Ranger's Apprentice: Alex + The Burning Bridge (Discontinued)

The Bagpipes

The Plains of Uthal formed a wide open space of rolling grasslands. The grass was rich and green. There were few trees, although occasional knolls and low hills served to break the monotony. Some distance behind the position occupied by the Araluen army, the Plains began to rise gradually, to a low ridge line.

 Closer to the fens, where the Wargals were forming up, a creek wound its way. Normally a mere trickle, it had been swollen by the recent spring rains so that the ground ahead of the Wargals was soft and boggy, precluding any possible attack by the Araluen heavy cavalry.

Baron Fergus shaded his eyes against the bright noon sun and peered across the Plains to the entrance to Three Step Pass. "There are a lot of them." he said mildly.

"And more coming," Arald of Redmont replied, easing his broadsword a little in its scabbard. The two barons were slowly walking their battlehorses across the front of Duncan's drawn-up army. It was good for morale, Arald believed, for the men to see their leaders relaxed and engaging in casual conversation as they watched their enemies e emerging from the narrow mountain pass and fanning out onto the Plains. Dimly, they could hear the ominous, rhythmic chant of the Wargals as they jogged into position. 

"Damned noise is quite unnerving," Fergus muttered, and Arald nodded agreement. Seemingly casual, he cast his glance over the men behind them. The army was in position, but Battlemaster David had told them to remain at rest. Consequently, the cavalry were dismounted and the infantry and archers were sitting on the grassy slope.

"No sense in wearing them out standing at attention in the sun," David had said, and the others had agreed. By the same token, he had set the various Kitchen masters the task of keeping the men supplied with cool drinks and fruit. The white-clad servers moved among the army now, carrying baskets and water skins. Arald glanced down and smiled at the portly form of Master Chubb, his chef from Redmont Castle, supervising a group hapless apprentices as they handed out apples and peaches to the men. As ever, his ladle rose and fell with alarming frequency on the heads of any apprentices he deemed to be moving to slowly. 

"Give that Kitchen master of yours a mace and he could rout out Morgarath's army single handed," commented Fergus, and Arald smiled thoughtfully. The men around Chubb and his apprentices, distracted by the fat cook's antics, were taking no notice of the chanting from across the Plains. In other areas, he could see signs of restlessness, evidence that the men were becoming increasingly ill at ease. 

Looking around, Arald's eye fell on an infantry captain seated with his company. Their minimal armor, plaid cloaks and two handed broadswords marked them as belonging to one of the northern fiefs. He beckoned the man over and leaned down from the saddle as he saluted. 

"Good morning, Captain." he said easily.

"Morning, my lord." replied the officer, his heavy northern accent making the words almost unrecognizable. 

"Tell me, Captain, do you have pipers among your men?" the Baron asked, smiling. The officer answered immediately, in a very serious manner.

"Aye, sir. The McDuig and the McForn are with us. And always so when we go to war."

"Then perhaps you might prevail upon them to give us a reel or two?" the Baron suggested. "It might be an altogether more pleasant sound than that tuneless grunting from over yonder."

He inclined his head toward the Wargal forces and now a slow smile spread over the captain's face. He nodded readily. 

"Aye, sir. I'll see to it. There's nothing like a skirl or two on the pipes to get a man's blood prancing!" Saluting hurriedly, he turned away toward his men, shouting as he ran: "McDuig! McForn! Gather you wind and set to the pipes, men! Let's hear 'The Feather Crested Bonnet' from ye!"