The woman turned to Farrel and beckoned for him to come to her and he felt compelled. As he started to walk out onto the plain he heard a loud drawn out slurred noise that vaguely resembled someone shouting.
He stopped and spun around to look back towards the camp, but they were all going about their business completely oblivious to him. He turned back around and continued towards the woman.
As he approached the woman he was able to make out her features. She had beautiful olive skin and black hair that flowed down over her shoulders. Her eyes were perfectly almond shaped, almost as though they were sculptured, light brown and speckled through with flecks of black.
She was short, yet delicately curved in just the right places. There was a sense of mischief about her as she smiled at him and gestured that he should hurry.
Behind him again there was a loud slurred noise that this time sounded more like a long drawn out shout of frustration. He stopped and turned around, but once again there was nothing behind him.
He turned back to the woman and she gestured to him again more urgently this time. He felt pulled towards the woman as though something was now dragging him. He tried to slow his steps, but his legs would not obey. The woman outstretched her hand to take his and he found himself reaching out to her.
Just as their hands were about to touch there was a loud shout directly into his left ear followed by a sharp pain in his groin that sent him crumpling to the ground. He pitched forwards with all the wind knocked out of him. As he hit the ground the plain, the manticore and the woman, who was now overtly angry, dissolved in front of him.
When he was able to breathe again and extract himself from the foetal position he looked up to see that it was still night time and Gabrielle was kneeling beside him.
"My apologies, but I did not know how else to wake you," she whispered loudly.
"What do you mean?" he asked wincing through the sick feeling in his stomach.
"You were sleep walking," she said as she urged him to his feet. "Quickly we need to get back to my tent before we are seen!"
Farrel stood gingerly and looked around. They were standing out on the plain a good hundred feet from the camp! He spun quickly, ignoring the pain momentarily, to look out towards the enemy camp. It was too dark to tell if the black manticore or the woman were out there and he did not want to find out.
This was a magic like none he had ever experienced before and he had studied both elfish and fairy magic. The stories were true about these invaders it seemed.
It worried him that someone could so easily manipulate him through his own visions and it served to reinforce his sense of foreboding about the forthcoming battle.
"Hurry!" insisted Gabrielle pulling on his arm.
"No, I have already put you in enough danger, it's better if I go back to the wizard's tent."
"But I..." she began before stopping herself abruptly. Her expression became cold and emotionless. "Of course good wizard I should expect nothing more from you than leaving without a proper goodbye."
Farrel stepped towards her and kissed her passionately on the lips. At first she resisted, then relented, then kissed him back with equal ferocity.
"Just as the last time I do not desire to leave, but I must. I have a duty to the realm that even you cannot fathom," he said as he turned and walked away.
"I am sure the hero of the Battle of Tattel will see us through," she replied confidently. He stopped and turned back towards her.
"I know you have a sword arm that would be the envy of many men my lady, but please promise me that you will not join the lines tomorrow. The king will need strong leaders to hold the castles if we are defeated."
#
Tobias marched with purpose towards the tents of his conscripts. The first tendrils of sunlight had already started to sneak above the horizon. The trumpet would soon sound to rouse the army and it was his responsibility to ensure his men were formed up in the battle lines on time and in good order.
As soon as he arrived he burst into the first tent and started barking orders, but stopped short when he quickly realised that the tent was empty. He moved rapidly to the second tent and also found it vacated.
Tobias cursed loudly. His conscripts had deserted and he regretted not posting a guard with them when he had been called away by his commanding officer to listen to the battle plan. He and several of the other masters at arms had taken the opportunity afterwards to enjoy a fine bottle of rum that one of them had confiscated from a nearby farm.
That drinking session was going to cost him his neck at the end of a rope and he briefly considered deserting himself. It was a fleeting thought as he rapidly assessed his realistic options. They were all on foot so could not have gone that far. If he could sneak away a horse he could round them up and frog march them all back.
He looked around for evidence of which direction they had gone. He quickly located a trail of boot marks leading directly away from the camp upon the dewy grass and they were very fresh so he followed them. He had not gone more than 20 yards when he realised that, in amongst the sound of the waking army camp behind him, he could hear the unmistakable sound of sword clanging against sword.
About another hundred yards ahead in a field his entire group of conscripts was practicing their swordsmanship and battle formation! He could not believe his eyes and was still in disbelief as he walked briskly towards them. He stopped just a few feet from them and was still unnoticed as they were all facing away from him.
Tobias banged his sword against his round shield to get their attention.
"Who in all of Umijia showed you sons of pig farmers how to do that?" asked Tobias gruffly.
"I did," replied the Black Ram as he turned around in unison with the rest of the conscripts. Tobias cursed his poor eyesight that he did not see him before, but his armor was battered and dull. He looked more like a common foot soldier and was a stark contrast to the polished shining armor of the lords and knights.
The only thing that was distinctive was the large black ram painted on his breast plate. Tobias remembered him as a much younger man at the Battle of Tattel. He was serious and idealistic, already a swordsman of considerable skill, brave yet still untainted by the horror and reality of battle.
