Jons scratched his dusty face, frowning again. It was obvious he was not looking forward to a sleepless night working on the wagon, but he knew it was his duty. He brushed his curly hair away from his eyes and stood up straighter, trying to appear confident. “I can fix it by tomorrow, my Prince. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Good. What do think, Uncle?”
“Well, we don’t have much of a choice. Let’s set up camp.”
With practiced precision the Legionnaires set up camp against the stone outcropping. The small cliff wall was about as tall as three men, and provided some shelter from the chilly evening breeze as well as protecting their backs in the event of an attack. Fires were lit and tents were erected, the four carts arranged along one flank providing more protection. There was a small copse of bonet trees that provided a convenient spot to tether the horses. By the time the men had cleaned, watered, and fed their animals, the sun had set and everyone had found a crackling fire where they sat to take their evening meal of beans, cheese, and bread.
A perimeter of torches circled the camp, along with guards stationed every thirty paces. Jarak, Serix, and Daricon sat around a fire, their single small tent nearby. A servant brought them a steaming plate of beans, departing quickly.
“How do you like our sleeping quarters?” Daricon asked, knowing full well that Jarak was not looking forward to sleeping on the hard ground. Serix smiled at the question, his mouth full of warm beans.
Jarak looked at the tent behind his uncle. “Why don’t we at least have servants bring a more substantial tent, with mattresses? I do not see why we have to sleep on the ground like dogs.”
“Dogs? So you think your men,” Daricon said, pointing to all the fires surrounding them, “are dogs?”
“No, of course not. Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“I did not have to. They were your words. Will you not do what you expect your men to do?” Daricon asked.
“I will, but why should I have to?”
“Because if you don’t, they will not respect you. How do you think they feel, tired and sore, sleeping on the ground, when they look at you and me experiencing the same hardships, day in and day out?”
Jarak thought about it for a moment. “I guess it would make it easier for them.”
“Right. Especially if they know that we could have brought a bigger tent, softer beds, better food, and servants to cater to our every need. But we didn’t. When you fight with your men, bleed with your men, and sleep with your men, you will earn their dying devotion, literally. All these men would die for me, and I for them. Do you think they would die for you? More importantly, would you die for them?”
Jarak looked into the fire, thinking about Daricon’s words. They were valid questions, tough questions…would he die for them? “I do not know, Uncle. You have given me something to think about.” He looked up from his plate into his uncle’s intense eyes. “I would like to think they would die for me. I am their prince. But you’re right. What have I done to earn that kind of loyalty?”
“Yesterday was a start. Remember, they scrutinize everything you do,” Daricon said, indicating the men around them. “Your words, your actions, everything is taken, digested, discussed, analyzed, and opinions are formed and spread throughout the army. I bet you that the entire Legion already knows how you provided aid and comfort to the wounded yesterday. That is the kind of action that will win their loyalty. But that loyalty comes with a cost. It is a two way road. You must return it. Being a prince is not enough. It is just a title, meaningless without the principles necessary to uphold it.”
They finished their meals, talking quietly and discussing the plans for the morrow. Daricon wanted to inspect the lines and bring them new supplies. His main concern was to make sure that their scouts were continuing to patrol the area for any signs that the Saricons were trying to circumvent their troops and secretly move towards the garrison. He also wanted to get updates on the whereabouts of the Saricon forces and if they had increased their numbers. They needed information, and he was hoping to get it tomorrow.
Yawning, Jarak stood up from the fire, looking out at the darkness. “Time for me to retire,” he said. “I’m going to take a piss and check on the horses. Be back in a moment.”
“Be vigilant,” Serix warned. “You know what happened yesterday.”
Jarak nodded as he made his way through the scattered fires, saying hello to the men as he moved to the perimeter. He followed the line of torches that led to the horses tethered in the outer darkness. He passed by the guards that stood at attention along the perimeter.
