by P. S. Power
That man died, before any real damage could be done. Anders was struck on the arm, his left again, but only with the side of the large blade. Not taking time to see if the Wizard was actually still alive, he called out.
“Master Tolan, behind me and follow!” Then he ran to the next hut over, where there were sounds of fighting coming from inside.
Glancing back, he grimaced, even if it was clear that the older man was actually there, walking quickly and looking over his shoulder. It was dark out but that just meant familiar forms were identifiable, since his night vision was good.
Rushing in to save the Prince was an idea. It felt correct even. It would also be foolish. There was too much room in that particular hut and it would be too risky to push in one area at a time. It could knock the man on their side over as he needed to defend against a blade or blow. Instead he thought for a second, then physically slapped the logs that made up the front of the humble dwelling.
“Light coming! Shield your eyes! Bar-ere-fen!”
The single log in the wall started to glow, about as brightly as the sun, if on a cloudy day. Everyone in the area had to cover their eyes. Except Anders, who rushed inside to find two living men, both suddenly blind, and one on the floor, seeming dead or like he was about to be.
Thankfully the Prince was one of the living. He was also trying to cover his face with his unarmed hand.
The other man joined his friend on the floor. The explosion didn't rip him in half, hitting the Yansian in the face as it did. There was no movement other than falling. The man on the ground got the same thing, in case the blood seeping from his middle wasn’t enough to end his days.
“This way. We have to save Captain Horner!”
Like the Prince, the man was already busy fighting. He only had to go against one man himself, and used the glow from the other cabin to his advantage when the two men stumbled out, tied together in combat. Apparently, being a Captain in the army meant something about fighting skill, since the other man didn’t rise when their man did. The blade in his throat prevented that from taking place.
As they all got outside, calls to arms going up around the whole encampment, the world around them to the front and sides lit up, bright enough that much of the forest was easily seen. Entire trees lit, as low thumping noises hit, one after the other. Many of them coming fast, five or six at one time.
It was still hard to see, his night vision ruined as it was by the glowing log of the Prince’s cabin. The other men there moved off to other positions. Toward the protected center of the camp. Anders froze, looking the wrong way, mainly because he tripped, not able to see the downed enemy fighter at his feet very clearly. That made a sound, a low thing that wasn’t like armor at all. Glancing that way the man seemed to smell like he was damp. Wet from the water.
Just as he glanced that direction, lines of light flew in great arcing patterns through the sky.
“Fire arrows.” Coming from the side they hadn’t bothered to defend at all, since it would be impossible for a real force to come from that direction.
Except that, somehow, there were archers in the water. Sending fire at them, in the night.
The sky itself was just beginning to become light again, the work of lighting the forest and the traps going off making him breathe hard with sudden exertion. It was just enough to see that there were dark blobs out in the water, several hundred feet away. Unreachable by the men on the ground.
Except for his single bow. He ran then, blood seeping from him in more than one place, parts of his left arm and his throat burning from the wounds there. Things that had to be minor enough, since he still lived. His bow and arrows were kept in his hut and he strung the thing in the dark. Clumsily. He had practiced but no one had ever suggested that he learn to do it while mainly blind.
His arrows were in a canvas bag, so he grabbed the whole thing, carrying it in his right hand. Painfully. Twice he had to set it down, even though no one else seemed to be inside the camp to attack them. The fabric kept slipping from his fingers, making him almost drop it.
Arrows kept raining down on them from above, filled with fire. That meant they had flame on the boats. A thing he could make out, on occasion, when the people moved around to have their ammunition lit. Flashes of light that told him of their positions. Giving him something to aim for in return.
Heaving from exertion, Anders didn’t fire his first arrow instantly. Instead he thought about what might work best. Not explosions, since the spell to target a man precisely was too complicated to use quickly. Fire was out, for the simple reason that it would be too easy to put out, being on a lake made of water, as they were out there.
In the end, he chose to freeze them. It would be more work and mean that he’d have to measure his efforts well, so that he could continue. Already a few things in the camp were on fire. Things he could put out but didn’t. Not until he could stop the new fire arrows from raining down on them.
Anders struggled to mutter the spell correctly, the arrow he was using nocked and ready, resting on the string. When he pulled back, his left arm burned horribly, from his wounds. He did it anyway. Targeting one of the low boats in the water. The one furthest from him, over to the right.
He missed. Hitting none of the people. That was obvious, since the wood made a thunking sound where the arrow connected. At least he thought it did. With all the yelling and screaming, most of that coming from outside their lines, it was hard to tell what was happening.
Except he could feel the bubbling tingle of his own magic as it activated. A thing it wouldn’t be able to do if it only hit water.
No more arrows came from that platform.
