by John Migacz
CHAPTER 65
The morning of the third day of the siege, increased activity was reported in the Sevoal camp. The sky was once again clear, cloudless, and warming early, hinting of a hot summer to come.
Dieya, Bo and Rory watched the Sevoal leader from the parapet. Ta’Lon had risen from his cross-legged position and was extolling his troops.
“Can you hear what he is saying?” said Bo to Dieya.
“A little. He is telling them today will be a great victory. What I am glad to hear is that his voice is normal. The field dampener has affected his enhanced vocals, same as me. When we meet today, it will be as equals.”
“Do you think this will end today?” asked Bo.
Dieya nodded.
“Dieya,” said Rory, “if you fight Ta’Lon personally, remember that you may have equal enhancements, but he has size, reach, and a lot more weight than you. Take him down any way you can – there is no such thing as fair in war.”
Dieya regarded the Human Alliance Strikedag, and saw a man who had been in a hundred fights. He would heed his advice. He patted Rory on the shoulder. “Thanks, Dagger. I will remember that.”
Balthus and Adrianna had slept late and were the last to arrive at the green parapet. Dieya, Bo and Rory turned to greet them.
“We wondered if you two were going to make an appearance today,” said Bo.
Balthus stretched and yawned. “We were thinking of skipping today’s battle and sleeping in. Maybe just wait for the victory celebration. I’m sure the three of you can handle them.”
“Of course we can,” said Rory, “but we need you in case someone needs a song and dance.”
Balthus snorted and rolled his eyes. “Am I ever going to live that down?”
All three shook their heads.
“Here they come!” yelled someone to the left.
The tops of three tall towers rose slowly over the ridge. The towers were ten feet taller than the castle walls and constructed atop reinforced wagons lashed together. Wartanga skins covered most of each structure. A large shed attached to the back of the towers’ bases gave arrow cover for the Sevoal warriors providing the muscle to push the towers forward. After they reached the wall, they would climb the ladder in the rear as the second assault group.
“I wonder if they’ve made any catapults,” said Bo aloud.
“I doubt it,” said Dieya. “But I am surprised they didn’t fire the gate last time they attacked.”
“Probably because toward the end it looked as if they wouldn’t need to,” said Balthus. “Speaking of which, do we have many more ‘Sorcerer’s Fists’?”
“Only a dozen or so,” said Rory. “I don’t have the materials to make more.”
As they watched the oncoming towers, large wooden shields on wheels appeared over the ridge.
“Looks like they are getting smart. They are going to give their archers some protection,” said Balthus.
“Or a stationary target for our catapults,” said Rory.
Balthus grinned. “I like the way you think.”
A large, low house made its appearance over the ridge. It was thirty feet long and ten feet wide, with a center-peaked roof of skins that ran almost to the ground.
“What is that?” asked Bo.
“Battering ram,” said Dieya. “It looks like an all-out offensive today. I see riders mounting up and gathering more ladders.”
This fight would be different than the last and Balthus saw that his men were tense. Just watching the siege engines and that mass of warriors moving toward them was enough to tighten sphincters.
Balthus moved down the line cajoling, joking and reassuring his men. He promised them they would have more surprises for the Sevoal today. Mentioning the “Sorcerer’s Fists” buoyed the men’s spirits. He took up a position next to the center catapult and waited for something to get within range. He had ordered the other catapults to wait until the center catapult fired, then shoot at whatever it targeted.
“How’re we feeling today?” said Balthus to the main catapult captain.
“Sharp!” nodded the man. “I just wish we had more large stones. Those towers are constructed of heavy timber and look solidly built.”
Balthus grinned. “But I bet they’ll make a wonderful fire.”
The captain grinned back.
All along the parapet, mouths dried and hands clenched and unclenched on weapons as the towers rolled nearer. It was a relief when the first came into range and Balthus ordered the catapult to fire.
