by C. J. Aaron
The earth shook from the impact of their hooves as their lightning approach slowed to a more measured gait as they fell into formation. The riders wore suits of light armor, their heads covered entirely with helmets complete with rigid lightweight leather faceguards. The lead row carried long, heavy spears topped with razor sharp metal tips that glistened in the morning sun. The rear rows carried a variety of blades and maces. Weapons were unsheathed at the ready.
With synchronized form, the riders slowly ground to a halt. For a moment, all was silent as the dust gently settled to the earth in their wake. As the particles crossed the sun, they created a halo that stretched out around the burning orb.
Ryl turned his head slightly to the both sides. The phrenics remained still.
The time was now.
He reached his hands behind his back, into the folds of his cloak. His fingers ardently closed around the handles of the Leaves. The jolt of excitement raced through his fingers, speeding up his arms as he wrenched the weapons from their holsters. A blinding explosion of green light flashed across the area, revealing the shimmering flames of the serrated blades. He lowered the burning weapons casually to his side. There was a muted gasp from the approaching riders and from those gathered behind. Several of the horses spooked, stomping their heavy feet in protest.
To his right, he could hear the muted crackle of the flames igniting around Vox’s tattooed left arm. On his left, the creak of a bow being drawn to its peak signaled the death that she was ready to deal. Ramm lifted the massive warhammer with ease, slamming the handle down on his opposite hand with a slap that echoed across the plain.
For a moment all fell still once again.
The moment wasn’t to last.
With a cry that carried over the gathered force the front line of cavalry advanced forward.
Chapter 31
In unison the riders spurred their mounts forward in response to the call. Their spears lowered further toward horizontal with every step. Their pace started slow, a deliberate steady cadence, building in speed as they approached. The ground rumbled underfoot as their charge reached a gallop. Less than two hundred meters separated the charge from the phrenics.
Ryl squeezed his eyes shut, his mind rapidly focusing as he released an assault of unrestrained emotion. The wave of pure terror washed over the horses and riders with frightening force. The Leaves flickered slightly as his eyes opened.
Horse and rider reacted immediately with dramatic effect. The well-trained beasts in the initial charge bore the brunt of the assault, though the results could be seen ripple through the entirety of the force to a lesser degree. The already unnerved mounts, wary of the unnatural flaming green blades, reared up in protest at the fervent, panicked commands of their riders. The neighing of horses mixed with the screams of men as the organized charge scattered. Several horses bolted from the ranks, colliding with their neighbors. Men and beast were struck with the bludgeoning hooves of the panicked beasts. Riders were unceremoniously tossed listlessly from the saddles as their charging animals bucked unexpectedly. Bodies and spears crashed to the ground as the initial charge collapsed in the disarray.
Chaos reigned among the riders and mounts as both tried to regain control over their faculties. From the rear group a second command tore through the air, ringing clear over the cacophony of men and horses. The deep voice of the commanding officer called the charge. A new wave of cavalry quickly rode forward, surging through the midst of their struggling comrades.
Unlike the initial assault, the second charge rode with wooden batons drawn, not steel. Their rush seemed impassioned yet random as it pulled nearly fifty riders from scattered locations along the remaining lines. At their center, face covered by the dark features of a solid helmet, rode a giant of a man. The earth trembled as the onslaught broke free from the mayhem, urging themselves onward. They ate up the distance between themselves and their prey at a gallop. Flame swelled around Vox's arm.
The lead rider rose his massive arm above his head as they closed within fifty meters from the phrenics. Vox raised his arm in turn as the hulking leader of the charge raised his voice in a thundering war cry. Ryl prepared to release the damper on the speed and burning rage that begged to be set free.
Without warning, the approach stalled; the riders skidded to a stop nearly twenty meters from the phrenics. The lead rider walked his horse forward a step; the large mare nickering in protest. He reached his hands up, removing his helmet.
Ryl's heart raced, his emotions leapt as he immediately recognized the face.
