The Dieya Chronicles - Incident on Ravar

by John Migacz

CHAPTER 62

  The next two days inside the walls were ones of hurried tension. Time was short and all pitched in with fervor. By the end of the second day, Balthus thought they were as ready as they could be. The weather had stayed warm and clear, but the sun hadn’t dispelled the growing cold Balthus detected in the bellies of the men.

  As Balthus drilled a pot crew, one of the men on the east wall yelled, “What is that sound? Can you hear that?” All activity ceased and every man rushed to the crenellations. Silence fell like a dark cloud and apprehension filled the air.

  Balthus leaned out and cupped his ear. “Yes. Now I hear it.” The sound grew louder. “It sounds like drumming, but not quite.”

  “There!” yelled a guard as he pointed to the ridge at the far end of the valley. Almost as one, a line of mounted Sevoal riders, at least five hundred abreast, crested the ridge. In unison they banged their wartanga bows on their shields once, then held silent for five counts, then they beat their shields again, repeating the process. The sound increased as another line of Sevoal rode down into the valley and moved inexorably closer to the walls. The drumming volume grew as more and more warriors flooded the valley.

  The defenders stood silently watching the display. Balthus felt fear infecting the men. The shield-pounding and the sheer numbers of Sevoal were working on the minds of the defenders.

  “The more those fools bang their shields, the easier it will be for us to break them apart!” he yelled. No one paid him any attention. He looked at the faces of his men and saw the fight going out of them.

  Balthus jumped atop the wall, faced his troops and loudly began a long and bawdy limerick that had the same rhythm as the pounding beat of the Sevoal. He leapt from merlon to merlon shouting the words to the troops lining the walls. To emphasize a point in the limerick, he bent over and pretended the Sevoal’s drumbeat was flatulence. This earned him so much laughter he repeated it at every “bang,” using it for punctuation. The original words to the limerick were long over and Balthus feverishly invented nasty lyrics about the Sevoal. The troops were laughing, their attention on Balthus and not on the enemy. Finally, the entire Sevoal force had entered the valley, and as one, the beating stopped.

  Still standing on a merlon, Balthus turned and faced the Sevoal horde. “Hey!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Why did you stop? Couldn’t take it any more, huh?” He faced his troops. “If they can’t take a little ribbing, they are really going to hate what we do to them tomorrow, right men?”

  The troops cheered and Balthus jumped down off the wall. Men patted him on the back as he walked to Adrianna, grinning.

  “Well, it took a siege to finally get you what you have always wanted,” she said.

  “What’s that?”

  “A captive audience.”

  Balthus threw back his head and laughed. “It certainly was tiring. Let’s find some wine!”

  The men spent rest of the day watching the enemy set up camp. By evening, a sea of Sevoal campfires blended into the stars of the grassland’s night sky, giving the impression of endlessness.

  Balthus, Adrianna and Rory were in the citadel with Dieya, going over last minute details, when a messenger arrived and motioned to Balthus.

  “What’s up, Lad?”

  “Sir, Captain Queekal asks for your presence on the green parapet.”

  Balthus glanced at Dieya and Rory. “If Queekal wants me, it must be important.”

  “We’ll accompany you,” said Dieya.

  “Lead on, Sir Bard,” said Rory.

  Balthus took a step then stopped and sighed. “It was a good idea at the time, but the story has grown with the telling and I seem like a total ass!”

  “You’re half right,” said Adrianna as she followed the messenger.

  Balthus stopped in thought for a moment. “Hey!” he said, then ran to catch up.

  “What’s up, Queekal?” asked Balthus.

  “Perhaps your ears are better than mine,” said Captain Queekal. “Wait while I quiet the men.” He passed the word for silence. “Now listen. I think I hear the sound of digging, but I’m not sure.” Everyone leaned over the wall and cupped an ear.

  “Yes, sounds like digging,” said Balthus.

