Crusade - James Lowder [111]
"I want the refugees gathered behind this pavilion," the king noted after he'd finished drawing. "That will put our army and most of the camp between them and the fighting."
The three generals nodded in agreement, and Farl volunteered to see that the king's wishes were fulfilled. That settled, Azoun reviewed the signals the standard-bearers would use to relay his orders, then asked for questions.
There were none.
"May the Goddess of Luck and the God of Battle look favorably upon us," the king concluded. As General Elventree and Lord Harcourt turned to go, Azoun clapped them both on the shoulder. "I don't suppose I'll see you before the Tuigan arrive, so fare well. I know you'll both fight bravely."
Lord Harcourt dismissed the parting with a wave. "The barbarians will be routed by sunset," he said firmly as he left.
Brunthar Elventree and Farl Bloodaxe exchanged worried glances. "Let's hope," the dalesman said and followed the cavalry commander to the lines.
"What was that all about?" Azoun asked Farl when the others had gone.
The infantry commander paused, then pursed his lips. "We-Brunthar and I-feel that, well, Lord Harcourt may be underestimating the Tuigan's strength.
Given the chance, he'd probably try to rout them with the nobles alone."
Guiding Farl to the exit, Azoun said, "I agree with your assessment, my friend, but Lord Harcourt is a good soldier. He'll follow my commands when it comes down to a fight, so his mistaken disregard for the enemy's strength doesn't matter." When the infantry commander paused at the door, the king added, "Besides, there are plenty of things I'm counting on you for already.
Leave the command of the generals to me; it gives me something to occupy my time."
A sly smile on his face, Farl bowed and headed into the heart of the camp to oversee the movement of the refugees. Azoun watched the commander go, then called for a squire to help him don the rest of his armor.
Less than an hour later, after a quick visit to the temporary head of the War Wizards, the king was touring the battle lines. He walked a little stiffly in his full suit of plate mail, but with the practiced gait of one accustomed to the heavy burden of armor. Azoun personally favored training in battle conditions, and he'd often spent an hour or two in the height of summer practicing his swordsmanship dressed in his full armor. Seeing the distress in some of his soldiers' faces as the early morning sun beat down upon their heavy mail made the king thankful it was a habit he had maintained. Even though it was relatively cool for a day in mid-Flamerule, any sun hammering on an armored body could be brutal.
Soldiers scurried along the front, fortifying their positions or simply taking their place in line. As the generals had agreed, the bulk of the army was split into two lines, but the map had not shown that they were spread across the slope of a wide, low hill. This positioning afforded the bowmen in the second rank a good view of the field. Azoun glanced behind him at the four groups of archers and prayed their longbows would prove a match for the short, curved bows the barbarians fired from horseback.
Adjusting his coif of mail, the king wiped the sweat from his forehead. The hill itself will help the archers, too, he concluded silently. The field's long slope will almost certainly slow the Tuigan charge enough for the bowmen to whittle their numbers down a little before the first sally.
"Your Highness!" a messenger shouted and dropped to his knees behind the king.
Azoun spun around to see a dirty, panting youth. "What is it, boy?"
"The barbarians, Your Highness. I seen 'em coming when I was on scout," the youth reported between gasps. "I raced here as fast as my horse'd carry me."
Flipping back a mailed glove, Azoun arched his hand over his eyes and looked to