by Dilland Doe
“Woa, King Sannacles, watch out.”
Eight guards in mail with their weapons drawn rushed in behind him.
“Capture them and find out who’s connected.”
“Yes sir.”
As they gathered the assassins, Sannacles stood over his wife. Blood stained her night gown, soaked the bed, and dripped from her mouth. Her eyes lay open staring straight ahead. He reached over with his burly hands and closed them.
His nose burned. His lungs shaking and jaw shivering, tears welled in his eyes as he took in quivering breaths. Grief rose within him until it exploded and he burst into tears. “Oh, my dear wife. Ooooohhh.” He then exploded with rage.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
#
King Sannacles ran out of the keep with his dead wife over his shoulder. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Spinning in circles through the streets of Actus, with one hand on the queen and the other held out, palm up, the king yelled, “Who did this? Who did thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis! Our queen is dead!” Her blood stained his fancy robes. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
About twenty guards from the keep ran to the king to protect him. He turned to them. “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! My love, myyyyyyyyyyy love! You!” He pointed toward a guard. “Bring the assassins out here!” He pointed to another. “You! Get the Citian ambassador.” Then another. “You! The Hyzantrian ambassador.”
They responded in unison, “Yes, sir.” The three of them ran off.
A small crowd lined the streets, watching their king. “Our queen has been killed! I demand answers! I demand vengeance!” Saliva dripped down his chin. “Rrrwhaaaaaaaaa!”
The king shouted, spit, and paced about until his requests had been fulfilled.
Guards hurried with the ambassadors and the assassins, one of who was still unconscious. The assassins’ wrists and ankles were chained. Two men carried one by his hands and feet. The other had a guard holding each arm. One of those guards said, “Sir, his accent is clearly Prenimian.”
Still carrying Queen Herania, the king drew his sword. It flashed to the Citian ambassador’s throat. “Who did this?”
“Your highness, I swear I knew nothing of it. Citians wouldn’t murder your wife over trade.”
Sannacles growled, “You would murder a Hyzantrian! This is not the first attempt. The Prenimians did this. I will burn Prenim to the ground. I will slaughter every man, woman, and child. I will sow salt into their lands so nothing will ever grow again. I will have blood for blood.”
The Citian League’s ambassador narrowed his eyes. “The League will come against you if you attack, it would spell doom for Act—”
The king’s sword sliced through the ambassador’s throat. Blood gushed out as the emissary collapsed.
The crowd cheered, then chanted, “Vengeance! Vengeance! Vengeance!”
The king joined them, lifting the sword into the air again and again. The people who never showed love for Herania, now demanded blood for her death.
Circling as he chanted, Sannacles saw the Hyzantria ambassador. The Empire’s representative chanted too.
Ch. 40
Decked out in full estra armor, the elite one-thousand nobles of Actus led the charge. Most carried poleaxes, but a handful had big hammers, while one or two swung a smaller hammer in each hand. Green mist formed a fog above them as their heavy armor pounded into the ground. Behind them marched five-thousand infantry in mail, carrying similar weapons. Another thousand archers filled the back rows of the Actus army. Green grass colored the growing distance between the dashing elite and the regular army.
The Prenimian army looked identical except its estra elite stood awaiting the charge and the regular forces stood on a hill behind this.
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” The blood of the most sweet and gloriously beautiful queen to ever exist tinted Sannacles’s vision as he ran forward. The thuds and yelling of his fellow Actians sounded like he charged in the middle of a storm—a storm he led.
Rolling thunder erupted as estra slammed against estra. The foolish Prenimians didn’t properly brace themselves. Their front line crashed into the ground. As trained, the king and his front row battled over the knocked down enemy, parrying attacks while striking with concussive force. The second line of Actians crushed the downed Prenimians with massive blows to their helms. No dents were visible, but as indicated by the stillness of their wearers, the blows got through to the heads.