With a loud whistle, a one-hundred-pound stone sailed through the air, barely missing to the right. It struck the ground without inflicting any damage. A groan issued from the defenders. The catapult was re-wound and reloaded. The loaders shoved the catapult over about six inches to the left. Crouching behind the catapult, the captain sighted, then nodded. With another whistling sound the stone streaked through the air. All activity on the wall ceased as the men watched the missile descend. With a resounding crack it smashed into the left side of the tower. The defenders roared.
Seconds later, the left and right catapults opened fire on the same target. Both missed, but one stone bounced through a group of riders who were trying to use the tower for cover, smashing down several and injuring others. The Sevoals’ archers came into range and arrows streaked toward the wall.
The center tower was taking hit after hit, but still it kept coming. Balthus was about to order a shift over to the naphtha pots when a stone from the left catapult hit with a resounding crack. The tower leaned drunkenly. More stones arched toward the tower like a pack of animals sensing injured prey. The catapults were reloading when the top half of the tower leaned far to the right and collapsed, pulling the base over on its side and spilling men out onto the ground. A ragged cheer resounded from the defenders, but as every second passed the other towers came closer to the wall. The catapults unleashed another volley at the far right tower and it started taking hits.
The battering ram rolled swiftly toward the castle gate, outdistancing the towers. It moved too rapidly for the catapult crews to target.
“Dieya,” said Balthus. “I’m not sure if we need to worry about the battering ram. When it gets here we will burn it with the naphtha.”
Dieya scanned the approaching ram. “It looks like they have wet the hides on the roof. Also, they have a double roof. The top one is made of hides and the bottom is wood. There is a two foot air space between them. If we get the top to burn, it will not bother the Sevoal much until it burns off. By then the gate may be breached.”
Holding out his shield, Balthus leaned over the wall and studied the road leading to the gate. His shield rocked as an arrow embedded itself in the sturdy wood. He stepped back from the wall and turned to Dieya, casually plucking out the arrow.
“The road is paved with cobblestones for a distance of a hundred feet and slopes away from the gate. Come, give me a hand.” He led Dieya to a stack of pots contained in a small stone shed. “Help me carry some of these to the parapet over the gate.” He grabbed one and ran toward the wall. Dieya did the same. After two more trips, Balthus stopped and glanced over the wall. The battering ram was much closer.
“It looks like now or never,” he said to Dieya. They each grabbed a handle and began to swing the naphtha-laden pot. “Ready? On three,” said Balthus. By the count of three they had a pretty good momentum going when they released the pot. It sailed fifty feet out and crashed to the ground, naphtha running down the road. They tossed five more pots before Balthus peered over the wall. The road was littered with pottery shards and wet for thirty feet.
“Well, if this doesn’t work, at least they might cut their feet.” He turned back from the wall and found Adrianna standing there with a torch.
“Thought you might need this,” she said.
He grinned and took the torch. “You always see what I miss. Thanks, Love.” They waited and w
atched the approaching ram.
“Too early and they will just stop,” said Balthus. “Too late and we won’t be able to light it.” He grinned at Dieya.
“You enjoy risk, don’t you?” asked Dieya.
Balthus shrugged. “It puts a sharp edge on life.”
“I hope it’s not a cutting edge,” replied Dieya.
Balthus waited until the naphtha was almost covered by the ram, then threw the torch. The torch landed just as the battering ram rolled over it. The naphtha ignited instantly and the inside of the ram became a death trap.
Balthus would hear the screams in his nightmares until he took his last breath. Sevoal warriors tried to get out, but only the ones at the rear of the ram succeeded. Others tried to roll under the sides of the ram but this only coated them with flaming naphtha. They rolled on the ground to put out the flames, but for most it was too late.
The ram burned, sending smoke and flames high into the sky. It had been stopped far enough away that the gate wasn’t even singed.
The defeat of the battering ram was a stunning victory for the defenders, but to a man, no one let out a cheer. It was a sight they would talk about quietly, and then only after many mugs of ale.