As the Starvation War had progressed the Black Ram quickly became a seasoned veteran, something that would normally have taken years instead of mere months. His bravery and skill earned him an early knighthood, the dream of every young boy. Like everyone else Tobias could not understand why he would turn down that honour and choose disgrace to follow around the Crimson Wizard like a lap dog.
The Black Ram's expression was still as serious as he remembered, but there was also now a dark and intense rage in his eyes that looked like it was just waiting for an excuse to be unleashed.
"Begging your pardon, but these are my men," said Tobias firmly, but respectfully.
"Then you should have been the one out here training them for the last hour," countered the Black Ram bluntly.
"I have trained them as much as I was able during the march here. You might want to complain to the other army across the plain since they have dictated the brevity of our preparations."
"What about their weapons? Where is the smith that should have sharpened and repaired these glorified utensils your men are carrying? Not a single one has a shield. Were you planning to keep them all behind your own?"
"You would have to ask Lord Cortria about that because I have requested all of these things," replied Tobias trying his best to keep his anger in check. Black Ram or not he was not about to give up command of his men. Seeing the Black Ram step towards him and casually rest his hand on the hilt of his sword Tobias tried a softer approach. He was wise enough to know that you don't attempt a frontal attack on a stronger opponent.
"My apologies good sir, but I believe we have the same intention."
"And what is your intention?" asked the Black Ram starring him down, almost like he was willing Tobias to pick a f
ight. Tobias reacted by jamming his sword into the soil then resting his shield against it to signify he had no intention of starting a fight.
"My intention is to command these men that are in my charge, to lead them to victory and try to keep them alive in the process. Granted, I am not an infamous warrior like the Black Ram, but I also fought in the Battle of Tattel, the battle of Obath and every other skirmish between the two in the Starvation War. I am no fool when it comes to war. I have seen your bravery and your skill first hand many years ago and I would be honoured to fight by your side today. However, I will not allow you to take away the men charged to me by the king's decree, so if that is your intent then you should cut me down right now."
The Black Ram stared at him thoughtfully while tapping away with his fingers on the hilt of his sword. Then suddenly he drew the sword and several of the conscripts gasped expecting the worst. However instead of slitting his throat the Black Ram shoved his sword hard into the soil and then rested his own larger black shield against it in the same way Tobias had.
"Now that I am a free man again perhaps we will be able to relive those glory days once more today, if only briefly," said the Black Ram thrusting out his hand. Tobias obliged with a firm shake.
"That time is now," replied Tobias. "They will already be starting to form up so we need to get back to the camp."
#
Farrel stepped out of the wizard's tent with Raamen close behind him.
"I must advise against this course of action Farrel! Did you not listen to what I said to you last night about the capabilities of your brethren?"
"I did not say I needed them by my side when I stand between the two armies. I want you and the rest of the wizards to stay in the rear and do what you do best. No matter what the result there will be more than enough work for them before the day is done."
"This plan of yours is still folly! Not even you are that powerful to face an entire army alone! Bringing down a mighty rain storm will not abate the resolve of the enemy this time. This is not the Starvation War," argued Raamen.
Farrel stopped so abruptly that Raamen ran into the back of him. Farrel turned on him and glared at him, his eyes volcanic with fury.
"No, this is not the Starvation War and I am no longer an apprentice! You may be surprised at the extent of my abilities. Both you and the precious Conclave would do well to respect them!"
Farrel spun back around and left Raamen speechless and reeling from the tirade. He strode rapidly towards the edge of the camp so that Starria would have plenty of room to land without hurting anyone. Around him foot soldiers, pikemen and archers were gathering their weapons and forming into their squads.
He ignored them all, the shouting, the sound of the horses and the clang of metal. He needed to clear his mind and he could not wait to be in the middle of the plain where he could stand alone.
He reached the rear edge of the camp and cupped his hands together over his mouth. He then gently blew warm breath into his hands and whispered the words of a spell.
"On the wings of my breath a message you must carry - Starria come to me."
He opened his hands and let the wind whisper go. It was invisible so he could not see it leave, but he was able to sense it racing across the sky as it searched for his griffin.
He scanned the skies nervously as he waited. He hoped that she had not wandered too far. He was not exactly sure how loyal the beast was to him. Their relationship was still relatively new and had started unexpectedly when he had freed her from the Witch of Borglachen. The moment he had unchained her from her imprisonment within the witch's tower Starria had bonded to him.
He did not know how deep the sense of debt was for the griffin and each morning since then he half expected the beast to suddenly disappear. Yet even after several months of travelling she had never strayed.
He was more than mildly relieved when after ten long minutes he finally saw her brilliant white wings in the distance. A moment later the griffin had landed in front of him and he walked forward to pat her bowed head. She tilted her head slightly at his touch, looked directly into his eyes and screeched sharply.
It was not an angry screech and she pushed her head into his hands enjoying the attention. It felt more like she was asking him a question.
