by Glynn James
“Three rows of shields, a dozen a row, plus maybe forty bows. Eighty at most,” said Solomon, who was standing nearby. “Doesn’t seem that much.”
Jonah nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. We’ve got triple that number back here. You should climb down. With that leg injury…”
“Is it possible they don’t have the numbers we feared?” Declan asked, ignoring the comment.
“You tell me,” Jonah said, smiling at the young man’s tenacity. “You saw the camp.”
“We saw the camp while we were travelling, sure,” replied Declan. “There were more than this, I’d swear it. But who knows if they sent them all here?”
“We wait,” said Jonah. “No doubt more will show their faces when the attack comes. These are slow moving, probably just to weaken us.”
“If they can,” said Solomon.
“If they can,” echoed Jonah. “Make sure everyone back there knows to stay under shield or other cover. They have a lot of bows out there, and I doubt they will be firing straight at the wall. We wait until they reach the marker. Eighty yards.”
At a hundred yards from the wall, twenty short of the hidden marker that he had placed the day before, the front row of the Cygoa halted and the shields lowered to the ground, the men behind them crouching low. Then the other rows of warriors did the same. No sooner than the last row had stopped and the arrows began to fly.
“Everyone down!” Jonah shouted as he crouched behind the barrier, his shield held above his head. Many arrows thudded into the wooden wall, and one thrust all the way through, its point just inches from Jonah’s knee. He moved back half a step and then crouched lower, glancing behind him. No one had been injured in that volley, but before he could react and send a volley in return, another flight of arrows loosed from the enemy ranks. Then he heard the noise of thudding boots on the causeway road, and took a risk to glance up. The first two rows of warriors had lifted their shields once more and were now running towards the barrier.
“Damn it,” he cursed, taking cover once more as another flight of arrows thudded into the wood around him. This time, a hunter at the other end of the barrier cried out, pierced through his shield and into his shoulder by a long shaft of wood. The man fell back, tumbling off the platform.
They were pinned down and the enemy was already approaching. The arrows were coming in too fast, not leaving enough time, but Jonah knew they had to do something or this could be a victory for the Cygoa even though they were outnumbered.
“Ready bows!” he bellowed, casting aside the shield and pulling his own bow from his back. More arrows swept in from the enemy lines, and this time more of the defenders fell, but when Jonah stood up and shouted “Aim,” many still stood. Even though another flight of arrows was already coming from the enemy lines, his bowmen still stood.
“Loose!” he shouted. “Get down!” and he ducked as more arrows flew past him. “Damn it we should have fired earlier!”
Solomon nodded and glanced at the hunters gathered in the area behind the wall. Jonah also looked back. They still had many more hunters than the enemy, but the front row of shields was closing fast.
“Aim for the hunters at the back, high shots,” he called. “Fire at will.” They would have to deal with the charge when it hit the wall; for now, the enemy bows were the worst threat. He looked out at the causeway, and saw that many of his own hunters had hit the mark, far more than he had expected. A dozen of the enemy bowmen already lay on the ground, pierced by Elk arrows. And now the hunters behind the wall began a ceaseless volley. Cygoa bowmen fell fast with no shields to protect them, and even the last line of Cygoa shields began to falter and break apart.
“Spears!” Jonah shouted, dropping the bow at his feet. Below him, the Cygoa hit the wall, sending a shock along the line. A dozen heavily armored warriors thudded into the wooden defense, followed by another dozen. That was when the ladders appeared. He had not seen them behind the Cygoa shield wall, but now, four ladders, at least twenty feet long, were pulled up against the wall from behind the shield line and dropped onto the barricade, and the first of the Cygoa leapt onto the rungs and began to climb rapidly.
Jonah snatched his spear from the floor and lifted it high, ignoring arrows that whizzed past him. He aimed the tip downward, toward the first Cygoa on the ladder, and thrust it hard toward the man’s face. The warrior shifted his weight sideways and the spear tip slammed into his shoulder, piercing him so that the spearhead burst from his upper back. He flailed and screamed, falling back on those behind him, and the spear was wrenched from Jonah’s grasp to fall below. Another Cygoa raced up the ladder, pushing the dying man aside. Jonah grasped for his axe and was about to swing, when another spear came from next to him as an Elk warrior joined him at the wall. All along the front line the Cygoa were falling from the ladders, struck down by attacks of greater numbers on the wall.
It was all happening too quickly, and Jonah struggled to gain his bearings. He took a deep breath, grasping his axe, and looked out over the causeway. The enemy archers were decimated, and barely a dozen still stood. Some turned and fled but were cut down by arrows from his hunters; others crouched behind shields taken from their dead comrades, and below, the enemy shield warriors were dwindling fast.
Jonah frowned. Where was Carlossa? The tall warrior was nowhere to be seen. Surely he should have been with his men, and even leading the assault? But this attack was almost suicidal. Yes, he admitted that the initial arrow strikes had caught them by surprise—it had happened so quickly—but now the enemy were failing fast, dying as they fled in most cases, and the defenders had taken very few casualties. There were no other warriors joining them, no reinforcements. He had expected to see more warbands come out of the woods to follow these, but nothing came.
