by Dan Adams
‘Where are we going to put these?’ Octans asked.
‘I guess we leave them here unless you really want to carry it with you.’
Octans looked toward the trail that inclined to the Fatelli Pass and further on to Black Claw. The next hour was either going to make him or break him and he was ready for action.
‘Yeah, I don’t think so.’
Ara and Daria were in deep discussion when the baron ordered his men to gather at Daria’s request. Ara believed that there was something unsettling about picking a soldier to act like an acolyte and had voiced her opinion clearly.
‘You know how it is. One of them and one of us.’
‘It’s unnecessary.’
‘Some things cannot be killed with magic. Steel is necessary.’
‘But none of these soldiers have swum in the weaves, haven’t undertaken the transformation. They are pretty much useless.’
‘It’s tradition.’
‘None of these warriors are worthy of the privilege.’
‘Just pick one Ara.’
It wasn’t just that they weren’t worthy, it was that she didn’t need one. She was more powerful than her tutor knew; magic coursed through her. And she had finally gotten rid of the last acolyte. They cramped her style. Just because the magi of the past were assigned an acolyte for protection, she didn’t need steel to obliterate an army. Despite her annoyance, she agreed just to get Daria off her back.
Pollux fell into ranks and to attention as the baron, the master of arms and the two magi walked in front of the Fists deep in conversation. He kept his gaze forward, his eyes solely focused on the entrance of the Fatelli Pass and the shadows that lay across the ground. Cronos and Byrn stood back as the conversation ended and the magi paced across the front of the company, looking each soldier up and down. Pollux watched as they both walked past, felt their eyes run up and down his body before moving on. He let the smallest breath out as they passed, relieved not to have been chosen. The younger of the two picked a soldier from the Fists two places down, the older moved further along the line and picked another. Pollux assumed that they were picking bodyguards for the fight. He was glad they had just walked right past as he wasn’t interested in the position.
Kryst, the Captain of the Fists, moved to the front of the company and ordered silence. The baron moved closer, the master of arms flanking his side at all times. The two older men had been friends for years, served together long before that. Their reputation was they had been a force to be reckoned with in their younger days.
‘The reports are true. Black Claw has fallen to a Kyzantine force. An estimated four hundred archers line the walls. Nothing that the Fists can’t handle. Fight well soldiers. For the Kingdom.’
Each of the Fists clenched their right hand into a fist and slammed it against their chest plate above their heart and kept it there momentarily. There was nothing more to be said. The orders were simple, the objective possible, nothing that the Fists couldn’t handle.
Kryst stepped forward as the baron and his escort moved off and ordered his four sergeants to the forefront of the unit. They stepped two paces out of the line and snapped to attention, fists to chests.
‘Lead them into the pass. I want a steady line, shields up, wait til we get close enough and I give the order to charge. Understand?’
‘Yes sir,’ the four chorused.
To the unit, the captain yelled, ‘Fists, we march in silence until combat is met. Fall out.’
As one, the unit raised their left feet and took a step forward. They moved in time with a silent drum and made their way up the trail and into the pass. The Fists were fifty men wide, twenty deep and filled the pass perfectly.
Pollux was in the fifth rank from the front, and could see Octans off to his left in the third. He kept his muscles loose as he marched along, his shield low by his side. The sergeants were dispersed throughout the infantry block, the captain toward the back. Pollux made his way through the shadows, the mountains loomed high on each side. Realising it wouldn’t be long, his fingers curled around his shield’s grip as he took another step.
The gate came into view much sooner than he anticipated. It was much shorter than Pollux remembered from his boyhood memories. It lay in the shadows of the mountains and was seemingly absorbed by the darkness. Stretching across the pass, it was a defendable position with the right amount of manpower. The smoke continued to trail from the tower, wisping into the afternoon sky.