Balthus’ face was wet with tears. He pushed himself away from the holocaust on the road and ran to the center catapult. “Look what those bastards made me do!” he yelled to no one as he drew a hand across his eyes. Adrianna and Dieya followed him.
“We’re going to finish this.” Balthus grabbed the catapult captain and spun him around. “It’s time!” The man nodded and they loaded a pot into the catapult basket. A runner handed a torch to Balthus. The captain sighted down the catapult and nodded. Balthus leaned over, lit the oil-soaked wick and stepped back. With a whoosh, the pot took flight, the wick’s flame dancing in the air. The pot smashed into the front of the right tower and exploded with fury. Where the naphtha ran, fire followed. A section of hides about ten feet long was burning.
“Again!” roared Balthus. The crew feverishly cranked down the catapult’s arm. The right catapult opened fire with naphtha on the same tower. Pots that missed set the cut grass afire and soon the battlefield was smoking and smoldering, diminishing the archers’ visibility on both sides. The catapult on the left began firing pots at the left tower, while the center and right catapult concentrated on the right.
The right tower was a mass of flames. Two more direct hits caused the flames to engulf the cabin atop the tower. Men tried to climb down the ladder at the rear or simply leaped off the platform to smash into the ground.
Balthus turned his attention to the left tower. It was much closer. Soon it would be too close to use the catapults. It was burning, but not badly. The Sevoal were cutting off the hides from the inside, letting the burning ones simply drop to the ground.
“Damn!” shouted Balthus. “We are going to have a breach on the left.” Instinctively he raised his left arm at a quick flash of motion. A red arrow buried itself in his shield. The Sevoal warrior who had fired it stood atop the wall notching another arrow. A swordsman cut him down, dropping him to the ground. More Sevoal warriors’ heads appeared over the wall.
“They have used the smoke cover to get ladders up against the wall!” screamed Dieya over the din of battle.
Balthus located Captain Queekal and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Queekal! Light some pots and toss them over the wall!”
Queekal nodded. In moments, all along the wall, men were tossing flaming pots over the side. Shortly, the ground at the foot of the wall was awash in flames.
Balthus looked at the left siege tower. It was too close for the catapult to hit and was still coming.
“Valerian!” screamed Balthus over the din. He scanned the parapet but could not find the King’s Champion anywhere. He couldn’t find any knights on the wall at all. “Damn him! We’ve got to seal that coming breach!” he yelled to Dieya.
Balthus ran along the parapet with Adrianna on his left. He gathered men as he raced toward the approaching siege tower. As they reached the breach point, the tower door dropped and dozens of howling Sevoal poured out and over the wall, slashing and hacking with their steel axes. Sevoal warriors climbed up the ladder in the rear of the tower to reinforce their brothers who were already leaping down onto the parapet. More warriors on the ground raced to the tower awaiting their turn to climb the ladder and slaughter the defenders.
The battle’s momentum had favored the defenders. Now it shifted to the Sevoal and they knew it. With renewed energy they swarmed up the ladder, and dozens of warriors streamed onto the parapet.
Adrianna, Balthus and the men they had gathered crashed into the knot of Sevoal warriors pouring out of the tower. The swordplay was furious and deadly. Balthus smashed one warrior with his shield, knocking him down, at the same time blocking the downward thrust of another one’s axe with his sword. As Balthus held up the axe, Adrianna leaned forward from behind Balthus and slid the point of her sword into the Sevoal’s heart. Oldwick joined Balthus on his right and their combination was devastating.
The fierce fighting continued. The sounds of screaming men and the clash of swords and axes deafened the ear and the scent of burning grass and blood filled the nostrils.
The defenders fought with a fury inspired by Balthus. He would slam into a group and deliver a killing blow, or if his sword were blocked Adrianna would finish the attacker. A knot of Sevoal forced their way between Balthus and Oldwick and for a moment, Oldwick fought alone.
