

  “I accept,” stated Utecht finally.

  The giant spun on his heels and strode toward the tree line. Flair nodded and pulled a flask of water from beneath his cloak. He quickly moved amongst the injured Keltaran offering them water and assuring them of their imminent help.

  “The Keltaran accepted,” said Brelg over Manfir’s shoulder.

  “Yes,” nodded the prince. “Let us hope Colonel Flair planted a seed that is allowed to grow.”

  Utecht charged into the line of Keltaran barking orders.

  “Kleed! Turig!” shouted Utecht to a pair of older Keltaran standing near the front line. “Gather two dozen men to your banners to see to our wounded and dead. Have them discard their arms and form rank. Be quick about it.”

  The pair slapped soldiers on the shoulders and formed them into groups. The soldiers quickly discarded their battle-ax and long pikes.

  “Warth! Raise a banner of parlay and move it to the head of the troops. Place it amidst the battlefield while our men work,” shouted Utecht. “I, and only I, will tell you when to remove it.”

  A young Keltaran quickly grabbed a pike and tore a swatch of white from the cloth of a saddlebag he overturned. When the cloth was affixed to the pike he stood and hesitantly moved forward.

  “Can these Zodrians be trusted?” questioned the young man turning back to Utecht.

  “What of Fenrel?” added Turig staring at the tree line to the West.

  “We have more to fear from Fenrel than the Zodrians,” scoffed Utecht. “Leave the prince to me. I will accept all responsibility for these actions. Now off with you.”

  The group charged out toward the battlefield and amongst their fallen comrades.

  Flair helped a fallen giant take his final drink when the thunder of two-dozen Keltaran runners approached from behind. He spun to see the Keltaran split from rank and move amongst their brethren. A veteran moved rapidly toward the young Zodrian and Flair stood.

  “Did you bring any monks with you?” questioned Flair sternly.

  The Keltaran abruptly stopped. The young man’s harsh manner stunned him.

  “No,” replied Turig. “Prince Fenrel disbanded the brotherh
ood and forbade those of faith on this expedition.”

  “Then see to your fellow here,” snarled Flair at the big man. “He begs for a monk in his final moments and should find comfort in the eyes of a comrade not an enemy. If you know any prayers, offer them to him. He finds no comfort in those I recite for they are foreign and strange to him.”

  Turig quickly knelt beside his comrade and softly spoke soothing words into his ear. The dying Keltaran relaxed then sighed and was gone. Flair turned from the scene and slowly walked toward the hill. After a few strides Turig called from behind the retreating colonel.

  “Zodrian.”

  Several Keltaran stopped their work and watched the pair as Turig stood and lightly bowed to Flair.

  “Thank you,” stated the giant.

  Fenrel was pleased as he rode back toward the front lines. He allowed Aul to become the focus of the discussion but inserted himself at key points to approve the plan. The remainder of his Ramsskull were assured of Fenrel’s place, but took pride in their plan and their fervor ignited once again. His decision not to punish Aul was a good one. The lieutenant was becoming a figurehead to the Ramsskull. A figurehead they would readily follow into battle. Fenrel smiled. Although supremely confident in his abilities, why should the prince risk himself in such meaningless battles as the one here along the Dunmor.

  His Brodor broke through the stand of pines and he reined it in. His demeanor immediately changed and his face twisted into a fit of rage. In the distance across the field members of the Anvil spread throughout the battlefield collecting and administering to the dead and dying. Already many of these burdens were retrieved and set amongst the Anvil. These bodies, these signs of weakness and symbols of defeat, crowded the tree line.

  Fenrel leapt from his mount as Aul and the Ramsskull emerged from the trees behind him. The prince stormed amongst the Anvil trying to find a focus for his anger. He noted the pike standing near the edge of the battlefield flying a white pennant of parlay.

  “Who authorized this?” screamed the prince pointing to the pike in the distance.

  Many of the Anvil stepped away from the hulking figure as he swept a hand across them.

  “None of you here possesses such authority,” shouted Fenrel. “Your commanders were in conference.”

  Utecht stepped from amongst his brethren and approached the prince. His expression was hard and grave.

  “None of authority remained,” stated the soldier, “and decisions needed to be made. I held former rank and took it upon myself to accept the offer of parlay from the Zodrians.”

  Fenrel raged forward and backhanded Utecht across the face with his gloved hands. The old soldier spun and fell to the ground, blood dripping from his mouth. Fenrel advanced and stood over him with fists clenched.

  “Weakness,” raged the prince. “You show the enemy a face of weakness and embolden them while undermining all I have worked for. This army needs no offer of parlay from Zodra to collect her dead. We will retrieve them when we have routed the pigs from the hillside and exterminated every last one of them.”

  “Some of those on the battlefield lived and needed our attention or they would surely die,” replied Utecht sternly.

  “Then they would die honoring their king and leader,” snarled Fenrel raising an iron boot.

  Aul watched the scene play out and knew the direction his master would take. Utecht was one of the old Anvil, a sergeant of some renown who others respected. No good could come of this punishment, and something inside the giant angered at the thought of it.

  Aul spent his life a borderline citizen of the kingdom. Certainly he was gifted with strength and possessed a talent with weaponry. However, he always bridled at the discipline of the Anvil and drifted from place to place never truly finding a position that satisfied. The wealthy of the kingdom always required a man of Aul’s abilities and the Keltaran mercenary always preferred a pocketful of coin as a reward as opposed to the praise king and countrymen. Aul’s life thus far shone as a testament to men blessed with nothing more than an aptitude for violence.

