Richard stood at the command tent, watching the advance in the grey of the morning, and said, “They seek to roll over us.”
“As I would in their place,” said Erik. He held his helmet under his arm and pointed with his right hand. “If we hold the center, we can win the day. If either flank falls, I can plug the flow, but if the center falls, we must retreat.”
Leland stood beside his father and said, “Then we will make certain the center doesn’t fall.” He donned his own helmet and said, “Father, may I join our men?”
His father said, “Yes, my boy.” The lad ran off to where a groom held his mount. Leland leaped into the saddle as his father said, “Tith-Onanka guide your blade, and Ruthia smile on you.” The invocation of the War God and Goddess of Luck was appropriate, thought Erik.
The invaders marched in irregular rhythm, without drummers or the other time-keepers Erik would have expected from Keshian or other Kingdom units. He had fought alongside most of the men he now faced, and while he had been a spy in their midst, he felt little kinship for them. Still, he respected their individual bravery, and it was clear that Fadawah had forged them into an army instead of the disorganized bands of mounted infantry and foot soldiers they had been in Novindus. Now he saw heavy infantry, companies of men with pikes advancing, supported by men with shields and swords, bucklers and axes. Behind sat men on horseback, cavalry units from the look of them, half with spears, the others armed with sword and buckler. Erik gave a silent prayer of thanks that horse archers had never been common in Novindus.
A thought occurred to Erik and he turned to a message runner. “Send word to Akee and the Hadati, I want them moving into those trees to the right of our position. Look for flanking bowmen trying to infiltrate the woods.”
The messenger ran off, and Erik turned to Richard. “Nothing to do now but fight.” He put on his helm and walked to where a groom held his horse. He mounted and rode quickly forward, inspecting the position of the three diamonds. As he had known would be the case, Jadow had the men positioned as well as could be, and they were his hardest troops, with the Crimson Eagles holding the center diamond. Jadow waved from the center of the middle diamond and Erik saluted him. As an officer he could have delegated command to a sergeant and remained with the horse units, but Erik knew that, at heart, Lieutenant Jadow Shati from the Vale of Dreams would always be a sergeant.
“Tith-Onanka strengthen your arm!” Erik shouted.
The men in the diamond cheered their commander.
Then the invaders broke formation and charged, and the battle was on.
Tomas watched as Acaila meditated. Tathar and another elf sat with him at three points of a triangle. Tomas had asked for their wisdom and Acaila had agreed to use his mystic powers to provide guidance.
At the end of the Riftwar Tomas had vowed to never leave Elvandar unprotected. Now Tomas wondered if that oath would ultimately lead to the destruction of the thing he had sworn to protect.
Tomas knew ancient lore, lived through the memories of the being whose powers he had inherited. Ashen-Shugar, last of the Valheru, had become for a time one with Tomas, and much of his power resided still in the former kitchen boy from Crydee. With but a few others, Tomas understood the powers behind much of what had shaped his life.
In days past, beyond numbering, Ashen-Shugar and his brethren had flown the skies on the backs of dragons. They had hunted like the predators they were, both creatures without intelligence, and creatures with. In their arrogance they counted themselves among the mightiest beings in creation and had no concept of their own delusions.
Tomas had over the years come to understand that what he knew from Ashen-Shugar was truth as Ashen-Shugar knew it. He knew how the ancient Valheru felt, thought, and remembered, but because the Valheru believed it true didn’t make it so.
Alone of his kind, Ashen-Shugar avoided the influence of Drakin-Korin, who Tomas now knew was a pawn of the Nameless One, the god whose name alone invites destruction. The human in Tomas considered it ironic that the Nameless One used Valheru vanity and their own certainty of their omnipotence to destroy them eventually. The Valheru portion of Tomas’s nature felt rage at the thought his race had been nothing more than a tool, and one used and discarded when it was no longer effective.