Howling warriors threw themselves at Oldwick. Several hung onto his sword arm while others held his shield. Oldwick flung his sword arm wide and managed to dislodge one enemy but another leaped on, pinning Oldwick’s arm open. It took but a moment for a Sevoal to rush in with raised axe. He screamed in triumph as he brought down his axe.
Balthus’ sword flashed and the axe and arm fell to the ground. With another quick slash from Balthus and a long lunge from Adrianna, Oldwick’s arm was free. He roared his battle cry and hacked the men holding his shield arm.
“Don’t get too far ahead of the line!” screamed Balthus into Oldwick’s ear. “We can’t let them flank us!”
Oldwick backed off and glanced at Balthus. “You have saved my life this day, Balthus. Our score is settled.”
Balthus nodded and together they continued their savage assault.
A moment’s respite in the combat gave Balthus time to look and see how the battle was going. Bo and Rory fought side by side. Bo had learned to keep his shield up, Balthus noted with an air of detachment. Rory put his sword breaker to good use as he chopped into a pack of Sevoal warriors with his axe.
Dieya fought on Rory’s left, wielding his two short swords with devastating effect. Swords flashed in for a quick stab or a slice across a neck. He didn’t need to block an assault very often; with his quick reflexes he simply moved aside to let the blow go by, then stepped in to slash his attacker’s throat. He was so effective the Sevoal gave him a wide berth.
Dieya evaluated the breach. More warriors were flooding onto the parapet than could be dealt with. Soon they would be bringing up archers and their toehold would have a firm footing. He had to stop their means of getting on the parapet.
Sheathing his bloody swords in his belt, Dieya ran to the left catapult. As a loader lifted a pot, Dieya grabbed him. “Follow me with that pot!” he ordered.
Dieya snatched up the last pot and a torch and ran toward the siege tower at the wall. He put down the pot and peered over the wall at the tower’s ladder. He held his body motionless while his internal chip measured the distance and estimated angle and velocity. Lighting the wick, he stood and took several measured steps away from the wall. Spinning like a discus thrower, he launched the pot over the wall. All other action seemed to slow while the pot arched through the air. It broke at the top of the ladder, sending flaming death to those below. Screami
ng Sevoal warriors, their bodies aflame, leapt to their deaths rather than burn alive. Others below hesitated climbing. Dieya lit the remaining pot and again tossed it unerringly onto the ladder.
That was all for the Sevoal reinforcements. Any thoughts of braving the fire and climbing up evaporated. They streamed away from the ladder only to become ready targets for the archers atop the wall.
Dieya rushed back to join the fight at the breach. Without additional men, the Sevoal foothold shrank. Balthus and Adrianna stepped back from the fighting to let fresher men take their places. Bo and Rory joined them. As they watched, a few of the Sevoal warriors threw down their axes and held up their hands. It was as if a signal had been given. All the remaining Sevoal threw down their weapons and surrendered. The fighting stopped immediately.
Almost immediately, anyway. Eli Hawke walked down the line of surrendering Sevoal, cutting throats even as they held up their hands. Balthus launched himself at Hawke’s back and brought the pommel of his sword down on Hawke’s helmet hard enough that it rang like a bell. Hawke collapsed in a heap. Balthus turned and rejoined the group.
Grinning, he said, “Always wanted to do that.” His grin quickly vanished. “Where is Valerian? I have the same for him.”
Dieya pointed toward the red gate. “There!” he yelled.
Valerian and his mounted knights were pouring from the north gate and forming into a wedge, with Valerian at the tip.
“Damn the man. He could get them all killed,” said Dieya.
“I don’t know, Dieya,” said Balthus. “It might not be a bad idea. The Sevoal are falling back in disarray.”
Bo shook Balthus’ shoulder and pointed to the rise beyond the Sevoal camp. “What in the hell are those?”
A roaring horde of green-skinned, club-wielding monsters rushed down the rise into the Sevoal encampment.