It was Moyan.
The grin spreading across his face was contagious.
“What are you waiting for, captain?” The massive guard called out as he worked the reins, turning the horse around. “Where you ride, we will follow.”
The captain let out a cry of emotion and pent up rage that chilled Ryl to the core. His voice was met by hollers of rage as the Le’Dral’s guards, Vigil, tributes and phrenic alike screamed their defiance.
“Vox. Now,” Ryl called as the din of the war cry subsided.
The elementalist waved his flaming left arm across his body from left to right then back again. Near the disorderly remains of the initial charge, a gout of fire erupted from the ground. The inferno flared into the air, reaching nearly three meters high before diminishing to a smoldering wall of flame. Ryl felt the sweltering heat from the fire wash over him, stinging the exposed skin of his face.
“Charge!” Le’Dral screamed from behind Ryl.
The captain spurred his eager mount forward. Andr, Millis and the others charged ahead with him. From behind, the combined force of their rebel guards, tributes and Vigil streamed after him, screaming as they raced toward the reeling horses. Moyan's line of cavalry joined the charge forward as Le'Dral burst through their midst. The captain was flanked by his brothers-in-arms, Millis and Moyan, as they bore down on the frantically disorganized guard from Cadsae Proper.
Ryl dipped into the speed, racing through the line of horses. Ramm kept pace on his heel as they rushed into the fray while Vox and Kaep remained as support in the rear.
The wall of flame vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving nothing more than a shower of sparks. The errant embers swirled into violent eddies as the wind of the passing phrenics and horses churned the air.
Only a portion of the riders from Cadsae Proper had regained their fighting spirit. They lowered their spears, desperately spurring their mounts to the attack. Ryl ducked to the side, angling his body between a pair, and with a flick of his wrists the shimmering blades of the Leaves severed the shafts of their spears, leaving a charred stump where the blade once lived. The riders gawped in panic as they realized in the blink of an eye their deadly weapons were reduced to nothing more than sticks.
Almost immediately, clear signs of desertion began to show. From the rear line, rider after rider wheeled their mounts. Some cast their weapons aside as they peeled off to the south.
Ryl’s charge pushed him through their lines in an instant. Once at their rear, Ryl let the blades of the Leaves flicker out. With deft precision, he went to work on the back of the confused cavalry that had sought their doom. Mounted or no, they were no match for his speed. He left a wake of riderless horses, their masters either unconscious or writhing on the cold, hard earth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ramm dealing disproportionate damage with the butt of his massive warhammer.
The charge of Le'Dral and Moyan was no less effective. The seasoned warriors rode confidently into the ranks, indiscriminately unseating rider after rider. For cycles under the captain’s instruction, the guards had been schooled on the effective, non-lethal use of the baton. In their hands, the dull weapons reaped havoc no less fearful than a blade.
Le’Dral’s guards and tributes were the last to reach the fray. The commotion of the horses and the agonizing wails of downed riders split the calm of the morning. The air filled with the pungent odor of newly disturbed earth. They charged into th
e ranks, fighting any that threatened resistance. Ryl was fully aware of the skillset of the Vigil. They were near masters in their craft. The rebel guard gave a more than admirable display of themselves as they picked their way through the soldiers who were until very recently their comrades.
The tributes battled like men and women possessed. With no martial training, they fell upon those unlucky enough to be in their reach like feral demons. Their technique and form non-existent, they resorted to any and all means to vanquish their foes.
The counter charge into the weakened ranks had been devastating; more mounted guards turned in flight with every passing moment. Within what seemed like an instant the tide of the attack shifted with a final push. With a hasty, pleading cry from their ranks, the remaining guard from Cadsae Proper withdrew from the battle, fleeing with haste. Some left on horseback, many fled on foot, desperate to escape with their lives.
