Tobin took a moment to review the positioning of his warriors one last time. Including himself, the most skilled archers waited in back and occupied the best vantage point. They would hold their position the longest. In front of the lead archers, Tobin organized the Kifzo according to experience.
Satisfied with the formation, he made one final check over his equipment, examining his bow for any cracks, though he already knew none existed. He notched an arrow, crept into position, and locked his sight on the animal pen. Walor came up behind him. The two exchanged a nod.
Tobin waited for what seemed like hours when, in fact, he knew only minutes had passed. Anticipation had always been his least favorite part of an attack. During the time when all one could do was wait, his mind drifted off to images that so often haunted his dreams. Corpses of all ages, shapes, and sizes—men, women and children alike. Each of them stabbed, slashed, gored, or mutilated. Their eyes seemed to hold just enough life to pierce his soul deeper than any sword thrust could.
The images didn’t frighten him like they once had though. He had grown accustomed to their company years ago. Yet it never made his nights any more restful, or the moments before a battle any less unnerving.
His head turned at a sudden movement and he saw the second group far closer than he would have expected them to be, still unnoticed. Their lookouts are useless. We’ll be lucky to get more than a couple shots off before they’re engaged at this rate.
A war cry filled the night and Tobin concluded that Kaz had reached a similar decision as the once creeping warriors rushed the village at a full sprint. Loud clanging erupted from the animal pens and Tobin saw villagers scrambling to ready themselves. He aimed his bow, shouting “Now!” without looking back. A hail of arrows rained down, striking man and animal alike. Screams echoed across the landscape. The archers fired their second volley as men charged down the uneven slope, crying out in unison. Between the second and third flight of arrows, Tobin spared a glance and saw the first group of Kifzo fast approaching the hut clusters on the opposite side of the village.
The remainder of Tobin’s group released four rounds of arrows before the charging Kifzo engaged the villagers. Tobin signaled his men to fan out as they made their way down to the action, pausing here and there to pick off anyone escaping. Despite their numbers, the outmatched villagers died in droves. Tobin found little joy in slaughtering fishermen, but it was his task, and a life of blood was all Tobin knew.
Moving in close, he saw Kifzo already searching huts, a sign that the worst was over. As if the bloodied bodies were not evidence enough. So many dead in so little time.
Soon after entering the clusters, piercing screams reverberated in his ears, women and children crying out, some for help, others for mercy. Tobin knew neither would come.
Unable to turn away from the scenes of entire families being murdered, raped, or both, his stomach lurched and he swallowed back bile. Devilish grins filled the faces of those warriors already satiating their lusts, men he’d known and trained with most of his life.
How can you allow such brutality, Kaz? What would Lucia say if she knew such things existed?
A flash of light filled the night sky. Tobin stepped back and shielded his eyes from the sudden glare. Blinking, he set off toward the village center near the oasis.
Has to be sorcery. But here?
He arrived a few moments later with other Kifzo close behind. The ground around the oasis resembled the rest of the village. Dead littered the orange sand, oozing dark fluids from fresh wounds. Tobin’s eyes widened in shock. As many Kifzo warriors lay dead and dying as villagers.
Looking up from the bloody mess, several Kifzo caught his eye. Struggling to stand, they fought to defend themselves, pressed and battered by fishermen carrying little else but crude weapons more suited to their trade than for battle.
Tobin called out to those who had followed him, “Quick, help them.”
The warriors ran off to join the fray, putting the fishermen on the defensive. Tobin scanned the area, crouched at the ready. Sudden movement drew his attention to the shadows of a date tree. His hand snatched the throwing ax at his belt and whipped it toward the lurking figure hiding in the gloom. Tobin watched his throw sail through the air, confident he’d found his mark. However the ax came to a halt mid-air, hovering for a moment before falling to the ground. The figure stepped forward and another wave of light assaulted his senses. He found himself beset with sudden weakness, unable to focus. Stumbling to one knee, he saw Kifzo staggering and falling all around him, straining to keep their weapons up as the villagers surged forward.
