Half an hour later the situation took a turn for the worse. Half of the cavalry had been eliminated. Var was deliberating over whether to send in reinforcements with the second contingent or give way to the mute expressions on Nora and Bal's faces and order a hasty retreat. He went to Flash to find out where they were on the number of projectiles.
“Thirty-two,” yelled the child. Var closed his eyes. They were very far from the necessary count they were expecting at this point. He would have to renounce it all. To resist and continue would be folly. He bent his head forward at his own failure. He gave himself several seconds, lifted his gaze to the sky to find the courage to tell his men that it was a lost cause and that they would have to fall back as fast as they could. He turned the reins of his horse to make his way to Nora and Bal and communicate his decision. It was at that moment he saw the two Vetems coming towards them at crazy full speed on their rides. They halted that dash by rearing their horses up in front of him. They were both here. The hooves of Marrhit's horse landed less than a hand's width from him. Var looked at them in amazement. Selot had fire in his eyes. Marrhit's face was completely wrapped up in black and only his steely eyes could be seen.
“What are you doing?” screamed Marrhit, wild with rage. “You look like a herd of stupid sheep! I've never seen maneuvers made with such incompetence!”
Var didn't know if he was more furious with the Vetem's tone of voice that he dared direct at him, or whether him telling the naked truth was more galling. “They have never fought together before,” he yelled through clenched teeth. Marrhit sneered.
“I can guide your cavalry before it gets massacred.”
“Are you certain you are a military strategist, or simply an assassin?” Var's question was legitimate, and he'd made it because he needed an answer, since he wasn't certain of anything anymore. Marrhit took a few moments so he wouldn't explode in fury.
“You have no idea of what I am,” he answered, grinding his words as he waited for the marquis's decision. He couldn't use his own initiative without his authorization. Var looked around for a few moments and decided to concede the command of the cavalry to that Vetem. His pride wouldn't help his people. That youth, who could be taking care of his horrifying wounds, was instead here in front of him, railing against him, yes. He accepted the truth. Few men in such a position of power would do so. Selot silently admired him.
Var gave orders to Nora and Bal to follow the Vetems' instructions. The two Captains took the orders to the horsemen. The men of Atiarav turned in the direction of the marquis, their faces darkened, to make sure they had understood correctly. Delan, the Captain who had debated the good intentions of Selot in the first war council, looked to his marquis, disconcerted. Selot knew all the men needed to know that full control was firmly in Var's hands. With a glance, he made Marrhit understand it: they needed to bring homage to the marquis that would be visible to all, so the men could be assured that Var was the indisputable leader of every operation and they were simply carrying out his orders, in service to him. Those men would accept nothing else. Another projectile came whizzing by, which planted a seed of panic like a fox in a hen house. Marrhit, as was his nature, had no intention of showing his inferiority in the hierarchy of human existence, even if it were the Marquis of Atiarav.
“Decide now, Marrhit.” Selot shouted. “We are here now, you must make your decision,” he pressed him, shouting in Uicic.
“Damn him and his people!” his brother hissed back. He inhaled. He hid his acute displeasure between his hood and the sash, and imitated Selot. Remaining in their saddles, they bent their heads and bowed deeply before Var, with one hand on their heart and the other behind their back.
“At your command,” they said in unison. It was enough for the superstitious horsemen. Now they were ready to follow the orders of the new arrivals.
“Where is Ucal?” Marrhit asked all of a sudden.
“Leading the second contingent, still hiding half a mile north.”
“Go call for him and have them join the cavalry.”
Var clenched his jaw and carried out the request which sounded like an order.
Marrhit turned towards Selot and they fell into Baìah instantly. They distanced themselves, one going to the left and the other to the right of the haphazard cavalry.
Var left to fetch Ucal in person, as directed by Marrhit. A short time later, he returned together with Ucal. They were shocked to see what was happening. They were on a hill to the north and could see from above. The cavalry was divided into four bodies, which moved in perfect coordination, even if they were unpredictable. They looked like flocks of birds, which moved in apparent casualness, but very much in harmony. The flocks intersected and their layout crossed over. The catapults could never hit them. Every time a projectile was launched while on its trajectory, an empty hollow fell away as the cavalry flock bent at the sides, only to reform harmoniously at another point. There were no voices or cries. It all occurred in absolute silence.
