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His men were arrayed along the river bend, there to serve as the right flank of the entire host.

It was a long watchful night in camp, but there was little to see. Fog dropped over the area like a heavy curtain. One could only see a few feet ahead, and then with much difficulty and uncertainty.

Aldric spent much of the night in Garrick’s war tent, where leaders discussed the morrow’s battle strategy. Loric and other men waited out long hours in anticipation of dawn. The Squire of Egolstadt tried to rest, but he lay huddled sleepless in his bedroll. An outbreak of fighting in the deep night aided his sleeplessness, when Turtioc’s columns finally announced their arrival by blundering into Aldric’s skirmishers on the eastern shore. Loric raced to the site of that deadly exchange, his heart double-thump pounding with excitement, but the melee was over before he arrived. Aldric’s men were falling back to the western bank, where their fellows gave them superior numbers over their foes. Turtioc’s men withdrew to the water’s edge, chased thither by angry shouts and rude gestures from Men of Egolstadt.

King Avalar nodded his approval and smiled.

Loric returned to his tent, where his thoughts turned from the skirmish, to the battle before him, to the lady left behind. King Avalar’s presence constantly reminded Loric of the lovely maiden awaiting him at Moonriver Castle. In turn, thinking of Avalana brought his thoughts back around to the coming battle. It was an endless cycle.

Loric abandoned his attempt to sleep and rose from his tent. No fire burned that night in camp for fear that Nindronburg archers might send forth arrows in the direction of those lights.

Despite the lack of warmth and illumination, scores of sleepless men sat upon logs and stones in the mist. Loric moved to join them.

As the squire sat sharing in the hopes and fears of his fellow soldiers, he caught peripheral views of two moving shadows. A hard look revealed that one was Captain Dundrick, a man directly under Garrett in the chain of authority, and Loric believed the other was the cruel prince in command of that captain. Dundrick confirmed the identity of his companion as he bowed and broke away, making for the cluster of men seated around Loric.

“Good evening, Captain Dundrick,” Loric offered.

Without meeting Loric’s gaze, the officer returned his greeting, muttering, “Evening.”

Dundrick addressed a pair of his lieutenants. “Harrett, Yaric.” Those men rose and stood at the ready, awaiting orders. “Come with me. Our lord has a special task for us.” With that, three men departed.

When Loric returned to his tent later that night, he saw the captain and his entire company saddle up and gallop away from camp. They dusted away at breakneck speed. Oddly, they were going back the way they had come, rather than moving toward the either flank of the enemy before them.

Perhaps Lord Garrick has reconsidered the Bushubu Tribe. The morrow may tell what his
lordship’s whims may be.

Loric returned to his tent, but he slept little that night. When he did sleep, his nightmares disturbed him. Although he could not remember the content of his dreams, he felt soulless when he woke up the next morning. He was dripping with sweat. His heart was racing. Worse still, his stomach was turning inverted somersaults through intestinal hoops.

Loric stepped out of the tent and into the first gray light of dawn. The fog was swirling, and it was lifting. The chill air refreshed him as he stood by and observed the scene. His breath rose before his eyes, only to disappear amidst lingering morning mists.

Loric ducked back inside his tent. He paused, stricken dumb, as the dull light of morning poured into his shelter in a triangle, where it fell upon a red shield and the quilted folds of a matching surcoat. The shadow of a knight decorated both items. Loric stared at the returned items of Logant, wondering,
Does Aldric wish me to wear these?
The logical answer came to him, whereupon he determined,
Aldric said he would keep them safe for me until we ride into
battle, far from Moonriver, so clearly he wishes this. Otherwise, why are these things here, and
how came they to be here?
The son of Palendar shrugged.

Loric stepped inside his canvas dwelling and drew the flap shut behind him. He dressed quickly in the hope that he might recapture his lost warmth, but his shiver and chill had as much to do with his excitement about wearing his proper colors and insignias as it had to do with the morning air. He girded himself with items of Logant, and cast a thick woolen cloak over his garb for added protection from the prickly air. Then the squire made off to retrieve two stallions from their rope enclosure. He prepared Sunset and Snowstorm for the turbulent ride ahead of them and led the animals to the tent of his liege lord.

