Original Submissions by Ghost of type 'Stories'
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The Warriors of Faith: Part IV: "To Be Born into Greatness"
Added on Apr 27, 2009The armies clash over and over in the desert as two templars try to beat the other. Meanwhile, chaos and troubles brew in the Allanak.
CHAPTER 14
Dzeda, the 42nd day of the Ascending Sun, year 19 of the 21st Age, King's
It has been 53 days since the beginning of the campaign. The storm that raged throughout the evening started to calm at
It has been 53 days, as I noted, and the campaign has been going stale as of late. I have chased Sulach through the wastes of Abi li Pah into the depths of the gith lands. The armies clashed four times in total, save for the minor skirmishes of smaller groups when they crossed paths or Sulach's night raids when I was unconscious of the injuries I received in the first battle. Though, the chase started again as soon as I was able to walk.
As soon as I recovered from the wounds in the first battle, I chased Sulach through the land of crumbling roads and broken grounds, all the while closing his escape to south. On the morning of the third day we were hailed by a rain of arrows and spears from Sulach's hidden archers. We responded with a charge that set them on the run for half a league and there I saw the rest of his force. They were taunting us to continue with the blind charge to reach them for a front battle. This was a trap. I ordered my soldiers to stop and search for pit falls and Sulach started to retreat immediately. In a manner of half an hour, my scouts found the traps ahead of us. We moved through the snaking path to catch Sulach's force and we only managed to catch his final column, fifty men and women. They stood their ground as we butchered them, and the rest of Sulach's soldiers retreated. Such a display of loyalty, yet it is wasted with the barbarians of Allanak.
We marched for a day but we lost sight of Sulach by then. I cut the resting times to catch up with the enemy in the second day. We rationed on the march and kept moving even after the dark. We caught the enemy off guard by the fourth day at
We kept following his tail the very same afternoon. He was cutting his way in a speed that showed how much he was familiar with the land. If we have the higher numbers and the abundant supplies, he has the knowledge of the terrain and veteran warriors that are result of his previous campaigns couple years ago. He had been here, he fought here on the very same ground against another enemy just two years ago. But I would not let that take the upper hand from me.
We caught sight of them in two more days at the skirts of a series of hills, a splash of black over the sea of yellow. I gave the order to close in immediately, before Sulach could move out of reach again. I realized too late that Sulach made no intent to move to the top of the hills, the higher ground as it would provide a strategically better position. Then I saw it that they were not Allanakki force at all, we were charging into a pile of rocks and straw, deceptively positioned to imitate a waiting army. I called the stop and to reposition, but it was too late. Sulach sprinted from the back of the hill in an instant. They descended upon us in a fury that carried the revenge for days of running. They smashed from our flank and we lost many good soldiers in the initial onslaught. I saw my soldiers buckle and shatter with the sudden force of Sulach's army. If they could break our flank, the rest of the army would be hit from their flank s as well before they could take position, and they would fall one by one. For the first time, I felt we were on the verge of defeat.
Yet my soldiers stood. These were the same battalion that lost their banners in Sulach's raids, they knew too well what happens to runners. They responded with an anger and pushed the enemy back. I saw my opportunity to move the rest of the army to face Sulach's attack. The units changed their formations and were moving in and by that time I heard Sulach's order to pull back from the front. I was frustrated that in such a short time we had such a blow. Higher ground or not, we had the chance to destroy him there. My soldiers were burning with anger and I gave the order to charge. We ran uphill to engage the enemy but the abomination once again caused a quake that shook the entire hill. The sands moved beneath us and I saw a wall of solid stone rise up and separate us from the enemy. Still uphill, Sulach had the advantage of using his half giants to rain stones upon us. He forced us back from the hill, and soon enough he was on the run again. We lost hundred and eighty four soldiers that day and many more were wounded. The barbarians’ tricks cost us dearly.
It was still a victory on our side. Sulach had the upper ground and had us by the flank completely. We were surprised and we did not even have time to react to the battle formations. Sulach had the best opportunity that he could ever get, yet he had to pull back. I was never this proud of my soldiers to give me such a victorious moment, or rather, to steal the victory from the enemy's very hands. It was clear by then that no matter what Sulach brings, we could take it. The victory would be ours eventually, and I was glad to feel that.
We had many wounded soldiers and were forced to camp there. Sulach moved further north and thus stepped deeper into the gith territory, and we could not chase him there. I sent units of scouts and hunters after him soon after. In the following few days, they came back with reports of skirmishes between Sulach's scouting parties. In the second day, Lyksaen group returned with the head of the cursed abomination, and I was glad to have yet another victory against the barbarian army. We also lost some good scouts but neither army gained the upper hand in those small scale fights. As of today, we have one thousand two hundred and thirty seven soldiers in total, of which two hundred and eighty five of them still have not recovered fully. Our cavalry outnumbers Sulach's by two to one and we have slightly more number of half giants than what they had in the last battle.
The days passed and we were not able to move due to the heavy number of the wounded soldiers from the last battle. Sulach moved further into the gith region, and my scouts were not running into Sulach's parties anymore. He was moving away from us, and we were unable to follow him. But then again, we did not have to. The territory we are in now expands to the sides as it moves towards the north where it is home to many gith tribes. It has only two exits and I am holding one of them. Sulach has to run through us, or has to destroy armies of gith many times vaster in number to cut a path open. It is possible, he is moving there to find supplies, since the land is rich enough to support thousands of gith. I even had my Faithful Sister Neodyn to control the gith to push him out. Sooner or later the gith will push him back and he will have to come down to test our strength.
And I will be waiting for him.
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 15
The streets were deserted by the time the sun was disappearing in the horizon. Those who had survived the onslaught were no doubt hiding in the alleys or disappeared into the crowds, away from the vengeful eyes of the militia patrols. Lord Templar Risac Valika looked out over the streets to see a sluggish smoke rising from a nearby street, residue of the civilian riot from a few hours ago. Scorched buildings stood stark and bare, and the burned bodies, soldier and citizen alike still smoldered in the skeletal wrecks of the buildings.
It was a strangely peaceful scene, with even the street hawkers being silent. The violence and emotions of the day were somehow distant when you were able to look across the empty streets. Risac rubbed his face for a moment then turned to walk down the steps toward the Arbaretum.
Brown stains spattered every wall and surface. Pools of blood congealed in corners and obscene smears showed where the bodies had already been shifted, dragged to the pile at Meleth's Circle or loaded to the carts to be taken to Arena to feed the beasts. The defenders were laid in clean clothes in shades, their limbs arranged for dignity. The rioters were simply thrown onto a growing pile with their arms and legs stuck at different angles. Risac watched the work and in the background he could hear the screams of the wounded as they were stitched or made ready for amputation. It would take a long time, Risac thought grimly, for anything to return to normal.
Especially with a Highborn being dead in the riot.
The entrance to Arboretum was well guarded by the city soldiers. They bowed in respect and stepped out of his way as Risac approached, he simply ignored them. He walked in through the curtain to see several highborn and their escorts taking shelter inside. Their faces turned to him as his armored boots clattered across the tiled floor. The riot clearly left its mark of fear on them, especially with the fragile purple figure lying in a pool of blood by the fountain. The dagger was removed from her throat, Risac noted as he approached. He saw the precision of the thrown dagger on the fragile neck, it was not an accident she was dead. She was assassinated by an opportunist.
Risac did not notice the soldiers rise from their bowing state, one of them was holding out the bloodied dagger that was retrieved from the body. He was rubbing his bloodied hand vigorously on his filthy cloak.
“Be careful soldier” spoke a voice nearby, Risac turned to see it was Lord Cadra Borsail. “Your hands have the blood of Lady Ansche Fale on them. A little respect is due, I believe” Lord Cadra continued.
The soldier gaped at the noble Lord, unable to comprehend. He took a few paces away, holding his hand away from his body.
Cadra smirked at the soldier’s reaction then turned to Risac: “So few understand, do they my dear? Just what it means to be born into greatness?”
“Good to see you safe, Lord Borsail” Risac dropped a nod of acknowledgement to Lord Cadra
“We have some matters to discuss. It seems I need the list of everyone Samil infiltrated in the city.”
“Then you shall have it” Cadra replied and snapped a few orders to his slaves to have his carriage readied at Arboretum’s entrance.
“Sergeant, you said you have information for me” Risac said to the Sergeant Varaq standing by.
“My Lord,” sergeant bowed as he began, “the mobile squads were only partially successful. We broke them in the Miner’s and Stonecarver’s road, and did a lot of damage on the first hours. We took them in hundreds in the first skirmishes.” Risac nodded as he listened to the report.
“But then, word must have gotten out, we found ourselves being tracked in the streets. Whoever took the lead, knows the city very well. Some of us took to the rooftops, but there were men waiting up there. I saw some of our soldiers being brought down by women or children coming out of the houses with knives. Soldiers hesitated to kill the civilians, and were cut to pieces.” Varaq hesitated to continue for a second, and Risac waited patiently for the sergeant to gather up his thoughts.
“We were ambushed in the north of the stonecarver’s, just before the Caravan road. We had been chasing them for a while and they cornered us in an alleyway. I…”
“It was clear from the beginning the mobile squads would not be successful in quelling the entire riot” Risac cut off the sergeant. “I sent them anyway to create chaos and fear in the rioters, so they could be hunted down once broken. But it seems they still have a semblance of discipline, which means there is a leader coordinating them. They are probably planning to disappear from sight and regroup to strike one last time. Did your men see any sign of this?”
“Yes Lord Templar, in the alleys around the Caravan road, they were bringing more men quietly. I do not know when or where they will attack, but it seems there will be a skirmish soon.”
“Whoever is directing them must have given them the right motivation” Risac added as he looked at the fountain in the middle of the well decorated room. “They are coming for water. They will strike here and the
Varaq reached to his temple as he dropped a sharp nod at Templar Risac.
A crimson clad servant came running, his sandals cluttering on the stone floor.
“My Lord, your carriage is coming” he reported breathlessly to Lord Cadra.
“Very well” Lord Cadra said, “Lord Templar, I will deliver the list to you in a couple of hours. Let me know when you are done here.”
“We will meet tonight, Lord Borsail” replied Risac, and with that Cadra Borsail moved to the curtained exit, and outside with his escorts accompanying him. A nervous smile was on his lips. The riot was a bold move, but so far it worked out well. Templar Risac of the blue was already quelling the riot. The fact that he asked for Cadra’s direct help proved how much the troubled times could speed up the politics. And more importantly, Lady Fale was dead. Another point how fruitful the riot was. Now all he had to do was to make sure the killer of the Lady would put to death before he could spill his tale to anyone.
The dusk was setting as he stepped out. He spotted his carriage and was moving there, as suddenly the skies grew dark with arrow shafts and spears, a stinging humming swarm of death. Cadra watched them fall. He clenched his fists and tightened his jaw as they whirred towards his position. Men around him threw themselves down, but he stood straight and unblinking with eyes glittering. One guard finally stood up in front of Cadra, trying to shield him with his own body.
The shafts rained and shattered around Cadra, but he was untouched. He turned and laughed at his scrambling officers and aides. One was on his knees, pulling an arrow out of his chest and spitting blood. Two others stared glassily at the sky, unmoving.
The guard shielding the noble Lord took a step back: “My Lord, are you harmed?”
Cadra dismissed him with a flick of his meaty hand: “Highlord protects his beloved. Escort me to my carriage, quickly.”
They hurried into the inix drawn carriage. Cadra was seated inside and ordered for the driver to move when an enraged Risac came out of Arboretum. He snapped the orders and the units of soldiers responded harshly, steeling themselves to crush the final resistance that threatened the city.
Cadra’s carriage moved forth, ignoring the chaos and violence they left behind. Everything was falling in place, Cadra thought. He had to get rid of Lady Fale’s killer before Risac could get his hands on him to cover his tracks.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
The night covered the city in its dark sheets, veiling all the violence and stains of the riot. Serpent lay crouched on a rooftop, overlooking the Caravan’s road. He could see most of the Commons from his position, and notice which parts of the city were heavily guarded. The riot killed the night life in some sections of the city as the templarate and the militia took heavy measures to crush down any semblance of disturbance before they resurrected the riot once more. Thousands were killed in the riot; the streets were littered with corpses of citizens and soldiers alike. Houses were burnt down and the scars of the city would remain a long time before they healed completely.
His plans had worked nearly perfectly, with the exception of the death of Lady Fale. He still did not understand how it happened, since none of his men did the deed. His instructions were to lead the crowds toward the
Still he did the best he could, and he would get paid for it. Whatever reason Lord Cadra wanted this riot for, he got it in the end. None of his men were captured yet, and if they were as careful, they would not be.
He felt the presence of another mind contacting his through the Way, and he calmed down all his thoughts and emotions, waiting patiently for the intruding mind to speak first.
“My employer is very pleased with the way you performed your part” said Sergeant Idenu from House Borsail. “Did you cover all your tracks? Nothing will come in our way?”
Serpent contacted to the mind in a second:
“Not because of me, I covered my part.”
“Then there is one more thing my employer wishes for you to do.”
Idenu’s thoughts came with a hint of nervousness, which was expected if the man never took part in a crime like this. Serpent waited patiently for him to make the offer.
“There is someone that needs to die. It must be done tonight.”
Serpent was irritated at a deadline so soon after a riot, not to mention the soldiers crowding the city.
“Your employer must be willing to pay very high amounts then” Serpent replied, after calming his thoughts.
“You will be paid what you ask for. I will give you the looks of the man, and where he is currently. Can you do it?”
Serpent thought about it for a moment. They would not give a deadline like this unless it was someone knew about their involvement with the riot. Perhaps something they slipped, or something they have done during the riot, and they do not want the man to be found. Anger spun in Serpent’s mind as he thought about covering up someone else’s mess after such a short time, but given the position of the man, he knew he could do it.
“Alright, go ahead” he replied, and Idenu gave him the job.
* * * * * * * * * *
The night life was picking up in the Plaza of the Commons after the riot of the day. Many sections of the city were guarded by soldiers, to crush any more resistance before any damage can be delivered, but not the plaza. It had more soldiers on duty than a regular night, but commoners still could keep the Bard's Barrel's traffic alive without being questioned by the militia.
Ksint stood across the bench in the center of the Plaza. At a short distance, the Bard’s Barrel was full with citizens, cheering up for the defenders. Barbarians, lot of them, Ksint thought, for applauding the very people who slaughtered their own. Though, he did not care one bit for them, being one of the few people Samil planted into the city, he was waiting there tonight for an entirely different purpose.
He was one of the six people Samil planted into Allanak as slaves of the militia, who would seek any opportunity to strike at key figures in the city to create chaos. They were all trained for years, and this was the perfect opportunity to show their purpose for the Faithful. None showed itself though, not until last night.
Last night, after another day of backbreaking work, he was returning to the slaves' quarter, exhausted. Perhaps that was the reason to why he could not hear someone sneaking up on him, and why his combat reflexes failed him in dodging the crushing blow. He was incapacitated with a single blow, without a chance to fight back.
When he regained consciousness, he was in a dark room, hands and feet tied and his head was forced to face the wall. Someone else was in the room, he could hear the breathing clearly. He thought this was the end, he was discovered and would be tortured to death. If he breaks, perhaps death would come easier, less painful. But he would not break, he promised to himself and the Faithful and the Sun King, and readied himself for the excruciating pain.
Though, things developed in a way he never expected.
His capturer knew him, why he was sent to Allanak and by whom. He knew how he was planted into the city, as well as each and every one of the servants of the Faithful that were planted along with him. But still, he did not proceed to torture, or death threats. He asked the only thing that could compromise him: Cooperation.
He explained that there are a number of people, important people, that need to die for the greater good, and they would work towards the same end, together.
They talked for over an hour in that dark room, Ksint could barely make it to the slave quarters. When he finally sprawled over the filthy covers to get some sleep, he found the peace at last. His first mark was given to him, Lady Ansche Fale. Ksint could not ask for more, for he could very well pick her as a target anyway. Now he had someone cooperating with him, who informed him that Lady Fale would be in Meleth's Circle in the following day and there would be a commotion which Ksint could take it to his advantage easily.
And there it happened. Ksint did not expect the “commotion” would actually be a riot as big as this. He took his timing and joined the crowds, only to kill his intended target and then disappear. He would not stay in the crowd and risk getting captured. He doubled back to the slave quarters, and reported that he ran away as soon as the riot started. The slaves were left alone, as most of the militia was sent to quell the riots. Just before the dusk, he slipped out to the city and came to the Plaza as instructed by his capturer. He would see him for the first time and get his new target there.
A rotten fruit offered to him brought his attention back to his surroundings. A small bare-chested child, so skinny that his ribs could be counted, carried a bag of fruits and offered one to him. Ksint noticed the child was a fruit seller, and now he was offering one to him without asking for coin. He surveyed his surroundings quickly, before looking back at the child.
“Who sent you kid?”
The child did not reply but looked over his shoulder. Ksint followed his gaze only to meet someone watching them from the streets stretching to the Stone carver’s road. The man turned quickly and disappeared at the corner, his cloak whipping with the sudden movement. Ksint roughly pushed the child away and started walking after the figure. He did not want to lose him, not when he was so close to see him face to face. He picked up in his speed as he turned the corner of Stone carver’s. There were several people on the street here, many more staying in their homes or hiding away from the militia. Dark red stains covered the walls and the street here, with broken shards of obsidian and bone scattered everywhere. Smears of soot covered some buildings, residue of the fire that was set during the riot. But Ksint paid no attention to them. He saw the man a few blocks away and caught him slipping into the alleyway, and Ksint found his temper rising. What with playing games like boys, they could very well ask him to come to the alley.
Heads turned in his direction as he started to walk even faster, he did not care being spotted or not, he would catch the man and they would walk together then. He came until the entrance to the alley and looked in. The heavy stink of urine washed over him and he could not help but cover his mouth in disgust. Still he looked on and could see no one in the darkness. Did he not see him get in here? Or maybe he walked into a building next to the alley and his eyes failed him in the dark street? He could not be sure. He looked around, unsure of what to do. The people in the street carried on with their business: a whore standing by, calling up at mercenaries and soldiers passing by, militia men walking in pairs exaggerating their deeds of the day; servants rushing up in the streets carrying errands.
