by Damien Lake
Marik would have scorned the idea if any dared suggest it. The Arronaths had sacrificed their right to fair play as far as he was concerned. Their ravaging of every man, woman, child and elder in Tullainia earned them no decent forewarning from Galemar, especially considering the towns on this side of the Stoneseams their monstrous Taurs had obliterated.
He set his attack plans in motion two candlemarks before sunrise roughly a month after leaving Thoenar.
* * * * *
Three squads of mounted fighters made the first assault. Rodolph led his Binding Chains in the southern group while a hundred soldiers charged into their first ever battle behind Sergeant Skelton. Lieutenant Tadd fearlessly held the centermost position in the charge with the Eighth Squad from the Crimson Kings.
Marik had chosen, for their opening battle, to assault the northernmost territories held by the Arronaths. He worried most about the pass through the mountains down beside Armonsfield, but hitting that area first meant having enemies to both his north and south. With limited forces to work with, he could not afford to become boxed in. They must remain mobile, moving before the opponent could effectively organize against them.
The northernmost peaks of the Stoneseams range lofted to their south. Marik intended to retake the tip. After that they would clear out the invaders in a southward scourge along the mountains’ base.
Tadd had pulled ahead of the others. Marik could see it from his tree-covered hillock a mile east of the night raid. Gibbon and Torrance held Captain’s Glasses to their eyes, attempting to pierce the night, hoping to follow the battle progress. The lieutenant steadfastly ignored his crown-general, who peered into the blackness with no Glasses to bridge the distance. Marik cheated by drifting from his body to dart through the air above the riders.
He saw Tadd restrain the squad’s pace, keeping them to the speed Torrance had ordered. No horse had run afoul of the terrain yet. The other two groups were lagging. Marik hurled a silent curse into the glowing purple etheric mists surrounding him.
“Two low, two high!” Marik ordered curtly when he re-entered his physical shell long enough to shout at the archers standing twenty feet lower on the slope. Also with them, wrapped in double clothing layers, waited Yoseph. Marik would need every single magic user he possessed if the Citadel crossed the border. Still, he could not rely on his talents alone to defend against magical attack if they should run afoul of such during the raid. He hoped the boring mage who had taught him to read could handle the job if it became necessary, but dared not risk any others from his precious stock.
Bowmen reached into their quivers. Four arrows with carved, wooden heads were retrieved. It would alert the Arronaths slightly sooner than Marik wanted yet it could not be helped.
Two archers let fly, one after the other, the Screamers splitting the darkness with their unearthly wails. Depending on how the arrowheads were carved, they could elicit a whistling screech of differing pitch.
The low, almost moaning arrows flew first, resembling a bear bellowing a throaty growl. Next came two arrows pitched far higher, sounding closer to a forest cat squalling in a pre-mating scream.
Marik watched closely. The arrows that signaled the southern group to make haste had flown first. Despite that Skelton ushered his men to faster speed before Rodolph gave any sign he had recognized the signal. He finally moved up at a harder trot. Hopefully that meant the mercenary was still struggling to recognize the army’s signals…and nothing worse.
They would reach the Arronath camp in two minutes. Marik flitted through the thick trees that ended three-hundred yards from the first enemy sentry posts. For the previous mark, nearly all his crossbow men had slunk through the pitch forest as close as they dared.
This plan was simple. Two separate woods ended without joining, leaving a natural corridor through the trees that led straight to the Arronath position. Three squads would hit the sentries in the dark, storm past and cause as much havoc as they could along the camp’s fringes. There they would peel apart like an onion, coming around to escape back up the corridor that had brought them.
Arronath forces should pursue the fleeing raiders. The crossbow archers would fire on any pursuers before melting into the shadows. If the Arronaths still persisted into the corridor, Marik had lined both sides with the remaining soldiers and mercenaries he commanded. They would swarm into the clear to hit the pursuers from both flanks. It should turn into a meat grinder for the few moments it took the Arronaths to recover from their surprise. Before they could fully adjust, the Galemarans would vanish into the trees and leave the enemy forces behind in their new stationary defensive posture.
