A Warrior's Path Page 36

  “Ready the catapults!” the king shouted eagerly. The trebuchets had shown their deadly range. Now the catapults, which did not fire quite as far but were faster to load, were prepared for their battle debut. Orbein watched impatiently as his enemy regrouped and continued their charge.

  “Shall I ready the men to meet them, sire?” Vethisir asked eagerly.

  The king held up his hand in a signal of delay. “Wait,” he said with a smile. “Let the machines of war do their work. If our enemy is so fond of fire, we shall give them fire.”

  Laernus noticed that the general seemed disappointed at this, then he shot the seer a sly grin. The wizard scowled back at Vethisir resentfully. It revolted him to think of how much pleasure the general no doubt took having him in such a vulnerable position. On the one hand, Laernus wanted to close his eyes and foresee what this day might bring, but on the other he did not want to know. It all led to a sense of distraction that would have made it impossible even if he could make up his mind. He just tried to accept that he would know by the end of the day what fate awaited him.

  * * *

  Etrusin shouted out orders, trying to organize the ranks around the still burning fires. For a while it was chaos. Scorched warriors lay motionless on the ground, or stumbling painfully through the crowd. Flames leapt from the bubbling masses of pitch on the ground. The whole scene seemed eerily like the aftermath of a battle with Reisothin. The image chilled him to the bone, but he did not let it pull his attention away from his duty.

  Order began to be regained as the remainder of the army marched around the fire. Some of them stopped to aid the injured. Etrusin and Komeris rode through the ranks quickly to make sure that the bulk of their force did not lose their focus on what lay ahead. As they coordinated the help to the wounded, Komeris came upon Urietsin, who was assisting an elf with a badly singed soldier.

  The Swift One looked up at the captain with an anguished expression. Komeris knew what thoughts plagued the young warrior. Urietsin felt responsible for the scorched woman he helped the elf drag away from the flame, for he had started this march. Even if she survived, the severe burns covering her body would drastically change her life forever. There were many such brave warriors lying in the blackened grass. Urietsin keenly sensed all of their pain.

  “Come, Swift One,” the captain called firmly, having accepted that to overcome such emotions was a valuable lesson for a warrior. “We will need you in the battle.”

  Urietsin sadly looked down at the woman, then apologetically at the elf. The Shionen nodded his head reassuringly. The Swift One left the soldier in the elf's hands and marched off to find the priests. For the second time today, anger displaced his sadness. First they had taken his master, now they savaged his people.

  These enemies would pay.

  When he found the keepers of the horn, they all rejoined the march. The Swift One watched with a mounting sense of purpose as he saw other priests kneeling in prayer for the healing power of their god. With them were a few elves, healers in their own fashion, and other soldiers to tend to the fallen and the dead. In total, five score fewer soldiers pressed on, though many who had rejoined the ranks were injured. It had only been minutes since the rain of fire, but it had all played out so slowly in Urietsin's mind. The sluggish pace of time continued as the Swift One forged ahead within the ranks of Kesitul's army.

  * * *

  The restoration of order became clear as Orbein watched the approaching line. Such excitement welled within him as he had never felt before. The fools were coming ever closer and into a greater danger than they faced from the trebuchets. He and practically his entire army held their breaths as their enemy came closer to doom.

  “Light the volley!” the king called out eagerly.

  “Sire,” Laernus said with caution.

  Orbein leveled a threatening gaze on him.

  The wizard's sense of self preservation reared. “I beg your forgiveness, highness, but they are yet too far for the catapults,” he said, hoping the king would heed, and be grateful for, the good advice.

  Orbein glanced back at the advancing line. They had picked up speed even in just these few seconds. To him they seemed tantalizingly close. A surge of hatred swelled up within him. He had seen the catapults perform their tests. They were close enough. He could wait no longer. “Fire!” he boomed unnaturally loudly.

