by Callie Kanno
The call of dissonant horns sounded from the Shimat stationed by Cha-sak’s tent. The demon was signaling his army to go forward.
The Shimat and mercenaries began marching as soon as they heard the horns. They had stopped using their archers as an opening attack. The L’avan always turned the arrows back to their source, so the Shimat did their best to distract the L’avan enough so that the archers could become effective.
The Seharan archers did not have such difficulties, and they waited for the approach of the enemy so they could begin their task.
There was a small disturbance among the ranks as Ruon, Sitara, and Riel made their way to the front. Adesina looked at them with a furrowed brow. Their presence meant that Cha-sak would be attacking directly.
Ruon glanced at her with a strange expression on his face. “Brace yourself,” he cautioned. “It seems the Demon Lord of the Shimat is displeased with your return to the battlefield.”
The Laithur nodded to Sitara, who immediately closed her eyes in concentration. Riel did the same, and Adesina assumed this was because they were working together through their Joining.
The air took on a golden hue, almost as if the sun were setting. The L’avan and Seharan soldiers began to murmur amongst themselves, wondering at the change.
Then, without warning, the sky exploded.
The clouds were consumed by fire, and the roar of the flames was deafening. Adesina’s nostrils filled with the scent of ozone, as if there had been a lightning strike.
Cries of fear escaped almost every throat, and Adesina did her best to regain her composure. She shouted words of encouragement to those around her, trying to keep control of the frightened soldiers.
Sitara’s hands were extended above her head and beads of sweat formed at her brow. In spite of the noise and fire, no one had been harmed by the explosion. Adesina knew that was because of the protection of the Serraf.
Ri’sel had only temporarily been distracted by Cha-sak’s attack, and his eyes were fixed firmly on the advancing Shimat force. He called for order among the ranks, and he soon had it. Then he issued the command for the archers to begin firing.
Adesina knew that the cavalry would be sent forward next, and she gathered up Torith’s reins.
“Steady,” she called to the other members of the cavalry.
Ravi and the other Rashad were in position to accompany the mounted attack force. Adesina looked at her guardian and felt a surge of affection.
Had there ever been a time when the Rashad were not the faithful allies of the L’avan?
Ravi’s thoughts seemed surprised by her musing.
Of course not. Our entire purpose is to assist and protect you.
Adesina smiled sadly. So many Rashad have died fighting in this war between the L’avan and the Shimat, yet you act as though this fight is yours as well.
Ravi’s response was solemn. This war is everyone’s responsibility, even if they do not realize it.
Another deafening explosion rocked the earth.
Adesina cast a worried glance at Sitara. The Serraf looked even more strained than before. If Cha-sak continued to attack with such force, Adesina would need to help protect the soldiers from being wiped out.
Arrows from the Seharan archers sang through the air, and the first blood of the day was spilled.
“Queen Adesina, Ravi,” called Ri’sel, “break those front lines.”
“Cavalry forward,” shouted Adesina as she heeled Torith into a gallop.
The thunder of hundreds of hooves striking against the ground filled Adesina’s head. She drew Falcon and let it swirl with the light of her vyala. The Rashad leapt forward in graceful bounds, easily keeping pace with the horses. Ravi led his people in a series of roars that undoubtedly chilled the blood of their enemies.
Adesina expected the Shimat mercenaries to meet them with pikes, as was usual when defending against cavalry. However, not a pike could be seen as Adesina rode closer.
Her instincts screamed a warning, and her vyala flared up in response.
The front lines of the mercenaries dropped to their knees, revealing rows of archers standing behind. Waves of arrows were loosed, aimed directly at the advancing cavalry and Rashad.
Adesina’s vyala threw up a wall of fire, like a shield before them as they rode. The arrows were burned as they shot through, but small pieces of flaming embers peppered the exposed skin of the riders at the front of the attack force. Adesina lifted her arm to protect her face and gritted her teeth against the pain of dozens of small burns.
The mercenaries were rushing to reform their ranks and bring the pikes to the front once more. They were not fast enough to slow Adesina and her soldiers as they bore down on them.
The galloping horses of the L’avan and Seharan cavalry broke through the first lines of the Shimat mercenaries, raining destruction upon their heads. The infantry followed close behind, taking advantage of the chaos that Adesina left in her wake.
***
A young Seharan farmer stood atop a hill to the northeast of the battlefield. He clutched his bow in one hand and nocked an arrow with the other. The men and women around him did the same.
He had never been a soldier before. He had never seen anything beyond the occasional brawl between angry villagers. The sheer scale of the battle filled him with unrestrained fear.
He had trained with all of the other volunteers, and had learned basic swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat. The farmer had only volunteered because his brothers had, and he had not wanted to seem like a coward.
When they had called for soldiers to join the archers, he had jumped at the opportunity. He was not as skilled with the bow as others from his village, but it was the chance to stay safe from the fighting while still doing his part.
