Chapter One
Mind Games in the Marshes
Tranquility. Fardar was asleep with no thought of waking. He was dreaming of cool ocean breezes swaying shade trees under their loving caress. Those images melted effortlessly into young children playing in the fields of Mindel, while their parents tilled the soil. The children ran to a high cliff overlooking the sea. There, they waved in vain to
a ship disappearing over the horizon. The vessel's sails glowed like fine gold against the backdrop of the rising sun.
The images vanished as Fardar felt a strong blow to his side. He awoke to find a Valian centurion in full battle gear
laying on him. “Stay out of the way observer,” grunted the centurion and he regained his balance. “If you insist on sleeping through the battle, be good enough do it somewhere not under foot!” He marched away to join his unit.
I have overslept, he thought to himself. The diminutive, middle aged man, rolled to his feet as fast as he
could, despite his sizable girth and dusted off his luxurious vestments.
He looked around to find his bearings. He was in the middle of a military camp. Hundreds of men scurried about as dawn approached. Behind him, stood a tent of some significance, among the others in the camp. Fardar hurried to the door of the tent. When he arrived, two guards crossed their spears to prevent his entrance.
“Who are you and what is your business?” barked one of the guards. Fardar pulled his shirt down in order to give a neater appearance. “I am Lord Fardar, on special assignment from King Balinocus of Rador. My mission is to observe your engagements with the Marsh goblins. I arrived during the night. Now let me in this instant!”
The guards reluctantly pulled their spears aside. “I’ll warn you,” one of the guards said to Fardar, “General Grithinshield does not take kindly to intrusions during his meetings, and with us having marched all night to get here, he’s liable to be a touch ornery.” Fardar brushed him aside and entered the tent.
Within the canvass tent, four warriors of great stature stood. They all leaned on a map covered table as though they were trying to prevent the parchment from blowing away. The first warrior was a young woman with hair the color of fine red wine. She wore a tight fitted breastplate made of leather and brass studs. Over her shoulder, she carried a compound bow and a quiver of arrows. To her left, was a man who was slightly older, but wore a full set of plate mail armor. A pointed metal shield, bearing a warship crest, was slung over his shoulder.
On the far right side, stood a man of greater size than any of the others nearby. Whether he shaved his head, or had lost his hair due to age, he nevertheless was bald. His face was grizzled with a deformed eye on one side and a scar running the length of his cheek on the other. He wore plate mail, which went to his knees and did not cover past the shoulder to his bone crushing arms. Chain mail was layered beneath the plate.
Close to his right, stood the grandest half elf Fardar had ever beheld. His clothing showed the rank of a general, but had the appearance of a common soldier. The general’s long, silver-blonde hair, draped over his shoulders. He wore only a breastplate of mail and a scarlet cape.
At Fardar’s entrance, the conversation between the four stopped abruptly. The half elf glared at him through his deep blue eyes, with such a look, that Fardar wished he could render himself invisible.
“Who is this fool that enters my tent, uninvited on the morn’ of battle?”
The soldier with the deformed eye drew his sword and quickly moved toward Fardar. Terrified, Fardar spoke quickly, “I am Lord Fardar of Rador. I was invited by your King Hardurian to observe your battle with the marsh goblins. Further, I am to be apprised of all your plans and tactics.” His quivering hand held forth a scroll.
A soldier snatched the paper from him and handed it to the half elf. There was silence for several moments as he read. His expression went from anger to disbelief and back to anger. He casually tossed the scroll on the table and said, “Indeed, it says that you have been invited here. However, nowhere does it say anything about you being invited to come to my war council late.”
“That won’t happen again, my Lord.”
“You are right,” the half elf said as he moved closer. “For by the time the sun reaches midday, the goblin threat will be ended.”
“Let me formally introduce myself Lord Fardar. I am General Linvin Grithinshield. The man about to filet you is my number two and commander of my infantry, Lord Sculla. Over here we have the captain of the King's knights, Lord Victolin. Lastly, to the left, is Lady Githara, commander of the Valian bowmen. Now that we have dispensed with the pleasantries, my commanders and I have a battle to win.”
Victolin rolled the map and placed it in a corner. One by one, the leaders shook hands with Linvin by locking hold of each others' wrists in a sign of brotherhood and solidarity. After shaking, they filed out of the tent and returned to their units.
“It ends today,” Linvin called after them. Soon only he and Fardar remained in the tent. Linvin turned his attention to his weaponry hanging in the corner.
“You have told me nothing of your battle plans General Grithinshield. Your infantry can’t be more than two thousand strong, and while they are well equipped, they are vastly outnumbered. Not more than two arrow shots before you stands an army of ten thousand goblins.”
“Nearer twenty,” Linvin corrected, in a casual manor, while donning a lustrous silver helmet with red decorative feathering down it’s center, running front to back. He placed a small dagger in his boot and then harnessed a great long sword over his shoulder.
Fardar was taken aback by the cavalier attitude. “How do you expect to defeat such a superior force?” Linvin took up his shield and headed for the door. When he reached Fardar at the entrance, he replied, “They are not superior. There are simply more of them. I will defeat them the same way I defeated similar sized armies yesterday and the day before. I will use the one weapon even their war chief does not possess.”
“And what may that be?”
Linvin smiled as though deciding not to make a joke. He poked Fardar in the forehead with his finger and said, “My
brain.”
Fardar quickly put the pieces together in his mind. “You mean you have vanquished forty thousand goblins in the last two days, marched your men all night and expect them to go into battle now? You can’t ask that of your men. They won’t be ready to fight.”
Linvin grabbed Fardar by the scruff and pulled him face-to-face. “The goblins’ new war chief is not so much a fool as his predecessors. He launched an invasion in three simultaneous thrusts, knowing full well that our numbers were limited. By choosing the time and place of the battles, I have swept the first two thrusts from the field. He
will never think that this is the same army that defeated his other forces, and even if he does, I have some surprises for him.”
“And your men?” Fardar asked timidly. “They may have some surprises for you. What makes you think after the past two days they will do what you ask?”
“I did not ask them to do this. I ordered them to! They will obey because they are good soldiers.”
“Orders will not overcome fatigue,” Fardar reminded him. “It is said that fatigue makes cowards of us all.”
Linvin released him. “Then you must be incredibly tired.”
“I trained these men to live and die at my command. More than that, they are as family to me. We are brothers of the sword, and our swords will be drawn one more time. They will do what they must, as far as being ready to fight…” Linvin drew open the flap of the tent. His infantry had formed ranks, seven men deep, in battle formation. “They will be fine.” Fardar was astounded by the discipline of the regiment.
He walked alongside Linvin as he headed for the front of the line. They first came upon the Valian bowmen, as they finished digging a shallow ditch behind the infantry.
“Is it ready Githara?” Linvin asked of the red-haired warrior woman, as he stopped by the edge.
“Three feet deep General Grithinshield. Just short of the water table, as you requested.”
“Good. Stay out of sight until your part is to be played.”
Githara saluted him and returned to her bowmen.
As Linvin moved toward the lines Fardar whispered to him, “Are all of your archers women?” Linvin neither broke stride nor turned his head. “Most of them are women,” he replied.
Before Fardar could say another word, Linvin interjected. “Fardar, have you ever had a woman mad with you?”
“Well, yes…but I don’t see…”
“Mad enough to throw things at you?” Linvin inquired. Fardar reluctantly nodded. Linvin smiled; put his hand on Fardar’s shoulder and said, “Now imagine if she had used a bow instead.” Fardar’s stomach churned at the thought.
They advanced through the ranks until they reached the front of the lines. The battlefield before them was just taking shape in the light of the morning sun. Low lying fog made it look like they were standing on a cloud. Even with the poor visibility, Fardar could see why Linvin chose the spot for battle. They were just on the edge of the Southern Marshes. Thickets of dense, waterlogged forest stretched along both sides of the field. So abundant was the flora, that it formed a forbidding wall to any entry. Some distance to the right, was a low, dry hill covered with trees. Linvin had set up his forces in the only passage through the forest for a great distance. For an army to avoid the passage, they would have to march days out of their way.
It is a perfect bottleneck, thought Fardar. The ranks of men stretched from the forest wall on one side to that on
the other. There was no way to flank Linvin’s army.
A squire brought Linvin his armored war horse. An additional long sword lay sheathed along the saddle. Fardar raced to find his own horse. Linvin mounted his steed and slowly rode along the line, inspecting his men.
“How many will you get today Revvi?” he asked of a soldier.
“I’m getting them all, me lord.”
“Ha,”Linvin retorted with a smile. “The day I am in a battle in which I do not spill any blood, will be the day you catapult my dead body at the enemy. Even then, I’ll take a couple with me.” The men broke out in laughter. Linvin joked and gave words of encouragement up and down the line.
Fardar finally returned on his pony. It was a fine animal but was dwarfed by Linvin’s magnificent steed. With his
preparations complete, Linvin addressed his troops.
“My brothers, my sisters, and my friends, for years, I have fought alongside you, asking no one to do what I would not. Our fates are intertwined. I am here, by your side, once again this day. Ready to take on all the foul things that swamp can throw at us. I know their numbers are great, they always are. I know they will try some tricks, they always do. I also know that we win because we always have!”
“Now, I have trained you to be the best soldiers in the world. I know you are tired. I know you want to go home and after this battle, you will; but if we do not stop this army now, you will have no homes!
“They believe it is their right to own your homeland. They think it is their destiny to enslave your families and pillage your crops. I say it is their destiny to taste our blades and fall!” Linvin drew his sword and held it aloft as the troops cheered.
“There will be no retreat for either side today. We must not only defeat this army but also destroy it completely, so
that it no longer casts a shadow on our borders!” The men pounded their weapons against their shields in rhythm with his words.
