by Pirateaba
Flos rode like the wind. No—the wind was weightless. In that case, Flos rode like thunder. He was mounted, riding hard and fast down the road, past groups of people.
And bodies. Some were collapsed, bundles of rags on first glance, until you saw the blood. They flashed past Trey, but he could smell the death as he passed.
And then he saw the people on horseback. He must have turned past a mound of dirt or else there was some gradient to the landscape, because there they were. Trey saw it in a flash. A huge crowd of screaming people fleeing. A knot of armed men and women—barely armored. Flashing swords, and the riders breaking away from the fighting to ride down on some of the fleeing refugees.
They barely saw Flos before it was too late. A man wearing scale armor and holding a spear was riding towards a young woman who’d fallen. He raised the spear, and his head turned as he spotted Flos, riding towards him.
He tried to turn his horse. But too slow. Flos’ sword cut up, through the man’s armpit. The arm holding the spear fell; the second cut went halfway through the man’s neck, between the gap of helmet and armor.
Flos yanked his sword away as the man fell. He turned and rode at the other riders without pausing. They paused, uncertain. Then they recognized him. The King of Destruction.
Some tried to flee. Flos rode down on a slimmer shape on horseback. A female warrior? His sword flashed and one of the riders fell, headless. Flos turned and his sword shot out, stabbing at another rider’s chest.
The man or woman blocked, but the thrust carried them out of the saddle. Flos rode his mount forwards and trampled the fallen rider as he cut at the third man on horseback as he rode at Flos, curved scimitar raised, screaming.
The man was wearing armor, but Flos’ blow knocked his sword aside and smashed into the pauldron the man was wearing. The armor bent around the blow. So did flesh and bone. Trey heard the man cry out in agony. He died reaching for his crushed shoulder as Flos’ second blow crushed his skull and helmet.
Seconds. Trey was still riding towards the dead rider as the last toppled from his horse when he realized he was riding straight into the battle. He pulled desperately at his horse’s reins and the horse reared.
Trey had to clutch desperately at the horse to keep from falling off. He heard someone shout his name.
“Trey!”
His sister rode past him, only managing to slow her horse after several more yards. She turned and he saw she’d drawn her sword.
“Don’t—”
He reached for her. Trey couldn’t have said why. He just knew he couldn’t let his sister, Teres, ride into the heart of that battle. She stared at him, and then turned her head.
There was no need for Teres. Flos was enough. He rode at the group of fighting men and women, aimed straight at the attackers on horseback. They too saw him too late.
It was like a red whirlwind. Flos’ sword moved in flashes, each time slicing through skin, bone, and even armor, or crushing the very same. There were two dozen mounted soldiers—Flos rode into them from behind and they began falling from their saddles. In pieces.
Trey saw the blood. He saw people dying, in ways he couldn’t have dreamed of. He saw a man raise a shield and Flos’ blow split his helm and expose his shattered skull.
Trey leaned over and threw up on the ground. That felt appropriate. There wasn’t any glory in this, any excitement.
But there was vengeance. And there was hope, when the fleeing people and those who had tried to fight looked up and saw their King, holding his bloody sword in the air.
“My King!”
The twins couldn’t bring themselves to ride towards the carnage, but Flos rode back towards them. Trey flinched when he saw the blood spattered along his arm and chest. Flos just looked at him and nodded.
“This is my world. See it with your own two eyes.”
Then he turned to the people who were flocking around him. They shouted his name.
“My King!”
“Our King has come to save us!”
“Long live Flos!”
Flos said one word.
“Silence.”
And there was. He turned to one of the few refugees holding a weapon. Trey was surprised to see it was a balding man, hair white and wispy, with a wide hat on his head. He didn’t look like a warrior, but the there was blood on the short axe he carried, and none on his body.
“You. Tell me what is happening.”
This man wasn’t weeping. He stared up at Flos with a huge, face-splitting grin. He bowed his head, but spoke clearly.
