Looking back to Kenders, Nundle asked, “Do you still feel strong?”
Nodding, she said, “Mostly.” She stifled a yawn.
Nundle was worried. This was not as hard on her as the other times she had relied on her gift, but it was still tiring her. Gambling, he asked, “Do you think you could manage another one? I think they might break and run.”
Kenders nodded and set her jaw. A few moments later, four large stones exploded from the ground, one right after another, each the size of a bullockboar. They tumbled through the air, hurtling straight toward the line of oligurts. Four successive, thudding crashes later, the Sudashians broke. Nundle did not blame them. Giant boulders falling out of the sky would intimidate any army.
The oligurts turned and ran down the hill despite Urazûd’s violent cursing and shouting. Nundle watched, abhorred, as the demon-man chased down some of the fleeing oligurts, cutting them down from behind, howling for them to return, and decapitating a number of his warriors with his wickedly curved sword.
As Sabine lowered her bow, she muttered, “If he wants to help our side, that’s fine by me.”
Soon, the thick cover of trees at the bottom of the slope swallowed the fleeing oligurts. A great cheer exploded from the soldiers, one that quickly evolving into a chant of “Kenders! Kenders! Kenders!”
Smiling, Nundle turned to look at the hero of the moment. While Kenders was still standing, she was visibly woozy. Sabine reached out to grab Kenders’ elbow to help steady her.
“Four?” said Nundle. “One might have been enough.”
“I know…but they just came. I didn’t—”
“Uora!”
Nundle spun around to find Broedi striding up the hill, glaring at them, a hot rage simmering in his eyes.
“Uh-oh…”
Upon reaching them, Broedi demanded, “What are you three doing back here?”
Kenders started to explain, saying, “I was just trying to—”
“Stop! Do not ‘try’ anything. If you are unconscious when Jhaell and the other mages attack, we will be defeated. We need you to hold them at bay! Do not do that again!” The hillman’s eyes were typically as calm as a stagnant pond’s surface. Now, they raged like a white-capped sea during a spring tempest.
“I’m sorry, Broedi,” mumbled Kenders. “You’re right.”
“Yes, I am,” growled the White Lion. “You are lucky they do not seem to have Stone mages in their ranks. If they had, you would have accomplished nothing other than nearly passing out! Those boulders may have even fallen atop our own men.”
Nundle frowned. He had not thought of that.
Shifting his glowering gaze to Nundle, Broedi rumbled, “And you! If you do not stop encouraging her foolishness, I will find you a sword and a helmet, and put you with the soldiers!”
Nundle decided not to point out the boulders were originally Kenders’ idea.
With one last, low growl, the hillman turned and strode back to where Nathan and Nikalys stood to resume his watch for the next advance. Kenders, Sabine, and Nundle all stared at his back in silence.
After a few moments, Sabine muttered, “A short ‘thank you’ would have been nice.”
Kenders shook her head. “No…he’s right. I need to be careful.” Looking down at Nundle, she added, “Sorry I got you in trouble.”
“I’ll take being in trouble and alive over dead and in good-standing any day.” He smiled up at her. “You did well. Take a moment to rest.” His gaze drifted back to the forest below. “You’ll need it, I think.”
Chapter 68: Leader
Jak’s heart would not stop pounding.
He had been but a breath from ordering a charge into the Sudashian flank when the hill had exploded. Like the twenty-two men with him, he had watched in awe as boulders flew through air to land amidst the oligurt line.
Now, with the oligurts were gone, he was staring with widened eyes through the screen of stacked brush at where Kenders and Nundle stood. Broedi had just marched away—the hillman did not look pleased—and now Sabine was rushing east, back to Helene. The little girl’s faint sobs drifted through the forest, mixing with the painful cries of oligurts caught under the boulders and still alive.
“Your sister is quite impressive.”
Jak turned to stare at Zecus. Like every man here, the Borderlander sat in his saddle, watching and waiting.
Nodding, Jak said, “Yes, she is.” He looked back to where she stood. “I just hope she knows what she’s doing.”
Zecus gestured in the direction of the boulders.
“Those seem to indicate that she does.”
“Yes, well….apparently, there’s more to it than that.”
