The Painting (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 2)

by Luke Sky Wachter

  Falon panicked and started batting at the man holding her, but her blows were weak and powerless. Falon panicked further, feeling helpless as a kitten without her magically-enhanced strength.

  As she grabbed his arm and tried to pry him off, she realized that even a girl who had been training at swordplay for what felt like days without end, and marched until her feet were about to fall off, couldn’t yet compare to a strong man.

  “Hold still; you won’t be able to see anything up there if you keep squirming,” Darius said impatiently. He then gave her a shake that swayed Falon from side to side, reminding her once again that her own feet were no longer on the ground.

  “Put me down!” Falon exclaimed, oddly relieved that it was Darius holding her up—even though, of course, it had to be him. Honestly, who else could it be?

  “I’d rather have you up here than out there catching an arrow, so quit your fussing,” Darius said unrepentantly.

  “Fussing?!” Falon shouted feeling stung and welcoming the anger when it helped dispel the panicky feeling in her gut, “I do not fuss; I’m an Officer. I fight! Sometimes I show concern, but I most certainly do not fuss!” she yelled.

  “What can you see?” he said, pointedly ignoring her, which only made her feel the first flickers of genuinely put out anger.

  “I’ll have you know that I do not ‘fuss’!” Falon repeated harshly.

  “Of course,” Darius quipped, tilting his head toward the center, “what of the battle?”

  Human and equine screams were added to the melee of sounds and, still fuming, Falon turned to look and her attention was instantly arrested. Darius and his infuriating antics were immediately forgotten as she saw a horde of well over a hundred powerfully-built barbarian warriors, with glowing eyes, charging behind the spirit creatures.

  It seemed that while she hadn’t been looking, the spirit creatures had been met by an advancing force of mounted Knights and men-at-arms.

  “The Knights met the shaman’s creatures, but the spirit animals are about to be joined by over a hundred of those super strong warriors with glowing eyes!” Falon said excitedly.

  Darius grunted, and horns sounded in the distance. If she was any judge, it was coming from the far Right Wing of the army.

  “I think the Right is about to advance,” Falon shaded her eyes with a hand and twisted, to try and get a better look.

  “Stop your squirming or I’ll drop you,” Darius said with strain in his voice. “You’re heavier than you look, Lieutenant.”

  Falon froze in stunned silence. On the one hand she was pleased at the idea that she was heavier, because she was now stronger and had put on some muscle and this made her a better warrior. Yet on the other hand, no woman of any age liked to be told she was too heavy! She swayed slightly as the Imperial adjusted his footing.

  “Quit your complaining,” Falon said tartly, amazed at how quickly she went from mind-numbing panic to bandying words back and forth.

  A great cacophony started up on the right side of the army. She couldn’t really see what was happening but it wasn’t that hard to figure out. The Fist of the North had decided to commit the Right Wing.

  “Here they come again, Lieutenant!” cried out Aonghus from somewhere to her left.

  Falon’s head whipped around and the savages started screaming and beating their weapons together as they charged.

  “Mister Falon!” shouted someone behind her, before pulling up in a spray of dirt on his prancing horse.

  “What?!” Falon said angrily, hardly noticing the moment when Darius set her down except for the sudden prickling sensation she felt once again being connected to the magic. She knew she didn’t have time for a lengthy missive. Besides, what if she and the messenger got caught out in front of the lines when the barbarians hit them? Things wouldn’t be good, that was what.

  “Come along,” she motioned and hurried herself and the messenger back through the line.

  “Orders from the Prince, Lieutenant,” the rider said in an elevated voice.

  Falon was pleased to note that it was a different rider from the last message she’d received. “What? Quickly now, I don’t have much time,” she said as the first off the savages threw themselves into her lines with a crash.

  “You are instructed by the Prince himself to flank the enemy and begin rolling up their lines, adding units as you go until the enemy army is destroyed,” the rider reported.

