Itken wore a pained expression as if Kaz had spoken the words in Cadonian rather than Heshan. “So, these people have never left men behind?”
“You misunderstand me. They’ve split their numbers before, but they did it out of selflessness and love for each other.”
Itken grunted. “Strange people.”
“Given time, it won’t seem strange at all.”
“Is there anything else, Warleader?”
Kaz frowned at the question. Itken’s reaction was not what he had hoped for.
Give it time, Kaz. It took you much longer, and you didn’t have the burden of memories pulling you away from a different view of life.
“No. That’s all for now. Carry on.”
He rode off, shamefully eager to be out from under the weight of the Kifzo’s confused stare.
* * *
Kaz quickly checked in with the Hell Patrol. Everyone seemed to be getting along well. When he noticed Hezen looking for him again, he drifted further back where Mizak’s wagon rolled along beside the mobile siege equipment Drake had designed.
Crusher sat next to the old Heshan scholar in the wagon’s bed.
“I don’t care what the text says, it’s wrong.”
“But it’s referenced in a dozen other locations.”
“Make it a hundred for all I care. The authors are documenting legend. Never once in the history of my people did we eat our young.”
The old man pushed. “Perhaps it’s something your ancestors hid from your generation, but it managed to get out to other parts of the world anyway?”
“No.” Crusher’s eyes narrowed. “Though there are stories of my people having a taste for scrawny old men who would not let matters drop.”
Mizak swallowed. “Well. Then I’ll just have to conclude that these texts are inaccurate.” He set them aside.
Sensing the shift in conversation, Kaz cleared his throat. “Is everything alright?”
Mizak looked up. “Crusher is helping me document the history of his people. I plan to write a thesis on the subject as well as many other things I’ve learned once we return to Hesh. Such mysteries of the world shouldn’t be lost to our people.” He turned back to Crusher. “Now about . . .”
The giant slid from the back of the wagon, his great weight causing it to creak and shift. “I need a break.”
Mizak frowned. “I’ll just update my notes then.” He put his head down, dismissing Crusher and Kaz like they no longer existed.
Crusher gestured to Kaz, and the two drifted away from the column. Though the Ghal walked, his massive gait matched Kaz’s horse.
“That’s one crazy old man.”
Kaz shrugged. “His focus is just on different things.”
“He’s so caught up in what he reads that he’s lost sight of all that’s around him. He’d rather read a description of the road we’re traveling than look at the thing.”
“Not completely true. He did have some interesting things to say about Quarnoq, an ancient city of my people’s ancestors. Nareash rediscovered it.”
“I guess the High Mage did one positive thing then.” Crusher shifted subjects. “How are you holding up?”
He shrugged. “The more I’m around the Kifzo, the more detailed some of my memories become. Some even reach to the early years of our training.”
“Is that why you don’t spend much time with them?”
Kaz winced. “Partially. They are a bleak reminder of who I once was. I’ve changed so much I find it hard to identify with them. It’s unsettling.”
“Do you wonder if you’ll be able to identify with Lucia?”
“No. If anything I think I might find myself more comfortable with her.”
“Two years is a long time to be away from someone. Have you thought about how much she might have changed?”
“All the time.”
“Are you worried?”
“Terrified. For all I know she could have moved on with her life. I’d be hurt, but I couldn’t fault her.”
They continued in silence for a few moments. “Are we going to talk about Elyse?” Crusher finally blurted out.
“What is there to talk about?”
“It wasn’t a very warm send off. At least for you.”
“She watched us leave.”
“From the balcony. Shouldn’t there have been more?”
“No. We said our goodbyes the night before. We parted the way we should have. Anything more would have been inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate? Or harder to deal with?”
Both.
“Let’s talk about something else.”
“Alright,” Crusher said after a moment. “How about you tell me what Lucia looks like again?”
“Why?”
“Because it makes you more tolerable to be around,” the giant chuckled.
Kaz grinned. “Fair enough. Her skin is like polished onyx . . .”
Chapter 22
Though Mawkuk no longer had the health of a younger man, his eyesight had not waned in his advancing years. He used to think that such a thing was a blessing. Yet, as he watched his army suffer heavy losses each day, he began to wonder.
Under a murky, overcast sky, he and Larnak sat atop their mounts, waiting as Durahn prepared to lead another assault against Juanoq’s defenses. Despite their efforts, they had not even made it past the towers that led to the moat surrounding the great walls of the city.
“The wind will be a challenge for their archers,” said Larnak. “It’s about time something works in our favor,” the Yellow Clan leader muttered.
“It sounds like you’re losing confidence in our plans,” said Mawkuk.
Larnak looked over his shoulder to where their aides stood farther. He lowered his voice. “Don’t act like you aren’t too. I know you’re keeping up appearances for your men as I am. This isn’t what either of us had in mind when we embarked on this campaign.”
Mawkuk grunted. As each day passed and the failures accumulated, his men showed growing signs of discouragement. He shared their frustration.
I’ll soon lose them without some sort of success.