“If you say there is.”
Looking over his shoulder, Jak checked the soldiers behind him and found twenty calm, determined faces staring back at him. If they were anxious, they hid it well.
For reasons he still could not fathom, Sergeant Trell had placed these well-trained, capable soldiers under his authority, none of whom had batted an eye when the sergeant had told them that Jak was their commander. When Jak had asked Hunsfin how he felt taking orders from an olive farmer, the cragged-faced man had said, “If the sergeant thinks you can do it, you can” and moved on, helping with the final cover of the grove.
Jak stared to the rear of the group and whispered, “Cero!” When the Tracker had volunteered to ride with them, Jak had assigned the sharp-eyed man to watch their southern flank.
Cero glanced at Jak and gave a quick headshake. Jak nodded, relieved there still was no visible threat from that direction.
“Urazûd is going to be a problem,” mumbled Zecus.
Jak turned back around and stared at the Borderlander. “Pardon?”
“The demon-man. He is our biggest problem.”
With a snort, Jak responded, “Him and his three hundred of oligurts and razorfiends. Oh, and the mages that can call down lightning, the fifty bullockboars we have yet to see, and the blasted saeljul who destroyed my village.”
Ignoring Jak’s sarcasm, Zecus said, “All problems, yes. But, save the ijul, Urazûd is the leader. He drives the fiends and the grayskins.”
Sergeant Trell shouted an order to his line, drawing Jak’s attention back to the hillside. Soldiers moved down the hill and retrieved any loose arrow they could. The sergeant went with them, keeping a watchful eye on his men. As he stared through the blind, Jak could not help but note the stark contrast between Urazûd and Sergeant Trell. Shaking his head, he muttered, “I do not understand why the Sudashians follow a demon-man.”
“Fear, I suppose?” suggested Zecus.
“Must be. Hells, you saw what he did when they ran. He cut them down without thought.”
“I doubt they will run again as long as he lives.”
Jak’s eyes narrowed. Turning to Zecus, he said, “Pardon?”
The Borderlander met his gaze. “I said, ‘I doubt they will run again as long as he lives.’”
For a long moment, Jak stared at his new friend in silence. The Borderlander’s words had given birth to an idea. A very dangerous idea. Nodding slowly, he muttered, “You know, I think you’re right. Those beasts won’t run.” Giving Zecus a long, level stare, he added with purpose, “As long as Urazûd is alive.”
Zecus’ eyebrows drew together. “Are you suggesting we—?”
Jak cut him off, saying, “I am. What do you think?”
“That you are mad.”
“Perhaps a little.”
The Borderlander pressed his lips together before letting out a long, heavy sigh. “Mad or not, it is a worthy idea.” He gave Jak a slight grin. “It would be an honorable way to die.”
Wearing a thin smile of his own, Jak said, “I’d prefer to live.”
“Ketus himself will need to ride with us for that to happen.”
Zecus’ comment was not far from the truth. To survive what Jak had in mind would require every drop of luck the Shrewd Fox could spare. When Jak had promi
sed his father to keep his brother and sister alive and safe, he never could have imagined it would lead to something like this.
After one last glance down the slope to ensure the slope was clear for now, Jak maneuvered his horse around in the grove’s close quarters to face the Sentinels. As his gaze met the eyes of the men behind him, he frowned. He was about to ask these soldiers to do something that was likely to get them killed. Jak set his jaw. Nikalys and Kenders must survive. If he, Zecus, and these men died and his siblings lived, so be it.
“Gentlemen, we are going to do something very brave, very necessary, and very, very brainless…” As he explained his plan, the men’s expressions turned as severe as Jak’s own. Nevertheless, the soldiers began to nod in agreement.
Chapter 69: Battle
Nikalys scanned the hill below, searching for any movement whatsoever. The scene was unchanged. Oak and ebonwood trunks. Thick bushes and brambles. Moss-covered logs. Six muddy boulders lying atop dead or dying oligurts.
And nothing else.
Nothing at all.
After the oligurts’ retreat, the enemy had remained silent and unseen for what seemed an interminable amount of time. The only sound filling the woods had been the moans of the injured oligurts pinned to the ground by the blocks of stone. Most of them had gone quiet now.
