by Gwynn White
“Good morning. You need to come see,” she said, smiling up at him. She took him by the hand to lead him outside. The others were already lined up, gazing down from the platform. “My oh my,” he muttered, his breath stolen away by the scene below.
Every tarrin in the tree village had to be down there, each standing at attention with their eyes fixed on the base of the boxa tree. Each held a weapon of some sort, swords and spears, but mostly long bows as far as he could tell. Mismatched armor spotted the group, leather differing in color from brown to green, and a variety of oversized helmets, many of which were constantly being tilted back up when they slipped forward. For all Liam could tell, this equipment must have been preserved from past generations, possibly passed down from great-grandparents. No matter. It would do the job.
“We stand before you, High Cleric Assirra,” one of the men shouted from the front. “We are ready to defend what is ours by right!”
“Indeed...you are not,” Liam said softly, his comment only meant for Assirra’s ears. “But it is a start nonetheless. If you’ll excuse me, I have much work to do.” As Assirra whirled into a fiery speech, Liam turned away and went back inside. Approaching the table, he hovered over his many scribbled parchments. A minute later the others joined him, all save Assirra, whose mesmerizing speech was still raining down in full force.
“Well, it looks like we might be getting a bit o help on this one,” said Owen, smacking Liam on the back. “So, are ye finally going to tell us what all this is?” He gestured to the parchments. “You got a plan er something? I was thinking that maybe you just like to draw.” The mystic ignored him, carefully laying out each parchment in an organized fashion. After they heard a final roaring cheer from outside, Assirra entered the room.
“Just the person I’ve been waiting for,” said Liam, his full attention on his work. “I need you to enlighten me on the combat prowess of your people. Fighting style, preferred choice of weapons, anything that might be useful for me to devise a proper strategy.”
“Hold on there, mystic,” Owen interjected, emphasizing the word. “You just worry about yer little tricks and sparkly dust. Xavier and I will ready these folk for battle.”
“Oh?” Liam replied, still not looking up as he studied his parchments. “So, were you planning to teach them when to employ a defensive choke point strategy, as opposed to when a phalanx would be of better use? You do realize there are times to reform and try a feint rather than splitting your forces to attack the enemy’s flanks, no matter how tempting the bait may be? Of course, this all becomes a numbers game, with experience and terrain weighing in accordingly. Given the inherent lack of experience among this group, it is imperative that they maintain the high ground at all costs, giving them a constant edge no matter which way the battle turns.” Owen just stared, a blank look crossing his face.
“Look, you two work well together,” Liam continued, addressing both Owen and Xavier. “But your brutal, chaotic tactics will only hinder an organized force, especially one as green as these tarrins. I served many years in the Redwater military. Although it is impossible to turn them into soldiers in just one day, with careful planning I just might be able to keep them alive. Most of them, anyway.” He finished arranging the parchments. “Ah, there we go.”
The others leaned in, gazing down at the mystic’s sophisticated arrangement. With excruciating detail, he had mapped out the surrounding terrain nearly down to the last tree. There were spots marked with Xs in varying shades of darkness. The darkest Xs were spots he deemed perfect ambush points. The lighter ones were retreat points to use only if needed. There were scales of numbers riding up the side of each page, representing the points of high ground that needed to be held, versus low ground areas where the enemy should be pushed into.
“Um, yeah,” said Owen, whistling between his teeth. “They’re all yours. But how did you know they were even going to fight? Just yesterday they wanted nothing to do with any of this.”
“I knew nothing,” Liam admitted, gathering up his work. “I suppose you could say I simply believe that the tarrins aren’t much different than humans. You know what they say about wounded animals backed into a corner. I didn’t really think they would chose to lie down while their own families were being threatened. Call it a calculated guess, if you will.”
For the next half hour, Assirra did her best to explain to Liam what he should expect from his soon-to-be student soldiers. As he suspected, with the exception of Thatra, who was quite skilled with a blade, few were all that seasoned in melee combat. Still, their archery skills were some of the best in the realm. Gifted with superior sight and steady hands, the tarrins had no equal when armed with a bow. Their reputations were sure to be put to the test.
