Finally, the daylight faded too much to continue and Garibond rose to leave, closing the book.
Bransen clutched it close and would not let go.
Smiling, nodding, Garibond let him keep it. A short while later, candle in hand, Garibond checked on the boy, to find him sleeping restfully-more so than Garibond had expected given the revelations of the day-his arms wrapped about the book, holding it close to his chest, his head on the clothing of SenWi.
18
For the Line of Pryd The smell of brine hung thick in the air; they could hear the waves crashing against the rocks beyond the few remaining eastern ridges, and with great hopes and great hunger to be done with this awful campaign, the men of the many holdings pressed forward. The intensity of their charge drove the bloody-cap dwarves before them, spurred by the common cry to "push them into the sea!"
Led by their eager young prince and by the mighty Bannagran, the men of Pryd Holding drove hard from the southern end of the line. Bannagran charged out in front, his heavy axe clearing the way of powries with powerful sweeps.
One dwarf got past that flashing blade and rushed hard at the large man's side, short sword leading. It clipped Bannagran's hip, and the man grimaced and turned. Out snapped Bannagran's hand, catching the dwarf by the front of its leather tunic.
Up into the air went the powrie, soaring over the ridge line to bounce down the rocky eastern side.
Two other dwarves pressed Bannagran furiously from the front, whacking at his blocking axe with their spiked clubs. He was forced back and slipped down to one knee, and the dwarves charged in for the kill. But Bannagran scooped up a large rock and hurled it forward, smacking one powrie squarely in the face. Up came the huge warrior, prodding the spiked tip of his axe straight ahead to halt the charge of the second dwarf.
The powrie had the better angle and tried to shove that axe aside, but so strong was Bannagran that even off balance, even with only one hand holding the axe shaft, he managed to keep the powrie at bay.
Bannagran got his feet under him, and he stood up and lunged forward, his other hand now slapping against his axe handle. He forged ahead, and the powrie gave ground and slipped a step to the side. Instead of following the movement, Bannagran snapped his axe the other way. Suddenly free of the entanglement, the powrie stumbled on the uneven ground, putting distance between himself and the axe-and that gave Bannagran enough room to maneuver and strike, his axe plowing into the dwarf.
He had to reverse his swing immediately, though; and he took the head from a second dwarf that was clambering over the rocky ridge.
Propelled by the warrior's gains, Prince Prydae led the rest of his forces in a sudden charge up the ridge. The powries broke before them, affording them the high ground and offering a moment of respite from the nearly constant fighting of that morning. As soon as he was clear, the prince rushed up beside his friend and clapped Bannagran on the shoulder. "We have met our objective and the sun has not yet reached its apex," Prydae congratulated.
"Our comrades have not shared in our good fortune this day," Bannagran replied as both of them looked northward, where the men of several other holdings lagged, mired in heavy battle with the fierce and stubborn dwarves.
"If I could offer them sons of Bannagran to spearhead their charge…" Prydae said, and when Bannagran turned to regard him, he found his prince smiling.
"I hear the waves!" one man cried from behind them, and that brought a cheer from all the men of Pryd.
Prydae's smile became a wry grin. "Is our work done this day?"
Bannagran saw the answer clearly in the man's expression. "It came to us too easily," he replied with a shake of his head.
"Let us press on."
"We risk leaving our support behind," Bannagran warned.
"To the east a bit, but then north," Prydae explained. "Let us turn the end of the line so that the powries cannot flee around us."
Bannagran looked back to the battlefield in the north, across the broken and rocky terrain. All seemed quiet in the east, after all, and the day's fighting was not half done.
Prydae clapped him on the shoulder once more. "You take half our charges and move straight north in support of the men of Laird Ethelbert. I will hold your eastern flank with the other half."
Bannagran fixed him with a knowing stare.
"I will spread my forces out in a secure line north to south," Prydae promised, "to ensure that I am not flanked." He clapped Bannagran once again and moved off, calling his men to order. "The daring young Prince of Pryd," Laird Ethelbert remarked when one of his commanders brought news of the unexpected northward curl of the army of Pryd Holding. "Ever out in front is that one."
"The powries break before his ranks," said the commander. "The men of Pryd have marked themselves well."
"Yes, particularly Prydae's large friend. One victory after another for the men of Pryd." Ethelbert smiled as he considered his own words. He wasn't jealous of Prydae's gains; quite the contrary: Ethelbert figured that Prydae's reputation would serve him well when he annexed Pryd Holding into the greater kingdom of Ethelbert, opposing Delaval. Though they remained far in the north, the men of Delaval had no doubt heard of Prydae's exploits here. What might their reaction be if Laird Delaval, attempting to take all of Honce for himself, ordered them into battle against the daring and cunning young prince and his soon-to-be-legendary champion?
"Tell your men to take the valor of Pryd Holding as their example," Ethelbert instructed his commanders. "Let us press forward as Prydae and his forces seal the trap. The more powries we kill now, the fewer we will have to kill later. Perhaps this day will mark the end of our troubles.
"So valiantly, one and all of Ethelbert!" the laird cried loudly. "The completion of our task lies before us this day, and the road home is at hand!"
With cheers reverberating along the line, the men of Ethelbert Holding charged forward against the fierce dwarves. Their advance inspired those armies of the lesser holdings flanking them to fight on more courageously.
Laird Ethelbert shifted his gaze from his own men to the army of Pryd, who were forming a line east to west, up one side of a ridge and down the other. Still the powries broke before them as they made their way north.
Ethelbert wondered if he might be watching the champion he would name as heir to Ethelbert Holding. The powries continued to break ranks and flee, and the men of Pryd, led by their new champion, Bannagran, eagerly gave chase. Even those at the end of the line looked ahead more than behind as they swept along the ridge line.
Which was exactly what the powries had anticipated.
Standing in the center of the two lines, Prydae clearly saw the first signs of the counterattack. Powries leaped up from concealment in the rocks and pressed against the trailing edges of the Pryd line.
"Turn, lads! Close up the line!" he cried. "Hold, Bannagran! Tighten the ranks!" As he shouted, Prydae moved south along his trailing forces, and each step more clearly revealed to him the urgency of the situation. For this was no disorganized and desperate maneuver by the dwarves. The prince had to wonder if all his army's gains that morning had been but illusion. Had the powries allowed him, even enticed him along on his sudden push?
There was no time for Prydae to stop and think about it, for the fight was on at the southernmost end of the line, his soldiers already sorely pressed by a score of dirty dwarves. Into their midst charged the valiant prince, his sword ringing hard against a powrie weapon.
He turned the powrie blade and, with a burst of rage, leaped forward and struck hard, driving his sword deep into powrie flesh. He cried out to bolster his men; but it was hardly necessary, for his presence alone had already stabilized their defense and solidified their determination. Not a man broke ranks and ran.