“While we destroy his rabble,” Benador said with a determined grimace. He clapped Andovar on the shoulder. “You have had no rest,” he said. “But if you plan to ride beside me to the Four Bridges, as I hope, you will find little idle time in the next few days!”
Two hours later, to the cheers of those who would remain behind, the Warders of the White Walls, the elite guard of Pallendara, charged out of the city’s gates, King Benador and Andovar at their lead.
From his tower window high above the city wall, Istaahl watched them go. Five hundred strong and superbly trained and outfitted, they would cut down the talons ten for every man. But no smile crossed the White Mage’s face as he watched the onrush of the proud army. He knew that even they would find only disaster if he and his wizard peers could not hold back the strength of Morgan Thalasi, strength that could sweep all the soldiers in the world away in the course of a single day.
The flight of the refugees had actually gained momentum during the dark hours of that wicked night. The two hamlets between Corning and the river, alerted by the ride of Andovar and by the thickening smoke on the western horizon, met the line with wagons and carts and a fresh garrison to form a rear guard.
But swift, too, came the forerunners of Thalasi’s army, and in numbers sufficient to bury any impromptu defensive attempts. Thus, when Belexus and his remaining cavalry found the trailing end of the fleeing refugees near midday, they saw as well the leading edge of the talons, dangerously close and gaining with every stride.
“More fightin’s before me, and ye’ve not the strength to help this time,” Belexus explained as he set Rhiannon into one of the wagons. Rhiannon, so weak and exhausted, would have tried to dissuade him, but beside her in the wagon she saw a young boy, barely ten, gravely wounded and needing attention.
Belexus would not have heard her complaints in any event. As soon as the wagon began to roll away, he called his troops together to lay out the battle plans. They would not meet the talon line head-on, nor would they dig in and fight a pitched battle. Instead they would follow the wagons in flight. Let the overeager talons come at them in clusters, with no proper formation, only to find a coiled snake when at last they caught up with the group.
But for all of the wisdom of the ranger’s plan, and for all of the determined grunts and shouts of the brave cavalrymen, Belexus had cause to worry. The Four Bridges were fully five miles away, and considering the rate of the approaching army, the ranger wondered if the last groups of refugees would even get halfway there before they were overtaken.
“Present torch!” the sergeant cried out.
Ten men, the front line of Rivertown’s defense, snapped to attention and brought their arms out wide, bearing a torch in each hand.
“Present grenades!” the sergeant ordered.
The second line, one hundred strong and including Gatsby, the record keeper, performed a similar movement. But instead of torches, each member of this group held two flasks of highly flammable oil, stoppered with oil-soaked rags.
The sergeant leaped into his saddle and rushed off ahead, seeking a better view of the drama unfolding before him. The last groups of refugees were coming on fast now; Thalasi’s army was right on their heels, hurling spears with devastating effect. But the brave men of the Rivertown regiment known as the Firethrowers had already put more than a mile between themselves and the Four Bridges.
The flight was a dead run. Wagons crossed by the Rivertown regiment, bouncing and tossing wildly. In back of the last group, Belexus’ line of cavalry had fully engaged the front talon ranks, fighting a retreating action but trying to hold the monsters long enough for the helpless refugees to get to the bridges.
They wouldn’t have had a chance if it weren’t for the Rivertown Firethrowers.
“Light torches!” the sergeant cried, nervous beads of sweat now evident on his brow and on the faces of all of his men. He watched as two men made their way up and down the line of torchbearers, igniting the items. Behind them the grenadiers shifted anxiously. The sergeant had to hold them until the last moment, to time their strike perfectly to allow all of the fleeing people to get behind them.
As he came up on the Rivertown line, Belexus recognized the intent of the defensive line. The ranger held his troops for a moment longer, then ordered them into full flight. They pounded away from the leading talons and crossed through the Rivertown line just as the sergeant put his men into action.
In one fluid motion the grenadiers of Rivertown swept into small lines and rushed through the line of torchbearers, lighting their flasks as they passed. The charging talons were barely fifteen feet away when the first flaming grenade crashed in, but in mere seconds two hundred burning flasks of oil erupted in the faces of the horrified monsters. A wild rush of fire scattered and decimated their center ranks, and the screams of burning talons replaced battle cries.
Proud tears streaked the sergeant’s face as he watched his troops perform their practiced maneuver to perfection. He understood what their bravery would cost them, for though they had broken the center of the talon line, talons to the north and south had continued their sweep beyond the ranks of the Rivertown Firethrowers and were now turning in toward the road, cutting off any chance of escape.
Belexus wanted to turn his troops back around and rush to the rescue of the brave men of Rivertown. Such an act would steal the meaning from their sacrifice, though, for they had gone onto the field that day knowing their duty and accepting their fate. And with Belexus’ cavalry continuing their rearguard action, they had bought enough time for the helpless refugees to get to the bridges.
The Rivertown Firethrowers drew their swords and put a song on their lips as the black walls of talons closed around them. They had done their duty.
Not a man of them survived the next ten minutes.
The remaining garrison of Rivertown, along with the forces of several neighboring villages and those refugees still fit to fight, had already organized a hasty defense of the bridges. Lines of archers showered the talons closest in pursuit, and skilled horsemen rode out to catch the wagons and put them in proper lines for getting across the bridges safely and quickly.
Belexus took his troops in full stride straight across the central two bridges, then spun them about to survey the battle and determine where they would best fit in.
The talons did not slow when they reached the massive, arching structures. They crashed onto each bridge, flailing away wildly and crying out for the deaths of the human defenders.
But the men and women of Calva, fighting for their homes and the lives of their kin, met the monsters with equal savagery. And whenever the talon press threatened to break through to the other side of one of the bridges, Belexus and his troops met them and drove them back.
The Black Warlock, following in the middle ranks of his army, snickered with wicked satisfaction at each mutilated human corpse he passed. The sight of the carnage inflicted by the Rivertown Firethrowers stole that evil smile, but only for a moment, for farther up the line came the shouts that the army had finally reached the Four Bridges. Thalasi spurred his litter bearers on when he heard the ring of weapons and the cries as the forces engaged. By the time he came upon the scene at the bridges, it had become obvious that his talon soldiers would not break through. The bulk of the talon army was still miles behind, plodding down the road on weary feet, and while these leading groups of his force alone outnumbered the enemy across the way, the defenders were better organized and firmly entrenched in defensible positions.
Thalasi considered calling back his charges, holding them until the rest of his dark force could catch up. But then a more devious alternative came to mind. Why should he hold back any longer? A simple flex of his magical muscles here and the bridge would be won. With his talons spilling into the eastern Calvan fields, he could not be stopped, not by the army of Pallendara or by the feeble wizards that would stand to oppose him.