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The Bow of Haladan Part XXI
They'd been riding through the blackest part of the night, their
mounts had no problems with the dark. Kassar said these were a special
breed of horse, Ceffyl of the Tylwyth Teg, is what the locals called them,
but though fair they looked much like any other horse. The young stallion,
Moroedd, would gallop off alone, then come back sometimes at break neck
speed. The old nomad rode a fine mare, he told Dinet that it reminded him
of his home and the small but big headed horses that ran across the
plains.
Dinet would have lead Kassar in circles and tried to escape but he
knew the nomad too well. He could never outride him and the terrain was
not rugged enough to lose him on foot. He would have to take him to
his stash of money and supplies, the little thief cursed himself for
moving it and putting it all in one place, he should have tried for
the horse first.
Lost in thought Dinet did not hear the stallions return till it
was almost upon them. Moroedd galloped up to Kassar and whickered into
the old nomads ear. He seemed to understand what the horse was saying but
they were only dark shapes illuminated by dim starlight, Dinet could not
read the nomads lips, a skill that had served him very well all his
young life.
"Farkas!" Kassar cursed. He turned them round, back the way they'd
come.
"What!" Dinet cried. "What's Farkas?!"
"Wolves boy, Wolves!" Kassar called back. "Enough ta send Moroedd
runnen. Heeyah!" the old nomad yelled to his horses and they took off.
Dinet's mare waited for no other command, she followed with the
herd and Dinet did his best to keep from bouncing out of his saddle.
* * *
"THEY'RE WHAT!" Kyle yelled.
"Don't get all excited." said Waddard. "I'm not happy about it
either, but with the captain wounded and so many of the company dead,
it even makes sense to me."
"But they've taken casualties too." Kyle protested.
"They have about as many dead as we have living, there aren't
fifty of our troopers left who are healthy enough to march, let alone
fight." Waddard shook his head. "I don't want to see the eighth disbanded
or formed with all raw recruits and us shifted off to another company
but we have no say in the matter."
"And that's that." said Kyle morosely.
"Those are the orders." Waddard laughed sadly, "Orders are orders,
you should have been around before Sterich. A foreigner like me from
Perrenland, they used the eighth as a dumping ground for refugees, and kept
us chasing bandits, and guarding caravans, and a dozen dirty jobs that
the regulars wouldn't soil their hands with."
"I've grown up in Gran March, but this land is my home." Kyle said
and looked around.
A pre-dawn glow was touching the eastern sky, but behind them the
bridge was lit with fires and loud with curses and shouts as troopers of
the fifth and thirtythird dismantled the wall and carried the dead
away.
The survivors of the eighth did not rest till they had found every
one of their brethren who lay wounded among the dead. Some of the
searchers had to be dragged away themselves, collapsing with fatigue after
a hard march, a fight, a forced march and then the battle at the bridge.
They found precious few alive, it was a rare trooper who
survived the giants blows, though some had been wounded before the
wall by the sting of goblin arrows or the spray of rocks thrown by the
giants and shattered on the bridges stones. Less than two score and ten
could walk away when the fight was done, and to a man they searched till
every fallen trooper had been checked for life.
Now the two companies that had been driven back in defeat by the
giants did their part. They took hammer and bar to the giants wall, heavy
ropes were used, pulled by scores of men, to heave the massive blocks
apart and then force them out and over crashing down into the stream.
* * *
(To Be Continued)