After acquiring all the information he could, it was time to get to work. If the scouting reports were true, they had less than a day to prepare. After being lowered down in the cage, Liam began organizing the would-be soldiers into groups. Viola and Thatra watched from the platform as the mystic barked orders, his fingers tracing invisible lines all over his notes, then sweeping the tree line to plan their positioning. He often made them repeat his instructions word for word before verbalizing a counter-scenario, then making sure they understood the contingency plan as well.
He did his best to keep the strategies simple, but drilled them hard throughout the day. Repetition was key, and they didn’t have much time. In the meantime, Owen and Xavier had basically disappeared. The last anyone had seen of them, they were heading east, each with a large sack slung over his shoulder.
After watching another wave of arrows hit a line of trees for what must have been the fiftieth time, Viola finally decided to go back inside. There was nothing she could do to help, and watching the tarrins get drilled over and over was making her nervous. This was really happening, and the reality was really beginning to set in.
“Are you all right?” Thatra asked, taking a seat next to her. Viola rattled her head back and forth, the tense look on her face speaking a thousand words. “I understand. I myself can hardly believe it’s come to this.” She placed a reassuring hand on Viola’s knee. “I am not anxious or even worried. I am terrified. But there is nothing we can do about it now.”
“I thought it would be better,” Viola whispered.
Thatra’s face crinkled at the odd, cryptic comment. “You thought what would be better?” she asked, confused.
Viola’s red eyes looked up. Like windows into her soul, they revealed the pain in her heart. “The outside world,” she said softly. “From my earliest memories I have been caged like a pet, hidden from the world.” She smoothed a hand across her leg. “I was his plaything. My body belonged to him and it was something I never questioned.” T
hatra covered her mouth, her milky white eyes suddenly glistening with unshed tears.
“Hearing of his death brought me joy,” Viola admitted. “I’m not proud of that fact, but I can’t deny my feelings, either. When Liam took me away from that life, I thought I was free. I thought I would finally have a chance to see the world, to discover all its beauty.” She paused. “But there is no beauty, is there? The world is just as ugly as the life I left behind, if only in a different way.”
“No, you’re wrong,” said Thatra in a quiet, choked voice. “I am so sorry for what has happened to you, but the world is beautiful. If—” She cleared her throat. “When we have successfully defended our village and sent the laberaths running with their tails between their legs, I will prove that what I say is true.” She took Viola by the hand. “I assume you’ve never had a friend before, and now you have many. Don’t you think that’s beautiful? Surely that counts for something in this world you find strange.”
Liam entered, his shirt drenched in sweat. Gingerly, he hobbled across the room and flopped into a chair.
“How are they doing?” Thatra asked, wiping her eyes with a sniff.
“As good as can be expected in so short a time,” Liam groaned, sounding exhauste
d.
“What do we do now?” Viola asked.
“We wait for the enemy,” Liam replied. “There is nothing more I can do.” He propped his staff between his legs and closed his eyes, preparing to renew a bit of his energy. “I do hope your god smiles on us this day,” he muttered.
“Do not doubt it, mystic,” Thatra replied, grinning. “Odao sees all.”
A cloud of dust rose as hundreds of feet pounded the dry ground. Streaks of distorted motion blurred ahead of the pack in explosive bursts, then glanced back like impatient children, impish grins splitting their pale faces. Klashtons rumbled along, their massive rock bodies leaving deep prints with every step. Had it not been for the slower beasts, the laberaths would have reached their destination far earlier. But to leave behind such powerful beasts all for the sake of added efficiency would have been foolhardy at best.
Claiming the girl was still their top priority, but keeping casualties to a minimum was nearly as crucial. For a race planning on retaking at least a portion of the surface world, their numbers were tragically low. All that could be spared were already present. Any measurable losses in the upcoming battle could be catastrophic to their future plans.