“How the hell are they doing that?” asked Ucal, his mouth open wide. Var and Ucal flew down to join the men. Marrhit reached Var quickly and touched him on the shoulder to then take up his position once more at the side of the cavalry; Selot did the same with Ucal. The two knew immediately that it was enough for them to look at the Vetem who had touched them and follow the indications given with their arms, right or left, with which they'd touched them. Each Vetem guided two 'flocks', one with his right arm, one with his left: forwards, backwards, sideways, diagonally, curving inwards, slowly, fast, stop. The two Vetems were part of one warrior, with one mind only. Through the spirit of Baìah they could see the trajectory of the catapults well in advance, and they meted out instructions with wide berth. The officials of the Kingdom of Dar couldn't understand how it was possible after such a promising start, now they were unable to hit even one man. From their position of observation the behavior of the flocks of their enemies wasn't visible; they simply seemed to be unreachable for reasons unknown. So they committed an error: they gave the order to launch all the projectiles of the catapults simultaneously, in such a way that they could catch at least a few of those horsemen, which seemed to be morphing into unassailable targets. They wasted five hits at a time. Marrhit and Selot kept a watchful eye on the five trajectories with the same ease with which they kept just one launch in check, and gave the right indications to move the cavalry out of the way of the long range weapons. It was child's play for them to understand the plans and lines of the trajectories, simple geometry. They transferred these elementary indications to the cavalry of Atiarav. Even someone who had never been in war couldn't get it wrong. It was like following very simple dance moves in a group. Even the faces of those involved, resulted the same. They were having fun. It was incredible. They began laughing and shouting like youths at a summer festivity. Var couldn't believe it. He let himself go with that mad jocularity. They began clapping, exchanging slaps on the back whenever the Vetem's strategy led them to pass each group close by.
The soldiers of Dar heard their festive racket. Someone started saying they were not men, but ghosts come back from the Kingdom of the dead. Selot rode under the chestnut tree where Flash was positioned.
“”One hundred and eighty!” the boy yelled, who had not lost count of the projectiles and knew how to count in fives too. Selot referred it on and those near him shouted out from one to the next and so on, until everyone knew that the catapults had already shot one hundred and eighty projectiles.
The sun was rising over the plain and on the mountains of Eizco that dominated it. The dance of the flocks of Atiarav continued. The officials of the Kingdom of Dar didn't know what to do, and gave no orders. So soldiers kept on loading up the catapults until, soon enough, the ammunition had run out.
“Two hundred, two hundred and five!” screamed Flash.
The air stopped trembling under the fire of the catapults. A tremor of excitement ran through the men of Atiarav.
They all look
ed in the direction of the Vetems. They had the cavalry advance towards the lines of the encampment by one hundred paces, keeping the horses at a small trot. The palisade had been reduced to ashes in front of them. Marrhit and Selot gave the order to halt contemporaneously. The cavalry stopped in a tidy and synchronized way. They were a team now. They were experiencing a mutual feeling of exultation. Baìah was in the air and even though they weren't inside it, it had elevated their ability to get in touch with the collective feeling. Marrhit and Selot became aware of the very subtle sound of arrows. They made the body of the cavalry open up into two sections, which then moved away from the central line like two drapes of a theater curtain, pulled by a knowing set designer. They gave the order to gallop. No one was struck by the arrows. They then ordered the cavalry to reform in tidy lines, in one group. They made them advance by a few steps. They had to provoke the army. Var was in the first line, further ahead than the others. Ucal came next at the neck of the group. All the others fell into orderly lines behind. The Vetems gave the order to nock the arrows. Everybody carried out the orders to perfection, starting with the marquis. A thick rain came down on the encampment, hitting at least thirty of the enemy. Marrhit awaited the reaction of the army. “Come on,” he whispered. “Will you come out or will you use your javelins?”
The army of Dar made its second mistake. Officials and soldiers were too afraid of those phantoms who had come so close without getting hit. They decided to remain holed up behind the illusory safety of their base and armed themselves with javelins. Marrhit smiled. “Stupid men,” he murmured as he shook his head. Selot faced Flash and gave him the signal to start counting. Flash, on his branch in the faraway chestnut tree, nodded to let him know he understood. The cavaliers took up their shields. The launch of javelins started, and along with it, the dance of the flocks of the Atiarav cavalry, with the sole difference that they were now much closer. The javelins were denser, faster and smaller, and each one had been aimed at a single horseman. The Vetems' style of defense changed. They couldn't avoid that some of them would be hit, even by mistake. They gave orders to move faster, and faster still. And faster again. They made sudden and unexpected moves, seemingly contradictory. They calibrated their orders on the skill of moving the horses. Two horsemen were hit and fell from their horses. One was unseated by his horse which had been struck fully in the nose. The concentration of all was at its height and there was no room for kidding like before. Marrhit and Selot led a perceptible approach towards the encampment lines. The soldiers of the army started feeling afraid. A javelin was about to hit a young warrior. Selot saw it coming straight for the man. He reached him, grabbed his left arm and moved it in such a way that the shield intercepted the metal object. The youth felt his arm move, followed by the tremendous impact. He was stunned. Selot had his face near the shield at the moment of contact, and the splinters of wood flew to his face, hitting him directly. The horseman didn't have time to thank the Vetem. Selot had already taken up his lateral position of the cavalry wiping a hand over his face to remove the blood and fragments of wood. Marrhit signaled to Selot to distance himself from the main body of the cavalry. The army had now taken the decision to make the units go out and fight in hand to hand combat. The most arduous phase. Six hundred men against the survivors of Atiarav, no more than two hundred and twenty. Marrhit guessed well in advance their intentions and flew to Var's side.