The figure by the trees approached Tobin. He saw bones of both animal and human hanging from the shaman’s robes. Raising a hand, the shaman extended his index finger at Tobin as he tried to rise from his knees.
Tobin inhaled a deep breath, ready for whatever fate brought him. But the shaman burst into flames and convulsed to the ground. Tobin shook his head in denial as he watched the shaman’s body grow still, the remains of his clothing crackling under the intense heat.
How did that happen? But he had no time to consider such things. With the grogginess clearing and strength returning to his limbs, he picked up his bow and began firing shots at villagers eager to escape now that the Kifzo were unhindered by sorcery. His eyes widened as a fleeing villager burst into flames only a moment before his arrow caught the man.
Tobin twisted to his right where a tall man dressed in tattered red garb stood bent and out of breath. Tobin’s hand immediately went for his other throwing ax but the man stood up first, one arm raised in submission, the other hung at his side. “Wait. Please.”
Ax in hand, Tobin closed in on the man. “Did you kill the shaman? And that man?” he asked gesturing with the weapon.
Still panting, the man responded. “Yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more but I am still weak from my journey.”
“Journey? What are you doing here?”
Breathing heavy, the man shook his head. “Too much to explain. For now, just know that your enemy is mine.” Swallowing hard, he gestured toward several wounded Kifzo. “I’ve never been a strong healer but I have enough strength that if you’ll allow me, I may be able to help the worst of your men now that the battle appears over.”
Tobin saw it was true. The last few villagers fell under Kifzo blades. “Who are you? And why would you help us?”
“My name is Nachun. And as I said, your enemy is mine.” Nachun inclined his head in the direction of a fallen Kifzo whose hand staunched the flow of blood at his side. “May I?”
Reluctant at first, Tobin lowered his weapon and nodded.
Nachun moved with caution toward the fallen Kifzo. Tobin followed, scanning the area and taking in the damages. Close to twenty Kifzo lay dead, mostly those tasked to gain control of the oasis. An additional half dozen teetered on the edge of death themselves. The losses were much greater than expected.
Tobin looked down thoughtfully at Nachun. Our losses would have been much worse without this stranger. Nachun bent over the fallen Kifzo, hand resting over the large gash in his side.
“Will he live?” asked Tobin.
“For now. Unfortunately, all I can do at the moment is slow the bleeding. If he survives the night, I should be able to help more, once I’ve rested and regained some strength.”
“Very well. Do what you can and, if you’re able, treat any others in similar shape.”
Nachun nodded.
“What’s going on here?” said Kaz, anger in his voice.
Tobin looked up and met his brother’s glare as he and several other warriors approached. “This man saved many lives. The villagers had a shaman,” he said, gesturing to the smoldering remains. “He cast a spell that made us unable to fight the fishermen.” Tobin looked down “Nachun came to our aid and killed him.”
Kaz spat. “And you trust this shaman?”
“Yes. Even while weak he tries to help our fallen.” Tobin paused and looked at the oth
er wounded warriors near the oasis who, without Nachun’s help, would have died. “Do I speak false? Do we not owe this man?”
Hesitant at first, several of the men nodded and mumbled in agreement.
Kaz grunted. “He’ll live. For now. When he’s done here, make sure he’s put in one of the huts under guard.”
“This man…” Tobin began to argue.
“This man is still a stranger, Brother.” Kaz cut in. “I will speak no more on the matter until we know his story.”
The two men shared an intense stare before Tobin once again broke the gaze. “Where would you have me then?” he asked.
“The village is ours and the huts are being searched. Go help the others with the search.”
Tobin pushed his way past Kaz, feeling helpless and frustrated by his brother’s reaction. No doubt Kaz will kill the man. He spared a glance back and saw Nachun working on another wounded Kifzo under his brother’s watchful eye. Tobin shook his head. Too bad.
