“Archers then?”
The shaman shook his head. “I have a better idea. At least to start.” Nachun raised his hands aloft, a ball of fire taking shape between them. On the ridge to Tobin’s right, dozens of arms shot into the air following Nachun’s lead, though each was absent of the growing flames now looming above Tobin. Time seemed to slow as the other shamans matched Nachun’s pose and waited as the wolves sped closer to the Blue Island Clan’s front lines.
Sweat soaked his hair and shirt under the immense heat of Nachun's fireball, but Tobin didn't flinch. His curiosity warred with his anxiety as he counted down the moments for Nachun to release the sorcery. Nachun had not been one to display his power, and Tobin was eager to see once again what his friend was capable of. The shaman trembled, his robes drenched as he maintained control over the ever growing ball of flames.
With a grunt, Nachun made a throwing motion and launched the sorcery forward. Tobin’s eyes widened as they followed the streaking fire into the dry grass, less than two hundred yards away from his front lines. Within seconds, the fire had spread in all directions and engulfed most of the plain before them. Between heavy breaths and with a voice like broken glass, Nachun managed to speak. “The shamans I positioned to our right will ensure that the fire does not reach your lines, though they will allow the flames to burn most everything else.”
Tobin could only manage a nod as he looked at the destruction. Sharp, high-pitched yelps joined a chorus of howls as the wolves tried to dash away from the flames. Screams and shrieks of pain sent a shiver down Tobin’s spine.
How can anyone stop him when he is at his full strength? It takes dozens of shamans just to contain the power he unleashed. Tobin glanced over and saw Nachun weakened but not nearly as much as he expected. I can still feel the power emanating from him. He couldn’t understand why any leader would ever let someone so powerful slip from their grasp. The Red Mountain Clan, especially Charu, will rue the day they betrayed Nachun’s family.
Two giant wolves, far larger than any Tobin had ever seen, emerged from the inferno and raced toward the Blue Island Clan’s formation.
“You may want to make use of your archers now,” said Nachun.
Tobin signaled the archers to begin firing as others joined the two hulking shapes. “I’ve never seen wolves that large,” marveled Tobin.
“Those are no wolves. Many of their shamans have the ability to change shape. A very dangerous practice, but once mastered, it is a very powerful tool. Before the fire, I would guess there were more than a hundred like those breaking free now. Those shrieks of terror you hear are not coming from the wolves. Those are the weaker shamans unable to protect themselves from the flames. The ones that approach are the strongest, though they will no longer be at full power. Your warriors should be able to handle them now without much difficulty.”
“And the shamans who weren’t part of the charge?”
“Busy keeping the flames from flowing across their lines just as ours are.”
“So neither side is at their best.”
Nachun nodded. “The battle is now mostly one of arms, I thought you would prefer that.”
A cloud of arrows filled the sky and rained down on the charging shapeshifters, felling all but two of the creatures. Those stumbled into the front lines where waiting soldiers pounced on them with spear and sword, stabbing and slashing at the tortured bodies.
Tobin smiled. “You did well.”
The conflagration of the plain dissipated within minutes and revealed hundreds of charred black lumps. Bits of gray ash lifted from the ground by a sudden breeze. The smell of burnt flesh reached Tobin and unsettled the horse beneath him. He saw the Yellow Plain Clan’s mounts similarly affected and the warriors on them silenced, no longer so eager to advance.
“Will you attack now that they are shaken?” asked Nachun.
“No. We have a stronger position here,” answered Tobin.
A lone rider emerged from their opponent’s ranks with arms pumping twin sabers in a steady rhythm. Tobin couldn’t make out his features but he knew the man was Sunul, their Warleader. He had heard others speak of the man’s fighting prowess.
He worked his horde back into a rage. Tobin gazed down at his own lines, where captains rechecked ranks. His men stood firm and ready, not shaken in the least by the display from across the field.
After an earsplitting chorus of war cries, Sunul led the charge of his army. Tobin sent half a dozen runners scrambling to issue his commands.
