-47-
The chaos of battle unfolded before Janzen Wollace in all its glory. Blood dripped from his metallic hands as life surged within him. Long had he waited for this promised moment and his ravenous eyes absorbed every second. Janzen now tore through those that stood before him with careless ease.
A sword stabbed at his waist only to be caught in his hand. Breaking it easily, he caved in the face of its holder with one solid punch. Another jumped on his back only to be pitched over Janzen’s shoulder, a solid foot crushing his chest. In a desperate attack, five soldiers jumped upon Janzen, striking and stabbing as they held him. There were successful in bringing him to the ground, if only for a moment.
Bursting to a standing position, Janzen’s wrath sent those men flying several feet in all directions. Grabbing the nearest one to him, Janzen hurled him into the fray with force enough to kill him as he crashed into others. Janzen laughed as he looked for yet more. “Is that your best?” Janzen smelled the blood on his hands, motioning for others to come. “Is that all you can throw at me? Come on!” His bloodlust was far from quenched.
Casting his eyes about, Janzen caught sight of a coveted prize. In front of him was Wyndall of the Jacoi, fighting alongside his troops. Janzen’s smile deepened as he charged. Along the way he barreled down those in his path and it mattered not which country they were from. He could already taste the blood of his next kill, only seconds away. Wyndall of the Jacoi still had his back to him. “Lights out, Wyndall!” Janzen lived for moments such as this.
There was a loud crash as Janzen was deflected. He collided upon the ground with great force. As he rolled, Janzen fought the strength that held him at bay. Soldiers were knocked left and right in the wake. Janzen at last found his footing. Standing, his hands were locked against a power that matched his own. Eye to eye with his opposition, Janzen hissed his contempt. “You! I’ll kill you, you god damned traitor!”
Standing his ground, holding Janzen at bay, Trennon Raymses glanced at Wyndall of the Jacoi before meeting the fiery gaze of Janzen with the ice of his own. “Well hey there, jerk-off. It’s been awhile. You know I never could pass on a chance to piss you off.” His voice was his usual calm calculation.
Janzen pushed Trennon away from him. The two circled each other as Janzen’s face bore true contempt. Trennon cast him a casual smile for his trouble. The battle around them waged on but had the good sense to steer clear of them. It did not take long before Janzen rushed Trennon only to find him ready.
The combatants collided once more. Two sources of vast power and potential paved a path of destruction and chaos as they fought with all their might. After several unsuccessful blows, Janzen again lunged for Trennon, hands eager to crush his throat or skull, anything he could get his hands upon. Ducking the hands, Trennon wrapped his arms around Janzen’s waist, going with his momentum. Spinning once, twice, Trennon lifted his opponent from the ground before slamming him to soil.
Wasting not a breath, Trennon began to hammer down punches upon Janzen. Recovering quickly, Janzen caught Trennon under his arms, using his might to fling Trennon up and away from him. Trennon too crashed upon the ground with Janzen fast approaching him. Pivoting, Trennon tangled his leg between Janzen, sending him again to the ground. Both fighters got to their feet, before engaging each other once more. The strikes were fierce, with both taking the brunt of the other’s assault. The current round of melee was interrupted by a wicked uppercut from Trennon that knocked Janzen back several feet.
As Janzen again rose, an eight-inch blade protruded from Trennon’s fist. “Let’s end this little dance, Janzen.”
Janzen smiled with glee. “Sorry, boy-o. I got a few tangos still left in me.” Grabbing the nearest soldier fighting for his life. Janzen Wollace hurled the young fighter toward Trennon with great accuracy.
Sheathing his blade, Trennon braced himself for the collision. To the best of his ability, he cradled the incoming human bullet, falling backwards as they connected. Getting his arms around the Vallance soldier, Trennon crashed to the ground. He could feel the young man’s pain, especially at the sounds of bone breaking. But at the least, he lived. Trennon brought himself to one knee as he again made eye contact with Janzen.