Aldric was already up and ready for the roaring tempest to come. He stood in front of his shelter in his shiny plates with the sword
Judgment
hanging threateningly at his side. Loric could tell by the smoldering fire in his eyes that they would erupt in a raging inferno today.

“Good morning, my lord,” Loric hailed him.

“What in the name of the Great King are you doing?” Aldric begged to know.

Loric was confused. He shook his head, utterly at a loss for words.

“You should not be garbed as a Logantian Knight! Go and change-”

An ox horn interrupted Aldric, telling them to mount stallions.

“It is too late for that now,” Aldric decided. “You must ride as you are. You and I have much to discuss after this battle.”

“It is a magnificent day for battle, is it not?” asked a passerby with a unique accent. It was King Avalar of Regalsturn.

“This is my first, so I must trust your good judgment, Majesty,” Loric replied amicably. “It is an excellent day for His Lordship of Durbansdan to defeat Turtioc on the field where he is assembled.” Loric gazed toward the opposing army. The fog lifted. He pointed out a fierce-looking figure in the midst of the barbarians and ventured, “Unless I miss my guess, there he rides.”

With the fog vanishing, as by a sorcerer’s magic, the foamy waters of Moon River were unveiled in majesty. The army of Nindronburg, which was more like a horde than an organized fighting force, was milling about on the far bank, hurriedly preparing to meet Garrick’s army.

There was a huge man riding amongst those chaotic masses. He wore a dark metal breastplate and a frightful helmet, the latter of which was the likeness of a dragonhead. Protruding from the mouth of that steely beast was the scarred, war-hardened face of Turtioc. He bore a shield with a great hooked horn in its center and he clutched a two-handed sword in his other fist. Each hand was fitted with a spiked gauntlet. The rest of his body remained unprotected, except for the scant defense afforded him by his sparse covering of animal hides.

This was the first time Loric had ever seen the brutish King of Nindronburg, but there could be no doubting who he was. Shouts of exultation from men around that fearsome rider and the manner in which he carried himself were indicative of his superior rank. Usurper or no, he looked like a king, behaved like a king and his men respected him as a king. Loric shuddered. He suddenly felt sick at his stomach.

“Yes, that is Turtioc,” Aldric confirmed. “So the stage is set,” he said, with a trace of anxiety shading his voice. “We will meet our enemy upon Darbin’s Field, where King Lornigan fell.”

“Good hunting, lords,” Avalar wished them, as he rode along his way.

About that time, Marblin jogged his piebald up beside them. The old guardsman looked like Loric felt. Either he was about to be sick, or he had already purged his fears upon the dewy grass.

He dismounted, bowing low before Aldric to say, “Lord Garrett sends me to remind you of your objectives.”

“Tell his lordship I have not forgotten my responsibilities,” Aldric assured him.

Marblin dutifully spoke them anyway. Afterward, he requested, “Lord, would you be so

kind as to pass along my good wishes to your squire-”

“I am here,” Loric called, lifting his visor for his friend to see his face. Marblin hesitated.

His face was ghostly white. Loric extended his hand and encouraged him, “Do not be afraid, my friend. We will carry the day.”

Loric was not sure whether his words or his smile shook the confidence back into Marblin, who briefly clasped his hand and murmured, somewhat uneasily, “May the Great King watch over thee, friend.”

Marblin made to draw away, but Loric squeezed his hand to hold him. “Thee as well, friend of friends,” Loric answered, at last releasing the old Moonwatcher. He grinned as he added,

“Farewell and good hunting to you. May the moon never sleep.”

“May the moon never sleep,” Marblin repeated weakly. With that said, he hastened away to rejoin his company on the far flank.

The Army of Durbansdan was soon in order. Silence fell over both hosts. Durbansdanian delegates went forward to parley with Turtioc’s clan chiefs. The terms were simple. Garrick demanded that his adversary yield his claim to the throne of Beledon and denounce the practice of dragon worship. In exchange, the usurper was to retain his rule over Nindronburg, bearing the title of Lord Turtioc. He would have honors among the rightful king’s noblemen. If he refused, Garrick would have no choice but to make war against him.

