But that initial surge of power had lessened to a more natural level months ago. She couldn’t rely on sheer force.
Instinctively, she had begun several spells since most started similarly. Experience had taught her that she could complete those first few steps and hold them before committing to and completing a more specific spell.
She made her decisions.
The enemy noticed their approach and had begun to alter their formation. She couldn’t have that, so she launched two great fire balls that sailed low over the Turine volunteers. The balls fell at the edge of the enemy ranks, halting their attempt to extend their lines.
Screeches of the enemy catching fire as well as the smell of cooked flesh filled the air. The inhuman sounds and sickening odor sent a shiver down her back. Ava had seen and heard men suffer in more ways than any person should have ever known, yet fire always brought out the most maddening throes of pain.
Twenty-five yards out, she thrust her right hand upward. A white blaze of light exploded over and behind her men and slowly faded. Among the enemy, men shook their heads, some rubbed their eyes while stepping back, the light having destroyed their night vision.
Breaths before the Turine soldiers struck the enemy’s left flank, she finished her next three spells in quick succession. One was a strengthening of will that washed over her men like a warm blanket. She didn’t necessarily think they needed it based on their steady course, but then again, she had learned a soldier’s resolve was not something to be taken for granted. The second was a spell of uncertainty, doubt, and fear over the front ranks of the enemy. It would feed off their panic from the blinding light.
The third spell was the most difficult—a small aura of protection that she stretched over her men. Extending protection over herself or a squad was not difficult at her level of skill, but an entire company was another matter. The aura would not make her men invincible. Certainly, they could be harmed and even die. However, it would ensure that most attacks, especially glancing blows would do only a fraction of their intended damage. Anyone caught in the tight press of battle with swords, spears, daggers, and fists coming in from all directions understood how an accumulation of even the smallest injuries could lead to the end of a soldier’s life.
The down side of her last spell was that holding it made it nearly impossible to execute any additional offensive spells.
Just because I can’t attack with sorcery doesn’t mean that I can’t fight without it.
An anomaly among mages, she could more than handle herself with a blade. Ava drew her long, thin sword just before the lines slammed together.
Steel crashed upon steel. Awful, ear-splitting scraping and clinking preceded the eruption of death screams as sharp edges sank into flesh. The smell of blood, sweat, and dying men losing their bowels filled her nostrils.
Unlike Tyrus, Ava had never fought at the front lines before. Her brother never spoke of it except to say that the horrors he had seen there before moving to the elite units were incomparable.
Ava had never fully understood that comment until the hell around her unfolded.
But she didn’t buckle or shy away. Molak-be-damned, she would not leave others to do her fighting.
When the man before her took a spear to the shoulder, she pulled him back to safety while replacing his spot in the ranks, stabbing the piece of dung responsible for inflicting the wound.
Battle engulfed her and she lost herself in its sickening embrace.
* * *
Ava opened her eyes to the sound of a man retching. Bodies, blood, fluids, weapons, and the like surrounded her.
Domestic or foreign, north or south, morning or night, it doesn’t matter where or when. The aftermath of battle is always the same.
The battle had ended under the slowly brightening morning sky. She had closed her eyes only for a moment after sitting to catch her breath. She was so exhausted she had to make a conscious effort to maintain her own minor spell of protection. And even then, it was not at its usual strength.
She glanced to her left where the retching had come from. A Turine soldier was on his hands and knees over a small puddle of vomit. A long string of spit hung from his bottom lip as he dry heaved again and again. Another soldier lay not far from the sick man, not severely injured but gasping for air with limbs sprawled out wide.
Ava tried to remember the names of both men, but they escaped her. She was never good with names and truthfully had never cared enough before to learn those outside of her unit. She needed to do a better job.
“Are you all right?” she asked, raising her hoarse voice.
The man lying down managed a small nod. The other man swiveled his head toward her. When he did, the line of spit that had hung from his lip flapped against his chin and cheek. Ava’s stomach rolled.
She steeled herself. The last thing she needed was to also be sick.
“Something wrong?” she asked while pushing herself to her feet, stopping with her hands resting on her knees.
“Just overdid it,” he managed. “Pushed myself harder than I thought I could.”
Amazing what you can do when your life is on the line and a little sorcery is pushing you past what you thought was your best.
“I’ll get you some water,” she offered, wincing as she straightened.
“No,” he spat out before dry heaving again. “I’ll just throw it right back up. I’ll get some later.”
“All right,” she said, walking over and placing a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You did well, soldier. Better than well.”
She had seen her brother act similarly on more than one occasion. It seemed natural to imitate the gesture just then.
The soldier cocked his head up at her. Despite the greenish pallor he wore, he managed a smile. It took everything Ava had not to recoil at the whiff of vomit.