"I'm sorry Starria. I know several languages, but Griffin is not one of them. If you are asking me why we are about to do what we are about to do I can only say this; if you feel you have any debt to me I will need payment in full today because I need you by my side."
Starria snapped her head away from his hand and turned to look away from him and screeched again in several sharp bursts. If she understood him then she was certainly not happy.
"You must trust me Starria, the people on the other side of this plain have a magic much worse than the Witch of Borglachen. They will do terrible things here if we do not stop them."
Starria turned her head again and her eyes looked piercingly into his own. Then she slowly dropped to her stomach so that he could climb onto her back.
Seconds later they were in the air and Farrel asked her to take him high above the plain. He looked down to the battlefield below. The king's army was still forming its lines, especially on the outer flanks where the majority of the conscripts were situated.
On the other side of the plain the enemy was already formed in orderly neat rows and it was massive. Not only did the enemy lines stretch half again as long as that of the king's army, but there were still columns of men and materials filtering down out of the mountain passes.
In all of the Starvation War he had never seen an army that size. In fact all the armies of Metara, the goblin clans and the orcs combined would not have been so large.
Although he could not see clearly from so high up there was no mistaking the large dark shapes of the manticores that prowled up and down the enemy's formation. There were also other strange shapes in the rear lines that did not appear human, but he had no idea what they were.
The army itself was problem enough, but he could also sense the strange magic that they had with them. His logical mind told him to fly high and fly far yet he tapped the back of Starria's head and pointed down to the centre of the plain.
Starria tucked her wings in and dove like a hawk diving for its prey and Farrel had trouble holding on as the wind rushed passed his face and threatened to blown him right off her back.
Just as Farrel thought they might plummet straight into the earth Starria spread her wings wide and thrust hard to slow their descent. She landed heavily which was fine for her, but knocked the wind out of Farrel.
He dismounted unsteadily to the excited shouts of the men from the king's army behind him. He did not turn back towards them, they would all be expecting a miracle from the hero of the Starvation War.
Unfortunately the Battle of Tattel was won by removing the need to fight for the Metaran army, not by destroying it. The victory turned the war in their favour and brought the Metaran's to their side in the war against the orcs and goblins. If he was going to break the morale of the enemy today, without sacrificing lives needlessly in battle, it was going to require a much greater show of power.
Farrel looked out along the lines of the enemy army and realised they were not advancing. He glanced back towards the king's army and could still see shuffling in the outer parts of their lines. He could not understand why with such a numerical advantage the enemy commander was being so cautious.
He sensed they were all waiting for him. Perhaps whoever it was that had tried to coerce him from the camp the previous evening wanted to see what he was capable of before showing their own hand. If they wanted a show of power then that was exactly what he was going to give them.
"Stay, but be ready," he ordered Starria. He strode forward purposely and fearlessly until he was just within the range of the enemy archers. He stood there defiantly to more cheers from the king's army behind him.
He waited patiently to see if the enemy wanted to parlay. His question w
as answered a moment later when the morning sky turned dark with arrows. Farrel watched them arch into the sky, reach their apex then start to plummet towards him like a deadly rain. Before they reached him however he concentrated his mind and roared the words of a wind spell. With a strong sweep of his arm across the sky a mighty wind howled around him and sent the arrows scattering in all directions.
"Go back to where you came or I will destroy you all!" he yelled fiercely, but the army stood unmoved.
Farrel still felt like we was being watched and tested so he decided it was time to return the favour rather than revealing more about the extent of his own abilities. He spoke the words for a whirlwind spell as he waved his right arm in a wide circle above his head. It required immense concentration to sense the air around him and control it.
After just a few seconds the wind was racing around him like a mini tornado picking up dirt and more importantly the enemies fallen arrows. They swirled around in front of him in a deadly wall of air and threatened to consume him until he stopped rotating his arm and pointed directly at the enemy lines.
The mini-tornado raced across the plain towards the enemy army sucking up more dust as it went. However just as it was about to plough into the front row of soldiers the whirlwind stopped abruptly as though it had hit an invisible wall and dissipated as quickly as it had formed. The arrows carried by the whirlwind dropped harmlessly to the ground short of their mark.
The cheers from the king's army were silenced and were replaced by a rhythmic clash of weapons on shields from the enemy. The gesture spread rapidly along the entire length of the enemy army. It was both loud and intimidating even from a distance.
Farrel looked back at the king's army and they were now more subdued. He could see flags being waved madly along the lines as orders were sent to the formations. He was not sure what they meant, but it was clear he needed to up the ante with his opponent if he wanted to prevent the wholesale bloodshed that was imminent.
He briefly contemplated the extreme, but quickly drove it from his mind. Enemy or not he did not want to be responsible for that level of devastation or loss of life unless he had absolutely no choice.
There was a sudden sharp screech from Starria and it was filled with urgency. Farrel spun back around towards the enemy army to see that a small pack of six manticores and their riders were now bounding towards him at high speed.
Visions of Magic - Invasion Page 4