by Wacht, Peter
“Trouble?” he asked quietly, his green eyes blazing in the dark of the night, the full moon and bright stars playing off the sand and illuminating the campsite in an eerie, dim glow.
“Ogren from the south,” Kaylie replied.
As Thomas had requested, his instincts suggesting that danger was close, during the first watch every quarter hour Kaylie had used the Talent to scour the surrounding area for any threats. She had detected the dark creatures as soon as they came streaming out of a dark, deep fissure to the south and began to make their way toward their intended victims in a roundabout route through the uneven terrain.
“Keep an eye on them,” Thomas said as he grabbed his sword and jumped down into the Marcher camp.
Waking Oso and explaining what approached, they moved quickly among the Marchers and set them in a defensive perimeter, the horses placed closest to the rock rising in the center of the depression. A handful of Marchers scrambled up the rock to join Kaylie, bows at the ready. Dark creatures rarely entered the desert, but clearly this Ogren war party, led by a Shade, had a specific target in mind.
Thomas climbed back up onto the rock to stand next to Kaylie.
“How many?”
Kaylie closed her eyes for a moment as she directed her use of the Talent to the approaching band of dark creatures.
“Fifty.”
Thomas grimaced. “Almost twice as many. This is going to be a hard fight. Remember to use the Talent only if absolutely necessary. It will serve as a beacon for any other dark creatures, drawing them like a moth to the flame. If there is one troop of Ogren looking for us we should assume that there are others.” Surveying the southern approaches to their campsite, Thomas developed his strategy in a matter of seconds.
“Oso,” he called down. “Fifty. We’ll use the three narrow defiles on the southern side to limit access. Archers will allow the first few in, then we’ll improve our odds.”
Oso didn’t bother to acknowledge what Thomas had said, understanding what his friend had in mind.
“Spears to the front,” the large Highlander ordered. “Be ready. Swords in the gaps and on the flanks.”
The Marchers immediately moved to obey.
“Only from the south?” asked Thomas, not wanting any surprises.
Kaylie used the Talent to search the encircling desert once again, pushing out for several leagues, even trying to extend her search deep beneath the pockmarked landscape.
“Yes, just this war party for now.”
“Good,” said Thomas. “So long as we can’t be surrounded we stand a chance.”
Using the Talent, Thomas reached out to Beluil, who had wandered off into the darkness in the late evening to scout on his own. He found the large wolf almost two leagues distant, near where the dunes began again, and sent an image of an Ogren to his friend. Beluil immediately began sprinting back toward the Marchers, eager to join the fast-approaching skirmish.
“Thomas,” Kaylie called, drawing him back. “To the front!”
Thomas turned in the direction Kaylie pointed, watching as the first Ogren ran out from the gulches to the south, their bloodcurdling roars echoing off the rock enclosing the naturally formed pit.
“Archers, on my command!” Thomas cried. “Let a handful in. Focus on the pathways on the southern side.”
The five archers raised their bows, sighting on the few narrow passes that led toward the waiting Marchers.
Thomas allowed five Ogren to enter the killing ground before giving his next order. “Release!”
Five arrows shot above the onrushing Ogren and slammed into the dark creatures just behind those that had made it into the open. Barbed steel tore through eyes and brains as the Ogren in the three defiles collapsed in the rocky soil, their blood seeping into the stone and sandy soil.
Pleased with his archers’ shooting, Thomas continued the onslaught. “Release!”
Arrows flew once more through the night to strike the Ogren seeking to join the fight. The narrowness of the open-aired ravines, which in some ways resembled horizontal chimneys, impeded the dark creatures’ movements and made them easy targets. More Ogren fell again, collapsing onto those that had already died. But the archers weren’t done.
“Release!” Thomas ordered a third time.
The steel-tipped shafts flew through the night, the sharpened tips gleaming when touched by the bright moonlight, before slicing into Ogren seeking to scramble over the ones that had already died and as a result had created a bottleneck that Oso quickly used to his advantage.
Startled by the cries of pain and terror from the Ogren following them, the handful of Ogren that had emerged from the flumes had stopped their charge, watching their brethren collapse behind them, the bodies piling up at a shocking rate.
“Spears attack!” Oso commanded.
The Marchers responded instinctively, charging forward in a wedge formation and driving their spears into the backs or legs of the Ogren that had made it through the narrow pathways that led to the open bowl. The Marchers with spears then stepped back quickly, allowing their compatriots with swords to lunge forward and finish the job, and then all the Marchers immediately fell back to their original position around the rock once more.
“Be ready, Oso!” Thomas called. “More are coming.”
The Ogren blocked by the bodies of the dead beasts screamed in rage, pulling the corpses from the paths, then sprinting forward, brandishing swords and axes above their heads.
Thomas employed the same strategy once again, archers targeting the Ogren behind the first rank of dark creatures, allowing them to enter the killing ground and then cutting off access and giving the Marchers with spears and swords the opportunity to eliminate those caught in the open while the remaining dark creatures struggled to join the fight.
