“We are outnumbered!” Ronsard called when he had driven to within earshot of his comrade.

“Our horses and armor will sway the balance!” Theido retorted.

The blades of the knights flashed in the sun; their shields bore the shock of fierce blows. On horseback the knights were almost invulnerable-living fortresses of steel-their beveled armor shedding all but the most direct strikes against them. On foot, however, the slow-moving, heavy-laden knights were disadvantaged by the lightly protected but more agile Ningaal.

The tide of battle ebbed and flowed for both sides. The clash of steel and the cries of the wounded and dying filled the air, and carrion birds, having tasted blood on the wind, now soared overhead. With a mighty shout the Ningaal, at some unknown signal, suddenly rushed the mound that Theido and Ronsard had managed to gain. The tactic allowed them to rejoin the two halves which had been divided.

“We cannot hold them long,” said Ronsard through clenched teeth, his blade whistling around his head. “We must break through now, or we may be trapped against the lake once more.”

“Aye, well said. Have you any suggestions?” Theido grunted as he slashed and wheeled in his saddle, thrusting and thrusting again.

“A charge along the shoreline and then back into the woods!” shouted Ronsard.

“Retreat?” asked Wertwin. “I would rather fall with my men.”

“Let us say that we are moving the battle to more favorable ground,” cried Theido. “If we stay here much longer, we will be pushed into the lake once more. They are too strong for us!” He turned and shouted his order to the marshal, who obediently sounded the horn.

The knights of the Dragon King drew together and pushed along the shore of the clear blue lake; those scattered further afield disengaged themselves and followed in their wake. Several riderless horses joined the retreat, and knights on foot ran alongside, not to be left behind.

When they had reached the shelter of the wood where the ground sloped upward, Ronsard halted and turned his men to face the foe once more. Theido’s and Wertwin’s knights streamed past and continued deeper into the wood. Ronsard called to his knights to be ready to dismount after meeting the first attack. He had decided in the close quarters of the wood it would be better for his men to fight on foot and use the higher ground to their advantage.

But the Ningaal did not follow them into the wood.

“What is this? They withdraw,” Ronsard cried in disbelief.

Instantly Theido was beside him. “I do not understand. It is hours to sunset, but they are leaving.”

“Let us go after them!” said Wertwin.

Ronsard cautioned against this, saying, “Let them go. Whatever moves them, I do not think it is fear of us. They were giving blade for blade down there. They are not fleeing. It may be a trap.”

“We could crush them!” objected Wertwin.

“Nay, sir!” said Theido. “But a moment ago we were in difficulty to hold our own. That will not have changed because they choose to withdraw. Ronsard is right-they do not leave the battlefield out of weakness.”

Theido cast his eyes across the tufted field now bearing the bodies of the dead and dying. Upon the mound they had just left he saw a lone figure mounted on a sturdy black charger. The figure raised the visor of his plume-crested helm and turned his face to where Theido, Wertwin and Ronsard stood at the edge of the wood. Then he lifted his sword with the cruel curved blade high above his head in salute.

“It is the warlord,” said Theido.

“He taunts us!” hissed Wertwin.

“It is a salute, perhaps. A warning,” said Ronsard grimly.

The warlord lowered his sword and turned aside to follow his army, now moving away along the opposite side of the lake, leaving the field to the birds and the moans of the wounded and dying.

“Send a party to bind our wounded and to retrieve the armor of our fallen. We need not fear another attack today,” said Theido. “Then let us go back to camp and hold council. I would hear what Myrmior has to say about what has happened here today. He may have much to tell us.”

THIRTY-TWO

UNDER THEIR banners of blue and gold and scarlet in the council ring, the lords of Mensandor sat in their high-backed chairs. Eskevar glared down from his throne upon the dais, his thin, knotted hands clutching the armrests like claws.

“The foe does grow each day stronger. How long will you wait, my lords? How long? Until your castles are burning? Until the blood of your women and children run red upon the earth?

“And to what purpose? Do you think that by hiding within your gates you may save your precious gold? I say that you will not! The enemy comes! He is drawing closer. The time to move is now!”

The Dragon King’s words rang with surprising force and vigor, coming as they did from a man who appeared only half of what he had been, so wasted was he by his illness. The gathered lords, now all accounted for-aside from Wertwin who had made his decision and was with Theido and Ronsard-sat in silence. No one wished to be the first to go against the King.

“Do you doubt the need?” asked Eskevar in a softer tone. “I will tell you how I perceive the need: I have sent my personal bodyguard, my three hundred, to stand against the Ningaal. Lord Theido and the Lord High Marshall Ronsard lead them, and they are joined by Lord Wertwin and his standing army of a hundred.

“These are gallant men and brave; but they are not enough. We must send tenfold knights and men-at-arms to stand with them if the Ningaal are to be crushed and banished from our shores.”

Lord Ameronis, in a voice of calm reason, said, “That is precisely the point we would question further, Sire. This enemy… this Nin, whoever he is… we know not of him. How do we know that he is so strong and his numbers so great? It would seem to me that we would be more than prudent to send a scouting force to ascertain these and other details before embarking upon all-out war with an imagined enemy of unknown strength.”

“How well you speak, Ameronis. I would imagine, as you have had ample time to compose your thoughts, that you are quite settled in your mind as to how you will go.” The King paused to let his sarcasm hit its mark.

“Lord Ameronis opposed the call to arms!” shouted Eskevar suddenly. “Who else will defy his King?”

Eskevar’s sudden unmasking of Ameronis’ subtle opposition shocked the assembly, and in that moment several of the lords who had agreed to join a coalition of nobles against raising and funding an army now wavered in their opinion. It was a dangerous thing to defy a king outright, especially one as powerful as Eskevar. It might not be worth the gold they would save in the end.

But Ameronis recovered neatly. “You misunderstand me, Sire. I do not oppose action where it is plainly necessary. When the time comes to stand on the battle line, I will be at the head of my knights and at your side.”

Lord Lupollen, Ameronis’ neighbor and friend, his closest ally in the council, spoke next. “If this enemy is as great as you say, Sire, would we not have heard of him before now? That is the puzzling thing.”

There was a murmur of assent at this question. Eskevar looked sharply at Lupollen and said, “You also I know, my lord. That your King has sent his own knights into battle should be proof enough for anyone loyal to the crown that the need exists. Why do you doubt your King?”

Eskevar stood in the silence that followed his remarks. He looked at each one of his lords in turn, as if he would remember the exact set of each chin and the expression upon each face.

“I have said all I can, lords of Mensandor. And I have allowed others to speak where I thought most advantageous.” He was speaking of Esme who had again pled her request for help before the council earlier that day. “I have nothing more to say. It is up to you. If Mensandor is to survive, we must not tarry.”