As he stood there, doubt struck Ksint of what he was doing. Maybe he followed the wrong man here, or maybe there was no man after all, it could very well be a set up. What if his capturer did not need him anymore and wanted to get rid of all the witnesses?
“Sir, please… I am so hungry, just a few coins. Sir...” Ksint heard a beggar pleading to a couple of mercenaries just a few feet away. The mercenaries looked tired of listening to his bickering, and one of them roughly shoved him away. The beggar stumbled away and into Ksint, nearly knocking him off his feet. Reflexively, Ksint tried to balance himself, but his legs lost their strength as he felt a sharp pain in his chest.
“Nothing personal, but someone paid a lot of coins to see you dead” the beggar whispered into his ear, and the pain increased as he twisted something in his chest. The beggar fell sideways, and Ksint was knocked down on his back. The world became a blur, and Ksint did not even have strength to cry out for help. He heard the beggar shouting curses at the mercenaries as he got up and run away, but he could not make words. It happened so quick, and so casual, no one even realized the beggar stabbing Ksint in the heart.
Bony fingers reached out from the alleys and grabbed Ksint by the shoulders, pulling him into the darkness of the alley before someone could realize him dying.
Serpent moved down the street, the dagger already slipped into his wristsheath. It was done well enough, and so far he did not hear any yells down the street of someone dying. He let out a breath of relief and contacted to the mind of his man in the alley, who already dragged the corpse in.
“He died in the riot. Make sure to frame it that way” he sent through the unseen Way, and was comforted at the thought that his man would not fail him.
* * * * * * * * * *
A light wind was breezing as Lord Cadra walked through the empty city flanked by his guards. With dawn at horizon, the streets should have been filled with workers, servants and slaves, bustling along on a thousand errands. The cries of vendors should have been heard, coupled with the din of a thousand trades. Instead, it was eerily quiet.
Soldiers stood at every corner in small groups, ready to break any possible riot, Lord Templar Risac’s orders demanded so. The whole city was nervous, and Lord Cadra felt a prickling suspicion if everyone covered their tracks. The Lady’s killer had been silenced earlier in the night, and Serpent said he did his part well, otherwise he too would be charged with treason. Lord Cadra shook his head slightly at his own thoughts, everything went perfectly as planned. There was no point in going over again.
A wind that had been blocked by the rows of houses hit him as he passed in front of the Trader’s
He strode quickly walking down in the Templar’s path. The flat stones kept him clear of the sluggish filth of the road below his feet. In all his life, he never saw so many soldiers guarding every corner of the city. Two soldiers held station at the gates to the Templar’s quarters, absolutely still in the moonless night. As Lord Cadra and his escorts approached to the great gates, one of them stepped forward, bowing in respect before addressing the Lord as well as the escorts.
“My Lord, may I ask what business you have in the Templar’s Quarter?”
“I need to see Lord Templar Risac Valika” Cadra replied. “Where is he?”
The two soldiers glanced at each other for a moment, trying to decide whether it would be right for tem to volunteer the information. Too tired and impatient to wait for the soldiers to come to a conclusion, Cadra felt his temper rising.
“I was asked by Lord Valika to come see him before the daybreak. I am here, where is he?”
“The jails, my Lord” the soldier answered. He opened his mouth to say more, but then thought better of it. He sent a call to the gates, and resumed his position as the great gates opened. Once again, the soldiers were like twin statues at the gates.
Lord Cadra moved quickly without a word, passing the gates to the quarter. He followed the Night’s path down into the Morning’s road. The wind was growing in strength as the dawn approached. Lord Cadra was tempted to start running, but his meaty frame was not fit for it. The city jailhouse was a small building. There was no need to have big jailhouses, as execution and banishment prevented the need for them. The very fact that the Lord Templar would be in the jails told Lord Cadra what he would find and he prepared to face it without flinching.
Another pair of soldiers guarded the outer door of the jailhouse. As Lord Cadra approached to them, they nodded as if expecting him and threw open the locking bars. Lord Cadra’s and his escorts’ cloaks carried the insignia of House Borsail, and they were not questioned until they reached to hallway leading to the holding cells. Three soldiers moved apart as Cadra announced himself and a half giant jail keeper ran down the hallway. Cadra waited patiently as he heard his name being announced somewhere, and Risac’s answering rumble. He was able to smile when Lord Risac returned with the half giant.
“That is Lord Borsail” Risac confirmed.
“Is there still a threat in the city” Lord Cadra asked, hiding his tension.
“It is ended. Come along with me, Lord Borsail, you should be part of this” Lord Risac said.
As he spoke, he wiped sweat from his forehead and Cadra saw a smear of blood on his hand.
They walked down the hallway, passing several holding cells with no light coming from within. There was a sickly wail coming from one of the cells, but they paid no attention to it. Finally, the half giant jail keeper opened the doors to one of the cells, and fumbled to put a lit torch in place to light the room.
There was a sickly smell in the air and at first Lord Cadra tried not to look at the figures bound to the chairs in the center of it.
“A pity,” Lord Risac said as they both entered into the room. “These creatures named someone called Ksint as their leader, but they know nothing of the riot or the assassination otherwise. They would have told us by now.”
Cadra looked at the men and repressed a shudder at what had been done to them. Risac had been through and he too had doubted the men could have held anything back. Four of them lay as still as dead, but the last rolled his head towards them with a sudden jerk. One of his eyes had been pierced and wept a shining stream of liquid down his cheek, but the other peered around aimlessly, lighting up as he spotted Lord Cadra.
“You! I accuse you!” he spat, then cackled weakly, dribbling blood over his chin.
Lord Cadra fought the rising gorge as he looked down at the broken bodies of the conspirators.
“He has lost his mind” he said softly, and Risac nodded.
“Yes, though he held out the longest. They will live long enough to be executed. My soldiers found the body of their leader, Ksint. Possibly he died during the riot.” Risac shook his head a few times, before looking at Lord Cadra “I must thank you, Lord Borsail, for bringing this matter to me. I wish we could have moved in time, but regardless, we stopped it after all. It was a noble deed, and worthy of your title” Risac spoke lightly.
Cadra stood silently, trying to gather his thoughts. He could always sport the vicious ending, though he never saw the brutal ending of a torture so close before.
Risac continued again as Cadra did not say anything “The two of us, we should work together for Allanak.” His mood lightened as Lord Cadra nodded to him. “Though, we can talk about it another time. The stink of this place is in my lungs. I have to report to the Red Robes at sunrise and I intend to take a bath before that.”
“Dawn is here” Cadra said and Risac swore softly.
“It is night always in this place. I am finished with these.”
He gave the orders to the torturers to have the men cleaned and made presentable before turning back to Lord Cadra. “I will set the execution for the
The red light of dawn had taken a lighter tint as Lord Cadra and his guards stepped out of the Templar’s Quarter. The wind had ceased and the city was awakening late, as the soldiers were relieved from their posts and the normal tone returned to the city. Away from the sickening scenery of the jailhouse, Lord Cadra could finally think clearly. The riot was gone, Lady Fale was dead, and all his tracks were covered. Most important of all, Lord Templar Risac Valika was his supporter. With Sulach gone, Allanak would be his.
* * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 16
It was dark in the tent and the scribe slave had only a single candle to give him enough light to write. He sat in perfect silence as Sulach lay sprawled on a pallet, one arm outstretched to be bandaged, for he had refused the magickal healing. Sulach grunted as the physician made a knot and pulled it tight. For a moment, his eyes opened with pain, and the slave saw they were dim with exhaustion.
The physician left then, letting a blast of air into the stuffy interior that made the candle flicker. The slave looked over the words that were recorded, and wished Sulach would sleep. They were all hungry, but the last few weeks had burned flesh from the commander as much as any other men. His skin was tinged with yellow and there were dark hollows underneath his eyes that gave him a look of death.
The slave thought The Lord Templar slid into sleep and began to gather his scrolls to steal away without waking him. He froze as Sulach scratched at the sweat stains of his tunic and then rubbed his face.
“Where did I finish?” Sulach asked without opening his eyes.
“Gith mesa. I was writing about the second battle before the physician came in.”
“Ah, yes. Are you ready to go on?”
“If you wish it, Master. It might be better if I left you to get some rest”
Sulach did not respond to that, but rubbed his face.
“We reached the gith mesa soon after the rukkian mage and his escorts were killed by the gith raiders. Are you writing this?”
“I am” the slave whispered. To his surprise, he felt a sting of tears begin as Sulach forced himself on.
“We stormed the camp. I could not hold the soldiers back after what they saw of the mage’s body, I did not want to” Sulach paused for a moment to open his eyes and look at the slave directly.
“Fifteen survived us. Record the truth for me. Out of five hundred gith, men, women and children, only fifteen could escape us. We burned the entire camp around them and stripped whatever food or water they have. Still, I could count the ribs on my soldiers. There were more gith to fight of course, and Untturi took the command of them. But I am telling you now, without the stores in the mesa we would have been finished.”
“We routed them over and over whenever we caught them in the open, but many tribes of the gith joined to Untturi and they outnumbered us everytime. Lieutenant Zakhis was killed in an ambush in the second week or the third, I can not remember now. His unit saw him being dragged off his mount. We did not find his body.”
Sulach lapsed into silence at the thought of the young Lieutenant. He was a decent man and it had been a great loss. When he spoke again, his voice carried his weariness.
“The gith kept gathering in the north and blocking our way through and I could not break them there.”
The slave looked at Sulach and saw his lips twist in anger. Still, he was lying on his back, his eyes closed against the candle light:
“We lost two hundred soldiers over these battles, and as the food was low, I saw my soldiers eat grass until they vomited. Still we destroyed the gith who dared to take the field against us. Strian, Itina, Vate, and Kann did well with the banners there, but the numbers…” Sulach fell silent for a second then.
“I could not cut a path open toward the north there and was forced to move west, deeper into the tablelands to find a way through. Untturi sent his generals and we fought all the way while we marched day and night. I have tried every route possible. I have seen death walk with me.”
“But now you have sent him back toward the gem” the slave dared to add.
Sulach struggled to sit up and leaned over his knees, his head sagging.
“He is gathering more gith by the minute over there, more tribes are joining him every moment. We starve down here while he gathers more men to destroy us.”
“You raided enough grain and meat and water in the last battle to feed the army over a week. The worst is over” the slave spoke again.
Sulach shrugged so slightly, it could have been a breath:
“Perhaps. Write this for me, we built fortifications and trenches over three leagues to north. We have built a hill from the earth so great to allow us build watchtowers on it. Untturi can not come down here as long as we remain. We have already cut them down in hundreds and we will cut them down in thousands if need be. We will stay until we find a way to break Samil in south, or until Samil comes up here.”
The tent flap was opened and Lieutenant Itina and someone wearing no uniform came in.
“Lord Templar?” Itina asked.
“I am here” came the voice, barely a whisper.
“The man you wanted, I brought him. As instructed, no one else knows.” Lieutenant Itina spoke.
Sulach looked at her with red-rimmed eyes, looking more dead than alive. He stood, and swayed from exhaustion, Itina reflexively reached out to help him stand. He reached to the pocket of his robe and pulled out a sealed scroll. The scribe slave looked curiously at the paper, as he was not the one writing that one.
The man who dressed up with a simple armor and a bow, stepped forward as Sulach handed the rolled parchment to him.
“You will give this scroll to the man you are told, and ask him to deliver to the Lady. He himself must see to it that it is delivered to her hand alone. Can you do it?”
The man simply nodded, as he slipped the parchment into his cloak.
“I will ride at full gallop to arrive the city at daybreak my Lord, and I will simply pass as a regular hunter.”
Sulach nodded wearily at the man’s understanding of the task he had.
“Ride back here as soon as you deliver it.”
The man nodded, slipping out of the tent and into the night. Itina looked at the tired form of Sulach for a moment, her expression showing her concern.
“What is the plan, Lord Templar?”
“The plan?” Sulach asked sitting down on his pallet exhaustedly. “We will crush Samil, and then we will crush his army” he spoke tiredly. His lay down on the pallet, his eyes closing. Itina watched him without moving an inch.
“And then we will go home?” she asked.
CHAPTER 14
Dzeda, the 42nd day of the Ascending Sun, year 19 of the
21st Age, King's
It has been 53 days since the beginning of the
campaign. The storm that raged throughout
the evening started to calm at
Continue Reading...The Warriors of Faith: Part III: "Clash of the God-Kings"
Added on Jun 9, 2008The armies clash in the desert and the war rages on
CHAPTER 10
“As mortals, we have a barrier in the level of power we can wield. No matter what we try, with magick or psionics or by completely mundane means, sooner or later we will hit the wall and there is no trivial way to pass this wall. For perhaps this is a barrier put down by the God-like entities to stop us from challenging them. There are however, ways to pass this. One such means is the aid of God-like beings. By the proof of loyalty and devotion, such powers beyond the capability of men can be granted, as they can be taken away.
This may be the easy way to pass this barrier, but there is another way…”
- Gin of the Alleys
Dawn came with the spill of red light over the mountains, revealing the ruins of an ancient building sprawled in the golden expanse of the sands. Cracked walls, surrounded by broken stones and sculptures lying haphazardly in all directions, possessed none of their former glory. Amidst them all, the once proud tower was now a broken piece of jagged tooth, facing the crimson skies in a silent greeting.
Samil watched the battlefield from the top his horse. So many untold tales were hidden in these ruins. Generations of civilizations, cities once powerful and filled with life were now resting in peaceful stillness beneath the sands. Samil's heart ached at the sight. A thousand years from now, would anything be left for the world to see and wonder about him, the way he wondered about this relic of a building? He did not know. Soon the peaceful sleep would be disturbed by the clash of swords and the battle cries throughout the field. The face of the earth would be tainted with the spilled blood and gore; the air with that old, almost comforting smell of battle.
"A good day to die, Captain?" Samil chose to ask the traditional question to clear his mind.
"As good as any, sir" replied the captain.
"What do you think of the enemy's deployment?" Samil asked, bringing his gaze back on the ranks of the Allanaki force.
"Sir, the main infantry is directly across the field and facing ours. The archers are stretched thin in front of the main force, I believe it will be a usual "fire until the engage and pull back."" Samil nodded his approval at the captain's words, without looking. The captain stretched his arm to point at the enemy flanks:
"He is keeping the half giants behind the ranks I assume he does not plan to open with the usual "clash of the half giants." It is fine from our standpoint as well. If anything, I will send them in the field if there is an immediate need to open ranks in the flanks."
"What about that hill with the deployed cavalry?" Samil lifted his chin to point at the hill across the field.
"That seems to be the weakest point of Sulach's deployment, Faithful Lord. The cavalry there is guarding the main force's right flank. Yet our cavalry is outnumbering them by three to one. Once the main infantries engage we can send our cavalry and break them easily, and then we will have the enemy's right flank. From there on, it will be a matter of minutes before they will be broken."
Samil nodded once more: "Sounds straightforward enough."
The captain nodded sharply at Samil's approval.
"Unfortunately," Samil began again, "this is the plan our enemy expect us to go through. I do not believe Sulach would make such an easy mistake. That hill," Samil's finger was pointing directly at the hill where Sulach deployed his cavalry, "must be an illusion" he concluded.
Lesk voiced his confusion: "Faithful Lord, they are tired and probably out of supplies. Such a mistake is not too out of place."
Samil, however, was determined: "Sulach has never lost a battle to this day. No matter how reasonable it seems, he would not overlook such a mistake." He turned to the Lieutenant Enlyl, standing close on her warbeetle, "Lieutenant, divide the cavalry in two groups. First group should be nearly the same size of Sulach's riders. Second group should stay behind and standby for further orders." As the female officer nodded affirmatively and rode back to carry the Faithful's orders, Samil turned back to Lesk:
"Captain, draw the Lyksaen warriors out of the infantry. I want them standing here with me."
Captain Lesk felt it futile to argue his point any further, but he could not let his worries slide: "Faithful Lord, if we divide the cavalry, we will not have a fast and crushing victory over the flanks, it will drag on and it will gi--"
Samil cut him off.
"My orders were clear?" he demanded.
Captain straightened up, dropping a fast, affirmative nod: "Yes, Faithful Lord."
"See them carried out." Samil snapped.
Clad in crimson and grey of the House Lyksae, the elite warband arrived shortly beside Samil.
"Orders, Faithful?" The commander asked after saluting Samil. Samil dropped the faintest of the nods, his eyes scanning the Allanaki ranks:
"Standby here, Mtakr, we are waiting for your assignment to show itself."
The commander did not understand, but that wasn't important. He had his orders, and he simply nodded once more and grew silent behind Samil.
Time dragged on, seemingly taking no notice of the excitement and tension prevalent in the air. The first hour of dawn ended unceremoniously.
Sulach laid no other traps, Samil noted; at least, none other that showed themselves yet. He looked over the remnants of the ancient civilization once more, almost wistfully. The time for the battle had come, and he signaled for the attack.
The war horns of the Tuluki force signaled the march of the main infantry and the archers, and the wave of red on white started its march at once. Allanaki horns responded with their own signal the both armies were marching against each other. Another set of signals and the archers in both parties came to a stop; their arrows bringing death upon the approaching enemy.
Shields were pulled up, forming a roof on both sides. The soldiers who fell to the raining arrows were quickly being replaced by another from behind, the pace never slowing down. When the distance between the two forces was close enough, the armies kicked into a charge, clashing on each other in a brutal frenzy.
Swords and axes were swung, the spears were hurled, clubs crushed armors, sending bits of chitin and obsidian among the commotion. Blood and gore on both sides spilled to the ground, turning the sands to a slick, reddish mud. The cries of pain were lost in the calls to the God-kings. The Tuluki force locked their shields in their traditional style, forming a wall in the front ranks and swinging their weapons from above and below the shields as opportunity presented itself. Allanaki army replied with spreading in the front rank and assaulting in a flurry of blows with both hands to keep the enemy overwhelmed, while the second rank sprinted forth with spears every now and then searching for enemy weakness.
Samil watched the spectacle from his mount. Both armies were wearing each other down, losing man after man in bloodied frenzy. They could go on for hours, to the last man perhaps, and then neither army would have won. Samil knew as well as Sulach did, whoever won on the flanks would turn the scales of the battle. He turned over his shoulder and signaled for the first group of riders to march forth; the riders raised a dust cloud as they galloped down the hill.