The walls looked deserted from the distance and the two buildings where the stationed watch slept and ate looked desolate. In the dark it felt eerie. Black Claw Gate had never fallen in a conflict. Not even in the Gate Wars his grandfather had fought.
The Fists marched closer and the figures of the enemy soon became apparent. They lined the walls and were spaced barely a metre apart. In the shadows in front of the wall others stood in a row, bows in hand. Pollux dreaded that the unit would soon become an oversized pincushion.
The closest sergeant, Marc, halted the unit just out of bow-shot and the orders were repeated and relayed. He walked in front of the troops, looked those in the first rank in the eye and raised his voice.
‘Raise shields.’
As one the Fists raised their shields in front of their bodies.
‘Draw swords.’
They pulled their swords in unison.
‘Forward!’
Left feet forward, they marched to Black Claw in the shadows of the Callisto Mountains. Five paces toward the gate the enemy pulled back their arms and let loose their first volley. The arrows arched up into the sky, seemingly floating though the air before falling down toward the Fists. Pollux raised his shield with the rest of the thousand strong infantry force. Moving as one they advanced under the bombardment of arrows toward the Kyzantines occupying the taken gate. Arrows thudded into the covering shields, bounced and skidded all over the place. The impact sounded like hail to Pollux’s ears as he sped up, monitoring the line with the others.
The eighth volley landed and two arrows pierced the shield above his forearm and stopped inches from his face. Taking deep breaths, Pollux pushed on, tightening his grip on both his shield and sword even though he knew he should stay relaxed.
The ninth volley came and the tenth. It was a continuous downpour as they moved inch by inch across the pass to the gate. Pollux kept his shield above his head as he stepped over a fallen warrior. He couldn’t tell how many had fallen, not while standing in the middle of the unit and couldn’t focus on the death count right now. Those archers on the ground finally became real as their arms drew back and their bow strings snapped, the arrows thudding into the first rank of the Fists who were too slow to adjust their shields. Those that did were picked off by the archers on the walls. Bastards.
Arrows thudded into shields and flesh as the sergeant screamed the order to charge. Pollux hadn’t heard the call from the captain but it didn’t matter, he ran full pelt at the enemy alongside the rest of the Fists. He was just behind the front runners as they charged across the exposed ground. The young female mage was in front of Pollux with her bodyguard frantically looking around for any sign of threat. The mage paused, raised her arms into the air and balls of fire formed in her palms. They flew at the enemy on the walls, bursting over them, burning their flesh. Those archers on the ground dropped their bows and raised swords and shields when the front runners were almost on top of them. Within seconds, the lines met in a clash of steel. The archers above continued to fire and peppered the Fists with deadly accuracy.
Pollux kept his shield high as an arrow thudded in. He drove his sword into a Kyzantine shield over the shoulder of the soldier in front of him. The Murukan in front doubled over as a blade pierced his abdomen under his chest plate. Pot shots continued to hit the Murukan line, felling soldiers where the missiles found holes in the shield defence. Pollux stepped forward and swung his sword in a viscous arc, low to high, slicing through a man’s head. He stepped forward on his left foot, slici
ng the blade horizontally, tearing into a man’s side. He found his rhythm, never stepped back and killed another Kyzantine with each step forward. The enemy had congregated around the gate and were soon swarmed by the Murukans.
Ara moved in time with her guard, keeping beneath his shield and safe from the barrage of arrows. He had moved to the forefront of the unit and engaged two warriors in combat. Ara closed her eyes and moved into a deep concentration, another fireball forming in her hands. The bodyguard blocked a blow on his shield, struck down with his sword. His blade was turned away and the counter came around, slicing into the side of his head. Ara launched her spell at one of the archers on the wall. He became engulfed in flames, his screams piercing the air.
Her eyes opened as her bodyguard crumpled to the ground, his head no longer on his shoulders. His two assailants moved forward, a murderous glint in their eyes. They lifted their blades above their heads in preparation to strike. Another soldier saw the urgency and stepped in front of Ara, his blade slicing across the neck of the first, and raised his shield to block the other’s strike. The blow jarred his arm as he recovered his blade, twisted it around and brought it up under and through the man’s jaw.