The pounding hooves from the charging cavalry kicked up dirt and ash to join the smoke in the air. The rolling cloud swallowed the horsemen.
Tobin issued the command for his archers to fire again. Arrows blotted out the sky before slamming into the enemy’s ranks.
By the time the second volley reached them, the survivors had learned a lesson from their fallen comrades and raised round shields covered in hide to protect themselves. However, their shields were not large enough or thick enough to stop many of the shafts from reaching rider and horse.
As the third shower of arrows cascaded down, the first row of each of Tobin’s line dropped to a knee while the row behind revealed loaded crossbows. Captains shouted the order to fire. Quarrels sped across the plain, striking the front line of riders. After each line fired, they dropped their weapons and took a knee, clearing a path for the next row.
The Yellow Plain Clan died in droves with the seemingly endless projectiles hounding them from every direction. Crossbow quarrels pierced their hide shields and leather armor, tumbling hundreds of men and horses to the ground, run over by those behind.
As the last row of infantry fired their crossbows, the Blue Island Clan lines rose to their feet and planted heavy spears into the dirt. The archers ceased fire as the Yellow Plain Clan closed. With the sudden reprieve, the enemy charge sprang to new life, the thousands remaining spurring their horses faster. Before impact, javelins and arrows were loosed into the Blue Island Clan’s midst, but clanked off of the thick armor and steel shields Nachun had created. Only a few were able to pierce the tightly formed lines.
Some of the riders attempted to spin away from the front wall, but the push from behind and the sides was too great.
Tobin felt the concussive impact even from his position. Horses screamed as the infantry spears punched through their light barding, flinging riders from their saddles. The cavalry quickly recovered, slashing and stabbing with sabers. Death cries rose with the clouds of debris. Formations up and down Tobin's battle-line devolved into a maelstrom of bodies.
“They seem to be holding,” said Nachun, as if he doubted.
Tobin’s forces survived the initial clash but he saw weakening in the formation. The center line, which took the brunt of the charge, remained sturdy, benefiting from the concentration of his forces and heavy armor. The left flank, as he had suspected, gained an advantage from the stream and the bordering treeline.
However, the right wing started to get pushed back as many of the Yellow Plain Clan riders wheeled from the center in an attempt to flank the weaker side positions.
Tobin quickly sent out messengers to send Guwan and the light cavalry reserve against the exposed flank of those riders.
Tobin grew more anxious as the moments passed. He opened and closed his fists, itching to enter the fray. Patience, Tobin. Not yet.
The light cavalry swept in with arrow fire from the Orange Desert Clan’s short bows while the Kifzo threw javelins and axes. The right flank quickly solidified.
A large number of the enemy at the rear of the charge had yet to engage. Tobin saw many shift their focus from the center, to Walor’s forces at the river. Their surge forward coincided with the arrival of a swarm of bees. Distracted by the bees, Tobin saw his lines begin to lose ground. Tobin muttered a curse.
He shouted orders for half of his reserves to support the left flank, and sent the other half to add strength to his right where he was most concerned about his opponent out-maneuvering
him.
He faced Nachun. “Can you negate the shamans?”
“Most of them, yes.”
“Good. Grab any other shamans along the way to aid you. We have to hold the left,” he said kicking his horse into a gallop and unsheathing his sword. He didn’t bother to look to see if Nachun followed, for he trusted his friend would. He was right to command from a distance, at least for a time, but he had to act. The battle called to him. Time to prove himself worthy to be called Warleader.
* * *
Tobin sped down the sloping landscape and raced past the reserves he had ordered to support Walor’s forces. As he neared, he jumped from his horse and flung himself into the conflict where the line had started to buckle. He pulled a warrior from under the front hooves of a Yellow Plain Clan’s mount then thrust his sword into the horse’s chest which pitched its rider to the ground. Tobin finished the fallen warrior with a stab to the chest.
The Kifzo he had rescued called out for others to rally to Tobin’s position. Tobin’s sword moved in a blur through the foul air. Between strokes, he had managed to call out for spearmen to aid in holding back the pressing horsemen.