"Damn it! He saw our move!" spoke Sulach as he saw only a small group of riders galloping across the battlefield.
"Should we abort the plan, my Lord?" Strian asked from his side.
"No." he spoke, his hands holding the reins tightly. "We play his game."
They watched as the Tuluki cavalry rode down the hill, leaving a billowing dust cloud behind them. Their formation shifted at the bottom of the hill, spreading to the sides as they closed in, but Allanaki cavalry waited for them in muted stillness.
Suddenly, the ground moaned and writhed violently beneath the approaching enemy. Buckling and shattering with a deafening roar, a web of cracks shot across the ground; sinking the riders into a maelstrom of tumultuous, whipping sand and dirt. The beasts cried in their own miserable fear, jerking and kicking, throwing their riders in blind frenzy.
A shout echoed through the Allanaki cavalry then, and they kicked into a charge toward the scattered Tuluki riders.
"So.. that was Sulach's plan" whispered Samil as he watched the battle.
The Allanaki cavalry easily broke into the Tuluki ranks, their spears bringing death to the confused enemy as they tried to regain their battle stance. They put up very little resistance as the lines of riders trampled through their broken ranks.
"There is the abomination" Samil pointed as a lone figure stepped out from the opposite end of the dust cloud. The earthquake was over, and the figure stood at the skirts of the hill, watching as the Allanaki cavalry led their attack on the broken riders. The lone figure then looked across to battlefield to where Samil and his officers stood.
"Mtakr?" Samil called to the leader of the Lyksaen warriors who looked back directly at him in response. "Take him down." Samil ordered, and the captain of the elite warriors nodded indifferently. Turning to his group he quickly snapped his orders and the twenty men clad in crimson and grey kicked their mounts into a charge down the hill. Samil's lips broke into a smile as he watched the Lyksaen warriors charging fearlessly toward the mage, the abomination of the nature.
They fired their arrows on the run without slowing down. It was display of skill and accuracy as the arrows flew up into the crimson skies and rained down without any of them going astray. The mage saw the charging riders and the rain of death they set loose from their bows, and he kicked into a run. A blur of movement it was, a speed truly beyond the perception of men, causing the sand to rise up in a spray of gold behind him. His chasers did not seem to be surprised by such a display of power. At once, they broke into three groups, spreading behind the mage as they swept the sands behind him.
"It does not look like they will be able to kill him" spoke Captain Lesk beside Samil.
"No, I did not think they would" Samil responded calmly as he tore his gaze back to the hill where Allanaki riders engaged his own. The skirmish was nearly over with few losses from the enemy ranks.
"But I knew they would scare him away, and they did. Now I have the flank." With that, Samil gave the order and the Tuluki warhorns signaled the march of the second group of riders.
Sulach's heart sank as he heard the blast of the Tuluki warhorn, and he watched as a dust cloud rise from the opposing hill as the white and the red cloaks rode down. The mage that would guard the flank was long gone, and Sulach knew the numbers of the approaching enemy would quickly cripple his cavalry. "Sound the retreat" he called, his eyes not leaving the enemy riders.
"My Lord.." Strian attempted to protest. They had been winning so far. Perhaps they could break the approaching enemy? Perhaps, if they sent the half giants along with the riders..?
"We cannot win this war! And if we do not retreat now, we will definitely lose!" Sulach spoke, turning to regard Strian who seemed to start his disagreement. "Sound the retreat, soldier! NOW!" Sulach finished any further discussion, giving no option to Strian. Strian carried the order and the Allanaki warhorns were blown with the exact given note.
"What?! Another charge?!" Samil did not hide his surprise at the sound of enemy warhorns. "Captain, was there any report of enemy reinforcements?"
Captain Lesk was as surprised as Samil:
"No Faithful. Perhaps the enemy eluded us."
"Damn it!" Samil cursed. "Call the riders back here. Get the Lyksaen Warriors to drop the chase on the mage and find where this reinforcement is coming from! Now!"
Weapons painted red with blood, the Allanaki infantry disengaged from the melee and stepped a few paces back facing their opponent, but their opponent was not ordered to press forth. The Tuluki riders stopped their charge and headed back to the hills. For a moment there the entire battle seemed to cease, everyone waiting for the unexpected unit to show up.
The infantry of Allanak kept moving back as they still faced the Tuluki army, and the archery units moved to the front ranks. Samil watched in confusion what Sulach was trying to achieve. From the looks of it, the reinforcements would come from the left rank, which would be attacking his half giants and infantry at the same time. It made no sense, unless the reinforcement was nearly as big as the main army which would mean bad news for Samil, he thought grimly.
We see no sign of reinforcements sir, came the thoughts of the Lyksaen commander, and Samil understood Sulach's motives at once:
"Sound the charge!" he shouted. "No reinforcement is coming, they are retreating! Sound the charge!"
Horns were blown at once and the Tuluki front advanced. Allanak responded with a signal to the archers and volleys of arrows rained upon the approaching the enemy. Commanders snapped orders and the Tuluki infantry raised their shields, their pace slowing as they advanced defensively.
"He is running away. He tricked us by changing the horn signals, and now he is running away! Bastards!" Samil spoke grimly. It was a daring attempt to change the signals before the battle, for it carried the risk of causing confusion among the officers. In the heat of the battle, the soldiers would react to the horns almost instinctively. Such instincts would not be adapted overnight. However Sulach had the advantage of having experienced army. All of Sulach's commanders and even some of his regular grunts were battle-hardened veterans from gith campaigns. It surely made a difference in applying risky maneuvers such as the trick with the battle-horns.
Samil watched as his army desperately tried to catch the retreating Allanaki front. While being under a constant rain of arrows, it seemed impossible. The retreat of the enemy must be stopped, and his army needed help with it.
"Ivory guards, rally to me!" Samil shouted to his personal white-clad cavalry, and they responded with a single warcry that echoed across the battlefield. Captain Lesk understood at once what Samil was doing and he grabbed Samil's reins, unaware of his daring approach:
"Faithful Lord, no! You cannot ride to the front, it is too dangerous."
Samil regarded him with a cold gaze and pulled his reins free of the captain's grasp:
"After my infantry catches the enemy, order the cavalry to take the right flank and send forth the half giants" he spoke, not willing to waste anymore time by explaining himself.
"Faithful Lord, you do not have to do this" Lesk pleaded, but Samil cut him off with a dismissive gesture of his hand:
“You have orders, Captain. Carry them.”
Lesk realized there was no way to talk his commander out of it, and he lowered his head in defeat. Samil nodded once and then he ordered the charge.
"He has seen our move again!" Sulach spoke in frustration.
"He can not defeat the main infantry with a cavalry charge my Lord" replied Itina beside him.
"Defeating the infantry is not his plan, he wants to keep them in battle so his own infantry can catch them." He turned to the black clad elite riders spread to his left:
"
The entire unit of the War Ministry's elite guards let out a battle cry that overcame all other sounds in the field. Itina could not believe what she was seeing:
"My Lord, no! Let me lead the charge, you need to –"
Sulach shook his head, he had already made up his mind: "Samil has to be put down. I think I have the highest chance to do that task. The rest of you stay behind. This army needs to retreat. The closer you are to the front the harder it is." Then he gave the order to charge, and the black wave of the temple guards thundered down the hill.
Samil saw the black riders led by Sulach, and he changed course. His unit wheeled around to follow Samil's lead. The black against the white they rode; the sands sprawled up as high as men, leaving trails of dust clouds. The ground trembled beneath their powerful stomp as they charged, and the warcries of "For the Highlord" and "For the Sun-King" mixed in the battlefield.
Samil saw Sulach at the front, charging directly at him. His hand was up in the air, and when he was close he could hear him chanting: "In the name of the Highlord…"
Samil closed his eyes and concentrated. All other sounds died around him: Sun-King guide my hand, be my eyes. Guide my hand, guide my blade. Guide my hand...
Samil was praying still when flames erupted from Sulach's hand and lept toward him, engulfing him completely. For a second there everything in the battlefield seemed to cease its move.
Guide my hand..
Guide my blade..
Be my Eyes…
Sun King…
Guide my hand…
Like a demon, Samil emerged from the flames. His flesh was burned beyond recognition, skin darkened and cracked in veins giving him an horrific visage. It was a miracle he was still alive, and yet he seemed not slowed down by his burns. With a swing of his bladed staff, he jabbed at Sulach's armored chest and sent him toppling down from his horse. In a smooth motion, he jumped down from his mount and landed right behind Sulach, as he was calling on his God-king for another spell. Samil's fingers flashed forth with an unbelievable speed and landed several quick strikes around Sulach's neck and throat with surgical precision. Sulach attempted to call the name of the Highlord, but no voice came out of his throat. Instead, he stumbled back, barely avoiding Samil's bladed staff. He attempted to draw a sword, but a single swing of Samil's staff sent it flying away, and a kick on his armored chest sent him sprawling back.
Two of the temple guards charged at Samil, desperate to save Sulach from what was coming for him. They were the elite guards of the War Ministry, who had been instructed by the
But then, he fell down.
The Highlord's flames had long consumed all the life that kept him going. Whatever energy was left within that kept him still standing, was finally spent. Like an ancient tree whose roots gave away their grasp of the earth, he collapsed down on his back.
Sulach was spent when Samil stole his voice. The magickal energies gathered inside of him needed to be set loose, but his voice betrayed him and the energy was unleashed on Sulach instead. He was lying down on his back now on the verge of consciousness. He realized Samil's fall but it did not matter. It was over, the enemy infantry was here. He heard his soldiers calling his name as they run to save him, but he tried not to feel hope; it was too painful. His soldiers would fight on, desperate to save him. Against the enemy numbers they would lose, and with Tuluki riders winning easily on the flanks they would be broken before the enemy. Death would come soon for them all.
Drawing all his strength, he attempted to shout them to run but whatever Samil had done to him his voice was gone completely. His own weakness overcame finally, and Sulach drifted into the peaceful embrace of the unconsciousness.
"No!" Tild yelled from the top of his mount as he watched the battle. Despair welled up in his throat as he saw Sulach fell in the front rank. Sulach beaten? Sulach down? How was it even possible?
"Mage do something!" he called to the gemmed mage who was back behind the lines after the Lyksaen warriors dropped their chase on him.
"Like what?" the mage replied, baffled at what to say to the enraged warrior.
Tild's hand snapped forth and grabbed the mage by the throat: "I don't care! Do something!" he breathed down his anger, unaware of his daring move against one of the most feared beings in the world, but the mage did not seem impressed by his shear rage.
Tild released the mage's throat then, and looked back down in the battlefield. He was relieved slightly to see the enemy templar down as well, and then he saw as the infantries on both fronts rushing forth blindly to save their templars. The two armies clashed once more, covering their leaders in the conflict.
"I can make a wall to separate the front lines" the mage spoke making Tild look back at him with wild eyes, but before he could say anything: "But not from this distance. I need to be very close, right at the spot where the wall should be put. And if I go down there, I will be chopped to pieces before I can finish the spell" the mage added.
Tild gritted his teeth as he looked back to the battlefield. He could not help but get frustrated at being helpless. The enemy war horns sounded the march of the cavalry once more now, and soon the main infantry would be flanked, everything Sulach tried to stop would end there.
"Dragoons!" Tild called for the unit of cavalry, and then added "I need ten men to ride with me to glory!" He rode a few paces forth and turned his mount looking at the soldiers, the very same soldiers who were once under his command but now given under Itina.
The front rank of the riders stepped forth and dropped a sharp nod at him, and he nodded back. Turning to the mage: "We will give you the space you need" he said.
He turned to his side to see Itina beside him:
"I am coming too" she said. Tild furrowed his brows, but she continued: "I am your superior, Tild. I give the orders, and I am telling you now, I am coming."
Tild nodded several times, then his eyes swept back to the front lines:
"There is one problem though" he said finally.
"What prob – " Itina started, but she could not finish it. Tild's punch caught her off guard, and his uppercut sent her down from her mount. The world seemed to spin around in a wild fury as she tried to regain her balance when she heard Tild's voice again:
"You are not coming".
They rode down in a wild charge then, crying out Sulach's name over and over. There were eleven of them only, but their voices overcame even the strongest of the battle cries. With all the speed and the momentum of their mounts, they drove their spears into the thickest part of the enemy, and they pushed them back; away from the front lines, away from the precious Lord Templar.
"MAGE NOW!" shouted Tild from the enemy ranks, and the earth started to tremble and groan as the gemmed uttered the words of power. The ground rose with a deafening roar, spraying down the sands on the confused soldiers.
Too bad I never got to ride that rack of yours, came as Tild's last thoughts telepathically to Itina before the sand wall separated the armies completely.
See you in the drov.
Tears welled up in Itina's eyes, threatening to humiliate her in front of her soldiers. She tried to swallow her agony; for there was much to be done yet. Already the mage was running along the wall in his incredible speed to expand it further, making it harder for the enemy to circle around. Itina knew she had to find Strian and organize the retreat. It would not be over until they were away from the enemy's reach.
And after that…
After that she could grieve. She could cry over her comrade and get angry why he was such an ass and had not let her ride with him. She could curse and blame him, herself, and anybody else there to blame. And finally, she could lose herself in grief and booze, drinking for her lost friend.
Moments later, Captain Lesk pressed his palm on the sand wall, feeling the smoothness of the surface. All the commanding officers were standing behind him. Now that Samil was down, Lesk was in charge of the army. He knew all eyes were on him, waiting for his orders. But he did not honor them by returning their gazes. They had failed the Faithful. He had failed the Faithful! Samil put his own life in line to keep the enemy in the battle, and yet they let the enemy escape. It was the work of an abomination that stopped them, but there was no excuse for incompetence.
His back still turned to the army officers:
“Set up the camp, we stay the night” Lesk spoke his orders. In truth, they were Faithful Lady Neodyn’s orders, but the officers did not need to know that.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 11
"- I heard Miranda’s mind is the best mind tonight!”
- Your Majesty, a third one!
- Wow! I have not seen this one before!”
- King of Shadows and Raven and a third one of their kind meeting in a foreign mind.
She descended from the skies and landed on the ground gently.
All around her was a display of beautiful colors and fresh smells giving a feeling of paradise to all her senses. She stood there barefooted amid the flowers, lifting her head to the skies and feeling the touches of the wind on her skin. It has been such a long time she had been in a world so beautiful, and so well organized. She could stay here for eternity, feeling the tickles of flower petals on her feet as the fingers of the wind stroke them in gentle breezes.
She shook her head, alas, she did not have time to enjoy nor explore this world. She had to leave all aside, and meet the ruler of this world.
With a simple will, she took flight. Another use of willpower, and the entire world shifted beneath her, continents of land and mass flew beneath her in the blink of an eye, and then she was where she wanted to be: Facing the ruler, her Faithful Brother Samil Lyksae.
Inside the mind was where she was powerful. Simple minds could not comprehend the extents of her abilities. She could move as she willed, explore as deep as she wanted, even modify, destroy and recreate the parts of it if she so wished. She wished to meet with the owner of this mind, and here she was facing him directly.
“Hello Faithful Brother” she greeted him in a formal way, letting him know she is here. It was more of a gesture that she is right there in front of him, not digging his mind elsewhere.
“Greetings, sister” replied Samil’s usual calm voice. In mind he seemed as much in control as he was in flesh. Neodyn has seen the minds of many, and each would be filled with wealth that they can never hope to possess: Dreams of rare tastes, sexual fantasies, of reign over people to satisfy their petty needs. Men were nasty beasts and Neodyn could see them as who they are.
Yet this was not an ordinary mind she was in right now. From the moment she dived in, all around her has been a beautiful harmony of colors and sounds enriching all her senses. None of the petty, pitiful excuses for desires of the flesh had she seen here. She was awed by her brother’s control over his mind, and felt the strokes of curiosity as to what secrets the depths of this world was holding.
“I have ordered Captain of the Legions to take command and pitch the camps. They will stay there until further orders.” Neodyn began, trying to clear her thoughts.
“Did Sulach survive?” Samil asked and Neodyn was faintly nodding at his words.
“I believe so, even though I have not seen him just yet.”
“If he survived, the abominations will bring him up to his feet quickly” the mental image of Samil muttered. Then added after a brief moment: “My Legions must keep moving. They must chase Sulach.”
“No – “ Neodyn began, but Samil cut in shortly:
“If the Legions do not move, Sulach will understand that I am wounded and the army is headless. He will strike and wear us down.”
“Physicians are certain that if you are moved, you will die. You have to be kept stable” came Neodyn’s grim reply.
Samil grew silent at that, but Neodyn noticed a slight change in the world. The wind blew differently than before, the ambient sounds gone, the beautiful scents surrounding them were no more. As if a broken note in the middle of a recite, the musical harmony of the world seemed to be disturbed in Samil’s troubled thoughts.
“So be it then” Samil spoke, but there were a thousand more words carried in the sudden shift of the wind, the sudden discord in the smells. The world was his mind, Neodyn noted, any of his thoughts or emotions would have effect on the environment. She watched the Jihaen templar silently, waiting for him to speak his mind.
“Until I get well, sister, could you come here often and let me know of my legions, and carry my orders to them?” he finally asked.
A rare, bright smile flashed in Neodyn’s lips:
“Of course I will, brother.”
“My first order for them is to find a way to get me moving somehow.”
Their talk continued for a time in the harmony of their surroundings. When finally it was over, Neodyn simply left her brother’s mind. She returned to her consciousness, her features sickly pale from the efforts of psionic drain. The food bowl the slaves left for her was still on the table, untouched. She remembered it had been days she had not eaten, and her body was growing weak. But such was the cost to train the mind for perfection.
As her hands reached for the bowl, she felt her curiosity peaking as to what secrets her brother’s mind held in secret. Was there any dirty secret behind the display of harmony on the surface? Or maybe ambitious thoughts that he never shared with anyone?
She shook her head in disbelief at what she was thinking then, her cheeks flushing red. Her hand left the bowl untouched despite the prostests of her weak body. She needed to train her mind better, obviously.
* * * * * * * *
“- That was the most foolish thing I've done...today."
- Thrend Lyksae, when his wounds are being tended after an attack.
Everything will be alright.