  Falon stared at him blankly. “I’m supposed to what,” she demanded, gesturing toward where her men were now once again being assailed by the enemy, “flank them? What, all by myself!? There’s less than a hundred of us now,” Falon then bit her tongue, instead of saying anything that could get her into real trouble. “Doesn’t it look a little too late to try a flank?” she asked reasonably.

  The rider winced and then straightened in his saddle. “You’ve been given your orders,” the messenger said stiffly.

  “Tell the Prince we can’t do it; we’re already engaged!” Falon exclaimed.

  The messenger hunched his shoulders. “Are you refusing an order from the Prince’s?” he asked, his words and tone of voice at odds with his body posture.

  Falon opened her mouth and then closed it. There appeared to be no right answer. “How am I supposed to do that?” Falon pleaded for reason.

  The rider just stared down at her, his embarrassed look morphing into one of disdain—disdain for her.

  Falon gaped at him, then she snapped her mouth shut. Clenching her jaw, her dismay turned to ire and she glared at him. “Tell the Prince I’ll…” she said and then stopped her teeth grinding together she was so upset.

  Darius ran up. “What’s the matter?” he demanded, giving the messenger a hostile look.

  “The Prince has ordered a flank attack and we’re to lead it,” Falon said harshly, adding her glare to the messenger.

  Darius blinked uncomprehendingly, and then blinked again, as he seemed to process the order instantly. “I’ll give the order and lead a flanking attempt myself,” he nodded firmly.

  Falon tried to wrap her head around the impossibility of it.

  “I’ll inform the Prince,” the rider said wheeling his horse around and then kicked his horse in the ribs, taking off.

  “But…you’ll be killed,” Falon burst out her brain finally catching up with the rest of her, “we all will!”

  Darius gave her an inscrutable look. “You don’t say ‘no’ to a General; if you do, and somehow manage to survive, you won’t survive,” he said evenly.

  “Oh, Lady,” Falon groaned and then she straightened, “no. No! This is my duty; I’ll lead the men,” she said with a sinking sensation.

  Darius’s assessed her speculatively and then he winked, causing Falon to blink.

  “There’s following orders and then there are following orders. Let me do this, Lieutenant; I’ll take everyone we can spare and make the attempt,” Darius said, and then he narrowed his eyes. “I think we can spare a file from the second rank,” he looked up, “that way when…I mean if the attack fails, we can honestly swear we took every man we could spare and made the attempt at a flanking attack.”

  Falon looked at him with ever-mounting appreciation for his savvy and quick thinking. “Sometimes I’m really glad that I have someone here who actually knows what he’s doing,” she said fervently, then she felt forced to add, “but it still should be me leading the attack.”

  Darius snorted and shook his head. “If you think that, then we really are in trouble,” he muttered.

  “What?” Falon asked.

  “Nothing,” Darius said quickly, “I was just saying that it’s better if I do it. You’re needed here.”

  Falon shook her head violently. “The men need you here a lot more than they need me,” she argued, knowing it was true.

  “I think you underestimate how much the men look up to you, especially after the way you stood up to those shamans and enchanted warriors,” Darius retorted.

  “Even
still,” Falon protested.

  “I’ve got this,” he said raising a hand to cut her off as he barked, “lead your men, Lieutenant.”

  Turning on his heels, Darius trotted along the back rank calling out names as he went. Within moments he had a file together, and Falon knew she needed to see to the rest of the Company.

  Squaring her shoulders, she called upon the magic and felt the now-familiar power snake up her leg. She was ready to face the savages once again.

  Chapter 40: Hold the Line?

  “Here they come again!” cried Aonghus as the savages started beating their weapons together and howling in preparation to working themselves up into a charge.

  Falon gripped her sword tightly, hardly even noticing the half-dried blood covering her hands. This would be the third wave attack this hour, and the last time the savages had driven a wedge right between her unit and the Captain’s—a wedge which they’d barely been able to beat back. If that happened again they were certain to be cut off and overwhelmed.