Dash in, rile them up, dash out.
Simple. He believed in simple.
The Arronath guards must have heard the Screamers, or else they correctly interpreted the sounds of muffled hooves beating their tattoos against the soft grass. Marik watched seven auras run from their partners to report the night attack. Tadd had closed half the distance. Finger’s crossed, Marik urged him on.
He could see the five Taurs moving closer to the camp’s edge. Their handlers jogged behind, clumsily cinching belts around their robed waists due to their interrupted sleep. Soldiers, donning their black armor with impressive speed, flooded through the tents, dodging around the wrecks of town buildings they had destroyed. It was worrisome. Should he order the archers to fire the signal for unanticipated danger?
Marik hesitated. Tadd, Skelton and Rodolph were moments away from hitting the sentries. They were aware of the five Taurs from brief scouting efforts before nightfall. He knew Tadd would be prepared for tougher resistance than they expected. Would the others? How would Rodolph, as the leader of a band hardly the size of a single Crimson Kings squad, react? Could the newly trained soldiers fresh from their boot camp be relied upon to carry out their hit-and-dash operation without breaking too soon?
The sight of eight new Taurs emerging from a ruined wagon shed, Taurs the scouts had missed during their reconnaissance, decided him instantly. “Shoot the rain arch!”
His archers wasted no time. He wondered, in a detached corner of his mind, if they had been expecting the signal. Their confidence in plans formulated by a mercenary leader begged the question of whether enough existed to call it so.
Three arrows were fired atop the other’s tail fletching. The low, middle and high pitched screeches merged into a rising wail. Torrance remained standing calm as ever. Gibbon pressed the Glasses to his eyes hard enough to risk impairing his vision permanently, his body vibrating with tension enough for a bowstring.
Marik watched. He had signaled too late. Tadd could not break away in time. His forces stampeded the few lone sentries remaining followed by a hammering charge into the swarming enemy soldiers coming at a run. Skelton’s army squad slowed a moment after hearing the warning, which meant they foundered on the northern flank while Tadd pulled too far forward.
Rodolph wasted no time in switching to a retreat, belying his apparent confusion regarding the Screamer signal system. He instigated a tight curve around south that would lead him back into the east/west woodland corridor before his men made contact.
Torches were blooming by the minute. The increasing light finally enabled Gibbon to see what transpired in the distance.
“Exactly as I said!” he hissed. “Desertion at the first opportunity!”
Torrance offered no opinions. Marik ignored them both to dart back and forth at insane speeds between the battle and his body.
Tadd’s squad hit hard and fast, using the skill the Kings were known for to pick targets in the dark. Rather, the Kings never stopped swinging their swords. A flailing strike that stopped an enemy from closing and counterattacking helped as much as hitting a vulnerable limb. Soldiers tended to pause momentarily, hoping to discern their foes in the gloom so they could attack vital areas.
Minor wounds were inflicted on the enemy soldiers who were shadows within a coal mine due to their black armor. Man for man they failed to match
the average Crimson King in fighting skills. They posed little worry to Marik.
Except they were easily outnumbered six-to-one, the number growing by the moment. Figures continued running to join battle from every hole in the ground within the former town. Soon they would be swallowed whole by the mass.
Tadd’s momentum had stopped. His men were fighting to extricate themselves. The horses were the problem. Getting them around while keeping the Arronaths from mounting an effective assault was far harder than a man on foot spinning into a retreat.
The green soldiers closed the distance, Skelton shouting furiously. He meant to aid the central force in its escape according to the original plan.
“That’s not a well-planned move,” Torrance evaluated. “They were to join the raid together as a single force. He has no way to intercede without causing more interference to our men than theirs.”