The light was the deep red of the late afternoon sun when he woke up. The pain was gone, so were the feeling of being burned alive. He sat up in his pallet, causing the sheets to slid down and reveal his naked torso. Everything seemed so distant, and so blurry, he could not make what he was doing in his bed, yet he felt an odd sense of serenity.
Everything will be alright.
How could it be? I-.
Shhhhhh... Don't worry. Everything will be alright.
But I remember... Terrible things.
Don't worry. It is all gone now. There is nothing to worry about.
"Are you alright, Lord Templar?"
Even Itina's voice did not sound so familiar now. Yet it brought him back to his surroundings.
"Lieutenant..? What happened?" All eyes in the command tent were on him, carrying a mixture of curiosity and worry.
"You were wounded badly, my Lord. Magicks..."
She did not have to finish it; Sulach understood it all at once. The vague memory of being on the verge of death flashed in his mind and he understood how he had no trace of those wounds right now. The healing hand of the Vivadu could mend any fresh wound instantaneously, leaving no scars for the eye to see. Yet, unseen to the eye there would be drawbacks. For the body would not understand the works of magick and would still assume the wounds exist. Such a conflict with the body and supernatural would often lead to sudden mood shifts, imaginary pains, even seizures. Making decisions would be most difficult in such a state, as the mood shifts and the unnatural pains could be maddening for a normal mind.
To neutralize it, there was another magick of course, the magick that kept whispering the soft words of serenity in Sulach's mind.
With this magick at work, all of the victim's emotions would be blocked, the mind taken control by the unnatural touch of the magick. As long as the magick was active, the victim could not feel anything different than the dominating sensation of calmness. He could walk into the fire without realizing the danger or he could withstand the drawbacks of unnatural healing from a near-death experience like right now.
"What ... Exactly happened?" he asked, and they told them everything.
They told him how Tild led the final charge with ten riders to save him, and all he could do was a brisk nod. He could not even grief at the death of his beloved soldier, and he knew there was something wrong. Magicks even blocked parts of his memory, and all he could do was to sit there impassively, listening to the reports of his officers.
"Assemble the riders, we will raid the enemy for supplies" Sulach mustered the words finally when the reports were finished.
A look of surprise rippled through the faces of the officers, but they said nothing. They had reported that there was nothing left and the soldiers have been hungry all day long. Even though it was dangerous, they had no better idea to counter Sulach's mad plan. Itina and Strian finally bowed their respects and left the command tent, the rest of the officers followed their lead shortly.
Finally Sulach was alone in the command tent. He rested against the soft pillows at his back, his eyes growing glassy. He knew he would have ten different plans and the weaknesses of each by now had there not been magicks in play. Yet, he could think of none at the moment. The magicks blocked all the sense of danger or the desire to fight, he realized he could not even think rationally. He decided that he would have to call the power of Highlord to wash away the effects of Vivadu before the battle.
Late in the night, when they attacked the enemy, Sulach knew why they had put him under the false serenity of Vivadu in the first place.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 12
“-BRING IT ON MOTHERFUCKERS I WILL SKULLFUCK YOUR CHILDREN AND LAUGH AT THEIR TEARS!”
- Vash, when facing the overwhelming odds against mantis
Captain Lesk desperately tried to rally the retreating soldiers when the attack came, but there was no fruit to his efforts. Like ghosts, Sulach's men came under the cover of darkness and caught the defenders by surprise despite the increased number of guards at post. He knew they would come again, yet he could not stop them. Ever since Samil's fall in the first battle with the enemy, Sulach have taken advantage of the headless army and grew aggressive. But Lesk managed to avoid them in the daylight up to now. By destroying a few supply carts in the first day, Lesk had a special wagon to carry the command tent of the Faithful which gave the opportunity to run away from the enemy. Only at nights, a unit of cavalry would smash from one corner of the army, send them fleeing away, raid as much as they could and disappear into the cover of the night before Lesk could mobilize the Legions and strike them back. It happened four times by now, and this was the fifth.
First time it happened, he spent his entire night in the Faithful’s tent crying like a little child, unsure of how to face the soldiers in his shame. When the morning broke though, he swallowed his shame and carried the day as if nothing happened. He was more prepared for the second night assault when they came again, but then Sulach had a different plan and still managed to catch them by surprise. It was easier to accept the defeat each time after that. Perhaps it was getting used to what he could not change, and that bothered him even more than the shame he felt. What was next, handing the army to Sulach and making excuses?
No, there was no room for cowardice, no living with the shame this time. If he dies tonight, perhaps someone better suited would be given charge to lead the army until the Faithful recovered from his wounds.
A few soldiers accompanied his bravery and he held hope that more would follow. But his hopes withered as he saw more and more of the Legions turn their backs to the enemy and flee in panic. Anger welled up in Lesk when he saw a rider of Sulach slam his spear to a fallen Tuluki soldier. He roared and broke into a charge, grabbing the soldier by the leg and pulling him down. He groaned as the soldier collapsed on top of him and took both of them down. They wrestled on the ground, blinded by the rage and the darkness that surrounded them. Lesk knew that he would probably die to the next opponent if not to this one, but it did not matter. He would take as many as he could in his fall.
“…. To me!”
Through the chaos and the cries, he heard the voice calling others. He tried to get up but his opponent held him down fast, strangling him with an iron grip. In a rekindled rage, he rolled his opponent over and came on top. With all his strength, he hammered his elbow on his opponent’s face and felt the sickening sound of breaking bones. He slammed his armored elbow again and again, until something wet splattered on his face and he felt the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.
“Rally to me!”
The voice called again and Lesk jumped to his feet from the lifeless form of his opponent. So familiar was the voice, but he tried not to grow hope. He kicked into a run, trying to reach the source of the voice before enemy lines came any closer.
“Rally to me!”
Tears blurred his vision when he saw the hunched figure leaning on his staff. The dark cover of the night made it difficult to see, but he recognized the red robe from a distance:
“Faithful is here!” he shouted and more soldiers joined him.
“Faithful is among us!”
“Protect the Faithful Lord!”
More and more soldiers rushed in and formed ranks in front of Samil and Lesk was among them, too overwhelmed to give any orders.
“Legions of the Sun King, form fours! First two rows step forth! Melee formation! Engage the enemy!” Samil’s rich voice snapped the orders.
Within seconds, the tide of the battle changed. The Allanakki riders kept smashing into the locked shields of Tuluk and were sent back again and again. It was a night assault and speed and stealth were the key factors for Sulach’s men. They were not there to hold forms and fight the enemy, they were there to hit them in sudden and send them scattered. Wearing no armor that would break their stealth and with the Tuluki lines stand like a wall in front of them, they had no chance. More Tuluki soldiers came to Samil’s call and the outcome of the battle became evident.
Sulach stared into the Tuluki lines from the top of his horse. He had seen Samil in the dim torchlight and known him even at a distance. His red cloak had swirled around him in the wind and it had been easy to picture the man’s brutal visage when he faced him in the battle. So strange it was that the mere appearance of Samil made such a huge change in the course of the battle. Such a loyalty he commanded in the Tuluki army and Sulach did not like the sound of it.
There was moment when Sulach felt Samil looking directly at him, and shivered. The wounds from his battle with Samil still troubled him when he was not under the effects of magick, despite the considerable time it passed. Time would cure them Sulach knew, but the memory would remain. Despite looking old and weak, Samil was not the kind of man he wanted to meet in battle again. He recognized his fear for him but there was no shame in being afraid. Even though he would have to retreat that night, he would win the war. Tonight’s battle did not mean much after all, not for Sulach. He had already raided the enemy supplies enough to sustain his army for more than a week’s time ahead, what he had been doing over the last two nights’ assaults was to break the enemy’s morale. By showing them defeat every night, he was crushing their resolve. After all, winning a fight did not take to kill every single soldier, but to take away their will to fight. And Sulach realized as he watched Samil’s effect on his soldiers, that to take away the enemy’s will to fight, he had to eliminate Samil.
Sulach had to retreat that night and Samil did not pursue.
* * * * * * * *
“He has accepted his fate, and so must I. It is better to live a short time within His Radiance than a lifetime away from His Light.”
- Elithan Winrothol, before an execution
Late in the same night, Captain Lesk and Samil were alone in the command tent. The stale air carried a visible tension as Samil sat on his pallet wordlessly for what Lesk felt like ages long.
“What happened to my Legions, Captain?” spoke Samil at last. His voice was weaker than how it was in the battlefield, and so was his posture. When alone, the effects of his wounds were much visible in the candle light.
“Faithful Lord, I –“ Captain started as he stood, but then he stopped to clear his voice and his mind.
“Sir, it is my mistake. There is no excuse for it, perhaps I am not fit for the command” he spoke clearly. Relieved that he finally could muster the words, but Samil was not listening.
“They ran like cowards,” Samil spoke, more to himself and the empty air than to the Captain standing in attendance. Lesk could only bow his head in shame.
“I ordered them to drop their banner after the fight was over. Sulach already has their honor, he could as well take their banner” Samil continued, and Lesk felt his cheeks flush. So humiliating to leave the banner, it could very well mean that Samil did not care whether or not those units were all completely dead and gone.
“Sir, I would take any punishment for my incompetence” Lesk spoke, his head bowed low. He did not dare to look at the Faithful in the eye, fearing that his legs would give away their strength at humiliation.
“Raise your head, Captain!” Samil’s voice was sharp enough to make Lesk obey at once.
“There will be punishment of course. And yours is not so easy to step aside from the command.” Samil went on. His next words explained how the cowards would be punished, and Lesk’s face went pale as he listened.
Lesk stood with all the commanding officers in the dim light of Lirathu, the soldiers of the Second Battalion disarmed and lined up in front of their tents. All the voices of the camp died when the Second Battalion was called out of their beds.
“Begin” Lesk gave the order; his voice was cold as the desert night.
Two sergeants moved forward, but the third shook visibly, exchanging glances between his men and Captain Lesk:
“Sir… But they are our soldiers. It is not right” he spoke weakly.
“Stand still!” Lesk snapped, “Lieutenant, come to me!”
Sergeant shook his head in terror as he saw his lieutenant approaching to Lesk:
“I am sorry sir, I only meant…”
But Lesk was not listening to him:
“Lieutenant, this man disobeyed my orders. He will join the selected.” Lesk spoke clearly for everyone in attendance to hear.
The sergeant attempted to protest but the lieutenant struck his gauntleted fist down on him before he could add anymore shame he had brought to his command. Two more of his crushing punches and the dazed sergeant fell on his knees. They disarmed him quickly and dragged him away from the line of soldiers.
The rest of the draft went uneventful, sergeants counted the men and one out of every five was drawn out. When counting the men in Second Battalion was done, the selected was dragged away and the rest were sent back inside. Though, the night did not pass easily for anyone. Those who were left behind knew they would never see again the ones taken away. And they were shaking in terror when the commanding officers returned, calling another Battalion out of their tents.
It carried on all night long.
* * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 13
“- It is easy to grow hope, warrior, when your lover is in your arms, with your booze leaving the bitter taste and the smoke of your spice filling your lungs. It is easy to grow hope when your stomach is full and your tongue wet. It is easy to grow hope when you face your opponent in your battle and you stand strong. But when you miss your lover’s good bye kiss and there is nothing to wash it down; when hunger craves your insides and your mouth runs dry; when your sword breaks down and your opponent gashes open your brows, does your hope die warrior?
No, that is when you are truly alive.”
- Gin of the Alleys, and Ough the mul.
Lesk dropped on his haunches in front of Samil’s tent by the end of the night, Allanakki and the Tuluki bloods mingled in his armor. There was less than an hour of time left when they were finished executing the men, and he felt all his strength was finally leaving him. He dropped on the ground, trying to clear up the events of the night from his mind. From all the units who fled before Sulach in the night assaults, they picked one out of every five soldier.
And then they killed them. As a ranking officer he had killed many before. But killing another Tuluki soldier, and more importantly the way they killed them would haunt him for a long time.
Each battalion’s selected group was brought separately, disarmed and unarmored so that if a group attempts to resist, there would not be any complications. Then all the officers of the Legions attacked them unarmed, punching and kicking until they all died. Killing them without the use of any weapons in such a way took longer, cries and painful pleads of the dying men carried on for a long time. One of the men even said “I am sorry” and started to cry like a child before the officers launched on them. Each group was drawn away like this one by one. After the second group, the officers were all speechless in horror, and they worked in silence until the end. It ended about an hour to the day break, and Lesk sent them all to get some rest before dawn. They would not be able to sleep, he thought as much, but just like him they needed sometime alone.
Lesk dug his hands into the ground and clawed the desert sands in his silent weeping. It was coldest in the desert right before the sunrise, but he felt none of it. Tears were burning his eyes and he felt a weight down his throat that he could not swallow. This is what it takes to lead, he thought to himself.
He sat there in front of Samil’s tent, unsure of the time that passed. Approaching steps made him jump to his feet and he stood in attendance as the Faithful opened the flap of the tent and walked out to the morning sun. He stood before Lesk, eyeing him against the crimson dawn expectantly. But there was no strength left in Lesk to greet the Faithful properly. He bit his lower lip to stop them from quivering and looked straight past the Faithful, unable to meet him in the eye. He expected to be struck down for his weakness and steadied himself for the blow, but it did not come. Instead Samil patted him on the shoulder in a gesture of understanding and Lesk tried hard not to collapse at his feet.
The camp started to come alive with the waking soldiers and Lesk straightened in his posture, reminding himself that he is still the Captain of the Legions. There was no room for a show of weakness he reminded to himself and joined among the soldiers to break the camp.
Before the hour past, all the soldiers were brought to attendance and Samil rode in front of them, staring them down from atop his horse.
“Sun King’s Legions! My warriors!” he shouted and his gaze wandered through the ranks of soldiers. The legionnaires disgraced him. They knew it, and kept their heads bowed in private misery. Even their ranks seemed chaotic as each one found their among others without looking at the rank formations.
“Last night was the closest thing to disaster that I have ever seen. I have never seen a Legion turn their back to the enemy and leave their commanders in the field. Never before, a soldier ran past me when I called them to form ranks before me!”
From the top of his mount he could see all of the gathered soldiers. They stared down without daring to look at him, but he saw some of them shaking with humiliation as if he were a father lecturing repentant children. He shook his head and stared ahead for a time:
“Legions! The enemy we are facing is not a group of halfling. It is not a band of marauders hunting down helpless tribals! No! The enemy we have now is the worst ever seen! They have never seen the face of defeat before! And we knew this before we took our ride from the Ivory.”
“We knew what we were against before we left our beloved walls” he shouted, riding his horse up and down in front of the ranks. “I tell you now my warriors, if there is anyone who believes that we can not beat this enemy, I ask them to step forth!”
All heads were suddenly lifted up; all the soldiers looked at Samil directly. The traces of shame seemed to vanish as they gazed up at him.
“I ask anyone who believes that this enemy can not be beaten, to step forth!" Samil repeated louder. "They will be given the month’s payment and the next, and they will be sent back to the city!” Samil shouted and his gaze wandered on each soldier as he stood.
“I do not want a soldier in my ranks who do not believe in their comrades! There are thousands and thousands of soldiers among the Legions. But you are the ones that I chose to march with me!” He shouted and a cheer started to light in the eyes of the Legions.
“What an honor we are chosen to fight the greatest enemy of all!” Samil’s finger was pointing toward where Sulach’s men retreated a night before as he spoke: “That we are given the chance to achieve the greatest valor in the Sun King’s ranks!
“Soldiers!“ his voice dropped low as he regarded them all. “Some of the battalions that were yesterday are no more. I can not give back your history, but I can offer you a new start. Today we start a new day. As you will be briefed, the members of the disbanded Legions will join the ranks of the others. Legions! Do not hold your brothers and sisters with shame! We will not remember those running from the enemy, but we will remember them holding ranks as I called them to rally to me! Remember that they are your brothers in arm now! We left Legion banners last night! When we next meet them in battle, we will fight to get their banners and your honor with them!” The soldiers seemed to straighten their postures as Samil spoke, some of them lifted their heads high, a new light of determination in their eyes.
“Look around you now. Look at the faces of the men and women around you! Remember those faces, for there will come a day when you will tell tales of your fight against the Witch Templar Sulach, and you will tell who else was with you in that glorious battle!”
“Soldiers, we are all professionals. Shall we cut these amateur bastards to pieces?”
A loud cheer erupted from the ranks of the soldiers, swords and shields were clashed together and their mouths bellowed in applaud. Samil’s heart lifted with pride.
The camp was broken and they marched away in the morning sun.
CHAPTER 10
“As mortals, we have a barrier
in the level of power we can wield. No
matter what we try, with magick or psionics or by completely mundane means,
sooner or later we will hit the wall and there is no trivial way to pass this
wall. For perhaps this is a...
Continue Reading...The Warriors of Faith: Part II: "Before the Storm"
Added on Feb 26, 2008The armies prepare for the battle, and the politics of the cities take a new shape
CHAPTER 6
“ – He is not a friend…
… He is the enemy in disguise.”
-
My dearest Ka’Tryn,
Days followed nights, and time flew away. It has only been two weeks that tore us apart, but it feels like years have gone between us. I thank the Highlord every night for your still-fresh memory to keep me company in these desolate lands.
I have been pulled in a trap, my love. For days I have been running with Samil at my back. For days my men have been marching, and the way home is closed to us; our enemy is strong.
I require assistance from the War Ministry, my love. I need another armed force to circle around my enemy’s rear, which will quickly lead us into a decisive victory. However, as a blue robe, I have already been trusted with more than enough soldiers under my command. For even more units, the procedure will take too long to carry on. That kind of time, I do not have.
My love, I need you to write a letter for me to the War Ministry, and use your Family’s influence to draw a few hundred soldiers from the Ministry and have them sent along the Shield Wall to strike the enemy from behind. The maps I am sending you with this letter clearly indicate the position of the enemy units, and their possible routes over the next two days. A commanding officer would understand what is expected of him from those maps. If they agree to send the force, this battle will end quickly, and we will be together once again. Please do this for me, my love, for I miss you so much.
Walk in His shadow.
I love you, with all my heart.
Sulach Tor of the War Ministry
Lord Cadra Borsail rolled the written parchment in his meaty hands, a pleasant smile curling up on his lips. He was glad to hire a servant specifically tasked to watch Ka’Tryn’s letters. A bold move it was, and finally it produced fruit. He crossed the spacious room, carrying his substantial body to the window where he could watch the beautiful colors of the garden stretching out to the rest of the estate. The view was relaxing in nature.
