Kyrianna saw her chance. “Hanroozai!” she screamed, an ancient Vorean battle cry, and began firing her bow as fast as she could into the multitude below her. The other archers along the wall saw her and shouted out as well, rising up and firing their own bows, paying no heed to the men below that were returning fire. Any warrior within the city who had a bow pulled it free and started firing over the wall, knowing that their arrows would find a target, as thick as the horde was.
Droves of the enemy were struck down under the rain of arrows that showered them. Thaluzont watched in amusement as they fell. So eagerly they ran to their doom under his command. As long as they progressed, he cared not how many died. But with his war machines destroyed and nothing to punch through the gate, or ladders to clear the high walls, his men would not likely enter the city. He had to call them back, out of the range of the archers. He glanced up at the moon. The hours of night were fading. Speaking barely a whisper, his voice resonated throughout his army, calling for a retreat. Hundreds more died as the men turned back and ran north, thousands upon thousands still lived.
What Witches Brew
Tavar, walked up and saluted, bringing his armor plated fist to his chest with a thud. He was soaked in blood and pieces of flesh from his victims. “A good eve this was, my Lord,” he said as he bowed his head lower to Thaluzont. “Shall I have the men begin the construction of new war machines?”
Thaluzont nodded. “We have beaten them back into the city, now we will break their walls and crush their spirits. When their ramparts crumble, so shall they. Make haste the constructions for we attack again when the sun is at its apex.”
Tavar was initially confused, but he was anything but a fool and quickly realized why Thaluzont did not wish to attack again during the night. “The light from Lucian’s sword, it was the only reason why we did not penetrate the city. You do not wish to suffer that again.”
Thaluzont nodded again. He was not surprised with Tavar’s conclusion. He expected nothing less. If he had needed to explain his decision to his second in command, he might sooner have cut the man down.
Tavar turned away to assign tasks and make sure they were being carried out with haste, but stopped when Thaluzont’s heavy hand, rested on his shoulder, the weight almost buckling his knees.
“Bring me the witches, they have work to do,” said Thaluzont.
Tavar gave a short bow and rushed off to do as ordered. He hated dealing with the six witches, hated being anywhere near them. He didn’t know where they came from. One day they just appeared outside Thaluzont’s tent, unannounced. But Thaluzont seemed as though he was expecting them.
Tavar’s skin crawled when around the wicked old hags. Their hair hung in front of their faces, hiding what Tavar was sure to be a hideous countenance. They wore layers of raged robes that looked as if they would smell of rot and decay, but when they passed by, his senses were assaulted with the sweetest of smells. That was one of the reasons why he stayed clear of the treacherous women. Such deception could only spell trouble for anyone who was fool enough to be caught in the web.
He knew better than to send a soldier to fetch the hags. He had done that once before and when the witches did not come, he went to find out why and saw the body of the soldier hanging from a pole in front of their tent, skinned. A bowl lay beneath his feet, holding his innards. Tavar hated these women indeed, wretched fiends that they were.
He came to their tent and before he announced himself, whispers inside reached out to him. “The Lord sends for us?”
The fact that they knew he was there and why, gave him even more discomfort.
“He wishes to see you,” acknowledged Tavar.
The flaps of the tent opened, seemingly by themselves and Tavar nearly fell backwards. The woman that came out of the tent was no haggard old lady. Her hair was pushed back behind her ears, revealing a beautiful, radiant face. Tavar squinted his eyes shut and opened them again, thinking he was seeing things but the attractive woman still stood before him, smiling pleasantly.
“Then we shall go to him,” she said, her voice like honey. She breezed past Tavar followed by the other five, each of them with their hair pulled back and each as beautiful as the last. Tavar swallowed back the lump in his throat. He had never actually seen their faces, only heard rumors that they were wretched looking. And it seemed plausible because they were said to be very old, having extended their lives through cursed magic. But now, seeing the witches standing before him, Tavar felt himself drawn to them. Each of them wore similar ragged robes with their hair pulled back in the same style. As he looked closer he noticed that they all had similar features as well.
When the last witch exited the tent a shiver ran up Tavar's spine. It was Herglemoin, the oldest and most powerful of the six. Tavar had always averted his eyes from this one, hearing stories of how she would curse a man with boils simply for amusement and that she looked like death itself. But as he looked down to the ground, he saw her feet come to a stop facing him. He cringed as a long finger tipped with a sharpened black nail touched him under the chin. He gripped the hilt of his sword, preparing to strike quickly. He feared these women more than anything, save Thaluzont, but he would not stand by and let himself be cursed. He would kill her if he had too and face Thaluzont rather than be met with some horrid affliction.
The nail pushed into his skin, raising his chin so that he had to look at her. When he brought his gaze up to meet hers, he was not prepared for what he saw. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on, even more so than the other five. Her thick, shiny, black hair tumbled over her shoulders in loose curls, hanging to her mid back. Her eyes were like liquid silver that bore into his soul. Without even thinking, he looked down at her body which, unlike the other five, was covered in glimmering silver robes revealing ample breasts and a bare midsection. Her skin was silky smooth and seemed to glow. He snapped his eyes back up to look into hers, shocked at what he had inadvertently done. He feared that she might pluck them out for the insult but found her grinning at him, her liquid silver orbs twinkling.