‘What happened to my guard?’ Ara screamed over the roar.
‘Should have picked better,’ the soldier taunted.
‘Looks like you’re the replacement.’
‘What?’ he lifted his sword high to block an overhead strike, spun and decapitated the soldier who came at him.
Ara leant down and removed the necklace from the ground beside her fallen companion. ‘Take this. It will help with your awareness.’
‘It’s magical?’
‘I’m a mage, of course it is.’
‘It didn’t help the last guy.’
‘I’m Ara. To your left.’
One Kyzantine had run through the surging troops and barrelled straight toward them. He prepared to make a mighty two-handed strike, screaming and lifting his weapon above his head. The soldier reacted quickly, faster than normal, and cleaved the body in two. It fell to either side of him.
‘I’m Pollux. Guess I’m your new bodyguard.’
Ara smiled and resumed casting. She raised one arm to the sky and it opened up and a bolt of lightning cracked across the blue and electrocuted a woman on the rampart.
Pollux looked around the field of battle, noticing the thinning numbers of Kyzantine ground troops. His vision raised to those remaining archers as arrows continued to take down members of the Fists. He raced through the Kyzantines engaged in battle, jumping over the dead body of a Murukan who had taken an arrow in the eye to the cover of the barricade itself, where the archers couldn’t fire at him. Ara had followed. Both took deep breaths. Pollux was glad that he didn’t have to drag her along. He waited as some more of the Fists assembled around him. Octans was one of them, blood trickling from a wound on his forehead.
‘Follow me,’ Pollux yelled over the clamour of battle to those surrounding him.
He raced to the closest stairs leading to the rampart, charged up them two at a time with his own band of men following hot at his heels. Thrusting his blade into the first Kyzantine he came to, the woman’s bow feebly bounced off his shield. He kicked the dying body off the stairs and kept going. He brought his blade down through the neck of the next who was stationed at the top of the steps and the man crumpled under the force of the blow. Blood splattered across Pollux’s face as he kept moving, turning to face a group of archers assembled in front of the tower. Raising his shield, Pollux defended against the onslaught of archers firing at close distance as his fellow soldiers ran behind him and onto the walls. Each arrow thudded in and came closer to hitting his body. Finally one struck his forearm, piercing it with excruciating pain. His teeth ground together as he grimaced.
Pollux held his ground as the others got up the stairs. The only thing on his mind was keeping his shield up to protect those racing the other way to clean up the archers along the right rampart. One of the Fists came and stood behind him, bringing his shield above Pollux’s to add extra protection, but by that stage Pollux had had enough and had decided it was time to charge. As an arrow flew past his ear and hit the trooper behind, Pollux crashed into the first of the archers, cutting through the man’s arm before bringing the bloodied blade back up and through his jaw. Pollux screamed as he went after the other two with wild blows, taking no notice when their wooden bows connected with his flesh.
He raced into the tower, moved to the left and up the internal stairs. One soldier followed, the rest went down the stairs or across the landing. He kept his shield raised in front of his torso, keeping it just below his eyes. He slowed as he neared the top of the stairs, the afternoon sky shining down through the opening.
Pollux burst onto the roof, locating the first target. The Kyzantine was yelling at others as a shadow loomed up on his left. Reacting instantly, he turned and took the blow on his shield and swung his sword around, backing off and gaining a little distance. The other Murukan soldier fell into position on his right as the three Kyzantine warriors formed a line in front of them. They attempted to outflank the two of them, pushing left and swinging at once.
‘Right!’ Pollux yelled, taking a side step and bringing his shield around to take two of the blows. He braced under the impact, knees bending as he pulled his blade back behind his body.