  “No question about it,” said Dieya.

  “Tunneling under the walls?” asked Rory.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Dieya. “They could have started much closer if they were going to try that. The Sevoal have never dug anything deeper than a fire pit, so I can’t see them tunneling.” Dieya thought for a moment. “But they have been ahead of me the whole time...” His face hardened. “I’ll make sure they’re not this time.” He stepped back from the group and vanished.

  Captain Queekal jumped back, causing a ripple effect on the men behind him. He shrugged. “I forgot he is a sorcerer. I had a nice conversation with him one long night’s watch several days ago. He seemed like a normal man.”

  Balthus peered over the wall. “There is nothing normal about our Sorcerer, believe me.”

  For about twenty minutes they stood watch, occasionally glancing over the wall. Suddenly, Dieya reappeared in their midst.

  “What ho, Dieya?” asked Balthus.

  Dieya shook his head. “I don’t know. They are not digging tunnels. They seem to be erecting a large mound. It is as near the castle as can be and still be out of catapult range. The horde is camped behind it. I think we will have to wait until dawn to see what it’s for.”

  Dawn found all the castle leaders back at the green wall, waiting for enough light to see what the Sevoal had accomplished during the night. The sun peeked over the eastern ridge to shine on a huge mound of earth. The mound stood about ten feet higher than the plain with the top leveled off. Rugs lay on the leveled area and four tall poles held up a large decorated cloth, creating a sunshade.

  A single man sat crossed-legged on the rugs in the center of the pavilion. He sat unmoving until the sun crested the ridge. When the first rays of light struck him, he stood, faced the sun and spread his arms as if to embrace it. “Wa –ta Ocaow, Wa –ta! Wa –ta Ocaow, Wa –ta!” His voice thundered across the plain.

  Thousands of voices from the sea of warriors joined him in celebrating the rising of the sun. He closed his arms and the chanting stopped.

  “That must be the head man,” said Balthus.

  Dieya nodded. “He’s the Kraken agent. I’m sure of it.”

  “Is it a trick of the light or is that man huge?”

  “No trick. He is very large.” Dieya pointed to the sunshade. “Do you recognize the cloth he is using for his sun screen?”

  Balthus stared out at the pavilion. “Nooo, can’t say as I do.”

  “I’m sure the meaning hasn’t been lost on many in this castle. Look at Baron Genardt.”

  The Baron, teeth bared and fists clenched in rage, scowled at the pavilion.

  “It is the flag of Eastedge Stronghold,” said Dieya. “We are being reminded of the Sevoal’s last victory.”

  “It seems to me,” said Balthus, stroking his chin, “if they were that assured of victory here, they wouldn’t need to try to demoralize us.”

  Dieya smiled and nodded. “Yes, and that raises my confidence.”

  The Sevoal leader was now gesturing to the castle walls, his words sounding like the barking of a far away grot.

  “Can you make out what he’s saying, Dieya?” asked Balthus.

  “Yes. We are fouling their earth with our presence and it must be cleansed with our blood.”

  “Seems a bit extreme.” Balthus sighed. “There is nothing worse than a religious fanatic who thinks his way is the only way, and that he has God’s leave to force you to see it his way. It is the worst kind of insanity.”

  Dieya nodded. “On many worlds religion is an ugly plateau before humans move toward true peace and realization.”

  The Sevoal le
ader soon ceased his sermon and strode off his mound. Two riders led an ehta to him and the leader mounted. As the three rode toward the castle, the Sevoal leader leaned down and pulled a sheaf of grass out of the ground. He held it over his head as they rode. They stopped just out of bow range and waited.

  “What is the savage doing?” asked the Baron.

  “That is the Sevoal signal to parley,” said Dieya.

  “He probably wants us to surrender,” said Bo.

  “More likely he saw Balthus’ little show yesterday and they want to surrender,” said a grinning Rory.

  Balthus let out a large sigh.