She patted him once more and walked the battlefield, taking an account of her men and the losses of the Southern Kingdom soldiers intermingled with the enemy that had not fled.
There wasn’t a lot of talking as she went from soldier to soldier. Neither she nor they had the energy to do more than nod or gesture that they were fine or would be fine after tending to their injuries.
It suited her as much as it suited them.
Gods, every part of me aches.
“High Mage Ava!” a familiar voice called.
She turned slowly. Captain Kamau picked his way through the carnage, stepping over and around the dead. He wore a fresh slash across his left cheek and had quickly rigged a bandage over that same upper arm.
“Captain,” she said in acknowledgement.
“How are your men?” he asked.
“As good as can be expected.”
“How many did you lose?”
“None.”
He started. “None? That’s . . . that’s impossible.”
“Improbable, but not impossible,” she said sarcastically. She couldn’t put aside his behavior toward her at the training ground in Batna nor on the march since.
“How? I didn’t see any sorcery other than the fire and bright light before your men attacked their flank.”
“There was more. Just not as flashy.”
He frowned. “Did any of those spells grant your men protection?”
“Some.”
She could almost hear his teeth grinding when he asked through a clenched jaw, “And you didn’t think to extend it to my men also?”
Does he really think I’d let his men die on purpose? What good would that serve? Great. Instead of the two groups coming together after the first battle as I had hoped, my decision might actually drive them farther apart.
“It would not have worked. The spell was difficult as it was. If I had stretched myself further, likely the entire thing would have fallen apart. Or I could have possibly included some of the enemy
in the protection in error.”
Kamau worked his mouth, thinking over her explanation. He looked down at her blood soaked clothes. “I’ve never even heard of a mage who would fight with a sword over sorcery.”
She shrugged. “It isn’t my preference, but I’ll do what’s necessary.”
Kamau narrowed his eyes. She could not read what he thought. No doubt he wondered how much of what she had said was truth, especially in regards to helping the Southern Kingdom soldiers. She wanted to ask him of his losses, but decided it best to find out that number later.
“What can you tell me about those who attacked us?”
Kamau’s expression changed, less accusing and more angry as he gazed over the dead littering the ground.
“The soldiers were Kartan. To my knowledge, this was the first time any of their number attacked on their own. Previously, they only acted in support of the Bozrathans.” He let out a long sigh. “Never before has an enemy force entered this part of the Southern Kingdoms. That concerns me as we’re still days from Jumla Danso’s last known position.”
“Were the Kartans scouting ahead?”
“Possibly. Or trying to cause enough trouble so the Jumla would need to split his forces to fight them. It was a blessing we were here to meet them. If they had gained a foothold, we would have had a war on two fronts.”
“Do you think frustration caused them to deviate from their previous strategies?”
“That, or confidence from Noval joining their alliance.”
“Shouldn’t we pursue those who retreated in order to determine if they were part of a larger invading force? Or to capture some and question them about the rumor of necromancy?”
Kamau started to answer, but caught himself as if he finally realized who he had been speaking with. “That’s something for me to decide.” He puffed himself up, once more eyeing her suspiciously. “See to the injuries of your men. Then have them help with seeing to our dead. But make sure they do nothing without first seeking out our instructions. It’s crucial they obey our customs. Specific prayers must be said and certain rites carried out. It is a grave sin, punishable by death, to deviate from them or to disturb the dead after the rites have been performed. Even as foreigners, you would not be granted leniency in committing these sins.”
Ava nodded. She might not be religious, but she could respect the request, especially since she had no desire to die. “And the bodies of the enemy?”
Kamau crinkled his nose. “You may let those rot.”
I can appreciate that.
* * *
They did not travel the day after the battle as wounds needed tending and the dead needed treating per the Southern Kingdom way. In total, they had lost a third of the three hundred soldiers intended to reinforce Jumla Danso’s main forces. Another twenty soldiers were too severely injured to continue on as well. Captain Kamau redistributed supplies and sent those twenty back to Batna on empty wagons.
Kamau did not press Ava any further about her lack of protecting his soldiers, but the complete survival of the eighty Turine volunteers did not go unnoticed by others. This was especially so when others realized her men had also killed twice as many of the enemy. Absent was the brotherly acceptance she had hoped for and seen most often among soldiers. Instead, came a wary respect for her power and the fighting skills of her men.
I suppose that’s at least an improvement.
When they moved out the next day, Kamau doubled his scouts and had them ranging much farther than before in an effort to track the retreating Kartan soldiers. They found no signs of the enemy, nor any signs of a larger force. Still, uneasiness hung over the group as they traveled east.
Kamau increased their pace. They woke long before dawn each morning, not stopping until well after dusk when sunlight was only a memory. She could see the unhappiness among the men as their injuries and fatigue hardly improved at such a pace. But she also understood the captain’s decision.