The farmer had soon discovered that it didn’t matter that he was not as skilled a marksman as others. More often than not, he simply had to shoot his arrows into the oncoming enemy hoard and he was bound to hit somebody.
The young farmer heard the shout of his commander, and he raised his drawn bow into the air. He calculated the angle needed for the arrows to travel the desired distance, and then he waited for the next order. The commander shouted again, and all the arrows were loosed.
They had aimed for the back ranks of the enemy army, a safe distance from their own soldiers. It was difficult to see how much damage had been caused, but that didn’t really matter to the farmer. He simply nocked another arrow and waited for the command to fire.
The hill on which they stood was directly east of the set of hills where the main Seharan and L’avan armies began each day. A river ran along the eastern side of the archers and down past the battlefield. The river protected the eastern flank of the Seharan army from the Shimat mercenaries, which was vital to their continued survival.
The command came for the farmer to fire his bow once more. He took aim and loosed his arrow, once again feeling grateful that he was not down among the fighting and carnage like his brothers.
He knew very little about war, especially when it came to strategies and tactics. He watched the movements of the different groups with a sense of curiosity, but with no understanding of what he was seeing.
He saw the famous L’avan queen riding on her powerful black stallion and leading the rest of the cavalry to attack a group of Shimat mercenaries that had been separated from the rest of the main army. He could see flashes of light as she used her magic to defend her soldiers.
The sky still occasionally shook with the explosive attacks from the demon that led the Shimat army. The magical creatures that the L’avan queen had brought with her stood on the hills next to the archers and cast the protective spells that preserved their lives.
Another volley of arrows was sent into the enemy ranks.
The young farmer was tired from the pace that had been forced upon them over the past few weeks. They had very little sleep and nothing but cold rations to eat. The archers spent each day firing arrows toward their
enemies and each night gathering up all the arrows they could find that could be used again.
Even so, the farmer was somewhat content with his lot. He was almost certain to survive this war, and then he would forever be viewed as a hero. He would have the praise of his fellow villagers, and his father would surely give him some land to farm on his own. Perhaps those girls on the next farm over would finally start paying attention to him.
Somewhere from the back of the archers, a shout rang out.
The farmer started to aim his bow once more, but then he realized the shout had not come from the commander.
More cries followed, becoming panicked or filled with pain.
The young farmer’s eyes darted past the men and women standing behind him. What was happening?
Then he saw them.
Figures clothed in black, with all but their eyes covered. They moved with a deadly grace as they swung their weapons and ended lives.
They were coming toward him.
The farmer dropped his bow and started to run.
How had they gotten there? The archers were protected at their rear by the river!
The river…
His eyes turned instinctively toward the flowing body of water, and he saw even more black figures emerging from its depths.
A throwing knife whistled through the air and struck the farmer in his lower back, causing him to collapse midstride. He screamed in pain but frantically tried to keep moving, pulling himself forward with his arms.
He couldn’t die here. The archers were supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be protected.
The farmer could hear the quiet tread of boots approaching him, and he knew that his life was coming to an end.
He wanted to plead for mercy, but the words stuck in his throat.
It wouldn’t have saved him anyway.
***
Leander was the son of the leader of the Ojuri. He had been taught from an early age how to inspire the confidence of followers, to lead through example, to settle conflicts, to put the needs of others before his own. His mother had known that he would need these skills, but she had not imagined how they would someday be used.
He hadn’t, either.
The young man raised his axe and brought it down with all of his strength. He had been offered a sword when he had joined the ranks of volunteers as they began their military training, but the weapon had made him uncomfortable. Leander was familiar with the axe, and had used it ever since he was old enough to gather and chop firewood.
He pretended he was chopping wood now, even though he knew he was in the midst of battle.
Leander had never been friendly as a child. He was quiet and reserved, like his father had been. Then, as he had been faced with the harsh realities of his position as an outcast from society, he had grown hard and distant.
If an angry villager could maim a child with a flaming brand for no other reason than that child’s social status, then Leander was more than happy to have nothing to do with society as a whole.
Leander brought his axe down again, and his eyes strayed to the young men who followed him.
He knew that they were all from different villages in Sehar—he had learned much about them over the past couple of days. They had whispered in the dark of the night while waiting for sleep, talking about their homes and their loved ones.
Leander knew that these young men were among those he had sworn to shun.
And yet…
They were so frightened. They were so young. He had stepped in as their leader, and they had all drawn near to him with a sense of desperation. They knew that Leander was a member of the Northern Tribes, but they had been eager to accept him and to follow him.
He had spent the last few days doing everything in his power to guide them and protect them, and he had won their unwavering loyalty. They looked up to him as though he were some sort of mighty hero, even though he insisted that he was nothing more than an Ojuri.
