by Dilland Doe
Theto tensed as a mass of horses, men, and weapons came right toward him. A couple dozen yards to his right, the stampede of the outside block rode to the side of the mercenaries’ flank and charged right for it. Simulaneously, the cavalry right in front of him charged toward Theto’s face.
Oh shit, here they come!
The screaming enemies released a hail of spears before whirling around just ten yards in front of Theto. He threw up his shield, easily protecting himself from the attack. Many other mercenaries deflected spears with magic, but some of the projectiles came through, producing the squishy sounds of puncturing bodies and the gasps of men. By the sounds of the hooves, the flanking easterners were whirling around as well.
Then, Theto heard the much heavier thunder of Hyzantrian mounted knights. This heavy thunder crashed into the light thunder of flanking easterners who still whirled in their attack formation. Men screamed, horses whinnied, bodies hit the ground, and weapons clanged. By the sound of it, the easterners were being crushed.
A volley of arrows, so thick that Theto couldn’t see behind it, concentrated on the horsemen directly in front of Theto. These warriors fell in droves. Theto glanced on the other side of the battle to see the same crushing Hyzantrian tactics. The heathens fled as more of them fell to repeated arrow volleys.
Theto turned toward Georgy, “Oh, The Divinity; less than twenty percent of them even survived!”
Singing, Georgy replied, “Gotta have faith!”
“Ha haaaaa!” Theto won his first major battle without swinging either of his swords.
Ch. 54
Theto sat alone at a small round table covered in a white tablecloth. A single candle burned in the table’s middle behind a dish of pasta and a glass of wine. Theto was not gonna drink that wine. “So, how was your week?”
Yepiera, speaking from a louse in his hair, said in a womanly voice, “Oh, great. I love to see my man progress. I’m so very relieved he survived his first major battle. And now he finally makes me a romantic dinner for two…ouuuuuuu!”
Oh, The Divinity. Theto took a bite of the pasta he made. The pleasure of the sauce, special ingredients, noodles, and meat surrounded his tongue.
“Good?”
Theto nodded, “Very.”
“Why don’t you try your wine?”
“It’s just there for the romantic ambiance.”
“Oh my, you care about ambiance…my sweety!”
Theto released air from his mouth. She told me I had to. Do all high beings require this much upkeep?
Theto took another bite.
The door of the room burst open. Hibb stomped in. “News! I’ve got great news!”
“Get him out of here!”
Theto whispered, “Calm down, he just got back from translating negotiations between the northern eastern empire and Hyzantria. He may actually have important stuff to say.”
Yepiera growled.
Hibb froze in front of the table. “Uuuuuuh, you’re eating like this by yourself?”
“He’s having dinner with me you nincompoop!”
Hibb’s eyes widened as he leaned his head back. “Oh.” He scratched his head. “Cool.”
Theto took another bite while everyone remained silent. He had a cup of water on a stool behind Hibb, but he couldn’t keep it on the table because it would ruin the ambiance. Theto swallowed. “The news?”
“Yes! I got great news!”
Theto stared at his uncle a moment. “It is?”
“Great!” Hibb pumped a fist in front of him. He paused for a second, then spoke. “The northern eastern empire will ally with us against the south!”
“What? But that would be against their own kind.”
“Oh, hooooo,” Hibb chuckled. “Those two empires fight all the time. They’re arch rivals. Playing them off one another is one of Hyzantria’s favorite tricks.”
Hibb continued, “In two days Hyzantria will strike out into infidelic territory. We’ll punish them for their attempted invasion. What were they thinking? This will make our job defending plantations very easy.”
Theto shook his head. “I completely broke my plantation contract and I can easily extend my one with Hyzantria. If we’re invading heathen territory, I’m going.”
Hibb sighed. “Thought so. Looks like I’ll be going too.”
Taking another bite of his food, Theto felt like a baby having his uncle have to come with him everywhere, but his uncle was a master illusionist, and it was always good having a friend along. Theto’s best friend during training turned out to be some sort of crazy monster trying to capture him…but still…he’d rather not have Hibb’s buffoonery annoy him during an invasion. Theto wanted to live his own life, away from his elders.
At least Uncle was out of the way while he was off on his translating gig. If only I could keep him away now.
“I bet you’ll miss your secretary if you invade east.”
Hibb looked down with sadness before lifting his head again. “Yes, but with luck, I’ll return. She knows I have to protect my nephew.”
“Chances that you’ll get assigned to the same unit as me are incredibly low.”
“Bah! I’ll force myself in.”
Theto looked at him like he was an idiot. “You’re not in the greatest of shape, Uncle. It’s not gonna be fun marching east.”
Hibb pumped a fist across himself. “I can handle it!”
“But Uncle, you did such a fantastic job on the diplomatic mission. Surely you’ll be of more use there. And your secretary can keep you company on any such missions. You’ll be helping win the war I fight, which is a way of protecting me. I can’t die from battle once the war’s over. Also, you’ll have so much more food, won’t have to march in uncomfortable conditions, and it’s been so long since you bought a new hat. With the higher pay, you can easily afford the best.”
