Equilibrium: Episode 2

by CS Sealey

  “Sir, the Ayons have come in strength and are attempting to cross the river. They have already made considerable progress constructing their bridge.”

  “I don’t care about any bridge, Auran. Just give me numbers!”

  “Unsure, sir,” Rasmus replied, recalling what he had seen. “A few thousand at least.”

  “Then the queen has rejected the proposal.”

  “No surprise there.”

  “None at all, captain,” Tiron said, hitting his shin guards into place and tying them securely. “Lead your men behind the camp, out of sight. Tell Elroy to take his battalion and make a show of force behind the infantry. He is to wait for my signal before attacking.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rasmus replied. He paused. “And my own men, sir? Are we to wait for a signal?”

  “The only signal you will need, captain, is the moment our own forces start being pushed back. Your duty is to remain out of sight, so the Ayons have a false idea of our numbers.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rasmus said, quickly saluting.

  He located Elroy near the barracks. After relaying the commander’s orders, Rasmus went to muster his own soldiers.

  “Third Battalion!” he cried above the noise of battle preparations. “Follow me!”

  His men hurried to their positions. Most were already mounted but a few led their horses into formation, still adjusting saddles and armor. The Ronnesian troops were still finalizing ranks by the time the Ayon carpenters had reached the southern shore and Ayon soldiers began to swarm across the bridge, their shields raised and swords poised. But the Ronnesian archers had been waiting for this. When the order came to fire, they released their bowstrings, sending a wave of arrows arcing through the air. Many Ayons toppled from the bridge with arrow shafts protruding from their bodies. Those who fell upstream grabbed onto the bridge and tried to pull themselves back up. Those who fell on the other side were either carried downstream by the current or sank below the surface, weighed down by their heavy armor. The Ayons appeared to have brought only infantry with them as there was thankfully no returning fire from the invading force.

  Rasmus felt somewhat relieved. It had been his own suggestion that had led General Kaster to boost the number of trained archers at the northern border.

  The two forces clashed and the sheer difference in numbers halted the Ayon attack, but not for long. The Ayons stabbed back, and even when Commander Tiron signaled for Elroy’s equestrians to strike, the Ayon force did not seem to diminish, though dozens of their dead now littered the southern bank of the river. Elroy made another sweep but, this time, many of the horses were cut down and men were thrown from saddles into the throng of the Ayon ranks.

  It was an hour before the Third Battalion acted. More and more Ayon soldiers were forcing their way across the bridge and all the available arrows had been fired. The Ronnesians had only been forced back perhaps twenty yards but that was enough to convince Rasmus that his men were needed. They came around the western side of the camp and thundered into the unsuspecting Ayons, killing close to a hundred of them in the first sweep without a single horseman lost. There was a great cheer from the defenders. Rasmus brought his men around for another sweep but several of them were cut down. Even though the arrival of Rasmus’s battalion had given the Ronnesians the opportunity to regain the ground they had lost, progress was slow.

  The Ayons’ attention turned to the cavalry and Rasmus found his battalion broken into several smaller groups. He spied one of his deputies and spurred his steed into a gallop, knocking Ayons to the ground in his effort to reach him. He slashed from side to side, spilling blood with each strike. When he looked up, the group he had been aiming for had forced their way westward to join up with another fragment of his battalion.

  An Ayon darted out in front of him, brandishing a spear at his horse. His stallion reared, tossing Rasmus out of the saddle. The cavalry captain landed heavily on his back in the trampled soil and stars flickered in his vision. The Ayon pikeman stood over Rasmus, the point of his weapon speeding down victoriously toward his unprotected neck.

  CHAPTER 21

  Tiderius listened anxiously as Aiyla recounted her vision to the Circle then fixed her eyes intently on the queen.

  “I am certain this is a current vision,” she said. “This is happening right now. The Ayons have crossed the river.”

  “It was inevitable,” the queen said, then sighed. “But men have already been sent north to reinforce the line. I don’t see what else we can do until we receive more forces. The Tareks can only send us so many men to fight our war. Five thousand is very generous.”