Only one small pocket of heavy resistance remained along the line of battle, far to his left. Ryl noted Andr moving quickly to the east in that direction, urging his horse at a gallop along the rear of the fray. Through the tangle of men and horses, the situation was difficult to discern, yet it was apparent that the situation there was unlike the scene that had played out across the majority of the battle. It appeared that several of his guards who’d defected with the tributes were down, the remaining handful of fighters stood with their backs together encircled by a ring of cavalry and unseated riders.
Ryl struggled to see through the crowd. He’d let the speed fade. He easily ducked a feeble attempt at a slash to his face, responding immediately, rising to full height, connecting his fist—still clutching the Leaves in his palm—to the center of his attacker’s face. The cracking of the man’s nose was deafening. Blood sprayed immediately as he dropped like a stone.
He tapped back into a portion of the speed as he raced out of the fray for a clearer view of the battle. Moyan and several of his troops were moving quickly to assist the remaining assault. Through a momentary clearing of the crowd, he saw Dav; he still carried the sword from the Lei Guard, and it was a wicked blur as he deflected blow after blow. At the sight of the man fighting at his back Ryl’s heart raced—the unnatural stance and uncoordinated motions of one who was woefully unaccustomed to battle stood out among the trained fighters. There was a tribute in there. He felt his throat constrict as the face turned momentarily in his direction.
It was Cray.
Seeing the tide of the small pocket of battle balancing perilously between victory and defeat, a single mounted enemy guard wheeled in their direction. His hasty retreat had been stalled as impulses of bloodlust and revenge overpowered his fear. Starting forward, he leveled his spear for the kill.
Ryl exploded ahead as time slowed, sprinting to the defense of his embattled companions. To his horror, he watched in slow motion as the events unfolded. Though they were less than fifty meters away, it appeared as if they were on the opposite side of an impassable chasm. He would never make it to them in time.
The approaching guard gained speed; the point of his spear angled to impact the greatest damage. His goal was clear; he’d impale them all. At the sound of the charge, the group in the middle turned. Cray’s eyes widened in shock as he noted the rider that bore down on them. Penned in as they were, defending themselves against a wall of steel, there was nowhere for them to turn, no time for them to run. They watched their death approach at the tip of the spear.
The rider approached from the south of their position, away from the heaviest of the melee. His focus was on his target; the rest of the battlefield lost in a blur of vicious intent. Ryl’s eyes locked on to Andr; his horse flashing eastward, perpendicular to the charge. Less spooked from the initial assault, the mercenary’s mount was fleeter than that of the guard, yet his angle of approach would push him too far south if only by meters.
His horse was nearly two meters away when Andr leapt from his mount into the approaching guard. His reckless, desperate action caught the charging soldier unprepared. The force of his impact carried both men off the horse, their flailing forms landing among the remaining pocket of fighting guards in a tangle of bodies.
The spear which had been primed for a lethal blow twisted upward before falling harmlessly to the dirt. The newly deposed rider, with reins in his hand, yanked the head of the horse to the right. The confused mount reared back on its hind legs as it frantically fought to stay on its feet. Its massive hooves connected with another of the guards who’d surrounded Dav and Cray. His body was tossed aside with a sickening crunch of bone.
Dav and Cray took advantage of the turn in the tide of their dangerously secluded battle, falling on the displaced guards as Andr crashed into their midst. The Vigil fell upon them with the skills of a fearless warrior. Cray attacked like a man possessed. Moyan and a small group of his cavalry arrived an instant before Ryl joined the fray. Within moments the brutal shafts of his bladeless Leaves and the solid batons of the Moyan’s riders ended the battle with a resounding victory.
The remaining guards who had failed to heed the sounds of retreat threw down their arms, giving themselves in to the victors.
A cheer—ragged, yet heartfelt—broke from the lips of Le’Dral’s men. The note was echoed from the terrified tributes that hovered at the edge of the grove of trees to their north. Though the victory was theirs, Ryl felt the nauseous pang of the knot in his stomach as he hastened for his friends' side.