“Morgur!” yelled Dieya, leaping in the air with joy. “Perfect. With the Morgur at their backs and Valerian hitting them from the side, we can crush them between us! Let’s clear the gate.” Dieya rushed off and Bo and Rory hurried to gather their men.
Balthus glanced at Adrianna. Hair disheveled, face dirty and blood-spattered, she smiled. He thought she had never looked so beautiful. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Maybe this insanity will be over soon.”
“Yes,” she answered and squeezed his arm. “We can finish this today.” They ran down the parapet stairs to join the men.
Rory was the first to have his men in formation and ready to move out. The mercenary captains were still gathering their individual units together.
“Rory,” said Dieya, “I would fight with your men.”
“They would be honored, Sir.”
Dieya noted three “Sorcerer’s Fists” tied to one side of Rory’s waist and a smoking rope on the other. “Ready for anything, Strikedag?”
Rory nodded. “Always.”
“Then let’s move out. There’s a Sevoal sitting on a mound outside that I need to have a word or two with.”
“Aye aye, Sir,” he said, snapping off a crisp salute.
Balthus and Adrianna joined Rory and Dieya at the head of the column.
“You two are not leaving us out of the fun,” said Balthus.
Rory nodded acceptance.
When the gates were cleared, Rory had his men jog through in a column of threes, with himself, Dieya, Adrianna and Balthus at the head. They had to slow around the still-burning battering ram.
“Keep your eyes on the man in front of you!” yelled Rory as they ran past the carnage just beyond the gate.
His orders were repeated down the column. Several who didn’t heed his orders fell out to vomit their breakfast.
The battlefield was different than it looked from the parapets. Down here, the stench of blood and death was everywhere, combined with the smell of smoke and defeat. The troops ran past the stake pits and Rory formed them into a line.
Dieya looked to see how Valerian’s troops were doing. The Sevoal arrows had blunted the knights’ charge, but they still made good headway. A large group of mounted Sevoal swarmed into the knights’ formation, flowed in through the gaps and fired with deadly precision at point blank range. The charge faltered and became a mounted melee, knights’ swords against the axes and arrows of the Sevoal. Dieya watched as a Sevoal warrior leaped onto the back of a knight and split his helm and the skull beneath, only to be hacked down from behind by another knight’s sword.
Dieya glanced at the Sevoal camp. He could hear the war cries of the Morgur in the distance and smiled. Morgur were the bogeymen Sevoal mothers frightened their children with when they were bad. Joy mingled with pride filled Dieya as he saw only a few Sevoal warriors stand to fight the Morgur – most ran.
The smoke lessened as they marched outward. Dieya pointed to the mound where Ta’Lon stood, unmoving. “There! I must go there! If we can cut off the head, the body will die!” He broke into a run and Rory’s men followed.
The Sevoal warriors saw their intent and formed a blockade around the mound to protect their leader. Dieya’s speed outpaced the advancing infantry and he alone attacked the Sevoal line. The axes of the Sevoal warriors were no match for his flashing blades, but as he waded deeper into their lines, he found himself surrounded and fighting on all sides.
“Faster, men!” yelled Rory. Just before the lines crashed together, the Sevoal leader strode to the end of the mound and held up his arms.
“Hold!” he shouted. The attack on Dieya ceased and the warriors backed away, leaving him the bull’s eye in a circle of warriors. “He is mine!” yelled Ta’Lon.
“Halt!” ordered Rory. The two lines of enemies faced each other only feet apart.
Ta’Lon walked off his mound and approached Dieya with long determined strides, Sevoal warriors moving out of his way. Ta’Lon stopped to grab an axe from one warrior, then one from another.
Across the battlefield the word spread like a hushed sigh. Warriors stopped in the midst of fights and backed away from their opponents to watch the outcome of the duel, for duel it was sure to be. The only fighting still going on was at the rear of the Sevoal camp. The Morgur didn’t care about a human duel.
