Spellbinder, page 46
part #2 of The Jester King Series
“Some things are better understood with the eyes, Highness.”
Hereweald, Billy, and Shaldra followed the physician to a part of their camp near the brook. Men and horses littered the ground, both dead and dying.
“What’s happened? Were we attacked?”
The physician shook his head. “No, Highness. These men and horses have all fallen ill. Half are already dead.”
“What do we do?”
“I do not yet know the cause, Your Highness. The legion physicians have reported there are many more sick throughout the camp.”
“How many?”
“Hundreds, Your Highness. Many hundreds.”
Hereweald turned away from the sight, and Billy saw disbelief and horror in his eyes. He turned to one of the sick men. “Do you know what made you sick, soldier?”
“No. … We ate the same food we had yesterday.”
“What of the horses?”
Another man spoke up. “With the battle tomorrow, we fed the horses from our oats supply.”
Hereweald knelt next to another stricken man. He lifted the man’s head and brought a ladle of water to his lips, but the man declined. “And you? … What did you eat?”
“I was relieved of guard duty just now, Highness. I haven’t eaten anything. I don’t think I could.”
Hereweald laid the man down, and then stared at the water in the ladle as he swirled it. He then raised the ladle to drink.
At that moment, the centurion in charge of the watch came running beside the stream towards the prince, flapping his arms. The prince stared at him over the ladle. When the centurion was still some distance away, he shouted, “Don’t drink the water!”
Hereweald glanced down at the water in the ladle, then dropped it and stood up. He pursed his dry lips as his eyes drifted from the ladle to the gentle brook that ran just a few feet away. His shoulders sank, and he stared at the water quietly passing by.
Shaldra went to the water’s edge and put his hand over the stream.
When the centurion arrived, Hereweald turned to him. “Report.”
“Your Highness, the men set to guard the source of this stream have been murdered!”
“When?”
“Their relief discovered them just now, Highness.”
Hereweald thought for a moment. “Quickly now, spread word throughout the camp that the water is poison. Under my order, no one is to drink another drop! Let them drink wine if they’re thirsty.”
“Aye, Your Highness.” The centurion saluted.
When the centurion had gone, Hereweald turned to the physician.
“When the wine is in, sense is out, Your Highness. Some will get drunk.”
“Better drunk than dead. Besides, some of them fight better drunk.”
The prince and the physician attempted to smile. Shaldra came back from the brook shaking his head.
Billy put a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “What is it?”
“It’s not poison, Your Highnesses.”
“Then, what is it?” both princes asked.
“This sickness in the water is pure sorcery.”
“Sorcery?” Hereweald pulled out his bronze medallion and kissed it.
“Aye.” Billy sighed and nodded. “Before he was interrupted, Shaldra was about to report that Ergyfel might have sent a sorcerer to aid his commander. I guess this confirms it.”
“Sorcery.” Hereweald balled his hands into fists. “Give me men with spears and shields, slogging it out in the mud and blood, down to their last breath with bare fists. Pit me against an enemy of muscle and bone and steel, and I shall be victorious, but how does one combat sorcery? How do you defeat what you cannot see?”
“I believe Sylvys may be able to help us, Your Highness.”
Billy nodded to Shaldra. “Go quickly.”
While Sylvys aided the physicians and their helpers with the sick troops, the two princes called their advisors to Hereweald’s tent. Long into the night, they tossed about strategies to cope with their impending predicament. It was still a few hours before dawn when Sylvys and the prince’s physician came to report. Hugh was just finishing. “... but the Lord of Hillshire is sympathetic to our cause, so we should receive a small mounted contingent before dawn.”
“Good.” Hereweald spotted the bedraggled healers and beckoned them. “Report.”
“Forgive my appearance, Your Highness.” The physician bowed. “We have been working since we last spoke, to save as many men as we could.”
Hereweald’s body stiffened as if readying for a blow. The prince glanced at the faces of each of his officers, then back to the physician.