Hibb smirked. “I do like fancy hats. I’m thinking of getting a round one with an angular brim. You know, angular?”
“Right…I’ve found brothers as a mercenary. Please, let my brothers protect me. You can help me by using your other skills. And when I get back. I’ll check out all your new fancy hats.”
Hibb stood in front of a small, hanging mirror while making illusions of different hat styles. “I dare say that some of these fake hats are dashing. I believe it is time for a real one!” He put his pointer finger in the air.
Theto smiled in relief, then thought about the mysterious east; where ancient magic empires once ruled. The army would just be making an excursion, but maybe he’d somehow run into his mother.
#
The stars seemed even more beautiful on this moonless night. It was weird, Theto was a week’s march inside of easterner territory, but the stars looked ever so similar. The quiet splash of oars repeatedly hitting water all around him acted as an audio backdrop for the night sky. He then looked down at the swords in his hands and prepared his mind for blood.
Other than chasing down a few scouts, the march into the east had been quiet, but an important fortress had to be taken. Following a river, the Hyzantrians had been resupplying themselves by water, and they couldn’t continue to do that if this fortress remained in eastern hands.
While the land walls of the fortress appeared well-maned, scouts said the dockside was left completely open. Theto guessed they wanted to supply themselves this way, but it seemed like an obvious hole. They probably didn’t expect Hyzantria to defeat their invasion and counterattack so quickly.
Theto prepared himself for the sounds of battle as the first rowboats neared the dock and soldiers stepped onto land. Theto heard no vicious sounds—Just men stepping off their boats and more boats rowing up.
Theto approached the dock to see Hyzantrians and mercenaries crowded against a wall with their weapons drawn. Thick wooden doors blocked the entranceway, but the easterners had no one guarding it. The Hyzantrians would need to break it open fast, before the enemy could rally to its defense.
“Theto!” someone n
ear the wall whisper-yelled as he moved back toward the river. “Theto!”
Theto raised his hand, and whisper-yelled back, “Here!”
Major Ripface’s face appeared inches in front of Theto’s in the night. The major looked at Georgy standing next to him, then back at Theto. “You guys are sneaky bastards, aren’t ya?”
Theto and Georgy nodded.
Ripface said, “The Hyzantrians don’t wanna destroy the doors so they can use them as defense. I need you two to scale the wall, then get into the gatehouse and open the doors. It’s above and behind the entrance. I don’t know why we’re not screaming in hot oil and arrows right now. If someone gets in your way, kill them silently. I trust your illusions will help you sneak in.” The Major focused his gaze on Theto.
Theto nodded. “We got it.”
Using his thumb, Ripface pointed toward the wall.
Georgy and Theto looked at each other, nodded, then made their way to the walls.
They both scanned the barriers from bottom to top. We can’t climb this.
“Mercenaries!” someone whispered.
They looked at the voice. An armored Hyzantrian held out rope with a metal claw device on the end.
Theto took it and started swinging it. He drew on Yepiera’s power to shroud the rope, himself, and Georgy in shadows, then threw it. Yes! It reached the top and caught tightly. He turned toward Georgy. “Let me get up first, then you.”
They both climbed one by one. Theto didn’t know how Hibb had the mental control to make himself invisible from all sides, but at night, Theto could get pretty close by covering himself in lumpy shadows that hid forms and shapes.
They made their way to the gatehouse, walking silently and with their heads on a swivel. There they saw their first easterners—two men sleeping on the ground next to the wheels that must open the river doors. Theto and Georgy each approached one, then slit their throats.
The mercenaries each leapt to a wheel and started spinning them like mad. They cringed at the noise of the door opening.
Georgy whispered, “Can’t you cover it up?”
“I can only make individuals not hear sound, but I have to target them. I don’t know where anyone is.”
Fortunately, the wheels moved easily and the doors opened, followed by a Hyzantrian army that spilled in and split left, right, forward, up, and down as they went through the center and up onto the walls.
Georgy and Theto joined the front of the soldiers making their way left on the walls.
Then finally, an eastern tongue shouted and alarm bells rang, followed by clanging metal and slushing guts.
Theto and Georgy led their group of Hyzantrians toward enemies drawing their bow strings aimed for invaders in the center of the fortress. Theto and Georgy tore through the first of them before the foes even saw the mercenaries coming.
Behind the dead archers, others drew swords. Theto created an illusion of thirty of himself and sent them charging first. While the enemy fought fake assaulters, Theto and Georgy sliced through easterner after easterner. Theto’s arms moved with precision, but it felt a little like target practice with the enemy dead before they realized who wasn’t an illusion.
Alarm sparked in his mind as he realized that him and Georgy fought alone. He glanced behind him. The Hyzantrians stood back where the fight first began. They watched wide eyed, staring at the illusions.
Oh, shoot! Would I have been like that before my exodus?
Georgy yelled, “Stop the illusions!” while at the same time Theto noticed the entire push of Hyzantrians below halted. They hid behind their shields while arrows came at them from above and ahead. The formerly surprised and retreating enemies glanced at each other in confusion.
Theto cut the illusions while continuing to slice through enemies with both his swords. A few second later, the Hyzantrians chanted, “The Sovereign! The Authority! The Divinity!” before charging forward.
