He does have one more ploy to attempt, but to do it he’ll have to drop his shield for the required amount of magic he’ll need. The problem there is that when he drops his shield, he’ll have but a split second before the creatures are upon him. Realizing he has no choice, he closes his eyes and prepares.
The sound of an explosion from outside the shield comes to him but he doesn’t allow it to break his concentration. When he’s ready, he turns to face one of the creatures, the other is behind him. As he drops his shield he leaps to the side just as two more shields, one around each of the creatures spring into being.
When his protective shield dropped, the creatures were propelled forward by the force they were exerting to breach the barrier. Then a fraction of a second before they struck each other in the middle where James used to be, the shields encasing each spring into life.
The battle between the warrior priest and the Hand of Asran wages behind him but he doesn’t let that distract him from the creatures before him. Snarling, biting, scratching, the creatures try to escape their confines. Unlike the shield they tried to breach that had surrounded him, these shields move with them sort of like a hamster in an exercise ball. The magic used to sustain them is much less than when they were trying to breach his protective shield.
Concentrating now on just one of the encased creatures, he decreases the temperature of the shield, which is possible now with the heat of but one creature to contend with. Also, he begins shrinking the shield in around the creature until it is barely able to move. The outer shell of the barrier begins to frost from the coldness within, he can feel the creature struggle mightily to escape and increases the strength and integrity of the shield as he continues collapsing it.
Spots begin to dance in front of his eyes from the struggle to maintain one shield while collapsing the other. His throat dries up and his breathing becomes labored. Behind him, he hears a cry as one of the brothers falls in the battle with the warrior priest, the sound of birds still fills the air.
Now down to the size of a basketball, the shrinking shield finally collapses completely and disappears as the creature dies and vanishes. Turning to the remaining creature, he begins shrinking its confining shield same as the other. This time, with but one shield to maintain, the draw of magic isn’t nearly as bad. Still, his inner reserves are all but depleted and the effects upon him are becoming more pronounced.
Headaches and dizziness begin to plague him as the remaining shield continues to implode upon itself, stealing away the life from the creature it contains. Before it disappears, James’ legs give out and he drops to the ground, barely catching himself before hitting hard. Almost losing concentration, he lies there on the ground, sending forth the last bits of magic from his reserves as the shield shrinks to the size of a softball and then implodes completely when the life of the creature contained within goes out.
Panting hard, he tries to get to his feet but simply hasn’t the strength and passes out.
Leaving James to deal with the creatures, Brother Willim and the rest of the Hand of Asran face off with the warrior priest. Above, the birds have answered their call and are even now diving to distract the crossbowmen on the palisade. In the coming fight with the warrior priest, they can’t have their concentration divided with bolts flying at them.
As the warrior priest reaches the edge of the flames, he glances from where James is battling the two remaining creatures and then to Brother Willim and the Hand. Seeing them as the most immediate threat, he turns to face them. From the flames to his right, a veritable meteor shower of fire flies toward the brothers.
In response, the Hand throws seeds in the air and with the power of their god, causes them to grow exponentially. When the meteor shower encounters the tendrils of life, their heat is absorbed by them and few make it as far as where the brothers stand. The few that do are easily avoided.
Ash from the burnt tendrils of life float upon the breeze as vines erupt from the ground under the warrior priest’s feet. Twining and twisting, they quickly bind him in a tangle of thick vegetation.
Another brother throws a dark resin which expands greatly into a three foot wide viscous mass which strikes the warrior priest and encases him from the chest up in a sticky, gooey substance.
Taking up their staves, they begin moving toward the entrapped warrior priest.
Bam!
An explosion knocks them backward as the vines and gooey substance is blasted away from him. At the same time, a black miasmic cloud forms before the warrior priest and flows toward them.
Brother Willim raises his hand and a breeze develops to blow the dark cloud away but has no effect. The brother next to him throws a batch of seeds at the black cloud. On their way, the seeds blossom into bright yellow flowers and when they encounter the black cloud, absorb the darkness into them. Turning black, the flowers drop to the ground where they wither and die.
Two brothers have closed with the warrior priest and are laying upon him with their staves. His sword is out and easily blocks their attacks. A swarm of gnats appear in summons to one of the brothers and immediately moves to the warrior priest. They cloud his face and begin working their way into his armor.
Deflecting the staves, the warrior priest seems unaffected by the insects swarming him and crawling within his armor. Suddenly the ground again sprouts vines which work to entangle his legs. Between blows to deflect the staves, his sword strikes down and cuts away the vines holding him.
“Too long has your kind walked the earth,” Brother Willim says. “Death is your hallmark.”
Around the warrior priest, dozens of dark spheres appear. They begin zooming in and around him as they fly toward the brothers. Each one emits a small burst of energy when they draw near his enemies causing a red welt.
Brother Willim calls out in the language of his god and butterflies fill the air. Giant red and green butterflies begin targeting the black spheres. As each comes into contact with one of the spheres, both the sphere and the butterfly disappear until only a couple butterflies are left.
