The Burning Bridge- Character Reaction

30

"Here, Horace." The book was passed to the knight, and Horace braced himself as he began to read.

THE KING'S SKIRMISH LINE, CONSISTING OF LIGHT INFANTRY accompanied by archers, advanced on Morgarath's left flank in a probing movement, retreating hastily when a battalion of heavy infantry formed up and moved forward to meet them.

The lightly armed skirmishers scampered back to the safety of their own lines, ahead of the slow-treading Wargals. Then, as a company of heavy cavalry trotted forward toward the Wargal battalion's left flank, the Wargals re-formed from their column-of-fours marching order into a slower-moving defensive square and withdrew to their own lines.

"They didn't run from the calvary?" Horace asked, interrupting himself. Halt shrugged.

"I guess not."

As in most battles, the first moves were inconclusive, and for the next few hours, that remained the pattern of the battle: small forces would probe the other side's defenses. Larger forces would offer to counter and the first attack would melt away. Arald, Fergus and Tyler sat their horses beside the King, on a small knoll in the center of the royal army. Battlemaster David was with a small group of knights making one of the many forays toward the Wargal army.

"All this to-ing and fro-ing is getting me down," Arald said sourly. The King smiled at him. He had one of the most important attributes of a good commander: almost unlimited patience.

Everyone hid a smile at Arald's choice of words, while said Baron pretended to retain his dignity.

"Morgarath is waiting," he said simply. "Waiting for Horth's army to show itself in our rear. Then he'll attack, have no doubt." Halt snorted.

"Let's just get on with it ourselves," growled Fergus, but Duncan shook his head, pointing to the ground immediately to the front of Morgarath's position.

"The land there is soft and boggy," he said. "It would reduce the effectiveness of our best weapon—our cavalry. We'll wait till Morgarath comes to us. Then we can fight him on ground that's more to our liking." There was an urgent clatter of hooves from the rear, and the royal party turned to watch a courier spurring his horse up the last slope to the knoll where they waited. He hauled on his reins, looked around until he saw the King's blond head, then dug in his spurs again, eventually bringing his horse to a sliding stop beside them. His green surcoat, light mail armor and thin- bladed sword showed him to be a scout.

"And cue the heart attack," Arald muttered. Duncan nodded agreement.

"That was not what I expected," the King said.

"Your Majesty," he said breathlessly. "A report from Sir Vincent."

Vincent was the leader of the Messenger Corps, a group of soldiers who acted as the King's eyes and ears during a battle, carrying reports and orders to all parts of the battlefield. Duncan indicated that the man should go ahead and give his message.

Horace raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a Ranger." Instantly, he was skewered by four very dangerous Ranger glares.

"Comparing the Messenger Corp to Rangers?" Crowley exclaimed. "That's like comparing a battlehorse to a Ranger horse!"

Horace pouted. "Kicker's not that bad. What did he do?"

"Well, if his pride is hurt, he can blame you! Comparing a Messenger to a Ranger." Crowley huffed.

The rider swallowed several times and looked anxiously at the King and his three barons. All at once, Arald knew this was not going to be good news. Halt smirked.