In return for their loyalty and admiration, Leander had begun to feel a deep sense of responsibility for the young men. His hardness toward them had disappeared, and he knew that he would do anything on their behalf.
Leander rushed forward and swung his axe, protecting one of his soldiers from an attack from behind.
“Thank you, Captain,” said the young man, breathing heavily.
Leander nodded and went on with the battle. The young man’s name was Jon. He came from a village just south of Alahn, and his father was a fisherman. He had six younger sisters and a brother that was only seven years old. Jon’s father had wanted to volunteer to fight for the newly proclaimed Queen of Sehar, but his leg had been injured in an accident. Jon had promised his father that he would fight in his stead.
Leander knew such things about each of his soldiers, and their names were etched in his mind.
He could not let them down.
Leander and his soldiers were along the western flank, where the battle was not so fierce. Even so, they were seeing their fair share of fighting. Leander raised his axe to fend off a blow from one of the enemy mercenaries, and another one of his soldiers stepped in to attack the mercenary from behind.
That soldier’s name was Cort. He had come from Tanar with his father and older brother. His father was a city guard and his brother had been training to be the same, so they were both with the main army at the center of the battle. Cort had been training with the scholars, so his experience with a sword had been limited. Even so, he had wanted to join the fight against the Scepter of Cha-sak.
The names and stories of each soldier passed through Leander’s mind as he moved through the battlefield. Each young man had so much to live for, and yet they had all chosen to come and join the fight.
It filled Leander with hope for what Sehar could become.
A cry of alarm sounded from the west, and Leander began to run toward the soldiers that were fighting there. He wasn’t certain what was happening, but he knew that they would rely on him to lead them through any crisis.
Leander skidded to a halt as he topped a slight rise.
The entire western flank of the Seharan and L’avan army was being overrun by Shimat mercenaries.
Leander didn’t know how they had suddenly become surrounded, but he and his soldiers were in a very dangerous position. He lifted his axe in the air and shouted for his men to rally to him.
He saw the golden form of the Rashad messenger rush away, taking a report of their situation to the L’avan King and his mother.
Leander set his jaw in determination. It would only be a matter of time before help would be sent their way. They only had to stay strong until it arrived.
“To me,” he shouted once more, standing like a beacon for his inexperienced soldiers.
They were hopelessly outnumbered, but Leander did his best to look confident. They only had to last until reinforcements arrived.
Chapter Thirty-Five: Surrounded
L’iam was ready to shout in frustration. Cha-sak’s unrelenting attacks kept Ruon, Sitara, and Riel completely occupied, preventing them from helping elsewhere in the battle, and made it impossible for Savir to safely fly above the battlefield and get an accurate view of what was happening.
How could he plan the battle and protect his soldiers if he couldn’t see what was happening? Adesina could be in danger at that very moment, and he would simply have to wait for the Rashad messengers to report back.
L’iam knew that none of this was the fault of his subordinates, but he felt like taking his anger out on them anyway.
One of the lessons that his father had taught him flashed through his mind. L’iam could picture King L’unn leaning over his two sons as they studied the history of warfare together.
A good leader is not ruled by emotion, and a good man is not without emotion. You must always seek for balance, and remember that your people are relying on you to be the best you can be.
L’iam had always been guided by his father, and he let the memory of
those words direct him now. He took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself.
“Are there any new reports from the battlefield?” he asked Savir, who was now in charge of consolidating information.
Savir was about to shake his head when Rissa burst into the tent, panting heavily. Savir hurried over to the slender Rashad and spoke to her in a quiet voice. Before they were finished conversing, another Rashad appeared with an equally urgent expression on his face.
L’iam wanted to question the messengers himself, but he stayed where he was. He knew he had to delegate responsibilities, and he had asked Savir to help with gathering information. He would not insult the Henka warrior by taking over.
Z’eki started giving him a report from the Healers, discussing the number of wounded and the supplies that were needed. L’iam did his best to focus on what the man was saying.
Savir suddenly leapt to his feet and rushed to the table where the map of the battlefield was spread. He moved the tokens that represented different groups, speaking hurriedly as he did so.
“Please forgive my interruption, Elder Z’eki, but I am afraid this cannot wait.”
Z’eki nodded in understanding and waited to hear what the young desert warrior had to say.
“The demon Cha-sak has sent a force up along these trees and they have attacked our western flank.”
“How large is the force?” questioned L’iam urgently.
Savir shook his head. “We are still waiting for that information. All Rissa said was that they were greatly outnumbered.”
Hestia, who was standing across the table from L’iam, grew noticeably pale at this news. Her son was leading one of the groups of soldiers along the western flank.
“That is not all,” continued Savir. “Another force composed completely of Shimat assassins swam up the river and slaughtered our archers. They are now moving into position to attack our eastern flank from behind.”
A feeling of dread shot through L’iam’s chest and settled in his heart. His army was slowly being surrounded.