Something was wrong.
This isn’t right, he thought. Where are the rest? Where is Carlossa?
There was a moan to his left, and Jonah glanced down to see Solomon lying on the platform, grasping at his leg. Jonah crouched beside him, forgetting about the Cygoa defeat for a moment. “Is it bad?” he asked.
“Don’t think so,” said Solomon. “Just through the muscle, not the bone. Shouldn’t be too bad, but walking will sting for a bit. How the hell did I manage to get shot in the leg behind a barricade?” Solomon laughed. “Looks like that’s two of us not running anywhere fast.”
“Is it over?” Declan asked, arriving at their side. “They’re running. At least what’s left of them. No more than a dozen left alive, I’d say.”
“It doesn’t seem right,” said Jonah. “This was too damn easy.”
“And where the hell is that big fella?” asked Solomon. “Didn’t see him in line with his men.”
Then they heard it in the distance, loud enough that the noise echoed over the top of the cries of the wounded that surrounded them. A horn, blowing a long note that carried on and on. It was distant, very far away, and Jonah looked over the causeway. No, it wasn’t from that direction. It was farther away.
“That’s to the north,” said Declan. “That’s from...”
“The other causeway,” said Jonah.
“What? What does that mean?” asked the boy.
“It means we’re on the wrong damn causeway,” cursed Solomon.
“This was a feint,” said Jonah. “We’re in the wrong place. Oh gods. Everyone to the camp! Move!” He leapt from the palisade, landing hard on the ground below, and ran to the road that led to the camp, dodging past other warriors who were only just hearing his call to follow. Then they were running, all of them, through the forest and along the road.
Only fifty warriors are with the Nikkt , he thought. Maybe another fifty at the camp. Even if the Cygoa struggle to get across the broken causeway, they could still get to the camp faster than he.
Tricked twice. He cursed as he ran onward.
Chapter 46
Bloody fools.
Jonah had fallen to the same egotistical weakness that could bring dow
n Morlan as well. Carlossa would never speak of such things in his leader’s presence, but he could see the way the man’s attitude had shifted. The command and the power clouded his judgment, and that same strategy had worked on the leader of the Elk.
It had come at a cost. Carlossa knew he would lose some of his fiercest warriors, the men who minutes ago had rushed headlong into battle on the southern causeway without considering the consequences, without realizing that there were not more men coming behind them. Those types of soldiers would be the first to volunteer at the attack on the southern causeway. They would carry the shields and be the first ones to run up the makeshift ladders, taking spears and arrows in the chest if necessary. And the dogs. Months of training and yet they were left with nothing more than two or three who jumped into the lake and had probably drowned. The costs were huge, but if this worked, and he managed to defeat the clans with their unexpected superior numbers, then it would all be worth it.
Carlossa watched the frantic movement at the end of the northern causeway, through the trees, wishing that he could see the southern causeway from his current vantage point, wishing that he could have witnessed the glory of his men as they fought and died. But the forest obscured the view of the southern end of the lake. But the noise had carried. He had heard it come to pass, and he had heard the noise end. He signaled the beginning of the real assault.
The Elk leader had placed warriors on the north causeway; he wasn’t a total idiot. However, Carlossa could see that the numbers were too low to stand even the slightest of chances. They had built up defenses there as well, but nothing compared to the barricades on the southern causeway. He had heard the horn blow, just moments before, so the battle was now on. Jonah would know now. He would know how he had been played. A scout had told Carlossa that the man known as Donast of the Nikkt had blown his horn, alerting the entire lake and the forests around them of the attack coming from the unexpected direction. It was bound to happen, and Carlossa had honestly expected it sooner. Either Donast had not been paying close attention or the clans of the Elk had truly been completely duped.
He looked along the causeway and then back into the forest near the edge of the lake, at his men, formed into groups and ready to charge. The Elk must have made the same misjudgment as he had initially, thinking the causeway too damaged but passable. But, his scouts had told him otherwise. The flood water was no more than a foot deep in the worst places, and apart from the broken ground, there was little to stop them from crossing. Now Carlossa would lead them into the heart of the camp, and that would curry him favor with Morlan. The bastard priest, Gaston, could go to hell. It would not be because of his silly book or worthless charms that the Cygoa would claim victory over the Elk. Morlan would see that it had been earned by Carlossa’s men.
“Now?”
“Yes,” said Carlossa to one of his lieutenants. “Call forth and send them on to the causeway in full numbers.”
The Cygoa warrior spun around and with a flurry of hand signals, hundreds of armed warriors who had been in hiding, got to their feet.