As Ta’Lon approached Dieya, the ring widened around the combatants, one side comprised of Sevoal warriors, the other of Balthus, Adrianna, Rory and his infantry.
“So, Aberration,” said Ta’Lon, “it comes down to you and me, eh?”
“It’s always been between you and me,” said Dieya.
Ta’Lon adjusted his grip on the axes. “You cannot expect to beat me,” the Sevoal leader said with a sharp laugh.
“I don’t expect anything. It is a given. You are already a dead man.”
“Brave talk, little one. Come, taste my axe!” He leaped at Dieya, slashing down with one axe and sideways with the other. Dieya had just enough time to avoid the blows before Ta’Lon spun and began another attack. The swift clang of sword blocking axe and axe blocking sword rang continuously. The blows came so fast that the combatant’s arms were blurs. This frenzied pace went on for several minutes, longer than any other man could have sustained, then they broke apart. Dieya was breathing heavily. Ta’Lon wasn’t as winded.
“You cannot beat me, Aberration. The Masters have created me to be the bane of such as you.”
Dieya wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Are they the masters you have never even seen? Perhaps they are a figment of your twisted mind.”
Ta’Lon scowled. “Come, let me end you. You cannot win. You Aberrations are too predictable.” With that, he mounted a furious attack on Dieya, driving him backward toward the mound.
Swords and axes flashing in the sunlight, the combatants fought on. The crowd surrounding the fighters yelled encouragement mixed with cries of wonder at a sudden attack or clever parry.
Dieya was tiring. Everyone could see it. The sheer bulk
of the Sevoal leader was overwhelming.
Finally the end came. Dieya and Ta’Lon locked weapons and stood toe to toe, pushing against each other.
“This is when you die,” said the Sevoal leader. With a mighty shove, he threw Dieya to the ground. Dieya landed hard on his back, his breath rushing out in a loud whoosh.
“You Aberrations are so predictable,” said Ta’Lon and raised his axe.
Dieya dropped one sword and with a quick motion, threw dirt into the face of the Sevoal leader. Ta’Lon jerked up his arm to protect his eyes and Dieya threw his other sword. The whirling blade stopped with a loud “thunk” as it buried itself into the center of Ta’Lon’s chest.
“How’s that for predictable?” said Dieya, rising to his feet.
Ta’Lon stared at the handle of the sword protruding from his chest and sank to his knees. Surprise flashed over his face as he looked up at Dieya. Blood trickled from his mouth as he gasped, “You still can’t win…” He reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a small silver box with one large black button in the center. He smiled, pushed the button, and fell face forward. The small box took one bounce and landed at Dieya’s feet.
The Sevoal warriors were stunned.
“Ocaow is dead!” shouted one warrior.
Dieya watched the warriors. He didn’t know if they would attack to avenge their leader or run.
With a loud buzz and flash, an eight-by-twelve foot rectangular blue field sprang into existence next to Ta’Lon’s mound. Flashes of white swirled in the blue rectangle. All eyes stared at the magic in their midst.
“Dimgate!” yelled Rory. Running through the parting Sevoal warriors toward the gateway, he snatched two Sorcerer’s Fists from his belt.
Out of the rectangle rolled two metal objects, man-sized and man-shaped. They moved forward slowly on their three metal treads.
The bane of humanity for the last two hundred and fifty years had arrived on Ravar.
“Battle droids!” yelled Dieya as he rushed them.
The scout battle droids rolled forward several feet then halted. A cup-shaped object revolving around one of the droid’s heads stopped, then pointed at the fallen Sevoal leader.
Rory and Dieya were the only ones moving. Everyone else stood still, surprise overwhelming panic. The battle droids noticed Rory’s movement and turned. They raised their laser weapons and tried to fire. It took their computers a mere micro-second to deduce that a field dampener made their lasers inoperable.
Rory, still charging forward, tossed two lit grenades between the battle droids. They ignored the smoldering tankards and the ends of their metal arms twirled to switch weapons.