“No. This isn’t what I had in mind,” said Mawkuk. “I hate to give that whoreson any credit, but Bazraki knew what he was doing when he designed the city.”
“Then what do we do?”
Mawkuk heard the unspoken question. How long do we give Durahn control of our forces?
“We wait. Durahn said that the far right tower is weakest. Once it falls, the remaining will fall more easily.”
“And how many attacks have failed on it thus far?”
“Too many. But this strategy is different.”
In previous assaults, Durahn focused only on the far right tower, sometimes expanding his attack to the two near it. Each assault ended with Mawkuk withdrawing his men to avoid continued losses.
Days earlier, Durahn convinced Mawkuk to allow him to attack the entire right side at once. If all towers were engaged, they would not be able to support their neighbors as easily. Durahn also demanded that Mawkuk not withdraw their troops, insistent that their previous attacks had failed in part because of a lack of commitment.
Mawkuk acquiesced when word reached him that Walor had made it to the outskirts of the Gray Marshes. Even if Captain Turil did his job, Mawkuk could no longer afford to be patient. Walor would eventually make it through, and they would be caught between an army and the city itself.
Larnak pointed. The yellowed bone that covered his armor clacked. Mawkuk held his breath as he watched the advance of their forces.
Seven groups of one hundred men fanned outward. The outer ranks of each company wore the thickest armor available while holding wide shields as big as men. Concealed within the tightly packed ranks of each group, heavily armed warriors carried thick trees with handles carved into the sides. The rest carried rope and grappling hooks.
Flanking each company, five smaller groups of warriors rolled specially designed mantlets. The wood u
sed in their construction allowed for easy mobility, while its size concealed half a dozen archers under the sloping front wall. Each archer also carried javelins to launch over the giant shields.
Mawkuk doubted the attacks from the ground would be effective in eliminating many from the towers’ windows or other openings. However, he understood the necessity of distracting the defenders.
Each company advanced at the pace set by those pushing the mantlets. Gaps in each group’s lines tightened as the first attacks from the towers peppered the men. The arrows clanged against raised shields while others thudded into the rolling mantlets. Only a few warriors fell.
“Durahn’s plan is already working better than his past attempts,” said Larnak.
Mawkuk nodded.
The first company of men reached the nearest tower. The tightly packed formation split into five groups. They encircled the tower at its base with a mantlet set up behind them. Lengths of rope whipped up the sides of the tower, finding purchase on the roof.
The Blue Island Clan defenders leaned out of windows with spears, or loosed arrows through slits in the tower’s walls. Behind the mantlets the attackers released arrows upward.
Mawkuk glanced away from the nearest tower to check progress on the others. Some showed greater signs of success than others.
One warrior in particular managed to creep upward to an opening. Mawkuk thought the man might make his goal until a spear pierced the warrior in the side. He fell screaming.
A low thudding began at the nearest tower. Those at the entrance hammered the door with their ram. The sound escalated as groups followed suit, falling into the tempo set by the first.
Large, black cauldrons materialized in the openings over the towers’ entrances. Boiling oil cascaded on heavy shields. Steaming liquid quickly found the tiny crevices in each man’s protection. Tree trunks fell as men writhed in pain, tearing uselessly at their armor.
Archers reappeared and focused on silencing those wailing screams.
Larnak swore. “They haven’t done that before. Things had looked so promising. We should recall the men.”
Mawkuk remembered Durahn’s request. “Not today.”
Larnak turned in his saddle.
“We let Durahn continue.” Mawkuk’s tone said that the matter was not up for discussion.
Don’t you fail me.
Farther up in the ranks, Durahn gestured violently with his hands, pushing messengers off in several directions. Small heavily armored units ran up. The groups spread out quickly, reinforcing the efforts at each tower.
Fresh reserves cleared a path at the tower’s entrance, hauling away the dead. The loud pounding returned as new units battered the doors.
Defenders disappeared inside the windows, returning with more steaming cauldrons.
Larnak swore again. “He’s throwing away our men.”
The fluid poured. Mawkuk squeezed his reins in anger as he waited for his men’s bellows of pain. The liquid never reached them, trickling instead over an invisible barrier erected around the group.
“He placed a shaman in each group of reserves,” said Mawkuk.
“Why didn’t he use them to start with?”
“A question for later,” said Mawkuk, wondering the same.
A man in blue robes appeared in each tower above the entrance.
Large pieces of stone tore away from the tops of each tower and floated in the air. Shamans flung their arms down in exaggerated motions. The heavy blocks of granite crashed into Mawkuk’s men. The invisible barrier that had protected his warriors from the liquid could not hold up against the chunks of rock.
Mawkuk winced at the impact from such punishing weight. Despite the assault, the ram’s rhythmic pounding quickened.
He felt pride at the resiliency of his army.
The Blue Island Clan shamans raised their hands for another attack, but for many, their efforts came too late. A chorus of cheers erupted in several locations. His men dropped their rams and rushed inside. Enemy archers ceased their efforts, pulling away from the windows. Mawkuk could only imagine the carnage inside as warriors fought in such tight quarters.