Nikalys sighed, reached up, and ran a hand through his hair. He almost wished the blasted chanting would start again. At least he would know where the enemy was then.
“What are they waiting for?” he muttered, glancing at Broedi to his left. “Do you think they might have left?”
The hillman drew in a deep breath through his nose. A distasteful grimace spread over his lips. “They are still here.”
On the other side of Broedi, Sergeant Trell said, “Then I would like to reiterate Nikalys’ question. What are they waiting for?” Both he and Broedi were staring downhill, their eyes alert and faces taut.
“I suspect they are formulating a new plan,” replied Broedi. “Their first two were quite ineffective.”
At least forty dead or severely injured oligurts lay on the slope below them, crushed by Kenders’ boulders or felled by Sentinel arrows. Add to that the forty or so razorfiends they had repelled in the first attack, and they had dealt a severe blow to the enemy already while avoiding any casualties on their side.
“Things have gone well, haven’t they?” asked Nikalys.
“They have,” conceded Sergeant Trell. “Yet don’t forget they still have us outnumbered by more than three to one.” An icy frown split the man’s dark beard. “And based on the way the demon cut down his own, he doesn’t much care if his soldiers live or die. And that makes this a very dangerous situation for us.”
While the sergeant’s cool-headed assessment was accurate, it was not what Nikalys wanted to hear. Sighing, he asked, “What can we expect next?”
White Lion and soldier turned to stare at one another for a moment before they both faced downhill again without ever giving any sort of response.
A deep frown spread over Nikalys’ lips. “You don’t know, do you?”
“No,” rumbled Broedi.
“Sergeant?”
The soldier reached up to scratch his beard and sighed. “Were I leading that group down there, I’d attack with everything I have. Subterfuge did not work. A partial assault did not work. Any decent tactician would stop dallying and just attack with a full force. They certainly have the numbers.” He paused a moment. “Then again…” He trailed off and shrugged.
“‘Then again,’ what?”
“Well, son, I’m not leading that group, for which I am very grateful. A demon-man is. And as my experience facing demons, oligurts, and razorfiends is somewhat limited—as in this is my first skirmish—I am afraid to say I have no idea what in the Nine Hells comes next.”
Nikalys shut his eyes. “Wondrous.”
Broedi rumbled, “It troubles me that they have not used the Desert Fire Mages again. And I must wonder why Jhaell Myrr has not made his presence known.”
Nikalys suggested, “Perhaps he’s not here?”
“Oh, he’s here,” muttered Sergeant Trell. “He’s just a blasted bannockcat.” The odd comment caused both Nikalys and Broedi to turn and stare at the soldier. Meeting their inquisitive gaze, he asked, “Surely you know what a bannockcat is?”
Nodding, Nikalys replied, “Sure I do.”
Bannockcats were wild felines, thrice the size of a barncat, smart, quick, and incredibly cunning. Anyone who kept small livestock in Yellow Mud reviled the creatures.
“And how do they hunt?”
“They lurk for days around their prey, watching and waiting until they know exactly…how to…” He trailed off and nodded. “I see what you mean.”
Sergeant Trell stared back down the hill. “I suspect Jhaell is trying to discover everything we have at our disposal before he shows his face.”
Broedi eyed the soldier, gave a quiet sigh, and nodded. “I believe you are right, Sergeant.”
“It’s odd, though,” muttered the sergeant, a frown in his face. “He always struck me as the impatient type. I don’t understand the sudden caution he…seems…” He trailed off and stood a little taller, his gaze focusing on something in the forest below. “Hold a moment…”
A soft chattering arose from the Sentinel line as Nikalys faced downhill. A searing jolt of anger sizzled inside him as his hand slipped to his sword hilt.
When Nikalys had last seen Jhaell Myrr, the saeljul had been standing on a distant bluff overlooking the ruins of Yellow Mud. The crimson robes were gone, replaced with a simple tan traveling shirt, breeches and leather boots. Nevertheless, Nikalys recognized the white-blonde, long-limbed figure climbing the slope, alone. He stopped and stared up at their company, scanning, searching. His gaze flicked to where Nikalys stood with Sergeant Trell and Broedi, pausing for a moment on the tall White Lion before locking onto Nikalys. An anxious, excited grin spread over his wide, ijulan lips.