  “I request you accompany me to converse with this savage, Sir Sorcerer,” said the Baron, moving to the stairs.

  “Baron, I would suggest that Sir Valerian, myself and one other go. This may be a ruse to kill whoever meets them. They are savages, as you pointed out.”

  The Baron jerked to a stop in mid-stride and stared at Dieya. “If you think that is the wisest course, Sir Sorcerer.” Relief painted his face.

  “Yes, I do. If it is a trick, we will need you to direct the defense of the castle.”

  “Of course, of course,” said the Baron, waving his hand. “You have my leave to go.”

  “I’ll go with you, Dieya,” said Balthus. Dieya raised an eyebrow and Balthus shrugged. “I’d like to get a closer look at our real enemy.”

  Dieya nodded and the three of them started down the stairs.

  Oldwick stopped Balthus with a large hand on his shoulder. “No. It is not safe.”

  “I represent the King, Oldwick. It is my duty.” Balthus shrugged off Oldwick’s hand. “Don’t worry. I will still be around to finish our… discussion.”

  “See that you are.” Oldwick stepped aside.

  Luses were saddled and ready for them by the time the log barricades had been moved from the gate. The three rode toward the waiting Sevoal and the closer they advanced to the encampment, the more imposing the Sevoal numbers became.

  “I feel awfully naked out here,” said Balthus. No one commented, but he knew they felt the same.

  They halted a dozen paces from the Sevoal leaders and Balthus evaluated the three mounted men. None carried any weapons. The men flanking the leader wore loincloths and necklaces of bone. Each had his forehead and chin stained red. The one on the right was fat and sat his ehta poorly and had the cruel face of a sadist. The toned-muscled Sevoal on the left sat his mount as if born to it. Their leader in the center also wore a loincloth and carried a small pouch at his waist. His entire face was painted red with the exception of a strip across the eyes.

  It was obvious why this man was the leader. He was the largest man Balthus had ever seen, with bulging muscles that seemed hard-packed onto his huge frame. His body oozed charisma, but it faded when Balthus looked at his face. His disdainful look and smug smile made him someone Balthus wanted to hurt, not follow.

  The leader handed the sheaf of grass to his fat cohort and looked at Dieya. “So, we meet at last, black one. I am Ta’Lon, Ocaow reborn.”

  “No,” said Dieya. “We know who you really are, and we will stop you.”

  The Sevoal snorted. “You Aberrations will never stop me.”

  “Aberrations? Why are we the aberrations? It is you who has strayed from humanity to be a pawn of your masters.”

  Ta’Lon’s knuckles whitened as his fist tightened on the reins. “It is you who pollute the universe with your very existence,” he said, spitting out the words. “My lords are the only true rulers of this creation! Those not under their mastery are aberrations!”

  “Have you ever even seen your masters?” said Dieya.

  Ta’Lon jerked his reins and glared at Dieya.

  Dieya leaned forward. “You are the one polluting this world with your war, serving masters you’ve never seen.”

  “I have seen enough. Enough to know what is true!” The Sevoal leader calmed down with effort. “But I have not come here to discuss this. I have come to offer you life instead of death.”

  “You will find nothing but death at the point of our lances!” said Valerian, unable to contain himself any longer.

  Dieya held up a hand. “You offer our lives in exchange for what?”

  The Sevoal leader displayed his most charming smile. “The Sevoal need workers to tend to our warriors’ needs. If you lay down your arms you will not be harmed.”

  Balthus laughed loudly. “Exchange our swords for slavery?”

  The mask of charm fell from Ta’Lon’s face. “They will be exchanged for labor, or exchanged for death!”

  “Is this all you have to say, Ta’Lon?” asked Dieya.

  Ta’Lon smiled again. “I want your people to hear my benevolent proposal.” He raised himself up on his ehta and shouted over Dieya’s head. His voice, unnaturally loud, carried easily to the castle walls.

