Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [49]
His men bore Grunnarch’s crimson standard proudly as they marched from their encampment to the sea. The Bloodriders, Grunnarch’s personal guard, rode their proud horses at the lead of the column, while thousands of footmen marched stolidly behind. The Bloodriders were undoubtedly the finest group of mounted warriors among the forces of the northmen, and Grunnarch’s heart swelled with pride as they cantered past.
The armies of the northmen wore little in the way of standardized uniforms, and this fact caused the Bloodriders to stand out distinctly from the rest of the force. About a hundred in number, the Riders wore bright scarlet cloaks over heavy black chain mail. Each rode a powerful warhorse the color of black ink, and carried a double-edged battle-axe that weaker men could not have lifted off the ground.
Suddenly, one horse broke from the file, carrying its redcaped Rider up the slope to Grunnarch. Laric, smiling cruelly, sprang to the ground.
“The men are fit, but they need some killing to keep them so,” reported the captain, licking his full lips.
“The loading proceeds well,” said Grunnarch.
“The Iron King has asked to see me. I ride now to Iron Keep,” said the captain, remounting.
“Why does he want to see you?” grunted the Red King.
“I don’t know, but I’m curious.”
“Just remember who your loyalty is owed to,” growled Grunnarch.
Laric’s laugh held a trace of a sneer as he whirled the black horse and raced down the slope.
For a moment, the Red King pondered Thelgaar Ironhand’s change of policy. Strange, that. Thelgaar had left the council as the lone advocate of peace, pledging not to lend his considerable force to the summer’s raiding. While his refusal had not dimmed the enthusiasm of the other northern kings for war, it certainly had limited their options. Thelgaar’s fleet numbered perhaps half of all the other fleets combined.
The following morning, the king had emerged from his chambers and pledged his followers to war. The announcement was made almost in a frenzy, and Thelgaar Ironhand had retained this fever pitch during the preparations that followed.
Thelgaar had driven his troops mercilessly through the necessary outfittings. This was fortunate, on the one hand, since his men had not prepared themselves for a summer of war. On the other hand, his intensity had an unsettling effect upon the men, since they had never seen their revered leader behave so.
Grunnarch felt a momentary flash of relief at the fact that his forces had not been ordered to accompany Thelgaar’s in the initial phases of the attack.
The Iron King had imperiously informed the other northern kings of the plan of attack, and the assembled kings had accepted the plan with little argument. In part, this had been because the plan was sound, but also, the kings had been reluctant to argue with the imposing presence of Thelgaar Ironhand. He had indeed seemed to take on a new and especially warlike personality following his change of heart.
The plan nonetheless served as a fine proposal for the reduction and elimination of the only remaining kingdom of the Ffolk upon Gwynneth: Corwell. A massive fleet, led by Thelgaar in command, would sail through the Strait of the Leviathan to Corwell Firth, and there land an army at the very foot of Corwell Castle. This force would be sufficiently powerful to reduce that fortress, and thus shatter any attempt at organized resistance.
The force Grunnarch was to lead would be nearly as big, but would sail down the eastern shore of Gwynneth, landing an army at the opposite end of the island from Thelgaar. Grunnarch’s army would then march across the island, taking slaves and booty from each community as it advanced, finally meeting Thelgaar’s force at Caer Corwell. Grunnarch’s task would be difficult, for the Ffolk were savage