“What are our losses?”
The physician struggled for words. He had no doubt spent the entire march to his prince’s tent thinking of the best way to break the news, and yet when the moment arrived, there were no words. Billy’s extended contact with the physician had revealed the man’s deep commitment to healing and the relief of pain. His marked hesitation spoke volumes.
“My prince, I ...”
The physician closed his eyes. He then bowed his head before continuing with his duty. “Nearly three thousand are dead.”
The physician braved to look and found Hereweald staring at him. Again, he looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with his prince as he delivered the remaining bad news.
“More than four thousand lay ill, too weak to lift a sword. The morning shall see if they survive. Some few of the remaining troops show mild symptoms.” The physician looked around at the faces in the room and added, “Of the officers, Primus Bleddyn, Primus Pike, and Tribune Estival are dead. Tribune Mael may recover.”
The physician then laid several small tablets on the table.
“These are the tallies, Your Highness, in more detail. Also, the report from the ostlers, who bade me bring it to you.”
The prince put his knuckles on the table and leaned upon it. “Read it to me.”
The physician picked up one of the tablets and studied it. “Out of some thousand horses, there are now approximately ... seven-hundred-fifty still alive, six hundred fit for service. ... They also said that your horse and your brother’s horse are well. Apparently, they were in the first group watered.”
“I see,” the prince said, at last. He turned to a centurion near him. “I’m promoting you to Primus of the First. Go to the centurions and order details to prepare their bodies for the journey home.”
“Wait.” Billy held up his hand while Drif whispered in his ear.
The prince looked askance at him. “I’ve lost too many good men tonight for any trivialities, my friend.”
Billy beckoned Hereweald down to his level, and then whispered in his ear. The prince nodded, then stared at Billy and Deordrif in disbelief.
“We can’t. Besides, it would never work.” Hereweald stood up and looked at Hugh. “Once we sound the advance, it’s over.”
“You may not need to, Your Highness.”
“There is more to the plan,” Billy said.
Shaldra stepped forward. “I think you should hear Prince William out.”
Hereweald held up his hand. “Look, I allowed you and your advisors to attend this meeting against good advice. Don’t prove me wrong.”
“Trust me.” Billy tugged Hereweald down and whispered some more.
After a few moments, Hereweald stood up. “It’s a shadow’s gambit at best, … but you might be right. I doubt Feolaghe could predict such a move.”
Hugh shook his head. “He won’t.”
“On the other hand … ” Prince Hereweald rubbed his stubbled chin. “I don’t like the thought of my men fighting without any sleep.”
“No matter what you decide, the morning light is our enemy now.”
“Aye, Hugh. It will expose our weakness. Although the sun will be in their eyes.”
“We must move efficiently and with stealth,” Shaldra said.
The prince looked at the elf, and Billy detected the beginnings of a grin. In that instant, the prince had decided.
He turned to the new Primus of the First Legion. “Go to the centurions. Tell them to have the men dress the dead in their armor and carry them quietly to the west side of camp.”
As a grumble rippled through the tent, the tribune of the First Legion’s cavalry stepped forward and spoke in a demanding tone. “What is the meaning of this outrage?”
The prince spun towards the grey-haired man and raised his fist. He hesitated, and then tapped on the man’s shoulder.
“I apologize, old friend.” He then turned to the group. “I apologize to you all. I am the first guardian of our people’s traditions. However, I value your lives above tradition. Your sons, …” He turned to the tribune. “Your brothers … must wait a bit longer for their well-deserved rites. Tomorrow, our dead stand with us!”
***
Billy sat in a chair with a pillow behind his back, under the rear edge of a large red and yellow canopy erected near the middle of the Rowmeadow. Before him sat a sumptuous feast of fresh apples, potatoes, warm bread, ham, and roast beef, all freshly prepared. He stared at a candle on the edge of the banquet table.