“See you around, cretin.” Janzen smiled as he pushed through the battle, allowing himself to be swallowed again in the chaos that fueled his insatiable bloodlust.
Trennon brought himself to his feet. The warrior coursing through him was more than ready to tear after him. Nothing would please him more than to crush every inch of the hulking sack of crap that was Janzen. Yet as Trennon looked in his own arms, his reason returned, neutralizing his anger almost instantly. He remembered his place once more, and the people and country he’d sworn to protect.
Covering the injured soldier, Trennon tore through the battle, bringing the wounded man closer and closer to the safety of Rahn. Around him his artificial eye assessed the situation. The outer defenses were beginning to wane as Thorne forces boxed and pushed them inward. Handing off the soldier to a medic, Trennon again rushed into the middle of the fray. This is it. This is all the marbles, Trennon. Kill as many as you can as fast as you can and hope for a god damn miracle.
There was little else he could do that than that.
-48-
From atop a majestic steed, General Nathaniel Cresul looked upon the fruits of his orchestrated masterpiece. Before him was the culmination of ten years of his life; a plan that, once carried out, would elevate him to almost godhood in the annals of Thorne history. His armies were swarming the battlefield, falling upon the trapped Vallance forces like locusts on an unprotected field of crops. Everything he had planned had been leading to this one moment; this one decisive stroke that would mean ultimate victory for his country.
Cresul believed that there were few that could truly comprehend every intricacy carefully formulated behind the sheer brilliance of his work. Carefully, through deception, guile, and strategically placed ruthlessness, Cresul had slowly dissected the lands of Vallance piecemeal, starting first at the heart. As he battered at the limbs, he set about a careful game of subterfuge, destroying trust amongst allies, dwindling at the hope and morale of Vallance. And every second of it led up to the great finale. All the pieces were in place, and it was time to break the back on a country ripe for conquest. Cresul smiled to himself, unable to fully contain his elation.
In a few short hours his exploits would carry him into certain immortality where no one else could touch him. Of course, there were great names in the history books, but none would hold a candle to him. What the zealots didn’t realize was that for Cresul this battle was not about Thorne. Let the officials have their reasons. Let the soldiers have their victories. Let his country have this land. In the end, General Cresul knew the underlying truth.
This moment was about him.
Cresul had given his orders. Men behind him sent those orders via colored flags to the field commander. That commander (none other than Rhoneck Ashener, icing on the cake of morale breaking if you asked Cresul) carried out those orders with clear cut precision. Once again, General Cresul had bolstered his armies to make a hell march upon Rahn. There was no heavy artillery this time. This would be a straight out fight where the element of surprise and the vast sheer numbers that overwhelmed the Vallance defense would squash any hope of victory.
Cresul felt his heart leap as the two armies met and the real fighting ensued. The Vallance lines were holding but he knew it was only a matter of time. Once they were wiped out, his men would carry into the streets of Rahn, administering the same fate that Bannar had received five years before. Vallance would have no choice but to accept a complete and unconditional surrender, lest any other town join Bannar and Rahn in oblivion. To ensure his point, every man, woman, and child would share the equality of death from the swift hand of justice that was Thorne.
“Have you ever seen such a sight before, captain? I mean can you comprehend the magnitude of what we are witnessing
today?” Cresul glanced over at Captain Winick who was about to reply. The general answered for him. “No, of course not. You’re an idiot, after all. I didn’t promote you on your intelligence. But let’s pretend for a second that I did.”
Captain Winick nodded, not wishing to cross Cresul, especially not now. “The day is yours, general. It will be a victory of all victories.”
Nathaniel nodded. “You know, I think you have a point. Though careful your words. I will not tolerate your nose so close to my ass again,” he said, refocusing on the glory unfurling before him. “This is what the history books will remember. This is how I will be remembered forever and always.”
“General, we have incoming. A Ro’Nihn fast approaching!”