  “Defenders of Glendell Castle, lay down your weapons and come to us. You will not be harmed. We need willing servants to aid our cause. Come to us! You will not be harmed. Do not listen to your leaders. Strike them down and come out!”

  Ta’Lon’s volume shocked Balthus. No mortal man could speak so loudly.

  Dieya smiled, raised himself on his luse and spoke over Ta’Lon’s head.

  “People of the Sevoal!” his voice roared out as loud as Ta’Lon’s had. “You –”Suddenly his volume dropped to that of a normal man’s. He stumbled on for a few more words then stopped.

  The grinning Sevoal leader held a small box in his hand. “Your power is gone, Aberration. I tell you again, be our slaves or die!”

  “We will still defeat you,” said Dieya, but he was obviously shaken.

  Ta’Lon smiled a smug, superior grin. “You Aberrations are so predictable.” With that, he wheeled his ehta and the Sevoal contingent rode back toward their lines.

  “Dieya, are you all right?” asked Balthus.

  A pale Dieya sat slumped on his luse, staring at the ground. “No,” he said, as he turned to ride back to the castle.

  Balthus and Valerian followed.

  They had time to enter the castle and mount the parapet before the Sevoal were on the move.

  “Dieya,” said Balthus, running to catch up to him, “what happened back there?” Dieya continued to walk away. “Dieya!” yelled Balthus.

  Dieya stopped and turned. Adrianna, Rory and Bo joined Balthus. Dieya looked at the ground and spoke softly. “He must have a large field dampener out there, somewhere.”

  Bo and Rory grunted.

  “What does that mean?” demanded Balthus.

  Dieya looked up. “It means they have nullified my power. I can’t use my dimgate, I can’t use my lasers, and I can’t heal anyone!” He looked devastated. “I was counting on my lasers to frighten the Sevoal into retreating.”

  “Dieya,” said Rory, “how about your internals?”

  Dieya closed his eyes for a moment. “They’re all right. My reflex chip is shielded and unaffected.”

  “Does that mean you can still fight?” asked Adrianna.

  He looked her in the eye. “Yes. Yes I can. My speed and strength are unaffected.”

  “So that means you are still the fastest and strongest man on the planet, eh?” asked Balthus.

  Dieya nodded.

  “And you have only yourself and your friends to depend on, eh?” continued Balthus.

  Again Dieya nodded.

  Balthus placed a hand on Dieya’s shoulder and squeezed. “Welcome to our world.”

  Dieya was lost in thought for a moment then he shrugged. “It’ll take me a while to adjust.”

  “Get used to it quick,” said Bo. “Here they come!”

  The mounted Sevoal approached the wall in triangular units, fifty men in front narrowing to a single man at the rear.

  “I’ve never seen a formation like that before,” said Balthus.


  “I have!” shouted Rory. “Dieya! This is a feint! The most logical place to attack with a quick rush would be the section of wall closest to the forest. It must be reinforced quickly.”

  “Where have you seen that formation before?” asked Dieya.

  “On Duebuy. Battle droids used that formation on us when they pulled a feint.”

  Dieya snapped into action. “Erondil!” he shouted as his eyes roamed over the parapet. Erondil came running.

  “Yes, Laere-Tere!”

  “Take your men and go quickly to the orange parapet. Keep your men down and out of sight.”

  The Arvari ran to comply.

  “Rory. Take the larger group of archers from the green wall and set up your massed fire on the orange wall.”

  Rory nodded and sped away.

  “Bo we may need a flying squad on the orange wall to repel attackers.”

  “I’m on it!” he said and ran down the stairs.

  “Balthus!” said Dieya, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If this isn’t a feint…”

  “I know,” said Balthus. “We’ll handle it.”

  Dieya nodded and left at a run.

  Balthus peered over the wall at the advancing horde. The Sevoal had stopped just behind the mound and waited as Ta’Lon stood under his pavilion, arms crossed.