Theto now blocked attacks and dodged arrows, but it only slowed the death dealt by his blades a little. Perlio had taught Theto well.
Finishing by force of arms alone, the Hyzantrians and their mercenary allies slaughtered the defenders.
Ch. 55
Zephyra took solace in the black veil covering her face. She didn’t want the people to know she wasn’t crying. They may not understand that I already cried out my soul. She could sob no more. She and her sixteen-year-old brother, two years younger than her, walked in front of the long procession through the streets of Petra. Onlookers stood solemnly, some crying, as pallbearers carried their king and their prince through the people.
The people loved their king, but they loved themselves more. They not only grieved for the loss of an adored leader, but for the future loss of their homes, lives, and freedom. The Hyzantrians could not be stopped. Over the last few months, they smashed the city-states’ navies. In one battle, they struck down most of the best nobles in all of Citia. And with Hyzantria being the city-states sole source of estra, supplies of the mighty armor dwindled.
The procession headed toward the back gate, outside of which, two grand funeral pyres already stood. Her little brother, now King Iakchos, would have to burn his sibling’s and father’s bodies. He’s not ready. He was never meant to be king, and never should have.
Alarm bells rang from the harbor. The procession halted as everyone on the streets turned their heads toward the new flag rising over the port: red, signaling that an enemy navy approached.
The High General stood just behind the caskets. He yelled orders to military officers around him, who then sprinted through the crowd.
Iakchos turned toward Zephyra. “Sister, you must finish this ceremony.” His voice shook. “I must fight.”
Zephyra’s instincts told her to plead with him to stay, even to demand that he does. Not because of the insult to the former king’s death, or because she wasn’t more than capable of lowering a torch to neatly stacked wood, but because he would die if he fought. But she had not been following her instincts since the bodies of her brother and father arrived.
She knew of their deaths in advance, but the bodies made it real. She should have never looked at them. Her brother’s eye had been stabbed through, creating a gaping hole in his head. Her dad looked colorless, but otherwise normal; like he was just sick and needed some rest to get better and wake up.
She nodded at her little brother who with she used to play games of strategy and games of mirth. The eldest, being five years older and much more serious in his preparation for kingship, didn’t play. Being a princess didn’t lead itself well to female friendship, and she didn’t enjoy the male matches her dad tried to make with her. Zephyra silently dismissed her best friend and sole remaining brother without a goodbye. He was already dead.
No one instructed her to halt the funeral. Maybe no one knew if there’d be another chance to do it, so she walked. Those in the procession not in uniform followed behind her. The military officers ran off to die against their eastern neighbor. About half of the citizens lining the road ran to their homes to prepare for invasion in whatever way they could. Others, maybe resigned to their fate, stayed and watch the funeral. Maybe they didn’t see it as the funeral of the king and prince, but a funeral for themselves, and for the entire grand city of Petra. Maybe even for the entire League.
She led the procession up a hill outside the walls. A mass of people surrounded the hill. Only the high citizens near the top would see the flame’s lighting, but all would see the flames. Zephyra refused to glance at the sea, where the navy would be leaving the harbor or, as far as she knew, would already be clashing with enemy vessels.
Some around her turned back and forth from watching the pallbearers remove the bodies from the caskets, and carry them up the soon to be flaming steps, to watching the seas. If a battle is visible, I imagine they’d all be watching the sea.
The men placed the bodies atop the structures, then came down and stood behind Zephyra. Iakchos, the new king, was supposed to say a few wo
rds, but he had left to follow the dead to their state of being.
She wanted to light the bottom of each pyre and be done with it. Her dark mood made her care not how it looked. All was lost anyways. But the part of her that felt a deep sense of duty to her title of princess pressed her to say something.
“They fought bravely in life. And we shall fight bravely in their death. Long live Petra and the Citian League.”
A cheer went up around her. It grew as her words spread to those surrounding the hill. She lit the bottom of her father’s pyre, then her older brother’s. She wondered if she’d have time to light her younger’s.
#
The Chalcian ambassador in his robes spoke to the High General who looked huge in his estra-armor. “Please, listen to me. Ultimate glory is in victory not death. We have a chance if we can drag this war out. The mountains of Kavalis make it impossible to invade. The Kavalians are quite skilled at farming the terraces. We could all hold out for many years and raid the Hyzantrians till they offer us our freedom.”
The High General of Petra swung his thick, green arms in front of him. “No. True glory is in battle and honor. You suggest cowardice. I will not see my city captured while I run on a boat. I will die first.”
“You will.” the ambassador snapped.
They glared at each other.
The ambassador stood up straight, his face relaxing. “I apologize. I’ll make my arguments before the king.” He bowed his head.
Zephyra listened, sitting ten yards away, eating a chicken gyro. Out of her funeral black, she wore a teal dress and large pearls around her neck with a ruby shinning at the center of the neckpiece.
Running pounded off stairs. A heavily breathing sailor ran into the room. He glanced back and forth from the High General to Zephyra indecisively. He settled on her. “The navy is defeated and in full retreat. The king has fallen.” He went down to a knee.