They fired.
A row of bullets stitched across Rory’s chest as an explosion erupted between the battle droids. One blew over, a tread spinning uselessly, the other stood mangled and motionless.
Rory staggered forward, and lit his last grenade. He faltered as he neared the face of the dimgate, but with a yell, he tossed the grenade through. A quick flash filled the rectangle and the gateway winked out of existence. Rory took one final step, then collapsed in a heap.
“Rory!” yelled Balthus. He rushed to his fallen friend with Adrianna right behind but Dieya was the first to reach him. He gently turned him over and lifted his head. Balthus and Adrianna knelt beside Rory.
“Dieya,” said Balthus, “can you heal him?”
Dieya looked up, his eyes moist. “No. He’s already dead.”
Bo arrived on luseback and leaped off before the luse came to a halt. “Rory!” he yelled and ran toward them. He knelt next to Dieya and grasped Rory’s hand, then looked at Balthus.
“I’m sorry, son. He’s gone,” said Balthus.
Bo burst into tears and clutched Rory’s hand harder. “He was the best of us.”
“Aye Lad,” said Balthus. “That he was.”
Bo stood, wiped his eyes with his sleeve, and went to his luse. He took a bedroll from his saddle and covered Rory’s body. “Sir,” he said to Dieya, “please, let me take care of him.”
“Yes, I’d forgotten. He was one of your men.”
Bo shook his head. “No, Sir. He was my friend.”
Balthus stood and surveyed the battlefield. All combat had ceased. The Sevoal were scattering in every direction with no fight left in them. The mounted Sevoal had ridden northeast, pursued by a few knights who were quickly outdistanced. The siege towers were now nothing more than black ruins, with smoke drifting into the blue sky. Toward the east, the Morgur were looting the Sevoal camp. About a dozen walked toward them.
Dieya rose to meet them and nodded to the largest one in the center. “Welcome, Tolrak,” said Dieya.
“Watcher-Who-Comes,” answered Tolrak.
The other Morgur lowered their war clubs.
Dieya glanced down at the three Torbu skulls hanging from Tolrak’s belt. “War Leader Tolrak! You bring much honor this day to the Rak tribe.” He glanced at Tolrak’s band. “As do the cousins of the Rak tribe.” His eyes alighted on one Mogur and glanced at his belt. “Hotnac! You have made skull leader, I see. The Rak tribe chooses wisely.”
Hotnac raised his club in salute.
Dieya turned his attention back to Tolrak. “War Leader, why have you come to the aid of Watcher-Who-Comes this day?”
“We heard from the Molak tribe, those weaklings who trade with humans, that you would fight here. Watcher-Who-Comes helped the Rak tribe greatly in the Dark Wars. Gorak says we are in your debt. The Rak tribe pays their debts!”
“Yes, War Leader. And now, the debt is paid. You have gained the Rak tribe much honor today.”
Tolrak bared his teeth, the Morgur equivalent of a smile. He pointed to the Sevoal camp with his club. “The ehta riders have left much grob. What do we do with it?”
“The Rak tribe has earned all that is left in their camp,” said Dieya.
Tolrak again displayed teeth. “Then this has been a fine day for the Rak.” He held up a skin bag filled with liquid. “We have found much of this white drink!” He opened the skin and poured a generous amount down his large gullet, spilling most onto his chest. “We would know the name of this mother’s milk that acts like tanga!”
Dieya smiled. “That is called burkala, my friend. But be careful. If you drink too much, in the morning your head will feel like it has been hit with a Rak war club.”
“Ah!” grunted Tolrak, nodding. “Watcher-Who-Comes, we will stay where the ehta riders camped and in the morning we will go back to our holding.” Tolrak held up the skin bag. “But tonight we will drink all the ‘burkala’ we cannot carry home. Come drink with us. A great victory should end with a great feast!”
