Black wizards - Douglas Niles [153]
Alexei, Daryth, Pawldo, O'Roarke, and Robyn joined the prince as he groped for a plan.
"My prince, what is that?" asked Alexei, pointing toward the south. Tristan looked past the ranks of spearmen up the steeply sloping headland, to the rocky promontory he had originally seen as a bivouac. There were small figures up there, moving toward a point below them. The mercenaries, apparently, did not realize there was a group behind them.
"Who are they?" asked Robyn.
"I can't tell – but what's that?" Astounded, Tristan watched the tiny figures pry and push at the boulders on their hilltop. Several of the huge rocks broke free, tumbling toward the backs of the king's brigade below them. More and more of the stones were pushed off the crest, tumbling and rolling until they crashed through the line of the Scarlet Guard.
Soon a crashing landslide tore at the side of the rise as an ocean of crushing rock poured down the hill. Whoever was up there had just done them a great service, but they would need to capitalize on the opportunity.
"Charge!" he cried. "To the hilltop!"
His men voiced a ragged cheer and followed as he held the Sword of Cymrych Hugh high above his head. A thousand voices cried for the blood of the guard, and the rebels of Doncastle rushed forward like a tidal wave toward the broken crimson ranks.
The dust from the landslide had barely settled when the men of Doncastle reached the base of the hill. Many of the crimson-coated spearmen had been crushed by the rocks, and the rest had been separated into small groups in their haste to escape the slide.
These groups were easy prey for the attackers. Tristan led the way into one band of perhaps eighty spearmen. The great moorhound growled and snapped at his side, and the men of Doncastle spread behind him. He stabbed and cut and thrust his way into the thick of the enemy, ignoring a dozen painful wounds.
The pocket of spearmen quickly fell under the attack, and the prince saw his men slow the momentum of their charge. "Onward! To the top!" he cried, leaping among the boulders to begin the climb up the rocky knoll.
He paused and looked back. The ogre brigade lumbered forward, and the mercenaries to the east were streaming down to the shore. But his force had broken through the shattered brigade, climbing the hill. They would reach the top before the other guards could join the fight.
And there, grinning down at him through her bristling beard, stood the stalwart Finellen.
A thousand men of Doncastle and one hundred fifty sturdy dwarves stood upon the rocky knoll and watched the sun disappear into the Sea of Moonshae. The rise was a good place to fight – steep sides dropped to the north, east, and south, while a peninsula jutted into the sea to the west. A narrow neck of land, barely fifty feet wide and flanked by towering cliffs to either side, connected the promontory to the mainland. This would be their final redoubt. Cliffs sheltered their position from attack by sea.
Tristan's elation had dimmed, though, as Finellen grimly pointed out that the help of the dwarves came with its own cost: The creeping mass of the duergar army was plainly visible to the south. Already, the leading dark dwarves were probing the base of their rise – though a brief shower of arrows from the archers of Doncastle sent them scurrying back for cover.
The dark dwarves probed and retreated several times as darkness closed in. Each time they tried to force their way up the slope and were called back by their own commanders. It made sense – all of the enemy armies would attack in the morning and Cyndre would not want to allow the dwarves to attack