by B. T. Narro
“Battle!” Terren screamed.
“Battle!” Abith mimicked.
Everyone ran toward the ringing and disappeared. Basen tried to follow, but something kept him from moving. A tight grip on his wrist.
“Come on, Father,” Basen pleaded. “The bell is ringing.”
It continued to beckon them toward battle, but Henry wouldn’t let go.
Basen turned to find it was Fatholl holding him, the Elf’s grip stronger than tree roots clinging to the soil.
Basen gasped and struggled to get free. The bell was calling to him. He needed to fight.
He fell out of bed and hit the floor, the dream dispersing like a cloud of steam. He groaned as he slowly pushed himself up, then heard the sound.
Ding! Ding! Ding!
The Redfield bell! He wasn’t dreaming. He shook his head and slapped his cheek to dispel the grogginess as he stumbled toward the door.
“My pants,” he grumbled, then stopped to tug them on one leg at a time. “Dammit, why do they have to attack while I’m sleeping?”
The bell continued to ring as thunder rattled the windows. Basen got his pants up and his belt tightened, then checked to make sure his wand and sword were secure in their sheaths. There was little point of fighting without a weapon, but a shirt he could forgo.
Now fully awake, he rushed out into the hall between his and Annah’s rooms. She was just opening her door as he reached the front of their shared house at the Academy.
“You must be insane!” she yelled after him.
“No time,” he replied, figuring she must mean his lack of a shirt.
He threw open the door and stepped out. Screaming wind seemed to blow right through him as freezing rain hit his back. His breath was forced out in a loud and sudden curse that nearly shocked him as much as the blast of cold. All the heat was gone from his body in an instant, the shivers attacking so violently that he bit his tongue and tasted blood.
By the time he turned to retrieve a covering, Annah was there with his cloak.
“Thanks.” He secured it around his neck and held it shut as he ran against the wind. He and Annah headed south with the other students emerging from their houses.
It felt like a longer run than usual as Basen wondered whether this would be his final battle. Annah seemed so small as she hunched against the cold. Basen had to remind himself that she wouldn’t need protection. Being a psychic, she was probably more capable than he was.
From the darkness ahead came screams of warnings. There was a powerful crash that shook the ground and startled him into grabbing Annah to pull her behind the nearest student home.
A rumble followed, like a castle collapsing…like a wall falling, he realized. They were running again before it ceased, Annah squeezing his hand in obvious terror.
He recognized Terren’s voice ahead of them. “Move back! Move back!”
Through the haze of darkness and rain, Basen caught sight of hundreds being herded toward him.
“Stay back and await orders!” Terren yelled.
Everyone flinched with the second crash. The sound was like a mountain collapsing, mud exploding out from the darkness ahead and raining down on them. Basen could think of only one thing that could cause such destruction. Catapults.
He’d heard his father speaking about weapons of war yesterday, but Henry had made it seem as if they had more time to prepare.
Perhaps it’s just one catapult. That would explain the delay between each attack.
Basen joined the mages in shining light at the southern wall ahead. There was a gaping hole directly in front of them, but that seemed to be the only breach so far.
*****
By the time Terren organized most of the Academy, Abith and his followers from Tenred had finally arrived to help. Abith angrily told Terren they hadn’t known which wall to go to, but the headmaster gave no reply. Instead, he shouted, “Henry, are you ready?”
It was surprising to hear Terren yelling to Basen’s father, as Basen hadn’t seen him here yet. He joined the many mages in aiming light toward his father’s responding voice but still couldn’t locate him.
“Ready, Terren!”
Everyone stood away from the wall to avoid being crushed by hurled boulders, back where the student houses and classrooms blocked Basen’s view in all directions. He figured the rest of his allies were gathered in the paths between buildings and waiting for the inevitable charge, but he needed to see them to know for sure.
Why hadn’t the headmaster announced how many soldiers were preparing to invade the Academy? Was the number likely to be disheartening?
They needed courage. Stanmar’s recruitment trick last evening had left spirits low, but not Basen’s. He yearned to fight, determined to end this damn war.
He climbed up the side of the nearest mage classroom by jumping to grab the awning, getting his forearms up, then pulling the rest of his body over. It was a short jump from the awning to reach the top, and soon he was all the way up where he could see the rest of the Academy’s army.
Basen couldn’t find Henry, though he recognized his father’s troops by their ugly gray uniforms. Whether it was because of Terren’s or Henry’s order, they were gathered near the open gate and looked to be lined up in columns as if to charge out of the Academy. Basen had seen the entirety of his father’s troops yesterday; there weren’t more than a thousand. Why would they go alone?
Terren was busy giving orders to the Academy’s instructors, who organized the students still arriving, but he hadn’t taken the time to explain the plan to Basen and the others already there. Basen checked behind him, using his wand to cast light. All seemed to be chemists glancing up at him. They would wait there in safety to help the injured. He caught sight of a beautiful face that stirred his heart. Alabell showed him just a shadow of her usual bright smile as she approached.