Danso needs to know what happened.
At least that was what she assumed was Kamau’s reason. Ava could not get Captain Kamau to speak with her again except to convey the most necessary of orders. Any time she made an effort to approach him, he’d move away quickly with shoulders bunched. She could have followed after him and demanded he speak with her. But Ao-be-damned, she was not going to chase after the man like a toddler wanting attention.
Gods, I miss my brother.
CHAPTER 17
I awoke drenched in sweat, panting. I sat up in my bed and tried to swallow, but my mouth and throat were so dry that I couldn’t. My heart pounded, making my ears vibrate with each breath.
Just another nightmare, I told myself. The fighting, the killing, the pain, and the death were all once very real. But not anymore. I wasn’t at war any longer. I could relax.
But Ava was at war, I thought. Or at least she would be soon.
I swore. Why did she have to go off without me? I knew the answer, but I still asked myself the question daily.
I looked down at the sheen of sweat on my scarred chest. “Look at you,” I muttered. “What could you even do to help her anyway? Barely keeping it together now.”
I removed the tangled sheet from around my legs and stood. Though I might not be at war any longer in the traditional sense, the war within was every bit as powerful. We had defeated the Geneshans, but most days I didn’t feel like I had won anything.
Glancing out of the window, I judged the position of the moon. No sense in trying to get back to sleep with dawn not far off.
My joints ached like an old man’s in the mornings, but they seemed to crack more than usual as I walked over to the chamber pot in the corner. The nightmares had not only woken bad memories, but also the residual pain from old injuries. By the time I washed my face, head, and torso with cool water, I started to feel more myself.
Briefly, I considered going down to the kitchen to eat, but I worried I would wake the kids. It was better to let them rest than suffer because of the things that haunted me. After throwing on a shirt, I moved back to the window.
Staring out as I had the last three mornings, I looked over a sleeping Kasala. Even by moonlight, the improvements we had made were visible. For all my worries, the progress pleased me.
Yehoash’s herbs restored the health of our goats, and each night Zadok spoke of the repairs made to the stables.
Reuma had her dozen guards, and she had begun running drills as discussed. The day before, she and Myra broke ground on the first tower.
Unfortunately, progress was slowest where I most desired it. It looked as though it would take another three days to ready the fields for planting. Though I thought the land was mostly fertile in the spot I had chosen to begin work, quite a few rocks lay hidden beneath its surface. Some stone we excavated were so large we had to rig rope and chain to remove them.
Working the fields had stirred memories of my childhood. Though I didn’t think often of my parents, when I did it was with a deep longing. My pa had taught me everything I knew about farming, but I knew my knowledge paled to his.
Memories of plowing and readying a field for planting with him didn’t compare to the amount of work we had put in over the last few days. But then again, my father had worked our land for years before I was old enough to help. Perhaps he had struggled before then.
“Even if he did, he still only had one horse and Ma to help him. What does that say about me and how hard I think this is?” I mumbled.
A floorboard creaked outside my room. I turned sharply to the door as the handle turned.
Zadok peaked inside.
I relaxed. “What are you doing up?”
“Thought I heard you talking to someone,” he said, entering.
“Just muttering to myself. Didn’t mean to wake you by moving about. I’ll take greater care so you can get back to bed.”
“Can I just come in instead?”
“Sure.”
He shut the door with a quiet click. Sleep still lined his eyes as he walked up. “What were you muttering about?”
“My parents.”
He yawned. “You don’t really talk about them much.”
“I was just thinking that myself. I should. You never got a chance to know them with your grandma passing before you were born and your grandpa dying before you took your first step.”
“Ma tried to tell us some things, but she only knew them a few years.”
“That’s true.”
The floorboard outside creaked again. Zadok and I both jumped. He chuckled when I said, “I guess I should do something about that board.”
Myra’s dark, curly hair stood wild as she came in, looking just as sleepy-eyed as Zadok had. Only in the early morning did I ever see her hair that way.
“Sorry if I woke you up, too.”
“It’s fine.” She yawned. “We’ve been so busy we haven’t really seen each other much except right before bed the last few nights anyway. What are you two talking about?”
“Grandma and Grandpa,” said Zadok.
“I was just saying I feel bad for how little you two know about them,” I said.
She yawned. “Well, we’re all up, and work won’t begin for another hour.”
“I guess we should take advantage of that then,” I said, catching her meaning.
“Can we go downstairs first?” asked Zadok. “I’m starving.”
In the kitchen, we ate bread and dried fruit while I told them several stories from my youth. Those I picked gave a glimpse into who their grandparents were and consequently how they had influenced me and Ava. They hung on my every word, brightening my heart.
Forever Soldiers: The Tyrus Chronicle - Book Four Page 13