But that seemed unlikely. The tarrins were nothing but a race of tree huggers who seemed to worship nature, not an aggressive species by any means. No, the real threats were the humans, a thought that nearly made Orm’rak laugh. Yet the trouble they’d caused so far was undeniable. They were at least an obstacle, if not exactly an outright threat.
Worked into a frenzy, Orm’rak watched the churning tornados of black whirl around him. Flapping wings shedding their feathers, black birds cawing before they melted back together into a cone of liquid black.
“All of you save your energy,” Orm’rak warned, pointing to the tree line just ahead. “For you are about to drink your fill. Just beyond that border lies the sweetest blood that’s ever touched your tongues. Come, my children, and prepare to feast.” Of course, he had no idea what the blood of tarrins actually tasted like. It appeared they would find out together.
He eyed the sun hanging low in the western sky. There were still several hours of daylight left. Given their inherent night vision, it might have been advantageous to wait until dark. But the arrogant laberath leader didn’t feel the need. The inferior enemy would fall no matter the circumstances. Still...
Orm’rak whistled, summoning his scouting party. A group of thirty or so zipped up, instantly flashing up all around him. “I need you to go in first,” said Orm’rak, his finger sweeping across the first line of trees. “Find out if these tranquil creatures have actually set up a line of defense. Regardless of your findings, you will report back here immediately.” Eager heads bobbing, hands rubbing, one by one they blurred away. “Do not engage!” Orm’rak warned as the streaks zipped past the first line of trees.
Eyes narrowing, Orm’rak gazed into the forest, a feeling of unease creeping into his bones. Certainly the tarrins were anything but a combat race, but exactly how much better suited for battle were his laberaths? Zipping around him, they cackled with glee at the thought of sinking their teeth into something a little different. They didn’t seem focused on the task at hand. Little doubt the laberaths were genetically superior to nearly all surface races, but they were so painfully unorganized. Chaotic, even.
“Bah,” Orm’rak muttered to himself, dismissing the doubts. Of course his mind was simply playing tricks on him. “I’m overthinking. I’ve no time for such foolish thoughts.”
Laberath scouts flashed through the brushes, twigs crackling and snapping with the sudden force. The first in line stopped, prompting the others to pull up next to him. He sniffed the air, his red eyes scanning the area.
“What you see?” one of them hissed, also sniffing the air, although not quite sure what he was trying to detect.
“I thinks I saw something,” the first replied, head swiveling, eyes darting from trees to bushes. Just then, their eyes all pulled towards an obvious movement. A man hidden behind a tree streaked over to another. “There!” he called, his forward-leaning body already in motion. The others followed like streaking shadows.
There came a series of snapping sounds followed by screams of pain as laberaths fell to the ground clutching their legs and feet. Felled by the most ancient of tricks, the leaf-covered bear traps had worked even better than expected. A slower species would have seen one or two traps go off and backed away, but the speedy laberaths had sprung them all nearly simultaneously. At least ten were trapped for the moment.
With a whistling sound, a spinning blade flashed across their chests, even taking two heads before sinking into the ground on the far side. The slashed laberaths jerked and twitched, their wounds coming to life in a crackling show of white glitter. The remaining laberaths backed away, watching the untimely deaths of their comrades as they melted into pools of sparkling liquid white. Heads darted this way and that, wondering where the attack had come from.
One laberath glanced back at the wheeled blade embedded in the ground. Was he seeing things? Did it just move? An unseen finger twitched from the shadows, summoning the invisible thread to recoil. The blade wrenched from the ground, flashing across the chests of more laberaths as it spun back to Xavier’s waiting hand. More laberaths hit the ground, visible wounds spraying glitter like magical fountains. Having seen enough, the remaining eight scattered in retreat.
Owen stepped out from behind the first tree. “Good job, boy,” he called over to Xavier. “Too bad you didn’t get them all.”
“Too bad you didn’t get any,” he retorted with a wink.
“Watch it,” Owen warned, pointing a finger. “Next I’ll let you be the bait. Then I’ll show you how it’s done.”