Billy reached forward and snuffed out the candle. Once he’d leaned back into his seat, he looked over his shoulder and watched the early morning light reveal three full legions arrayed in battle formation. On the opposite side of the field, Ergyfel’s army scrambled to form lines.
“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.”
Billy blinked and looked over at Hugh, who was eyeing the table heaped with food. His eye was caught by a strange glow coming from Hugh’s waist.
“What’s that?”
“My attempt to translate scripture.”
“No, that!” Billy pointed to Hugh’s side.
He raised his arm to reveal the hilt of his sword. The pommel stone glowed with an eerie blue light. He looked down at the glowing gem. “Oh, that. It started doing that this morning.”
“This morning?”
“Aye. About the time we arrived here, though it’s brighter now.”
“And you don’t think that’s strange?”
“When I was a child, my mother told me this sword was magic. Later, I thought she was just trying to comfort me, so I wouldn’t fret when my father went to war. And there were times during the years I wielded it that I wondered—at times, I felt led … but it wasn’t until you restored it to me that I truly began to believe.”
Shaldra grunted. Billy looked over and saw him hanging on the front edge of the canopy, leaning towards the enemy lines, from which his eyes never moved.
“What, Shaldra? I suppose you already knew it was magic.”
“In Tirn Aill, my prince.”
“From the moment you saw it, right?”
“You’ve been in the land of men too long, Highness. Remember the forest. If you listen carefully, you can hear the sword’s song.”
Billy closed his eyes and concentrated on what he was hearing. It was a serene morning on the meadow. A quiet breeze tiptoed on the tops of the distant trees. Birds chirped their greeting to the sun. Behind him, tribunes roared, and Hereweald’s army, in unison, shouted his name then became still. He heard the cooks feverishly preparing a feast in the camp and the babbling of the brook beyond. Just below this, he thought he heard Sylvys and Drif whispering the wind chant to coax the scent of the feast across the field to the starving army that opposed them.
Across from Billy, captains thundered their orders. The armor and weapons of Ergyfel’s army clanked together, as it grumbled and muttered and panicked to get into place on the field of battle. Empty stomachs growled, and horses pawed the earth and chomped the bit as leather saddles creaked and reins pulled taut in fists of steel.
Shaldra’s voice broke Billy’s concentration. “Are we closer to their lines?”
“I thought we were in the middle,” Hugh said.
“I think we’re closer to their lines than to ours.”
“Perhaps, when I ordered the tent erected, I should have been more specific.” Hereweald eyeballed their position. “I told the centurion to ‘place it near the middle, but not close enough for their commander to see our troops clearly.’”
“They might perceive our forward position as confidence,” Hugh said.
Billy sat up. “Good.”
“Confidence or folly?” Hereweald made eye contact with Hugh. “A clever commander might see it as an opportunity.”
“A clever or desperate commander,” Shaldra said.
Hereweald and Hugh nodded in agreement, then Hugh spoke. “I know Feolaghe well, and right now he is both.”
“Do a few yards really make a difference, Your Highness?” Billy asked.
“That all depends on where Feolaghe has his archers.”
“Archers?” Billy stood and tried to see into the trees.
Hereweald stepped out from under the tent and eyed the enemy lines. He felt for the direction of the wind. “If his archers are as good as mine—and I have no reason to believe otherwise—and if I were him, and desperate … killing the enemy commander would be an option.”
At that moment, Hereweald’s herald galloped up to the meeting tent and dismounted. As he approached his prince, it was clear he was shaken.
“What’s wrong?”
The youth bowed to his prince. “Your Highness. There is one among them, who … frightens me.”
“Ergyfel’s sorcerer.”
The herald glanced at Billy. “Something more than a sorcerer, Highness; yet less than a man.”
Hereweald grabbed the boy’s shoulders. “What do you mean? Speak clearly!”
“He—it reeks of death, Your Highness. It’s not a man. It’s—it’s pure evil, but you may see soon enough.”
“Are they coming, then?”
“Aye, Your Highness. They have accepted your invitation.”