“My brothers and sisters, I leave you with one thought. If we win, we go home. If they win, they go to our homes! Trust your leaders. We will guide you to victory!” Linvin’s horse stood on its hind legs as the men chanted, “Grith-in-shield, Grith-in-shield”.
Linvin turned and rode off toward the hill. The bewildered Fardar followed. “General! Where are you going?” he shouted. Linvin disappeared into a nearly invisible path at the forest wall, with Fardar cautiously following.
The branches were so dense that it felt like he was riding through a closet. He continued after Linvin to the base of the hill. “After that speech you come over here to watch?” panted Fardar.
Linvin dismounted and led his horse up the hill. “Perhaps if you had not slept so late you would understand why I am here. For now, just do your job and observe.”
As they crested the knoll, Fardar was amazed to see hundreds of heavy cavalry ready for action. At their lead was Lord Victolin. Linvin took to his saddle and rode alongside his subordinate, shaking his hand at the wrist.
“You were right about this spot General. The birds cannot even see us in here.”
Linvin pulled out a primitive looking glass, scanning the edge of the fog. “What of the path I asked for?”
“It is cleared enough for two horses to ride abreast, right to the spot you indicated. Any wider would risk
detection.”
“That will do,” Linvin said, while continuing to scan for the enemy. “They will use this fog to move in close. It will make them bolder as they believe it disguises their numbers.”
“They believe that because they are right,” Fardar snorted. “We can barely see our own men, let alone theirs. Just how do you expect to send signals to your infantry from way up here? They will never see a flag and a horn would give away your position.”
Linvin pulled down the spectacle and viewed the plump lord with disdain. He paused a moment to collect himself. “My dear Lord Fardar,” he said, with great contempt in his voice. “Your observations have become quite loud. I suggest you shut your mouth before I do it for you.” Fardar’s intimidation was most apparent.
“As for signaling my men, I need it not. Each of my commanders has my trust and support. They know what I expect and have full authority during the battle to command their troops as they see fit. Flexibility is the key to success on the battlefield. Empower the people at the lion’s jaws and they will slay their prey. Besides, in the heat of battle, who has time to look for flags or listen for horns? One’s attention is better spent on his opponent.”
“General!”cried Victolin. “There is a disturbance in the fog.”
Linvin peered through the glass. The fog was indeed being stirred. With the ever-increasing light, he saw an ocean of pikes pointed at the sky. They moved slowly but deliberately toward Linvin’s line.
“How many would you estimate Victolin?”
He too, had been watching through his lens. Putting it down, Linvin answered, “Six, maybe seven thousand at
most.”
“Not the great host we’d expected. Almost what we would be hoping for after two major battles in two days.”
“Sir, we should ride round behind them now and attack from the rear.”
“Yes,” Linvin said calmly. “That sounds like the correct move right now, but they are marching too slowly. They must know they outnumber us by a wide margin. Goblins rarely maintain their composure when battle looms. That is especially true when they expect to win. Yet the army we see, marches at a snail’s pace. I do not trust it.”
“They may be unsure of their footing in the fog,” Victolin suggested.
“Perhaps,”answered Linvin, “but we will wait all the same.”
The pikes advanced on Linvin’s line. When they were five hundred paces away, their heads came into view. At two hundred paces, their enemy was totally uncloaked. They wore hides fashioned into armor. Their pikes were nearly three times the length of a man. Various secondary weapons were worn at their sides.
Fardar stared at Linvin’s infantry with great intensity and increasing distress. “Why do your archers not fire? They are well within firing range.”
“Patience Lord Fardar,” Linvin replied calmly. “Their war chief is fishing right now, but I am not biting.”
Soon the goblins were fifty paces away from the line. They pointed their pikes at Sculla’s infantry and marched on in a loose phalanx formation.
Sculla was positioned in the middle of the front rank. His men stood at attention; awaiting their leader’s command. “Javelins!” Sculla yelled. The men each grasped one of their javelins and hurled the weapon at their enemy.
The salvo was accurate and lethal. Nearly the entire first line of goblins fell in an instant. The next several rows suffered heavy losses as well. Even so, the army pressed toward the Valian line. At twenty paces, another round of javelins proved even more effective than the first. Goblins fell, screaming in pain. Without shields, they were easy targets. Even with their horrible losses, the goblins reached the line and attacked.
With the goblins’ front lines decimated, the initial contact was only in a few places along the wall of shields. As a
result, there were large gaps in the marsh dweller’s ranks. Feverishly, the goblins struck out again and again with their pikes, but their blows were blunted by the disciplined formation.
“Arrows?”asked Fardar.
“Not this time, Lord Fardar,” Linvin answered patiently. “In the previous two battles, we held them at the wall and did our damage with arrows. Their war chief is testing me. First, he wants to see if we have archers. If we do, he wants me to exhaust my arrows on his weaker troops.”
“Then why not encircle them with your cavalry?”
“Again Fardar, he looks to see if I have cavalry. This is bait. The trap he hopes to spring, waits at the edge of the
fog.” Linvin handed the looking glass to Fardar. In viewing the far edge of the battlefield, he could just barely make out ranks of heavily armored goblins in tight formation.
“We would be caught between two forces.” Linvin explained.
“How many are there in reserve?” Fardar inquired.
Linvin took the glass back and replied, “My scouts say about 12,000. That is the hammer that is meant to strike our
anvil.”
“We must do something, General. You keep saying we cannot attack. What can we do?”
Linvin smiled and turned his gaze once again to the growing engagement. “Sculla is doing it now.”
Even at their distance from the battle, Linvin and Fardar could hear Sculla yell, “Advance.” Before the Goblins could fill the gaps in their lines, the Valian infantry marched steadily forward. Goblins hurried to fill the break in their line but it was too late. Once Sculla’s men were past the pike-heads, they had a clear run at their enemy. There was no room for the goblins to maneuver their long spears. With their adversary in their face, the goblins dropped their pikes and drew their close quarter weapons.
“Wall!” cried Sculla upon noticing the change. His troops interlocked their full-length shields, reforming the shield
wall.
The Valians maintained their formation and stopped their advance once the pikes were discarded. They were sure where to move from their current position. Their enemy crashed upon the shield wall with the ferocity of an ocean wave against a rocky coast.
The goblins wielded a vast array of weapons. With everything from sickle swords to clubs, they wailed at the wall. With all their might, they struck at the Valians. Yet, for all their blows, not one penetrated the defense.
Seizing the initiative, Sculla’s men struck from behind their great shields with short stabbing swords. Though the blade’s range was limited, it could be thrust with great velocity through or underneath most armor. In addition, the weapon weighed a sufficient amount to bludgeon an opponent when called upon. It was brutally effective when used properly and feared by the goblins above all else.
The goblins pressed the advance from the rear, but there was nowhere to go against the wall. So dense were their lines, that it was nearly impossible for the Valians to miss. Their upward slashes found their targets again and again. Goblin loses began to mount. Still, they pressed the attack.
“Why do they rush headlong toward death?” Fardar asked.
“Goblins normally outnumber their opponents. It is a simple strategy,”Linvin explained. “They throw themselves at you until they wear down your defenses. It is crude but can be highly effective if you cannot counter it.”
“It’s suicide,” Fardar surmised.
“No,”corrected Linvin, “It is a measured cost to achieve victory. You almost have to admire their devotion to duty.
Nevertheless, we must persevere.”
“How?”asked Fardar “Sculla’s line cannot hold indefinitely. Those men will tire.”
“We have trained for this, Lord Fardar. Observe the line closely.” Fardar looked through the spectacle at the point of conflict. “I see the two sides fighting.”
“Keep watching,” Linvin said.
To Fardar’s amazement, the centurion directly behind the one at the front line rotated to the conflict, sending the exhausted centurion to the back of the rank. Instantly a fresh warrior was in the fray. Not more than a dozen sword strokes later, he moved to the rear and was replaced immediately. With ranks seven men deep, they constantly kept well-rested troops on the line.
Moment by moment goblins’ blood spilled while drawing precious little from their adversary. Through it all, the heavy Valian infantry stood their ground, despite now being fully visible with the disappearance of the fog.
The bodies of dead and dying goblins piled like cords of wood before the shield wall. So high did the piles go, that they were becoming a barrier between the forces. The Goblins climbed the piles and attacked downward at the wall. The angle forced the defenders to choose between holding the wall firm and breaking the wall in order to attack from above. Valians began to fall at last.
Sculla knew he needed to act quickly or the entire defense would collapse. “Second line,” he cried, “arrow defense!” The second row of men stepped forward and placed their shields parallel to the ground and resting on top of the front shields. It formed a barrier above and below. Several of the goblins flung themselves on the shields in an effort to break up the line. They slid off the convex shields and fell to the ground. Once there, the men in the third row had an easy time finishing the foolish usurpers. Sculla’s quick thinking had held the line.
Midmorning neared and the fighting continued without pause. The goblin force attacking the wall had nearly disappeared entirely. Any other general would have retreated and regrouped, but that was not the goblin war chief’s plan.
Even with the rotation of ranks, the Valian infantry was wearing down. The hot and humid environment was becoming a factor. Though still early in the day, the murky atmosphere threatened to undo Linvin’s plan. It was the reason he had favored a morning encounter.
At that moment, the main goblin force began to march forward. The ground shook as they stomped across the
battlefield.
Looking through his eye glass, Linvin remarked, “I have never seen such a disciplined formation of goblins. We will
now see who’s trap will catch who unprepared.” His voice showed concern but not panic.
Indeed, it was an impressive army marching toward Sculla’s exhausted infantry. They were in a tight phalanx. The first three rows of goblins had their spears pointed forward. The rest held theirs at forty-five degree angles.