“Marquis, they are getting ready to come out. Call for the contingent hidden to the north.” Var lifted his shield and hit it repeatedly with his sword. A young archer placed near Flash recognized the signal and sent off three fiery arrows up high. A faraway echo could be heard. The foot soldiers made their war cry and started running towards the marquis at his command. Marrhit and Selot united, ready for the encounter. Javelins were still flying through the air. Flash screamed out the number, so that the marquis and the Vetems would always be kept updated by word of mouth. Eighty. So few with what Marrhit had estimated. At the moment the army poured out from the camp, the foot soldiers had just joined the cavalry. The launch of javelins intensified then, which had almost been annulled in the previous phase of defense. About ten men fell to the ground, either dead or wounded. Var screamed out to tighten ranks, and commanded orders for attack. Marrhit and Selot understood the orders of the marquis perfectly well because they caught a glimpse of his mind through an exchange of glances, which Var kept open for them. Ucal knew Var's methods of battle owing to the many years they had spent together in the furthest regions of the kingdom. He stayed connected to Marrhit in the spirit of Baìah. So the three of them helped the men carry out the orders of the marquis accordingly. Var thought the two Vetems might be able to break through the first line of the army, creating a crack in the center, allowing his men to get into the battle on a broken, less well organized defense. He turned to Marrhit to ask him, but the two brothers had already pushed through to a position where they could accomplish it. Selot trembled. It was the first time he had thrown himself into a frontal attack with an armed force. Everything was unpredictable and he knew, that even with the advantage of their Vetem faculties and the spirit of Baìah, he could not count on surviving. He felt the symbol on his chest come to life and it gave him energy. Every single hesitation disappeared. He shouted, and together with Marrhit he dived into his task with all vehemence. The two Vetems were devastating. Selot closed his heart and brought about death with precision and speed. No enemy could withstand their fury. Selot felt the pain of his brother's wounds behind the fierceness of the battle. Behind their impact, the small army of Atiarav, led by Var, began its work.
Selot was in that state where everything appeared to move so very slowly. It gave him time to realize the absurdity of war, and of the number of lives cut down. He began crying instead of screaming. And then he remembered the words inscribed on the Steles, of which he was the only guardian. He couldn't allow anyone else to get their hands on that power, and no one should get near it. Marrhit was making headway without hesitation, as he thought of nothing else except storming the army's front line. Selot realized his brother's fighting style had changed. He advanced with far more caution with regards to past occasions. He didn't throw himself so far ahead of Selot, and he now checked that there were no unpredictable dangers around him before advancing. He no longer left Selot the task of clearing sudden or lateral attacks. He was always by his side. He checked that he was always in the best condition to defend himself. Selot felt Marrhit's constant attention on him.
The fight was very hard. Many fell. Var looked at the Vetems and silently asked them to enter the encampment to face the praetorian guards. The defeat of that unit would perhaps induce the surrender of the leader in charge. Marrhit gave a brief nod. He had 'seen' his intention. The two Vetems started distancing themselves from the heat of battle to find a way to circumvent the front line of soldiers and carry out the order. Without their help in breaking through the lines, the warriors of Atiarav soon found themselves outnumbered and losing ground. Marrhit turned towards Var to ascertain that even in that disappointing reaction of his men, his order was to be carried out. Var confirmed it and shouted out immediately after, to fall into line. The battle was transforming into an encounter without command. In that strategic layout, they would sooner or later lose, for the simple reason of being outnumbered. If he didn't take responsibility for his men, they would be defeated, no matter what the exceptional contribution of the two Vetems. Marrhit and Selot slipped away quickly to the southern lines, where the praetorian guards were stationed, still inactive behind battle lines, awaiting orders. There were ninety of them. Var understood what he had asked of the Vetems. He exchanged glances with Marrhit, his alone, then tore his eyes away swiftly.
“This will be difficult even for us, little brother,” Marrhit limited himself to say, without putting into doubt the decision of the marquis. They hid in a spot far from the battle, examining their possibilities. They were considering whether to make a lateral assault, or whether it w
ould be better to divide and attack from two different angles, creating chaos and havoc. At that moment, unexpectedly, a searing pain ripped through them both, starting at the nape of their necks and wrapping itself around their heads, eyes, mouths and temples. It pierced their ears and wedged itself behind their foreheads. Their hands flew to the back of their necks, winded by the surprise and pain of it. Their Zav switches! They had not taken the Council into consideration. And it wasn't a mere warning. It was an order to return to the Valley immediately. The Council had perceived the death of Yellow Eye, but they didn't understand why they were fighting now, nor against whom. They couldn't sense any other Vetems nearby and they would not tolerate the young Vetems ignoring orders. Time had passed, and they were to return immediately. The pain ceased, leaving them breathless. Selot looked at Marrhit.
The Creed Page 52