  “What do we do, Fal?” Ernest asked, sounding in need of reassurance.

  “Where’s Darius?” she demanded.

  “That tosser probably ran off,” Duncan spat, glaring across the distance separating them from the savages. “No one’s seen him since the second attack.”

  “Don’t be such a jerk,” Falon snapped furious with his words and attitude, “I sent him off to try a flanking attack—like the Prince ordered—and I probably got him killed,” she felt her lip tremble and then firmed it up. “He didn’t just run off. He wouldn’t do that!” she re-declared angrily.

  “There’s no sign of him, Squire Falon,” the hulking Uilliam said turning up at her shoulder. “Me and the boys done looked; we can’t see his body anywhere.”

  “Thanks, Uilliam,” Falon said to the big Raven.

  Duncan muttered something under his breath.

  “Well if he’s not dead, and he didn’t—” Ernest looked embarrassed before plunging onward, “which, of course, he wouldn’t have—then he must have got lost. Probably happened when we got cut off, Fal.”

  “Orders, Squire?” Uilliam prompted.

  Falon’s eyes darted around. With Darius lost, the barbarians were about to attack and what was she supposed to do? She had to do something.

  “If we hold this position they’ll probably break through again,” Uilliam observed.

  “We can make it,” Duncan said bravely.

  “They’ll surround us if they do,” Ernest looked pale faced at the thought, “see that White Fox banner; there’s more of them now.”

  Falon placed both hands palm first against her temples, she was getting a headache and she needed to focus. If they tried to stand tall and hold fast, being overrun was the most likely outcome. But if they fell back…well, from what she had read in her father’s journal, regular units that retired in the face of the enemy, without being broken or overrun first, were treated quite harshly. Officers and men were routinely whipped, or even executed—especially the Officers.

  “We can’t hold in place and we can’t fall back, so what can we do?” she whispered grinding her hands into her head. If Darius were here he’d have ideas, but that was part of the problem: the Sergeant was missing and it was all up to her now. She had to be the Lieutenant and figure out what to do. Stay and die, run and die, there had to be a better option than getting everyone killed.

  “What do we do, Fal? It looks like they’re just about ready to charge,” Ernest prompted.

  “We can’t hold, and if we fall back then the Prince will have our heads,” Falon said clearly.

  “So what’s the answer, oh Lord o’ the Manor?” Duncan said mockingly.

  Falon glared at him and Uilliam leaned over and smacked him in the back of the head.

  “Ow!” Duncan cursed.

  “If we can’t stay here and we can’t go back,” Falon said thinking out loud, “then there’s only one thing left.” It was as if a lightning bolt went off in her brain as she said, “We have to go forward.”

  “What?!” Duncan protested, “Are you crazy?”

  “Do you want me to sound the charge?” Uilliam said after a tension-filled moment.

  “A charge!” the older farm boy cried.

  “That’s probably for the best,” Falon said as her mind raced. “A charge,” she said hesitantly and then nodded decisively, “yes, a charge is the only way.”

  “What?” Duncan repeated, sounding shocked.

  “Shut up and soldier, New Blood,” Uilliam said harshly.

  “I can do anything you can, Native,” Duncan snapped back.

  “I’ll get Bucket ready,” Ernest said with a gulp and then started to hurry off.

  “But what about the Captain? We’ll be leaving his men unsupported,” Duncan said as he turned to her.

  “Ernest,” Falon called and Ernest turned to look at her. When she had his, attention she called out, “Change of plans; you run over and notify Sir Smythe that we’re following the Prince’s command and attempting a flanking maneuver by way of a charge, and we don’t want him taken by surprise. Tell him that if we stay put here we won’t last long, so we’re going on the attack.”

  “Right away, Lieutenant,” Ernest acknowledged, drawing himself up and saluting.

  Falon turned to the Raven. “Give the order,” she said formally. “We don’t stop until we’ve broken through their lines—no matter what.”

  “Yes, milord,” the Raven nodded.