Their armor was studded leather and was in good order. It was considerably lighter than the plate the Valians wore and thus, less cumbersome and heavy in battle. Though they still did not carry shields, their helmets and side arms were well made. They carried hand axes, maces, and sickle-swords.
Linvin folded the spectacle and tossed it to a squire. “Prepare for battle!” he called to his cavalry. The men donned their helmets, took up their shields and drew their weapons.
When the phalanx was one hundred and fifty paces from the shield wall, Githara could be heard from her trench ordering, “Light it up!” A fire line was lit just before her archers’ position. They promptly set the tips of their arrows ablaze and drew them back to fire. When all were ready she cried, “Loose!” The very sky looked to be on fire as the
hail of arrows arched over their own troops and struck down on the phalanx.
The angled spears were effective at deflecting many of the missiles. Even so, many more found their target. The flaming arrows that hit the ground caused distress and confusion in the lines.
Githara ordered her archers to fire at will. Fire continued to fly through the sky, slowing the advance.
Linvin moved to the front of the column his cavalry had formed on the hilltop. “Time to fight, Fardar.”
“But I am here strictly to observe.”
“You have a sword, do you not?” Linvin asked.
“Well yes, but it is more ceremonial than anything else.”
“For your sake, I hope you know how to use it. Otherwise the only ceremony it will be in is a funeral procession. Now to battle!”
Linvin and Victolin led the charge down the hill along the path laid out. Fardar followed close behind Linvin, praying for safety. At the bottom of the hill Victolin and a score of riders peeled away from the formation.
Meanwhile, the remnants of the initial goblin force were caught between the shield wall and the oncoming phalanx. In the chaos that followed, it was difficult to see whether they fell at the hands of the Valians or their own brethren, but they fell all the same.
The phalanx pressed on, in spite of the arrows, but ran into difficulty when they neared the wall. The piles of goblin corpses made it difficult for such a tight formation to navigate their way to the enemy.
As the goblins worked through the dead and dying, Githara’s arrows added to the number on the ground with increasing fury. Her archers made certain to avoid hitting her own troops by aiming their missiles deep enough into the enemy force to ensure accuracy. Though effective on the deep ranks of the goblin army, it left the front of the phalanx completely unchallenged. Unmolested, the wall of spears had time to traverse the ground and seize upon the shield-wall.
With all of their might, the goblin infantry pounded their spears and pikes on the weary defenders. Three and four spears at a time would strike each shield. The sound was deafening as they unleashed their might on the wall.
At the onset, neither side made progress. The pikes could not penetrate the shields and the Valians could not reach the goblins with their short swords. It was a stalemate that did not last long.
Though the pikes were not penetrating the shields, the force from their blows was still jarring their targets. The
unrelenting attacks began to take their toll on the defenders. Of greater concern to the Valians, was the fact that the attacks were too constant to allow fresh soldiers to rally to the wall. It was only a matter of time before the
pikes would force their way through, to begin the slaughter. As the struggle continued, the situation for the Valians became perilous, as the wall began to buckle under the beating.
It was at that moment of uncertainty that Linvin and his cavalry attacked from the rear along the entire line. The
goblins were so preoccupied with the happenings in front of them, that they paid no heed to the cavalry in the rear, forming a line along the length of their formation. Bewildered goblins never saw the strikes coming that cut them down. The phalanx was so tightly packed that Linvin’s troops could not miss.
Linvin struck like thunder with his long sword. He slashed to his right and then his left, dropping goblins with each
stroke. As quickly as he could swing his sword, he would kill another.
Linvin was not alone in his success. His cavalry cut deep swaths into the rear goblin ranks. The cavalry maintained
their line and did not get too far ahead of each other in order to avoid being surrounded.
The discipline observed among the goblins seemed to bleed away in the chaos. Indecision took center stage. Due to the close formation, they could not turn to fight without dropping their pikes. But without their pikes, they would be at a great disadvantage to the horsemen. It led to carnage on an unprecedented scale, courtesy of Linvin’s
cavalry.
Indecision gave way to panic as the majority of what was once a phalanx dropped their spears and drew their melee weapons. Rather than continue to be attacked from behind, they chose to turn and fight as
best they could.
The change in tactics could not have come at a better time at the shield-wall. The front line had collapsed and Sculla’s men were on the verge of being routed. With most of the pikes discarded, there was at last a moment to hasten fresh troops to the line and reform the wall. Personally taking the lead, Sculla ordered an advance. They marched with their wall intact to the front of the goblin line and engaged.
The cavalry was meeting with more fierce resistance with the change of weapons. Their progress slowed and they began to take losses.
Linvin was striking more swords then armor as his enemy rallied. At least one goblin had kept his spear. He struck Linvin’s horse with a killing blow. The steed stood on its hind legs and then fell to its side.
Linvin was thrown to the ground with his sword and shield flying from his hands. His helmet fell forward, covering his eyes. With a swipe of his forearm he knocked the helmet off.
A goblin stood above Linvin with his sword in hand. He was ready to strike. He propped his arm in front of him and braced for the blow. Nothing happened. Linvin looked again and saw a blade erupt from the goblin’s chest before sending him to the ground. Left standing behind the body was an astonished Fardar.
Linvin could not believe it. They exchanged a brief nod. Linvin regained his feet quickly, holding a sickle-sword and hand ax. He immediately struck right past Fardar’s head with the sword. It caught a goblin in the face that was about to kill Linvin’s savior. There was no time to thank one another. The two stood back-to-back and continued the fight.
Linvin slashed at the hamstring of one, as he buried the ax deep in another. Drawing back quickly, he stabbed and chopped at two more. The flailing of his arms made him a difficult target to approach. It also made him lose sight of Fardar.
The moments passed like days. For every goblin that fell, another filled his place. There appeared to be no reprieve
from the endless enemy surge.
Linvin’s swipes slowed to show his growing exhaustion. Reluctant goblins encircled him and probed for weakness. One broke the circle and charged him. Linvin dispatched him quickly but turned to see the others rushing his position. He chose a side, attacking with what strength he could give. One goblin fell, then another. He felt the weapons strike his armor in the back. Before he could turn, a sword gashed his left bicep. The ax fell from his hand as his arm dropped. The blow knocked him backward. He lashed out at the offender with his sickle-sword, slashing across the throat.
Linvin stumbled, but retained his feet. With no one before him, the exhausted general turned to strike behind. His blade picked up speed as he spun around. In an instant, his blow was stopped in mid-swing. In astonishment, Linvin looked at his arm and saw a hand clasped around his wrist. His eyes followed the hand to its source and found it to belong to Sculla. He was smiling at his general.
“Lose your horse?” Sculla inquired in jest. Linvin just returned the smile and put his hand on Sculla’s shoulder in
brotherhood.
The infantry had made short work of the distracted goblins and had finally closed the pincers of the trap. They had
broken through to the cavalry. Though a few hundred goblins escaped, the victory was complete.
Victolin and his riders returned to the field covered in goblin blood. “You are hurt my lord!” he said as he dismounted. He tore his own sleeve to make a bandage.
“Never mind me,” said Linvin. “Where’s Fardar!”
“I am here General,” replied Fardar, as he limped forward.
“Are you injured?” Linvin asked.
“Oh, I got my foot stepped on. It really hurts too.”
Linvin, Sculla and Victolin broke out laughing.
“What?”asked Fardar.
“It really does! Those things are heavy. It must have broken two, no three toes! I may never walk right again.”
Linvin slapped him on the back while laughing. “Well I for one, will certainly never question your courage again my friend.”
Linvin spoke with his generals quietly about their individual successes. Soon, the soldiers gathered around their general so that he might address them.
“Victory is ours!” Linvin cried with his fist in the air. The men cheered wildly and held their weapons aloft. “The army that threatened your homes is gone. Your families are safe and we hold the field once again. Everyone had a part in this victory. Githara’s archers brought death from above. Sculla’s infantry destroyed their front, while the
cavalry struck from behind. Victolin and his raiders caused much of the confusion among our opponents. They charged the command post of their war chief. The cowardly chief, sacrificed his entourage and ran for the marshes. It meant he was not able to direct his troops during the battle.”
“Above all of these, the person who deserves my greatest thanks is Seven-Toed Fardar! His bravery saved my life. Hail the victorious!”
The man shouted, “Hail Githara! Hail Sculla! Hail Victolin! Hail Grithinshield! Hail Seven-Toed Fardar!” Fardar
blushed.
Linvin addressed the troops again. “See to the injured, then gather the armor and weapons in the supply carts. They will be sold and the profits split among you and the families of the deceased. You may keep whatever else you find on the fallen goblins. Bury all the dead. When that is done and you return to camp, there will be many casks of wine waiting to be tapped. Fresh meat is cooking as we speak. Have your fill. Celebrate your victory, for it was well earned.”
The men cheered as Linvin and his subordinates crossed the field to the camp. Along the way, men stopped them to shake hands and pat them on the backs.
“Messenger!” Linvin called as he entered the camp. “Take word to the King. Send this message. ‘Engaged Marsh goblins as anticipated. Enemy utterly destroyed. Valian losses light. Will march to capital within the week. Borders are safe.’ Sign it, ‘Grithinshield, Commanding General.’ Get that off right away. There are tens of thousands of frightened people waiting for news.”
Linvin and the others passed many open fires with fresh beef and pork roasting. They continued to his command tent. Upon entering the tent and leaving view, they collapsed. Squires attended each of them. They removed all their masters’ armor and soiled clothing. Linvin passed out wine from his private stock to celebrate.
Fardar was attended as well. He was shocked, as the squire disrobed him and washed his body of the vile, pungent goblin blood that had stained his clothes black. “These will have to be discarded,” the squire told him. “Goblin blood does not wash out of clothing.”
