Even Gods Must Fall - Christian Warren Freed Page 0,59
dangerous quickly. Death became a tender mercy. He watched as smaller cavalry units peeled off of the main thrust to form secondary wedges and head towards the supply trains and tent area.
The lightning-style offensive he and the council had painstakingly developed was being executed to near perfection. Already his artillery units were breaking down in preparation for movement. The army couldn’t afford to be bogged down by any one engagement. Supplies, surgeons, medics, and rear echelon forces were already in column and advancing to conduct resupply and medical operations and the battle wasn’t nearly finished. Rolnir recognized the need for speed if he was going to make the rendezvous at Arlevon Gale in two days. Aurec or Vajna wouldn’t wait long to march on Chadra if he was late.
His sword was drawn though he never expected to get it bloodied. Frontline engagements were no place for the general of the army. The swarm of self-appointed bodyguards kept both friendly and enemy forces far away from their most valuable asset. Rolnir frowned at being protected so, but knew it was in Delranan’s best interests. Aurec had already suggested Rolnir take the throne as regent until a suitable candidate was found. He scowled at his thoughtlessness. There was a battle to win first.
His advance pushed into the heart of the enemy bivouac. Hundreds of bodies, dead and dying, littered the immediate area. A few were from the combined army while the vast majority were Delrananian conscripts. Heartbreaking as the loss might be, Rolnir forced himself to view each corpse as an enemy of the kingdom. Anything less was paving the way for bad dreams. His vantage from horseback showed him Badron’s command structure, which he immediately spurred towards. The only way to ensure total victory was by cutting of the enemy’s head.
Flames already licked up the outer walls. Anything or anyone trapped inside would already be dead from smoke inhalation or the flames. Frustrated, Rolnir slid from his saddle. Sharp pain shot up his right leg, nearly dropping him to a knee. He leaned on his horse for support while the pain went away. More than one soldier jerked towards him before a foul-tempered look kept them at bay.
“Douse those flames!” he barked. “I want the inside searched. Bring any bodies directly to me. We can’t let Badron escape.”
Soldiers ran for buckets.
* * * * *
The attack came with such lightning quickness Badron had little time to recover. All of his dreams and plans of rebuilding Delranan were swept aside as the full force of his former army crashed into the pitiful mass of conscripts. Compounding matters was his sudden dilemma of Bahr and Maleela, leaving his mind in a dark place. Badron was forced to abandon all of his maps, plans, and personnel as he decided to flee. His life meant more than a few thousand peasants. Their deaths would be remembered with vain glory once he assumed the throne.
He shed his fine clothes and armor, snatching ragged clothes from a body as he hurried with an alarmingly growing number of deserters who decided their lives mattered too. The king of Delranan became a peasant. They ducked through tents and confused wagon masters trying to salvage their stores of supplies. The fools. Can’t they see they need to flee as well lest the enemy capture the much-needed supplies? He bit down on his tongue to keep from giving himself away and kept running. Lord Death nipped ever at his heels.
The refugee column broke through the rear lines, attempting to reach the nearby forest. None could have expected the massed ranks of archers silently awaiting them. A lone voice cried halt just once. Peasants screamed in panic and ran faster. Badron growled at their mistake, knowing it would likely amount in his death as well. He wasn’t disappointed. Arrows ripped into the unarmored conscripts, reducing their numbers by half in the first volley. It wasn’t long before ranks of infantry popped up from the snow to encircle the few who remained standing. Badron threw down the nicked and rusted sword and placed his hands on his head along with the scores of fresh prisoners standing around him.
Wolfsreik soldiers swarmed in to begin roughly shoving the prisoners and binding their hands behind their backs. More than one was slammed down to the ground after snapping an unappreciated comment. While all were citizens of Delranan, the Wolfsreik harbored no loyalty towards those who had sided with Harnin One Eye or Badron thereafter. Chief rabble-rousers