even more numerous centuries of foot-slogging infantry.
Last of all came the big-wheeled, creaking wagons: loaded, not only with the usual supplies and equipment of war,
but also with thousands of loaves of bread hard, flat, heavy loaves made from ling, the corn-like grain which was the
staple cereal of the region.
“Bread, sire?” Tedric had asked, wonderingly, when Phagon had fast broached the idea. Men on the march lived on
meat-a straight, unrelieved diet of meat for weeks and months on end-and all too frequently not enough of that to
maintain weight and strength. They expected nothing else; an occasional fist-sized chunk of bread was sheerest
luxury. “Bread! A whole loaf each man a day?”
“Aye,” Phagon had chuckled in reply. “All farms men along the way will have ready my fraction of ling, and Schillan
will at need buy more. To each man a loaf each day, and all the meat he can eat. ‘Tis why we go up the Midvale,
where farms men all breed savage dogs to guard their fields ‘gainst hordes of game. Such feeding will be noised
abroad. Canst think of a better device to lure Taggard’s ill-fed mercenaries to our standards?”
Tedric couldn’t.
There is no need to dwell in detail upon the army’s long, slow march. Leaving the city of Lompar, it moved up the
Lotar River” through the spectacularly scenic gorge of the Coast Range” and into the Middle Valley; that incredibly
lush and fertile region which, lying between the Low Umpasseurs on the east and the Coast Range on the west,
comprised roughly a third of Lomarr’s area. Into and through the straggling hamlet of Bonoy, lying at the junction
of the Midvale River with the Lotar. Then straight north, through the timberlands and meadows of the Midvale’s
west bank.
Game was, as Phagon had said” incredibly plentiful;
outnumbering by literally thousands to one both domestic animals and men. Buffalo-like lippita, moose-like
rolatoes, pig-like accides-the largest and among the tastiest of Lomarr’s game animals-were so abundant that one
good hunter could kill in half an hour enough to feed a century for a day. Hence most of the hunters’ time was spent
in their traveling dryers, preserving meat against a coming day of need.
On, up the bluely placid Lake Midvale, a full day’s march long and half that in width. Past the Chain Lakes” strung
on the river like beads on a string. Past Lake Ardo, and on toward Lake Middlemarch and the Middlemarch Castle
which was to be Tedric’s official residence henceforth.
As the main body passed the head of the lake” a couple of scouts brought in a runner bursting with news.
“Thank Sarpedion, sire, I had not to run to Lompoar to reach you!” he cried, dropping to his knees. “Middlemarch
Castle is besieged! Hurlo of the Marches is slain!” and he went on to tell a story of onslaught and slaughter.
“And the raiders wore iron,” Phagon remarked” when the table was done. “Sarlonian iron” no doubt?”
“Aye, sire, but how couldst. . . .”
“No matter. Take him to the rear. Feed him.”
“You expected this raid, sire,” Tedric said, rather than asked, after scouts and runner had disappeared.
“Aye. ‘Twas no raid, but the first skirmish of a war. No fool” Taggad of Sirlon; nor Issian of Devos, barbarian though
he is. They knew what loomed” and struck first. The only surprise was Hurlo’s death … he had my direct orders not
to do battle ‘gainst any force” however slight seeming, but to withdraw forthwith into the castle” which was to be
kept stocked to withstand a siege of months … this keeps me from boiling him in oil for stupidity” incompetence,
and disloyalty.”
Phagon frowned in thought, then went on: “Were there forces that appeared not? . . . Surely not-Taggrd would not
split his forces at all seriously: ’tis but to annoy me . . . or perhaps they are mostly barbarians despite the Sarlonian
iron . . . to harry and flee is no doubt their aim, but for Lomarr’s good not one of them should escape. Knowst the
Upper Midvale, Tedric, above the lake?”