Fardar observed the others in the room. Linvin’s arm was being stitched and dressed. It was a far more severe blow than he had acknowledged.
Sculla had been stabbed in the thigh and sliced on his arm. He too was receiving treatment.
Victolin appeared unharmed and healthy until his armor was removed and he held his ribs. His right side was deeply bruised and bleeding.
Only Githara looked to have escaped without a scratch. She looked at Victolin and asked, “Was it an ax that hit
you?”
He winced in pain, while lifting his arm to allow a bandage to be applied. “A heavy mace. I struck one of their War
Chief’s bodyguards and another struck my exposed side. It knocked me off my horse. Fortunately, one of my men cut him down.”
“What happened to you Sculla?” Linvin asked.
“Stupid really,” he replied. “When the line was advancing, this pathetic remnant of a swamp dweller reached up and stuck me in the leg with one of those cheap sickle swords. Made me furious! So, I stomped his head. Wretched, filthy, disgusting little lizard!”
The squire attending him finished cleaning the wound and prepared to stitch it closed. “If you had not pulled the sword out by yourself, the wound would not be so large.”
“The blade was getting in my way!” yelled Sculla as he shoved the attendant away. “This stable boy acts like he was the one who was stabbed.”
“Easy Stump,” Linvin consoled his friend. “I think he’s just frustrated with your disregard for your body.”
“Well it is my body!” Sculla snorted. “I’m here to fight, not compete in a beauty contest.”
“We are all glad of that,” Victolin joked. “You’d make an uglier woman than Githara.”
Githara lashed out quickly at the insult and kicked Victolin on his injured side. Victolin howled in pain. “You’re mistaken for a woman, far more, than I am for a man” she said.
“Enough children,” Linvin said, with his hand gesturing downward. “We do not need another fight today.” They were like the siblings he had never known.
Their wounds had been tended and they were all adorned in scarlet robes. Githara and Victolin left to check their units. Fardar left to prepare his report. Entering the tent as they left was a centurion.
“Pardon the intrusion My Lords,” he said as he saluted.
“What is it?” Sculla demanded.
“We can’t bury the goblins as the general had ordered. The water table is just below the surface. Whenever we start digging a hole, it just fills with water.”
Sculla turned to Linvin for direction. Linvin stood and tightened his robe. He put his hands behind his back and paced. After a few moments, he stopped, moved his hands to his hips, sighed greatly and dropped his head.
“Pile the bodies and burn them,” he ordered. “There is enough disease in this swamp without leaving the dead to add more.”
The centurion saluted again and left.
Sculla finished his goblet of wine and poured more. “After all of these years, fighting by your side, I still do not
understand your mind.” He drank again and then took to his feet. “With every victory, you make a tired army bury the barbarian horde that we slaughter. I just don’t understand it. Do you think they would waste a moment burying our dead if the situation was reversed? Not a chance! So why do you give them justice that
would never be returned?’
Linvin walked over to a pile of pillows and quietly sat down. He sipped his wine and then rolled the smooth golden goblet back and forth with his hands. Looking down, he could see his reflection in the glass.
“There are not many things a man really needs in this life but one of them is the ability to look at his reflection and like the person he sees. It is the dignity we afford our enemies that makes us stand apart from them. If we behave like those barbarians, as you called them, then we have become no better than our adversary. That would make this war even more pointless.”
Sculla sat by his leader and addressed him face to face. “Pointless? They are cheating, murderous leaches who threaten our lives! They deserve no quarter. Those armies had to be destroyed. You said so yourself.”
“Yes I did,” Linvin said in disgust. “They had to be stopped. But are there not times that you feel you have become what you hate? You call them murderers, but are we not just as guilty, if not more than them of that crime?”
“We were fighting for our homeland,” Sculla said with indignation.
“But this was once the goblins’ homeland too. Hundreds of years ago, the goblins also lived here. The Valians forced them into the swamps so they could have all the arable land. It is that land for which they fight now.”
Sculla was confused. “Are you saying that we should have let them rape and kill all those who put their faith in us to protect them?”
Linvin looked frustrated and ran his hand through his long, flowing hair. “Of course not! I am merely pointing out that we are not entirely in the right here. We did what was best for our people and they did what was best for theirs. We won, but we do not need to enjoy it.”
“Is that what this is all about?” Sculla asked while clasping his forehead in disbelief. “You feel guilty for enjoying the slaughter? Listen to me old friend. You are a great warrior and I have never known a great warrior who did not live for the kill. It is that blood lust that makes the difference in battle. When a normal man would hesitate, the warrior strikes down his enemy without remorse, without compassion and without regret. That’s what makes you strong. That’s what keeps you alive. That is the reason you have been so successful. There is nothing wrong with it. Some people work as farmers. Some work in the mines. We work in a field of blood where you kill or die. When we need food or iron, we count on them to do their job. When 60,000 vicious swamp dwellers threaten their families, they count on us to do our job.”
“My friend, I have served under many generals. Many were very good at their craft, but I could put all of them together, and they still would not be as gifted and talented as you. Look what you have just done. In a matter of days, you have won three separate battles and annihilated a vastly superior force. No other man could have even considered such an outcome. You were ordered to achieve it and you did.”
“You are the best general that I have ever known; and the only one I would ever call friend. I see that you hate what you have become, but what you have become is a great leader. The only hate of such men should come from their enemies. Embrace what you have become. You have trained for it your whole life.”
Linvin had finished his wine during the oration and refilled his glass. “Did I ever tell you the tale of how I came to
serve in this land?” Sculla shook his head. “I was just a boy when my father sent me away from Sartan. Oh how I did not wish to go, but something happened on one of his business trips that made him insistent that I leave. He told me that the day would come when I would be called upon to do great things that I could not imagine. In order to be ready for that day, I needed to be trained by the greatest military mind the world has ever seen, Sedemihcra. He was the chief consular of warfare to King Hardurian. The man was the foremost authority and inventor of siege weaponry and military tactics. I studied with him for years before he thought I was old enough to enlist in the army. He said I needed practical experience.”
“My first duty was that of an archer. Githara actually trained with me all those years ago. After distinguishing myself there, I was transferred to the King’s cavalry brigade.”
“I remember that,” Sculla laughed. “You were a spunky little whelp. Cocky and arrogant. You really needed someone to give you a good thrashing. Instead, King Hardurian took notice of your pretty horseback riding and promoted you to commander of the brigade. All that for riding around on a horse!”
Linvin smiled to hide his displeasure and said, “It was not all that easy and you know it. When our commander was killed, it was I who planned and led the attack, which lifted the siege of the capitol. Joke all you want Stump, but we both know I earned my promotions.”
“You never could take a joke,” Sculla mused. “You know if I really felt that way, I wouldn’t even bother teasing you about it.”
“My apologies for the thin skin, Stump. I spent too many years putting up with insulting cousins.”
“Well I think they would have been impressed when you became the youngest general in Valian history,” Sculla offered. “If not by that, then surely becoming commander of the combined army would have made an impression.”
“Not with my relatives,” Linvin sighed. “The human half of my family did not like me because they saw me as an elf. The elven side of my family, except for my uncle, scorned me as being human. Other than missing my parents, I did not mind leaving Sartan as a boy.”
“Well,”Sculla said as he held up his goblet to toast. “Sartan’s loss is our gain here in Valia.
Linvin held his goblet aloft and toasted with his friend. The sound of the glasses hitting one another was still in the air when a centurion entered the tent. He saluted and the generals returned the salute.
“Messages and letters to the troops have arrived my lord. May I disperse them to the men?”
“Do so,” Linvin ordered.
As the centurion turned to leave he paused. Then, reaching into his sack, he produced a well-traveled envelope. “By the way, General Grithinshield, you have a letter as well.”
Linvin looked puzzled as he was given the envelope. Who would write me?he thought to himself.
As the soldier left the tent, Linvin looked at the seal on the note. Faintly impressed in the wax was the likeness of his mother’s family ring.
A great smile grew across his face as he broke the seal and began to read. He wrote to his parents regularly, but mail often had trouble reaching him in the field. This letter was to be cherished.
The smile on his face, however, was to be short-lived. It quickly faded and was replaced by distress and near
panic.
Sculla watched his friend with concern. “General?” he asked. There was no response. “Linvin?” he asked while waving his hand before his commander.
After a long, motionless silence, Linvin turned to Sculla. “I have to leave. I have to leave right now! General, take
command of the army and see them back to the capitol. Squire!”
A squire ran into the tent and saluted.
“Find me the freshest, fastest horse in this camp and have it out front before I am done changing,” Linvin ordered. “General Sculla will be left in command of the army. I have urgent business with the King.” The squire saluted and left hurriedly.
“What is all of this?” Sculla asked.
“Something has happened, Stump,” Linvin said as he dressed in traveling clothes. “I cannot explain now but I must
go.”
After dressing, Linvin led Sculla from the tent. As ordered, a fresh horse stood ready to mount. Linvin wasted no time stepping into the stirrup and taking to the saddle. He brought the horse over to Sculla and said, “You have been a good friend and a great general. Remember to always use your mind in battle. It will serve you well when might alone is not enough.” With that he turned and began to leave.
Sculla looked confused. “You will be back, won’t you?” he shouted.
“Perhaps one day,” Linvin called to him. “One thought about the paths you take. They tend to cross other paths more than once”.
“In my absence, perhaps you can solve a mystery that has plagued me from the battle. If all those goblins came from the marshes, and there are hardly any trees there, where did they come up with so many pikes? To go a step further, how did they come up with so much quality armor and other weaponry? They possess neither the raw materials nor the craftsmen to make such items. Ponder it a while. Something is amiss, but I am afraid I will not be
here to help solve the riddle. Farewell, my friend.” With that, he dug in his heels and rode away with haste.