General Cresul looked at the man raising the alarm before looking in the distance. Did he say one Ro’Nihn warrior? Squinting, sure enough he could see a cycle fast approaching. A single warrior was at the controls and his destination was obviously the very hill in which Cresul was residing. Cresul’s tongue pushed at his cheek as he pulled a piece of debris from his armor, releasing it to the wind as he shook his head. “Winick, I’ve history to make here. Show me why I keep you around again and take care of that for me. I’ve no time to deal with pawns on my playing field.”
“I’ll handle it, sir.” Winick called a squad of men to him as they double timed it out to meet the approaching enemy.
Nathaniel Cresul gave the issue no more thought as he refocused again on the glory that was him and his crowning achievement.
-49-
For long moments Serra watched as Norryn Ashener made his way to his fate alone. Perhaps it was the shock, the revelation that she was not imagining the moment that kept her thunderstruck so long. Finally, she shook her head as if in some dream and turned to the others. Within her voice again was the emotion and conviction that defined her. “Come on! We can’t sit here. He needs us!” She found it hard to call him by name. Rynsik of the Jacoi. Norryn Ashener. One in the same. Unbelievable.
“I just can’t believe it,” muttered Vonack, also staring off into the distance. “It’s really him.”
Fahn helped the recently bandaged Esmie to her feet before looking at Serra. “What do you suggest? He just drove off with the only hovercycle we had left.”
Serra didn’t know what to say to that. As she tried to think of something, she noticed that Jozlyn was using her thumb and trigger finger to whistle sharply as she paced about. She could feel the others looking at her but continued, only pausing to reply briefly. “I know he followed us,” she said.
With the help of Fahn, Esmie turned around to face the three that had helped Fahn in their rescue. They were certainly a sight for her eyes. “Layric!” Fahn helped Esmie over to where Layric, Tlaloc, and Annai’ were approaching. Layric placed his deadly bow down and motioned for his companions to help the injured Ro’Nihn. “Esmie,” he said warmly.
“Um, can you look after her?” asked Fahn, anxious to join her friends.
“Of course,” said Layric Running Crow.
“Thanks!” Fahn left Esmie in the care of Layric as she made her way back to Serra and the others. Jozlyn was still whistling.
Voltaire pulled a signal flare from his pack. “I’ll signal for help.”
Serra shook her head frantically. “There’s no time! There must be something we can do!” Finally, it dawned upon her as she slowly turned her head around to face the hulking transport that had brought them to Rahn. “Quick! Does someone know how to drive that thing?”
Voltaire dropped the flare and headed toward the vehicle. “No, but I will damned well learn to.”
Serra, Fahn, and Vonack followed Voltaire as Jozlyn still whistled. Finally, her heart jumped as her horse whinnied a response. “There you are,” she said, allowing herself a small smile of relief before sinking back into her gunslinger instincts.
Surewind made a hard run toward her. As he drew close, Jozlyn began to backpedal before picking up speed. As Surewind neared she turned and began to run. Surewind finally came up beside her. Grabbing the saddle, Jozlyn planted her feet upon the ground and propelled herself up, landing upon her steed. She rode hard in the wake of Norryn Ashener, hell bent on ensuring his survival.
Esmie watched on as Tlaloc and Annai tended to her leg. As a healer, Esmie knew it was bad and resigned herself to staying put. Layric gave her some water after placing a blanket under her head. Esmie sighed. She would have two scars on the same leg now.
“You are not the luckiest warrior I have ever met,” observed Layric.
“Why thank you, Layric, it is good to see you too,” replied Esmie as she grinned at him. “You wonder if it is fate that keeps us meeting like this? Are we destined for such a life?”
Layric thought carefully before offering a response. “I would say how you would say it then.” He looked at her with his stern, hawk-like eyes. “Pish posh, I would say.”
Esmie giggled despite herself. She had been slow in slowing the bleeding and was a little woozy from the blood loss. But she would live in her own prognosis. Not far from them the big, metallic vehicle came choking to life. As the others boarded, Tlaloc stood. “I will go with them.” Layric nodded and off she went, jumping into the back with Vonack and Fahn.