Sannacles parried a pathetically slow attack by an enemy. He rammed his pole past him, then leveraged the man to the ground, before launching forward, jabbing the end of his weapon into another man’s green chest plate. The fallen opponent, now behind Sannacles, screamed as a following Actian swung a pole’s hammer into the foe’s helm, silencing the shriek.
In less than a minute, half of the Prenimian elite lay on the ground, motionless. The other half of them backpedaled as the Actians pushed forward. Horns blew. The enemy turned and ran. Sannacles caught a fleeing enemy by the ankle with his axe. He pulled, tripping the fool, then lifted his poleaxe before swinging it down with the hammer end.
After the enemy forces separated from the chasing army, Sannacles yelled, “Halt! Haaaaalt!”
Others relayed the order.
“Make sure all their fallen are dead! If we have any fallen, see if they can be helped.”
#
Sannacles glared at the walled Prenimian harbor as he leaned against the edge of the Hyzantrian ship. “Those cowards! They assassinate the one true goddess on Earth, then hide behind walls? Are they truly Citian!? Ahhhhh!”
The king spun around looking at the armada of wood and sales, all bearing symbols of Hyzantria. Hyzantrian sailors stood ready on the ship he was on, and an admiral wearing a stupid hat stood patiently next to the king who bellowed, “You sent me a forest of ships but not one single siege engine? I want these assassins brought to justice! I want to avenge my wife through blood and guts, not by acting as cowardly as my opponents!”
Speaking in clear, but stilted, Citian, the old admiral said. “The Hyzantrian army takes more time to mobilize than the navy. But when it does, we will not charge defended castles. All but the largest islands don’t have diverse economies. They rely on trade. We will raid and burn their unprotected farms and maintain the naval blockade. In the end, they will be forced to give into our demands.”
Sannacles threw his head back. “Our demands? Our!? Your demands. I make no demands. I just want heads to roll.”
Sannacles stared at the calm waves for a moment. The water lightly bobbing and splashing against the boat was the only sound. The king lifted his head. “Awwwww, guts and glory! I agreed to this, but only because I need you if the League moves against me.”
The great chains that blocked the Prenimian harbor began pulling back into the sea walls that jutted into the ocean.
The admiral commanded, “flag battle formation.”
Sailors sprang around the armada of ships like swarming bees. Out from the harbor rowed triremes tipped with metal. Estra-wearing warriors stood in rows on the decks, prepared to do marine battle if a ship got stuck in the enemy after a ramming.
Sannacles paced back and forth. He wanted to kill, but he could do nothing as the navies maneuvered.
“Flags indicate enemy on the rear,” A man on the other end of the ship said. “Enemy on the rear! Three-fold larger than on the front!”
The admiral ordered, “Flag rear Captains to split and engulf when the rear attack reaches appropriate range.”
Spit flew out of Sannacles’s mouth as he yelled, “Who? Who aids my enemies? They will die! All of them!”
Sailors used pulleys to send different colored flags up poles on the boat.
The chants of the enemy row-men grew. “Hoo. Hoo. Hoo.” The double rows of paddles dipped into the ocean, pushed back, then lifted before doing it again. Their rectangular sails billowed.
Something shivered up Sannacles’s spine. An experience he never had bef
ore. “On the grave of my grandfather, am I feeling fear!?” He stared at the water directly below. It drifted by as his ship moved. “In all honor, let me at them! I need to fight!”
He lifted a leg onto the rim of the ship to jump over. Then froze. He expected someone to try to stop him, but the sailors focused on their tasks. He muttered, “These Hyzantrians better know what they’re doing.” He put his foot back on the deck.
The Hyzantrian ships split with their triangular sails. Half went left, the other right. Through the gap, triremes from both sides could be seen, paddling at full speed. The triremes flew across the water at much faster speeds than the slowly accelerating Hyzantrian sail-ships, but the triremes now sped toward each other.
The Prenimian boats started turning toward the ships away from Sannacles, while the other Citians turned after the group of boats the king rode. As the triremes arced through the water, the Hyzantrian boats loaded catapults on their decks with large caskets of oil.