It took three arrows to get the one next to it, hitting water like he did. Then, one by one, he managed to slowly stop the others. Making that happen took nearly half an hour. At least he thought the sky was lighter by enough for that. True sunrise came then, the scent of smoke behind him strong. Out on the water there were tied together logs, each with many men on them. Rafts, he thought, knowing that only from descriptions and stories. He’d never seen one of those before.
The daylight showed him a new threat, coming from the water again. From the direction that only he was defending, for some reason. Out there, heads bobbing as they moved, were at least a hundred fighters coming at him. At all of them, of course.
Again, for the fourth or fifth time, Anders froze. This time he was merely thinking. After all, setting arrows to freeze them all worked really well, if they wanted to volunteer to be in the water that way. He was through nearly half of his arrows already and didn't want to waste them. Instead of risking those, he walked over to the shore, looking for some rocks. There were some left, the camp not having been scoured of them the evening before, thankfully.
His throws weren’t that accurate and his spells had to be made far more sensitive, which would kill him if he missed his toss for some reason. Still, over the course of ten minutes, nearly a hundred and fifty panicked men with blades in one hand died in the water. They stuck out of the surface of it, not sinking. Lodged in the ice, side by side. The removal of the heat from the water actually warmed the air around him. Making a soft breeze that wasn’t natural. Water took a long time to freeze, normally. By using magic, the heat was stolen from it instantly. That created some effects that Anders had never noticed before, when the area affected was so large.
About that time things got easier on him, magically speaking. The glowing trees that had showed where the enemy was out front, stopped making light. If any of his magics were left untriggered he couldn’t feel them. That could mean anything in the moment. He was so tired that standing felt like a chore. Looking down at his bright red left sleeve, he had to allow that it might have been partially due to blood loss. The fighting was still going on but he stopped for a moment to get a cloth out of his things, back in his hut, then tied it off, so he wouldn’t pass out as easily.
They were still in a fight, with no one coming from the water side an
y longer. Rather than rush to the front lines, he moved around the camp and put the fires out, using the awkward gesture he had for that. His left hand pointed, with the third finger down and thumb out to the side. The effort from it was enough to leave him breathing heavily again. Also, his hand kept cramping up, making it hard for him to hold the right sign out in front of him.
Not giving in to the temptation to sit, he waited, watching the dead in the water. Seeing activity in the distance, where at least a hundred more people stood, gesturing at him. Rudely, he had to imagine. A lot of the things they were doing involved grabbing their own groins or turning around to show him their behinds. They were too far away for him to hit easily with his bow. If he’d been stronger, he might have reached them, meaning they were only about five hundred paces away.
They had boats, real ones that were small, having sides on them. Raft platforms as well. Pointing at him, one of the men called something out. What that word was, he didn't know. It got all of the others standing there to turn, picking things up then. Firing arrows at him from their own long bows.
Most of them fell short, hitting the water and even the ice, well away from the shore. Some few got close to him, with one of the things landing not two paces from his feet. They tried for several flights worth of arrows. Anders, afraid one of them would get lucky, held his ground.
Their arrows were smaller than the ones from the war bows of his people. That meant he could use them, if enough of them landed near him. Without moving he composed a spell then, which would bring those to him. Not all of them had survived their action well. At least fifty of them did. A pile of the things grew next to him, as the men in the distance, the enemy, kept attempting to kill him.
Probably due to the fact that he was the only one there, guarding the water side of things. Eventually another order was shouted, which got the attackers to load on their rafts, moving in his direction. Slowly, pushed along by boards and long sticks that were stuck down into the water. Every so often as the distance closed, one of the archers would try to kill him again. They got close enough that he had to use his shield gesture each time, just in case they got lucky.
The collective aim improved as they closed on him, the little boats moving faster than the archers’ heavy rafts by far. When the little craft reached two hundred paces from him, he fired back. Using the enemy’s arrows, which weren’t as good for his bow as his own. They got far enough away, missing the little targets in the water. That was fine.
He wasn’t even bothering to put spells on them, saving himself for later that way. As the rafts moved in, getting about to where his own arrows could hit, they tried flight after flight of arrows again. Some of those hit further into the camp.
“That should do it.”
He’d been hiding behind his shield when the arrows flew, his left hand up and turned toward him, his last two fingers down, thumb held in. It was hard to hold for long, since his hand wanted to cramp up again. That happened even if he was feeling fine, which he didn’t at the moment. The move was just awkward that way.
When he was ready, Anders started lobbing spells at the boats. Freezing them where they hit, like the others in the water. After the smaller craft, which seemed to have foot soldiers on them, all went still and stopped moving, the people on the rafts decided that killing him wasn’t going to work. Instead they tried to flee.
That didn’t help them much, either. They all died, trapped on the water like they were. In the end some of the men on the last raft tried to escape by diving into the water. For at least two of them it worked. The rest sank, without him even doing anything at all.
Even with fighting going on behind him, he held his position there, prepared to fight again. If he could manage it. About mid-day a horn blew, coming from out front. Behind him. Then there was a cheer from his own people. Anders didn’t move, not knowing what that meant at all. He just stood, trying not to fall down.
