“Yes, we have drawn them in and Vespasian has taken the bait.”
“A battle on our terms then,” said Rondo, clapping his hands.
“Yes,” said Oberon, “I believe Vespasian will invade the forest. And we are ready for him.”
The small gathering of Riders and Cherubim sat well into the darkness, watching the army and warming themselves around a fire built high in a lookout tower. They shared the brandy and ate well, savoring the food as only those that have known death can. Ignatius pulled her in tight, wrapping them in the buffalo skin he had given her so that only their faces showed to the others. His hands felt good on her skin, and the brandy chased away the trauma in her mind, and she knew what he wanted.
Still, she thought what it meant to love such a one as this. He was a killer, as capable of making hard decisions and destroying an entire people with his mind as he was of taming griffins and hunting for his family. She let him hold her close, but they did not mate. The warrior in him understood her resistance, the pain in her mind, and for that she was thankful. They fell asleep, safe and warm even as the storm gathered just out onto the plains, waiting to break over the forest and the resistance it sheltered.
Chapter 23
O beron sat cross-legged on top of the tallest tree in that part of the forest. It had been struck by lightning, giving it a flat, broken off top. And still it is chief. He listened intently to the quiet of the woods, trying to keep his doubts from disturbing the moment. He knew the Southlander’s invasion of the forest was foolish on their part- winter was upon them and their phalanxes were far less effective in the crowded forest. I provoked them to foolishness. It had been his plan to draw them in, to be so bold as to force a third outcome to the war, and despite the challenges, he had succeeded. Still, his home was under attack by tens of thousands of Men and he had asked for it. Listen.
The Cherub opened his eyes, breathing a slow hunter’s breath. All around him, he could see his warriors above the barren forest canopy. The Cherubim perched on branches, the Nymphs stood on raised platforms or clung to ropes in delicate balance. The sight was special to the war chief, so many young warriors defending their homelands. They waited in silence where they could see each other but where they were obscured from the ground. Their scouts had informed them enemy scouts would be entering this area soon, and so they waited. Oberon closed his eyes again, working to listen to what the forest was telling him.
He had seen melting snow dripping down icicles and off of branches, the unlucky result of a warm spell he hoped would pass. He needed deep snow to bog down the Southerners. He could smell the leaves decaying underneath the snow, a reminder that they only had this one winter to take advantage of their mobility before spring turned the advantage back to the invaders. He could feel the sun on his leather headband, heating the blue gemstone there, but also a slight drifting of cold wind coming out of the west. He wondered if the wind was the first emissary from the big blizzards that sometimes came down over the mountains. He could hear that the birds had gone quiet and even the squirrels had stopped moving as a deer approached from the east. It isn’t a deer. He felt his heart beat accelerate the way it did when he knew an animal was approaching. His eyes snapped open but nothing else on his body moved. He could see one of them now, lightly armored scouts, darting from tree to tree. Overhead, a Rider appeared. Oberon’s eyes snapped upward, catching a glimpse of the sun glinting off a helmet where Erithea’s armor hooked down around the vicious beak. The Cherub saw that a spike had been added to the tail, as well as mail on the vital sides, and then the creature was gone.
The invaders below hadn’t even seen the creature. They were so intent on following the trail the raiders had taken as they escaped the day before that they didn’t look up until it was too late. Above them, three of Strato’s warriors dropped from their perches, silently gliding through the forest as if pursuing a deer. Each held a javelin in their hand. One of the Men sensed the attack, but with their speed and at a range of just a few feet, the Cherubim could not miss as they raced through the forest. Oberon heard one of the Men shout, then, silence. The Nymphs dropped down to collect the weapons, armor, and clothing with ruthless efficiency. Then, he watched as they hacked the heads from the bodies. Fear is a good weapon. He remembered the careless conceit Vespasian had shown by keeping the skulls of Northerners at the foot of his throne. He did not like the idea but could not argue with its merits. The chief knew his entire plan revolved around the will of the enemy. He reasoned that if the sight of these headless bodies or the skulls of their comrades reduced their will, it would shorten the distance to victory. Or, perhaps, if not victory, at least peace without surrender.
