The Plainswatchers seemed to be everywhere, firing from the branches, from rocky positions on the forest floor, and platforms constructed on the trunks of trees. Andrika raced after the foremost soldiers in an attempt to prevent them from cutting down the defenseless Giants up ahead, but she watched with grim satisfaction as horse after horse hit trip lines, spike pits, and barbed traps. Their riders were flung forward or thrown as the animals bucked in panic when the unseen, poisoned thorns raked their skin. Her javelin took one rider who had avoided the traps in the back. A Giantess proved that she was not defenseless, stepping from behind a wagon and swinging a wooden club into the chest of an approaching rider. With the traps and the Cherubim hitting their flanks, the Soldiers were forced back towards the trail where the great swords of the waiting knights cut into their ranks with abandon. Planning is as brutal as any sword.
With the soldiers wavering on the brink of retreat Andrika paused, surveying the forest and looking for the place where she could make the biggest impact. Here and there she could see soldiers running, horses dying, Men bleeding, and knights killing. The wagons had disappeared into the trees, and behind her, she could see the cavalry regrouping, out on the plains. Victory. Then, as she looked up through the orange leaves, searching for the Riders, she saw him. She couldn’t be sure it was a him, but his face was covered in fur, not a beard, but she still sensed it must be a he. The creature was watching her from a nearby tree and at first glance she thought it might be mountain lion. But then, looking more closely, she thought it might be a fox because of the red fur, pointed black noise, orange eyes, and black tipped ears. Red foxes don’t climb trees, and they certainly don’t smoke a pipe. The strange creature was watching her with curious, intelligent, orange eyes and smoking a curved pipe. Her own curiosity grew when she saw the paw that held the pipe. It had the hands of a squirrel, with long fur covered fingers and a thumb, each tipped with curved claw.
She squatted down to balance on the limb and, sheathing her bow, wrapped her golden wings around her so she blended in with the surrounding yellow fall leaves. Peering out from his own cloak, which was covered in camouflaging leaves, the creature gave her a smile from its furry lips. Smoke curled out between white canines and, despite the strangeness of his appearance, the Cherub was more curious than afraid. She knew that Oberon had spoken to the people of the Mermen, and the Yeti, and she knew that she must be face to face with the third strange race from the South. Caipora. Then she noticed the final feature of the strange creature: a long, prehensile, fur covered tail. Wrapped in the end of that tail was a long, curved blade. Her curiosity was suddenly replaced with dread.
The Plainswatchers were wrapping up their assault, collecting armor and clothing from the bodies of the men and ushering a few stray horses down the trail. With her comrades receding into the forest, Andrika watched the Caipora sheath its blade. Then he rose to his feet, which she could see also had squirrel like paws. With his pipe grasped firmly between his fox jaw and his tail wrapping around the limb, he swung easily through the air, swinging off into the forest. His claws and tail made it even easier for him to move in the forest than it was for a squirrel, almost as easy as it was for the Cherubim. She caught a glimpse of small shields attached to each forearm, a blade extending from the tip of each shield so the Caipora could strike with them as well. And then he was gone, blending into the leaves, heading away to the west. Heading into what we thought was our forest. Andrika didn’t pursue the creature, but the image of his toothy, smoky grin, and those glowing orange eyes, pursued her as she headed after her comrades. The image swirled in her mind with the soldiers she had killed, and she wondered what his presence meant for the North.
Chapter 19
O beron sat in the crook of a tree, wrapped in the concealing warmth of his grey wings. They kept him warm and hid the bow that he held in his left hand, an arrow notched so he could easily fire a shot at the small clearing to the left of the tree. He sat frozen, his breath held so as not to give away his position in the cold air. In the clearing, perhaps thirty feet away, he could see a buck where the early morning light filtered through the brown, crinkled leaves that still hung in the branches. The buck was frozen as well, a thick cloud of steaming breath hanging around his head while he searched the forest for the danger that had sparked his animal instincts. Hunter and hunted sat, both completely still, both completely aware and present in the moment that exists only in the life or death struggle. The Cherub could see the buck was run ragged and had missing tines, evidence of a rut that had caused the mature deer to forsake his own safety in the search for the doe that would give birth to the future of their species. Looking out through his wings and feeling his own heartbeat, Oberon could relate to the animal. He too was run ragged as he tried to secure the future of his people.