Sometime later there was a noise behind him, which was one of the foot soldiers. Sergeant Bennet. The one that had shown him how to bleed an animal to leave the meat tasting better. The man just looked out at the water, then at him. That lasted for long enough that Anders figured he was going to have to speak soon. He was too tired. There had been too much death and that arrayed in front of him, in the water, was all his work.
How many had died because of him that day he didn't know. It was a lot. More than seemed reasonable. The other man, possibly understanding how he would be feeling, walked away then. Coming back a while later with Captain Horner, Prince Alpert and Master Tolan. They all looked to have been in the fighting. Even Master Tolan had a line scratched on his face. A cut, if not one that was too deep.
The Captain swore, looking into the water. At the ice that had formed in several places. The bodies which were trapped in it, on the rafts and boats.
“That was their trick then, Master Tolan. To come at us from where they shouldn’t have been able to. Hasty log rafts and stolen boats from along the lake. Was this the source of the fires? I’d figured that we had a saboteur sneak in.”
Anders nodded, barely feeling like he was moving for some reason.
“Archers with flame arrows. I was able to… Stop them.” The last two words were weak sounding. Sad. Not that he wouldn’t fight to protect his people. Anders Brolly had done exactly that, he knew. The boy and the man trapped inside of him had both done what they were supposed to. It didn’t feel like a glorious tale.
Looking out at the dead, all in uniforms of gold and brown, he saw them as men who wouldn’t see their homes again. Most of them probably weren’t that old, either, since soldiers weren’t. They’d had to die though, if his people were going to live. That was, right or wrong, the way of war.
The other side wasn’t normally going to be evil. They were just doing what they were told to by their masters. What they were ordered to do probably even seemed more or less correct. Like it was needed, for some reason or another. Anders was no different.
Except that no one had been there to tell him what to do. He’d acted on his own, since no one else there could have done anything at all.
Prince Alpert patted him on the shoulder.
“It was needed. This many firing arrows at us, or getting fighters into the camp, would have been enough to have us all dead.” There was a look at the water again, then, after a long while, he nodded. “That’s a quarter of their force out there. All of their archers were coming in here, it looks like. We’ll need an estimate as to the enemy losses on the other three sides. Any suggestions as to the clean up?”
Anders didn’t know what to do about that. Farad understood that not taking care of it would lead to potential health risks. Their water was coming from the lake and that had dead men in it. If they started to rot it would taint it all. The stench from the corpses would get strong as well.
No one else spoke, so he nodded.
“Collect the bodies off to the side. Strip them first. Then I’ll freeze them all. That will buy us some time. If I can do that every few days, they won’t rot. That doesn’t take care of it forever but…”
The Captain nodded.
“Good thinking, Brolly. It will take less time than burning or burying them. I don’t know what kind of force they have left out there but even with the losses they have so far, they didn’t bring out their big weapon. It sure as sanity won’t be some boats. That means they’ll regroup and come at us again, as soon as possible. I want that double checked, if you can manage that, Master Tolan. Guessing isn’t as good as knowing. This here proves that.” He waved at the water, then behind them.
Then the man yelled, louder than seemed possible, given the fight they’d been in.
“We need a healthy body or two to scout the perimeter!”
That they had anyone left who wasn’t wounded surprised Anders. Then, he hadn’t seen the men defending the wall, only heard the fighting. There were people willing to risk going outside, most of whom didn’t have any sign of battle on them at
all, other than their tired faces. Not everyone was that lucky. Off to the side of the middle position men were laying on the ground, side by side. They had dead, along with bleeding and crying men. Moaning was in there as well.
Grimacing, he counted them all.
Thirty-six dead. Forty even were wounded to the point where they had to sit or lie down, instead of standing to guard something. A few of the men doing that leaned on the wall, using it to hold them up. It left them with about a hundred and fifteen or so people to defend against the next attack. If that came too soon, then they were all going to die.
Carefully, five men were selected to go and get a count outside the wall. A few others worked to move the frozen bodies in the water, swimming out and stringing ropes, so that they, ice, boats and bodies, could be pulled off to the side, well away from them.
In the end, after all the bodies had been frozen solid, a thing that left Anders feeling horribly ill, weak from hunger and thirst, he made himself eat. Nothing inside of him wanted that, except for the part that needed energy to keep living. That part had him work on the food, eating the hard bread and meat until he couldn’t any longer.
As he ended his repast, thinking of those who would never eat again, the Captain came and sat near him, Prince Alpert and Master Tolan working over in that direction not too long after.
Horner spoke first.
“They lost over seven hundred last night and this morning. We’re down forty-seven. A least ten more look to be dying. Any word on how they’re regrouping, Master Tolan?” The man rubbed at his face, seeming tired. Exhausted on a level that was hard to even be around.