For a long moment, the two glared at each other across the battlefield.
Nikalys shifted his gaze a fraction, staring at a spot immediately beside the ijul. Perhaps he could move there and kill Jhaell right now. Nikalys drew the Blade of Horum, the sword flashing as bright as though it was a sun soaked day.
Broedi’s low voice rumbled, cautioning him. “Hold, uori.”
“I can end this now,” growled Nikalys, the muscles in his neck and face twitching.
“No, you cannot,” replied Broedi firmly. “You might—might—end Jhaell now. But there are over three hundred Sudashians in the forest. Killing him will not make them go away.”
Nikalys pressed his lips together. “You don’t know that. They might flee.”
“They might not. And should you fail, you have made it much more likely every man standing here will die today.”
Nikalys glared at the saeljul for another moment before forcing himself to relax.
“Fine.”
As he let the Blade of Horum drop, Jhaell’s gaze left him, danced over Broedi again for a moment, and then traveled up the hill to where Kenders and Nundle stood. The excitement in his face fled as an angry sneer spread his lips.
Sergeant Trell muttered, “Think he missed Nundle?”
A few breaths later, the ijul’s stare shifted to the front line of Sentinels. In a clear, crisp voice, he shouted, “Soldiers of the Great Lakes, drop your weapons now and give me the children—and the tomble—and I shall leave you unharmed. I give you my word.”
A flicker of worry ran through Nikalys that they might accept the ijul’s offer. Their situation was dire. As Broedi said, over three hundred oligurts and razorfiends were still waiting to kill them. Jhaell was offering them a way to be free. Nikalys eyed the soldiers carefully, running his gaze along the line. For a few moments, nobody moved or spoke.
The first sound from any of them was a soft snicker. Looking to the left side of the line, Nikalys spotted Wil chuckling. A few nearby soldiers j
oined in with the young swordsman and, soon, the entire hill of Red Sentinels was laughing outright.
Sergeant Trell called out, “Take your offer back to the Hell you came from, you demon-loving, son of a bullockboar!”
A raucous cheer arose from the men. Nikalys joined in, his anger at the ijul fueling his shouts. For a few moments, he forgot that they were facing a very dangerous mage. He remembered thought when Broedi drew a sharp, hissing breath and murmured a single word.
“Water.”
The soldiers’ cheering faded quickly as leftover rainwater leeched from the ground, trees, and bushes. Thousands of tiny water beads flew through the air and towards the saeljul, coalescing together. Within moments, a giant, roiling ball of water had formed, half as tall and wide as the fifty-man line.
Nikalys stared, stunned.
“Hells…”
The giant orb of water began to tumble up the hill toward them, but after only a dozen paces, the ball lost its shape and splashed to the ground, releasing a muddy torrent of water that rushed down the slope, back toward Jhaell, soaking the ijul’s boots and breeches.
Broedi whispered, “Excellent, uora.”
A grim smile touched Nikalys’ lips. He was proud of his sister.
The elongated features of Jhaell’s face twisted in anger. He lifted one of his long, willowy arms into the air, and waved his hand forward. Other figures began to appear, stepping from the tree trunks and bushes to stand beside Jhaell, stretched in a long line across the hill.
“Blasted bannockcat,” grumbled Sergeant Trell. “They’re all just out of bow range.”
The new arrivals were oligurts, but quite unlike the others who had charged earlier. These gray monsters were bare-chested and wore a long skirt of leather that dragged along the ground, collecting mud and dead leaves. Each had a large, red and yellow symbol either painted or tattooed on its bald head. Nikalys counted twenty in total, arranged ten and ten on either side of Jhaell. All twenty carried a lit torch in its right hand.
“Laurr-Othraul,” rumbled Broedi. “Desert Fire Mages.”
“What are they wearing?” asked Nikalys. The leather skirts were unusual, made of irregularly shaped patches of strange browns, tans, and sickly grays all stitched together.
Progeny (The Children of the White Lions) Page 74