The King’s soldiers seemed reluctant to move, transfixed for a moment by the greatness of Foster, or perhaps just curious.
“I suppose if no one wants to fight, that makes us the winners,” Liam Foster said. Douglass laughed a little at the joke. His brother stood next to him, smiling. Francis always smiled when Douglass laughed. The smile was always genuine, though he rarely understood the joke.
Then a few men, likely bent for glory, decided to charge.
“It’s time for me to be a hero,” said Francis.
“No,” Douglass pleaded, but his brother was two steps ahead, and in no mind to listen. Five feet from Foster, Douglass tripped. He looked up to see that two soldiers had already reached Foster. Foster sliced the chest of the first man, and in the same motion cut the throat of the second. In a moment of pure terror, Douglass watched as his brother lifted his sword over his head and attack, clumsily and savagely. It was obvious even to Douglass, who was no swordsman himself, that Foster was a master, and would dispatch his brother as easily as he had his first two attackers.
“Francis, no!” he screamed, convinced that he was about to witness his brother’s death. Douglass could not be sure, but for a moment it seemed that Foster had glanced at him, as if he had heard his voice above the boisterous fray.
His brother hacked away at Foster. Foster deflected the blow. Francis’s sword clanged against the stone floor. Foster looked directly at Douglass as he pulled his blade across Francis’s throat, but his brother did not fall. Foster brought his elbow hard into the back of Francis’s head, leaving him unsteady on his feet. Foster stabbed a new attacker in the belly, dodged another’s blade, and head-butted a third man unconscious. Then he pushed Francis towards Douglass, and spun around, taking his sword out of his victim’s belly to thrust it into another. Momentarily free from aggressors, Foster lowered his head, speaking to Douglass directly. “Your brother is unconscious. Take him to our healers now if you want to keep him out of this war. Ask for Maurious.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Douglass. “Thank you, sir.”
~Æ~
Liam paced before the conference table with his hands behind his back, the waterfall peacefully flowing behind him.
“That was a hard fought day, gentlemen,” said Liam. “Congratulations on a convincing victory.”
“They lost about 300 to our 140,” Darryck said proudly.
“I admire your enthusiasm, Darryck,” cautioned Liam, “but at this rate we will lose. Remember, they outnumber us six to one, and they have the resources to recruit more soldiers if necessary.”
“Why won’t the Ganta’s fight?” asked Blade.
“They will,” answered Filos. “They are waiting for their time. When it comes, I promise you will be grateful for their help.”
“Liam,” Lyra said. “Rhemus and I have been talking. We believe we might be able to help.”
“Excellent. How so?”
Rhemus answered, “I have been working with Lyra, learning some of her techniques, and Maurious has taught us a great deal. Kienten and Rutain have also learned much since attaining their eyes. I have an idea of how we could be useful on the battlefield. It is not in our nature to kill, but in times such as this, the death of a few now may prevent the death of many more in the future. I think we may be of help, but we must also remember that there are some like us who will be aiding the King’s army.”
~Æ~
At midday, on the fourth day of battle, a page ran up to General Theron. “Sir, the King has arrived and is setting up camp.”
“Does he wish an audience?” Theron asked.
“No, sir. He will meet with you tomorrow after the battle.”
It was odd that the King did not want to see him. Theron knew the King would be disappointed. Perhaps one more day of battle could see his fortune turn. He just could not understand why he was losing so badly. For the fourth consecutive day; his army was being decimated by Foster’s. He watched as one soldier pitifully attacked one of Foster’s Talons, who easily parried, and patiently awaited his opportunity. Then the soldier seemed distracted, dodging an invisible sword while the Talon quickly and calmly ran him through with his real one. His captain had advised him that their losses that day exceeded three hundred, but Theron wanted to carry on with the battle, looking for some insight into what could possibly be the difference.
“Sir, I believe we are down to one hundred,” remarked the captain.
“Yes, thank you, captain,” Theron snapped, and let the battle continue.
~Æ~
Liam sat in his chair. Usually he paced back and forth in front of the table, hands clasped behind his back. But the assembled group of advisors could see the man was bone tired. They could also see clearly now the effect of the waterfall that flowed behind the head of the table. It came down in a continuous curtain from the ceiling, but its stream was broken by the catchments, which were arranged in a rising pattern directly behind him. It gave the impression that the water was draped over Liam’s shoulders.
“Sir, what should we do with the prisoners?” asked Riley.
Liam thought of those last fifty-seven men at the centre of the fray, bravely holding their ground, but casting pleading glances to the flag bearer to call the day; and Theron’s cold, unyielding expression. Theron had wanted them to fight to the end. “We weren’t supposed to take prisoners, but I feel certain those men will not meet a good end if we release them back to Theron. As there are no dungeons or prison cells, we can just keep them in the great hall for now.”
“That means we have to feed them,” prodded Riley.
“Then we feed them,” said Liam, settling the matter.
“Sir,” said Riley. “Regarding your participation tomorrow, if I may say ...”
