Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [86]
Laric walked past the king without saying a word, and Grunnarch the Red, a man not known for reticence, could not command him to stop. In fury, the Red King returned to his task of organizing his army, kicking and lashing out with renewed fury at anyone and anything that failed to hop to.
As he moved about the camp, the king saw that his troops universally reacted to the appearance of the Bloodriders. The rest of the army collected uneasily, with many nervous glances at the cadaverous Riders. The horsemen ignored the other northmen, preparing a simple camp in an area they claimed for themselves.
Grunnarch, wishing he could ignore the Bloodrider, sent a messenger to summon Laric to his meeting of officers. The captain of the Bloodriders arrived silently, joining the ring of leaders gathered around Grunnarch. The group shifted apprehensively for a moment. When movement ceased, no one stood within five feet of Laric.
“We will march with the dawn!” declared Grunnarch. “Raag Hammerstaad will take half the army and the supply train, and advance along the main road toward Corwell. He will make certain that bands of refugees cannot slip around through our onslaught and return here.”
“We will spread the force across the entire valley!” declared Hammerstaad. “A rabbit will not be able to slip through our lines!”
“Good. The rest of us will strike out due west, through a pass in that ridge.” Grunnarch pointed to a skyline of rock some twenty miles to the west. It looked sheer and unclimbable from their current vantage, and a rumble of surprise arose from the men.
“We will be met by a guide,” the Red King assured them, hoping that Thelgaar had spoken the truth about the treacherous druid. “He will reveal the pass to us.
“The Bloodriders will precede this column,” he continued, looking at Laric. The captain looked on, his mind clearly elsewhere. “For the rest of us, speed is the major requirement. We take only enough provisions for five days. We march steadily, from dawn until dusk.
“And we come out of the mountains directly in the path of those refugees. The whole mob of them will be pinched between the two armies!”
The thought of the massacre that would ensue brought the blood pounding to his brain. He could see the same excitement shining in the eyes of the assembled warriors.
In the eyes of Laric, that excitement seemed to shine like the coals of a hot forge.
*****
Gavin abandoned the string of donkeys and lumbered down the road toward the blazing village, which still lay in the distance behind another low ridge.
Tristan immediately galloped forward to join the smith. “Wait!” he cried. “Take one of the horses – we’ll ride with you!”
Gavin ran stolidly, as if he hadn’t heard, and Tristan repeated the plea. Finally, his lungs heaving from exertion, the big man stopped. The pain in the smith’s eyes struck the prince through the heart. He quickly dismounted and gave the smith his horse. The big gray gelding was the largest of the mounts. The prince remounted on an extra horse as the others began to gallop down the road. The dogs raced along in the ditch, while the donkeys, unled, plodded steadily along, falling quickly to the rear.
They slowed to a canter shortly, and less than an hour later they looked down upon a wasteland of ravaged farms, burned buildings, and trampled fields. In the center of the wasteland lay the smoldering wreckage of Cantrev Myrrdale.
Not a single building remained standing upon the site of the small community. Most of it had been burned, but some smaller buildings had apparently been trampled into the ground with ruthless determination.
Spurring their mounts, they neared the ruins. Now they passed some of the burned farms, and occasionally saw human or animal remains lying in the fields or along the road. From the appearance of the