After an endless moment, the buck relaxed and lowered his head to sniff the ground for the estrous that would lead him to his prize. Oberon recognized this as the moment when he could draw his bow, the moment when he should strike, but he was not hunting deer. Instead, he took the deer’s relaxed nature as sign that he was well concealed from his true prey. For a moment, he lamented that he was not hunting deer. His mind drifted back to the Cherubim village, now filled with Giant refugees and captured Southland women. He thought of the Giants, their village sacked by the South, forced to take shelter in the caves and on the cold sand at Devil’s Lake. They could use the deer hide. The captured women would be hauling water, struggling to adapt to a new environment with new mates that didn’t have time to hunt. They could use the meat. Even with the Rider’s warning, which had allowed them to evacuate the Giant’s harvest, and even with the success of Atlas’ raiding party, it would be a hard winter.
Oberon had seldom let a moment such as this pass and watching the buck take a few steps across the clearing he was reminded of Nestor’s words. Change. He could feel the war hardening him, just as the cold was hardening ice around the edges of Devil’s lake. How long until it freezes solid. He knew this was what the Angels had wanted to protect them from; refugees, friends dying young, the hardness of a warrior, cold hungry panic gnawing at their insides.
The buck froze again and stood upright, licking his nose. At first the war chief thought the buck had scented him. Then, he saw two hawks darting through the forest, their feathered forms skimming over the buck and behind him in an instant. The deer wheezed out an alarm call and bounded in the direction the hawks had moved, kicking up his feet to show he was too healthy to be killed and dashing directly under Oberon’s tree. That the approaching enemy had spooked the deer and his own camouflage had kept him hidden offered only the briefest of satisfaction. They are coming.
He had known since Andrika had returned with Atlas’ raiding party that the Caipora were coming. Their normal council cave filled with Giant refugees, Oberon had met with the raiders along with Hadrian and Rebus at the petrified wall to formulate a plan. Taragon’s Nymph soldiers had been held back from the battle at Fort Hope and Strato’s force of Cherubim had been recalled from the North. All were now in ambush for the force of strange creatures that their captive Southland Human and their ancient Elf strategist said were certainly heading for a surprise raid on Devil’s Lake.
Knowing that hundreds of the best forest fighters the North had at its disposal were lying in wait up and down the line, waiting to wrap around the approaching force like a blanket, did little to calm Oberon’s racing heart. With his hunter’s eyes trying to pierce fog that was rolling towards him through the forest, he finally took a breath.
Exhaling slowly through his nose, he spotted a thicker puff of fog through the branches. Two orange eyes appeared behind the puff, glowing through the wall of fog. The creature was in the trees, just as Andrika had said, and Oberon felt the panicked exaltation of anticipated combat replacing the oneness of hunting. He remained frozen, watching as the bright eyes swung in an unusual arc before flying straight, then pausing before arcing toward his position once again. Hadri
an had told him, had told all of the warriors, that the Caipora scouts would approach in just such a manner, swinging from tree to tree on their long furry tails, stopping to watch for movement, and using their claws to leap between branches. Now the creature was pausing across the clearing, his tail wrapped securely around a branch. A cloud of smoke emerged from the sinister fox snout of the scout, mingling with the fog as it rolled into the clearing. When the Caipora swung on his tail, the branch Oberon sat on blocked the creature from view and the Cherub warrior took action.