Standing next to a tree, Jarak unbuttoned the flap on his pants, relieving himself as he stared absently into the darkness, his mind mulling over his uncle’s words. A stick snapped and the nearby horses whinnied. Jarak buttoned his pants, turning on his towd. It was probably just an animal. He scanned the darkness again, this time the auras of the horses shined in the blackness. He saw nothing else, and turned to make his way back to camp. A flash of movement directed his eyes upward, to the top of the cliff face overlooking their camp. His heart jumped to his throat as he saw a handful of forms lurking in the darkness, creeping slowly to the edge of the wall, their auras firing orange and red.
Acting quickly, Jarak tasked the energy from the horses nearest him, then shouted as loud as he could. “Enemy! On the cliff wall!”
Just as he screamed the warning, he heard something crashing through the underbrush behind him. Spinning around, his towd still on, he saw six forms racing toward him from the darkness. They must have been hiding behind trees, their auras completely shadowed. But now he could see them clearly.
Reacting instinctively, Jarak shifted the energy from his tarnum into his left fist while simultaneously drawing his sword with his other hand. His heart was pounding wildly and he tried to concentrate on the spell, the task nearly impossible as his attackers rapidly closed the distance. Finally he broke through his mental paralysis, bringing forth the energy in a fiery blue rope of magical flames. He snapped his fist forward and sent the flames into the nearest opponent, surging the energy at the moment of impact as he had been trained to do. The man exploded in fire, flying backwards to his death. Keeping his arm spinning, he shot the fire chain forward again, the intense energy of the explosion blasting a second man off his feet. A third man appeared, sword raised and screaming maniacally. The man was huge and his long blonde hair billowed behind him as his long heavy blade came crashing down towards his head. Jarak lifted his blade to block the strike, the impact causing his arm to vibrate in pain. The man kicked out viciously, his boot hitting Jarak in his armored chest and catapulting him to his back. The Saricon warrior growled and jumped forward, his sword leading the attack. Frantically, Jarak scooted backwards, shooting his flaming fist forward, a ball of fire hitting the Saricon directly in the chest. The hot flames ignited his entire body and he stumbled backwards screaming, swinging his sword uselessly before him.
Jarak scrambled to his feet as three more attackers came at him. He had exhausted his tarnum but he still had energy in the mage stone at his waist. This time he tried a different spell. Converting the energy from the stone, Jarak reached out with his hand and wrapped invisible strands of it around the burning Saricon. With one powerful heave, he magically picked up the screaming man and flung him into the nearest attacker. There was a sickening thud as the two crashed together, their flaming bodies somersaulting across the grassy ground.
He was now out of energy and the two men were upon him. He lifted his sword and silently prayed that his training had been enough. One Saricon carried a heavy battle axe and he swung it sideways, yelling something that Jarak could not understand. This man was also large, and Jarak dropped low, almost to his knees, the axe narrowly missing the top of his head. He jabbed his sword forward into the man’s thigh while jumping back in case he reversed the swing of his axe. The man howled in pain, but barely faltered. He screamed again, but this time Jarak understood the word. T
he Saricon had yelled “Heln”, and followed his war cry with another giant step forward, his huge axe coming straight down like a woodsman splitting a log.
Suddenly another body was there, Jarak’s savior leaping from the darkness and skewering the Saricon right through his abdomen. The swordsman spun by him, slicing his sword forward and out, nearly disemboweling the man. The Saricon fell forward just as the last attacker arrived, his two swords spinning as they attacked the man that had saved Jarak.
The swordsman was good, but so was the Saricon, who fought with two swords. They exchanged several blows before Jarak entered the fray, attacking the man from his flank, as the other warrior attacked him from the other side. Suddenly the Saricon screamed Heln’s name and Jarak saw his eyes light up, literally flaring blue. Within seconds the Saricon was howling like a wild animal, his body moving impossibly fast, his two swords a blur of deadly steel. It was all they could do to avoid being struck, and finally the second swordsman was hit, the Saricon’s sword slicing across his arm as he attempted in vain to avoid the whirlwind strikes. Jarak lunged forward, hoping to skewer the man in the back. But his sword was blocked as the warrior spun towards him with impossible speed. The Saricon, faster than Jarak thought possible, reversed the direction of his sword and struck Jarak in the side of the head with the pommel. His head spinning, Jarak stumbled to his left, the side of his face flaring with pain. Frantically Jarak attempted to scoot away from the crazed warrior.