The admiral narrowed his eyes. “Loose!”
The boats nearest the enemy shot low and relatively direct, while the boats in the middle of the retreating armada shot up over their comrades. The ocean around both sets of triremes filled with splashes. Some caskets landed on decks, exploding and spreading oil all over oarsmen, warriors, and the ships. Turning slowed the Citian advance, but after completing it, their oarsmen put their backs into their rows, speeding the boats back up.
The barrages of oil focused on the leading triremes. Then, the admiral commanded, “Fire arrows.” New flags went up poles and on each ship men brought up a small pot of kindling. Small flasks of oil were poured in, then a man stood over each pot while striking flint with a metal rod. As the fires lit, the crews cheered.
Archers dipped their arrows into the pots’ flames, then loosed. Almost every arrow landed on a trireme. The boats went up in flames. The lead triremes slowed as men stopped oaring and started trying to put out fires or jumping over. Some men screamed as flames danced over their bodies before they splashed into the ocean. The following vessels crashed into the leads. Those with oil instantly lit up. The others did so more slowly. Then, fire arrows rained on the rear ships. In minutes, all Citian sailors swam while their boats burned and sunk. Those in estra armor disappeared under the ocean waves. The Hyzantrians cheered.
The King leapt in the air. “Yeaaaaaaaaaaaah! Traitorous scum!”
He charged the admiral, whose eyes opened wide as he saw the large king coming. Sannacles squeezed and lifted the older man in the air while still running forward. He spun while jumping, holding him tight. “Ya haaaaa! Brilliant maneuver admiral! Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
Gritting his teeth, the admiral tried to push away, but it did no good. “Your Highness, Hyzantrians don’t bear-hug after victory. Put me down.”
Sannacles did so, laughing. “Ah Haaaaa! Those scum. Did you see the colors? It’s the Sorinthians, Cethenians, and Tartans. They thought they could take us down without waiting for the whole league to assemble. What fools! They must have been guilty too. Trying to cover their tracks. They killed my precious wife. They will all die. Let’s invade! Let’s burn down their cities, rape their women, and slaughter their men! Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
The admiral stared at the king.
Sannacles jumped and yelled in bloodlust some more, then paused, staring at the ground. He lifted his eyes toward the Hyzantrian with a smirk. “I suppose a blockade will work.”
The admiral grinned.
Ch. 41
Finio strolled toward the wooden house that served as the town’s city-council. The council wasn’t in, but he knew the mayor got up early. On the days leading to the toughest battle of their lives, Finio prayed and lightly practiced his magic and combat skills. He thought this made sense, but the Actians partied for a week in celebration of their Torn Lands alliance. Today was the sobering up day before the march on the wizard couple.
Finio entered the barn-like structure. Inside was the circular table where the council met. The empty quietness of the place seemed peaceful. Finio made his way to the back office where he suspected the mayor worked.
I still don’t get these people. Constantly conquered by new foreigners and they just go on living. Do they have no shame?
By candle light, the mayor wrote with a feather pen. His white hair puffed out to the sides under a round hat.
“Mayor.”
He lifted his eyes to Finio. “Yes, sir?”
“If we win our fight tomorrow, we will be incredibly powerful. I’m not even sure our leaders will bother conquering more after such a difficult victory.”
“Yes. I wish you boys the best of luck.” He went back to writing.
“My point is, if we win, we’ll have free time. We can train your locals. You can have a militia; maybe even an army one day. You can be an independent people.”
The pen paused. The mayor looked up at Finio. “Naaaa, sounds too risky. Why go through all that trouble when defense is free?”
“But you’re slaves!”
The mayor put the pen down, then interlocked his fingers on top of the desk. “Am I your slave?”
“Well-hh. No. You’re not literally a slave. But you give taxes to whoever controls the area. How can you be a people when you let others take your money?”