  Falon didn’t think this was the time to remind him that she wasn’t a ‘Lord.’ She was not one now—as a Squire—nor could she ever be—as a young woman—but by the way he talked, if he insisted on thinking of himself as her sworn-man and she his rightful Lord…well she wasn’t going to rush to dissuade him, given the gravity of the situation.

  “Schmendrick,” she yelled turning in the opposite direction from the Raven. “Sir Orisin!”

  “Here,” called out Schmendrick as he hurried over.

  “For the Short-Mire,” Sir Orisin called out, pushing his way through the lines until he reached her.

  “What magic can you give us?” Falon asked the Apprentice, as he was the first one of the two to arrive and time was growing short.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “We’re going to punch a hole right through their lines and keep on going until we’re clear. After that, if we can, we’ll try to flank them,” Falon said, mouthing the words she wanted the Prince to hear if he or his men ever investigated. But she was far from certain they were actually going to succeed in ‘punching a hole.’

  Schmendrick looked alarmed and opened his mouth to protest.

  “We act on the Prince’s orders,” she cut him off, causing the young wizard to look decidedly unhappy. But under her steady gaze, he eventually nodded his understanding.

  “Well, a fireball is out,” Schmendrick said, perhaps a touch sullenly, and Falon frowned. The young wizard raised a hand, “I only had the one; I’m not rich enough—or strong enough—to carry more than just the one. Now, if you’d gotten your weight in silver, I could have bought or built more and then hired porters like the other wizards—”

  Falon scowled at him, causing him to cease his babbling and refocus.

  “Right,” Schmendrick said hastily, “don’t worry…I’ll think of something.”

  Falon frowned and then shrugged as she started to turn away.

  “Just tell everyone to cover their eyes when I give the signal,” he added hastily.

  Falon narrowed her eyes and turned back. “What signal?” she demanded irritably; she had other things to check on and take care of if this attack was to succeed in bringing about anything but their collective deaths.

  “I’ll make a loud noise first; tell them when they hear the noise to stop and cover their eyes,” the self-proclaimed ‘Last of the Red-Hot Swamis’ said with pronounced confidence.

  Perhaps too much confidence, she wondered silently. However, “Make it happen,” was al
l she said, as she had more important things to worry about.

  “I answer thy call, Lieutenant Falon,” Sir Orisin reminded her.

  “Right,” Falon said mentally switching gears. “Right,” she repeated, her brow lowering thunderously as she considered what needed doing, “as you should have heard, we’re going to form up and run right through the savages.”

  “A daunting prospect,” Sir Orisin said, chewing on his beard absently, “especially considering their spiritually-possessed warriors.”

  “That’s why I’m going to need you up in the front, with all that sturdy plate armor of yours,” she said simply.

  “Ah,” the Raven Knight said simply. “Well, today is as fine a day to die as any, I suppose,” he said with a light-hearted expression on his face that was utterly at odds with the scenery around them.

  “I’ll be joining you; you’ll need my blade,” she added, and only after she had said that last part realized that without knowing about her magical strength, this likely sounded arrogant at best—and insulting to the Raven Knight at worst. “But more importantly, the men need to see that I’m not asking them to do anything I don’t ask of myself. They need to see me up front if they’re going to follow,” she added hastily.

  “As thou say,” the Knight said shortly, “I shall welcome thee beside me.” He turned and then stalked away, back to the front of the line with his plate armor clattering with each step.

  “Alright men,” Falon yelled pushing her way through the men, glad that the Raven was doing most of the hard work of clearing the way, “those savages want to kill us, and after that they’ll try and take our lands and livestock!”

  She finished pushing her way through the men. There was no cheer in support of her words, nor was there bravado on the faces of the men when she turned to look at them. She knew she had to do better.

  Her insides clenched and her skin crawled at the thought of all those savages behind her, even as she tried to think like a man in need of encouragement. What did she need to say to inspire them to follow her into the face of those axes and magically-enhanced warriors?