  “But when will they arrive?” Tiderius asked.

  “They are taking their ships past Cape Nain and anchoring in a cove further north,” Markus Taal explained. “From there, they will march along the northern side of the Black Mountains and meet up with our forces at Kilsney.”

  “But when will that be?” Tiderius persisted.

  “Within the week,” Markus said grimly. “We must make do until then.”

  “But my brother’s up there!” Tiderius cried. “You have to send me north!”

  The queen rose from her chair and went to the window. “They must have realized, at last, that I refused King Samian’s hand,” she said. “If I send you, Tiderius, you cannot go alone.”

  “I will take him,” Emil said instantly.

  The queen nodded and, turning back, asked the seer, “What else can you tell us?”

  “Only that the Ayons have many more men than we do but the crossing is narrow and our defense is holding out for now. I saw no transport ships on the northern bank, so if the bridge could be destroyed, their offensive would shatter.”

  “Arm yourself, Tiderius,” the shaman said, heading for the meeting room door. “We will leave as soon as you are ready.”

  *

  They arrived just outside the Kilsney encampment in a burst of white mist and a loud crack. As soon as the transportation spell had safely dissipated, Emil released his grip on Tiderius’s upper arm. The Ronnesian ranks appeared to be crumbling under the weight of the Ayon attack. Emil glanced at Tiderius, who met his gaze with fierce determination.

  “Tiderius, help the infantry, I’ll deal with the bridge,” Emil said.

  The swordsman nodded, then set off at a run for the front line. Emil watched him go before hurrying across the plains to the wooden defensive walls of the Ronnesian encampment. He kept out of sight, following the defensive trenches that surrounded the camp. He slowed when he spotted the bridge. He was unable to make himself completely invisible as Kayte could, but he could weave a spell of distraction so deftly that, even if an Ayon was standing directly in front of him, the man would feel compelled to look in another direction without noticing him. Shrouded in magic, Emil rose from the trenches and hurried to the muddy riverbank where the Ayon bridgehead had been constructed. He glanced across the Divide to where the town of Kilsney stood, noting that there were still thousands of Ayon infantrymen waiting to cross. Looking back at the exhausted Ronnesian defenders, he knew that the bridge had to be destroyed quickly.

  Ayon soldiers stepped onto the southern bank without a second glance at Emil as he crouched beside the sturdy wooden poles that anchored the bridge to the shore. Praying his spell of distraction would not falter, he rested his hands on the ropes that joined the segments of the bridge together. Carefully, he sent his magic pulsing through the rope, weakening its knots and unwinding its intricate coils. The hairs on his arms prickled and stood up as his gift struggled to sustain both spells. For an instant, he felt his muscles twitch in exertion but persisted in sending the pulses out, one after the other.

  He heard a groan of wood rubbing against wood and a creak of straining rope. Sweat beads began to trickle down his forehead and his arms grew hot from the use of magic. Eventually, he released his hold on the rope and took a few deep breaths. The thundering of feet crossing the bridge muffled the protesting ropes but Emil’s damage did not go unnotice
d for long – there was a crack and a series of screams as the ropes snapped and the segments of the bridge began to break apart. With a swift movement of his hands, Emil commanded the river to swell and churn unnaturally. Pieces of the bridge began to tip, flinging unfortunate Ayon infantrymen into the water. Some soldiers managed to keep above the surface by clinging desperately to a section of the bridge as they drifted downriver, but others were not so lucky. Weighed down by the weight of their armor, many sank in a mass of flailing limbs and bubbles.

  Emil sighed with relief and turned toward the battle on the southern bank. No one had yet realized what had happened except the Ayons on the other side of the river, who were shouting in anger and confusion. Emil took a few steps toward the surging battle and began to draw his sword but came to an abrupt halt. Toward the east, there was a flicker of white on the horizon.

  He squinted, his brow creased in concentration. Surely those could not be ships.

  *

  “Sir Auran!”

  Tiderius spun on the spot and searched for the owner of the voice. Commander Tiron, one of the few men who was still perched on his horse, waved frantically over the heads of his men. Tiderius pushed his way through the ranks and reached up to shake the commander’s hand hastily.