The transport coughed, lurched, and with a little effort finally started heading slowly in the direction of the Norryn and Jozlyn. May the fates guide you back in safety, prayed Esmie. Trying to cover up her anxiety, she focused on her friend. “So Layric, my dear, do I have a story for you. Aye dios mio, more drama than you can shake a stick at. So anyway, it all started back at Axiter when I led this motley group of young ones on a quest of epic proportions. Who would have thought-”
As Esmie went on, Layric motioned for Annai to hand him a sticky bandage from her supply. Taking it in both hands, he used it to cover Esmie’s mouth. As she mumbled her surprise, he placed a hand on her forehead.
“Missed you too, just not all your words,” he said with a smile.
-50-
The wind whipped strongly against Norryn as he tore toward Cresul. He could see a squad of about 15 men coming out to meet him in the distance. Their commanding officer barked orders, drawing his sword for added conviction. Four groups of two readied and planted metal tubes into the ground angled toward him. Within moments the soldiers were kneeling on the ground, holding their artillery rounds at the ready. All was needed was the order.
And then it came.
The rounds were dropped within the tubes, setting them off. They spat into the air with a scream as they headed toward Norryn. The artillery pulsed violently blue as it rushed in his direction. Refusing to give, Norryn gunned the cycle faster still, facing the challenge head on. Clenching his teeth, he prepared himself for the fury as the first blasts connected upon the ground.
Great clumps of Earth and metal shards erupted from the ground. Norryn went on the evasive, moving the cycle left and right, narrowly missing each blast. The soldiers adjusted their aims, firing again and again. Norryn could feel the heat as he was showered in debris. Still he rode on, surviving a third volley as a fourth prepared to greet him.
The first of the fourth volley missed wide on the right. The second hit closer than Norryn would have wanted it to, sending him upward slightly as he lurched to the right. The final two blasts hit the ground almost simultaneously in front of the veering Vallance heir. The concussion of the force barreled into him. It was hard to see the outcome within the eruption.
Reacting on instincts, Norryn forced the cycle into a jump. He met the blasts and it helped propel him upward. The cycle began to spin in a circle mid-air with the back raising slightly higher than the front. The cycle flipped twice quickly as it made its way back down. Somehow, against all odds, Norryn landed on the ground right side up, facing away from the squad firing upon him.
The soldiers looked on in disbelief as Norryn hit the throttle again, surging forward before making a hard turn and making his way again toward them. They could s
ee that their target was not backing down. He meant to face them. He refused to be denied.
Norryn meant to see this ride until the end.
-51-
Serra could not mask her horror as she watched Norryn narrowly escape blast after blast. Her heart stopped for a moment when she thought he had been hit. But he recovered, veered the cycle around and continued forward. Serra didn’t know which would have been worse: seeing this or to have been in the back and not knowing what was going on. She clenched her hands and she prayed.
“Don’t let him die. Don’t let him die. Keep him safe.” She looked at Voltaire. “Can’t this thing go any faster?”
She knew his answer by the frustration in his eyes. Serra knew then that she was powerless to do anything but watch and pray.
-52-
Captain Damien Winick grunted as the meddlesome Axiter Ro’Nihn made his way through the radius of light artillery. He’d be damned if he’d let a single man or woman soil the reputation he spent years working cultivating. He’d played the lap dog. He’d played the puppet. All the work and waiting were about to pay off. This was his country’s moment and a day to be remembered forever. All he had to do was take care of this little oversight.
“Form rank! Prepare to fire on my command!” His men made two lines, the front line knelt as both lines readied and aimed their rifles. Gritting his teeth, he held his sword before him and dropped the end down as the signal. “Fire!”
15 coursing blasts fired in near unison at their single target. Upon Winick’s verbal command, the warrior hopped his ride and twisted in midair. The maneuver exposed the underside of his cycle to the approaching torrent. As he slid across the ground, most of the shots sailed over him with a few eating into the belly of the cycle. Hopping again, the warrior veered his path again toward Winick and his men.
Echoes of Ashener Page 33