Mind Games in the Marshes
Tranquility. Fardar was asleep with no thought of waking. He was dreaming of cool ocean breezes swaying shade trees under their loving caress. Those images melted effortlessly into young children playing in the fields of Mindel, while their parents tilled the soil. The children ran to a high cliff overlooking the sea. There, they waved in vain to
a ship disappearing over the horizon. The vessel's sails glowed like fine gold against the backdrop of the rising sun.
The images vanished as Fardar felt a strong blow to his side. He awoke to find a Valian centurion in full battle gear
laying on him. “Stay out of the way observer,” grunted the centurion and he regained his balance. “If you insist on sleeping through the battle, be good enough do it somewhere not under foot!” He marched away to join his unit.
I have overslept, he thought to himself. The diminutive, middle aged man, rolled to his feet as fast as he
could, despite his sizable girth and dusted off his luxurious vestments.
He looked around to find his bearings. He was in the middle of a military camp. Hundreds of men scurried about as dawn approached. Behind him, stood a tent of some significance, among the others in the camp. Fardar hurried to the door of the tent. When he arrived, two guards crossed their spears to prevent his entrance.
“Who are you and what is your business?” barked one of the guards. Fardar pulled his shirt down in order to give a neater appearance. “I am Lord Fardar, on special assignment from King Balinocus of Rador. My mission is to observe your engagements with the Marsh goblins. I arrived during the night. Now let me in this instant!”
The guards reluctantly pulled their spears aside. “I’ll warn you,” one of the guards said to Fardar, “General Grithinshield does not take kindly to intrusions during his meetings, and with us having marched all night to get here, he’s liable to be a touch ornery.” Fardar brushed him aside and entered the tent.
Within the canvass tent, four warriors of great stature stood. They all leaned on a map covered table as though they were trying to prevent the parchment from blowing away. The first warrior was a young woman with hair the color of fine red wine. She wore a tight fitted breastplate made of leather and brass studs. Over her shoulder, she carried a compound bow and a quiver of arrows. To her left, was a man who was slightly older, but wore a full set of plate mail armor. A pointed metal shield, bearing a warship crest, was slung over his shoulder.
On the far right side, stood a man of greater size than any of the others nearby. Whether he shaved his head, or had lost his hair due to age, he nevertheless was bald. His face was grizzled with a deformed eye on one side and a scar running the length of his cheek on the other. He wore plate mail, which went to his knees and did not cover past the shoulder to his bone crushing arms. Chain mail was layered beneath the plate.
Close to his right, stood the grandest half elf Fardar had ever beheld. His clothing showed the rank of a general, but had the appearance of a common soldier. The general’s long, silver-blonde hair, draped over his shoulders. He wore only a breastplate of mail and a scarlet cape.
At Fardar’s entrance, the conversation between the four stopped abruptly. The half elf glared at him through his deep blue eyes, with such a look, that Fardar wished he could render himself invisible.
“Who is this fool that enters my tent, uninvited on the morn’ of battle?”
The soldier with the deformed eye drew his sword and quickly moved toward Fardar. Terrified, Fardar spoke quickly, “I am Lord Fardar of Rador. I was invited by your King Hardurian to observe your battle with the marsh goblins. Further, I am to be apprised of all your plans and tactics.” His quivering hand held forth a scroll.
A soldier snatched the paper from him and handed it to the half elf. There was silence for several moments as he read. His expression went from anger to disbelief and back to anger. He casually tossed the scroll on the table and said, “Indeed, it says that you have been invited here. However, nowhere does it say anything about you being invited to come to my war council late.”
“That won’t happen again, my Lord.”
“You are right,” the half elf said as he moved closer. “For by the time the sun reaches midday, the goblin threat will be ended.”
“Let me formally introduce myself Lord Fardar. I am General Linvin Grithinshield. The man about to filet you is my number two and commander of my infantry, Lord Sculla. Over here we have the captain of the King's knights, Lord Victolin. Lastly, to the left, is Lady Githara, commander of the Valian bowmen. Now that we have dispensed with the pleasantries, my commanders and I have a battle to win.”
Victolin rolled the map and placed it in a corner. One by one, the leaders shook hands with Linvin by locking hold of each others' wrists in a sign of brotherhood and solidarity. After shaking, they filed out of the tent and returned to their units.
“It ends today,” Linvin called after them. Soon only he and Fardar remained in the tent. Linvin turned his attention to his weaponry hanging in the corner.
“You have told me nothing of your battle plans General Grithinshield. Your infantry can’t be more than two thousand strong, and while they are well equipped, they are vastly outnumbered. Not more than two arrow shots before you stands an army of ten thousand goblins.”
“Nearer twenty,” Linvin corrected, in a casual manor, while donning a lustrous silver helmet with red decorative feathering down it’s center, running front to back. He placed a small dagger in his boot and then harnessed a great long sword over his shoulder.
Fardar was taken aback by the cavalier attitude. “How do you expect to defeat such a superior force?” Linvin took up his shield and headed for the door. When he reached Fardar at the entrance, he replied, “They are not superior. There are simply more of them. I will defeat them the same way I defeated similar sized armies yesterday and the day before. I will use the one weapon even their war chief does not possess.”
“And what may that be?”
Linvin smiled as though deciding not to make a joke. He poked Fardar in the forehead with his finger and said, “My
brain.”
Fardar quickly put the pieces together in his mind. “You mean you have vanquished forty thousand goblins in the last two days, marched your men all night and expect them to go into battle now? You can’t ask that of your men. They won’t be ready to fight.”
Linvin grabbed Fardar by the scruff and pulled him face-to-face. “The goblins’ new war chief is not so much a fool as his predecessors. He launched an invasion in three simultaneous thrusts, knowing full well that our numbers were limited. By choosing the time and place of the battles, I have swept the first two thrusts from the field. He
will never think that this is the same army that defeated his other forces, and even if he does, I have some surprises for him.”
“And your men?” Fardar asked timidly. “They may have some surprises for you. What makes you think after the past two days they will do what you ask?”
“I did not ask them to do this. I ordered them to! They will obey because they are good soldiers.”
“Orders will not overcome fatigue,” Fardar reminded him. “It is said that fatigue makes cowards of us all.”
Linvin released him. “Then you must be incredibly tired.”
“I trained these men to live and die at my command. More than that, they are as family to me. We are brothers of the sword, and our swords will be drawn one more time. They will do what they must, as far as being ready to fight…” Linvin drew open the flap of the tent. His infantry had formed ranks, seven men deep, in battle formation. “They will be fine.” Fardar was astounded by the discipline of the regiment.
He walked alongside Linvin as he headed for the front of the line. They first came upon the Valian bowmen, as they finished digging a shallow ditch behind the infantry.
“Is it ready Githara?” Linvin asked of the red-haired warrior woman, as he stopped by the edge.
“Three feet deep General Grithinshield. Just short of the water table, as you requested.”
“Good. Stay out of sight until your part is to be played.”
Githara saluted him and returned to her bowmen.
As Linvin moved toward the lines Fardar whispered to him, “Are all of your archers women?” Linvin neither broke stride nor turned his head. “Most of them are women,” he replied.
Before Fardar could say another word, Linvin interjected. “Fardar, have you ever had a woman mad with you?”
“Well, yes…but I don’t see…”
“Mad enough to throw things at you?” Linvin inquired. Fardar reluctantly nodded. Linvin smiled; put his hand on Fardar’s shoulder and said, “Now imagine if she had used a bow instead.” Fardar’s stomach churned at the thought.
They advanced through the ranks until they reached the front of the lines. The battlefield before them was just taking shape in the light of the morning sun. Low lying fog made it look like they were standing on a cloud. Even with the poor visibility, Fardar could see why Linvin chose the spot for battle. They were just on the edge of the Southern Marshes. Thickets of dense, waterlogged forest stretched along both sides of the field. So abundant was the flora, that it formed a forbidding wall to any entry. Some distance to the right, was a low, dry hill covered with trees. Linvin had set up his forces in the only passage through the forest for a great distance. For an army to avoid the passage, they would have to march days out of their way.
It is a perfect bottleneck, thought Fardar. The ranks of men stretched from the forest wall on one side to that on
the other. There was no way to flank Linvin’s army.
A squire brought Linvin his armored war horse. An additional long sword lay sheathed along the saddle. Fardar raced to find his own horse. Linvin mounted his steed and slowly rode along the line, inspecting his men.
“How many will you get today Revvi?” he asked of a soldier.
“I’m getting them all, me lord.”
“Ha,”Linvin retorted with a smile. “The day I am in a battle in which I do not spill any blood, will be the day you catapult my dead body at the enemy. Even then, I’ll take a couple with me.” The men broke out in laughter. Linvin joked and gave words of encouragement up and down the line.
Fardar finally returned on his pony. It was a fine animal but was dwarfed by Linvin’s magnificent steed. With his
preparations complete, Linvin addressed his troops.
“My brothers, my sisters, and my friends, for years, I have fought alongside you, asking no one to do what I would not. Our fates are intertwined. I am here, by your side, once again this day. Ready to take on all the foul things that swamp can throw at us. I know their numbers are great, they always are. I know they will try some tricks, they always do. I also know that we win because we always have!”
“Now, I have trained you to be the best soldiers in the world. I know you are tired. I know you want to go home and after this battle, you will; but if we do not stop this army now, you will have no homes!
“They believe it is their right to own your homeland. They think it is their destiny to enslave your families and pillage your crops. I say it is their destiny to taste our blades and fall!” Linvin drew his sword and held it aloft as the troops cheered.
“There will be no retreat for either side today. We must not only defeat this army but also destroy it completely, so
that it no longer casts a shadow on our borders!” The men pounded their weapons against their shields in rhythm with his words.