"Oh how the eyes of Tavar do roam," she said in an amused voice, still grinning. Her voice was like the silken song of a goddess.
Tavar didn't know what to say. He was still wondering how he could have allowed himself to do such a thing and then it hit him. He stepped back from Herglemoin and stood rigid, staring defiantly back at her. "You will not fool me with your guise witch. How long can you hold such a mask of beauty?"
Tavar thought he might have made a mistake when the smile faded from Herglemoin's face and was replaced with a scowl that did little to subtract from her beauty. But then the smile crept back, and with it, Tavar's tension.
"A pity," was all she said before turning and walking off toward Thaluzont's tent.
Tavar turned to follow her and the other five witches were all staring at him. He nearly drew his sword in horror, for now they were no longer beautiful, but old and haggard. One of them hissed at him and spun away, marching off after Herglemoin with the others in tow. Tavar smiled as he trailed behind them, proud of himself for breaking through the witch’s snare. His pride faltered though when he saw that Herglemoin still looked the same and a chill washed over him when her words echoed in his memory. What did she mean, ‘A pity’? He wondered. What might these witches have in store for him? He swallowed hard and hoped that they would not attempt to hurt Thaluzont's second in command.
†††
As the northern gates of Vorea slammed shut a cheer rose up from within the city. Commander Nenghao started a chant that quickly swept through the defending army. Soon every able man raised his weapon in the air as they shouted out Lucian's name. Tears streamed down Kyrianna's smiling face as she gave a short bow to Lucian, who was looking up at her from the gate.
He held his hands up, waiting for the people to go silent. After a few moments the army quieted and he was able to speak. "We have fought back the horde this night, all of us," before he could go on
, the defenders roared in celebration. He lifted his hands again, bidding them to listen. "But the Northern army is not yet beaten. They will return and I believe they will do so by mid-day."
The army was silent, realizing that his proclamation was probably true and that this war was far from over.
"We must prepare for the morn," he continued. He saw the forlorn look setting on many faces throughout the army, the look of losing hope. "But we have stung the enemy sharply this night," he screamed. "They underestimated the strength of Vorea and paid dearly for it. Our allies area near and we need only to hold out a little while longer." Now the crowd was cheering again, screaming out the name of their beloved homeland. "In the morning the enemy will come, and once again they will discover that we are a free people and will not surrender our homes or our souls. Come daybreak, this horde will learn of the true might of Vorea, and all will remember this day, when Vorea refused to fall!" The cheer that followed was tremendous and Lucian himself raised his fists and screamed out praise to the Great Father who had given him such strength.
When the cheers died down Lucian aimed his hand toward Kyrianna and the entire army knelt down, bowing to her. Lucian had known that Kyrianna was more important than she had let on when they first met, but never had he considered that she was the Princess. That realization hit him like a slap in the face. He was now pointing at the new Empress of Vorea. He couldn’t believe that he had not put it together earlier. The green eyes, he had heard stories of the Princess of Vorea having green eyes.
Kyrianna stood speechless for a moment. Her wet, emerald eyes scanned over the wall to the thousands of bodies that lay all over the battlefield. Never had she seen so much death. The enemy casualties far outnumbered theirs, but it was a price that Vorea could not afford. She looked back to her people and to Lucian, Solomon, and Tarriel who stared up at her, their armor drenched in blood. She glanced over to Eliath, who was helping an archer that had taken an arrow through the stomach, ignoring the arrow that was lodged in his own shoulder. She pulled in a deep breath, holding back the tears of joy and anguish that would have rendered her incapable of speech, and lifted her hands, bidding her people to stand.
"Many have died this night, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends to us all."
Heads nodded and bowed in pain for those lost.
"But they died fighting for something greater than a city made of stone and wood. They sacrificed their lives for the lives of their neighbor, for the freedom of all." She pounded her armored fist to her chest. "And I will not forget that, as I will never forget those who have come from far away to sacrifice themselves in aid of Vorea." She gave a bow to Eliath, Lucian, Tarriel and Solomon.
The thought of the toll paid thus far and the fact that the war had only just begun nearly caused her to falter. But when her eyes met Lucian’s, she found strength in his golden glare. There was no doubt, no worry. She looked to Tarriel and Solomon standing next to him, and they held the same expression. Eliath too showed no signs of giving in. Kyrianna smiled at Lucian who returned it and then she looked to the warriors of Vorea as they waiting to hear what their Empress would say.
“We will honor those who died on that field by destroying our enemies at daybreak. Do not lose heart.” Groups of men and women started cheering and it infected the others around them. “If we are to die defending our home, then so be it, for we will take them to the afterlife with us and there will be none of the enemy left to occupy this city when we are gone!”
And to that the Voreans screamed out at the top of their lungs, hailing Kyrianna and Vorea. When she turned from them and started down the ramparts the officers started yelling out orders and the people dispersed and started doing what needed to be done and preparing for the next attack.