  “Look,” said Adrianna. “They ride carrying their shields. I bet Rory is correct and this is a feint. They can’t use their shields and bows effectively together.”

  “I hope so,” Balthus answered. “There are an awful lot of them to try to stop if they hit this wall while our archers and reserves are on the orange wall.”

  On the mound, a runner approached Ta’Lon, spoke with him briefly, then retreated. The Sevoal leader walked to the front of the mound, faced the castle wall and raised a hand. He held it in the air for a moment, then brought it down sharply.

  With a sudden howling that echoed off the walls, the Sevoal charged. All eyes on the wall were glued to the mass of riders bearing down on them. The thundering hooves of their ehtas lent a heart-stopping undertone to the Sevoal battle cry. Hands tightened on swords and mouths went dry.

  The Sevoal continued their charge, then reined in just beyond archer range. Their battle cry ceased.

  “It is a feint!” said Balthus. It was then they heard shouts from the orange wall. Balthus gripped Adrianna’s shoulder.

 

  Dieya, Rory and Erondil were staring over the orange wall when they heard the Sevoal war cry and the pounding of ehta hooves from the east. There was no activity at the orange wall. “Uh-oh,” said Rory. “I’m getting a sick feeling in my stomach. If I was wrong we’re in for it.”

  “No!” said Dieya. “Look!” There were men creeping among the trees. “There!” he pointed. “They’re coming on foot. Make ready.”

  A horde of screaming Sevoal warriors erupted from the forest. Others had crawled closer during the night and covered themselves with the cut grass. Throwing off their coverings, they rushed the walls ahead of their brothers, swinging grappling hooks as they ran. More Sevoal emerged from the forest carrying notched climbing poles.

  “I’m glad we cut back the forest,” Rory said to Dieya.

  When the Sevoal reached the first marker, Rory nodded and the flagman brought down his flag. With a loud thrum, a black swarm of arrows launched over the wall and fell on the advancing horde. Seconds later another swarm buzzed overhead. Sevoal warriors dropped by the scores as death rained from the sky. More arrows flew over the wall to fall into the packed ranks of the charging Sevoal. The defenders fired three more volleys before the Sevoal were inside their range.

  The charging warriors’ blood was up and they didn’t realize their numbers had been decimated from the massed arrow attack. Rory turned to Erondil. “They’re yours.”

  Erondil nodded. He had placed one of his archers at every other crenel. There was no covering fire from the enemy and his men could fire unimpeded. “Leot!” he shouted. His archers rose from behind the parapet and fired down at the Sevoal. The woodland folk picked their targets with impunity and they rarely missed. There were just a hundred Arvari, but with every release a hundred Sevoal died. The charge was only minutes old when the Sevoal had had enough. The Arvari continued to fire at the fleeing Sevoal.

  “That’s set them running, Erondil. That’s enough,” said Dieya.

  “No, Laere-Tere, it is not enough. These are the men who killed our brothers and burned our sacred grove. It will never be enough.” He turned to his men and shouted, “Ey leot!” The woodland archers continued to fire until there wasn’t a moving Sevoal in sight. Erondil looked at the dead strewn over the battlefield and nodded once in satisfaction.

  “We held them!” shouted Rory down to his men. Cheers erupted from the archers which the defenders on the parapet echoed.

  Dieya looked over the field of fallen. He estimated over two thousand Sevoal warriors lay dead. He felt elation and grief warring inside him. Grief for the slain people tricked into this war and elation at surviving combat.

  Balthus ran up the stairs and peered over the wall. “Got the bastards on that one. Good! Let’s get the men back to the green wall in case they try us there. Good job.” He patted Rory on the shoulder and left at a run.

  Rory assembled his men and they trotted to their new positions. Erondil’s archers moved down the stairs.

  Dieya continued to stare at the mass of dead.