“He is a most capable man,” Gibbon sneered, “and far more reliable than those cowards!”
Marik had no time to waste listening to the lieutenant’s spite. Gibbon had been growing surlier by the day the longer he mingled with the mercenaries. The Crimson Kings had been bad enough, but the men in the smaller bands seemed to be pushing him past his limits.
He cut off Gibbon’s waspish words by soaring at top speed through the trees. Events were happening far too quickly. The Arronaths had responded faster than he would have believed possible given that he had taken caution to make the night assault as secretive as he could. Instead of a raid, this was quickly shifting to a pitched battle.
The type of battle they desperately needed to avoid.
As fast as his consciousness flew, the Taurs still beat him to the conflict. The first five let out hunting cries, animal excitement reverberating through each tremendous bellow. Several men broke to flee. Not all were Skelton’s men.
Massive claws slashed through the darkness. Horse flesh, shredded mail, saddle chunks and pieces of men ripped free in their wake. One unfortunate green soldier caught the claws through his belly. The Taur, roaring its bestial pleasure, ripped its hand back to send an unwinding stream of entrails spooling through the air over the surrounding men.
Nearby Arronaths had pulled away from the frontline at the Taurs’ approach. Half the fighting shifted to man versus beast. Skelton’s group received the most sword-on-sword fighting as bodies shifted. The numbers altered drastically, yet the Taurs were so overwhelming that Tadd’s group could gain no advantage.
Except one. With fewer opponents to contend with, despite their raw power, effecting the escape became far simpler. Tadd yanked his mount around savagely by the reins. Others followed suit.
Skelton’s group, which had sought to aid, found itself in the straights instead. Enemy soldiers were spilling around their northern flank. Tadd’s men were too busy splitting left and right to curve back on their entry path to offer any help.
Marik acted without pausing for thought. Far back in his body, he formed the etheric orbs that remained the attack he was best at. He fired two, breaking the air with them. Sharp whip-snaps accompanied by static crackling split the battle din.
In terms of power, these were only half as strong as he could have created. He kept them weak in order to control them in flight. His etheric hands cradled each. Both wanted to escape his influence despite the low energy imbuing them.
Streaks of light from their passage burned into men’s night vision, leaving purple afterimages wherever they looked. At a point over Skelton’s rear, he bent their path downwards. It felt akin to fighting a taunt rigging rope affixed to flapping sails in a storm.
They curved in a descending arc, twin stars falling in parallel tracks. The first struck a black soldier full in the face. He jerked back as if kicked by a horse. A flash of white light threading around blue fire left his face horribly blistered and burned. Likely blind as well, Marik hoped.
The quick thought churned the acid in his stomach. He never felt clean after using his mage talent in such an obscenely unfair way.
His second orb smashed into the top of the badger-like helm worn by most Arronaths. Its concussion blast forced the man to his knees, arms wind-milling, sword tumbling away. A shower of blue-red sparks burst in a blooming night flower.
Men on both sides hesitated. The Taurs took no notice. It would take the ground opening up and swallowing them to deter their bloodlust once they had the scent in their billowing nostrils.
Marik spent the brief moment searching furiously for a magical counterattack. What information Dietrik and the others had pried from the prisoners suggested that very few of their mages were ever assigned to the frontlines. Mostly they traveled with the largest detachments, spending most of their time checking the safety of local resources such as food and water rather than casting defensive spells.
No countermeasure came. He breathed a tremendous sigh of relief that he felt with lungs two miles behind him. Attacking with his feeble mage skills a force containing any sort of magic user was always begging for trouble. A quick check ensured that Skelton’s group had recovered from the surprise first. They were beating a hasty retreat.
He returned to his five ordinary senses in time to hear Gibbon, rage lacing his words, shouting loud enough at Torrance that the archers across the hillock could listen in. “—a right to be informed! At no time did you people see fit to inform me I was dealing with a mage!”
