“What of the bridges?” King Felix asked. “We need to fall back beyond the river.”
“The bridges are intact, my lord.”
“Good, organize a retreat. We’ve got to get control of this situation. I’m sure the wizard’s army will be marching down on us at any moment. That’s the only reason he would have called off his dragon.”
“I’ll see to it personally, my King,” the soldier said, snapping a salute before rushing away.
Felix hurried over to where two servants were holding the King’s charger. The beast was a massive shire horse, a breed normally used for pulling rather than riding, but this particular line of horses had been bred specifically for war. It wasn’t as fast as most horses used as cavalry mounts, but it had no trouble carrying the King in full battle armor while being covered with heavy metal plating itself. The King normally stayed well back from the fighting to ensure that he was never in danger, but the big shire horses were bred specifically to carry the royal family away from an attack unscathed. The horses were trained for war, so fire and even the presence of a dragon didn’t make the horse skittish. The servants had saddled the horse and fitted armor over the horse’s head, withers, and rump.
The King had thrown on his chain mail but couldn’t wait for his servants to dress him in full armor. He went over to the horse and used a set of three wooden steps to mount.
“Here we go again, Specter,” said the King, patting the horse’s brawny neck.
“You men, gather what you can and head for the river,” he told the servants. “Take what we need, nothing else.”
“Yes, sire,” they replied.
King Felix rode to the crest of the hill, where the scouts were positioned. The burning trebuchets were lighting up the field behind them and making it even more difficult to see across the dark expanse toward the invading army.
“Any sign of the enemy?” King Felix called.
“No, sire,” said one of the scouts.
The King rode his massive horse along the line and ordered his scouts to keep their shields raised. He expected a volley of arrows at any moment and he strained his eyes in search of any sign of movement.
A group of Felix’s commanders came galloping up the hill and reined in their horses beside the King.
“You are too close to the front, my lord,” said one of the knights, a tall man with thick blond curls hanging from his battle helm. His name was Corlis of Osis City.
They were all noblemen who served the King as generals and commanders. Generals were tacticians, one serving each legion of the King’s Army. Commanders usually oversaw smaller groups and actively led their troops in battle. They all wore armor of some type and all carried lances with their legion’s identifying emblem.
“Never mind where I am, sir,” Felix said. “What is the state of our army?”
“We have all the troops except for the scouts heading across the river,” General Sals said. He was the third son of Duke Shupor and commanded the Fox Legion.
“Our bridges are holding, sire,” said General Yinnis. “The trebuchets are a total loss but we still have ships that can ferry you back to Orrock.”
“I expected to be pushed back at some point,” King Felix said. “Offendorl is no fool. At least we held them up these last three days. I want the scouts ready to fall back on my command, and let’s get another century ready to cover their retreat. They can then commence a fighting retreat. I also want the bridges ready to burn. I doubt Offendorl would be so foolish as to send his troops onto our bridges, but it’s worth a try.”
“I volunteer the Heavy Horse to cover the scouts’ retreat,” Corlis said in a superior tone.
“No, if something happens to our bridges I want the cavalry on our side of the Tillamook,” King Felix said. “What legion are these men from?” he said, indicating the scouts.
“They are Eagles,” said General Tolis.
“Fine,” said King Felix, “get another century of your Eagles up here to cover their withdrawal, Tolis. General Yinnis, see to the bridges. I’ll cross over and oversee the retreat back to Orrock myself.”
General Yinnis and General Tolis both saluted and then galloped away.
“Sire,” said General Sals. “If the dragon attacks again, you’ll be exposed. We can’t protect you from fire.”
“No, you can’t, but I’ll still cross over and lead our troops back. They need to see this as a strategic maneuver, not a military defeat.”
“The Orrock Heavy Horse will protect you, my liege,” said Corlis.
Felix bit back the angry retort that almost jumped out of his lips. The last thing he wanted was to take his anger out on a capable commander. They would need everyone at their best if they were going to face the dragon. Felix didn’t take it as a good sign that the beast had shown up and attacked his army. He needed Zollin, but what if the boy had been killed by the dragon? They were lost against Offendorl and his army without a wizard of their own. Even so, those fears couldn’t play a part in how he made decisions now, or in how he treated his men.
“No, that isn’t necessary,” Felix said. “The Heavy Horse should pull back to Orrock with the rest of the army. The light cavalry can guard our retreat, and the Royal Guard will accompany me at all times. Gentlemen, make no mistake: we are at war. So far we’ve done little to check the enemy’s progress into our kingdom. But we will stop them at Orrock, one way or another.”
Just then a familiar whistling sound was heard, and General Sals screamed to the troops around him.
“Arrows!” he shouted, raising his shield to cover King Felix.
Most of the arrows flew past them, but some found their marks. The scouts had been ready with their shields held above their heads to protect them from the falling projectiles. They dropped to a squatting position so that the shields covered most of their bodies. A few scouts were hit with arrows, but they were mostly superficial wounds in their legs or feet.
Corlis raised his own shield in an effort to protect the King, but his horse was hit with an arrow and it reared suddenly, throwing the young commander from the saddle and charging away, neighing in pain.
King Felix waited for the arrows to fall, which took only a moment. The projectiles sounded like demonic hailstones, but once that volley was over the King and General Sals kicked their horses into action, each riding in a different direction down the line of scouts who were spread out thirty paces apart. Both riders shouted orders for the soldiers to pull back and join their respective leader.
The scouts didn’t need to be told twice; they sprinted down the hill in the direction of either the King or General Sals. When the telltale whistle of a second volley was heard, the men dropped to their knees and raised their shields. King Felix raised his own shield, but had to trust the chain mail to protect his thighs and legs. Several arrows hit him, two on his shield and one on his foot, punching through the stirrup and into his boot, gouging through the flesh below his ankle bone. The pain was spectacular, and King Felix cried out, but he managed to keep from falling off his horse.
Despite the danger several of the scouts ran to their king. One was killed when an arrow tore through his neck. Several more arrows hit the King’s horse, but the heavy plate armor protected it from harm.
“Are you hurt, sire?” shouted one of the troops.
“Damn arrow got my boot,” Felix shouted back. “I’m fine. We have to form a shield wall. We’ll move slowly back down the hill, but we have to be able to withstand their initial attack.”
As the scouts moved into position in front of King Felix, they began to hear the screams of the invading army. Their commanders had sent them forward, and the men were running flat out, planning to use their momentum to break down the defenders’ shield walls. Felix looked over and saw that General Sals had formed a shield wall of his own. They would move down the hill and converge at the bridges that the Boar Legion had constructed.