Orm’rak roared, resisting the temptation to kill the remaining scouts himself. “I told you not to engage!” He turned and motioned to the beast handlers. “Send in the klashtons,” he ordered. “These stupid beasts can be replaced, but I can’t afford to lose any more men just because they can’t follow orders.” He leaned to the side as the handlers carefully unlocked the chains securing the beasts. “And I want you both to lead them,” he said, appearing to be talking to no one.
Two sets of telltale footprints turned and marched away. Free of their bonds, the other klashtons thundered into the forest as well. With savage murder blazing in their soulless black eyes, the beasts were ready to rip apart any living thing that crossed their paths.
Trees crackled, snapping and falling while others just burst into wild blooms of splintered shards. Hardly slowed from the jarring impacts, the beasts recklessly charged on. Jet-black eyes scanned for movement, any hint of life that they could extinguish. Their instincts demanded it. Flocks of startled birds took flight, while other small woodland creatures scattered to elude the rumbling giants.
Stepping out from behind a tree, the white cloaked figure came into view. Onyx eyes sparkled at the sight of this easy prey. The beasts roared, increasing their charge as bloodlust prevailed over logic and reason. Xavier threw his hands up, a short silver blade gripped in each. Over his head he crashed them once, twice, then threw the newly formed bladed wheels.
Whistling like teapots, they streaked through the air. The first wave of giants managed a clumsy evasion, more by way of a flinching twitch than an actual skilled dodge. Defying gravity, the spinning wheels seemed to hover in the air as other klashtons rumbled past the levitating blades that missed their targets.
Hands held out with his fingers spread, the puppet master grinned at the charging beasts. With a twitch of his fingers, the hovering blades fired off in opposite directions. The back row of klashtons convulsed with a twitching jolt, decapitated bodies skidding across the leaves, their heads rolling into nearby bushes.
His fingers twitched again, summoning the spinning blades back. Two more giants shrieked as fire shot across their sides, spinning them around and bringing them to their knees. Xavier caught the blades, then tossed them to the ground. In an effor
tless flash of controlled violence, he had killed or incapacitated all but three.
With a shrug, his white cloak fluttered away, revealing the steel strapped across his chest. In one smooth movement his rings clacked each handle then fired up into the air. For an instant, steel blades levitated as if hoisted up by ghosts, then began to spiral around him, his extended fingers twitching ever so slightly.
The first klashton stumbled right into the invisible dome of whirling steel, sparks flying from his chest and face as razor-sharp edges bit into rock-hard flesh. Roaring in agony, it covered its face, gashes appearing everywhere at once. Deep wounds opened across its forearms. Shredding like cheese, one arm ripped away, quickly followed by the second. Without the barrier of his arms, exposed features erased from its face, black eyes vaporizing as everything wore away in seconds. Jaw hanging by a single hinge, a bubbling gurgle floated up from its throat before the dying beast crumpled face down into the dirt.
The last two halted, their primitive brains unable to comprehend what had just happened to their comrades. Their brief pause was more than enough for the skilled assassin. Five of his ten blades zipped free from their streaking orbit, embedding themselves deep into klashton flesh. Howling in pain, their rugged bodies accepted the initial onslaught, one even managing to remain on his feet. Tearing them free with a twitch of his fingers, Xavier sent the other five streaking towards the injured targets. Tearing those free, his sent back the first five to finish the job. Bleeding profusely, both beasts lay motionless on the ground.
Leaning against a nearby tree, Owen witnessed the one-sided battle. He beamed with pride at the startling efficiency of his deadly young student. He had intended to help out, but quickly realized it wouldn’t be necessary.
Moments later, his beaming pride gave way to a feeling of unease. His warrior’s instinct tingled in the back of his mind, a gut feeling built up from years of experience. It soon became a screaming warning. For no reason his conscious mind could comprehend, he dove forward in a desperate evasion. The ground where he just stood imploded, forming a deep crater the shape of a large fist.
