Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,48

No more than a platoon. We attack the same as before. I want cavalry wings to sweep in from both flanks while pikes and swordsmen punch up the middle. Archers fire after all elements are on the move. We can’t afford to let the enemy form a phalanx and defend properly. Questions?”

His officers and brevet noncommissioned officers shook their heads. This was a well-rehearsed drill they’d executed a score of times since taking the war to the wild. By nightfall Harnin would be down another fifty soldiers. These small-level engagements were tedious, but kept the rebels motivated enough to go on to the next one. Harlan used his natural guile to keep his forces in high spirits. The promise of plunder from the dead enemy went just as far. Smiling, Harlan wheeled his horse around to take his place on the right flank.

Horses lined up in the tree line, Harlan looked up and down his line. One hundred of his finest nodded their readiness. The field commander nodded back and slowly spurred his mount forward. Drawing his sword, he raised it above his head and slowly pointed towards the unsuspecting enemy infantry column marching into death’s jaws. The line cleared the trees. He was rewarded by spying the second cavalry wing emerging from their cover. Trusting his infantry was already moving, Harlan ordered the charge.

The thunder of hooves echoed like the anger of the gods across the snow-covered field. Men roared. Horses snickered and whinnied. Shadows blurred overhead as the first two flights of arrows sped into the enemy ranks in rapid succession. Harlan grinned. Often considered foppish, he intended on furthering his reputation. One of the enemy soldiers was going to lose his head in an undignified manner. All for the legend of Harlan.

“Speed of horse! Attack!” he roared.

Seconds ticked slowly by. Hearts beat in slow motion. The world stopped turning long enough to watch as two hundred horses crashed into the lightly armored and confused infantry. Bodies fell in heaps. Caught unawares, the enemy’s infantry were quickly overwhelmed. Less than a few minutes later Harlan and his rebels were stripping the dead of everything useful.

“Bring up the infantry. We need to be moving in the event a relief force is en route,” Harlan ordered. He knelt to wipe the blood from his blade. True to his word, he had singled out the enemy leader and took his head in one swoop. Men would sing his glory in bars and taverns across western Delranan.

Weapons, coin, supplies, and serviceable uniforms and equipment were pulled away from the dead, some of it exchanged for more worn items. The rebels were gradually turning the tide of battle but their personal belongings were being worn down. Each victory helped replenish their sorely depleted stores. Lost in their purpose, none of the rebels noticed their archers and infantry were already dead.

Snarls. Growls. The bitter hatred only made possible from thousands of years of animosity spread across the battlefield as thousands of Goblin warriors sprinted the final hundred meters to crash into Harlan’s position. Men and women fell dead without being able to draw their weapons. Harlan’s mouth dropped as he recognized the twisted irony of the moment. Taken by my own ploys. But where did these beasts come from? Harlan hefted his sword with weary arms and charged the Goblin mass. His only lament was that there’d be none left alive to capture his last chance at glory.

THIRTEEN

Chadra

Bahr reluctantly admitted he took comfort in marching alongside so many fighters. He’d grown accustomed to sneaking across kingdoms with his brave handful, always doing their best to avoid confrontation, stealing when necessary. It wasn’t a comfortable lifestyle but one he ultimately felt best given the dire situation he’d been roped into. Anienam’s arrival on his front porch all those months ago was no accident. Bahr had been guided and played from the very beginning. He began to wonder if Badron wasn’t part of this entire operation. Maleela admitted to not being kidnapped, but Bahr suspected his brother was behind staging the episode in order to facilitate his war.

He glanced to his right, noticing how close Ingrid and her swarthy-looking bodyguard were riding. She was a striking lady, leading him to question why she’d lower herself down to Orlek’s level. Whatever he was now, Orlek was dangerous. No doubt if Bahr bothered to check he’d discover a checkered-past filled with acts of murder or worse. Not that it mattered. Orlek was more than capable of taking care