Ever since Sulach had marched out for his campaign, everything worked for the success of Lord Cadra. He was quick to catch the attention of a Senator of his House by throwing a party in the man’s name. Pretty soon, his relationship with the Senator got very close; he was attending his meetings, helping him arrange social events, rallying his own servants for his course, working with nobles of other Houses to collect votes for the said Senator. His knowledge and experience with the politics of the city expanded so much in a very short time, even he was surprised.
His meaty cheeks were pulled back, revealing a childish smile. He tore his gaze away from the garden and began to walk toward the hearth. More work would have to follow. He would host another Senator tomorrow in the Estate and he would use all he could to try and manipulate the senator into passing a vote in his favor. If he failed, it would not be a loss for him, but for the current Senator of Borsail. But if he succeeded…
His smile broadened as he stood near the hearth, staring at the dancing light with hypnotized eyes. In the end this was all a game for him, at least for now. Until he became comfortable in the political schemes and made his name heard in the Senate Halls, it would remain as a game. The real politics would start after that moment.
His eyes focused on the firelight, as he woke from his daydreams. His game was going very well and it should not be disturbed, and that meant Sulach would have to stay out of his way. Even if it meant the downfall of Sulach and a few hundred soldiers, the success Cadra could accomplish in the long run would easily pale this minor loss. He threw the crumpled parchment into the hearth and let the flames catch it with an insatiable hunger. The parchment shriveled and wrinkled, the ink marks leaving dark spots in the firelight.
When the last ink mark shriveled and died in the fire, a relief washed over Cadra. He quickly called the slaves for refreshments, and let his mind wander on the taste of the afternoon dessert.
* * * * * * * * * *
“We cannot keep avoiding them forever, my Lord. The soldiers are beginning to question why we have been changing routes so very often, and why we have not met the gith army after all that marching,” Lieutenant Strian spoke, his voice high to overcome the wail of the wind outside. A sandstorm was raging in the desert, sending ripples over the tightly-secured interior walls of the tent. The commanding officers were silent around the map table, their gazes appearing sullen after the weariness of the day.
Sulach pressed his fists on the map table, his brows wrinkling as he weighed Strian’s words. He had kept the news of the Tuluki force a secret from the rest of the army to this moment, for fear that if the soldiers learn the grave mistake of the scouts they would lose their trust on each other. Each soldier in the army trusted their life to the other. If they heard of a weakness among them, it would morale would drop and cripple their will to fight. Sulach could not allow that to happen.
He knew he had to fight the Tuluki force, and he knew he had to break the news of the enemy to his soldiers... but not yet. He wanted a reply his letter to Ka’Tryn and to how the War Ministry responded before giving the news to his army. He could not use the Way and ask about it. When the subject was Tuluk, use of the Way would only mean giving all his plans to Samil on a silver plate. The only option he had was to wait, and wait he did.
Two days passed like that. This was the third day, and his officers were getting as restless as the rest of his army.
“What about the supplies?” he asked.
“Very low my Lord. We probably have three days’ food and drink on the carts, give or take,” Itina said shortly. Then she added after a momentary thought: “The enemy was moving toward the supply routes. If that is their goal, these might very well be our last supplies.”
Sulach released a heavy sigh, but the cries of the storm quickly drowned his voice. His options were getting thinne, but he had to wait. The only way to victory was hitting the enemy from the rear as he pressed from the front. And for that, he needed Ka’Tryn’s help. Why did he not hear from her still? She would do what he asked. She had Sulach’s full trust on that, but he was running out of time. Perhaps he had to write another letter and put pressure on the time.
Sulach lifted his gaze to look at the officers gathered around the map table. All eyes were on him, waiting for any command he would give them.
“Drop the rations given to the soldiers to half. We will wait for a word from Allanak for two more days. We will decide after that,” he spoke finally. The officers did not seem overly happy about his decision, but they did not speak on it. The final word belonged to Sulach and they would comply, whether they liked it or not.
The commanding officers left the tent shortly, leaving Sulach alone in the trembling candlelight. He sat down at the table, pulled over a parchment and quill, and started writing another letter to Ka’Tryn.
* * * * * * * * * *
“- They have pieces of the puzzle, but only hazily see the whole picture.
- Then I would safely say very few know as much as we, Brother.”
- Serilla Uaptal and Elithan Winrothol, Templars of Tuluk.
“They are not using the Way anymore,” said Neodyn through the unseen Way.
“Then he is aware of my presence,” replied Samil’s clear thoughts. “No more games then, I will close in and engage him as soon as possible.”
“Most likely,” replied the frail mental image of the Lirathan in Samil’s mind. “Still, it does not mean we should drop all other plans. We can still plant our men into the vile city as we discussed before.”
“Why, yes. We can. I assigned the Lyksaen warriors that my
“Speaking of which, your
“Send him my regards, and tell him that his warriors are the best I have seen,” Samil sent his thoughts. In truth, it was a basic way of thanking the noble blood for his aid rather than a compliment. Lyksae trained the most elite warriors; twenty of them would make a difference.
“Thank you, Faithful Sister,” Samil finished.
“His radiance guide you, Brother,” Neodyn replied, before slipping from his thoughts.
Samil sat alone on his pallet for a few minutes, mulling the recent news. He had Sulach cornered by closing the way back. The Lyksaen warriors could easily take care of his supply routes as well, and thus force Sulach into a pitched battle. Considering he had the greater numbers and fresh Legions, along with abundant supplies, he was confident of the outcome of such a battle. Not to mention he would also have his own men in Allanak once the supply route was broken.
He lay down on the pallet, taking a deep, relaxing breath. The morning was still a few hours away, and his mind was weary from meditation and the drain of the psionic contact.
The day would dawn to the march of the Legions.
* * * * * * * * * *
“- Well, fuck, you did it already? I'd figured you're wack off a bit before finishing it”
- Marin of the Guild
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion…
The same phrase repeated over and over in her head. Everything had been dark… for how long? Was there ever a light? Did she ever look at the skies?
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of the Dragon, reporting for duty.
A sharp headache was calling her back from sleep, pushing away the dream world and reminding her of the physical senses. She did not want to wake up though, it was too painful to wake up. The headache alone was unbearable, not to mention all those wounds from arrows and spears, turning her body into a bloody mess. Sleep was taking her pain away; sleep was comfortable.
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of the Dragon, reporting for duty.
How did she fall into this? How did the lights go away, and the pain take over? How did she feel her life slipping away, and the pain driving her towards insanity before unconsciousness came to her rescue?
It was her first mission as a Corporal to escort the supply carts to Lord Templar Sulach Tor, who was supposed to be fighting gith. The routes had been planned carefully, as they always were. The gith numbers were so few that the Corporal and her unit would not even be needed. But such were the protocols. The slaves could not defend themselves against the threats of the desert, were there a random group of raiders or a beast sneaking upon them. Her unit would scare away such raiders and could defend against the occasional beasts lurking in the dunes. The supply carts would be delivered in no time.
But it did not go so well.
The ambush started so fast and was so deadly, nobody understood what hit them. Suddenly arrows and spears rained out of nowhere, slaughtering many in a bloody confusion. Shields were pulled up at the Corporal’s order to stop the bloody rain of death, but then the sands around them sprayed up in a blinding shower, throwing up more ambushers within melee range in their wake. In seconds, they cut through the prone unit, dropping down so many with brutal efficiency. The Corporal’s order was cut off in the middle as a spear caught her full in the chest, and a sword slashed across her groin. Then her attacker passed by her, moving to his next target. Instinctively she dropped her hands on her wound, as if trying to prevent her guts from spilling out.
She saw another volley of arrows and spears taking flight and she heard the thunder of galloping cavalry charging on her men, followed shortly by the screams and the cries of the dying men. She knew she would not survive this. Her opponent was so strong. They were almost like… They almost reminded her of…
Corporal Xides of the Jade Teeth, quartermaster of the second battalion of the Arm of the Dragon, reporting for duty.
The same voice repeated over and over in her head… Disturbing her sleep.
Corporal Xides…
Powerful hands were shaking her and she realized the sleep could no longer protect her. She opened her eyes, trying not to flinch at the overwhelming pain awakening inside of her, and the rush of light that burned her eyes.
Crimson and grey was her opponent, his attire carrying not a bit of blood or sand from the deadly desert. How could anything be so untouched by the misery of such a crimson afternoon?
“Tell me your name and your unit, soldier!” The powerful hands shook her again, causing a ripple of pain to pass over her expression.
“Corporal…Xides… Of the Ja - de Teeth…”
The fight scene was running in her head again and again. Such a good coordination, discipline, skill… They were almost like… Almost like…
“… quartermas-.. ter… of the second battalion…”
They fight almost like Tor Scorpions.
“Die miserably.”
A knife slashed across her throat, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake, and then her killer dropped her carelessly. She tried to talk, but the words died in her throat with a sickening gurgle. She felt the precious blood pouring out, leaving her weaker and weaker with each heartbeat. She could not help but to shake violently, causing the blood to spray and paint the golden sands in a chaotic splash of crimson stain.
Her eyes moved to the sides, looking past the hands that killed her. She could see clearly now, that there were only about ten to twenty attackers that created such a field of death.
No!
She could not be beaten by a handful of men like this! She was of the Arm of the Dragon; she could not die like this!
Her hands clawed the sands as if to hold tight to the life and fight against the grasp of death.
And she stayed like that.
“The mission was successful, Faithful Lord. The caravan is neutralized,” reported the Lyksaen warrior through the unseen Way, as the last ragged breathes of the Corporal died away. All around him were piles of bodies, lying in a lifeless mimicry of the chaotic battle that had happened moments ago.
“Excellent, Mtakr. Any casualties among your men?” Samil’s mind responded him shortly.
“None, Faithful Lord.”
“You truly live to the fame of House Lyksae, Enit.” Samil honored the warrior by calling him by his name.
“I do my duty for the Ivory and the Faithful,” replied the warrior in the traditional way.
Samil’s thoughts were colored with approval and pleasantness: “Keep the carts secure now. In about an hour, my men will come to take the carts from your hands. After that, make sure the corpses of the vile
“Yes sir,” Enit replied affirmatively.
“Once it is done, continue your patrol on the supply routes. No supply carts should pass to the enemy, Mtakr.”
“None will pass, sir.”
“Excellent. I will call you by my side before I engage the enemy, and we will rejoice with the glory then.”
“As you please, Faithful Lord.”
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 7
“ - Look at my son! Is not he cute?
- I can snap his neck with two fingers.
- And I can remove your balls and stuff them down your throat.
- Good point”
- Gin of the Alleys, and Inrof
Meleth’s Circle was overcrowded. The music and the noise of the Fale party were over now, but the commoners still stood outside the Arboretum. Some old and crippled, some harboring a child, some supporting a loved one, their bony fingers intertwined in a desperate gesture of love, were all standing there weak and battered under the scorching sun, hoping that they would be spared with the leftovers. The party was over now and the Highborn were making their way out of the Arboretum.
Lord Templar Risac Valika was one of the first to leave the party. He was not surprised to be greeted by the mass of the commoners, but he was not expecting the circle of soldiers in tight formation to hold the people out. He approached the ranking officer, who was standing several feet away from the curtain that separated the Arboretum from the Meleth’s Circle.
“Sergeant,” Risac called as he walked over and dropped a bored nod of acknowledgement at the sergeant’s respectful bow. “What is this about?” He gestured at he commoners pressing their bodies against the soldiers.
“Sir, the people are starving.”
Risac nodded grimly. It was a time of famine and both the water and flour prices had raised over the last week, leaving many people struggling desperately on the verge of starvation.
“I see. We are going through difficult times. It is a shame to see our own people suffer like this,” he said bitterly. The Sergeant could see genuine concern on the templar’s face.
“Still,” Templar Risac added, taking a deep breath, “we cannot let them disturb the noble-born. Make sure your men keep them away until the nobility departs, then we will see what we can do for our people.”
Sergeant nodded sharply: “Right away, sir.”
“It was a pleasant party, was it not Lord Templar?” called Lord Cadra as he passed through the curtain and walked out to the bustling noise of the Meleth’s.
“It certainly was, Lord Borsail,” replied Templar Risac.
“We did not have much chance to talk in the party,” continued Lord Cadra as he approached to the templar in blue, two guards wearing the crimson of Borsail stepping to his flanks immediately. “I hope all is well?”
Risac spared a glance at the soldiers trying to hold the commoners away from the Arboretum. Although it seemed to be a small commotion, he noted it would be better to have more soldiers ready in these times. Too late for now, but perhaps for the next meeting in Arboretum.
“The famine is breaking our citizens, which concerns me. Other than that, all is well. And you?”
“Oh I am fine, thank you for asking,” Cadra replied, wearing a genuine broad smile. “Is there any word from my old friend Sulach? I have not heard from him ever since he headed for the gith campaign.”
“I did not know you were so close to him, Lord Borsail,” smirked Risac playfully. Then he added: “No, actually there is not much news. The slaves that brought back the supply carts say he has not engaged the gith yet. I assume he does not want to say a word without meeting the enemy.”
Cadra Borsail had a difficult time disguising his surprise. Supply carts being brought back? Slaves reporting about not meeting gith?
A loud noise erupted from the crowd as several people tried to break the soldiers’ block to come closer to Arboretum. They were begging loudly as they clawed their way against the adamant posture of the soldiers. Templar Risac shook his head as he watched the commotion. It was a pain to see his people so desperate and weak, and he prayed to the Highlord that no outbreak would occur that day.
Cadra was lost in thoughts however. He had intercepted all of Sulach’s letters to Ka’Tryn and to the War Ministry over the last week. In every one, he mentioned the supply chains having been broken. The fact that Risac saying the supply carts returning safely could only mean…
The soldiers were having a hard time holding the crowds back. Risac was pressing his fingertips to his temple, probably requesting a unit to back up the soldiers.
“Your job is not easy at all, dear friend,” said Cadra, forcing a smile. Ideas were rushing through his mind. Daring ideas, dangerous ideas…
Risac said something as a reply, but Cadra did not hear it. He was too far into his own thoughts. Learning that Samil planted his own men like slaves of Allanak, and that only Cadra himself had knowledge of this, were the best pieces of news he had heard in a while. So many possibilities were running through his mind.
“Ah, dear! Were you waiting for me?” called a female voice beside Cadra, and he felt gentle gloved hands hooking around his arm. Turning over, he was looking directly at Lady Ansche Fale, her fluffy purple silk dress brushing against his cloak.
Anger was spinning in Cadra’s thoughts as he saw her, but he knew better than to jerk off his arm. Instead, he flashed a smile:
“Lady Fale, it was such a beautiful party,” he continued. His smile was growing as he placed his hand on hers, her purple silk gloves soft to his touch.
Ansche Fale flashed back warmly, leaning close to him. Her perfume was masking the stench of the commons. “I am glad you enjoyed it, dear.”
Cadra tried hard to keep a straight face. Lady Fale, among all the nobility, had so far proved to be the biggest thorn he had. Quite manipulative in nature, she was in this game much earlier. She was successfully undoing all his efforts to collect supporters for the Senator. Knowing how she had been, Cadra finally decided to convince her to his side first, and then decide what next to do.
“Our little talk has been due for quite some time, Lady. Would you like to come with me to the Trader’s?” Cadra spoke gently, his smile was warm and inviting.
“How lovely of you, dear. Indeed, we should talk”.
Her hand hooked around the crook of his arm, Cadra began to escort her when the crowds broke into another uprising. This time the force pushing through was not as strong, but still a woman clawed and kicked her way through the ring of soldiers. A baby in her arms, the fragile frame of the woman stood confused for a moment, not sure what to do next. But then, she threw herself in front of Cadra and Ansche, and her eyes were teary and pleading:
“Please my Lord, my Lady… Please… My baby is dying. Please, just a little water?”
Ansche on his arm, Lord Cadra stopped in his steps, looking directly at the crying woman: Bony figure, skin tanned and dried from exposure to the Suk-krath, she seemed no older than mid twenties, the baby in her arms no more than a month. Helping this woman would bring the rest of the crowds begging. On the other hand, it was not Cadra’s authority to discipline this woman. Even considering punishment for something this simple would mean that his time and mind would become occupied with things as worthless as a simple commoner; a shame to his noble blood. Yet the woman was there, in front of his path:
“That is enough!” boomed Templar Risac’s voice. “Soldiers, make room for the nobility!”
“Weapons ready!” Sergeant Vorag commanded to his soldiers, who stepped back from the press of the commoners and drew their weapons. “Advance!” he ordered, and he broke into a charge toward the fragile form of the woman. His first sword swing killed the baby, his second finished the woman off.
Chaos erupted through the the Circle as the soldiers cut through the commoners mercilessly. Each swing of a blade dropping another, soldiers killed their own citizens without hesitation. The commoners, who were trying to push their way through moments ago, were now tripping over each other in their haste to run away from the advancing soldiers; the ones left behind butchered without discrimination. They could provide little resistance against the armed and trained soldiers before being cut down. Blood and gore spilled on the streets, painting the paving stones in a dark crimson.
"Stand your ground!" the Sergeant shouted when the soldiers were spread wide enough. "Stand your ground!" he repeated, and the advancing soldiers stopped abruptly, their blades coated in crimson blood.
Another unit of militia was jogging through the streets, making their way to report to Templar Risac, who barely nodded and gestured for them to join the forces that were holding the commoners back, though it was no longer necessary. Due to the brutal repression of the armed forces, the commoners were still afraid to come any close to the circle of soldiers.
"I am afraid this has delayed your leave," Templar Risac told Lord Cadra and Lady Ansche apologetically.
"Ah, it is no problem, Lord Templar," replied Cadra, "our time is a fine price to do the Highlord's bidding."
"My apologies, still," Risac countered.
Slaves poured barrels of dry sand over the sticky blood, making a
clear path for the nobles, though there was nothing to be done for the reek of gore and open bowels that hung heavy in the open air.As the nobility were leaving, Risac noticed several unfortunate commoners dropping to their knees, trying to drink from the blood on the ground to quench their thirst. He felt his heart ache at the sight, and prayed to the Highlord for these dark times to be over soon.
* * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 8
"- Hey... Farran... if we all die t'gith... tha's alright. No... m'serious... in th'end... what's it matter?"
- Agent Horus-da Kurac, experiencing a thodeliv-fueled revelation.
The two days of time given was over. There was no response to the letters, not even the latest ones he sent. The supply chain was broken; the very few rations left were the last for the Allanaki force. Little was said in the morning meeting with his officers. Their woeful expressions spoke volumes. Sulach felt his heart sinking.
From the back of his mount, he looked down at the great expanse of his soldiers. His mind wandered back to the last two weeks and the pride he felt at the sight of his great force, the promises of the glory in eliminating the raids. He would be named “the Conqueror”. Already his name was spoken with respect even among the other blue robes. The tales of his victories against the overwhelming gith numbers, against all odds, were well received. But now he was here, in front of the very soldiers, unable to decide how to start. “I am the Conqueror,” he whispered to himself, but the words failed to cheer him as they once did.
“Soldiers! Men of the Arm of the Dragon! My followers!” he started, taking a deep breath. “Two weeks ago, we left our hearts at home and stepped into these desolate lands. We all did this for the same reason.” He let his words sink in.
“For Allanak!” he shouted and the soldiers gave a cheer, lifting their swords in salute.
“But today, we are facing an enemy we did not think we would find. An enemy we have had all the time, though we did not come out here to fight them. Not this time, not in this war.”
The soldiers were silent as Sulach rode his horse up and down in front of the gathered units. “Today, Allanak is too far away. Highlord knows, if we die today, they will not hear it for days.”
“Soldiers! We will meet this enemy! We will fight them! But I will not ask you to fight for Allanak this time!” Confusion could be read on the soldiers’ faces as they looked directly at Sulach. Sulach merely looked back, his eyes moving from face to face.
“I will not ask you to fight for Allanak!” he repeated. “What does Allanak know of us here? What does the Senate understand of what we are? The merchants in their houses, the slaves, the commoners and the whores have not been with us in our battles. When I think of Allanak, I can think of the city that has been standing for ages, and will stand for ages more. But my warriors are those that I see before me now!”
The words sank easily among the soldiers. He knew them for what they are, and he could see the thin cheers as they gazed up at him.
“I will not ask you to fight for Allanak this time! This time, fight for me!” he said, and they lifted their heads higher to hear him. He swept a hand to the southern horizon in a vague gesture to point toward the enemy’s direction:
“What an honor that our enemy came in greater numbers. They know our strength, my warriors! They know we are unbreakable in spirit! If I could change places today, and be one among them, I would fear you! I would be terrified! For they are not us! The infidels, the barbarians they are, my warriors, they are nothing like us! When our hearts and arms are tired, we go on! When our stomachs are empty and mouths dry, we go on!”
He smiled upon the soldiers, pleased to see all of their heads high and spirits lifted:
“The enemy closed in to draw our blood! Let us show them how the Allanakki fight!”
A loud cheer erupted from the gathered soldiers, drowning Sulach’s last words. Swords were rapped together, whistles, cheers, cries rose from the crowds, and Sulach’s name rang repeatedly in the noise.
Sulach was pleased. Once more he felt the excitement of the battle rising within him. Let Samil come now, and fight me when I lead such brave soldiers. His heart lifted with pride, and he ordered them to move out. The enemy was within a day’s march.
“Faithful Lord, that black wave –“ started the captain Lesk of the legions.
“Allanaki force,” Samil cut in shortly.
“Should we move in and engage them, then?”
Samil stared at the afternoon horizons for a moment, then to the enemy force a few leagues distant. “First we need to rest.”
* * * * * * * * * *
" - Reila. A fine name, eh? I'm Lassan. Lassan Dito. This is me partner, Azhaj. We both deadly with swords, an' amazin' with cocks."
- Lassan Dito and Azhaj, Partners in Debauchery
The night fell as Suk Krath gathered its light and departed to the west. Both moons were high in the sky, their red and white glow spilling to the sands and illuminating the landscape dimly. A clear mixture of sounds was giving life to the night in the Tuluki camp, as bards played their instruments and the rest of the army joined them with applaud and cheering. The campfires were hosting the dancing contests as soldiers pulled forth their ability to follow and accompany the music with aesthetic moves. The songs would end, the cheer and clapping on hands would rise for the dancers, and the new song would begin with a different tone, sometimes faster, sometimes challengingly slow, sometimes in sudden changes requiring the dancer to guess the follow of the music to adjust properly. It was as much a display of playing the music as it was a display of its seduction.
Captain Lesk watched the dancers as the rest of his soldiers did for a while, leaving all the worries of battle in the shifting light of the campfires. Such moments always gave him a feeling of strengthening the bond between the soldiers. As the dancing contests came to an end and Kruth decks changed hands, Lesk realized the passage of time. The duties of his role as commander in the army called him once more. With the rest of the commanding officers, he made it to the Faithful’s tent, only to find him sitting in the map table covered in thin loose garment.
They all dipped their heads in greeting, and Samil returned their gesture. Lesk was the first to break the silence:
“No disturbance, Faithful Lord. Looks like they will not try their chance under the cover of the night.”
Samil merely nodded, lifting his stone cup to take a swallow of clear water.
“Understandable. Fighting in the dark is tricky, it brings risk on both parties involved,” he said. “And probably, he is also as curious of tomorrow’s battle as we are. If he attacks at night, he will never find out if he would win or lose against the odds.” Samil wiped his mouth.
Lesk was as confused as the rest of the officers. He did not quite understand. Curious of the battle? Perhaps that is what it meant to be the messenger of a God-King, and to wield the power of life and death over the masses. That perhaps, such measures in hundreds of deaths may sometimes look like a game.
“Is there anything you require us to do, Faithful Lord? Perhaps a battle plan?”
Samil was already shaking his head before Lesk could finish.
“No. I intend to let Sulach make the planning, and I will counter him. We hold the upper hand here and rushing things could bring risk.” He started to wave his hand dismissively. “You may return to your units. Enjoy the night, and have a good rest. Tomorrow before the dawn, we will be facing the enemy.”
The commanding officers all nodded and departed from the command tent. The chatter and the noise outside were significantly lower, as the new game was about concealing the emotions, and reading the other players’ faces. Players seemed to be lost in the card games and the observers only watched in awe, trying to distinguish who was better in masking their intentions.
Samil rose from the map table stretching his muscles, thinking the battle was over for that night. Over forty years he was, nearly twice the age of Sulach, but still his physique was impressive. He decided to pray for the Sun-King for an hour, and then he too would need to retire for the rest of the night. For tomorrow required a rested body and mind.
The fires of the Allanaki camp were as alive as those of the Tuluki after dusk. After a few days of half rations, Sulach finally ordered for food and water to be given as much as the soldiers want, so that they would look like Allanakki when they met their enemy. Barrels of wine and ale were passed among the campfires after the meal to lift the spirits, and it was effective. Soldiers were challenged to wrestle against beasts captured from the desert during the day. Bets were placed, coins changed hands and in the end, after the beasts had been wounded or tired, they would be slaughtered and grilled over the campfires to be shared among the men. The laughter and joy could be read on the soldiers’ faces, as if they were not to die tomorrow, as if they will not lose many friends and loved ones in several hours.
As time passed and the booze left a bitter taste in the night, the laughter and cheers died as well. The lingering campfires were playing tricks of light on their cold faces when Tild approached to the largest of the groups.
He dropped to his haunches, nearly spilling his ale over a soldier. Chuckling as he slapped the soldier on the shoulder, he lifted his cup in salute. The rest of the soldiers did not share his cheerful manner, at least not as much as he did.
“What is up, soldiers? You are not going to tell me you missed your moms?” Tild started again, his voice still cheerful, untouched by the gloom of his company.
“Some of us are worried, Lieu… I mean, Tild,” the soldier replied. Ever since Tild had been demoted to the rank of private due to the mistake of his subordinates, some soldiers were having a hard time adjusting his new rank.
“Worried?” Tild’s eyes were wandering from face to face now. “Worried about what? Fighting?” The soldiers were shaking their heads in protest, but Tild ignored them. “If you are scared of fighting, I think you made a major mistake in choosing your jobs, fellas.”
“No!” one of them broke in. “We are not scared of fighting, Tild. But look at this.” The soldier’s hand was stretched to the distant glows of the enemy fires. “Word says we are outnumbered. And you know how we have not been given much food lately. It is obvious we are running out of basic supplies.”
Tild licked his lips, tasting again the leftovers of the ale. He looked at the soldiers once more, and saw all eyes were on him. He nodded then, putting down his cup on the ground.
“So, fellas” he began, raising his voice enough to be carried through the campfire, and even to the nearby groups. “How long have you known Lord Sulach?” He continued quickly, without waiting for a reply. “A year? Two? I know most of you have not even finished your first year.”
The soldiers were silent.
When he started again his voice was stronger, carrying no sign of his drunken delirious from moments ago: “I know him for more than five years. I have fought many times for him. My credentials speak for me” his serious expression giving in to a mischievous grin “and my outstanding rank!” a laughter erupted through the soldiers then, as someone from the darkness added “To the rank of the private!” and all the cups were lifted cheerfully, the soldiers taking a mouthful of the liquor. Tild saw clearly at that moment, that almost all of the soldiers sitting around the nearby campfires were moving closer to hear what he was saying.
“Fellas! I fought with Lord Sulach when outnumbered. I fought with him when we were surrounded! There was one time, the gith ambushed us from both front and rear ranks and outnumbering us two to one” he slowed down then, letting the words sink into the soldiers. His voice was clear and loud when he started again: “But we always won. That man” his finger was pointing towards the command tent standing tall and wide in the darkness, “That Lord Templar Sulach, knows how to fight. He knows how to win. As a soldier, all I had to do was to follow his orders and think no further than my duties. And I am here today.”
All heads seemed to nod in silent understanding, but Tild was not finished: “Let him do the thinking, let him do the worrying. You just do what you are told to do, and remember that you are on the winning side.”
Tild was pleased to see the change in the soldiers’ expressions. It lifted his spirits as much as it did for the soldiers’. Still he forced himself to take on a serious expression:
“Now there is another important matter” and he lifted his cup, draining all the remaining ale. He retrieved a bag of dice from his cloak, and took a set from there without looking.
“I have my eyes on a nice warbeetle for a while now” he threw the dice into his cup and begin to swirl the contents, “and you know… Funds are low.”
Laughters and chatter broke through the gathered soldiers as they were drawn into the games. Soon more games were started around the campfires; coins were exchanged and more jokes were shared.
Later in the night, Lieutenant Strian caught the sight of the former lieutenant Tild in the middle of a huge group of soldiers, playing games and sharing jokes, and shamelessly adding more coins to the already overgrown piles of obsidian as the games continued. A smile crept over Strian’s face as he stalked off into the night through the camp, then. The joyful spirits of the former lieutenant was thoroughly lightening.
* * * * * * * * * *
" - Krath in the sky, woman. You use yer tongue better'n an armless beggar lickin' water off the ground."
- Addlestone Salarr
Itina’s arm stretched to feel the warmth of manflesh, but she woke up as it only found the cold touch of the wrinkled bedsheets. She straightened up, causing the still asleep Eoni beside her shift with an unpleasant muffle. Her eyes easily spotted Sulach’s half naked form in the candle light, wrapped in white sheets at the map table, a cup of wine accompanying his troubled thoughts.
Soft steps left their naked touches on the sandy floor, carrying her in the dim light. If Sulach was aware of her approach, he showed no sign of it. Her hands were gentle as she placed them on his shoulders, massaging him in between gentle squeezes.
“The first time I was terrified of the enemy was four years ago” Sulach spoke, as Itina’s hands worked in harmony to relieve the stress from Sulach’s shoulders. “I realized then, that there is no shame in being afraid, only in action that follows it.” Itina nodded as she listened, though, Sulach could not see it. “I have seen men still holding their ground when they are shaken with fear; I have seen them suppress the pain and fight, when their guts are being spilled.”
“Are you afraid that you will die tomorrow in the battlefield, my Lord?”
Sulach shook his head:
“Death comes for all of us, today or tomorrow it makes no difference. Men live to build the future and die to make a difference.”
Her fingertips caressed his skin as she walked around him to his front. Open palms cupped his face then smoothly; they ran up his cheeks to brush his hair back. Sulach was forced to look her in the eye as she stood in front of him, the thin sheet wrapped around her barely covering the naked flesh.
“Then what is it my Lord, that wakes you up from your sleep?” Her hands brushed his hair in gentle caress, her eyes watching him with distant admiration.
“How will the future remember me?”
Itina smirked at his words then shook her head. There were not enough words of admiration for him.
“My lord”, she began, her hands moving down to the hem of the wraps enveloping Sulach’s form. “I am a living witness along with many more, that you are someone true to your ideals; someone worth dying for” she finished. Sulach barely nodded his head, then leaned on his back in the chair, his head staring at the ceiling in the dim light.
He felt Itina’s pulling away the wraps that cover his naked form. Her hands were gentle, and her lips were soft. In the silence of the dimly lit tent, he let her take away all his worries.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 9
“-You's got six words to tell me how you's gonna make dat shit square... roughin up a fucker westside when you's ain' got no colors on you's. Six motherfuckin words.. Say dem now.
- You can have all my sid!”
- Quick, after catching someone in the wrong place
The night would often make the city beautiful but not tonight, observed Sergeant Idenu.
The bustle of crowds and the city life slowly faded away as he kept walking on the street ahead. The walls by the sides of the road started to have more and more cracks and scratches, giving a painful image of nonhealed wounds. Even the ground was different here, reflecting the lifeless and cruel image of the part of the city: the Rinth.
Low life of Allanak, thought the sergeant. The idea that he was in this part of the city was insane. One year of serving as a recruit, and two years of the Wyverns, he was climbing up steadily in his career. And yet, here he was, in the Chamber pot of the Highlord, walking for a hope he would find what he is looking for before trouble finds him.
The road broke into a crude junction, an alley leading to the west, the other keeping straight to the north. A statue of a templar, arms outstretched in a greeting was on the side of the junction, one of his arms and head was missing in an attempt of insolent mockery. The red light of Jihae was spilling over the statue, as though, the templar was bleeding from various wounds and scratches. Bitter anger passed over the Sergeant as he observed the disrespect to the Highlord, but he knew better than letting his anger control him. It was not in his place to correct the fools dwelling here. The fact that this part of the city still exsisted, meant that the Highlord and the templarate did want it to exist. He shook his head in an attempt to cool his thoughts as he turned toward the alley to his west. He wanted to get done and get out of this krath forsaken place as soon as possible.
The brushing sound of cloth against cloth came from his back and he spun wildly to meet his follower. The alley was dark; too dark for the sergeant’s liking to catch someone sneaking around. In a reflexive motion, his hands drew his blades and twirled them in a skillful display:
“Come out, whoever you are and face me! I am sergeant Idenu of –“ the sergeant started to challenge, but he stopped in the middle as he heard armored boots clacking along the stone floor of the alleys. He spun wildly, taking on a defensive position, but no attack came forward.
“Your name means nothing to me” responded a male voice softly from his back.
Sergeant was staring at a towering frame of an armored man. His shield was in front and an axe was held in his other hand. A scar cutting his face diagonally in half, the man was looking with murder in his eyes. Yet this was not the man who spoke to him, the voice came from Sergeant’s back, from the shadows.
Sergeant hated being at a disadvantageous situation like this. He turned over his shoulder, trying to figure out where the source of the voice was:
“Look away from me!” the voice was not as soft this time, and the sergeant felt he had no choice but to do as he was told. He turned back to the hulking figure of a man in front of him, and tried to remain calm. With years of training, it was quite possible he could take down this towering figure of a man, but flanked by someone in his back, he did not like his odds.
“Now give me a reason why I should not beat you senseless and take away all your valuables” the soft voice spoke, and the hulking man in front of him made a grunting sound at that. “And it better be a good reason” the voice continued, “because, I really want to beat you.”
What a fucking coincidence, I want to beat you too, sergeant thought, but it was not time for being sarcastic:
“I came here on behalf of my Lord to offer business.”
“Who, and what business?” demanded the voice.
“I will only tell to the person who would do it” sergeant said adamantly.
“Say it now” the voice softly demanded again.
“No” the sergeant replied.
The sergeant was startled at the sudden movement of the gigantic man ahead of him, but he recoiled quickly:
“Come then, you cowards! I will take at least one of you down with me!” he prepared himself for a fight, as he took on a defensive posture, but the attack did not come again. “And my Lord knows I am here, and if I get missing, he will bring the drov upon you.”
“He will do no such thing” the voice responded softly. “You are not supposed to be here, sergeant, it is against the House rules. Since you came here instead of Waying your business, surely your Lord wants something that should be really really secret. And your Lord will hide the fact that he was aware of your coming here, for doing so would alert his rivals of his possible plans. He will announce that you came here against the House rules, and you will be remembered as a disgrace to the Great Borsail” continued the voice in the same soft tone. When it spoke again, a pleasant tone was accompanying the words as well, for the source of the voice had seen the conflict of the sergeant. “I have been nothing but polite to you. Do not dishonor me by trying to play smart here, sergeant.”
“My Lord .. Lord Cadra” Idenu whispered in such a low voice he was not sure if the man behind him could hear it, “He is asking if a riot could be arranged.”
“Anything can be arranged if the price is creative, sergeant” the voice replied, proving that he indeed heard it well.
“How much do you ask for it, and what name should I give him?” Idenu asked.
“I think the price should be spoken with him directly. Tell him to find my mind and give me a price proving how badly he wants it done, without giving any hints of what the price is about… Just the number” the voice spoke again, and Idenu nodded to himself.
“I will tell him a yes or no, and if it is a yes, he should give me which day it is he wants it done” the voice added softly.
“What name should I give him to look for?” Sergeant Idenu asked again.
“Mine. I am Serpent.”
Moments later, after the sergeant of the Wyverns departed, the towering man and Serpent were alone in the alley.
“You know, I don’t like that you will make a riot and get many people killed for some coin” the big man spoke, gritting his teeth in anger.
“Hmm? Why do you care?” Serpent asked.
“It is our city! Our people! They should not die because a fat ass noble wants them to!” he shouted angrily, but then he took a deep calming breath: “At least, we should not be leading them to death.”