  The missiles sailed over their heads, and they watched the balls of fire spread in the air on a path toward their target. The fire hit the ground and sent up plumes of smoke. Orbein squinted into the distance, uncertain of the damage. It took a few moments, but when he finally saw activity on the horizon, it became clear to him that this volley had not been nearly as successful as the first. It seemed that flaming pitch had different aerodynamic properties than small boulders. He cursed loudly.

  With a hint of lament, Laernus intoned, “As I said, too far.”

  The king's face contorted in rage, but his voice remained calm. “What was that?” he asked the seer.

  Laernus swallowed. “I only meant, if you had waited a moment longer...the next volley will devastate them, highness, I assure you,” he amended.

  Orbein's expression relaxed. “Ready the next volley!” he called out. “But leave one bucket empty.”

  The general and the seer both looked at the king quizzically.

  “Vethisir,” Orbein said evenly, “take Laernus to test the range of these machines firsthand.” A wicked grin spread across his face.

  * * *

  The army of humans and elves spread out in a wide formation at Etrusin's command. By the general's estimation, the enemy could probably only get one more volley off before it endangered its own troops. He wanted to quickly close the gap, but he understood that increasing the distance between soldiers would decrease the damage taken from the devastating weapons.

  As the warriors fanned out, the general led the charge onward. As expected, there came another set of fiery lights from the enemy. “Here they come!” shouted Captain Komeris, riding far to Etrusin's right.

  Larger holes opened up in the rows of soldiers as they fled the approximate area of impact. One roiling missile struck close to the front line, and Etrusin just barely galloped away from the explosion of sticky flames. He called out a battle cry, long and loud. They were too close to stop. Whatever casualties had been taken from this last attack would have to be tended to later. Now there was only one focus: the imminent battle before them.

  Fortunately, there had not been many casualties. The soldiers had heeded Etrusin well, and their instincts had saved them. A few were hit by splattering pitch, some seriously, but the rest of the army charged ahead. If these soldiers died, it would not be in vain. Those who witnessed the fall of their comrades were determined to survive so that they could honor the fallen as heroes. This promise to themselves added strength to each pounding step that brought them to their foe.

  They raced across the field, screaming as their last few steps brought the enemy looming before them. Suddenly, there was a chorus of clanging as weapons and armor met one another. The two sides rushed together, and the melee was on in full. Soldiers on both sides, trained in styles very distinct from one another, abandoned those styles in the confusion of bodies and metal that began the fight. Each warrior lost himself in the sea of opponents.

  * * *

  Vethisir watched from behind the line of catapults as the battle was joined. The cacophony of war echoed over the field, but was somewhat muted from his position. He watched as soldiers in the rear tried to position themselves closer to the fight. Behind him the Fiu-Het army stood still, watching the humans and elves fight one another.

  “What are you doing?” Laernus asked in confusion. While he was certainly grateful not to have been loaded onto the catapult, he was not at all certain how much longer he would remain alive. Every once in a while he could make out Orbein, riding just out of reach of the real fighting. Sooner or later he would notice them back here. Then he and the ge
neral would probably both be dead.

  General Vethisir gave the seer his sly smile again. He drew out his sword and pulled on the rope that bound Laernus. Slipping the sword through the bonds, he cut the man free and handed him the weapon. “I believe our time,” the general said in a voice that was not his own, “has finally come.”

  Laernus gaped as Vethisir's form became fluid and rippled into a familiar shape. “A-Agucho!” the wizard stuttered.

  The shapeshifter hobbled past the shocked seer. A thick scar ran across his neck where General Vethisir had almost decapitated him. Fortunately, the small strip of skin that kept his head attached had saved him. As he had once indicated to Laernus, it was not so easy to kill one of his race with a blade. It had felt good to stick his own curved dagger between Vethisir's ribs just as the general finished murdering his last soldier on their farcical scouting mission. The Fiu-Het knew something else that would feel even better.

  “My people!” Agucho called out in his own language. Hidden pockets under his chin ballooned out weirdly, amplifying his hissing screeches. “I told you once that I would show you the killer of our Prince Gayossha.” The shapeshifter pointed at King Orbein and the army of Niele'itio. “Go now and take your revenge on him and those that follow!” he cried.