* * *
In the battle’s aftermath, Tobin maneuvered through the twisted carnage that littered the ground. He noted that the huts were better constructed here, the stone walls carefully formed and secured with mortar. Roofs even held a basic framework on which the dried grass could rest. Unlike the squalor he’d seen before, this place actually resembled a real village, where one could settle down and raise a family. But not anymore, he thought, as he stepped over a corpse with its mouth hanging open and eyes wide with terror.
The first several huts he came upon stood empty, already ransacked of valuables. The next was a wreck and smeared with blood. Draped over a small table lay a man with his throat slashed, his lifeless hand gripping a knife more suited for filleting fish than fighting. Against the back wall, a dog lapped up the blood of another victim as it oozed onto the gritty floor. Tobin walked away as the dog tugged at the wound in an effort to pull loose the man’s entrails.
The next hut was worse still. Tobin walked in on a Kifzo raping a gray haired woman who thrashed under the grunting warrior until a fist came down to silence her. Shamed, Tobin left the hut in a hurry before the image could etch itself into his mind. But he knew it was too late.
Another one I’ll never be rid of.
Tobin reached the last hut in the cluster. He peered inside as light crept in from the relit fire pits. A small sound, barely above a whisper, caught his attention and he unsheathed the dagger at his thigh. Scanning the dim room, he spotted the tiniest movement in the back, near broken pottery and overturned linen. Stepping further inside, his eyes focused. A little girl, no more than four sat huddled into a ball, gently rocking back and forth, mumbling to herself. Maybe there is a chance to do some good. He looked over his shoulder then back. He crouched down and whispered. “Do you think you can stay quiet and remain hidden here?”
The girl looked up, eyes filled only with tears.
“I know you are frightened but I can help you. You must promise not to let anyone else see you. alright?”
The child just stared at him—through him—scared and unable to move. Why would she trust me after what she’s seen and heard? “Please, I…”
A booming voice came from the doorway, cutting him off. “Who is that I hear talking?”
On instinct, Tobin whipped around at the sound and faced the man in the entranceway, exposing the child.
“Well, what do we have here?” A wide grin broke out across the warrior’s face as he leaned to look at the young girl still trembling in terror. “Hmmm, and young too. I was just looking for someone to warm my bed tonight,” said Durahn.
The massive warrior ducked low as he stepped into the hut. In response, Tobin’s fingers tightened around the grip of the dagger, more out of reflex than courage. He looked back at the girl, meeting those hollow eyes.
Already dead.
Durahn stopped cold and leaned back, noticing the dagger in Tobin’s hand. “Ah, now I see.” His thick hands opened and closed as if inviting a fight. “Don’t worry, cripple, you can have her when I’m done.” The demon of a man turned to the girl and smiled wider. “Well, whatever’s left of her.”
Tobin crouched. Cripple. A reminder. What can I expect to do against him? His hand lashed out, drawing a line across the child’s throat. He stood there watching as her body went limp and fell. Blood poured out from the young girl. “Looks like there’s already nothing left.”
Tobin stared back at Durahn, unsure what to expect. The Kifzo smiled, and then laughed. It was a sadistic cackle. “After all these years, cripple, you never fail to surprise me.” He turned and walked back to the doorway, swinging around at the last moment. “Killing puts me in a good mood, so I’ll give you that one. Stop me again though, and next time it’ll be you I use for my pleasure.” Durahn snorted in mirth, leaving Tobin alone once again.
Hanging his head, Tobin watched the lifeless girl, a pool of crimson enveloping her tiny frame. I really meant to help you. But this was all I could offer. He clenched the dagger in his hand even harder in frustration. This is your fault, Kaz. You don’t participate and think that makes you different than the others, but you still let it happen. You’re no better than they are. He looked down at the blade in his hand, covered in the innocent blood of a child and sighed.
Chapter 3
“…This is the one that will break their back for sure, Commander. We’ll smash them to pieces. They will be talking about tomorrow for years to come…”
Aye, for years to come they’ll talk about tomorrow as one of the worst bloodbaths this continent has ever seen.