With the bodies moved further down the trail, his forces were moving back into position, anticipating the larger force that had been preceded by these scouts. They settled back to wait, sending horse mounted Nymphs to update the forces that were laying in ambush up and down the line in front of the Southlanders camp. Oberon fell back into his thoughts, thankful that they would soon have plenty of horses but worrying about the weather and the stamina of his people. The Blood Born strike forces and the Plainswatchers had been on the warpath for months and the watches, hunger, battles, and worry were taking a toll.
Thankfully, the Cherub didn’t have long to ruminate on their challenges. He could hear the approaching force long before he saw them, they were doing nothing to conceal their movements. They moved in a tight phalanx formation, their big shields held to the sides and in front to catch any surprise attacks. Behind them, Oberon could see two mounted soliders. Those riders were, no doubt, the source of the Men’s confidence because, at a moment’s notice, they could ride for endless reinforcements from the plains just a few hundred yards to the east. The column stopped when they found the bloody ground where their scouts had been killed, anxious eyes following the trail the bodies had taken along the trail deeper into the forest. The column broke apart, spreading around and into the woods near the ambush site as one of the mounted soldiers rode forward to investigate. Oberon estimated there were perhaps forty soldiers, but his view was obscured by the trees.
He knew they would spot one of the snipers above any moment, but then a shout rang out a dozen yards from the left of the trail followed quickly by a scream a few feet from the left. The traps. Oberon used the distraction to change his position, lifting his bow from where it rested on his lap. There was already an arrow knocked as he lifted it and drew it back to his cheek from a sitting position, holding his breath while he acquired his target. He tried to find the second rider through the trees but could only see the body of the horse. The Cherub paused, waiting for his quarry to present the opportunity. After a moment, the horse stepped backwards nervously after catching an unfamiliar scent wafting through the woods. Oberon let go, sending the arrow out across space and watching the fletching until it was lost in the horse’s head. The rider shouted as he tumbled sideways, and Oberon saw the confused heads of the soldiers snap from their wounded friends to the rear of the column.
Oberon began to nock a second arrow, moving to his feet and spreading his wings so that he could balance on top of the tree. Drawing his bow, he witnessed the rider swat at his neck and he knew the Nymphs were opening up with their blowguns. He fired again, this time seeing a Man go down when the arrow slipped in over his sword arm to strike him in the neck. The soldiers realized they had walked into an ambush and scrambled to form up. Their instinct to rush together exposed their backs and Oberon took advantage, losing two more arrows before the men took cover behind their shields.
The chief sensed that it would now become costly to attack but he soon recognized the value of the Nymph’s tiny poison darts and the traps laid by the Plainswatchers. The little darts slipped in easily around the Men’s armor and shields, and as the phalanx tried to retreat, the outer edges, where the large square of soldiers extended beyond the trail, began to go down as they stepped into punji pits or pricked themselves on poison coated brush. Where
the Men fell, Cherubim were waiting with arrows or javelins to attack their exposed comrades. After progressing just a few yards, they began to go down in such numbers that the phalanx was forced to stop. They pulled in closer, lengthening the column up and down the trail until they were just three across.
Oberon moved down, gliding to where he could get a better angle. As he moved closer, he noticed his forces staying back, up in the branches. Looking at the Men where they hunkered behind their shields, he realized his own forces had nothing to fear. He moved down until he was hanging from the lowest branches, just a few feet above the Men. He could sense their growing panic, the fear in the voices as they shouted to each other, communicating their positions and urging each other not to break rank. Oberon shot a man as easily as if he were a straw target, mere feet away. His forces came down closer, like lions suddenly realizing their prey was too wounded to fight back.
