His attention focused on the top of the rise to the left front. A lone rider stood on the ridgeline. Moorgoth raised his spyglass again, to see the rider better.
Through the glass, he could see an armored warrior on a white charger. He could see the emblem on the breastplate-a bird. The rider was half a mile away and Moorgoth could make out nothing more. Yet he knew what that emblem was-a kingfisher, the symbol of one of the orders of the Knights of Solamnia.
The knight rode down the hill toward the town. The smoke of the fires on the far side of town stained the pleasant summer sky.
Moorgoth lost sight of the knight when he drew close to the town. The baron turned to order his men to get ready, but he needed to say nothing. Everyone was watching the knight. They crouched in their hiding places, ready to move. Excitement rustled among them like wind through tree leaves.
Two minutes later, the knight came charging out of the town, galloping over the hill in the same direction from which he had come.
“Settle down,” said Moorgoth to his men, though he knew they couldn’t hear him. “Settle down, boys. Now we get into the hard part. We have to wait for the main force of the knights to arrive. We even have to sit here and watch them assemble, right in front of us. And we don’t dare make a sound. It’s going to be hard.”
He motioned behind him for the runner.
“Pass this word to all of my officers. If any man makes a sound or moves so that the enemy finds us before we’re ready, I’ll cut his throat myself. Go ahead and pass the word.”
Another runner came up, crawling forward to the baron’s position.
“Sir, Commander Omini sends his regards.”
Moorgoth glared at the man. “I don’t need Omini’s regards! What’s his damned news?”
“He wishes to inform you, sir, that his scout reports a force of mounted heavy cavalry and another of foot soldiers moving at a quick pace toward the town.”
Moorgoth was immensely cheered. They were racing right into his trap!
“Good,” he said to the runner. “You tell Omini that I want his brigade flat on their bellies until they hear my bugle call. Tell him to recall his scouts and hide.”
The runner, crawling on all fours, saluted. Moorgoth fought to hide his laughter. Crawling on all fours and saluting looked extremely idiotic.
* * * * *
Sunlight flashed off armor. The knight had returned to the ridgeline about twenty minutes later. Moorgoth studied him with the spyglass. Through the glass, he saw the knight look directly at him.
The baron dropped down to his belly. Quickly, he looked up. He was all right-he’d been standing in the shade. He had feared that the knight had seen the reflection of light off the glass’s front lens. The knight must have been just scanning the forest.
The knight was joined by another, then another, and then by twenty more. One held a standard-a white flag hanging from a long pole with a crosspiece. The emblem on the flag was the same black-and-red kingfisher that the knight wore on his armor.
The party of knights stood at the top of the ridgeline for several minutes, looking around. Moorgoth found he was sweating. All it would take was one fool to sneeze and the knights would know they were walking into an ambush.
Silence.
Ten of the knights broke away from the main group and galloped down the hill toward the town. A bugle call rang out across the valley.
The baron looked nervously behind him. One of his men might have mistaken that bugle call for their own. He waited tensely for his soldiers to leap forward-too early.
Nobody moved. Everybody watched the ridgeline.
Moorgoth breathed again.
The main force of knights came down the hill, walking their horses. Over the ridgeline, a column of knights, four across, appeared. Behind the knights came their foot soldiers. They marched eight across and kept up with the cavalry.
Moorgoth brought his glass up again to study the infantry. They all wore leather cuirasses and steel helmets. Most were armed with swords or axes. They carried large shields on their backs. As he watched, he saw a break in the column, and behind came a group of two hundred archers. They did not wear any sort of armor. They carried longbows strapped over their shoulders.
The baron looked around. He could see the anxious expressions on the faces of his soldiers. He gave them a stern look meant to reinforce discipline-that’s what mattered most in an ambush. He motioned for his bugler.
The baron turned his attention back to the army crossing the distance between the ridge and the town. When the last of the infantry had cleared the ridge, but the first of them had not yet entered the town, he knew it was time.
He stood up. The bugler, alert, stood up beside him.
“Bugler, sound ‘archers advance,’ ” the baron ordered.
The twelve notes rang out in perfect pitch across the field and through the forest. At first, nothing happened, as if no one had heard the call.
Then, suddenly, a thousand archers, from all across the front of the forest, moved forward, lining up in front of the trees.
They stopped, planted their arrows in front of them, and drew back their first nocked arrows. A lone officer held up his sword. With a single yell and a swift downward motion of his sword, he commenced the battle.
“Loose!”
The arrows leaped from the longbows almost in unison. Quickly, each archer retrieved his next arrow from the ground in front of him, nocked it, and raised his aim to achieve the maximum range.
“Loose!”
The second volley flew skyward, before the first had even hit the ground. Many of them found their targets. A shower of arrows rained down on the unsuspecting infantry, caught out in the open.
Gaps formed immediately in the Solamnic infantry column. Dead and wounded fell everywhere. Their officers responded quickly. They shouted for a charge. Shaken, but certainly not broken, the infantry charged forward.
The Solamnic officers’ instinct was correct. If the men had stayed where they were, they would have been cut down. As it was, many more fell from the second volley of arrows. But the third volley missed completely, overreaching their targets. Now came the hardest task for Moorgoth’s archers. They had to hit a moving target.
The charging infantry could see only the archers to their front. They were heartened-archers were no match for good heavy infantry. Behind them, the Solamnic cavalry heard the fighting and turned their horses to race back to the battle. Bugles blared, sounding the alarm and ordering the charge.
This was the toughest part of the battle for Baron Moorgoth. He had to keep his infantry hidden. The Solamnics were getting closer, but every flight of arrows took down a few more. Closer they came.
When they got to within two hundred yards, the archers poured on the fire. Their officer ordered them to fire at will, allowing the archers to choose their own targets. The baron yelled over the din of battle to his bugler.
“Sound ‘infantry advance!’ ”
The bugler nodded and brought the brass instrument to his lips. The clear, cold sounds of the order issued out. Men surged forward to join the fight. It seemed that the very trees had come alive. The infantry rushed to meet the charge.
The archers ran back to the safety of the woods. They were no match for well-armed and armored attackers. The baron’s infantrymen swarming out of the trees would handle that task.
The soldiers had no time to form into ranks. They ran forward into the tired and depleted ranks of the oncoming Solamnics. The two sides met with a thunderous crash, sounding like fifty trees falling to the ground at once.
Due to their overwhelming numbers, not all of Moorgoth’s men could get into the fight. There just weren’t that many Solamnics to go around.
The archers caught their breath and watched the fight intensely. If the Solamnics broke through, it would be up to the archers to stop them. Luckily for them, it did not look as if the main infantry was going to break or fail.