Frays In The Weave 83 Hammer: 1

This was the moment Ken feared, and the one he had come for. To watch and Weave. He found the killing distasteful, but to Weave he had to see.

De Markand placed most of his men on a low ridge. Ken had seen it all too many times before, and he had to admit the general knew what he was doing. A night's light rain left the field slippery, but the morning sun had already dried away most of the water from the ridge.

Further west skirmishers and what would form up as the left wing slipped and skidded in place. Made a show of slipping and skidding from what Ken could see.

Behind him, below the ridge and out of sight from the enemy what little infantry Keen had here were marching west to stand ready behind the wing. If the battle proceeded as Ken suspected the enemy would charge with their right wing, maybe even attempt an outflanking manoeuvre. Which was why the skirmishers were there to begin with. Their job was to funnel the enemy closer to the left wing.

He watched how the men lined up just north of the ridge. A poor position. One the enemy commander couldn't possibly overlook. So, a charge from the enemy's right, then the line would break into a rout with men scrambling up the slope in a futile attempt to reach safety, and on the other side three hundred men with crossbows and pikes ready.

That left de Markand's right wing. Ken saw their formation, but for once his memories failed him. The way they lined up they would meet the enemy centre dead on, and that left the De Vhatic army horribly vulnerable to a flanking attack. The general either didn't know what he was doing or he had already planned some trick. With incompetence out of the question Ken tried guessing, but again he failed.

North of them the enemy lined up as traditionally. Two wings and a centre They were already in disarray as their commander made last moment changes to take advantage of Keen's weak left wing.

Ken looked west. A line of trees covered the entire left flank. With the skirmishers in place in the forest it shouldn't be too difficult to dissuade the enemy from attempting a flanking manoeuvre He smirked. Forests. What they called forests in Keen was laughable. Erkateren and the wilderness north of Kordar, those were proper forests. The one shielding their left flank could be walked through in a short meal's time.

He frowned. Where had Arthur gone? Then he saw the man riding in front of the men, facing them and obviously talking to them. d.a.m.n, he's Weaving! Ken felt the strands of the Weave each time the wind carried Arthur's voice to him, but at this distance it was weak. At least the few strands tickling him carried no impurities. Whatever Arthur Wove it had been watched.

Ken still didn't like it. Arthur had picked a side in the conflict. He used Weaving as a weapon, and Ken had a sinking feeling of what he would do if the enemy came too close to breaking through the centre What he was doing now, though, wasn't anything Ken had a right to stop. The soldiers faced a battle and a taleweaver gave them a moment of hope and pride. Ken had done it himself when he happened upon a battlefield. It was their gift. To watch and Weave. But for once he had himself interfered.