“No, general, you may not say,” pre-empted Liam. “I am no more tired than any of the men fighting alongside me.”
“But you are to be king,” protested Blade.
“Perhaps, Blade. That is for the fates to decide, but how can I put myself above those who fight for me. How can I hide behind them?”
Lyra put a comforting hand on his arm. She knew not to argue this point with him.
“Perhaps you are not better, but you are more important. You must believe that if you are to be king,” chided Riley.
“I do not believe that for a moment, general.”
“If I may say,” interjected Maurious. “I believe that is what will make him a great king.”
“Indeed,” added Filos. “And I do say, I don’t think he is doing too badly out there.”
“No doubt. I think Liam can take care of himself, general,” agreed Blade.
“Your fighting is an inspiration,” said Darryck.
“Thank you,” replied Liam. “As all of your work is inspiring me. My life has been saved several times by people at this table. And Maurious, your efforts at healing have saved countless lives. All of you are invaluable, and together I believe we are making an honourable stand.”
“Hear, hear!” interjected Verkleet with a grand smile that seemed to lighten the mood in the room.
Liam smiled as he stood up. He clasped his hands behind his back and started pacing.
“Very well then,” said Liam. “I’m sure you are all aware that Arconus arrived today.”
“He will certainly make some changes,” said Riley.
“And bring a few surprises,” added Richard Ban’hoen.
“He has brought some Mikraino with him,” said Rhemus.
“Indeed?” inquired Liam. “Does this mean our advantage will be lost?”
“Probably,” answered Rhemus. “We’ll have to be careful tomorrow, because I believe the King has his own ideas about how to use them against us.”
“All right, Rhemus. Thank you,” Liam said. Filos had informed Liam about the terrible night back in the cave of the Mikraino, and the pain and guilt Rhemus had suffered in its aftermath. It was a very complicated situation for an eight-year-old boy, but Filos had also told
him that he had to some degree inherited the maturity of the leader of their clan. Liam did not understand how all this could be so, but he did understand the terrible burden and responsibility Rhemus bore. “I truly appreciate all you have done for us, Rhemus, and I appreciate your sacrifice.”
Rhemus nodded. “Perhaps you are the earthquakes and thunder, and we are the footfalls of shadow.”
“Excuse me?” asked Liam.
“We are all acting upon the will of the fates, sir. I am honoured to do my part to help you.”
Liam nodded, deciding to dwell on his words more at another time. He turned and put a finger into the waterfall. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
He turned to Richard Ban’hoen. “What have you been able to discover about these ruins?”
“They are hardly ruins, in my opinion. It’s astonishing that everything is still in such good repair. I’ve been studying the grounds extensively. I found something rather incredible this morning. For a few days I followed the path of the water to a common exit point. I finally found it. Naturally, it leads to the canyon. There is a small cave in the canyon wall that now stands as the source of a steady waterfall from all of the water that passes through these trenches.
“Today I climbed out on the face of the canyon wall and explored a little where it was not too steep. What I found was that there are dozens of caves like the first one, each has the signature of having had water flowing through at one point, and all of them are situated under the palace.”
“Incredible,” said Maurious. “Those cannot be natural. What an amazing feat of engineering.”
“And a mystery solved,” said Verkleet.
“How so?” asked Lyra.
“Sarhani, the palace on the water,” he answered.
“Of course,” said Maurious. “From across the cavern it must have looked as if the palace were floating on top of the waterfall.”
“And the source of the water?” asked General Riley.
“I haven’t found it yet. I have found, however, that several of the tunnels have exit points far out into the hills.”
“That is excellent news, Richard. We may need an escape route for the non-combatants if Arconus tires of the arena and opts for a siege,” said Liam.
“Perhaps there is another way we can use this to our advantage,” said Verkleet.
“Like what?” asked Riley.
“I’ll think about it,” answered Verkleet.
~Æ~
Liam walked through the gates as he had done for several days. It was a bizarre reality that going to battle was becoming routine, as if he were going to open the tavern every day. The general, Filos and Blade walked with him as they always did and took their position, awaiting their opponents. Aside from the veterans, most of Liam’s retinue was still fresh. He was rotating those who had no experience fighting. He told them to play a support role around the veterans; and let the experienced soldiers engage in the main fighting, and only take swings they knew would connect. And most importantly, he told them to stay alive.
Arconus would surely send in new troops, having arrived with another several thousand. Liam fought back the dead certainty that they would never be able to overcome the King’s sheer numbers.
Liam scanned the hillside and saw the King and his retinue observing from a prime vantage point. Liam had assumed that once the King arrived with the bulk of his army, they would not be facing many more conscripts, and that Arconus would simply use his regular trained soldiers against them. But that was not the case today. There was the usual mixture of soldiers and conscripts. The conscripts were placed in the front ranks, the soldiers in the rear. There was something different about these recruits, however. They had confidence, and an easy air about them, as though they had done this before.
“Mercenaries,” said General Riley.
