Wizard of the Grove by Tanya Huff Page A

strap through a buckle, growled low in his throat. “If you don’t mind, Commander . . .”
    â€œSorry.” Rael lowered his arm and squinted instead. “I guess we’ll just have to try something else.”
    Doan and the armsman exchanged questioning glances.
    â€œIt looks as though we’ve made them nervous,” the prince continued. “They seem to be placing a barricade of pikemen between their bowmen and the Ardhan lancers.”
    â€œThey are.” Doan’s eyes were as good as Rael’s and he could shade them against the early morning sun.
    â€œThe trouble is, the Melacians aren’t in possession of a rather important piece of information.” Rael turned to face his companions.
    â€œAnd that is?” Rutgar sighed, pulling Rael back into position by the recalcitrant strap.
    â€œThe Ardhan lancers are bowmen as well.” The commander of the Elite looked down at his captain. “The strength of the Elite lies in flexibility.”
    Doan’s jaw dropped. He recognized his own words to Rael on the day the prince took command. He stared at the Melacian lines, then said: “We ride at them in ranks of three, fire, wheel, and repeat. Between the dust and the ranks of pikemen blocking their sight, they’ll never hit a moving target.”
    â€œAnd they’ll never expect it,” Rutgar added. “As far as they know . . .”
    â€œ. . . we have no mounted archers,” Doan finished. “And when we break the line, Hale’s horsemen can lead the foot soldiers through. It just might work.”
    â€œMight?” Rael grinned in a way that made him look very much like his father. “Of course it’ll work. Captain, inform the Firsts. Have the Elite form up in three ranks. Today, we’re archers.”
    Doan’s salute was faultless. “Very good, Commander.” He spun on his heel and marched off to pass the commander’s orders to the officers of the Elite.
    Rael turned back to stare at the distant line of the enemy. “Well?” he asked Rutgar. “What do you think?”
    â€œI think,” muttered his armsman, finally cinching tight the buckle.“That you’re getting a bit cocky.” He looked up and smiled. “Commander.”
    The commander grinned and slammed an elbow into his armsman’s side with a sound of clashing kettle drums. “You’re just jealous. I tell you, it’ll work.”
    It worked.
    At the end of the fourth day, the Ardhan army still held the valley.
    *   *   *
    The fifth day, by throwing lives in a seemingly endless parade onto the Ardhan weapons, by making a path on their dead and dying, by washing away the Ardhan barricades with a river of blood, the Melacian army left the valley and moved the war onto the Tage Plateau.

F OUR
    D eep in the shadow of the mountains, the armies of Ardhan and Melac slept, but eastward, in the camp that attended Melac’s king, it was dawn.
    â€œStill four bloody hours from the front!” The cavalry officer dropped the hoof she’d picked up and straightened with a groan. “Shopkeepers and peasants are moving up into battle and here we stick, guarding the rear.”
    â€œGuarding the king,” her companion reminded her with a jut of his chin toward the starburst pennant hanging limply from the center pole of the largest pavilion. His raised eyebrow reminded her that although the nearest of the King’s Guard appeared to be out of earshot, things didn’t necessarily work that way anymore.
    She grimaced but dropped her voice. “We could serve the king better by fighting.”
    â€œWe serve the king best by doing as we’re told.”
    â€œRight.” She peered over her horse’s withers and added: “They’re moving out the troops.”
    Across the camp, a double line of foot soldiers began the march that would take them to the