“Yes, War Leader of the Rak. I will come and we will tell each other of our valor this day.” He turned and looked at Rory’s body being placed on Bo’s luse. “And we will drink to those who have fallen.” He stepped backward a few steps and held his arms in the air with clenched fists. “Hail to the Rak!” The Morgur held their clubs high and grunted in answer.
Dieya rejoined his friends as Bo led his luse back toward the castle. Balthus and Adrianna flanked the luse, each with a hand on Rory’s body. They walked slowly and silently.
Balthus’ men spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening hauling away the remains of the siege engines and cleaning up bodies for the pyres. The worst were the remains of the holocaust at the gate. Dieya asked volunteers to do the work and slipped each several silvers after they finished. With guards no longer needed to man the walls, the cleanup finished quickly. Everyone pitched in, even the townspeople. Everyone, that is, except the knights.
Balthus, Adrianna, and Dieya were out on the battlefield supervising the work when Balthus glanced up at an approaching rider.
“Well, look who’s decided to lend us a hand,” said Balthus.
Valerian, resplendent in shining armor,
a clean white tunic and a new white feather atop his helm, rode toward them.
“You don’t think he is going to help us and possibly get dirty do you?” said Adrianna.
Balthus’ eyes narrowed as he watched Valerian approach.
“Oh, he’ll get dirty all right. Trust me on that. I have a thing or two to ask him about this morning’s fight. Like, why he ran out on us without a word.”
“Balthus,” said Dieya, “if I asked a favor of you, would you do it?”
“Of course, Dieya. Anything at all… Maybe,” said Balthus.
“I will have to work with Valerian in the future, rebuilding the King’s Arm. Perhaps you will, too. He is a pompous ass, but please don’t tell him that to his face. He has an established place in the King’s court and is needed by the realm at the moment. Please put aside his self-serving behavior in today’s battle and be polite.”
Emotion boiled over Balthus’ face. Then he bit his lip and grimaced. “Sorcerer, you have asked us to do some hard things, but I think this is the hardest.” He stared at the ground, then nodded. “It will be as you ask.”
Valerian rode up and halted. Balthus walked to Valerian’s side, his face a blank.
“So, Sir Sorcerer. Was it not like I told you?” said Valerian. “One charge was all it took to rout the savages.”
“Sir Valerian, it took quite a bit more than that, I am sure you will remember,” said Dieya.
The Knight waved his hand as if brushing away a fly. “Yes, yes, all were necessary. If you have no further use for the King’s Arm, I and my men will withdraw tomorrow to Jarvus.”
“Fine idea, Valerian. We’ll see you at the Baron’s victory celebration later this evening.”
With a tip of his head to Balthus and Adrianna, Valerian turned and rode off.
“Balthus, you were marvelous,” said Adrianna, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.
“Yes, I am very pleased,” said Dieya. “Thank you for your forbearance.”
Balthus and Adrianna stared at Dieya, then burst out laughing.
Dieya looked perplexed. “What? Did I miss something?”
The pair flanked Dieya, and Balthus placed his hand on Dieya’s shoulder. He gestured to the retreating figure of Valerian. “How could I say anything bad about that fine figure of a man? That King’s Champion. That, that – ”
At that moment, Valerian and his saddle slid off his luse, unfortunately choosing a burned area of grass to fall into. A cloud of soot and dust announced his collision with the earth.
“– that no-longer-clean Knight of the Realm,” said Adrianna.
They howled with laughter as Dieya stood stunned, staring at Valerian. The Knight picked himself up and tried to brush off the black soot that covered his entire body.
“You cut his girth strap!” exclaimed Dieya.
“Me?” asked Balthus innocently. “That is something that could have been done any time today. And you accuse me?” He looked at Adrianna. “Although, it does take a master to cut through just enough of the strap to drop your man in exactly the right spot.” He pulled her away from Dieya, put an arm around her waist and they walked back to the castle.
Dieya couldn’t stop the smile that blossomed on his face.