“My brothers and sisters, I leave you with one thought. If we win, we go home. If they win, they go to our homes! Trust your leaders. We will guide you to victory!” Linvin’s horse stood on its hind legs as the men chanted, “Grith-in-shield, Grith-in-shield”.
Linvin turned and rode off toward the hill. The bewildered Fardar followed. “General! Where are you going?” he shouted. Linvin disappeared into a nearly invisible path at the forest wall, with Fardar cautiously following.
The branches were so dense that it felt like he was riding through a closet. He continued after Linvin to the base of the hill. “After that speech you come over here to watch?” panted Fardar.
Linvin dismounted and led his horse up the hill. “Perhaps if you had not slept so late you would understand why I am here. For now, just do your job and observe.”
As they crested the knoll, Fardar was amazed to see hundreds of heavy cavalry ready for action. At their lead was Lord Victolin. Linvin took to his saddle and rode alongside his subordinate, shaking his hand at the wrist.
“You were right about this spot General. The birds cannot even see us in here.”
Linvin pulled out a primitive looking glass, scanning the edge of the fog. “What of the path I asked for?”
“It is cleared enough for two horses to ride abreast, right to the spot you indicated. Any wider would risk
detection.”
“That will do,” Linvin said, while continuing to scan for the enemy. “They will use this fog to move in close. It will make them bolder as they believe it disguises their numbers.”
“They believe that because they are right,” Fardar snorted. “We can barely see our own men, let alone theirs. Just how do you expect to send signals to your infantry from way up here? They will never see a flag and a horn would give away your position.”
Linvin pulled down the spectacle and viewed the plump lord with disdain. He paused a moment to collect himself. “My dear Lord Fardar,” he said, with great contempt in his voice. “Your observations have become quite loud. I suggest you shut your mouth before I do it for you.” Fardar’s intimidation was most apparent.
“As for signaling my men, I need it not. Each of my commanders has my trust and support. They know what I expect and have full authority during the battle to command their troops as they see fit. Flexibility is the key to success on the battlefield. Empower the people at the lion’s jaws and they will slay their prey. Besides, in the heat of battle, who has time to look for flags or listen for horns? One’s attention is better spent on his opponent.”
“General!”cried Victolin. “There is a disturbance in the fog.”
Linvin peered through the glass. The fog was indeed being stirred. With the ever-increasing light, he saw an ocean of pikes pointed at the sky. They moved slowly but deliberately toward Linvin’s line.
“How many would you estimate Victolin?”
He too, had been watching through his lens. Putting it down, Linvin answered, “Six, maybe seven thousand at
most.”
“Not the great host we’d expected. Almost what we would be hoping for after two major battles in two days.”
“Sir, we should ride round behind them now and attack from the rear.”
“Yes,” Linvin said calmly. “That sounds like the correct move right now, but they are marching too slowly. They must know they outnumber us by a wide margin. Goblins rarely maintain their composure when battle looms. That is especially true when they expect to win. Yet the army we see, marches at a snail’s pace. I do not trust it.”
“They may be unsure of their footing in the fog,” Victolin suggested.
“Perhaps,”answered Linvin, “but we will wait all the same.”
The pikes advanced on Linvin’s line. When they were five hundred paces away, their heads came into view. At two hundred paces, their enemy was totally uncloaked. They wore hides fashioned into armor. Their pikes were nearly three times the length of a man. Various secondary weapons were worn at their sides.
Fardar stared at Linvin’s infantry with great intensity and increasing distress. “Why do your archers not fire? They are well within firing range.”
“Patience Lord Fardar,” Linvin replied calmly. “Their war chief is fishing right now, but I am not biting.”
Soon the goblins were fifty paces away from the line. They pointed their pikes at Sculla’s infantry and marched on in a loose phalanx formation.
Sculla was positioned in the middle of the front rank. His men stood at attention; awaiting their leader’s command. “Javelins!” Sculla yelled. The men each grasped one of their javelins and hurled the weapon at their enemy.
The salvo was accurate and lethal. Nearly the entire first line of goblins fell in an instant. The next several rows suffered heavy losses as well. Even so, the army pressed toward the Valian line. At twenty paces, another round of javelins proved even more effective than the first. Goblins fell, screaming in pain. Without shields, they were easy targets. Even with their horrible losses, the goblins reached the line and attacked.
With the goblins’ front lines decimated, the initial contact was only in a few places along the wall of shields. As a
result, there were large gaps in the marsh dweller’s ranks. Feverishly, the goblins struck out again and again with their pikes, but their blows were blunted by the disciplined formation.
“Arrows?”asked Fardar.
“Not this time, Lord Fardar,” Linvin answered patiently. “In the previous two battles, we held them at the wall and did our damage with arrows. Their war chief is testing me. First, he wants to see if we have archers. If we do, he wants me to exhaust my arrows on his weaker troops.”
“Then why not encircle them with your cavalry?”
“Again Fardar, he looks to see if I have cavalry. This is bait. The trap he hopes to spring, waits at the edge of the
fog.” Linvin handed the looking glass to Fardar. In viewing the far edge of the battlefield, he could just barely make out ranks of heavily armored goblins in tight formation.
“We would be caught between two forces.” Linvin explained.
“How many are there in reserve?” Fardar inquired.
Linvin took the glass back and replied, “My scouts say about 12,000. That is the hammer that is meant to strike our
anvil.”
“We must do something, General. You keep saying we cannot attack. What can we do?”
Linvin smiled and turned his gaze once again to the growing engagement. “Sculla is doing it now.”
Even at their distance from the battle, Linvin and Fardar could hear Sculla yell, “Advance.” Before the Goblins could fill the gaps in their lines, the Valian infantry marched steadily forward. Goblins hurried to fill the break in their line but it was too late. Once Sculla’s men were past the pike-heads, they had a clear run at their enemy. There was no room for the goblins to maneuver their long spears. With their adversary in their face, the goblins dropped their pikes and drew their close quarter weapons.
“Wall!” cried Sculla upon noticing the change. His troops interlocked their full-length shields, reforming the shield
wall.
The Valians maintained their formation and stopped their advance once the pikes were discarded. They were sure where to move from their current position. Their enemy crashed upon the shield wall with the ferocity of an ocean wave against a rocky coast.
The goblins wielded a vast array of weapons. With everything from sickle swords to clubs, they wailed at the wall. With all their might, they struck at the Valians. Yet, for all their blows, not one penetrated the defense.
Seizing the initiative, Sculla’s men struck from behind their great shields with short stabbing swords. Though the blade’s range was limited, it could be thrust with great velocity through or underneath most armor. In addition, the weapon weighed a sufficient amount to bludgeon an opponent when called upon. It was brutally effective when used properly and feared by the goblins above all else.
The goblins pressed the advance from the rear, but there was nowhere to go against the wall. So dense were their lines, that it was nearly impossible for the Valians to miss. Their upward slashes found their targets again and again. Goblin loses began to mount. Still, they pressed the attack.
“Why do they rush headlong toward death?” Fardar asked.
“Goblins normally outnumber their opponents. It is a simple strategy,”Linvin explained. “They throw themselves at you until they wear down your defenses. It is crude but can be highly effective if you cannot counter it.”
“It’s suicide,” Fardar surmised.
“No,”corrected Linvin, “It is a measured cost to achieve victory. You almost have to admire their devotion to duty.
Nevertheless, we must persevere.”
“How?”asked Fardar “Sculla’s line cannot hold indefinitely. Those men will tire.”
“We have trained for this, Lord Fardar. Observe the line closely.” Fardar looked through the spectacle at the point of conflict. “I see the two sides fighting.”
“Keep watching,” Linvin said.
To Fardar’s amazement, the centurion directly behind the one at the front line rotated to the conflict, sending the exhausted centurion to the back of the rank. Instantly a fresh warrior was in the fray. Not more than a dozen sword strokes later, he moved to the rear and was replaced immediately. With ranks seven men deep, they constantly kept well-rested troops on the line.
Moment by moment goblins’ blood spilled while drawing precious little from their adversary. Through it all, the heavy Valian infantry stood their ground, despite now being fully visible with the disappearance of the fog.
The bodies of dead and dying goblins piled like cords of wood before the shield wall. So high did the piles go, that they were becoming a barrier between the forces. The Goblins climbed the piles and attacked downward at the wall. The angle forced the defenders to choose between holding the wall firm and breaking the wall in order to attack from above. Valians began to fall at last.
Sculla knew he needed to act quickly or the entire defense would collapse. “Second line,” he cried, “arrow defense!” The second row of men stepped forward and placed their shields parallel to the ground and resting on top of the front shields. It formed a barrier above and below. Several of the goblins flung themselves on the shields in an effort to break up the line. They slid off the convex shields and fell to the ground. Once there, the men in the third row had an easy time finishing the foolish usurpers. Sculla’s quick thinking had held the line.
Midmorning neared and the fighting continued without pause. The goblin force attacking the wall had nearly disappeared entirely. Any other general would have retreated and regrouped, but that was not the goblin war chief’s plan.
Even with the rotation of ranks, the Valian infantry was wearing down. The hot and humid environment was becoming a factor. Though still early in the day, the murky atmosphere threatened to undo Linvin’s plan. It was the reason he had favored a morning encounter.
At that moment, the main goblin force began to march forward. The ground shook as they stomped across the
battlefield.
Looking through his eye glass, Linvin remarked, “I have never seen such a disciplined formation of goblins. We will
now see who’s trap will catch who unprepared.” His voice showed concern but not panic.
Indeed, it was an impressive army marching toward Sculla’s exhausted infantry. They were in a tight phalanx. The first three rows of goblins had their spears pointed forward. The rest held theirs at forty-five degree angles.