“Long have we been training to take down one such as you,” Brother Willim says. “Our brethren have fallen to yours for far too long. No longer!” He raises his hands to the sky and says, “Now, feel the wrath of the Hand of Asran!”
The staffers fighting him begin to glow with a greenish light as the power of their god infuses them. Striking out, the warrior priest gets inside the guard of one and runs him through, eliciting a cry as the man falls away only to be replaced by another.
Again, the ground beneath the warrior priest opens up. This time however, instead of the minor vines from before, these are likened to roots of an old oak tree. Thick, strong and massive, these grasp him in a vice-like grip that quickly immobilizes him. Striking down with his sword, the blade does little more than knick the outer bark.
Legs encased and immobile, his defensive capability is now drastically reduced. Blows from the two staffers land upon him more frequently and with increasing force.
Bam!
An outward explosion attempts to remove the vines from him but only succeeds in loosening them for a brief moment before they tighten once more.
A bright light is suddenly among them as Miko comes with the Star of Morcyth ablaze in his hand. Kneeling down beside the fallen priest of Asran, he begins healing his wound.
Whack!
The end of a staff strikes the warrior priest in the forehead and knocks the helm from his head.
Whack!
A strike to his hand causes his sword to fly through the air.
Whack!
Blood begins to flow from his nose as a staff takes him across the face.
“Now, we finish it!” cries Brother Willim.
The staffers back away from the warrior priest as Brother Willim calls upon his god. The roots holding the warrior priest begin writhing as a cry escapes the man’s throat. With a rip and a tear, the roots pull the warrior priest apart as arms and legs come away from the body.
One long root wraps itself around the neck and with a quick pull, the head comes away.
As the roots drag the dismembered body of the warrior priest into the ground, a malignant presence can be felt as if some evil spirit walks the battlefield, then is gone. When the last of the warrior priest has been dragged beneath the surface, Brother Willim and the others relax. The flock of birds which had come to their aid begins to disperse as well and men are once again upon the walls.
Coming to his fallen brother, he asks Miko, “Will he live?”
Looking up at him, Miko nods. “Yes. He will need rest for a day or two but he should be alright.”
“Praise Asran,” one of the brothers says.
Over where James passed out, Jiron has already appeared and is removing him to a place of safety.
A crossbow bolt strikes the ground nearby and Miko who says, “We better get out of here. The battle isn’t over yet.”
Just then, the gates to the palisade open and the army issues forth with a roar.
Chapter Eleven
Miko mounts his horse and they hand the injured brother up to him. “Get back behind the line of staffs,” he tells them. Turning his horse toward Lythylla, he bolts into a gallop holding tightly onto the injured brother before him.
Brother Willim and the others begin running toward where Illan and the rest are preparing to meet the onslaught of the enemy. As the Hand reaches their lines, Illan says, “Good work there.” Brother Willim simply nods his head as he and the other brothers follow Miko on into Lythylla to see about their comrade.
Jiron, leading the horse bearing James, moves through the defenders as they part for him. He soon passes the Brothers and crosses over the bridge into the city. Off to one side of the gates, a soldier waves to him and indicates a nearby guardhouse beside which Miko’s horse stands tied to a post. Henri is there and takes his reins as he pulls up alongside Miko’s horse.
“Is he alive?” Henri asks, referring to the unconscious James.
“Yes,” replies Jiron. “He gets like this every time he does too much magic.”
Henri helps him remove James from the horse and together they bring him into the guardhouse. The injured brother is already laid out upon blankets on the floor, a pack has been placed under his head for comfort.
Madoc healers are there and have already begun examining the brother. They place James on a blanket next to him. Jiron takes Miko by the arm and says, “We have to get back to the others.”
“Yes, you’re right,” he says. Then to one of the healers he adds, “Take care of them.”
“They’ll be fine,” the grey haired healer says. “You go do what you have to.”
As Jiron and Miko leave the guardhouse, Brother Willim and the rest of the Hand arrive and pass them on their way into the guardhouse. “I think they are in good hands,” says Jiron.
“Me too,” agrees Miko.
They mount their horses and turn them toward the gate. Jiron pauses but a moment when Lord Pytherian catches his eye from where he’s keeping watch on the battle from atop the gate. Nodding to Jiron, he then turns back to the battlefield. The courtyard is filled with every available man, as are the streets leading deeper into the city. The whole Alliance army is waiting for the word to go. It was decided to keep the bulk of their forces within the walls in the hopes of fooling the enemy into launching an attack. If they but knew how many awaited them, they would never leave the relative safety of the palisade.
Returning through the gate at a gallop, they head back to their comrades who are about to face the brunt of the Empire army. Jiron sees the soldiers of the Empire are forming ranks this side of the palisade as more and more stream through the gate. Guess they’re not going to wait for us to attack.
Out in front of their force, the crossbowmen take position as they prepare to rain down a volley of death upon them. Jiron recognizes the army commander that was with the warrior priest when he and James had gone for the initial meeting before all the hostilities erupted. The man must think now would be his best chance at success seeing as how James has collapsed and one of the priests of Asran is down.