A shouted warning sent Tobin ducking as a spear-point impaled the warrior he fought. Walor took up position next to him, shaft in hand. Others similarly armed closed in. A long slash ran down the head scout’s cheek but he managed a grin between heavy breaths. “Lead us, Warleader!” he yelled. Shouts of “Warleader” erupted.
Never have I heard anyone scream for Kaz in such a way. Thank you, Walor.
Tobin spun back into the press, into the tangled mass of bodies. The additional spears made all the difference as the Blue Island Clan warriors attacked the Yellow Plain Clan riders with greater reach, stabbing and thrusting at man and animal alike. Pressed so close together, the greatest advantage the enemy had over the Blue Island Clan had been taken away. The field turned into a frenzy of scattered blood and limbs. Lifeless forms accumulated beneath Tobin’s feet.
Ducking, parrying, and countering his opponents’ attacks, Tobin fought with a ferocity he could never match in the training circle. Covered in blood and smelling of death, he heard his name growled over the sound of ringing steel.
Tobin twisted around as a path opened between him and Sunul, the Yellow Plain Clan Warleader. Sunul held twin sabers.
Though shorter and thinner than Tobin, he struck an imposing figure. The hardness in the man’s eyes spoke of the reputation he made for himself. Like the other warriors of the Yellow Clan, his armor consisted of leather, layered with yellowed animal bone in the most vital of areas. Sprayed with blood and ash, he could have easily been mistaken for a walking corpse.
A man Kaz had always wished to fight.
“I was hoping to face your brother,” said Sunul.
“Kaz is dead.”
“Pity, I wanted a challenge.”
Sunul came at Tobin in a rush, spinning sabers in either hand. Tobin found himself immediately on the defensive as the two men clashed. He did his best to deflect the weaving cuts blurring before his eyes. He hoped some sort of pattern would develop but he failed to pick it out as the blades whirled in a calculated chaos.
With every slash, Tobin retreated. His single blade was not quick enough to match Sunul’s speed and precision. Twice he chanced an attack and twice failed. Sunul’s blades danced off the gauntlets covering Tobin’s hands and forearms.
I owe Nachun yet again, or I’d be trying to continue with severed hands.
The armor he wore was superior, but Tobin knew it would not protect him forever. Mere moments into the fight, he found himself tiring, both mentally and physically as he tried to match the furious moves of his opponent. Doubt began to creep into his mind.
Tobin realized his best hope at winning lay in using his size and strength to overpower his smaller opponent. The thought struck him as he finally saw a pattern in Sunul’s style. Barely noticeable, Tobin seized advantage of the next opportunity. Ducking below one blade and deflecting the other with his sword, he slammed his shoulder into Sunul’s chest which sent the man sprawling. However, the first blade that Tobin had ducked under slashed back, downward across Tobin’s chest. The pommel of Sunul’s other saber twisted down and struck the hilt of Tobin’s sword. The blade fell from his hand.
Sunul landed several paces back and rolled to his feet while Tobin dropped to a knee grabbing his chest.
“Pathetic. I have been setting you up for that since we began,” said Sunul. “Most would have tried to counter it long before you did.”
He is right. I’m not even the best swordsmen in my clan and yet I thought to challenge him. How can I be Warleader? Tobin looked up as Sunul approached and saw his own blade was too far away for him to reach.
”I wish I could be there to deliver the news to your father that both of his sons are dead,” said Sunul. “Though from what I’ve seen today, I’d say your brother was the greater loss.”
Kaz, yet again. He seethed in anger. Rage replaced his earlier doubts and coursed through his veins, lending him strength. Twin axes whipped out to catch the blades of Sunul’s sabers as they arced downward. “My brother was nothing,” Tobin growled.
Tobin propelled himself up and forward, driving his head underneath Sunul’s chin. Sunul staggered backward, blood dribbling from his mouth. He shook his head and spat while he moved in a ready position. Sunul started to issue a retort but Tobin was done listening and hurled himself toward the man.