The Murukan trooper swung his blade around, connected with a shield as Pollux swung down. It was carelessly blocked away and he countered bringing his sword back in front of his body and whipping his shield around, slamming it into the man’s arm. He screamed in pain as his hand loosened and his sword dropped.
Pollux kicked out, his boot impacted with the man’s knee as the central fighter swung. A Murukan shield took the blow as the man in front of Pollux lost his balance, falling forward onto his shield, which gave Pollux the moment he needed to ram his sword into the enemy’s abdomen. The Kyzantine’s mouth opened as the blade slipped out and Pollux dropped his shoulder behind his shield, used it to batter away the body.
The battle had shifted, it was no longer a numbers thing. The Kyzantines looked at each other and began moving apart, circling Pollux and his companion. The two Murukans stood back to back as Pollux squared off against the apparent leader of the Kyzantine force.
Pollux ran his eyes up and down his opponent. He noticed the hardened leather armour, the quiver of arrows and the daggers positioned all across his body. The image screamed scout but Pollux had no idea why one would be in charge of this force. It didn’t seem right. The man held a wicked curved blade in his right hand, which he twirled around in a tight circle in front of his body.
Pollux stepped forward and smashed his shield into the path of the blade. It bounced off and the man grabbed the hilt with two hands and brought it down repeatedly against his shield. Pollux could do nothing but brace for the impact and the onslaught; he listened as the other two joined combat and heard the ringing of steel. He started to lose the feeling in his left arm as he kept the shield raised above his face. This was pointless. He swung his arm around the next time the blade hit, forcing it off to the side. Pollux released his grip, the shield kept flying and held the blade at bay a little longer.
Blind panic washed over the man’s face as Pollux raised his sword above his head and swung down, only to be blocked by a frantic upwards strike. Pollux stepped back keeping his sword above his head, circling the Kyzantine soldier. His arm swung just before his right foot passed forward, the strike aimed at the man’s neck. The blade was turned away and the counter came fast like Pollux expected, thrust at his face. He managed to pull his blade back up, knocking the strike away and countered in reply, a strike to the other side of his head. Again it was blocked and Pollux stepped away out of distance.
The fight was still going on behind him but he didn’t dare a glance to look. His eyes focused on his opponent and the sunlight glinting off the sharp weapon. He feinted with a weak thrust, hoping to lure the man f
orward. As the Kyzantine lurched forward to meet the attack, Pollux pulled out of it, snapped the sword back into a defensive guard. The enemy’s blade sheared off his as he spun around and Pollux whipped his blade straight into the man’s upper arm. The limb was cleaved in two, the extremities falling to the ground. Blood sprayed into the air, covering Pollux’s chest plate. The soldier looked at his left arm, blood spurting from the end and a look of confusion crossed his face.
The soldier snapped out of it to launch forward, thrusting straight for Pollux’s throat. Smashing his blade down, Pollux beat the weapon from his opponent’s hand, the steel cluttered to the stone floor. He whipped his blade round and sliced it across the man’s neck. Blood spurted out of the thin red line, covering Pollux’s face.
Pollux turned to see the other Murukan looking down over the man he had killed. Pollux reached up and wiped the droplets of blood from his face. He could taste the copper on his lips as his tongue passed over them. He took a deep breath and walked to the edge of the tower and looked out over the field of battle. Those on the ground had begun piling bodies. Amongst the Kyzantine dead the glint of a metal chest plate signalled the death of one of the Fists.
His mind raced as he remembered the mage he was meant to be guarding. Shit, he had completely forgotten in the middle of it all. His eyes scanned the ground, looking for Ara. He was sure she had been with him when he made the dash up the stairs and onto the rampart. Scanning the crowd of bodies Pollux thought that her black robes would be an obvious giveaway.
‘Looking for someone?’
Pollux spun around, his sword instinctively coming up in front of his body. He relaxed when he saw it was only Ara.
‘No one in particular,’ he replied.
‘Well I’m fine. Thanks for asking.’