Jonrell stared across the open landscape below. The cliff gave him a full view of an expansive plain, littered with rows upon rows of tents from the opposing army’s encampment, more than double the size of their own forces. Two years after taking this job and I’ve regretted every minute of it. Shorting us on pay, ignoring advice, putting us in dangerous positions…why am I here again?
“...I won’t be able to sleep tonight in anticipation…”
Anticipation of what? Stuffing your face while others fix your mess? I haven’t seen you do anything besides that since I’ve known you. “I think the men are a little too eager,” said Jonrell.
Melchizan continued. “…Oh, yes. Naturally. They feel the significance of tomorrow as well…”
Jonrell cleared his throat and cut in, “I think we should withdraw to more favorable ground.”
“…yes, we will slaughter them, we will…” The would-be conqueror almost choked on his last words as he turned in the saddle of his mount. The short man’s demeanor suddenly turned from one of excitement to confusion, and then anger. “What do you mean withdraw? We have them right where we want them. This is what we’ve been waiting for…”
The setting sun bled across the land, reflecting dark purples and reds off the white canvases of the enemy’s camp. Reminiscent of a bruise. A bleak reminder of what awaits us tomorrow. No Melchizan, I haven’t waited for that.
“Commander! I’m speaking to you,” said Melchizan, his great jowls swaying.
“I hear you. And unlike you, I actually listen to the person I’m talking to.”
Melchizan’s face reddened. “It’s bad enough you and the rest of your tattered outfit of mercenaries fail to address me as your lord, but I will not be spoken to like some common soldier. Is that understood?”
“No. You are not our lord and definitely not a soldier, just an employer. The Hell Patrol will not bend a knee to you. If you want someone to kiss your rear, you’ll have to look to the rest of that motley army of yours.”
“Have you forgotten that motley army has conquered over a dozen cities and hundreds of miles of land? An army you command?”
Jonrell snorted a laugh. “Cities? Most of that land was filled with nothing more than small tribes and villages. Your army is not ready for this,” said Jonrell, pointing toward the encampment. “The men are going to face more than two to one odds against a better armed and better trained force.”
“If
they fail, then you have failed as a commander.”
“No. I’ve told you we needed to spend money on better weapons, rather than your lavish indulgences. We need to push the men to work on actual skill sets rather than allow them to function as a badly organized mob. But you’re too greedy to see that, so you keep pushing for more and undermining what I’m trying to do. Then you decide to engage an opposing army on a wide open plain without cavalry to match theirs.”
Melchizan ignored Jonrell’s remarks, his voice low and even. “I’ve waited too long for a kingdom to call my own. We will attack tomorrow and we will win. Otherwise, you and your outfit won’t see the rest of your contract.”
Jonrell stared at Melchizan, ready to reply, when the sound of approaching hooves and a shout from behind caught his attention. He held his employer’s glare for a moment longer, then turned toward the approaching rider. He refused to continue the conversation and instead kicked his mount forward.
“I’m glad you’ve seen it my way, Commander,” Melchizan called out.
Jonrell heard the amusement in his employer’s voice as if the man had won some victory over him. Idiot. There will be no victory tomorrow. I hope you slice your own throat when you try to draw your sword in terror.
The advancing rider bobbed in his saddle as he pulled beside Jonrell. The two mercenaries descended the rocky trail in silence, interrupted by Jonrell’s heavy sigh and the grinding of teeth.
“Keep it up and you’re liable to crack another tooth.”
Jonrell turned to the man in faded black robes. “Are you my mother now?”
“That’s right, take it out on me,” the mage muttered.
“That man is an absolute imbecile and he’s going to get us all killed,” said Jonrell.
“Probably,” said Krytien. “But let me remind you who signed the contract…”
“I know who signed the contract. If I wanted to take this abuse, I would have stayed with… what does Raker call him? Lord Roundness?” said Jonrell coming to a halt. He drew a breath and calmed himself. “Now what do you want?”
Rise and Fall (Book 1) Page 4