  Balthus jumped atop a merlon on the green wall and yelled to his troops, “We stopped them cold. We killed thousands and not a man of ours was hurt! We can keep on killing them until there are none left.”

  The troops waved their weapons in the air and cheered.

  “Hey, Balthus,” yelled one of his troopers, “while you’re up there, how about another song?”

  Balthus laughed. “Maybe when we are finished with these morons,” he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. He looked over his men. “I know who said that, and I am sure he just wants to see me bend over.” Balthus jumped down from the wall amid raucous laughter. With a loss like the Sevoal had just suffered, he doubted they would attack again anytime soon.

  He was wrong.

  Shortly after noon the Sevoal massed again outside the green wall. The Sevoal didn’t bother with any formations this time. They just massed outside catapult range and waited.

  Balthus glanced down at Rory’s archers. They were ready and standing firm. He did a quick check to see that the crews who had been issued poles to push away scaling ladders were ready.

  Balthus looked at Adrianna and placed his left arm through his shield straps. He checked her armor and fittings and she checked his. They tested the fit of their shields by smashing them against one another several times. Adrianna nodded, as did Balthus. All was as ready as it ever would be.

  Balthus glanced over the wall and saw the Sevoal leader standing on his mound once again with his arm raised. “All right, men,” Balthus yelled, drawing his sword. “Send them to hell!”

  The Sevoal leader dropped his arm. The massed horde again howled their battle cries and spurred their ehtas to a gallop. There was no halting this time. The Sevoal rode hard toward the wall, their shields raised over their heads.

  “Loose!” yelled Rory. A flag was raised and a flight of arrows darkened the sky. Rory’s archers had learned fast. Before the first flight rained on the rushing Sevoal, another was launched. Rory quickly adjusted the range and his flagman lowered his flag again. Another volley of whistling death took flight.

  The catapults in the center and on the corners launched baskets of fist-sized rocks at the charging horde. The Sevoals’ hide shields gave them scant protection and offered their ehtas none. Ehtas pierced by arrows crumpled in heaps, throwing their riders into the dust. But with their speed and larger force, the Sevoal would make it to the wall this time.
r />   Dieya had armed himself with two short, razor-sharp swords from the Baron’s armory. He pulled them out of his belt. “Time, Rory,” yelled Dieya.

  Rory nodded and waved a red flag, signaling that massed fire was over. His archers turned in ranks and filed up the stairs to the parapets, taking up their positions as they had practiced.

  “Free fire!” yelled Rory. “Free fire!” The archers fired down at individual targets. At this point, the charging Sevoal encountered the first of many stake pits. Riders were thrown and ehtas went down with horrible leg-popping sounds and pitiful screams. As the Sevoal came within range, they discarded their shields and fired arrows at the defenders.

  A Sevoal warrior lived by his ability to shoot accurately from a moving ehta and their competence showed as defenders suddenly sprouted red arrows and fell backwards. Others quickly replaced the wounded men but the toll mounted.

  Dieya spied rows of charging Sevoal riders carrying ladders between them.

  “Erondil!” yelled Dieya over the cries of wounded men and dying animals. Erondil ran to Dieya and turned his ear toward him. “Shoot for ones carrying scaling ladders!”

  Erondil nodded and ran down the parapet spreading the word to his Arvari archers.

  Dieya peered over the wall and an arrow whizzed by his head. Ladder carriers were beginning to fall. Downing one man in the team made them ineffective, but as he watched, lone riders would take up where one of the team went down and the rush to the wall continued. The Sevoal had planned well. The stake pits and the defenders’ arrows caused many casualties, but it wouldn’t be enough to halt the charge.

  The carriers reached the walls and raised their scaling ladders. Rory’s archers had to lean out to shoot and this made them larger targets for the Sevoal archers.

  A wave of Sevoal leapt from their ehtas and rushed to the wall. They stood at the base of the wall shooting up at anyone who showed a head. Their fire was as accurate as the Arvari’s.