Having finally pushed its way to the front, the Shade watched the Marchers’ deadly attack with growing anger. Recognizing the limitations created by the narrow defiles, he forced the Ogren in the passageways forward, over the bodies of the slaughtered dark creatures, flooding the open space with the massive beasts at a rate faster than the archers could take them down.
After repulsing the first attack, and then a second, having used long spears and then swords to maim and then kill the beasts not feathered with arrows that tried to break through their defensive perimeter, the skirmish devolved into smaller combats. Thankfully by then the Marchers had killed more than two-thirds of the monstrous dark creatures. Unable to hold their line against the rush of Ogren, the Marchers employed the tactics that had proven so effective when taking on these dark creatures in the Highlands. Marchers broke off into pairs, working together to overwhelm individual Ogren.
Following well-honed practices, the first Marcher challenged the Ogren, then skipped away, staying just out of reach of the massive axe or blade the beast often wielded with such great effect. The lead Marcher sought to tire out the dark creature, or force it into making a mistake, allowing the second Marcher to slip in and hamstring the beast. Once on the ground, the two Marchers could finish the Ogren with less danger to themselves. No Marcher wanted to face an Ogren on his or her own, knowing that the likely result would be their death.
Thomas wanted to protect Kaylie, hopeful that she would be safe atop the rock. But what he really wanted was to go after the Shade. It was much like killing a snake. Take off the head, and the snake, no matter how large, died. In this case, kill the Shade, and its hold over the Ogren would disappear, increasing the Marchers’ chances of driving off the Ogren, which would continue to fight, no matter the odds, if the Shade demanded it.
About to jump down from the rock and attack the Shade that had finally stepped out from a gully to urge its Ogren forward, Thomas noticed that an Ogren had snuck up behind two Marchers already engaged with another of the towering monsters, unaware of what came at them from their blind side.
Leaping from the stone, Thomas called out to Kaylie, “Cover my back!”
Taken by surprise, Kayl
ie hesitated for just a moment, unsure of how to handle the melee playing out below her. Pushing away her fear, she drew her sword from the scabbard across her back and jumped down, following after Thomas.
Thomas waited until the Ogren sneaking up on the two Marchers was almost upon his fighters. He saw the bloodlust in the eyes of the creature, thinking that it had two easy kills. Thomas pulled his sword lightning fast from the sheath on his back, stepped forward and rolled under the Ogren’s huge axe, slashing the beast’s hamstrings from the back before it could strike the otherwise engaged Marchers. With the muscles on the back of both of its legs severed and useless, the beast fell forward, its howl of pain echoing off the surrounding rock. Before the Ogren could attempt to rise from its knees, Thomas whipped his blade down, detaching the creature’s head from its shoulders.
Kaylie watched, transfixed by the ease with which Thomas dispatched the massive creature. Thomas then ignored the Ogren that continued to fight the two Marchers that he had saved and approached the Shade, sword at the ready. Understanding his goal, Kaylie trailed in his footsteps, sword in hand, eyes scanning in every direction for an attack. The reality of what she faced settled within her as she struggled to tamp down her fear. Fighting dark creatures such as this was much different than her experience during the battles against the Armaghians in the Highlands. Tightening her grip on her sword, Kaylie told herself that she would do as Thomas asked, protecting his back, keeping an eye out for any Ogren that attempted to break away from a Marcher and attack Thomas while he was engaged with the Shade.
Rather than taking the time to measure his opponent, Thomas charged the Shade ferociously, sword slashing down and across, then whipping back in an upward slash, as he sought to eliminate the creature quickly. The Shade’s glazed, milky eyes showed no emotion as it defended itself, locking its sword in place just in time to block Thomas’ strike. Though Thomas wanted a quick victory, he remained careful, never overextending himself, knowing that any touch by the Shade’s blade, even just a nick, would send a black poison coursing through his body that would lead to his death in a matter of minutes.
A howl blasted through the rocky bowl as a dark shadow leapt onto the back of an Ogren, crushing it to the ground with its front paws as its jaws bit into the back of the dark creature’s neck. Beluil had arrived. With his friend now with them, Thomas was certain of the Marchers’ success, but first he had to remove the Shade from the skirmish.
Thomas continued his attack, his steel a whirl of motion, as he probed for any weakness that he could exploit. Finally, Thomas found a hole in the Shade’s defenses. With a lightning quick thrust he knocked the Shade’s sword away, driving the point of his blade into the creature’s chest. As the black blood of the Shade drained onto the rock, staining it, Thomas spun around at the sound of a roar no more than a few feet behind him.
An Ogren lay there, face down on the sand and loose stone, its hamstrings sliced cleanly through. Kaylie had just driven her sword into the back of its skull. He caught Kaylie’s eyes, watching the green cast creep over her face.
He wanted to go to her, to comfort her for what she had been forced to do, understanding that this was the first time that she had used her blade to kill another living creature. But he stayed where he was, knowing more than anything that Kaylie wanted to be considered a part of the group, and that now she needed to stand alone. Thomas smiled and nodded his thanks before examining their small battlefield.