Then, there came a whooshing sound as a female Cherub released a great battering ram that had been aligned with the trail. It swung down, attached to kudzu vines, and smashed into the concentrated soldiers. Oberon was close enough to see it break them, to see eyes pop out of sockets and splintered shields slicing through their owners bones. Sensing a mass of destruction to their rear, the soldiers that remained standing could no longer maintain discipline and broke, running blindly back through the forest. Some stumbled, succumbing to the poison coursing through their veins. Others ran into traps, impaling themselves, until there was only a small handful for the Cherubim to chase down. Oberon watched in stunned silence, sensing that his forces were equally shocked by the ease with which they had butchered the phalanx. We won’t be able to carry this much armor.
The war chief’s mind raced comprehend the success of this little ambush. He watched his forces pulling the booty up into the trees. As they cut off their victim’s heads he could already see it getting easier for them, dehumanizing the Men they had killed. He joined in, retrieving his arrows while carefully avoiding the poison darts and traps. Looking down at one of those he had killed he thought about Vespasian, about the sacrifices that had been made to achieve a battle ground so very much in their favor. His katana made severing the head easy. Too easy. Then, horses were appearing to draw away the bodies and the warriors were preparing to repeat their ambush a third time.
He left them there, gliding North through the forest and watching the skies for a Rider who could provide him with an update. He thought about the killing of the Caipora, the capture of the herd, Atlas hitting Vespasian’s supply lines, their victories against phalanxes in the open plains. All because of the Cherubim. He knew he had left Vespasian with only one conclusion. If he wants to hold the North, he must destroy my people. That conclusion had led to this forest invasion, the one battle Oberon believed could bring about a negotiation that would leave the North as trading partners rather than a subjugated colony. We must break them now.
He moved through his natural habitat, passing Dwarves running along walkways in the trees and Giants positioned to block holes in their defenses. The warm winter air felt good on his grey wings. While he moved, he couldn’t help but think about Ignatius’ words from the night before. You cannot win by killing this army. We must kill them all. Ignatius had offered him a weapon that went beyond the violence of a warrior. It was an attack of the mind, something imagined they could make real. He thought about how Ignatius had disobeyed him, disobeyed the tribe, saving Fort Hope in the process. He remembered Wotan, Parfey, and Ryogen, and tried to decide if destroying the South completely was what they had died for. Is it worse to kill them by the thousands with our hands, or by the millions with our minds?
He reached the outpost of Plainswatchers where Caldera was stationed and resolved to ask his mate for guidance. Oberon hadn’t seen her since arriving from his raid on Therucilin and secretly hoped her position would not be the point where the main thrust of the invasion would occur. He saw her there, standing on the forest floor, spear in hand. The war chief flew down, landing behind her quietly where he could take in her marvelously tanned skin and taunt, warrior’s body.
“Oberon,” she whispered. “I know the sound of those wings.”
He stepped forward, his feet sinking in the snow, his arm coming over her shoulder and locking under her arm so that he pulled her in tight. She sank back into his strong arms and they breathed in each other’s scent, looking out into the barren forest. Then she turned and kissed him with the passion of a woman whose partner had just returned from war. He kissed her back with the love of a male that wasn’t sure if he would return to find what he fought to protect. He leaned back, taking in the Nymph like beauty of his Human lover’s dark blue eyes. For a moment he was back there, among the Northmen when he had first spotted her up on the arch over the cliff dwellers. The Cherub could remember the colors of the cliffs, the look of her there and the way he had first taken her. Then he remembered her father, and the war came back. How to tell her.
She looked back at his blue eyes and reached up to adjust his hair so that it sat regally beneath his headband. His skin tingled at her touch and he quivered in ecstasy as her fingers moved down his neck, gently touching him in a way that nothing in the brutal world had since he had last seen her. Then, her hands were moving down his arms, tracing the muscles that stood out there, making him feel wanted, and finally settling onto the unhealed wound he had received outside of the Caipora’s barracks in Therucilin. Caldera’s eyes filled with worry as she traced the wound, eying the redness and sticky blood that still trickled from cracks in the scabs.