Tobin’s smaller battle axes spun in his hands and allowed him to press in close to his opponent. The hooked blades and metal shafts turned away each of Sunul’s counterstrikes. Sunul’s long sabers were at a disadvantage now as Tobin moved in closer. His opponent tried to regain a stronger position, but tripped over fallen weapons and contorted bodies. Tobin refused to let up his attack, even as one of those sabers sliced his ear. He was so focused on finishing off his opponent to prove himself worthy to be Warleader and to be recognized as Kaz’s better that he didn’t even notice the cut.
Sunul’s guard started to falter. The plainsmen’s right arm dipped and Tobin’s ax cut deep, causing one of the sabers to drop to the ground. Sunul’s eyes widened in shock. He staggered and slashed wildly in panic with his other saber. Tobin caught the blade with one ax while coming down with the other, cleaving into the center of the plainsmen’s skull.
Tobin’s attention went to the battle around him and he readied himself for another opponent. However, there were none. Cries erupted from the Yellow Plain Clan that their Warleader died and many on the left flank turned to flee. Others not in a position to do so simply yielded their weapons and bent a knee with head bowed.
His own clansmen watched in what appeared to be awe. For a battle that only moments before had been deafening, the left flank quieted. News of Sunul’s death quickly flowed through the remainder of the battlefield and the enemy fled. The Blue Island Clan defeated the Yellow Plain Clan with Tobin as Warleader.
A lone voice came from the right. Tobin faced the warrior who with sword held high, shouted Tobin’s name in rhythm to the thrusting of his arm. It was the young Kifzo he had reprimanded in the village some days ago. Tobin saw the look in his eyes as he stared across the blood soaked ground and saw in them what he had always wanted.
Respect.
Loyalty.
Admiration.
Pride.
Others joined the chant until thousands of voices cried out his name in unison.
He knew then that they doubted him no longer.
Chapter 29
Jonrell stood atop the high keep and looked over the wasteland of Cathyrium.
The fires in the outlying city had burned out, but wisps of smoke still swam through the air. Broken siege equipment torn to splinters from heavy boulders stood in heaps. A temporary ceasefire had been agreed upon to allow Tomalt to gather his dead. Some of the Hell Patrol’s old crew had not been fond of the gentleman’s way of war, but Jonrell would not have it any other way.
Though they fight against me, they are my countrymen.
He rubbed away the sleep from his blurred vision. Like most, he had slept little. He spent most of his time along the walls or towers, encouraging men, checking over the state of the castle, and mentally collecting information.
“The next attack will be the last. He is running out of time and resources,” said Kaz.
“Yes,” said Jonrell.
Jonrell had asked his friend to join him on top of the castle’s keep, hoping the warrior would provide a different perspective on events. Unfortunately, his perspective was a different sort of grim.
“What have you heard from your contacts in their camp?” asked Kaz.
He shrugged. “Either there is nothing to report or they’ve been discovered."
“Probably the latter,” Kaz muttered.
Alone on the rooftop, Jonrell looked over Kaz. Wiqua assured him that Kaz could fight, completely healed, though the scarring on his face and arms would take time to fade.
“Why did you do it?”
Kaz turned. “Do what?”
“Allow yourself to be healed with sorcery.”
Kaz worked his jaw and Jonrell saw him struggling to find the right words. “After all that you’ve done for me,” he paused, looking down, “it is the least I could do. I’m afraid I have nothing else to offer.”
Jonrell smiled and placed a hand on Kaz’s hard shoulder. “It is more than enough.” He paused and met the man’s eyes. “Thank you.” He sighed. “I see you struggling each day with the unknowns of your past. I can’t imagine what that’s like. Don’t let the few memories rule you. You’re a good man and an even better friend. One of the best friends I’ve had, for whatever that is worth. Don’t forget that.”
* * *
“Get those trebuchets loaded. One Above, Yanasi, pull your men back to the inner wall and take your marks from there. Arrows aren’t going to be what brings them down,” shouted Jonrell. Hard headed girl. What’s she going to do when I’m not around to look after her?
Rise and Fall (Book 1) Page 51