  * * *

  Urietsin joined hands with the priests around the horn. A ring of soldiers stood around them, protecting them as they concentrated. The priests prayed to Minotros for strength and guidance, while the Swift One went within himself. He was surprised at how easily it suddenly came to him, given the hectic circumstances and his failure yesterday. Reaching out with his very spirit, he felt the true untapped power of the horn.

  The young warrior had been disappointed to see that the foes waiting for them on the other side of the field were human, but if they were allied with the shapeshifters, then they would feel his wrath as well. The Swift One wondered how to best use the power of Reisothin's horn against them. Humans did not fly, so fireballs in the sky would not be so effective.

  As Urietsin focused on the nuances of the horn's power, the priests started to chant as Kiusu had bade them the previous day. The rhythm of their chant swept up the Swift One in a mesmerizing swirl of energy. He could feel the vastness of infinity, and Reisothin's horn was one large pulsing light among many. The young warrior drew his spirit closer to it and saw it looming before him, as bright as the sun, as large as the very mountains themselves.

  But the Swift One did not let the magnificent sight hold him in awe. He reached out with his will and commanded it to obey. As he exerted his influence, it seemed as though the bright energy changed. It seemed to be a trick of perspective; the size of the pulsing brightness was a matter of his focus. Suddenly, it seemed small enough to fit in his hand. He could see tendrils of energy that spiked off of it in rapid, twirling bursts. It reminded him of his crystalline feather.

  As he had done with the feather, he manipulated the sphere of energy by simply perceiving it where he wanted it to be. Like the feather, it obeyed. Urietsin reached out and felt the enemies that were attacking his people. He moved the energy toward them.

  * * *

  “It seems my skill in divination has somewhat declined,” said Laernus, still amazed by Agucho's presence.

  Agucho offered a grin that was more grotesque than the one he had given as Vethisir. “I am glad you did not know,” he comforted. “It made things much more convincing.”

  The seer looked out at the battle. In the distance he saw Orbein trotting back and forth nervously on his horse. He had noticed the press of the Fiu-Het from the other side and did not look so smug anymore. “It's a shame,” Laernus finally said with a sigh. “I would have enjoyed killing him myself.”

  Agucho gave him a long hard look. “I do not care,” he said, his eyes gleaming, “as long as he dies.” With a leap he took to the air, wings sprouting from his back.

  Laernus watched him glide over the battle. The excess skin under shapeshifter's chin expanded with air again, but the seer could not hear his screeches over the din of the fighting. A few more Fiu-Het took wing and ascended to Agucho's side. Together they circled above King Orbein’s head.

  The king saw them and waved his sword threateningly. His mouth moved and a streaking light came from the tip of his weapon. The hovering shapeshifters scattered as the light burst into a shower of sparks. They wavered in their flight, but only for a moment, then they dove angrily. Long tentacles descended ahead of them and wrapped themselves around Orbein.

  Laernus watched in awe as he was reminded of the king's rarely seen magical skills, but was even more impressed at the ease with which the shapeshifters captured him. The seer was still blinking in disbelief as they carried Orbein through the air with a swoop and released their tentacles. The king fell a painful distance and landed with a thud before the seer.

  Orbein got to his feet slowly and dusted himself off. He eyed his captors warily as they fluttered to the ground and surrounded him and Laernus. With a sneer he spat blood from his fattening lip at them.

  “So, Laernus,” the king said still glaring at the Fiu-Het, “I see I underestimated you.”

  The seer shrugged.

  “Come,” Orbein said, “call them off. Together we can defeat the army of this wicked empire, as I planned. At the end of this battle awaits riches and glory you cannot imagine.”

  Laernus laughed, something he had not done in some time. “Highness, I could not call them off even if I wanted to. They are not under my command. And I think you might be surprised at what I can imagine.”

  The king scowled. “I see. So, am I to fight you then?” he asked, assessing the situation.