“Time to die,” the Saricon said in Newain.
Out of the shadows another warrior materialized. Daricon attacked, his Kul-brite sword flaring with green flames. They came together, their bodies glimmering in the darkness as the flames from Daricon’s sword shed light on the combatants. Both warriors moved so fast that Jarak could barely see them, their forms blurs in the night. Daricon fought brilliantly; the green glow of his swords flames were reflected outward in lightning quick flashes as he skillfully wielded his weapon against the enemy warrior. The Saricon continued to scream insanely. Then suddenly he was silent, his violent screams now a gurgle as he dropped his blades to grab his neck, trying vainly to stop the flow of blood. The giant warrior stumbled, then fell heavily to the ground.
Daricon rushed to Jarak’s side. “Are you okay?” His uncle’s face and clothing were splattered with blood and Jarak could see the fire of battle still glowing in his eyes.
“I’m okay,” Jarak said groggily as he slowly stood. He had a nasty cut across his cheek and a bad headache, but other than that he seemed fine. “Check the other Legionnaire.”
Suddenly ten men were around them, forming a perimeter, swords and shields held protectively around their prince. Jarak looked back at the camp and saw a massive flash of light, lightning arcing through the darkness. It must be Serix enacting his spells. Jarak stepped towards the warrior who had saved him. The man wore a floppy brimmed hat and he held his left arm at his side. “Are you okay?” Jarak asked, stepping closer.
The man looked up and Jarak stopped in his tracks. This was no man. He recognized those eyes. It was Cat. “I’m fine,” she said, clearly in pain.
“What are you doing here!?”
“We can talk about this later,” Daricon said brusquely. “We have work to do. Men!” Daricon yelled. “Bring the prince back to camp!”
Everyone hustled back to the camp, guided by the light from the fires. The fighting was over, but the ground was littered with bodies, Schulgs, Saricons, and their own comrades, many pierced by the arrows fired by the attackers on the cliff face.
Legionnaires maintained their protective perimeter around Jarak while Daricon issued more orders. He wanted the enemy dead dragged away and burned. Perimeter guards were reset while soldiers searched for wounded. The scene was chaotic, but for the moment it looked like the skirmish was over.
Jarak noticed that his hands were shaking. He sat down on a rock by a fire and Cat sat down next to him. A soldier saw to her wound as they both stared silently into the fire. “You saved my life,” Jarak said softly, breaking the silence.
“And you mine.”
“Your father is going to be furious.”
Serix moved past the perimeter guards, quickly locating Jarak. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he sat down next to him. “Bring some water,” he ordered a nearby guard.
At his words Jarak realized how parched his mouth was. It felt like all the moisture had been sucked from it, and nothing sounded better than a cold cup of water. “I’m okay, just a cut.”
A guard handed him a cup of water, and one for Cat as well. Jarak’s hands were still trembling. “It’s the adrenaline,” Serix said. “It will soon pass. I saw your fire but I could not reach you. Tell me what happened.”
Jarak drank deeply before he began the short tale. Serix didn’t need to probe much with questions, as the events of the fight were still all too fresh in Jarak’s mind. His words tumbled out quickly as he recounted the story. “I killed them, Serix,” Jarak said softly, as if the reality of it was just sinking in. He drained the last of the water and sighed heavily.
“And it’s a good thing. They would have killed you. You did very well, Jarak. Smart thinking when you tasked from the horses.” Serix looked at Cat. “How is your arm?”
“Hurts, but the cut is not so deep.” The soldier had cleaned the wound, smeared a salve on it and wrapped it with clean bandages.
Daricon slipped through the perimeter guards and tossed Jarak a wine skin. “Drink, it will help calm your nerves.” Jarak gratefully obliged, quaffing several long gulps before he tossed the bag to Cat. She looked thankful, drinking heartily as well. “How are you holding up?” he asked Jarak.
“I’ll be fine. How many attacked us?”
“Hard to say. We killed over fifty but some ran off in the night. There were Saricon and Schulg amongst the dead.”