  A steady stream of wounded flowed down the stairs, carried by the female litter bearers. Dieya gave silent thanks to Adrianna.

  Another wave of Sevoal hit the wall, dismounted at a gallop and ran for the ladders. Sevoal ladders were raised at a faster rate than could be repelled. Teams of Sevoal held onto the base of the ladders while their colleagues raced up. A Sevoal warrior reached the top of the wall and screamed a war cry as he waved his axe. An arrow appeared in his chest, cutting his exultation short, and he dropped to the ground.

  Another wave of riders arrived, each carrying an arrow already blazing with fire. They dismounted, lit a bundle full of arrows and launched them far over the walls. When their arrows were expended, they dropped their bows, drew their axes and ran screaming toward the ladders.

  Smoke and fire rose from the town but Bo’s fire crews were already at work. They doused most of the fire arrows before they could catch, and rapidly extinguished any small fires.

  Sevoal warriors making it to the parapet were quickly slain, but their deaths allowed more warriors to climb onto the parapet. As the defenders battled them, more climbed up behind. On the left Dieya saw a section where the invaders had gained a foothold.

  “Valerian!” he shouted. He spun the knight around and pointed to the weak spot. “There!” he said, and pushed him toward the ever-increasing mass of invaders.

  Dieya had planned to use the armored knights as shock troops for just this situation. An unarmored Sevoal warrior carrying only an axe was no match for an armored knight. The knights charged, smashing into the Sevoal and driving them back. Several Sevoal attacked a knight by diving for his legs and knocking him down. Once down, the Sevoal used their steel axes on the joints of the knight’s armor.

  Dieya peered over the wall; the invaders were packed tightly beneath him.

  “Rory!” yelled Dieya. “Grenadiers!”

  Rory nodded, hacked down a Sevoal with his axe, then signaled to his waiting men. There were only twenty grenadiers. Each carried three to four “Sorcerer’s Fists” and had a smoldering piece of rope thrust into his belt. Scurrying along the parapets, the men lit their grenades and tossed them over the walls at ten-foot intervals.

  The explosions were catastrophic for the Sevoal massed at the bottom of the wall. The flash and noise of the explosions stalled their frenzied rush to climb the ladders and the shrapnel from the rain of grenades ripped bloody holes in their tightly-packed clusters.

  When the third group of grenades thundered into the milling horde, the Sevoal broke, running madly back toward their own lines. Without support, the invaders who had gained a foothold on the parapets were quickly cut down.

  Balthus looked over the wall at the streaming mass of Sevoal. “Archers!” he cried. “Pick your targets!” The archers again advanced to the wall and fired at the retreating horde. “Erondil!” The Arvari ran to Balthus’ side. “Your bows have a greater range than ours. Kill as many as you can!”

  Erondil nodded grimly.

  Dieya gazed out over the still-smoking town, then at the wounded waiting for care. Looked into the faces of the men who had defended the walls, he saw fatigue and pain but no fear. They seemed to move in slow motion. He gazed over the wall to the carnage at the base. Moans filled his ears and smoke stung his eyes. Sevoal bodies were stacked three or four high in places. Over the plain, bodies of men and ehtas littered the field for two hundred yards. He felt nothing. He was surprised at his lack of feelings. He didn’t even feel relief that the attack was over.

  Dieya looked outward toward the mound the Sevoal had raised. Ta’Lon still stood as he had since the battle began. As the last of his beaten men passed the mound, he turned his back on the castle and sat down cross-legged, overlooking his camp. Watching the Sevoal leader, Dieya realized that he finally did feel something – hate.

  “Dieya,” said Balthus, shaking his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Dieya turned and stared as if seeing him for the first time. Sweat rivulets had made tracks down Balthus’ dirty face. He had blood spattered on his armor and his shield had two broken red arrows sticking in it, but he was unharmed.

  “Adrianna?” questioned Dieya.