He rose to his feet so that his moccasins gripped the bark beneath him. Then, with a series of short steps, he was launching himself into the open space, unfurling his wings, and drawing his bow. The Cherub felt the weight of the sword strapped across his back and pumped his wings hard to stay above the Caipora. Suspended in the air over the clearing, the element of surprise gave Oberon a momentary advantage. Loosing his arrow as he had the year before in combat against the Centaurs, he was drawing another arrow before he could think. The arrow buried itself in the Caipora’s shoulder, spinning the enemy scout while the Cherub banked away to the side.
The creature’s long tail unleashed its own surprise, lashing out violently to tangle itself around the Cherub’s legs. They crashed to the ground in a tangle of weapons and wings. The war chief felt his bow skitter across the leaves and out of reach. He drew a dagger with his one free arm, the other still pinned to the ground, and sliced at the tail that held his wings and legs but the Caipora was too quick to release his grasp. Now freed, Oberon rolled away, throwing the dagger at his enemy’s throat. The wounded warrior blocked the projectile with his uninjured arm, the dagger embedding itself in the square, spiked tip shield he wore attached to his forearm and grasped in his palm so he could still use his claws.
Drawing his katana Oberon watched in amazement as the Caipora used his tail to draw his own sword. The blade was the same as his own, with a slight curve and the gleam of folded steel. The same steel used by Ryogen, by the Elves. Caldera’s father had a similar blade from the South and the war chief knew in an instant that the weapon used by the Elves, the Caipora, the Northmen, and now the Cherubim had a shared lineage. For a moment, he noticed the corkscrew handle, its spiral shape perfect for grasping with a tail.
Thankful that he had kept his eye on the sword, Oberon sensed the Caipora moving towards him with the weapon raised overhead like a snake prepared to strike. He knew from his training with Rebus that a swordsman would normally circle to the dead side to attack from an unprotected angle but this, this was entirely worse. The sword was above him, over his head, then swerving to the side, bobbing and circling while the Caipora approached underneath. As a fighter he had learned to watch the chest of his opponent, so he could perceive kicks and punches. Fighting Centaurs, he had learned to dodge hooves, and even watching Giants fight he knew that smaller races were vulnerable to the largest of warriors not just because of their size, but because of the angels at which they attacked. With his eyes transfixed on the tail, the only way he knew his opponent was circling to his left side was the crunching of leaves under the clawed paws of his enemy.
For a moment there was doubt, the uncertainty of this new opponent, this new form, but then he knew that the Caipora had never faced the Blood Born either. He breathed in, thinking of the young Nymphs and Cherubim facing similar foes all up and down the line between them and their home. If I am not strong, who will be?
With that thought in his mind he wrenched his eyes down from the tail, taking in the shielded forearm as the Caipora punched its spear like tip at his throat. The move would have impaled a slower warrior, but Oberon’s glance down was only a feint. He could hear the blow coming as if it were an arrow and he slipped it, pumping his wings to shoot himself towards the creature’s shoulder where the arrow caused it to hang limply. The burst of movement surprised the Caipora who, unaccustomed to the speed of his opponent and his injured shoulder, overcommitted to a downward strike with his sword. Oberon deflected the blow with his own sword raised overhead.
The Caipora’s forward tail strike gave him backward momentum and, with a powerful thrust of his legs, he flew backwards across the clearing. Oberon ran forward, trying to close enough distance to finish his enemy. His sword struck out at the exposed tail even as the Caipora whipped it around for another powerful attack. In an instant, Oberon followed up his sword attack by throwing a dagger. The Caipora ducked his vital areas instinctually behind his buckler but the dagger was not intended as a killing blow. Instead, it buried itself in the furry bicep of the warrior’s wounded arm where the leather jerkin he wore provided no protection. The pain of the blow caused him to lash out wildly with his tail, making rapid, defensive circular slices in front of himself while blood spurted across the brown grass of the clearing.