“Why would the Schulg fight with the Saricons?” Cat asked.
“Money…honor…who knows. They are tribal, each chief using his warriors for his own purposes. More than likely they were mercenary scouts.”
“How many men did we lose?”
“Twenty nine. But it would have been more if you hadn’t warned us. Serix here killed most of the bowmen on the cliff face before they could do too much damage. Nice job, Jarak.”
Twenty nine warriors dead. Jarak thought of the men he had helped the other day, imagining them cut and bleeding on the dirty ground. So many. But he knew there would be many more. “Daricon, who was that Saricon that you saved us from? His eyes were glowing and he moved so quickly. Was he a Merger like you?”
“He was not. They do not have Aurits. What you saw was a power they call the Fury. It’s an innate ability that some Saricons have, similar to our Way, enabling them to fight with incredible strength and speed for a short period. He was probably a war leader, or someone of high rank.”
“Thank you for saving us,” Jarak said.
Daricon stood, gripping Jarak’s shoulder. “Get some rest. And Cat, get a tent from the supply cart and set it up here. I want you close to us. Your father would never forgive me if anything else happened to you.”
Cat stood as Daricon and Serix left them, both having plenty of things to do. “Let me help you,” Jarak said.
“I can do it.”
“I’m sure you can. But I could use your company.”
Jarak was being honest, and Cat could tell. Normally he was so flippant and confident, joking about everything. But now he seemed scared, almost vulnerable, and he didn’t seem to be hiding it. And if she were being honest, she could use the company as well. Killing that Saricon had happened so quickly that she had barely any time to think about it, until now. And it made her sick to her stomach. “Okay, come on.”
They walked together towards the supply cart. Four guards followed them from a discreet distance. “How did you pull this off?” Jarak asked.
“I forged my father’s signature on a work order that required me to go with the new quartermaster’s assistant on
the trip. He was new and didn’t know who I was. It was easy.”
Jarak smiled, shaking his head in amazement. “I can only imagine what your father is going to do.”
“I don’t care. I want to be in the Legion.”
“Well you saved my life. And you can fight. That has to count for something.”
“He is so stubborn. I don’t think it will matter.”
They reached the supply cart and found a spare tent. The quartermaster’s assistant was not there, which was good as Cat was in no mood to explain the situation to him. They grabbed the canvas tent and headed back to their fire.
“You know. I could talk to him. I am his prince. Maybe I could convince him…sort of order it. I do have the power to enlist men, or women, in the Dy’ainian Legion.”
Cat stopped, looking seriously at him. “Would you do that?”
Jarak thought about it. He didn’t’ relish the thought of the conversation. But he did agree with Cat that she was of age and that she had every right to join the Legion if she wished it. She was talented with a sword, clearly tenacious and dedicated. It seemed to him that she would make a great Legionnaire. “I wouldn’t look forward to it. But yes, I would talk to him, for you.”
Cat smiled for the first time. “I would be grateful.”
Smiling back, Jarak said, “Let’s survive the night first. Then we can talk about it.”
***
Rath sat by himself sipping chulo, a warm drink made from a strong alcohol mixed with sugar, warm milk, and various spices. The bar, a popular meeting place called Finns, named after the owner who had been running the place for the last twenty years, was located deep in the heart of the city, several blocks from Main Street. It was a place where people of all ages met for drinks, food, and entertainment. Rath had been working hard and he was hoping to have a few drinks, relax, and observe the patrons around him, one of his favorite pastimes. Recently he had been working for King Dormath, commissioned to organize and account for all military expenditures. He was honored to have been given such a task, the importance of the job weighing heavily on his young shoulders. He was now twenty, and despite his skill with numbers, and his penchant for research and knowledge, it was rare for someone his age to be given such an important position. Most of his days and evenings were spent in the king’s library, reading and adjusting ledgers, recording data, and often finishing up late into the night. This night, however, he had promised himself that he would relax with a drink and maybe some conversation, forgetting the stresses of his new job for at least a few hours.
The Steel Lord: Book 01 - BannerFall Page 20