“My people know who they are. They don’t need an army to do that. If we build an army, then others will see us as a threat; then armies won’t come to simply charge us a little tax and to spend money in our towns and villages, they’ll come to destroy. My people have their customs and their own sources of happiness. We don’t need national pride. We don’t need glory.”
Finio stared at the man. He understood not wanting the vain glory of the Citians, but no national pride? He’s just a man. How does he obtain greatness without contributing to a great society? These people don’t even believe in The Divinity. What’s wrong with them?
The mayor spoke. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”
“Uhh, no. No.”
#
Never had Finio seen so many men in estra armor. Kericles’s alliance equaled in number the opposing Citians arrayed in front of them on the field. Finio stared at the robed couple—the man in green robes and the woman, with long black hair, in red. Both their outfits were thin at the waist and puffed out as they went to the feet.
Finio spoke to his cousin. “I can sense their connections. The man uses a support high being. I believe the woman can heal.”
Kericles nodded.
Finio continued, “If you used the horses, we could intercept their wounded before they’re brought back to her. Her healing could be a problem.”
Shaking his head, Kericles said, “You still aren’t a true Citian, cousin. There is no glory in cavalry. It’s an infantry victory or a loss. No other options.”
A cheer went up from the other side of the field. The enemy marched forward.
“Battle!” Kericles slammed down his visor and ran to his troops.
Finio focused on the magic flowing from the netherworld. He formed the energy with his mind and connected it to the entire force before him. He practiced extending the power to this many individuals during their party week, but he had never done it in battle. As the increase in speed and endurance flooded through the army, they cheered.
Two lines of estra-armored men marched toward one-another. The Actians took the center of their line. Both sides roared as only Citians can, then charged. In their heavy armor, the forces rumbled like stampeding buffalo.
Finio didn’t know the power of the enemy support mage. Clearly he increased his warriors’ speed as both sides blurred toward one another. BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BA-BAM! Like a series of explosions, the lines collided. Men from each side went flying in the other direction.
Finio’s mind split—part of him watching the battle, part of him focusing on the magic. Weapons colliding with armor and the yells of men sounded from the field. With all of them in green armor, Finio could
n’t tell who was who, but he kept his energy flowing to those he was already connected to. He sensed the other mage’s flow too. It seemed similar to his own. Does he send endurance and speed as I do? Finio had hoped only he sent endurance; this way a dragged-out battle would slowly be won by his comrades.
Men fell as heavy weaponry blasted concussive waves through armor. Both lines fought on, neither side giving way.
I wish Kericles had chosen an actual tactic. This is nonsensical!
Then, a mass of energy rushed from the support mage, all into one man while also maintaining the smaller flow to the others.
Finio gasped as he saw an enemy warrior grow to four times his normal size. How does he access so much power from his being? The weapon and armor grew too! What the, how the?
The giant swung his massive hammer before him. He attacked left and right, smashing away the center of the line, sending the best warriors, the Actians, flying through the air.
“Kericles, no!”
From the pot on Finio’s back, Kwitty said, “You can grow too. Take this power.”
A new sense from Kwitty hit Finio, he growled and accessed it. It ran through him, but he didn’t know how to translate it.
While the Actians gathered themselves on each side of the battle, including Kericles, the allies broke and ran. The enemy tripped some of them around the ankles with poleaxes before smashing their helms. The fallen men laid still.
The opponents halted their chase. Finio took away both his speed and endurance from the fleers. They moaned in exhaustion, then looked over their shoulders. Seeing that they were not pursued, leaders yelled, “Haaaaaaaaaaaaalt! Haaaaaaaaaalt!”
The retreaters slowed to a walk, then turned and faced the enemy, but did not advance.
Finio sensed the flow to the giant disappear, and the man turned back to normal size. The woman wizard ran to the lines, she bent to each of her fallen warriors, holding her hands over them. Then, they made slight movements before standing. Many allies lay on the ground, incapacitated or dead, but the enemy rose again.