Andr was up, but resting on a knee, when Ryl arrived. Cray was already at his side, helping lift the mercenary with a hand supported under his arm. Dav hovered menacingly around the pair, watching the retreat and surrender of the guards. Le’Dral, Moyan and their combined troops were working steadily to round up the wounded and capitulating guards. No pursuit was given to those who limped away in escape.
They had all been companions until the morning before.
“I owe you my life,” Cray gasped in a low voice. His eyes wandered over the mercenary with a confused sense of wonder and appreciation. “Thank you.”
Ryl watched as the shock of pure emotion rushed over Andr’s dirt and blood covered face. A smeared line of crimson trickled down the side of his head. A thick clump of hair had already matted itself to his cheek. He grinned back at Cray, his boy, clapping him on the shoulder.
“You fought well,” Andr replied with a nod of his head. His words sounded as if they were stuck in his mouth as he struggled through the brief sentence.
Ryl stepped in to help steady the staggered mercenary. His weight rested heavily on Ryl’s arm.
“Let’s get you to the mender,” Ryl added, knowing Andr’s reply before it left his lips. His eyes roved the field surrounding the grove. Bodies of men and horses squirmed on the ground. Some lay motionless. The trampled grass was discolored in patches. Painted with the dark red of blood.
“The mender will have enough tending to do before we leave,” Andr admitted wisely. “I’ll tend to my own wounds. He’ll need all the help he can get. We still have miles to go. We can’t wait long.”
The mercenary winced slightly as he shrugged off the support, rolling his head side to side, followed by both shoulders. The veiled hint was subtle, but the look in Andr’s eyes as they met his own was blatant.
Now was not yet the time.
Ryl, nor none other, would have faulted him for revealing the truth to his son at that moment. He continued to marvel at his friend’s self-control and commitment to seeing their task through to the end.
“Cray, see who you can round up with any skills in mending,” Ryl ordered. “Bring them to Jeffers.”
The tribute nodded his head as he backed away slowly. His eyes lingered on Andr for a long moment. His look was that of gratitude, confusion … with an inkling of something deeper. Somewhere far beneath the upper layers of his consciousness, buried deep within his memory, Ryl knew the answer to the disquieting puzzle lurked. He understood Cray’s confusion firsthand. Though his father’s face had been burned in
to his nightmares for cycles, the face of his mother and his only sister had nearly faded. Thoughts of them had long since failed to produce clear images in his mind. Would he recognize their faces today if they were standing beside him?
Cray shook his gaze free before hastening to the tributes in the glade. Ryl patted his friend on the shoulder again. There were no words for the moment. The smile was all that was needed.
From the edge of the grove, the mender was already moving steadily from the trees. Sarial was at his side; a score of tributes swarmed in their wake. Many remained at the outskirts, hesitant to leave the feeble protection of the trees. Jeffers was calling out orders to those around him, his hands pointing in rapid succession in the direction of those whose need was the greatest.
Le’Dral approached from the west with Moyan on his heels. The massive guard loomed behind the captain like an oversized shadow. Ryl removed the hood of his cloak as the pair stopped a meter away. Free from the shadow of the fabric, a gentle breeze from the south blew a lock of stray hair across his face. With it came a hint of the unmistakable, metallic smell of blood.
Moyan’s eyes squinted in curiosity as they catalogued the features of Ryl's face. A moment later they went wide as they fell upon the brands on his neck. Clarity soon followed. The wide grin that spread across his face was again disconnected with his rigid features.
“I'm relieved to find your death was more suspicious than it originally seemed,” Moyan said with a grin. “I heard tales from the Palisades, from the Harvest ceremony. They were too unbelievable to comprehend. The truth of the matter is much more unexpected.”
“As was your arrival, my friend,” Ryl said appreciatively as he stepped forward extending his arm toward the lieutenant. The massive hand of Moyan's closed atop his, swallowing it whole in his grasp. His hands were rough from calluses, yet his grip was light.