“I believe you are right, general. Three hundred or so?” said Liam.
“That’s my count,” answered Blade. “We can handle it.”
Liam nodded in response, and braced himself for a difficult day.
Then the horn sounded, and the mercenaries carefully and deliberately turned around, their backs to Liam’s army, drawing their weapons on the soldiers of the King, and started moving steadily backwards. Three men broke from the ranks and ran towards them across the arena. Then Liam recognised Rhoie and Travis.
Liam ran forward to catch Rhoie in a joyous embrace, forgetting for a moment he was in the middle of the battle arena.
“By the gods, Rhoie,” said Blade. “You know how to make an entrance.”
“Travis!” Liam exclaimed, and embraced his friend warmly.
“It is good to see you,” said Travis. “Allow me to introduce my oldest friend, Maclamar.”
A tall slender red-headed young man stepped forward and offered his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, sir. I brought a few of my men along.”
Liam looked back to the King’s side. No one had started fighting yet, and the mercenaries were slowly making their way towards them in their backward march, keeping the soldiers at bay.
“It is most certainly a pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Liam, as the King’s flag rose, conceding the day.
Liam put his arm around Rhoie and led his troops, now swollen by three hundred, back through the gates of Sarhani.
~Æ~
Theron rode back to base camp, not certain he would live through the day. He had known fear before, but this was different. He was hot and shaking. He tried to compose himself. He was ashamed of his performance in the arena thus far, but surely he could not be solely to blame? His conscripts were incompetent, and they were fighting against an enemy who inspired his own men to fight beyond their abilities. And he was certain witchcraft was involved. How could he fight witchcraft? How could he be held accountable for the loyalty of the men who fled to Foster today? Those men rode with Arconus. Surely the King would see reason. But, Theron knew that the King’s reason, mercy and judgment, were based largely on his mood at the time.
The King’s overwhelming numbers would certainly assure victory in time. This past week had not been a test of Arconus’s army. It had been a test of him, and he had failed. He would not be able to present the King with Foster’s head, and he knew very well that Arconus might demand his own head in its place.
As he reached camp, about a league south of Sarhani, he found that the King had set up a massive series of tents. He dismounted and handed the reins to one of the many attendants hovering about. He walked down the already well-worn path to the tent doors, where a guard allowed him entrance.
“You are to wait in here, sir,” he said.
Theron nodded in answer, and walked in. A familiar foul smell was in the air, but otherwise the place was immaculate. Luxurious carpets gave a curious complement to the earthen floor beneath. A polished wooden table, big enough to seat ten, stood in the middle of the tent, set off by a large sofa on each side. On one of these sat a young woman, about sixteen, quietly watching him with glazed eyes. She wore a beautiful red dress, wrinkled as if it had been slept in. Theron could see her ribs press against the fabric. This must be Tiffany, he reasoned, the King’s current concubine.
He ignored her. She was no use, and was already a ruin. Soon Arconus would replace her with a younger model.
The King emerged from one of the adjoining tents followed by Gastious, Argus, three of those strange little people with black eyes, and a pure Bok. The sight of the Bok gave him a start. He was bigger and more hideous than Gastious, but after a moment he reasoned the Bok was certainly not a threat. Theron stiffened his posture and tried to appear confident despite his racing heart.
Arconus’s eyes softened when he saw the girl.
“My darling Tiffany,” he said in a grandfatherly tone, “I thought you were going to wait for me in my chambers.”
“I was hungry,” she said meekly.
“Well, there is no food in here, darling. I’ll have some sent to you as soon as I can. Now, come, please go back to my chamber
s. I have work to do.”
“No. Not without a mushroom,” she said sternly.
Arconus was obviously irritated, and seemed embarrassed that she should make such a request in front of the others. He impatiently reached in a pocket and threw a bit of dried mushroom to her. She missed the catch and quickly crawled after it. She greedily shoved it into her mouth and chewed it up before bothering to stand.
“Go now!” Arconus roared, and Tiffany scurried out of the room.
“Now, Theron,” said the King, sitting down, the scrape with Tiffany seemingly forgotten. “I’m glad you are here. Let’s all have a seat.”
“Yes, sire,” Theron answered, and complied. He felt dizzy.
“General, this is Antok, the new leader of the Bok. He has graciously agreed to help us in our little skirmish.”
Antok nodded. Theron nodded back.
“Well, general, let’s get to business. What have you to report?” Arconus asked.
Theron took a deep breath. His hands were shaking, and he was uncertain that his voice would hold. “Sire, as per your orders, we have been throwing our men at Foster’s. We have gained valuable knowledge of their fighting style, their strengths and their weaknesses. I have also prepared a full report on the structure of their walls.”
“Their walls, general?” Arconus interrupted.
“Yes, sire, the strength of their walls.”
“Well, general,” began the king in an icy tone. “I did ask you to gather data on the walls, but I did not expect you to broach the topic until you had finished with the first. For example, you might want to explain why you have been losing every day on such a colossal scale.”
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