Carlossa looked at a few dozen Nikkt warriors who had walked out from the barricades and stood shoulder to shoulder with their weapons. But they had only left the safety of their defenses when they believed the main attack was coming from the other causeway. As more Cygoa warriors gathered and formed into battle lines, Carlossa could see the fear on the Nikkt warriors’ faces as he approached.
“Spare none. Attack!”
The men roared and ran past Carlossa, their spears lowered and their axes raised. Without numbers, the small band of warriors Jonah had left on this causeway was now staring at the rabid men who would stand over their lifeless bodies.
The barrier loomed ahead as he jogged through the flood water and across the broken ground, three rows behind the first of his men. He would lead, but not from the very front. No, only the most foolish of leaders would stand on the front line. As the other end of the causeway drew closer, the rows of men in front of him screamed and leapt upon the defenders. Carlossa ran forward and thrust his spear through a man’s chest. He twisted his hips to the left and pushed the man off the causeway and into the water below. Two more Nikkt warriors rushed him, and twice more he bloodied his spear and threw the dying men into the lake.
He looked up and made eye contact with Donast, the leader of this band and the man who had likely had blown the horn. Carlossa had no doubt that Jonah had heard the blast, and by now, he would have figured out the ruse. But by the time he brought his Elk warriors to the fight, Carlossa would already be setting fire to their camp.
“Run,” Carlossa heard Donast say to one of his men whose face had been covered in blood. “Get to the camp and tell people to flee or die.”
Carlossa shook his head as he took three steps closer to Donast. “It doesn’t matter now. Your people will fall. And you will die where you stand.”
“Jonah is coming. He is bringing our army with him.”
“And they won’t be here in time to save you.”
Carlossa took another step closer until he could smell the body odor and fear on the Nikkt leader. It was a shame he would have to kill this man, because he was not originally of the Elk. And because of that, Carlossa hesitated. He had seen Morlan take in others, increasing the size of their army. But this clan had a reputation, and Carlossa knew they would choose to die on this causeway rather than join the Cygoa.
“Tell me,” Carlossa said. “Did Jonah truly believe the main attack would come from the south?”
“I will tell you nothing.” Donast raised his sword and pointed the tip at Carlossa.
Carlossa laughed as another Nikkt warrior cried out and rolled down the side of the causeway to his death.
Donast swung his blade at Carlossa’s neck. Carlossa raised his left arm, the one holding the spear, and blocked the attack. He then lunged forward and drove the heel of his boot into the side of Donast’s knee, dropping the man into the dirt. Carlossa followed up with several more kicks to the man’s groin and ribs.
He glanced quickly around. His men had slaughtered the last of the Nikkt warriors defending the causeway. They had begun to pull apart the barricade that was now the only thing between them and the main Elk camp. By the time they finished tearing it down, the other Cygoa regiments would be close.
He knelt, grabbed Donast’s sword, and tossed it into the lake. Carlossa grabbed the man by his hair and twisted his head until he could see his frantic, bloodshot eyes.
“Jonah’s clan killed our people. Some of them still walk with you, and they will be the first to die. Before you pass, know that I will give you the respect deserved by a worthy foe. But what those monsters do with your corpse after we leave, that will not be on my conscience.”
Despite his injuries and his own looming mortality, Carlossa saw understanding in Donast’s eyes. The beasts who lived beneath the earth would come, and they would harvest the dead. He wasn’t sure how that aligned with the philosophy of the Nikkt people. But that was not his concern. Carlossa believed that promising a swift end to an enemy on the battlefield was more than any warrior could ever ask for.
“Do it, you son of a bitch. Your false sense of duty to the warrior’s code disgusts me, and it will not be the last thing to fill my ears as I pass from this world to the next.”
Before Carlossa could grab his wrist, Donast reached to his belt and wrapped his fingers around his horn. He brought it up to his lips and blew the beginning of a strong, deep note as Carlossa’s blade sliced across his throat.
The sound died in the horn, and Donast’s eyes went wide as he dropped it. Carlossa watched as blood spurted from the man’s neck and gradually slowed into a short, rhythmic pulse. Donast’s eyes remained open while his breathing slowed.
He stood up and did a quick count, noticing only two Cygoa bodies lying on the causeway. The rest of his band had opened the barricades and stood there, waiting for his command to move into the Elk camp.
“Go,” Carlo
ssa said. “We all need to be off this causeway before the Valk come for their spoils.”
Chapter 47
Gideon stood and turned to look through the trees toward the north causeway. From his position along the shore from the south causeway, perched at the end of a small peninsula that jutted out into the lake, he could see both causeways, although the one in the north was half a mile away. The surface of the lake was calm and flat, as it had been since they had first arrived and settled south of the marina, and Gideon often spent his day fishing along this shore.
Today his fishing spot had become the prime seat in the war against the Cygoa, and Gideon had been forbidden from taking to either of the walls on the two causeways, but that hadn’t stopped him from carrying weapons and being ready, should he be needed, but he had been disappointed at his chances of getting into combat when the battle on the southern causeway had turned into a slaughter of Cygoa.