Their armor was studded leather and was in good order. It was considerably lighter than the plate the Valians wore and thus, less cumbersome and heavy in battle. Though they still did not carry shields, their helmets and side arms were well made. They carried hand axes, maces, and sickle-swords.
Linvin folded the spectacle and tossed it to a squire. “Prepare for battle!” he called to his cavalry. The men donned their helmets, took up their shields and drew their weapons.
When the phalanx was one hundred and fifty paces from the shield wall, Githara could be heard from her trench ordering, “Light it up!” A fire line was lit just before her archers’ position. They promptly set the tips of their arrows ablaze and drew them back to fire. When all were ready she cried, “Loose!” The very sky looked to be on fire as the
hail of arrows arched over their own troops and struck down on the phalanx.
The angled spears were effective at deflecting many of the missiles. Even so, many more found their target. The flaming arrows that hit the ground caused distress and confusion in the lines.
Githara ordered her archers to fire at will. Fire continued to fly through the sky, slowing the advance.
Linvin moved to the front of the column his cavalry had formed on the hilltop. “Time to fight, Fardar.”
“But I am here strictly to observe.”
“You have a sword, do you not?” Linvin asked.
“Well yes, but it is more ceremonial than anything else.”
“For your sake, I hope you know how to use it. Otherwise the only ceremony it will be in is a funeral procession. Now to battle!”
Linvin and Victolin led the charge down the hill along the path laid out. Fardar followed close behind Linvin, praying for safety. At the bottom of the hill Victolin and a score of riders peeled away from the formation.
Meanwhile, the remnants of the initial goblin force were caught between the shield wall and the oncoming phalanx. In the chaos that followed, it was difficult to see whether they fell at the hands of the Valians or their own brethren, but they fell all the same.
The phalanx pressed on, in spite of the arrows, but ran into difficulty when they neared the wall. The piles of goblin corpses made it difficult for such a tight formation to navigate their way to the enemy.
As the goblins worked through the dead and dying, Githara’s arrows added to the number on the ground with increasing fury. Her archers made certain to avoid hitting her own troops by aiming their missiles deep enough into the enemy force to ensure accuracy. Though effective on the deep ranks of the goblin army, it left the front of the phalanx completely unchallenged. Unmolested, the wall of spears had time to traverse the ground and seize upon the shield-wall.
With all of their might, the goblin infantry pounded their spears and pikes on the weary defenders. Three and four spears at a time would strike each shield. The sound was deafening as they unleashed their might on the wall.
At the onset, neither side made progress. The pikes could not penetrate the shields and the Valians could not reach the goblins with their short swords. It was a stalemate that did not last long.
Though the pikes were not penetrating the shields, the force from their blows was still jarring their targets. The
unrelenting attacks began to take their toll on the defenders. Of greater concern to the Valians, was the fact that the attacks were too constant to allow fresh soldiers to rally to the wall. It was only a matter of time before the
pikes would force their way through, to begin the slaughter. As the struggle continued, the situation for the Valians became perilous, as the wall began to buckle under the beating.
It was at that moment of uncertainty that Linvin and his cavalry attacked from the rear along the entire line. The
goblins were so preoccupied with the happenings in front of them, that they paid no heed to the cavalry in the rear, forming a line along the length of their formation. Bewildered goblins never saw the strikes coming that cut them down. The phalanx was so tightly packed that Linvin’s troops could not miss.
Linvin struck like thunder with his long sword. He slashed to his right and then his left, dropping goblins with each
stroke. As quickly as he could swing his sword, he would kill another.
Linvin was not alone in his success. His cavalry cut deep swaths into the rear goblin ranks. The cavalry maintained
their line and did not get too far ahead of each other in order to avoid being surrounded.
The discipline observed among the goblins seemed to bleed away in the chaos. Indecision took center stage. Due to the close formation, they could not turn to fight without dropping their pikes. But without their pikes, they would be at a great disadvantage to the horsemen. It led to carnage on an unprecedented scale, courtesy of Linvin’s
cavalry.
Indecision gave way to panic as the majority of what was once a phalanx dropped their spears and drew their melee weapons. Rather than continue to be attacked from behind, they chose to turn and fight as
best they could.
The change in tactics could not have come at a better time at the shield-wall. The front line had collapsed and Sculla’s men were on the verge of being routed. With most of the pikes discarded, there was at last a moment to hasten fresh troops to the line and reform the wall. Personally taking the lead, Sculla ordered an advance. They marched with their wall intact to the front of the goblin line and engaged.
The cavalry was meeting with more fierce resistance with the change of weapons. Their progress slowed and they began to take losses.
Linvin was striking more swords then armor as his enemy rallied. At least one goblin had kept his spear. He struck Linvin’s horse with a killing blow. The steed stood on its hind legs and then fell to its side.
Linvin was thrown to the ground with his sword and shield flying from his hands. His helmet fell forward, covering his eyes. With a swipe of his forearm he knocked the helmet off.
A goblin stood above Linvin with his sword in hand. He was ready to strike. He propped his arm in front of him and braced for the blow. Nothing happened. Linvin looked again and saw a blade erupt from the goblin’s chest before sending him to the ground. Left standing behind the body was an astonished Fardar.
Linvin could not believe it. They exchanged a brief nod. Linvin regained his feet quickly, holding a sickle-sword and hand ax. He immediately struck right past Fardar’s head with the sword. It caught a goblin in the face that was about to kill Linvin’s savior. There was no time to thank one another. The two stood back-to-back and continued the fight.
Linvin slashed at the hamstring of one, as he buried the ax deep in another. Drawing back quickly, he stabbed and chopped at two more. The flailing of his arms made him a difficult target to approach. It also made him lose sight of Fardar.
The moments passed like days. For every goblin that fell, another filled his place. There appeared to be no reprieve
from the endless enemy surge.
Linvin’s swipes slowed to show his growing exhaustion. Reluctant goblins encircled him and probed for weakness. One broke the circle and charged him. Linvin dispatched him quickly but turned to see the others rushing his position. He chose a side, attacking with what strength he could give. One goblin fell, then another. He felt the weapons strike his armor in the back. Before he could turn, a sword gashed his left bicep. The ax fell from his hand as his arm dropped. The blow knocked him backward. He lashed out at the offender with his sickle-sword, slashing across the throat.
Linvin stumbled, but retained his feet. With no one before him, the exhausted general turned to strike behind. His blade picked up speed as he spun around. In an instant, his blow was stopped in mid-swing. In astonishment, Linvin looked at his arm and saw a hand clasped around his wrist. His eyes followed the hand to its source and found it to belong to Sculla. He was smiling at his general.
“Lose your horse?” Sculla inquired in jest. Linvin just returned the smile and put his hand on Sculla’s shoulder in
brotherhood.
The infantry had made short work of the distracted goblins and had finally closed the pincers of the trap. They had
broken through to the cavalry. Though a few hundred goblins escaped, the victory was complete.
Victolin and his riders returned to the field covered in goblin blood. “You are hurt my lord!” he said as he dismounted. He tore his own sleeve to make a bandage.
“Never mind me,” said Linvin. “Where’s Fardar!”
“I am here General,” replied Fardar, as he limped forward.
“Are you injured?” Linvin asked.
“Oh, I got my foot stepped on. It really hurts too.”
Linvin, Sculla and Victolin broke out laughing.
“What?”asked Fardar.
“It really does! Those things are heavy. It must have broken two, no three toes! I may never walk right again.”
Linvin slapped him on the back while laughing. “Well I for one, will certainly never question your courage again my friend.”
Linvin spoke with his generals quietly about their individual successes. Soon, the soldiers gathered around their general so that he might address them.
“Victory is ours!” Linvin cried with his fist in the air. The men cheered wildly and held their weapons aloft. “The army that threatened your homes is gone. Your families are safe and we hold the field once again. Everyone had a part in this victory. Githara’s archers brought death from above. Sculla’s infantry destroyed their front, while the
cavalry struck from behind. Victolin and his raiders caused much of the confusion among our opponents. They charged the command post of their war chief. The cowardly chief, sacrificed his entourage and ran for the marshes. It meant he was not able to direct his troops during the battle.”
“Above all of these, the person who deserves my greatest thanks is Seven-Toed Fardar! His bravery saved my life. Hail the victorious!”
The man shouted, “Hail Githara! Hail Sculla! Hail Victolin! Hail Grithinshield! Hail Seven-Toed Fardar!” Fardar
blushed.
Linvin addressed the troops again. “See to the injured, then gather the armor and weapons in the supply carts. They will be sold and the profits split among you and the families of the deceased. You may keep whatever else you find on the fallen goblins. Bury all the dead. When that is done and you return to camp, there will be many casks of wine waiting to be tapped. Fresh meat is cooking as we speak. Have your fill. Celebrate your victory, for it was well earned.”
The men cheered as Linvin and his subordinates crossed the field to the camp. Along the way, men stopped them to shake hands and pat them on the backs.
“Messenger!” Linvin called as he entered the camp. “Take word to the King. Send this message. ‘Engaged Marsh goblins as anticipated. Enemy utterly destroyed. Valian losses light. Will march to capital within the week. Borders are safe.’ Sign it, ‘Grithinshield, Commanding General.’ Get that off right away. There are tens of thousands of frightened people waiting for news.”
Linvin and the others passed many open fires with fresh beef and pork roasting. They continued to his command tent. Upon entering the tent and leaving view, they collapsed. Squires attended each of them. They removed all their masters’ armor and soiled clothing. Linvin passed out wine from his private stock to celebrate.
Fardar was attended as well. He was shocked, as the squire disrobed him and washed his body of the vile, pungent goblin blood that had stained his clothes black. “These will have to be discarded,” the squire told him. “Goblin blood does not wash out of clothing.”