Oberon charged into the whirling vectors of the tail, parrying a path and slicing deeply into his enemy’s leg as he charged past the dangerous thrusts. When he felt the blade dragging clear of the bone in the leg and heard the sound of a body hitting the earth he jumped, flaring his wings wide and spinning in a circle so he could take in his surroundings, looking for a second attacker. Seeing none, he advanced towards the Caipora, eyeing the still dangerous tail where he sensed it playing dead among the leaves. For a moment he considered leaving the warrior so they could question him but then he knew this powerful scout was still too dangerous to be left, even wounded. He considered cutting off the tail, perhaps hamstringing him. If he has hamstrings. But, as the expected final, desperate attack came, his instincts took over and he struck the merciful killing blow, dashing inside of the slicing tail to drive his blade home in the Caipora’s heart.
“HAAAAAAYA!”
The creature slid off his blade slowly, dropping to rest on the leaves where the buck had paused only moments before. Looking up, Oberon heard silence for a heartbeat, then came the shouts and screams from through the trees. To the west and east he could hear the war woops of his forces, helping to encourage and locate each other like geese flying in formation. The war chief listened to these signals, trying to picture in his mind the V that they would create to surround the enemy force. He retrieved his arrow and the dagger before stepping to pick up his dark-stained bow. Taking to the trees, he knew that any unopposed warriors were to advance, circling around the sounds of fighting to close the trap. Assuming we out number them.
Spotting movement ahead, he moved forward. Running along the outstretched limb of an oak, pressing into the obscuring mists and shouting a whoop of his own when he sensed wings in the trees to his right and left. The movement he spotted was retreating away into the forest. Having hunted these woods his entire life, Oberon knew that the terrain sloped up towards aspen groves in that direction, and he sensed that was where the Caipora’s would have camped, where they would be massing. Dashing forward, he felt the forest, his home, propelling him onward as if it were another ally in this fight. His graceful hunter’s form glided, bounding between the trees until he saw the aspens appearing. He knew his warriors would be converging on this point, pushing back any resistance, preparing to rout the enemy and eliminate any chance of escape. I am the spear point.
With the cold mists rushing past, he gained on the form that he pursed. He watched the Caipora, his claws enabling him to move effortlessly through the canopy. The enemy scout used his powerful hind legs to launch across impossible gaps, reaching out to catch a branch with his tail at the last moment and preserving his momentum. Oberon darted after him, drawing his bow and preparing for the most difficult shot of his life. The duo raced through the branches, the Caipora swinging left, then right, and pressing on. Oberon’s bow led his quarry, his feet and wings working in tandem to stabilize him for the shot. One chance.
When it came, the Cherub felt the blood born fury of his fathers, that savage lust that he regretted but couldn’t escape. It fueled him, pushing away fatigue and doubt. It propelled his arrow, some mythic fate driving it home where a perfect equation inte
rsected the arrow a moment after it left the string with the Caipora’s back where it swung in an arc towards the white, outstretched branches of an aspen. The creature’s body stiffened but instinct drove his tail on to wrap around the protecting embrace of his native habitat. Oberon’s own trajectory would have taken him over the Caipora, but he cocked his wings back like a hawk diving at its prey and smashed his legs into the scout’s back. The force of the blow wrenched the tail from the branch and Oberon surfed down on the flailing body, reaching down with a wingblade to slice his opponent’s throat. When they hit the earth, he felt the ribs crunch under his feet and heard the death rattle while he rolled into a clearing in the aspen.
He opened his eyes, sensing for the first time the brilliant yellow of the aspens all around him, glowing out through the fog. It was late in the year for aspens to still have their leaves and he felt amazement when he watched a solitary leaf drift down to land before him. Just as I drifted down, death. Looking up from the leaf he saw the glowing eyes of a dozen Caipora crouched around the clearing. Several of them were smoking, others sharpening their katanas, all waiting for the word from the scouts. Scouts that I killed. He felt the rage rising up again against these invaders, these foreign warriors that would travel across the world to attack his village, his people. He felt a hate that had simmered since his battle at the wall boiling over and he knew that despite his best efforts, he was still kin to Donus.
Last Stand of the Blood Land Page 33