  “She’s fine. Bo and Rory as well.” He looked out over the field. “Well, we held them. It was hard, but we held. That’s all that matters now.” Balthus was silent for a moment, then sighed deeply. “Do you think there will be any more attacks today?”

  Dieya looked at the setting sun. He hadn’t realized that the battle had taken all afternoon. If asked, he would have said only minutes had passed. “No,” he said, looking again over the field of carnage, “I think they have had enough for today.”

  Balthus surveyed the battlefield. “I have been in war before, but this kind of slaughter turns a man’s stomach. How many do you think we killed?”

  Dieya let his eyes roam over the field, allowing his enhanced senses to give him a quick estimate. “I’d say a little over four thousand here and two thousand on the orange wall.”

  “We have chopped his army down by a third in one day. That has to give the Sevoal pause before they try it again.”

  “Oh, they’ll try it again. The question is how and when.” Dieya looked away from the plain of death. “How about our own losses?”

  “About four hundred archers and three hundred swordsmen are down. The good news is that more than two-thirds of them will recover. Many owe their lives to Adrianna’s medical teams, who got to them soon after they were wounded.”

  “She has done us all a great service,” said Dieya.

  “Yes,” said Balthus. “Now all we have to do is keep these scum off our backs until our men have had have a chance to recover.”

  Dieya nodded and stared out over the battlefield.

  Balthus made the rounds with the water bearers. Going from group to group, he praised the men, patted their backs or commiserated with them over the loss of a fri
end. It was late in the evening when he joined the “war council” for supper and he was the last to arrive.

  “Balthus,” said Bo, “I though for a while you weren’t going to join us tonight.”

  “What? And leave all the wine for you? Not a chance.” He sat down and drained his mug. Adrianna refilled it for him. He laid a hand on her neck and squeezed gently.

  “I don’t know about anybody else but I’m beat,” announced Rory. He looked years older than he had that morning.

  “Rory, you look terrible,” said Balthus.

  “I should. This is the first time I’ve been in a battle without a battlesuit regulating my adrenaline output. It takes a toll on a man after a day-long battle.”

  “Battlesuit? Adrenaline? I love it when you talk dirty,” Balthus said, and took a huge bite out of a boar chop.

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot about you misinformed primitives.” Rory glanced at Dieya, then started his explanation. “A battlesuit is our version of armor and adrenaline is what is produced in your body when your blood is up. When your adrenaline levels are up for too long a time, they tire out the body. The suit regulates that.”

  “You’re saying that you get tired when you fight?” Balthus looked at Adrianna, then back to Rory. “Thousands of years of science and you just figured that out? And you call me a primitive!” He went back to attacking his food.

  “What are your thoughts on tomorrow, Dieya?” asked Adrianna. “Will the Sevoal come again?”

  Dieya put down his wineglass and thought for a moment. “They will come again. They must. The Kraken have too much at stake to quit now. I don’t think Ta’Lon can quit.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Dieya sat forward, held his wine cup in both hands, and gazed into it. “I think he is my counterpart.”

  “Counterpart?” asked Balthus.

  Dieya looked up from his cup. “I think his job on this planet is the opposite from mine. He has probably been given the same physical abilities I have. And I’m sure he has been given an edict as I have. I try to protect the people of Ravar. He tries to harm them. I think the Kraken have heard of the Planetary Dieya Corps and have started their own malevolent version. This could be a pilot program for further infiltrations on other worlds. Although my chip enhances my abilities, my choices are my own. I have looked into the Kraken agent’s eyes. He has no choice but to continue. It’s programmed in.”

  “You mean he is under some kind of spell?” asked Balthus.

  “Yes, you could put it that way.”

  “But why do they want to increase human misery? To what purpose?” asked Adrianna.

  “If we knew that, I think we would have the answer to this whole mystery.” They finished their suppers quietly, each lost in their own reflections of the day.