Fardar observed the others in the room. Linvin’s arm was being stitched and dressed. It was a far more severe blow than he had acknowledged.
Sculla had been stabbed in the thigh and sliced on his arm. He too was receiving treatment.
Victolin appeared unharmed and healthy until his armor was removed and he held his ribs. His right side was deeply bruised and bleeding.
Only Githara looked to have escaped without a scratch. She looked at Victolin and asked, “Was it an ax that hit
you?”
He winced in pain, while lifting his arm to allow a bandage to be applied. “A heavy mace. I struck one of their War
Chief’s bodyguards and another struck my exposed side. It knocked me off my horse. Fortunately, one of my men cut him down.”
“What happened to you Sculla?” Linvin asked.
“Stupid really,” he replied. “When the line was advancing, this pathetic remnant of a swamp dweller reached up and stuck me in the leg with one of those cheap sickle swords. Made me furious! So, I stomped his head. Wretched, filthy, disgusting little lizard!”
The squire attending him finished cleaning the wound and prepared to stitch it closed. “If you had not pulled the sword out by yourself, the wound would not be so large.”
“The blade was getting in my way!” yelled Sculla as he shoved the attendant away. “This stable boy acts like he was the one who was stabbed.”
“Easy Stump,” Linvin consoled his friend. “I think he’s just frustrated with your disregard for your body.”
“Well it is my body!” Sculla snorted. “I’m here to fight, not compete in a beauty contest.”
“We are all glad of that,” Victolin joked. “You’d make an uglier woman than Githara.”
Githara lashed out quickly at the insult and kicked Victolin on his injured side. Victolin howled in pain. “You’re mistaken for a woman, far more, than I am for a man” she said.
“Enough children,” Linvin said, with his hand gesturing downward. “We do not need another fight today.” They were like the siblings he had never known.
Their wounds had been tended and they were all adorned in scarlet robes. Githara and Victolin left to check their units. Fardar left to prepare his report. Entering the tent as they left was a centurion.
“Pardon the intrusion My Lords,” he said as he saluted.
“What is it?” Sculla demanded.
“We can’t bury the goblins as the general had ordered. The water table is just below the surface. Whenever we start digging a hole, it just fills with water.”
Sculla turned to Linvin for direction. Linvin stood and tightened his robe. He put his hands behind his back and paced. After a few moments, he stopped, moved his hands to his hips, sighed greatly and dropped his head.
“Pile the bodies and burn them,” he ordered. “There is enough disease in this swamp without leaving the dead to add more.”
The centurion saluted again and left.
Sculla finished his goblet of wine and poured more. “After all of these years, fighting by your side, I still do not
understand your mind.” He drank again and then took to his feet. “With every victory, you make a tired army bury the barbarian horde that we slaughter. I just don’t understand it. Do you think they would waste a moment burying our dead if the situation was reversed? Not a chance! So why do you give them justice that
would never be returned?’
Linvin walked over to a pile of pillows and quietly sat down. He sipped his wine and then rolled the smooth golden goblet back and forth with his hands. Looking down, he could see his reflection in the glass.
“There are not many things a man really needs in this life but one of them is the ability to look at his reflection and like the person he sees. It is the dignity we afford our enemies that makes us stand apart from them. If we behave like those barbarians, as you called them, then we have become no better than our adversary. That would make this war even more pointless.”
Sculla sat by his leader and addressed him face to face. “Pointless? They are cheating, murderous leaches who threaten our lives! They deserve no quarter. Those armies had to be destroyed. You said so yourself.”
“Yes I did,” Linvin said in disgust. “They had to be stopped. But are there not times that you feel you have become what you hate? You call them murderers, but are we not just as guilty, if not more than them of that crime?”
“We were fighting for our homeland,” Sculla said with indignation.
“But this was once the goblins’ homeland too. Hundreds of years ago, the goblins also lived here. The Valians forced them into the swamps so they could have all the arable land. It is that land for which they fight now.”
Sculla was confused. “Are you saying that we should have let them rape and kill all those who put their faith in us to protect them?”
Linvin looked frustrated and ran his hand through his long, flowing hair. “Of course not! I am merely pointing out that we are not entirely in the right here. We did what was best for our people and they did what was best for theirs. We won, but we do not need to enjoy it.”
“Is that what this is all about?” Sculla asked while clasping his forehead in disbelief. “You feel guilty for enjoying the slaughter? Listen to me old friend. You are a great warrior and I have never known a great warrior who did not live for the kill. It is that blood lust that makes the difference in battle. When a normal man would hesitate, the warrior strikes down his enemy without remorse, without compassion and without regret. That’s what makes you strong. That’s what keeps you alive. That is the reason you have been so successful. There is nothing wrong with it. Some people work as farmers. Some work in the mines. We work in a field of blood where you kill or die. When we need food or iron, we count on them to do their job. When 60,000 vicious swamp dwellers threaten their families, they count on us to do our job.”
“My friend, I have served under many generals. Many were very good at their craft, but I could put all of them together, and they still would not be as gifted and talented as you. Look what you have just done. In a matter of days, you have won three separate battles and annihilated a vastly superior force. No other man could have even considered such an outcome. You were ordered to achieve it and you did.”
“You are the best general that I have ever known; and the only one I would ever call friend. I see that you hate what you have become, but what you have become is a great leader. The only hate of such men should come from their enemies. Embrace what you have become. You have trained for it your whole life.”
Linvin had finished his wine during the oration and refilled his glass. “Did I ever tell you the tale of how I came to
serve in this land?” Sculla shook his head. “I was just a boy when my father sent me away from Sartan. Oh how I did not wish to go, but something happened on one of his business trips that made him insistent that I leave. He told me that the day would come when I would be called upon to do great things that I could not imagine. In order to be ready for that day, I needed to be trained by the greatest military mind the world has ever seen, Sedemihcra. He was the chief consular of warfare to King Hardurian. The man was the foremost authority and inventor of siege weaponry and military tactics. I studied with him for years before he thought I was old enough to enlist in the army. He said I needed practical experience.”
“My first duty was that of an archer. Githara actually trained with me all those years ago. After distinguishing myself there, I was transferred to the King’s cavalry brigade.”
“I remember that,” Sculla laughed. “You were a spunky little whelp. Cocky and arrogant. You really needed someone to give you a good thrashing. Instead, King Hardurian took notice of your pretty horseback riding and promoted you to commander of the brigade. All that for riding around on a horse!”
Linvin smiled to hide his displeasure and said, “It was not all that easy and you know it. When our commander was killed, it was I who planned and led the attack, which lifted the siege of the capitol. Joke all you want Stump, but we both know I earned my promotions.”
“You never could take a joke,” Sculla mused. “You know if I really felt that way, I wouldn’t even bother teasing you about it.”
“My apologies for the thin skin, Stump. I spent too many years putting up with insulting cousins.”
“Well I think they would have been impressed when you became the youngest general in Valian history,” Sculla offered. “If not by that, then surely becoming commander of the combined army would have made an impression.”
“Not with my relatives,” Linvin sighed. “The human half of my family did not like me because they saw me as an elf. The elven side of my family, except for my uncle, scorned me as being human. Other than missing my parents, I did not mind leaving Sartan as a boy.”
“Well,”Sculla said as he held up his goblet to toast. “Sartan’s loss is our gain here in Valia.
Linvin held his goblet aloft and toasted with his friend. The sound of the glasses hitting one another was still in the air when a centurion entered the tent. He saluted and the generals returned the salute.
“Messages and letters to the troops have arrived my lord. May I disperse them to the men?”
“Do so,” Linvin ordered.
As the centurion turned to leave he paused. Then, reaching into his sack, he produced a well-traveled envelope. “By the way, General Grithinshield, you have a letter as well.”
Linvin looked puzzled as he was given the envelope. Who would write me?he thought to himself.
As the soldier left the tent, Linvin looked at the seal on the note. Faintly impressed in the wax was the likeness of his mother’s family ring.
A great smile grew across his face as he broke the seal and began to read. He wrote to his parents regularly, but mail often had trouble reaching him in the field. This letter was to be cherished.
The smile on his face, however, was to be short-lived. It quickly faded and was replaced by distress and near
panic.
Sculla watched his friend with concern. “General?” he asked. There was no response. “Linvin?” he asked while waving his hand before his commander.
After a long, motionless silence, Linvin turned to Sculla. “I have to leave. I have to leave right now! General, take
command of the army and see them back to the capitol. Squire!”
A squire ran into the tent and saluted.
“Find me the freshest, fastest horse in this camp and have it out front before I am done changing,” Linvin ordered. “General Sculla will be left in command of the army. I have urgent business with the King.” The squire saluted and left hurriedly.
“What is all of this?” Sculla asked.
“Something has happened, Stump,” Linvin said as he dressed in traveling clothes. “I cannot explain now but I must
go.”
After dressing, Linvin led Sculla from the tent. As ordered, a fresh horse stood ready to mount. Linvin wasted no time stepping into the stirrup and taking to the saddle. He brought the horse over to Sculla and said, “You have been a good friend and a great general. Remember to always use your mind in battle. It will serve you well when might alone is not enough.” With that he turned and began to leave.
Sculla looked confused. “You will be back, won’t you?” he shouted.
“Perhaps one day,” Linvin called to him. “One thought about the paths you take. They tend to cross other paths more than once”.
“In my absence, perhaps you can solve a mystery that has plagued me from the battle. If all those goblins came from the marshes, and there are hardly any trees there, where did they come up with so many pikes? To go a step further, how did they come up with so much quality armor and other weaponry? They possess neither the raw materials nor the craftsmen to make such items. Ponder it a while. Something is amiss, but I am afraid I will not be
here to help solve the riddle. Farewell, my friend.” With that, he dug in his heels and rode away with haste.
