Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [103]
The prince stood upon a low hill. Several hundred yards away, the river flowed past, too deep to cross easily. The far side of the river, and the land beyond this hill, were cloaked with tangled undergrowth. The only good terrain for such an army, Tristan realized, was a flat field, about two hundred yards wide, stretching between the river and the hill.
He looked again at the tiny specks inching along the Corwell Road and finalized his plan. If several elements of his force could work smoothly together, they just might have a chance.
Brigit dismounted beside him and removed her helm. Her red-gold hair spilled about her shoulders in a huge cascade. The tops of her small, pointed ears poked through the tresses. Finellen, too, clumped up to them, seeming still fresh even after the dwarves’ long and rapid march.
The prince nodded at the distant road as he started to speak. “We’ve got to try and keep the raiders from reaching the road. The longer we can delay them, the more of our people will have a chance to escape the trap.”
He looked at each of his companions. “I’ve been thinking of a plan. The best place to try and hold them is here – if we move any closer to the road, we’ll lose all benefit of terrain.
“I’m going to take Gavin and Daryth and ride to the road. I’ll try to enlist as many people as I can to aid us. If I can gather enough, we might have a chance at stopping the raiders in battle.”
They all considered this, silently, for a moment. The prospect of meeting the veteran raiders in battle with a hastily recruited mob of refugees did not seem like a sound battle plan to any of them, but they were willing to listen to this new, young “general” who spoke with such confidence.
“Finellen, can you deploy your company across the crest of this hill?” Tristan went on.
The dwarf eyed the low hilltop and the surrounding terrain. She seemed to approve of his choice, and grunted her assent.
“Brigit, I need you and the sisters to harass them all the way down this valley. See if you can make them think they’re under attack, and force them to deploy for battle. The more time you can buy, the less time we’ll have to stand them off when they get here.”
The captain looked at him quietly, no emotion visible in her huge brown eyes. She thought for a moment, and nodded. “I understand.”
He looked at Robyn. “Remember that trick with the tree?” The lass nodded, puzzled. “While the sisters ride up the valley, I’d like you and some of the dwarves to do whatever you can to those woods, and the field, to make it difficult for an army to pass.
“And,” he added, “be sure and let Brigit in on your plans. I suspect the sisters might be in kind of a hurry when they get down here, and we’d hate to delay them.”
The prince pointed now to a shallow ditch he had noticed. Its purpose, apparently, was to carry rainwater from the hill to the river. Thus, it neatly bisected the field where Tristan planned to make his defense.
“If I can recruit some troops, I’ll station them along that ditch. They’ll be anchored by the dwarves here on the right and by the river on the left.”
“What if you don’t get any volunteers?” asked Robyn, deeply concerned.
“Then we will do it alone,” answered Tristan, with more fervor than confidence.
“Here,” Robyn said, with a serious look. She removed a scarf she had worn around her neck. Emblazoned upon it, the prince saw, was the Lone Wolf crest of his family. She tied the scarf to the tip of a lance and handed the weapon to him. The scarf fluttered bravely from the tip, billowing out in the faint breeze.
“If you’re going to try and raise an army,” Robyn explained, “you might as well try and look like a prince!” He carried the memory of her departing smile all the way to the road.
*****
Grunnarch sat morosely beneath a hastily erected canvas tarp.