Thaluzont listened with amusement to the cheers that were coming from Vorea when his tent flaps opened and the six witches walked in, escorted by Tavar.
“Surely they can see that they are already beaten,” said Thaluzont.
“There spirits are high, we will lose many more before the city falls,” said Tavar.
Thaluzont brushed his hand in front of him, “A Mere pittance.”
“And there is still no sign from our spies as to the movement of the Ortsk army. If they arrive before we have breached the city, it could spell disaster for us.”
“The Ortsk leader stands by Lucian, his army will come. But I have a surprise waiting for them when they do arrive.”
Tavar knew of the surprise Thaluzont was speaking of. Nearly five hundred worvak were waiting in the forest to the west to ambush the Ortsk army if they came before Thaluzont’s force could breach the city. But Tavar was uneasy about that arrangement. The beasts were unpredictable at best and the woman he had heard about that controlled them was even less so. She paid no homage to Lord Thaluzont and made no secret of it either. The fact that Thaluzont allowed such insolence worried Tavar more than a little.
“Your General doubts your wisdom Lord Thaluzont,” said Herglemoin as she smiled slyly at Tavar who had to steady himself at realizing that the witch had read his thoughts, or his expressions. He stood, staring at her without words, not knowing what he could possibly say and trying not to think.”
“Of course he does,” responded Thaluzont. “His faith in the Master is not as sure as ours. It is a fault that he can’t control and I will not punish him for it.”
Tavar visibly let go of his breath which he had been holding up until then. He thought Thaluzont might strike him down right then for doubting. He stole a glance at the witch who remained beautiful while the others looked wretched. She winked at him, still holding her smirk. Tavar thought of something that he hoped she would read. And she must have, but the playful giggle that followed was not the reaction Tavar was looking for.
“The boy has a powerful weapon with him, something not of this world. What have you constructed that might combat this threat?” asked Thaluzont.
Herglemoin turned her attention from Tavar to Thaluzont. “The Master has instructed us in what we must do. It will take all of the night to accomplish but we can keep our army from being blinded by the weapons light, much the same as you were protected. We will also conceal our Batoshi from their eyes until the time is right and an incantation is being discerned that will strengthen the projectiles they launch.”
Thaluzont nodded approvingly. “Get started, we have no time to waste.” He turned his attention to Tavar. “What of our assassins?”
Tavar shook his head. “The messenger says that he has heard nothing from Salnar who has disappeared. He reports that a man named Valgannon has taken over the keep but has not communicated to him. We have only a dozen assassins to infiltrate the city.”
Thaluzont waved his hand in front of him again. “So be it. If they succeed in opening the Southern gate then we have three hundred men that will storm the city and attack at Vorea’s exposed rear. If they fail, they will all be dead and may still prove a decent distraction.”
Tavar cared not for the assassins, whether they live or die. He did not trust any man that would stab another in the back to kill. He preferred head on battle, looking your enemy in the eye before ending their life.
Thaluzont called out to Herglemoin as she was leaving the tent. “What of my armor?”
“It has been enchanted as instructed, as well as your axe,” she answered with a bow before leaving the tent.
Tavar waited until she was far away before speaking. “How could you trust that one, who wears such a mask of beauty to fool men?”
Thaluzont looked sternly at Tavar. “Her beauty is no mask. How she attains such beauty is the question you should be asking. Now go and make sure the army will be ready to move at mid-day.”
Tavar bowed and hurried out the door, Thaluzont’s last words about the witch sticking in his head. He had heard stories of her luring men into her tent and they would not be seen again. He also wondered if the soldier that hung from the pole outside her tent had really done anything to warrant
his death. No one knew who the victims were since their skin was always peeled off. A shiver ran up his spine and he spit on the ground, cursing the damned witch. He would stay far away from that one
Drums Still Beating
Lucian met Kyrianna and the others inside the War Council chamber along with Nenghao and the Vorean elders. The blood had dried on their armor and Tarriel seemed disturbingly fine with it.
Kyrianna sat at her father’s throne but before she could even speak, Tetsu started out.
“We must retreat to the south. Seek refuge with Kaheendra where our women and children are. The city is lost.”
Kyrianna shot him a look but he glared back at her. “We can’t abandon this city. Our only hope is to hold out until help arrives.”
Tetsu scoffed. “What help? You keep speaking of allies but I see none. Meanwhile our city loses hundreds, if not thousands, under the blade of Thaluzont’s army.”
Tarriel stepped forward with a look that might have killed Tetsu if it were poison. “My countrymen die on your fields as well little man. Have you forgotten this already? If not for Lucian we would not be here now, helping defend your walls. And it is only because of him that I do not remove your cowardly head right here!”
Lucian could tell with just one look that Kyrianna truly despised the elder that spoke and for a moment he thought that she might even give Tarriel permission to do just what she wanted. She was about to respond but Lucian moved forward, cutting her short. “If it pleases you, Empress, allow me to speak.” He stepped up to the table and looked down at the elders. His voice remained low, but there was no mistaking the power and authority in it.
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