“Scarface” Serpent began, and whenever he called him Scarface, it would hint that an argument is on the way. “If the people are as stupid as to go to their death for something they will never get, then it is better that they die and the smarter ones are left alive.”
Scarface furrowed his brows in confusion: “I don’t get that shit.”
“Exactly, you don’t” snapped Serpent. “Remember now, the rinth is your business, southside is mine. Do –not- question the way I run the shit, if you do not want me question yours.”
The argument was over at that, without a need for a fistfight between the crimelords. It was a peaceful evening, and even though Idenu would not agree to it, it was indeed a beautiful night for those who could see it.
* * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 6
“ – He is not a friend…
…
He is the enemy in disguise.”
-
Continue Reading...The Warriors of Faith: Part I: "Chasing Ghosts"
Added on Dec 25, 2007A templar of Allanak leads an army to eliminate gith raiders threatening the forts. But nothing goes as planned.
Prologue
The warrior’s one good eye opened as a spear poked his ribs. A bull by the gith standards, he had killed many soldiers in the battle of the morning and even now, without weapons and tied in knots of rope, the soldiers kept their distance from him. All around the field were a mass of bodies, his former friends, tribemates, followers... now sprawled and painted crimson in the afternoon sun. The smell of blood and open bowels hung heavy in the air. The chief warriors of his tribe were impaled and their bodies sagged loosely, held upright by spikes as tall as a man.
It was a bleak day to see it all end.
His eyes drifted to the hills where the last group of his warriors had fled. There was no sign of them now, save for those who fell in their final flight. Broken bodies scattered like cornerstones of an ancient road.
At least they are free, he thought. They do not take shame in my defeat.
Where was the God of War now? Where was the claiming of the Tablelands? His mind wandered back over the months, tasting again the joys of the uprise. The pride, as strong gith came to him from all other tribes, united against the invading armies of the human city. Stinking humans, were they even worthy of fighting? Everything was so perfect in the beginning. His army were the best warriors of the best race. He was so confident that they could crush the world under their feet. They would stand against the armies of the city humans, make a show of force to other tribes and gather them under their names. Then they would drive all humans and elves from the Tablelands, their rightful home. It had all seemed possible for a while, but now there were only ashes in the mouth. Now, he was the only one left of the gith warchiefs that had dared to throw off the invasion of the humans.
Horns were blown and a unit of cavalry riding beasts galloped across a clear path to where the captured gith warlord waited on his haunches. He lifted his bruised head, the mess of hair falling over his face. The soldiers nearby stood attendance in silence, and then the gith warrior knew who was coming. His vision was blurry from weariness and the wounds, but he could see as a lone figure climbed down from his armored beast and pass the reins to another. The spotless blue robe seemed incongruous in the field of death, untouched by the blood and the taint of the battlefield, almost like an illusion in the red painted afternoon.
Slaves spread dry sand over the blood-soaked ground, making a clear path to the tied gith warrior as the blue robed figure walked slowly toward the captive. All the soldiers had their weapons bared, as if looking for an excuse to kill.
No. The gith warrior straightened.
He would not be broken in the face of the enemy, he promised himself silently. He lifted his one good eye to the approaching enemy, causing a nervous shift in the circle of soldiers.
“It is alright, soldiers,” spoke the figure as he walked. “This is the general of an army who fought valiantly. A little respect is due.”
The gith warchief could understand the common tongue of humans, but he showed no sign of it. The men eased in their stance then, offering a respectful bow as the figure passed into the circle of his soldiers.
He stood a few feet away from the kneeling prisoner, his gaze remaining locked on the gith warrior.
“Warchief Untturi.” He tasted the words through his mind. A second later, the gith’s mind was connected to his, as well.
“You have caused me quite a bit of trouble,” spoke the templar.
“I did my best to.” The gith smiled as he sent his thoughts forth.
The templar nodded silently as he responded.
“It is all ended now. Your army is broken.”
Untturi shrugged carelessly. What good was there stating the obvious?
“Here is my sword, swear to me you will never rise against me, and I will leave you alive.”
Untturi blinked back in confusion. One eye was stuck with blood; his other eye searched the templar’s face for a sign of mockery. But he could see none of it.
“Why?” he replied.
“You fought valiantly, and there has been enough death today. One more or one less will make no difference.”
Untturi’s confusion was overwhelming. He was ready to die. A warrior would always prepare for death before the battle. But here was a man, offering him a new life; time to spend with his sons, time to live with his tribe.
“I swear,” he replied, lifting his hands to cup the warrior’s sword. Then aloud, in his native language, “I swear.”
The templar nodded lightly as he bent forward to cut the captive’s bonds. “You have family... your sons, your tribe, what about them?”
Untturi squinted. Surely his sons would want to revenge those who have fallen today. “I cannot speak for them,” the warrior replied.
The templar dipped his head again:
“If they rise against me, I will return. I will bring the wrath of my city on your people on a scale of misery that they have not seen before.”
The gith warrior nodded bitterly, then cast his gaze to the ground. He felt the templar slipping out of his thoughts and heard him walk back to his mount amidst the confused glances of soldiers. Every Allanakki soldier in sight moved off with him. Within seconds, commanders snapped orders to each unit and the army broke camp, moving east along the Shield wall. Untruri was left cold and puzzled, surrounded by the dead.
They rode for several leagues in silence, and finally one of the commanders rode closer to the templar in blue robe.
“Lord Sulach?”
Sulach stopped his mount, turning around to face the source of the voice.
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“My Lord,” the man bowed quickly, “don’t you think he will gather the tribes again and bring war upon us?”
Sulach stared off into the distance, seeming to consider. The soldiers riding with him came closer, wanting to hear his reply.
“Perhaps. He is broken... he has seen the defeat and he will live with the shame of it. If he considers rising against us, he will remember that shame.” Sulach held his reins tightly, then shrugged. “But still, perhaps he will. It makes no difference. I beat him once, I can beat him again. He is still the leader of his tribe. If he dies, the new warchief will seek revenge, and we have not fought him yet. He can surprise us.”
He turned his mount and paused. “We defeated the enemy soldiers. The war is over. It is time to return home.”
With that, he grew silent again, and all nearby soldiers nodded at once, riding after him.
Chapter 1
"- So I'm sittin' there with the Chosen Lady, gabbin' it up, pretendin' t'be a prude kiss-ass. What a fawkin' time t'pop a hard-on, eh?"
- Khortoc Salarr
The wind raged across the closely pitched tents, picking up dust and sand over the dunes and sending them up towards the skies. All the campfires were put out for fear the storm could pick them up and hurl them across the camp. The stars and moons were blocked by the dustclouds, the sands covering what the pitch black night left.
The lone figure amidst the tents shivered uncomfortably as the blue robe ranking his command in the Highlord’s service struggled weakly in the blowing wind. The wind blew cold at night, in contrast to the burning heat of the day, but such was the trials of the desert. It would test your courage and determination on all ends to come.
Two years had passed since he’d endured the trials of the desert: Two years, since his last campaign in these desolate lands, his decisive victory against the gathered gith tribes. He had hoped he would not have to ride out again after that battle, but fate was fickle. The gith raids had started again too close to the completion of the forts, and more importantly, too close to his marriage with Ka’Tryn Borsail.
The image of the woman flashed momentarily across his eyes. The first time he’d seen her was in the Arboretum. Among the gathered nobles, she was resting comfortably on a pillow across the fountain. Smooth, creamy flesh, fair and preserved from the ravaging rays of Suk-Krath, as fine as the silks and jewelry that covered it. Her curves were clear and smoothly defined; something she clearly knew, and took advantage of. But it was her eyes that stole all his attention back then. With those eyes he became enthralled, watching exquisitely formed fingers, five digits of perfection, rise to pull a strand of hair like a silky curtain. As she pushed a strand from her face, jewel eyes, dark and ebon were revealed, and then there was no escaping the danger of her. A man might get lost in the dark depths of her eyes, or he might glance away -- only to look back again.
He was mesmerized by her that day, and the day after… and after… He started to see her more often. Day after day, they grew closer. Politics or city affairs, in everything they were together. By marrying her, he would have Borsail’s support. With her at his side, everything seemed possible. Everything was complete.
Ka’Tryn. Ahh, Ka’Tryn…
The wind sent a cold shiver running down his spine and brought him back from his dreams.
So jealous was the desert, it would never let you dream about anything else. He turned around, and pulled the tent flap open. The night was long, and the day would bring the news of the raiders.
One thousand soldiers would march at his command, and there would be fighting. The worries of now and the trials of desert would have to wait. Even Ka’Tryn would have to wait…
Ahh, beautiful Ka’Tryn.
* * * * * * * * * *
Unseen tumblers turned and the stone doors groaned open. The Jihaen templar in his formal red robes entered the room without hesitation; the soldiers flanking him did not need to be ordered to stand guard at the entrance.
Armored boots clacked over the stone tiles, reflecting the beauty of the Tuluki art as the Jihaen crossed the domed room. He approached the single table at the center, two female Lirathans clad in traditional white robes watching him in silence.
“Evening, Faithful Brother Samil. I apologize for interrupting your meditation.”
The Jihaen simply stared at her calmly as he stood in silence. He made no move to sit, and after a long moment, the Lirathan started again.
“Sister Neodyn and I have the news.” She turned to look at the frail form of the other woman across the table.
“He took the bait. He is out in the desert right now,” Neodyn cut in shortly.
The Jihaen nodded briefly at those words. “I will march at daybreak.”
“May the light of His Radiance be your guide, and illuminate your path, Faithful Brother,” finished the Lirathan.
Samil offered a faint dip of his head before turning on his heels. Fast strides carried him to the open doors. The soldiers at the sides quickly pulled the doors shut with a loud clank that echoed from the walls. In a moment, the room was silent once more.
* * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 2
“- Do you know the two most powerful weapons in the Known World?
- Love and Forgiveness?
- No, Boredom and Frustration.”
- Gin of the alleys, and Shattered, the last of the Silt Winds”
Lord Templar Sulach Tor ran his hand over his face. Two days passed since he had calculated where they would start marching, and none of the returning scouts could get a report about gith groups in the previously reported positions.
He looked at the maps lying on the table once more. He had checked all the previous reports indicating the location of the gith numbers. Since then, nearly every location to where they possibly could have moved had been checked. Still nothing. Nothing.
“My Lord,” came a female voice from behind.
“Yes, Sergeant?” Sulach replied without looking back.
“Scout Yeno returned.” Sulach wheeled back sharply, his earring slapping to his cheek at his sudden turn.
“What news?”
“A score of gith were laying in ambush, my Lord!” A tiny figure sprang from beneath the tent flap, carrying the dust and the smell of desert over his attire. The sergeant’s face went red with anger at the scout’s unannounced entrance.
“Here, let me show on the ma-“
The tiny man’s voice ended with a muffled curse as he was pulled by his neck and tripped down to the ground, the dust on his cloak rising in a cloud as he fell on his back. Before he could make a protest, the sergeant’s knee was on his throat, her face twisted in anger:
“Where the FUCK do you think you are going?”
“I was goin-“ he struggled to reply.
“Did you hear being called, soldier?” The sergeant was not in the mood to let that slide.
“Ahh!” yelped Yeno, his tiny frame struggling in vain.
“I said, did you –hear- being called, soldier?”
Yeno shut his eyes tight, holding his breath as if steadying himself for a blow. His small frame seemed to grow even smaller.
“Enough!” Sulach’s voice boomed. The sergeant waited for a second to force herself calm.
“Sergeant Itina, bring that man here.”
The jade-clad woman pulled the little scout up and shoved him roughly to the table. The man trembled for a moment in fear, his hand rubbing his throat where her knee had been pressed. After staring at the woman, trembling, for a few seconds, he finally remembered he was in presence of a templar, and quickly turned to the map, pressing his finger wildly at a point:
“They were here, my Lord!”
Sulach looked down at where he pressed his finger and frowned.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, my Lord. I have seen them.”
It was a bit more to the north of where they were spotted last time. It made no sense. A raid group gathered to launch an onslaught on the forts would not follow such a route. But taking chances on such measures could prove deadly.
“Go back there, stay for two nights. If you see a movement, follow it and find out where the base camp is. Then report immediately. If they do not move in two days, come back here.”
The small man stared at the templar with wide eyes.
Sulach tilted his head as he stared back. “Dismissed, soldier.”
As if waking up from a daydream, the man bowed quickly, then darted for the exit, avoiding his sergeant’s rage-filled gaze.
Sulach stared at the closed tent flap for a moment. Why were the gith moving north now? Were they aware of him? Is this their strategy after their defeat two years ago? What are they tring to do?
“Orders, sir?”
Sulach collapsed tiredly on the chair, fingers pressed to his brows. The sergeant took a step forward, then stopped abruptly.
“Do you need anything, my Lord?” her voice was much softer than it had been moments ago. Only rarely would she speak so, rarely indeed.
Sulach only shook his head without looking up. He did not see the woman gazing at him with admiration, nor did he see her bow respectfully and slip outside, leaving him alone in the stale air of the tent.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Lord Cadra Borsail sat comfortably in his chair, reading through his notes. He was quite pleased with his spy’s latest report. The nauseating Sulach had been led on by the gith, and he was following the simple thread to the source.
Let him ride to his glory. Let him stay out of the picture as I take things into my hands.
A smile crept over his meaty face as he leaned back. With Ka’Tryn around, he could never get his own attention. And with him around, Ka’Tryn would never need Sulach. Separate them, and I have the stage to run my show, Cadra smiled. Perhaps if he could keep Sulach busy chasing ghosts for long enough, he could even marry Ka’Tryn. It would take time, but it was not impossible.
Time will tell, he thought. Yes, time would tell. He called for the slaves for refreshments. Pleasant news and pleasant thoughts deserved celebration. He slouched back even further, his substantial body filling the armchair, and focused on his next move.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 3
“If you do not trust me, then kill me quickly. I do not want to live, knowing that I lost you.”
- Gin of the alleys
Two more days passed without a further confirmation on the location of the gith raiders. The time and energy was being wasted with no results, and Sulach did not have control over it.
The very moment he had decided he’d lost the scout, he heard back from him.
“They are heading north,” came the words into his mind. “I will let you know as soon as I know more.” And then the telepathic connection was cut off.
Moving north still made no sense to Sulach. It would further draw the gith apart from their objective and bring too much complication to their raiding parties.
Unless they are planning something different than engaging me this time, Sulach thought. It could be a retreat, or a trap. The gith realized two years ago that they were no match for Sulach’s disciplined army. Perhaps the lesson was learned and they were fleeing north. Or they were hoping to lure him into a trap.
He finally found Untturi’s mind in desperation.
“I thought you were a man of your word,” Sulach sent his thoughts forward.
The gith’s response came shortly. “And that I am, I have not broken a word that I swore to keep.”
“Then who is leading the raids this time?” Sulach asked.
“No one that I know of. There is no warband gathered against you.”
“My men say otherwise,” Sulach went on.
“Then perhaps you should judge your men’s worth again,” replied the gith warchief. “Did you save my life just to insult my honor?” he added, his thoughts edging on the colors of anger.
Sulach released the psionic contact then. Either someone moved without Untturi’s notice, or he was lying. In either case, he could not keep the army in the same spot forever. The soldiers were growing restless with no battle. He had to close in on the enemy or he had to return.
And it was too early to go back home.
Taking such a huge force and returning without seeing the battlefield would remain as a shame on him. He had to follow whatever plan the enemy lay down for him, and then he had to engage, and break them. That was the only outcome his Tor blood would allow him. And that was the only course he would follow.
The army broke camp at the first lights of Suk-Krath, and set course towards the north.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“He is doing exactly as we predicted,” the mental image of the female Lirathan spoke in Samil’s thoughts.
“Where is he right now?” Samil’s thoughts were calm and carefully calculated.
“He is following north along the Shield Wall. In two day’s march he will be a few leagues east of the mesa.”
“Then his scouts may find my tracks. I will have to move fast and circle him,” said Samil.
And perhaps leave a hunter group to take down any scouts coming close enough to find my tracks, he thought to himself.
“You know what would be the best course of action, Faithful Brother,” Neodyn replied shortly, “His Radiance guide you.”
With that, Samil was left alone in his thoughts. He would order the march before the first lights of the day, and he would send a group of hunters to eliminate any scouts close enough to discover his tracks. He did not want his opponent to know of his plans until he had him cornered.
He opened the flap of the tent and peered outside. Pale Lirathu was low in the sky, and there was still more than an hour until morning. He walked back to his bed and kneeled to the ground.
“Muk Utep” he whispered, pushing all other thoughts from his mind, “Guide me with Your light, give me your strength, open my mind…” He prayed on in silent meditation until the day dawned to a red horizon, and the army started to wake up.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 4
“- Your mind, will bend to my will.”
- The invisible voice
Yeno lay flat on the dune and peered across the sandy ground. He had given his last report a day and a half ago, and he had to send another soon. He watched the terrain closely, and tried to calculate his position. Finding your way in the desert was no easy feat: memorizing the safe spots, watching the angles of any stable points, keeping track of the time, checking the wind, and on top of it all, being prepared for a sandstorm at any time.
His position was good enough, he decided, and now he could send a report. As he thought about what he should say and how to word it, his mind wandered over his last report and what he had been told by Lord Cadra.
“Lead him on, make him chase ghosts,” was his final order. “I will give you further instructions when the situation requires so. For now, just lead him on.”
And that was what Yeno had been doing for the last week. He knew his reports had to make sense, or his cover would be blown and he would be arrested and executed. Tortured first, perhaps, to get what secrets he had kept and who he worked for. Yeno shivered at the thought. It was way too early to die yet, and he had plenty of years in front of him to serve his Lord and city. For greater goods, sometimes sacrifices had to be made.
For this one, Lord Sulach was the sacrifice.
He thought of his report as he kept his gaze on terrain ahead. He would give another report of movement to north, and then he would think of the next one. In a moment, he was connected to Sulach’s mind.
Hundreds of leagues away, in the silence of a huge domed room Faithful Lady Neodyn Winrothol sat back in her chair, her features relaxing as the strain of the psionic drain slowly eased back. Once more she directed Yeno’s thoughts and made him report another movement to north. This would drag Sulach further into the tablelands and provide time for Samil to choose the battleground.