  Again, Laernus shrugged.

  Orbein laughed. “It's a shame we shall never know if you could have defeated me in a fair fight,” he taunted, indicating the waiting shapeshifters.

  The seer smiled. “I ask,” he said to the surrounding Fiu-Het, “that you do not act until the contest between me and the king is decided.”

  From behind him Agucho spoke. “Do as he asks.”

  Given the expression on his face, Orbein had clearly only just noticed Agucho's presence. The king simply shook his head, unable to find words bitter enough for this betrayal.

  Laernus took a preparatory stance, his sword up. “Ready?” he asked rhetorically.

  The king answered with a rapid gesture in the seer's direction and the shout of a word none of them recognized. Suddenly, the sleeveless, studded leather tunic that Laernus was wearing began to constrict in the most uncomfortable way.

  Understanding that more magic was afoot, the seer tore desperately at the side buckles of his armor. Meanwhile Orbein rushed at him. Laernus got his sword up at the last moment, though it pulled at the leather that was already squeezing his throat. The seer ran back and quickly undid the strap on his shoulder. His tunic practically popped off. Now he stood with no protection on his upper body, only a simple shirt.

  Orbein threw back his head and laughed.

  * * *

  O'eintsu pointed to the sky. “Shapeshifters!” the normally quiet warrior called out.

  Denlin nodded grimly as they watched the flying creatures dodge a small explosion of sparks, then dive with extended tentacles to carry off the mounted man on the opposition's side. He gripped his staff anxiously. He and O'eintsu were among the ring of warriors protecting Urietsin and the priests. They had yet to see any fighting, which was the cause of young Denlin's anxiety, but he knew how important his current position was.

  The two warriors, and much of the battlefield itself, gaped at the sudden appearance of a flaming prominence in the sky. A serpentine rivulet of fire snaked down from the clouds and wriggled its way into the enemy's ranks. Both Denlin and O'eintsu were too young to have seen Reisothin with their own eyes, but the dragon had been described in detail to them in stories. This was surely the Abomination's ghost, albeit a bit smaller.

  Even over the sound of the battle, they heard a great cry ris
e up from the other side as the fiery apparition slithered over the enemy lines. The two warriors looked at each other, then over their shoulders at Urietsin, who was standing serenely with his eyes closed. Even the priests around him stopped chanting to boggle at this latest miracle.

  From deep within himself, Urietsin could hear O'eintsu's shout. Indeed, his spirit sensed the presence of the shapeshifters as he expanded his influence outward. A twinge of anger rippled through his inner self, but it did not break his focus. He guided the spirit of the dragon through the sea of enemies that immediately endangered his friends and allies.

  “But look at them,” a voice inside him whispered. “Look at what they are doing.”

  It did seem strange to the Swift One that the hostility the shapeshifters emanated seemed to be directed at the same foes his own kin were fighting. He wondered if perhaps the army of Kesitul had been mistaken in their target. But then, there were the volleys of burning pitch that had descended upon them as they charged.

  “They betray their own allies,” the voice within explained. “Their dishonor knows no bounds.”

  Urietsin’s rage surged again. This time, it had the opposite effect of what he would have expected. The anger made him feel even more powerful, and he poured that energy into the task at hand. Out on the field the flaming serpent thrashed. A tall wave traveled its length, and its tail snapped into the air like a fiery whip. The tip of it came down and flicked at the edge of the shapeshifters' front line.

  * * *

  Komeris galloped across the battlefield, directing his horse to trample a prone enemy when he could. He glanced eastward to see if he could spot any of his old friends in the fray. He suddenly realized that his quick glance had lasted too long as his horse suddenly pitched forward. Reacting quickly, Komeris rolled with the fall. The back of his head struck the ground roughly, and his sword pressed into his left bicep, leaving a superficial slice. It disoriented him to say the least, but he quickly leapt to his feet at the ready. In front of him his horse lay, kicking frantically, a spear protruding from its ribs.