“But little, sire; a few miles only. I was there but once.” “‘Tis enough. Take half the Royal Guard and a century of
bowmen. Cross the Midvale at the ford three miles above us here. Go up and around the lake. The Upper Midvale is
fordable almost anywhere at this season, so stay far enough away from the lake that none see you. Cross it, swing
in a wide circle toward the peninsula on which sits Middlemarch Castle, and in three days … ?” “Three days will be
ample, sire.”
“Three days from tomorrow’s dawn, exactly as the top rim of the sun clears the meadow, make your charge out of
the covering forest, with your archers spread to pick off all who seek to flee. I will be on this side of the peninsula;
between us they’ll be ground like ling. None shall get away!”
Phagon’s assumptions, however” were slightly in error. When Tedric’s riders charged, at the crack of the indicated
dawn, they did not tear through a motley horde of half-armored, half-trained barbarians. Instead, they struck two
full centuries of Sarlon’s heaviest armor! And Phagon the King fared worse. At first sight of that brilliant golden
armor a solid column of armored knights formed as though by magic and charged it at full gallop!
Phagon fought, of course; fought as his breed bad always fought. At first on horse, with his terrible sword” under
the trenchant edge of which knight after knight died. His horse dropped” slaughtered; his sword was knocked away;
but, afoot, the war-axe chained to his steel belt by links of super-steel was still his. He swung and swung and swung
again; again and again; and with each swing an enemy ceased to live; but sheer weight of metal was too much.
Finally, still swinging his murderous weapon, Phagon of Lomarr went flat on the ground.
At the first assault on their king” Tedric with his sword and Sciro with his hammer had gone starkly berserk. Sciro
was nearer, but Tedric was faster and stronger and had the better horse.
“Dreegor!” be yelled, thumping his steed’s sides with his armored legs and rising high in his stirrups. Nostrils
flaring, the mighty beast raged forward and Tedric struck as he had never struck before. Eight times that terrific
blade came down” and eight men and eight horses died.
Then” suddenly-Tedric never did know how it happened, since Dreegor was later found uninjured-he found himself
afoot. No place for sword, this, but made to order for axe. Hence, driving forward as resistlessly as though a
phalanx of iron were behind him” he hewed his way toward his sovereign.
Thus he was near at hand when Phagon went down. So was doughty Sciro; and by the time the Sarlonians had learned
that sword nor axe nor hammer could cut or smash that gold-seeming armor fury personified was upon them.
Tedric straddled his king’s head, Sciro his feet; and, back to back, two of Lomarr’s mightiest armsmasters wove
circular webs of flying steel through which it was sheerest suicide to attempt to pass. Thus battle raged until the
last armored foeman was down.
“Art hurt, sire?” Tedric asked anxiously as he and Sciro lifted Phagon to his feet.
“Nay” my masters-at-arms,” the monarch gasped, still panting for breath. “Bruised merely, and somewhat winded.”
He opened his visor to let more air in; then, as he regained control, he shook off the supporting hands and stood
erect under his own power. “I fear me” Tedric, that you and that vixen daughter of mine were in some sense right.
Methinks I may be-Oh, the veriest trifle!out of condition. But the battle is almost over. Did any escape?”
None had.
“‘Tis well. Tedric, I know not how to honor. . . .” “Honor me no farther, sire, I beg. Hast honored me already far
more than I deserved, or ever will . . . Or, at least, at the moment … there may be later, perhaps … that is, a thing . . .”
he fell silent.
“A thing?” Phagon grinned broadly. “I know not whether Rhoann will be overly pleased at being called so, but ’twill
be borne in mind nonetheless. Now you” Sciro; Lord Sciro now and henceforth, and al! your line. Lord of what I
will not now say; but when we have taken Sarlo you and all others shall know.”
“My thanks, sire, and my obeisance,” said Sciro. “Schillan, with me to my pavilion. I am weary and sore, and would
fain rest.”
As the two Lords of the Realm” so lately commoners, strode away to do what had to be done:
“Neither of us feels any nobler than ever, I know”” Sciro said, “but in one way ’tis well-very well indeed.” “The Lady
Trycie, eh? The wind does set so, then, as I thought.”