“They’re coming now.” Shaldra pointed to the trees.
The five of them trained their eyes on the enemy lines. Motion came from the center and moved towards them.
The lines of warriors parted, and four men rode out; three encased in steel armor, and the fourth, a youth, wearing dyed-blue leathers with a silver horn slung to one side and carrying a blue and white pennant. The riders trotted towards the meeting tent at a wary pace. When they neared the halfway mark, a commotion rose from the formation behind them. Something raced through the woods and abruptly broke their lines.
Billy stood on his tiptoes. “What’s that?”
Hugh stepped forward. “It looks like a chariot.”
Hereweald appeared next to him. “A light war chariot, to be precise.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Shaldra said.
The leader of the four riders, seeing the charging chariot, spurred his horse into a gallop to intercept its course. The three with him did the same, following behind him.
“Is it the sorcerer?” Billy asked.
“Aye.” The grim herald stepped back a pace.
“Your herald’s right.” Shaldra turned to Hereweald. “We’re not dealing with a man, but an evil spirit.”
“Is he—is it responsible for killing my men?”
“Of that, I’ve little doubt, Your Highness.”
Hereweald held Shaldra in his gaze. “Take your prince to the rear of the tent. You can protect him better from there if need be.” He then turned to his herald. “Thewyn, plant our flag over there and stand beside it. We shan’t need introductions in this.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Remember, Thewyn, whatever happens, do not signal the advance unless I order it! Even if things get rough—no false starts. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
The chariot bore down on the tent. The skull helmet of its driver seemed to grin. At the last second, the four riders forced it aside, and it came to an abrupt stop.
The chariot driver stepped down from his rig and planted his bare feet in the rich soil churned up by the chariot wheels. He then picked up his bone war-club and threw it over one shoulder, with no more care than a woodcutter shows his ax. At last, he turned his dragon skull countenance to face the tent and marched towards it.
Billy pointed to the leader of the riders and whispered to Shaldra. “That’s Sir Feolaghe, though he looks much older than I remember. And Lord Colomdyn, I believe. And ... ”
Sir Feolaghe dropped down from his mount and moved to intercept the charioteer. His fellow riders, likewise, dismounted and turned their backs to the tent to support their leader.
Hugh and Hereweald exchanged curious glances.
Sir Feolaghe held up a hand. “Wait.”
The dark spirit strode toward the tent. “Stand aside.”
Feolaghe held his ground. “I am commander of this army! I will handle any negotiations.”
The spirit stopped a few paces from him. “Talk. Pah!” He spat on the ground. “Speak with your blade, and let their blood answer you from the earth!”
Shaldra came close to Billy and whispered, “This is bad.”
“What’s bad?”
“I’ve got to get you out of here.”
“Why?”
“Because that is Deimog, the Ghoul King.”
“Are you sure?”
“As sure as I am that I cannot protect you from him.”
Billy turned to Shaldra, and though the elf put on a brave face, his eyes betrayed him. He put his hand on the elf’s chest and felt his heart thumping. “I’m sorry, my friend. He frightens me too, but I am committed to this strategy.”
Shaldra’s countenance became resolute and grim. He bowed his head to Billy and returned to his position a few steps in front of his prince.
Meanwhile, the conversation between Feolaghe and Deimog was coming to an end.
The Ghoul King wagged his club at Feolaghe. “We do not serve King William, but King Ergyfel.”
“A fact I cannot forget.”
“Then remember also,” the foul spirit wheezed, “I will speak for King Ergyfel, as I see fit. When I see fit.”
“And I am his champion and Lord Marshal. I will speak for my king in all matters regarding his army’s belligerence.”
“As you wish.”
Sir Feolaghe turned and walked toward the meeting tent, his men falling in behind his left shoulder, and Deimog falling in behind his right. As they approached, Billy noticed that the pommel stone of Hugh’s sword glowed bright like the full moon, and he heard the song of its magic. Hugh also noticed the light and cupped his hand over the pommel to hide it.