“My King. I don’t know how many of ‘em are out there, but there’s dozens of these fiends chopping anyone on the road to bits. We were marching when they came out of the blue, like. We tried to fend them off, but they were choppin’ us to bits before you charged into them.”
Flos nodded. His eyes found the other people holding weapons. They were all older men and women, Trey saw. Some were much older. Grandparents. An elderly woman had a shortbow in one hand. But what was surprising was how natural it seemed in her grip.
“There are elite warriors among you. Few, but I see it. I know you, don’t I?”
The man looked startled and then grinned, exposing a few teeth.
“I was an [Axe Guard], a [Sergeant] in your army, my King! I retired after you went into slumber, but I kept my levels and my axe.”
“I remember you. I remember not your name, but your face. You have more levels than these soldiers did. How have these raiders managed to overwhelm you?”
The man bowed his head.
“My King, there is a [Leader] of some kind out there. His Skills are aiding them. Without a commander of our own, we cannot match their tactics! And they outnumber us, us that can fight, that is.”
Flos looked surprised.
“There are no [Strategists] among you? Not a single one?”
There was a shaking of heads. Flos closed his eyes.
“Of course. [Strategists] may find work regardless of age.”
He turned, looked about the steep inclines. There were hills, rising out of the ground, obscuring vision. Flos’ eyes narrowed.
“More of my subjects are trapped in these passes. I must find them. Those of you with arms who can fight on horseback—mount up! You will ride with me! The rest of you—hold this position.”
He looked down at the retired [Axe Guard], the old man.
“Tengrip? Is that your name?”
“My King. You remember.”
Flos smiled. He reached down from his horse and Tengrip caught his hand. Flos turned and pointed at the twins.
“These two are my sworn followers. Trey and Teres. Guard them with your life. They can tell you what passes. Hold this spot, Tengrip. I will return shortly.”
He turned. The attacker’s horses had scattered, but someone in the crowd raised their fingers to their mouth and uttered a piercing whistle. The horses immediately turned and raced towards him.
Men and women followed Flos. Some paused to grasp weapons and even armor from the fallen; the rest mounted up. It was old men, pot-bellied adults, mothers and grandmothers who raced with Flos away from them.
Trey stared. Then he heard Tengrip’s voice.
“You heard the King! Grab weapons! Grab stones if you need to and form up! Children in the back—you lot with classes, front!”
People rushed to do as he said. Trey jolted when Tengrip turned towards him. The old man peered at Trey.
“You there, lad. Trey, was it? Do you have any classes in fighting?”
“N-no. Not really. I can use a sword. Sort of.”
“Best you’d give that horse to someone who can use it, then. Here! Reddy!”
He called out to another old man, and Trey found himself getting off the horse and letting an elderly man who looked like he was all skin and bones mount up. He only had a staff in his hands, but he looked more at ease sitting in the saddle of Trey’s horse than he had standing.
“You, girl. Give your h
orse up.”
Teres stared at Tengrip, but let herself be persuaded to give up her mount as well. The twins stood standing with hearts racing as the people around them rushed about, arming themselves, helping the wounded—or mourning the dead.
“This your first battle, boy?”
Tengrip’s hand startled Trey as he stared at the dead bodies. The boy turned to him. Tengrip made Trey face him.
“Looks like it. Blue as an unripe Yellat, aren’t you? Well just look at me. Breathe. You said you can use that sword?”
“Yes.”
“Draw it.”
Tengrip watched as Trey unsteadily unsheathed his sword. He made Trey swing a few times for him, and nodded. By the time that was done, Trey had forgotten about the bodies. Or rather, he’d begun to focus on more pressing issues.
“The King is awake! And he’s riding to save us, alone no less! Why ain’t Orthenon with him, or Lady Mars? Or Lady Gazi? I heard they were all at the capital!”
Tengrip was interrogating Teres. She was trying to explain about the army, and how Mars had to stay at Reim and Orthenon and Gazi were leading an army against one ten times their size.