Everyone waited on sword’s edge while delegates delivered the offer. Those riders cantered down to the fords at an agonizingly slow pace. Over nine thousand men held their collective breath as each leader’s list of demands was announced to envoys of the opposing side. The messengers swiftly wheeled about and returned to their respective lords. All terms had been rejected.

Aldric hastily called out the order, and horns bellowed the advance. Several companies went forward afoot, while the Lord of Egolstadt held the greater portion of his men in reserve. Those who waited were mounted lancers.

Loric squeaked, “My lord, I do not understand the logic in this seeming madness.”

“Excuse me?”

“My lord, I only wonder why you send but a handful of your soldiers to their deaths at the riverbank.”

Aldric chuckled. “You are a bright lad. Observe, and you will understand. If you still have questions after you witness the action firsthand, I will gladly explain, so you will learn.”

Loric wanted a clear answer. “My lord-”

“Be still and do as I have bidden you to do.”

Loric obediently held his peace and watched in somber silence as the green-clad men

descended to the shallows with fierce battle cries on their lips. Turtioc’s hordes raced toward them, screaming like savages they looked to be in their hide armor and patched fur coats. Two forces collided on the near bank in a sea of turmoil and confusion. Loric had difficulty discerning friend from foe.

Turtioc’s three hundred vastly outnumbered Aldric’s hundred Men of Egolstadt, and the former soon had the better of the fight. The smaller force withdrew, at first falling back in an ordered retreat that quickly turned into a disordered exodus out of the fray. Loric was horrified to see that fleeing soldiers sometimes tried to help their countrymen, but then abandoned them in their own desperate plights. He felt sick. As a witness to such cowardice, he resolved not to be one of the wounded warriors who needed assistance. Neither would he be counted among those who refused to give it.

Loric expelled his sickness--not as vomit, but as an exultant shout--when Aldric unveiled his scheme by loosing two-thirds of his remaining strength in a full charge down the slope. The riders passed by their routed brethren in blinding fury. They lowered their lances in unison. Then the victorious roar of the barbarian horde transformed into woeful individual cries of pain, terror and dismay.

Many of Turtioc’s men had crossed the river in their bloodlust, but few returned to their countrymen to tell of the slaughter that befell them there. A unified shout arose from Aldric’s men as the charging riders plunged into disordered ranks of helpless Nindronburgers. Lances bent to the breaking point and some snapped. Barbarians on both banks cried in anguish. Those on the east side knew their kinsmen were damned and those on the western shore knew they were doomed to fall. The few who managed to escape the lance fell to the sword.

Even as attacking horsemen lowered sharp points of weapons toward targets, Aldric rallied those routed footmen he had used as bait. He was never idle during the fight, choosing instead to ready this company or adjust that one, before he set his tangled knot of men back in fighting formation. At Aldric’s command, the bow bent and the retreat sounded. Mounted warriors circled around and returned to their jubilant countrymen, having but scarcely disengaged when a hail of arrows fell amidst the fleeing remnant of routed Nindronburgers. Additional shouts and screams followed, and the number of slain multiplied. Less than a score of dragon worshippers escaped into the waters of Moon River.

Aldric sent more foot soldiers down the embankment to meet Turtioc’s men. Again,

opposing forces collided and intertwined with one another. As before, Nindronburgers gained the advantage, but this time they did not fully commit to pursuit across the river. Nevertheless, Aldric sent the horse hard upon the heels of his footmen to ensure the demise of those enemy units.

Even as Turtioc’s men began their tentative withdrawal, those horsemen pressed in to attack them. The King of Nindronburg countered by having his archers loose upon those tall mounted targets, throwing horses and riders into confusion. Several bands of barbarian axe men simultaneously forded Moon River to engage and tie up those horsemen. Their success was turning the battle with each horse hacked at fetlock.

Aldric sent the remainder of his horsemen, except for his personal escort and Loric,

thundering down the hillside. Their cries filled the air as they closed upon their chosen marks.

Clash
and
clang
, whinny and shout rose from the field, as their lances found flesh and shield, and the spears of their opponents found horse and rider. There followed a great deal of jostling about below. Loric watched with rising anxiety as Nindronburgers suffered less damage from this mounted attack than they had endured on the previous charge.