“What do you see?” she asked.
He turned and tried with his light to pierce the darkness at the breach of the wall, but it was no use. He wouldn’t catch sight of the enemy until they came dashing through.
“Nothing,” Basen said, “except my father preparing to charge with his troops.”
“They’ll be massacred,” she said softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No, it’s true.” Then why am I about to climb off this building and join them?
He got down and took one last look at Alabell in case it would be his last. She moved her wet auburn hair out of her eyes. Every time she looked at him, he could feel her understanding. She might be the only one who’d truly known him since he’d arrived at the Academy, and that included his father. But that didn’t make Basen love Henry any less. He would fight at his side no matter the circumstance.
“Basen, be careful!” she yelled after him.
The only way to Henry was past Terren, and as Basen expected, the headmaster called out for him to stop.
“It’s my father,” Basen shouted back, knowing he needed no other reason.
Just then, Cleve emerged from the line of warriors to join Basen.
“Cleve!” Terren yelled to his nephew. “Stay here.”
“Henry’s troops need re-enforcements,” Cleve yelled over his shoulder as he reached Basen’s side. “What’s the plan?” the warrior asked.
“No idea,” Basen replied.
“Dammit. I thought you knew.”
“Turn back if you want.”
Cleve unstrapped the bow from his back and seemed more comfortable with it in his hands. Basen drew his sword with his dominant left hand and held his wand in his right to show his father he was prepared to engage their enemies in close combat. It was the only way Henry would allow Basen to join the charge.
He and Cleve soon reached Henry’s men to hear the end of a question from his father.
“…Every archer paired with a mage?”
Basen looked to Cleve, who nodded back.
“Everyone is, sir,” one of Henry’s officers confirmed.
“We’ve done this before,” Henry said. “We’ll do it again.” He’d always been a confident man, often giving Basen the boost he’d needed when he was younger and less sure of his abilities.
“What’s the plan?” Basen risked calling out in a much higher voice than normal. He huddled close to the troops around him in hopes his father wouldn’t recognize him and force him to return to Terren.
It didn’t work. “Basen? Come here.”
Somehow, even facing death, Basen was filled with embarrassment as he hurried to the front. It was even worse when a gust of wind blew open his cloak, giving everyone a view of his bare chest.
Henry had no words, only an indifferent look completely absent of pride.
“I didn’t have time to grab a shirt,” Basen muttered.
Henry took hold of his shoulder and stood close so only Basen could hear. “Listen to my orders out there and be as quick as I know you can be.”
Pride swelled in Basen’s chest. His father not only would let him fight but believed in him.
However, there was still the matter of not knowing what to do. Before he could ask, one of Henry’s officers yelled from atop the wall, “They’re about to fire to the west like before!”
Men with shields rushed around Basen to get in front just before Henry gave the order to charge.
Basen started to sprint but soon realized that everyone else was jogging as they approached the gate. He slowed to find Cleve, who towered over his comrades at the middle of this large cluster.
There was another crash—to the left. While it sounded nowhere near Basen, his reflexes forced him to cover his face with his arm. Cleve flinched as well, but they seemed to be the only ones among these seasoned troops who weren’t used to the demolishing power of the boulders.
Basen heard more of the wall crumble down, but he would not be intimidated. Courage would be needed for his task.
If only he knew what it was.
The men bearing shields were covered in armor, their steel boots thudding against the wet sod. The only problem was their speed. The steel and bronze might be able to stop a fireball or arrow from killing them, but at this rate, it would take their small army twice as long to reach their enemies. Basen could only hope the darkness of this storm would provide cover until they were close.
Basen heard Cleve request a rag from another archer. Using his cloak to shield the cloth from the rain, Cleve wrapped it around the head of his arrow. Basen realized then what his father hoped to accomplish. The one question that remained was how many men Tauwin had sent to stand in their way.
“I hope you’re as good with that bow as you are with your sword,” Basen told Cleve.
“Better.”
“Don’t lie just to make me feel better.”
“I would never do that.”
They rushed through the darkness until they encountered an entire army guarding a single catapult. Enemy mages were the first to fire upon them, hurling smoking fireballs that hissed as they exploded just short of the front line.
“Hold here!” Henry ordered. “Light the arrows.”
It became a race as Tauwin’s archers also hurried to load theirs. But they weren’t taking the time to light them first, and soon their arrows began to zip by with a quick yet sharp squeal. The eastern wind was strong and blew most of the arrows to the right, but it was only a matter of time before the enemy archers adjusted.
“The wind—”
“I know,” Cleve said.
Basen seemed to be the first mage to get his archer’s arrow lit in this downpour. Unfortunately, the fire was bright enough to blind him temporarily. He didn’t see how Cleve could aim with a flaming arrow in front of his face.
The warrior took time to stare at the catapult as he raised his flaming arrow up. He somehow ignored the fireballs and arrows coming down around him and striking his comrades. Men screamed as they fell and stumbled into one another. Basen fought the urge to duck and cover his head. How could Cleve appear so calm?