“Can’t worry about that! Can’t worry—soon as the King hunts down the rest of the raiders we’ll be at the city! There’s thousands of us headed towards Reim—enough to hold the walls. You’ll see. The King’s back. He even remembered me! Tengrip!”
“That’s not your name, is it?”
Trey felt it was a silly question as he stared at the bloody axe Tengrip still hadn’t bothered to wipe. The [Sergeant] grinned at him.
“‘Swhat the fellows in the army called me. And if the King says it’s my name, well, it’s better than my old one!”
Then he turned to shout at the people milling about.
“Don’t break formation, you sand-cursed idiots! Hold your ground!”
They reacted to the voice of command. Tengrip eyed Teres and Trey, and put them well behind the ranks of people he’d spread out in a box formation. Not close to the center, where those without weapons and the ability to fight were, but far back.
Trey felt that was fair, but Teres protested.
“We can fight.”
“Teres—”
Trey wasn’t sure about that, but Tengrip was adamant.
“You two are the King’s servants. If he says you’re to be defended, you’ll stay back. Don’t worry—if we’re attacked, you’ll see fighting.”
And they were. At first it was tense, Trey feeling every second go by as he held his sword awkwardly in a sweaty hand. And then he was bored, talking with Teres, watching Tengrip show some people how to strike. And then he heard screams and saw riders coming over the hill.
There were ten of them. No—nine. One rider was just a horse, galloping with saddle half torn-off. Trey saw some of them had bows. They loosed arrows the instant they were in sight, and he heard a scream as someone was hit.
It was terrifying. The armored people were riding straight at them. But the refugees weren’t idle either. Bows raised. Several people had them, and arrows forced the riders to raise their shields. One struck a horse and made it rear, throwing its rider off—another caught a man in the shoulder, punching through chain links.
The rest were getting closer, though. It seemed as though they’d be right on top of Trey and Teres! He saw a man raising a sword and forgot he was behind several rows of people. Trey began to move along with a mass of people, but a voice stopped him.
“Hold your position!”
Tengrip’s voice made his feet obey. Trey halted, and the riders crashed into the rows of people.
It was a terrible sound and sight. Two of the riders were stopped by the first person—one literally thrown back by a man with a huge tower shield, the second impaling both horse and rider on a pike that was thrust into their path despite the rider’s attempts to swerve.
But the rest, six riders, charged straight into the ranks of people. Trey saw flashing hooves as horses reared, saw people beating at the people on horses. Someone was riding towards him. He raised a sword and then Tengrip was in the way. The old man hacked at the horse’s neck, and there was blood—
In seconds, it was done. The horse fell, to die in moments and the rider was beaten to death, stomped into the dirt. The other attackers were also dead.
But the broken bones and dead people who’d taken the charge were a testament to the cost. Trey wanted to run or throw down his sword, but Tengrip shouted, and soon the square changed. The wounded were taken to the center, and Trey was closer to the front.
Minutes passed. Hours? Trey heard more shouts and saw more riders. He held a sword as his heart and stomach lurched, but he had passed beyond throwing up. But this time the riders weren’t alone.
Cheers rang out as Flos rode towards them, at the head of a huge column of people, most on foot, clutching weapons. His arm was drenched in blood and gore, but he wasn’t wounded.
“It is a trap.”
He rode straight towards Tengrip and said the words so all could here. Flos silenced the voices and pointed back the way he had come with Trey and Teres.
“The raiders are breaking off. They’re reforming and making for the pass. There’s more behind us as well—keeping their distance.”
“How many?”
Tengrip asked apprehensively, eying the foothills in the distance. Flos shook his head.
“Many. Many more than there should be for [Bandits] or [Raiders]. These aren’t ordinary brigands either, but soldiers. This is a trap, meant for me.”
“In that case, we’ll hold them off while you escape, my King!”