“King Raymond is fully aware that Ma—”
“Why wasn’t I aware?” Gibbon cut Torrance off. “I’m the senior military officer! I have a right to be privy to all details concerning the composition of these forces, unless you’ve been trying to hi—”
“Why aren’t the crossbows shooting?” Marik demanded over the lieutenant. Both advisors jerked their head toward the ruined town.
Crossbows on both sides should have begun firing into the pursuing enemy forces. Rodolph’s group had re-entered the woodland corridor. The others ought to be on his heels.
A quick overflight revealed the flaw. Tadd’s forces had been forced sideways in order to flee. Skelton’s men were curving back exactly as planned…between the Arronaths and the lurking crossbow squads. Not a single one could fire for fear of killing allies.
He swore before either man could puzzle out the current state of affairs. The strike elements were too far away to send orders to. How was he supposed to fix a problem when all he had were the most rudimentary signals possible via sound?
The Arronaths charged after their retreating assailants; the only part of the plan to go right. Too right. Hardly any space separated the escaping men from the pursuers. Any shots fired would have to come when the majority had already passed his archers, into the enemy’s back.
Marik could see the results of this…himself standing before the assembled council to answer charges of gross negligence, ineptitude, malfeasance, possibly deliberate sabotage or any other crime they felt angry enough to hit him with.
Sergeant Skelton backed up Gibbon’s claim by making the best decision he could have. Rather than angling into the corridor, he kept his squad in its tight turn until they were aimed ninety degrees further south, galloping straight past the gap in the trees. He rode the horses hard, paying little heed to the dangers of unseen terrain.
The Arronaths plunged after him. Coming out of their maneuver, they were broadside to the hidden archers in the trees. Quarrels were quickly loosed into their exposed flank.
Surprised cries added to the confusion among the enemy ranks. Skelton saw his chance and ordered his men to scatter into the trees. His men leapt from their saddles to scamper like rabbits.
Two further volleys were loosed before the black-armored soldiers organized under frantic shouts from an unseen voice. A thick knot of them moved toward the northern woods while the Taurs were urged, through whatever sorcery was employed against their primitive minds, to penetrate the southern.
The northern volleys stopped immediately when archers dodged through the trees in hopes of finding their mele
e-armed shieldmates. Wild shots streaked through the branches when the southern group found the Taurs coming their way. Marik could see most of their auras beating a hasty retreat, though easily a quarter put their faith in the heavy artillery in their hands. He had made a point during the march of educating the soldiers about the best methods for killing a Taur. While he gave them points for courage, he silently cursed them for not fleeing with their comrades. They might take down a Taur with a lucky shot in the dark, but he needed every man, and especially every crossbow, for future engagements.
Rodolph led the way down the corridor at a faster pace than he had set during the approach. The Crimson Kings rode behind him, able to breathe easier since Skelton’s quick thinking had opened a considerable gap between them and the danger. Marik could see the blue auras of horses running wild over the field of glowing green. He could not fault Skelton for cutting them loose so his men could navigate the dark forest on foot.
Nevertheless, the horses were nearly as important as the crossbows. They would have to be recovered if the mounts kept from stampeding for the horizon. Undoubtedly they would have already if the thick trees were not boxing them in. The cries from the Taurs had them spooked.
“Start passing the word,” Marik muttered. Drifting through the etheric realm always prevented his ears from functioning. He could still force words from his mouth despite being unable to hear them. “We caused them some damage, but they aren’t taking the bait. Their commander must be smart enough not to enter the corridor.”
Auras moved a hundred feet into the trees, searching for the archers who had assaulted them. The Galemaran auras were much further back, moving deeper with every moment. His archers had escaped in time. Already the Arronaths were pulling out from the trees, returning to their ruined town and what shelter it provided. Their leader must understand it was far easier to defend a position than to take one. They would not be fooled into becoming vulnerable by moving out of a defensive position.