Doing a quick count, Thomas was pleased to see that all his Marchers had survived the fight intact, just a few having minor wounds. All the Ogren lay dead, scattered around the rocky soil. Beluil trotted among the bodies, sniffing, making sure that none would rise again. Many of the Marchers nodded to Kaylie appreciatively, acknowledging her impressive precision. Killing an Ogren on your own was no easy task, and often proved to be a death sentence. In the Highlands hers was an accomplishment to celebrate, as it normally took several men to kill an Ogren without risking serious injury.
Kaylie caught Thomas’ stare, and at first she thought that he was going to lecture her about staying out of danger. Instead, he bent down and wiped his blade on the Shade’s dirty clothing, removing the blood so that it didn’t pit his hereditary blade. He then looked her straight in the eyes.
“Thank you,” he said simply. “That was well done.” Thomas then walked off to help tend the Marchers who had been injured.
Pride swelled in Kaylie’s chest. It felt like a burden had been lifted. She knew then that the Marchers had accepted her. She was no longer the Princess of Fal Carrach who had forced herself upon them. She was simply Kaylie, focused on accomplishing the same task as they were. Focused on aiding the Highland Lord in his quest for the Key.
CHAPTER FIFTY NINE
Desert Meeting
The night still upon them, the Marchers dragged the Ogren and Shade into a pile that blocked the narrow paths the dark creatures had used for their approach, then reestablished their defensive shell. Thomas and Kaylie resumed their positions on the flat rock, but they did not sense any other encroaching danger. Though Thomas could see just as well in the dark as he could in the light, his Marchers could not. So they would continue their journey across the rocky, uneven terrain when the sun rose.
But as Thomas expected, just as the Marchers were about to set fire to the bodies of their attackers so that they could move on at first light, warriors from one of the Desert Clans appeared. Drawn to the fighting, and having followed the dark creatures since they first entered the Clanwar Desert, but unable to engage them during the day because the beasts disappeared into one of the many caves or crevices liberally spread about the surrounding landscape, they were surprised to see what had befallen their prey. The smaller, wiry men, wearing loose, light-colored clothes and sporting long moustaches and beards, sometimes bedecked with jewels or bells, rode their sturdy desert horses easily, as if they were born in the saddle.
These desert fighters had heard stories of the Marchers, their prowess in battle, but they had never expected to see it for themselves, the small group of Highland warriors having dispatched, apparently with ease, such a large war party of Ogren. As these desert fighters, outnumbering the Marchers three to one, surrounded them, Thomas commanded the Marchers to form into a wedge, but to keep their hands off their sword and axe handles to demonstrate their peaceful intentions. Beluil remained on the very edge of the formation, a low growl issuing from deep within his belly.
“Are these the same men who fought with us in the Highlands?” Oso asked.
“I don’t believe so,” replied Thomas. “But even if they were, that wouldn’t matter. They’ll view us as trespassers here. No one is permitted in the Clanwar Desert unless given express permission by one of the Desert Chiefs.”
The Marchers’ nervousness increased as the men encircling them spoke rapidly in an ancient language known only to those born in the desert. Unable to follow the rapid-fire exchanges, the Marchers didn’t know that after discussing how claims of Marcher martial prowess seemed to be true, one of the fighters suggested they kill them now rather than bring them to their tribal chief. That resulted in a heated argument among a select few of the men that continued for several minutes.
“Hauk tu la norsan.”
The leaders of the desert troop fell silent, staring at Thomas, shocked that someone not of the desert had spoken in their tongue. After a few moments of silence, bedlam ensued as all the desert fighters began to shout and argue at once.
Kaylie watched with growing consternation as the men on horseback became more animated with their apparent argument. “What did you say?”
“I told them that what they were thinking was a bad idea.”
“What were they thinking?”
Thomas smiled at her. “They were arguing about whether to kill us all now so as to save them the trouble of having to bring us to their chief.”
One of the desert fighters urged his horse forward, apparently the leader of this group. Thomas gu
essed that a decision had been made. Before the fighter could get a word out, Thomas stepped forward.
“Barak do haram su rey.”
The approaching soldier stopped, staring sharply at Thomas. He then smiled, though it seemed a reluctant grin, bowed his head slightly, and then rattled off several long sentences that the Marchers couldn’t understand.
“What just happened, Thomas?” Oso asked, his nerves on edge. Not knowing what was being said made the large Highlander more uncomfortable than when fighting a band of Ogren.
“The Desert Clans don’t look kindly on strangers entering their lands. Even the caravans and merchants that still make their way across the sands get permission first to ensure that they can travel through the desert without being harassed by Desert Clan warriors. Since we don’t have permission, I claimed the ancient right of acknowledgement, requiring that we be brought to the chief. Such a demand can’t be denied by an honorable desert warrior. And Farou, who sits his horse right in front of us, has granted us that right. He and his men will take us to their chief.”
“And what happens when we meet the chief?”
“I don’t know,” Thomas said, a wistful smile appearing on his face. “It’s up to the chief.”
Oso looked at Thomas as if he were hiding something. He had known Thomas for years, yet he was still full of surprises. How had his friend learned to speak in the desert tongue? That question would have to wait for now. “So we could have died just now or we could die where we’re going depending on the whim of the Desert Chief?”