What she did not calculate into her plans was Cadra Borsail’s ambitions. Such a fine surprise it was, it made her job so much easier to follow his instructions to Yeno. All she had to do was direct Yeno in a way that fit with her own plans without bringing suspicion to her work.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on finding Samil’s mind. She had more news to pass to her Faithful Brother.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“- He is weak against the pleasures of the flesh.”
- Serilla Uaptal, Lirathan Templar.
Sulach slammed his fist on the table in frustration, startling his commanders. The single candle on the table, casting more shadows than light, trembled at Sulach’s anger, sending ghosts of shadows scurrying at the interior walls of the command tent. The tension was visible. Days of marching and still the enemy evaded them. Even if it was an ambush, they should have come down on them by now, chasing them forever could not bring any good to the gith.
According to the last report, the gith bands were still moving north.
“Orders, sir?” Lieutenant Strian asked after a moment, but Sulach did not seem to hear him.
Sulach doubted the gith’s intentions now. This could not be a raiding party moving away from their objectives, nor could they be laying a trap. They would have sprung it already. Sulach even gave them a chance to trap him, and still nothing came out of it. No, it makes no sense at all.
“My Lord?”
Sulach lifted his gaze from the map and looked directly at the lieutenant.
“Orders?” Strian asked again.
Sulach gave a sigh, leaning on the table on his fists. “Have the men ready for leaving, we will be marching north.”
The lieutenant nodded sharply, the other officers following his gesture.
“You may return to your units and get some rest before we start marching again.”
They all bowed their respects and began to walk out of the tent.
Sulach called behind them, “Sergeant Itina, could you stay for a moment?” She nodded once, and stepped aside. The rest of the commanders offered only a brief salute to her as they stepped out. Sulach spoke again only after they were alone.
“Bring me Private Eoni.”
Sulach retreated into his thoughts as soon as the sergeant left. He looked down at his maps; there really was not much option he had there. For the first time since he started this campaign he considered returning back. It would be a shame on his end, but then, chasing an enemy like this could only keep on so long. Soon he would have to consider the supply limits, and the soldiers were growing restless without battle. Armies gathered for fight needed to see blood every now and then.
Perhaps the scout was incompetent in judging the enemy. He could send a mage to scout ahead, but mages generally proved useless in scouting missions. They lacked “a soldier’s eye” and would often overlook details that could turn the scales. Sulach did try to train a few mages during the campaigns against the gith, but they quickly learned gith shamans had wards against spying magicks that brought hazardous casualities. During the gith campaign, two of Sulach’s trained mages went insane due to such wards, proving how dangerous a truly crazed mage could be. Using trained soldiers for scouting missions was a lesson hard learned.
Regardless, sending a few more scouts at the same target could not hurt. Surely Yeno would take it as an insult to his work, but more was at stake than a single scout’s feelings now.
“You called for me, my Lord?” Private Eoni and the sergeant were back in the tent.
Sulach lifted his weary eyes to them, looking from one woman to the other. So many questions were racing in his mind, so many decisions. The campaign started with great promises and so many opportunities for his career. But now, it was bad enough that he was prepared to return empty handed.
“I need to feel good, soldiers,” Sulach whispered in the stale air of the tent. “Can you make me feel good?”
No reply was needed. Itina closed the tent flap and secured it as Eoni took off her armor. Sulach watched them both with distant eyes, his thoughts still troubled between returning or going forward. There was only one candle on the table, and even that was too much now.
Soon, the two women took away all his worries.
Lirathan Templar Neodyn felt a tang of disgust as she saw the naked women sound asleep lying beside Sulach. Noble blood sleeping with commons... such was the barbaric nature of southrons. Her mind wandered inside the darkness of the tent, looking at the maps over the table. The eye of the mind, though it did not need light to see as the mortal eyes do, was unfortunately weak to grasp objective details. She could not gather anything from his notes no matter how hard she tried. Moments later her mind returned to her body, exhausted. She was comforted that Sulach had come this far. Samil would catch him within a few days now.
Closing her eyes, she prayed her thanks to the Sun King. There was still time until dawn, and she could rest for an hour. In her chair in the stone-domed room, she rested her head back and in a moment, she was asleep.
* * * * * * * * * *
“-Where is that flower now?
… It...has withered...and died…”
- Ankha
Private Somir sat at the skirts of the Shield Wall, his back to the flat face of a massive, wind-scoured boulder. Despite the protection of the sandcloth, the heat of high sun brought little spots dancing in his vision. He was beginning to feel dizzy, and he would become Krath-struck if he did not take shelter in the little shade of the rock. The sun burned off the sands, turning the desert into a field of gold. Looking ahead too much would bring shifting shadows to the vision, illusions, chasing each other in the endlessness.
Somir placed his waterskin at his feet, using all his willpower to tear his gaze away from it. He had ignored his thirst for quite a while but now, the need for water was starting to dominate all his senses. It was a contest of wills; the desert would whisper the taste of water, the comfort of a good shadow, the call for a peaceful sleep. All those were tests of the desert, to eliminate the weaker minds from the stronger. Somir wanted to believe he was the latter.
He surveyed the sands stretching up to north, a gloved hand shielding his eyes against the scorching sunlight. Although it has been over a day since he turned this way to track down the main gith raiding group, he had yet to see a single gith... let alone a thousand of them.
He reached to the ground and picked the waterskin up gently, almost afraid to hurt the precious contents. He saw a movement of a shadow then, or perhaps he thought he did. He lifted his gaze, water leaving his thoughts only momentarily. It could be from looking about in the high sun for too long, he thought. Perhaps the desert was testing him.
Or perhaps not.
Something whistled, followed by a *thud*. Somir felt the agony of his breath being kicked from his lungs. His gaze dropped to his chest reflexively, and he stared at the protruding arrow with unbelieving eyes. Two more whistling sounds, and Somir was knocked on his back, feeling the hot sands through his protective sandcloth. He tried to get up, but the arrows tore at his insides with the movement and he fell back in pain, facing the skies that he tried so hard to avoid. Direct sunlight burned his eyes; his vision blurred first, twisted next. Everything turned to gold, then orange, then red… He forced his eyes shut, a bright orange curtain pulling over his vision.
He lay there on the sands on the verge of consciousness, burning under the scorching sun. For how long, he did not know. A shadow fell over his face, and he slowly opened his eyes to face his attacker. His executioner was dark against the sunlight as he lifted his sword.
What was it? Figure of the sun? What was a Tuluki doing here so far away from his home?
Then everything went dark.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 5
“Da point of dis comin’ here be to show da good will. We’s can say you’s can trust us an’ all dat shit, but you’s gotta believe a fucker trustworthy when dey’s show up in you’s face an’ you’s ain’t dead.”
- Quick
Days passed with no improvement.
The scouts he sent kept disappearing one by one. One of them managed to send a telepathic message that it was several raiders who ambushed him before the link was severed. No matter what, the message was clear. The enemy was to the north, and they were not letting any information leak.
Sulach was determined not to go any further. No matter what, the enemy was not a threat to the forts, and it was a matter of a mere month until they would be complete. This raiding group was no threat.
Still, Sulach could not bear returning empty-handed. The red robes of the War Ministry had given him command of one thousand soldiers, a great honor for a blue robe. To take all these soldiers back without seeing a battlefield would remain as a scar on him that would not be forgotten. He set the camps. He would not move a league more, but he could wait until the forts are completed. Then, regardless of spilling enemy blood, he would still have completed his objective. So he waited. For three days, nothing happened.
On the third day, as he sat on his pallet in the command tent, Lieutenant Strian asked for permission to enter.
“My Lord, scouts brought someone that has information.”
To that, Sulach merely nodded. The desire for battle was burnt out in him, the first excitement of leading into the field with his soldiers was gone, the eagerness replaced by a bitter aftertaste.
Strian pulled the flap aside, and a huge figure stepped in, ducking so low at the entrance that his body seemed to double over. Towering two heads over him, it was perhaps the tallest elf Sulach ever seen. His lean muscled structure was entirely covered with loose sandcloth garments. The elf stared down at Sulach for a moment, his face incongruous behind the fabric of the sandcloth veil. Sulach hated to be forced to look up, but his expression gave no sign of it.
“What news do you bring me, elf?”
As elf spoke, his breath blowing the sandcloth veil slightly. “Kah, I saw the White Pit men.” His Sirihish was fluent.
“Tuluki?” Sulach was surprised, but still he hid his interest well enough.
The elf seized Sulach in his gaze at that then nodded. “Kah.”
“Where, and how many?”
The elf continued to stare at Sulach with his veiled gaze. “Two hours of Soh run, south of here. Kah, I have not seen them all, but I saw maybe a hundred tents.”
Sulach could not believe what he was hearing. Such a huge Tuluki force was so close to his camp? How was it ever possible he was hearing it from an elf he met for the first time? He tried not to show his anger in front of the longear.
“Is that all?”
The elf seemed to straighten up slightly, then nodded again. “Kah.”
Sulach threw a coin pouch to the elf’s chest. As the elf caught the pouch deftly in his hand, Sulach spoke again. “I hope you are telling the truth. If not, you will see me again.”
The elf smirked behind the sandcloth veil, causing a nervous shift among the officers in the tent.
As Lieutenant Strian led the elf outside, the rest of the military officers stood in silence attendance, waiting for their orders. Sulach did not seem to notice them for a few moments, his gaze lost over the maps. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy, as if shattered under the weight of his troubled thoughts:
“Go to your units. Have field training, and wait for further orders.”
Every officer bowed their respects and left the command tent silently, except for Sergeant Itina. It took a while for Sulach to notice she was still inside the tent, watching him silently.
“Do you wish for a distraction, my Lord?”
Sulach did not answer, but sergeant required none. He needed it. Highlord knows he needed it now, more than anything.
Bowing deeply, she said, “I will be back with Eoni, my Lord.”
The light was the deep red of sunset at the flap of the command tent when Sulach rose from his bed. The two women were still asleep in naked splendor. He did not call the dressing slaves; he did not want to make a sound. The night had pulled its thin veil over the camp when he left the tent.
“My horse,” he called to the nearest soldier, who bowed quickly and strode away, returning with a cloven-hoofed animal behind him. Sulach took the reins from the soldier, running his hand over the muscled neck of the powerful beast. A very rare mount it was, stolen by a gypsy from a Northern Templar a month ago. The cheerful memory of the young gypsy brought a smile to Sulach’s lips.
“Should I call a unit of cavalry to accompany you, Lord Templar?”
Sulach’s merely shook his head as he mounted the powerful stallion. “No soldier. Return to your post. Dismissed.”
The soldier bowed deeply then strode away.
He rode across the desert for hours, alone in the darkness, pale Lirathu his only guide. It gave him a childish joy to feel the breeze on his face, to be alone even for a short period. His mount was not tired yet and he could probably ride for a few hours more. But the distant glow on the dark horizons signaled that he arrived at his destination. He pulled the reins and his horse came to an abrupt stop. From now on it would be dangerous going, but he shrugged it off. He did not ride this far to be scared away.
He spotted a sharp rock, jutting towards the skies. It had a steep slope, but it would give the perfect survey of the land. He rode silently, thankful to the night for cloaking him under the thick sheet of darkness.
He tied the cloven-hoofed stallion to the base of the rock and stripped off the chitin parts of his armor one by one. The climb would be a hard one. When he was done, he only had a short knife at his belt and a thin loose outfit to cover him against the chill of the desert night. His fingers touched the cold face of the stone. Yes, the climb would be a hard one.
He went steadily and carefully. All his thoughts and worries were gone, save for the growing fear of falling off the rock. The cold night was sending shivers with each breeze, and reminding him of his mortality as he ascended. He kept his focus ahead, rising slowly, each step using more effort than the other.
A powerful hand grabbed him by the wrist when he finally found the top and pulled him up. It was a strong grip, could perhaps snap his bones by simply squeezing. It lifted his entire weight off the face of the rock effortlessly, and dropped him at the flat top, face first. The hand then reached down to pat Sulach, stopping briefly to pick up his knife from his belt.
“Looks like it is going to be a long night, neh?” It was a guttural voice that spoke, as if it was coming all the way from the stomach of the person.
Sulach lifted his head to stare at the speaker. It was a hulking figure, dark against the pale light of the Lirathu. Sulach tried to rise to his haunches slowly, getting a better look at his opponent.
“Don’t be smart, neh. The best you can do, we both fall down the rock. Not the best kind of death for either of us,” the man spoke again. This time, Sulach recognized the voice.
“Untturi,” he whispered.
The gith warlord nodded, his thin smile hidden in the night.
“You speak the human tongue… pretty well.” Sulach did not disguise his surprise.
The gith let out a loud chuckle at that, though Sulach was not sure if he was laughing or coughing. Untturi stared down at Sulach’s form without speaking for a long moment. Sulach only returned his gaze.
Two warriors,sat over the top of the rock studying each other, speechless.
Untturi was the first to break eye contact as he stretched out a massive arm, using the dagger he took from Sulach’s belt to point toward the distant camp. Following the gesture, Sulach looked down, thankful again to the darkness that hid his despair. Even from this far away, Sulach could see the campfires and how wide they spread. The enemy numbers were as many as his, if not more.
Sulach’s heart sank at the idea of a disciplined enemy remaining within a day’s march to his camp without his knowledge. Anger overwhelmed his thoughts suddenly, as his thoughts weighed on how incompetent his own scouts were.
“Pretty tight they look, neh?” Untturi broke the silence.
Sulach did not seem to hear him. It did not matter for Untturi, he spoke again after a moment. “Do you remember the day we fought?”
Sulach slowly turned his head to Untturi now, studying him sidelong.
Untturi continued, without looking at him.
“It was a field like this. All fields are similar in the desert, neh?” He surveyed the sands sprawling under the darkness. “You put your archers there, and there. Your half giants, you kept them out until the main armies clashed, they stayed out. Then when the melee was engaged, you brought them along with the cavalry to break through my flankers. It was a good strategy, their speed and weight gave them advantage to sweep away and open the flanks.
“There, the main armies clashed.” He pointed with the dagger tip. “What a fascinating battle it was.” Untturi’s voice carried his amazement the memory. He turned to Sulach, staring at him for a few silent seconds.
“Your warriors, I counted at least four different formations that day. Such a good training, discipline, and coordination they had.”
Untturi’s head bobbed a few times as he grew silent. When he began again, his joy was gone. The heavy weight of defeat and the loss of his tribemates hung in his tone. “It was a good fight. The God of War smiled upon you that day.”
Sulach was silent, his eyes on the enemy camp. The gith warlord followed his gaze. The rugged, guttural voice spoke again.
“Your enemy, seems to be well prepared. Their army disciplined, trained, equipped well. It is a fight the God of War will watch.”
Sulach tore his gaze from the camp, at Untturi’s words. “Is there a gith warband to the north?” he asked.
Untturi only shook his head.
Sulach’s world crumbled around him. Weeks of planning, days of march, he came to the desert for nothing, and now he was facing an enemy that he was not ready to fight. When he spoke his thoughts, his voice was as broken as his heart. “What happens now?”
The gith warlord shifted slightly, facing Sulach fully. He regarded Sulach in his gaze for a few moments, before speaking: “You bound me to you with an oath, neh? That I am not going to rise against you.”
Sulach only stared in reply.
Still Untturi nodded at his own words, and continued. “This is how it happens: I am free of that oath if you release it, or if you are dead.”
Sulach considered the warchief’s words. The message was clear: Either undo the oath, or die tonight. He had seen the strength of the gith warrior. Those hands could snap Sulach’s bones like they were twigs. Even if Sulach wanted to fight, the small space on top of the rock gave little comfort. If the gith warrior did not kill him, they both would surely fall to their death, and the gith seemed to have very little problem with dying.
“So you want me to release you from your oath, so you can one day raise an army against me?”
The gith warlord simply nodded.
“Why do you want to fight me?” he asked.
Dirty yellowed teeth revealed a dirty yellowed smirk as Untturi replied, “Because, you fight well.”
Sulach did not understand the meaning:
“But why will you fight? To what purpose?”
The grizzled gith’s respone rang in Sulach’s mind for a long time:
“The battle does not need a purpose; the battle has its own purpose. You don’t ask why a plague spreads or a field burns. Don’t ask why I fight.”
The morning was still more than an hour away when Sulach climbed down the rock face. He felt the cold of the night as he donned his heavy armor at the base of the rock cliff, and rode into the darkness on his warm beast, leaving Untturi alone.
He did not care how he rode or where. Only when he was greeted by bowing soldiers of his camp, did he realize he returned. Dawn had broken over the ruddy stones as he dismounted before the command tent, passing the reins to the soldier on guard. He strode in without a word and threw his helmet and sword down with a clatter, seating himself at the map table. Both women had gone, leaving no trace of their warmth in the bed. Sulach rested his head in his hands and considered the events of the night. He felt desperate when he saw the Tuluki camp spreading in the distance, unable to understand what went wrong. How could an army greater in numbers than his own creep so close without his knowledge?
Approaching steps made him straighten in his seat and he took a deep breath as the first commanding officers stepped in. They bowed their respects and stood silently before the table. Sulach took as much of his time as he could, before giving words to his despair:
“A Tuluki camp, vaster even than our own, circled around us and they are within a day’s march from where we stand.” he spoke softly. Officers looked at each other in grim silence, as he started again. “Who can tell me why the first person to report this was an elf I had never seen before?”
The officers kept their heads bowed until Lieutenant Tild stepped forth.
“My Lord, I ask to be relieved of command,” he spoke, his head still bowed low. When Sulach only stared at him in response, he continued. “The scouts responsible from that area are under my command, sir.”
“I do not need those scouts anymore!” Sulach spoke sharply. An uneasy shift rippled through the assembled officers. “Sergeant Itina, I hereby promote you to the rank of Lieutenant, and put Tild’s former unit under your command. Congratulations Lieutenant Itina.”
Itina only lifted her chin and nodded once.
The tension in the command tent lessened then. The commanding officers took their orders briefly. The sun began its journey at the eastern horizon when the incompetent scouts were executed. Shortly after that, the army broke camp and began its march.
Prologue
The warrior’s one good eye
opened as a spear poked his ribs. A bull
by the gith standards, he had killed many soldiers in the battle of the morning
and even now, without weapons and tied in knots of rope, the soldiers kept
their distance from him. All around the
field...
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