  Fenrel became the apex of this lifelong climb. The prince was a man who could provide the coin as well as a certain respect from the people. Perhaps this respect was gained through fear and intimidation, but it was a form of respect, so Aul took it. Fenrel represented the crown and the prince led Aul and his colleagues to believe their service was in Keltar’s best interest. As Aul thought hard on it now, he knew this to be untrue, but he had allowed himself to be fooled as any man who craved respectability would.

  This deception, combined with the way the prince plied the men he gathered to his banner with gold and power, was a heady mixture for Aul and the other borderline citizens comprising the Ramsskull. Fenrel’s offers intoxicated them.

  The first charge toward the Dunmor hills changed Aul. As he gazed to the heights and saw the archers rise from nowhere, his heart leapt into his throat. His men were about to be massacred. Not members of the Anvil. Not loyal Keltaran soldiers, but his men.

  In that instant he saw what others tried to get him to see his entire life. He cared for his men more than himself. In the past he took money, craved power. He used and abused it at his leisure, then moved on to take more. If he harmed others in the process, so be it. Aul believed in Aul and nothing more. Even when Fenrel recruited him and tried to sell him a story of world domination, the Keltaran mercenary saw it as nothing more than a means to grab more power and coin. Surely he agreed that the Zodrians wronged his people over the centuries, but nothing compelled him to right these wrongs. Nothing spoke to his heart.

  However, as he saw the first volley of those dark fletched arrows rise into the sky over his men, he changed. He was drawn to protect them. Drawn to lead them from danger. These men sacrificed so much and did not deserve to be slaughtered due to the incompetence of their superiors. As he charged in amongst them and drew the fire of the Zodrians, he saw their faces. Faces originally contorted by fear and confusion came alive with hope. A hope given them by the runaway son of a miller thrust into a position he never sought in his life.

  Aul thought back on his father now. An honest, hardworking man long since dead. A man who strove to teach a willful boy the ways of Avra. A man who spoke of a calling that all would receive one day in their life. A calling that would define who a man was and what he believed. Perhaps his father was right. Perhaps Aul stood at the moment of his calling. The Ramsskull lieutenant leapt from his horse and raced to the side of his prince as Fenrel’s iron shod boot hovered over the prostrate Utecht.

  “My lord,” interrupted Aul.

  Fenrel spun and glared at his lieutenant.

  “Aul, I’ve been patient with you,” snapped the prince, “but you overstep your bounds!”

  Aul ignored the prince’s threats and moved in close beside his master.

  “My lord, I serve only you,” whispered Aul in a low voice only audible to Fenrel. “I attempt to protect you from your own fervor. All here know and agree with your desire to punish the Zodrian for their centuries of abuse, but do not let your passions distract us from our goal. The men’s minds are in a precarious state at this moment. Your call captured many, but just as many wonder why we abandoned our homeland to fight on foreign soil.”

  “This soil and all lands stretching to the grasslands of the mongrel horse breeders are our lands by right,” growled Fenrel.

  “My lord,” begged Aul soothingly. “None here argue that point, but punishing a man for aiding his brothers will not endear you to their hearts. The Zodrian offer displays their precarious state of mind. They give mercy to our few in order to beg for it in the future. All arrayed along this battlefield can observe the mismatched nature of our armies. The outcome is inevitable and the Zodrian commanders prepare for saving their own hides.”

  Fenrel glanced to the form of Utecht still sprawled on the ground then quickly glanced across the faces of the men surrounding the soldier. Their faces showed dismay and anger. Aul was right. Fenrel c
aptured enough of their hearts to lead them from their homeland on his bid for power and glory. They were willing to face death to get him what he wanted, why risk losing blind obedience over the life of this one man. Fenrel’s foot settled back to the dusty ground.

  “They will receive no such mercy from us,” growled Fenrel. “Aul, I want your plan underway immediately. When the field is clear we attack. I wish to waste no more time trapped before these hills on my way to my new throne in Zodra.”

  The prince spun from Utecht, mounted his Brodor and rode toward his pavilion. As the prince rode from sight behind the trees Aul leaned over and held a hand out to Utecht. At first the old soldier was reluctant to accept the hand of one of these Ramsskull, but he had watched Aul ride in the face of the Zodrian archers and lead many of the Anvil from danger. Perhaps he was a better man than Utecht gave him credit. Slowly the old soldier locked hands with the lieutenant and was lifted to his feet.

  “You may not like me, old one,” said Aul, “but heed my advice. Do not cross Prince Fenrel again. He stands in the king’s stead and would just as soon have one less infantry man than let anyone upset his plans.”

  “I will not disrupt his plans as long as they are the plans of Keltar,” replied Utecht.

  The two bowed lightly to one another and Aul turned to confer with his commanders while the other members of the Anvil gathered Utecht into their ranks.

  CHAPTER 12: THE SNARE

  Brelg stepped to the East side of the hilltop where Manfir stood looking down at his cavalry in the shallow valley below. The horsemen were divided into three equal groups behind the hill and stood at the ready. Manfir’s flagman stood beside the prince clutching a red pennant. Further east, the tops of the Dunmor hills jutted from the waving grasslands. To the West the plain rolled to meet a thin tree line of fir trees nearly eclipsed by the line of Keltaran warriors standing before it.