One by one, the rest of the towers fell. The sounds of men dying echoed over the land.
Finally. Something positive.
Mawkuk clicked his reins, and turned his mount.
“What are you doing?” asked Larnak.
“There’s nothing more to see here. It’s time we assess our losses and speak with Durahn.”
* * *
Tobin spat over the side of Juanoq’s walls. His hands dug into the stone battlements as he rolled his neck back and forth. Listening to the enemy celebrate their victory made him sick.
He had known it was only a matter of time before Durahn managed to capture some of Juanoq’s towers. In fact, he had planned for it. Yet, losing them affected him more than he thought they would. The desire to seek retribution ate at him until his chest burned.
Recognition of that sensation gave him pause. He had felt the same way during the campaign against the Red Mountain Clan.
Calm yourself. You don’t want to regret any more of your decisions.
Closing his eyes, Tobin took several deep breaths. The knots in his shoulders released. Anger remained, but it no longer consumed him. He felt encouraged by the change.
I can be better.
“Captain,” Tobin said in a low voice.
“Yes, Warleader?” Teznak immediately stepped forward. Tobin had come to rely on the man since the siege began.
“Reshuffle the warriors among the towers still under our control. Abandon those to the far left and instead reinforce the towers closest to the road leading to the main gate.”
Teznak bowed and ran off.
Tobin turned from the view of Mawkuk’s camp.
Men surrounded him in a shroud of silence as they awaited orders. They stared at the ongoing celebration, expressions mixed with disappointment, embarrassment, and anger. Tobin singled out one of the younger warriors—a boy recently made Kifzo.
No doubt confused about how this could happen, thought Tobin as he remembered his own optimistic thoughts at that age.
“What’s your name?” Tobin asked.
The boy looked up, realizing the question had been meant for him. “Feruq, Warleader.”
“Feruq. Why do you hang your head? Are you not proud to be a Kifzo of the Blue Island Clan?”
The boy stood straighter. “It won’t happen again, Warleader.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Why did you hang your head?”
The young Kifzo hesitated. “Because they won, Warleader.”
“Is that all?”
“No. I was taught that we are the best. Yet, we hide behind walls. Now, we’re pulling men back and conceding the towers taken from us.”
The boy had found his voice, and like many others his age, the young Kifzo could not hide self-confidence that more closely resembled arrogance.
He hasn’t been truly tested.
Tobin knew from experience that others shared the youth’s opinion out of ignorance. He faced one of the more senior Kifzo, one who had trained with Tobin as boys. “Kerek, how many soldiers were stationed in each tower?”
“Between twenty-five to thirty-five. Some also held a shaman.”
“And how many towers fell today?”
“Seven.”
“So, we lost approximately two hundred warriors. Is that correct?”
“Yes, Warleader,” said Kerek.
Now,” said Tobin as he came to a halt in front of Feruq. “How many men would you say the enemy lost before today?”
“I could not give an exact number, Warleader. Hundreds.”
“How many men, Kerek?”
“Approximately five hundred forty,” said Kerek.
Tobin grunted while he glared at Feruq. “How can you contemplate strategy without knowing the losses of our enemy?” Feruq’s jaw tightened. “Now, how many would you estimate the enemy lost tod
ay alone?”
“The enemy lost nearly as many today as they had in the days prior, possibly the same,” answered Feruq.
Tobin nodded. “A fair guess.” He began pacing again. “So the enemy has lost more than five times as many as we have. Why? Because we are better trained and better skilled? Yes. But also, because we had the better position. Each of you knows that.”
Tobin heard a few grunts in agreement.
“Yet, some of you are letting pride get in your way. We are better, but we are not invincible.” Tobin pointed. “Look. The enemy beat itself senseless to gain piles of rock. Why would we do the same to recapture them?”
“To honor those who died,” said Feruq.
“Those men died doing what they had been trained to do. If you were to die in battle, would you want hundreds of your clan to die needlessly in order to honor you?”
Feruq looked away. “No, Warleader.”
“I would hope not.” Tobin raised his voice, looking around. “You want to honor those men? Then fight as they did. With patience. Our time will come. I promise you. Let them come to us. And when they do, let’s make sure the odds are even more greatly in our favor.” He paused. “Everyone get back to your posts. I don’t expect another attack today, but that doesn’t mean we have an excuse to grow lax.”
Tobin hadn’t received quite the reaction he had hoped for, but then again he knew most would not be satisfied until they saw action themselves. Though he had managed to control his own anger, he too had grown tired of watching other men fight.
I need a break. I’ve been at the wall for days now.
“Kerek.”
“Yes, Warleader?”
“You have command of the wall. I’ll be at the palace tonight. Send for me immediately if there are any changes.”
The Kifzo bowed. “Understood.” He straightened and began yelling at those not moving fast enough in their duties.
Tobin took another glance at Mawkuk’s forces before descending the winding stairs that led to the bottom of Juanoq’s walls. Months earlier, he had wondered where he would find his next challenge. He never expected the challenge to come to him.
Trial And Glory (Book 3) Page 25