  “Emil and I thought we’d come and help you out, sir!”

  “Glad you did, Auran!” Tiron said. “We need you in the west flank! Our forces are failing there, fast!”

  “Have you seen my brother, sir?”

  “Not for a while,” Tiron admitted. “Rasmus was making sweeps behind their line a while ago but his formation splintered. He could be anywhere now.”

  “I’ll head to the west, then, and see you when the battle is won!”

  The western flank of the Ronnesian defense was, as the commander had said, in desperate need of his help: it was almost entirely overrun. Tiderius pushed through the tiring ranks to the front, drew his sword, and watched as the ripple of blue fire flickered down the blade of Anathris, letting him know that its power was ready to be unleashed. The men about him, surprised to find that one of their number still had the strength to push forward, rallied behind him. Spirits lifted throughout the ranks.

  The unit had been trained to rely on the strength of the core, to lock shields together, protect their comrades to either side and strike as one, but Tiderius was different. He had not been training with the army for long before he had been discovered by Markus, so he did not fight as one of them. He stood at their head, wielding Anathris fearlessly, letting its power strengthen his muscles and heighten his senses. His movements resembled a dancer or acrobat, twisting and springing, lunging and spinning. He ducked as an Ayon swung his sword toward his head and quickly brought his foot around the back of the man’s ankles. The Ayon shouted angrily as his feet were scooped out from beneath him and he fell heavily into the churned up soil. Before the man could regain his feet, Anathris stabbed down between his breastplate and helmet, piercing the flesh of his neck.

  Tiderius hurried on, fighting his way deeper into the Ayon ranks. As he thrust and swooped, parried and stabbed, enemies fell to his blade. Two soldiers leaped toward him. Seeing them as though in slow motion, he raised one of his iron-plated arm guards and deflected the first blade, leaving his sword free to fend off the second. He whirled around and punched the first man in the face, causing him to stagger backward, nursing a gash on his cheek from the sharp metal knuckles of Tiderius’s gauntlet. Grasping his sword with both hands, Tiderius drove the blade deep into the curve of the first man’s neck. Blood erupted from the wound and the man slumped to the ground as Tiderius wrenched his weapon free.

  A split second later, his second opponent was swinging at him. Tiderius caught the attack with the flat of his sword and twisted out of the blade lock. He kicked the Ayon in the gut and, while the man keeled over in pain, swiftly brought Anathris down on the back of his neck. Blood sprayed from the stump of the Ayon’s neck, hitting Tiderius in the face, but he did not feel it.

  “The bridge is destroyed!” came a distant cry. “Push them back to the river!”

  Tiderius craned his neck over the heads of the men in front of him and saw the rear ranks of the enemy retreating. Their numbers were scattering in all directions in an attempt to escape, some even flung off their armor and tried to swim across the river. Very few Ayons laid down their swords and surrendered. There were a number of determined men who, despite being completely surrounded by Ronnesians, refused to submit. Eventually, these men were overcome and forced to their knees. One by one, they were rounded up, stripped of their weapons, securely bound, and taken into the Kilsney encampment.

  Mopping his brow on his sleeve, Tiderius wrenched Anathris free from his last Ayon victim and looked up. He felt relief begin to sweep across him as he saw the Ronnesians once more taking control of the south bank. However, this feeling did not last for long.

  Gods, he thought, his eyes widening. The bastards.

  He could not understand how he had missed seeing the ships earlier, for the huge double-masted vessels were now no more than four hundred yards away.

  “Regroup!” he shouted. “The bridge was a diversion! Regroup!”

  The men hastily obeyed him. Tiderius watched the ships in disbelief. Then he sheathed his sword and ran. The sooner he reached the camp and spoke with Commander Tiron, the sooner they would be able to reform the lines and prepare for whatever attack the Ayons had in store for them. A hundred yards or so out from the site of battle, he bumped into something that sent him careening to the ground.