“Caldera, at Therucilin,” he began, forcing himself to tell her of her father’s death. But her finger moved up to his lips and she smiled.
“Not now my Chief. Right now, the North is your concern and I am your woman. There will be time for talk after, but for now, let us just be together for a moment so that you know I will still be here for you when this battle is done.”
He looked at her in amazement, wondering at the selfless way she understood him. She removes a burden so that I can be stronger for my tribe. He caressed her hair, moving his hands up and down her form and gazing at her longingly as she pulled a medicine pouch from her belt. Snatching his hand away, she forced him to eat and drink while she placed Nymph made medicine on his wound and dressed it with captured Southern cloth. When she was finished he stood, pulling her in and holding her for a brief moment of quiet where the war chief and fatherless warrior drifted away, replaced with a happy young Cherub and his mate. It only lasted a few seconds, and then he remembered the question he had wanted to ask. Looking down at the intoxicating Human warrior, he realized that just as she relieved some of his burdens, he couldn’t burden her with Ignatius’ weapon. It is my burden to carry, my decision to make.
Then he heard the subtle change in the forest, the quieting of the animals, the whispering echoes of the trees that were not caused by the wind. She sensed it too and reached for her spear before giving him a nod and a kiss. He smiled back at her, masking the fear he felt knowing she was in the path of danger, and then he ripped himself away. Darting off three trees, he made his way onto a raised platform where two Dwarves were looking out at a long line of approaching soldiers. Thousands.
The chief could see the line of Southlanders extending like a wave through the woods. Yetis spaced amongst the line of shields, their curved horns reaching up into the branches. The Men moved slowly, poking ahead of the line with their long spears, looking for traps. The line was only three men deep, two in some places, but from his vantage the Cherub could see they were supported by archers and cavalry in the rear. They’re learning already. Nymphs, Cherubim, and Dwarves evacuated along walkways in the trees and ran between fighting positions on the forest floor. They lobbed the occasional arrow but, Oberon noted with pride, they didn’t take risks or waste energy and resources when they couldn’t cause significant casualties. He could see how the line of soldiers would envelop pockets of resistance, folding in to encircle them, and he
supposed that Vespasian had realized he needed to launch a concentrated assault to prevent his forces from being ambushed in smaller groups. How far does he think he must penetrate to wipe us out? Closing his eyes, the war chief tried to imagine the column pressing deeper and deeper into the forest, becoming more and more extended and evermore susceptible to his forces and the weather.
When he opened his eyes, the line had advanced to within bowshot. Rising to his feet, he prepared to withdraw with the Plainswatchers. Before he could move, Stratera was there, landing on a nearby branch with her griffin, Naptha.
“This is their main thrust,” said the blue winged raven of a Cherub. “Their other units are pulling back to this point.”
“Casualties?” asked the chief.
“Theirs or ours?”
“Both.”
“None killed from our forces, perhaps a dozen wounded. They have lost hundreds.”
“Traps?”
“And ambushes. We have been guiding Strato and Albedo right to them. They don’t have a chance.”
“And the weather?”
“Big one forming up on the mountains. Could break north, could break east. Too early to tell.”
An arrow zinged in and Stratera blocked it, moving to protect her unarmored steed.
“I’ll guide our forces back to form a perimeter, but I wouldn’t advise attacking this group, circle North and you’ll have time to cut about one hundred of them off from the main column.”
“We will make them pay tonight,” said Oberon, referencing the Dwarves that were preparing to hit them in the dark but Stratera was already taking off. Besides the weather, he finally felt like the compromises he had made as chief were putting him in control. The information provided by the Riders, combined with the captured horses and his warrior’s wings meant the North had near perfect intelligence on the movements of the South. Watching the Plainswatchers fighting a delaying action, holding up the enemy line so that his forces could maneuver into position for a counter attack that night, he knew this was their time. We will make them reason with us.
Last Stand of the Blood Land Page 45