Tengrip raised his axe, but Flos shook his head.
“I am their target. And I will not abandon my people. No, we will fight here and win or die. Now, assemble! [Archers], to the center of the formation! Those of you with the highest levels and mounts, to me! Tengrip, take charge of the rest and form a line. You will be fighting.”
“Aye, my King!”
Trey wanted to speak with Flos. But for once the King had no time for him. He was organizing the frightened people like soldiers. No, turning them into soldiers. The desperate, fleeing people had weapons now, and a leader. They were inexperienced, but there were hundreds of them, thousands. They were ready to beat their enemy to death with rocks or their fists if they had to.
For their King.
But it might not be enough. Trey heard the thumping in his bones before he saw the army. It was a thud, like a drumbeat. But what drum could make the very earth shake?
He got his answer when he saw the army. They emerged from the hills, surrounding the square of people and the mounted group led by Flos. Trey saw archers taking positions on the hilltops and soldiers waiting in clusters. But the main force of the army came down the road they had travelled, hundreds of soldiers, and mounted warriors.
And at their head, a man dressed in bright yellow robes, standing next to an armored man with a purple feather on his helm. But it was the robed figure the thumping was coming from. Every time he took a fourth step, the earth shook around him.
“[Mage]. High level one, it looks like.”
Tengrip spat the words as the army slowed, blocking the pass. Flos stared at the enemy commander, glancing to the hills. He nodded to Tengrip.
“Have the highest-level archers pick off those on the hilltops. Don’t engage them unless they come down; focus on those ahead.”
“Yes, my King.”
“Flos of Reim! You are surrounded and outmatched! Give yourself up and we will spare your subjects!”
The commander had begun to shout. His voice was faint; he didn’t have Flos’ incredible lungs or a Skill. Flos glanced at him and then at the mage. The man in bright yellow robes was staring at Flos, and there was a grim look in the King’s eyes as he stared back.
They were the true centers of this moment, Trey felt. The [Commander] was barely a speck in Flos’ eye. He kept shouting though.
“—Surrender yoursel
f now, or your people shall be slaughtered! You cannot—”
“Riders! On me!”
Flos turned, ignoring the man and raised his sword. The old men and women following him shouted and raised their weapons. Flos pointed—not at the [Commander], but at the [Mage].
“Ride with me! You are my blade, my spear! My [Royal Vanguard]! Charge!”
He kicked his warhorse forwards and the people screamed as they followed him. The stunned [Commander] had to withdraw into the lines of soldiers as the sixty or so riders raced after Flos, into the ranks of the soldiers.
“Charge! For the King!”
Tengrip ran forwards and the group of men and women with warrior classes ran forwards. People around Trey and Teres began firing arrows at the soldiers on the hilltops. The twins stared at Flos as he raced across the dusty ground, aimed straight for the [Mage] in yellow robes. They saw the magic-user grin, and then twist his hands.
The earth split. Stone walls rose in front of Flos, knocking aside the [Mage]’s own soldiers, forming a wall between him and Flos. The King swerved, cutting left into the army. Stone shards exploded from the [Mage]’s grip, cutting through the air. The [King] swung his sword and cut several from the air.
A woman riding behind him fell, a spike sticking out of her stomach. Then the soldiers were clashing with Tengrip’s warriors, and Trey saw the old man’s axe biting. The ground was red with blood already and screams filled the air. The smell of fear and sweat was in Trey’s grip, and the smell of iron too.
The battle had begun.
—-
They were losing the battle. But then, Maresar knew that was the point.
Mounted, loosing arrows into the fog with her group of archers, Maresar turned when she saw the figure appearing out of the fog. She had an arrow ready, but relaxed it when she saw Gazi.
“You’re wounded.”
The half-Gazer staggered towards Maresar, and the woman saw the black smoke rising from Gazi’s armor before she felt the heat. Gazi gasped.
“[Mage]. Got me. Hit me with a [Flare Orb].”