“Delia,” Illan says. “Are your people ready?”
“As ready as they’re ever going to be,” she says. To her slingers she says, “Wait for my signal before you remove anything from your pouch!”
“Yes ma’am,” Orrin’s voice answers from his position down the line.
Illan turns to Ceadric and says, “They’ll want to take out the catapults first. Be prepared.”
“Aye sir,” he says.
A hush falls over the battlefield as the final men make their way through the palisade and take position. They are outnumbered seven to one, Black Hawk’s Raiders number somewhere near a thousand while the Empire’s force appears to be at least seven or eight thousand strong. The initial numbers they had of the enemy may have been off.
None of the enemy cavalry has yet taken the field. Illan nods to Jiron as he retakes his position at the head of his men. “Cavalry not coming?” Jiron asks.
Illan nods to the two ends of the palisade far in the distance. “My guess would be for them to make an end run around the far side of the wall once the battle begins.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says.
Illan turns to the officer in charge of the catapults. “Give them a volley.”
“Yes, sir,” he replies. Turning to his men he hollers, “Let em go boys!”
As one, the five catapults are loosed and their deadly projectiles are thrown toward the massed men before them. The five boulders fly through the air and come to land in the midst of the soldiers. Most are able to dodge out of the way but two are struck by the rocks after they hit the ground and begin to roll.
“Not very effective against ground troops,” comments Ceadric. “Need grapeshot.”
Just then, they hear a command shouted by the enemy commander and horns begin to sound.
“True,” replies Illan. “Hadn’t planned on using them against troops, just the walls.”
The enemy crossbowmen move forward and raise their crossbows. At another command, hundreds of bolts are loosed and fly toward them. “Raise the shields,” cries Jiron as he and the others raise shields to protect themselves as well as Delia and her slingers from the barrage.
As the bolts reach the apex of their arc and begin descending down toward them, the three crystals atop the staves James had planted in the ground flare. A shimmering field springs to life between them and extends above the staves at least thirty feet. Most of the bolts are deflected away. Some soar high enough to go over the top of the field but are easily brushed aside with shields.
“Way to go James!” Devin’s voice rings out.
“Quiet back there!” Illan orders as the crossbowmen ready another volley. “Hedry, see if you can distract them.”
“Archers!” he hollers. “Ready bows!” The line of bowmen including Errin and Aleya put bow to string and draw them back to await his command. Hedry raises his arm and then lowers it as he cries “Fire!”
A hundred arrows fly toward the enemy, some taking out crossbowmen while others fly further and find their mark among the rank of soldiers. From the walls of Lythylla behind them, a cheer erupts from the onlookers.
“Fire at will,” Illan says to Hedry.
“Fire at will!” Hedry repeats to his men and as fast as bowmen can put arrow to string, they fire at the enemy.
Horns from the enemy blow and the soldiers behind the crossbowmen surge forward with a war cry. Swords gleaming in the morning sun, they rush Illan’s position. “Any time, Delia,” Illan tells her. Another round of bolts is loosed from the crossbowmen as they and Hedry’s archers exchange fire.
“Okay my lads,” Delia says as she turns to face her slingers. “Take out one from the pouch and set it into your sling. As soon as you do, launch it to the enemy. Wait five seconds then do it again.”
Removing one of the special missiles James had put together, she places it
within her sling. Before she finishes twirling her sling up to speed, several of the others let fly with theirs.
As the approaching soldiers see the missiles flying toward them, they pause in their charge and raise their shields. The hardened clay missiles shatter on impact and the soldiers are surprised at the crystals contained within. Each has a glow to them and after nothing happens, they resume their charge.
“What went wrong?” Illan asks Delia after the first round fails to do anything.
“I don’t know,” she replies as she winds up her sling to launch her second volley.
Then all of a sudden, soldiers closest to the first volley of crystals begin falling to the ground as the crystals leech power from them. A second later, orbs begin filling the air and start emitting bursts of electricity.
The momentum of the charge falters as men are struck with the lightning from the orbs. Officers order their men forward and the charge resumes as more and more men fall victim as the second volley of crystals activates.
“They’re not going to get all of them,” says Ceadric.
“No, they aren’t,” agrees Jiron.
“Be ready,” Illan says as he draws forth his sword.
Behind them, the catapults fall silent as the approaching soldiers close the distance and move out of the target range. Catapults are for long range attacks, not much good for in close fighting.
The last volley of crystals soars over head, some of the slingers aiming for the remaining crossbowmen at the rear of the charging men. “There’s their cavalry!” hollers one of Ceadric’s men.
From his position on the walls of Lythylla, Lord Pytherian sees the hundreds of cavalrymen emerging from around both sides of the palisade. “Send forth our men,” he tells Henri beside him.
Henri turns to the men waiting in the courtyard below and gives the signal. First through the gates rides the cavalry, five hundred strong. They split up on the far side of the bridge, half moving to meet the oncoming riders on the right and the other half those on the left.
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