  “What in the world?” he cried as he staggered back to his feet, brushing dirt from his uniform and face. “What – ” He frowned and looked about. He had not tripped and there was nothing around that could have made him do so. Suddenly, Emil was standing in front of him and Tiderius jumped back in surprise.

  “Emil! By the love of…What just – ”

  “Sorry,” the shaman said, rearranging his robes. “Forgot to take the enchantment off.”

  “Emil, we have a problem,” Tiderius said, motioning to the ships. “What the hell can we do about those? They’ll surely have hundreds of men in each and our force is severely weakened! The infantry has lost almost a quarter of its number and most of the cavalry have lost their horses. I think you should go back to Te’Roek and get Markus and Kayte.”

  “No time. I’ll see what I can do about halting their progress.”

  “What? How?”

  “Perhaps they will run aground and take in water,” Emil said thoughtfully. “You need to get the men into formation. If the men on those ships manage to disembark, Tiron may have to order a full retreat. See what you can do.”

  “Right,” Tiderius said and briefly clutched Emil’s forearm. “Good luck.”

  “I’ll need it.”

  Tiderius hurried back to the encampment and only glanced back when he reached the newly reformed ranks of Ronnesian soldiers. In the distance, Emil appeared to be heading to a clump of trees to the east, not far from the bank of the river.

  Suddenly remembering his brother, Tiderius pushed his way back through the ranks, his eyes searching every face. The men he spotted on horseback were members of either Rasmus’s or Elroy’s battalions but he could see neither of the captains themselves. To the rear of the force, dozens of horses stood together, their riders lost in the chaos or no longer able to mount.

  Rasmus feels more comfortable on horseback than his own two feet, Tiderius thought dismally. With so many horses around, he would have grabbed one if he was able. The moment Tiderius considered the alternative, he felt dreadfully cold. He glanced back at the ships. They had taken down their topsails and slowed considerably, but they were still drawing ever closer. They were going to attempt to offload their passengers.

  Men were lying sprawled on the ground around him, either dead or dying. Gray-robed healers moved slowly through the bodies, discovering the injured men who were in need of treatment and dealing swift deaths to groaning Ayon
s. Glancing every now and then at the ships on the river, Tiderius searched the battlefield alongside the healers, identifying three injured Ronnesians before finally finding his brother – Rasmus was sitting against the body of a fallen horse, his legs stretched out in front of him and his sword grasped loosely in his bloodied left hand. A dead Ronnesian infantryman lay across his legs, a long spear protruding from his back.

  Tiderius crouched beside his brother and looked into his face. Rasmus’s eyes were half closed and his head was slumped to the side, resting on his shoulder. Tiderius quickly looked him over for injuries but could see no fatal wounds.

  “Hey,” he said, touching his brother’s shoulder lightly. “You all right?”

  Rasmus’s eyelids fluttered and his fingers slowly stroked the brown, blood-clogged coat of the horse’s neck.

  “He was making the most terrible noise,” Rasmus said quietly. “I had to kill him myself, my own horse.”

  “Rasmus!” Tiderius clasped his brother’s forearm and shook him gently. “Where are you hurt?”

  Half of Rasmus’s face was covered in blood from a narrow gash in his hair and some of that blood had seeped into his eye. There was another gash across his cheek and blood had trickled down his neck and into his tunic. As Rasmus moved his arm from the neck of the horse, Tiderius saw that there was another laceration on his left forearm.

  “Tiderius, have you seen – ” Rasmus coughed and spat a clot of blood onto the churned soil. “Have you seen my fingers?”

  Tiderius glanced at his brother’s hand and frowned. For a fleeting moment, he thought Rasmus was talking nonsense but then he glanced at his other hand and saw the damage left by an Ayon sword. The smallest and ring fingers were gone, leaving nothing more than stumps. Dark, sticky blood covered the remains of Rasmus’s hand, making Tiderius feel sick. He had seen many wounds much less palatable but this was his brother. He had never seen Rasmus so badly injured before.

  “No,” Tiderius said weakly, glancing around for the severed fingers before rolling the dead Ronnesian off his brother’s legs. “Come on, give me your arm. We’ve got to get you to the healers.”