The next sight caused Basen to curse. Cleve didn’t seem to notice the horde of psychic Elves rushing toward them. “You might want to hurry,” Basen advised in as calm a voice he could manage, barely refraining from shouting the words and possibly startling Cleve. The other archers had begun firing at the catapult, though the few arrows that struck didn’t stick.
Basen gathered energy for a fireball, waiting until Cleve shot so as not to distract him. Finally, Cleve pulled back his string and fired in one smooth draw of his arm. Basen formed and shot a fireball, striking two of the Elves leading the charge. It didn’t slow the rest.
Basen looked over their heads at the catapult, hoping to see Cleve’s arrow catching it aflame. One lick of fire flickered around the back of it.
The basket! He got the basket! Knowing little about catapults, Basen had no idea what to call its different parts. But if there was one thing he could tell, it was the wooden structure looked weakest in the back, where an enormous bucket could be pulled down for loading and then tossing boulders. The wood there appeared thin, probably to keep it light for the design of the catapult to work.
It didn’t burn quickly, but at least it burned. However, Basen’s enemies were quickly pulling down the beam to get at the basket. Basen had already gathered enough energy for another fireball. It was a long shot, and he put everything he had behind it.
The front line of Basen’s allies yelled in pain as they collapsed. The Elves had their arms out and their faces twisted from the focus of psyche, staying out of range of the attacking swordsmen. Basen heard his father’s scream among the others and tore his eyes away from the soaring fireball.
CHAPTER THREE
The wind and rain provided scant protection as enemy archers fired freely. Several men were struck, but none fell out of rank. A mage took an arrow to the shoulder, grunted, then continued to light another of his comrade’s arrows.
Basen’s fireball finally landed a good distance in front of the catapult. He might’ve killed one or both of the enemies hit by his explosion, but that didn’t matter. The burning basket was extinguished before any damage was done.
More flaming arrows were shot, but every time they hit, the same enemy mage smothered the flame with heavy sartious energy that looked like tiny storm clouds from this great distance.
The woman responsible couldn’t have graduated from the Academy, because Alabell had witnessed graduates being dragged out of their homes to be killed when Tauwin took the castle. Those who escaped death had joined up with Henry. So where had this woman come from?
She must’ve trained in Greenedge specifically to take our territory from us. Anger made Basen fearless as he gathered energy for his next fireball. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his father standing tall against a psychic spell. Basen had never spoken to his father about resisting psyche and wondered how Henry was capable.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Henry screeched, “Tell Terren to send the reinforcements!”
“Already done!” one of his officers called from somewhere behind Basen.
“Move back while we wait!” Henry yelled.
But it seemed as if their enemies were retreating as well, as they began dragging the catapult away. The psychic Elves looked over their shoulders and then sprinted back toward their army, who continued to fire.
Ally archers changed their targets to the Elves, felling only a few of them. Basen paid them little mind as he moved to the outskirts of his group and condensed all the energy he could gather into a ball. He would have to form and then shoot this fireball even farther than the last, and there was only one way he knew to do that.
The danger of this risky spell was not lost on him as he brought out a thin stream of sartious energy from his wand to catch the bastial energy aflame. He then split his focus, pulling the burning bastial energy toward him and pushing it away at the same time. It was a game of balance, the fireball jittering forward and back as the burning energy fought to break fr
ee from the hold of his mind, akin to getting ready to snap a finger.
He propelled it forward as he released his hold and watched the ball of flame soar through the air. At first he thought he might have overshot his mark, but the escaping army had wheeled the catapult just far enough for Basen’s fireball to come down and explode on top of it.
Unfortunately, he missed the sartious mage who dove out of the way. She was now back on her feet and heading toward the burning basket.
“Cleve!” Basen said as he rejoined the group. “You have to shoot—”
“I know.”
Cleve already had his string pulled back with an arrow notched. He fired. Basen lost track of the arrow in the darkness and watched the sartious mage as time seemed to slow.
The arrow struck her hard enough to take her off her feet. Two others bent down to help her while everyone else threw mud at the burning basket.
It was too high for them to get a good angle, the flames growing too quickly.
The rain had stopped. God’s mercy, when? Had Basen been religious, he would’ve credited divine intervention, but it was just luck.
With the rest of Terren’s army quickly approaching, Tauwin’s troops running away and leaving behind the catapult, the battle appeared over for now.
“Good shot,” Basen told Cleve.
“You as well.”
Terren and Henry met amidst their men. “You were right,” the headmaster said. “But how did you know?”
“Tauwin’s army always uses specific formations for certain battle tactics,” Henry answered. “We’ve seen enough formations to predict what they’re going to do.”
Terren smiled. “When they return, I’ll make sure you have as much time as possible to read their formation.”
Henry nodded.
“How did you stand up against the spell?” Basen asked him.
But Abith interrupted as he came up and asked Henry, “How many were there?”
“We’re not going after them,” Terren said firmly.
Abith gave him an annoyed look before turning back to Henry. “How many did you see, Hiller?”
