by Stas Borodin
I hoped with all my heart that my father was now in the baggage train, wounded but alive. I did not find Korn, which was not surprising; he had most likely stayed with my father. All my hopes could be in vain, but I forbade myself from even thinking about it.
Looking at the king, I, like everyone else, was waiting for a brilliant new plan that would lead us to victory.
Suddenly, the drums fell silent, so suddenly that the silence hurt my ears. The Zontrakian ranks split up, and the giant figure of the enemy mage burst forward. In his huge black hand he carried a mace on a long handle. Stopping in front of the Zontrakian army, he looked over his shoulder and said something. A hoarse, throaty laugh rolled over the ranks.
“Fucking brat is making fun of us,” Ash growled. “Could you hit the bastard with your crossbow at this range?”
I shook my head. My small hunting crossbow was designed for shooting on horseback, and an arrow fired from it could not fly even half the distance. “No, Ash, it will not work,” I replied. “It’s too far away.”
“What about this?” The scout took a big bundle from his saddle, untied the rope and threw the cloth aside. “I picked this just for you in the baggage train.”
I saw a heavy siege crossbow and a quiver full of bolts.
“Thought it might come in handy.”
Once again, I estimated the distance; it was still too far away. If only he would descend the hill!
Taking the crossbow in my hand, I tried the bowstring. Just as I thought, without a windlass it was impossible to arm.
Ash understood the problem immediately. “Give me that! I saw how you do it!” Ash deftly gripped the weapon between his knees and took hold of the bowstring with both hands. Any circus performer would envy such agility. His long, strong arms tensed and his back arched, so much so that the jacket was torn on his back. With a familiar click, the bowstring slid into place.
“If you need to reload again, just let me know. It is not much harder than stringing my old bow.”
The crossbow was too heavy for shooting on horseback, so I had to jump to the ground and place my new weapon across the saddle.
Meanwhile, Mage Telaris walked pompously down the line of Zontrak infantry, brandishing his mace. I could see his lips moving, but the words were unintelligible.
“There he goes!” Mash snorted. “For Zontrakians this is the most important thing. They will not take a shit without a nice long inspiring speech!”
“Well, what are we waiting for?” Ash said spiritedly. “Let’s knock their brains out right now!”
As if in answer to his tirade, Master Keandr moved forward. He waved his hand, stopping his bodyguards. His silk cloak fell to the ground and a naked sword appeared in his right hand.
Telaris stopped mid-sentence and turned quickly to us. There was something predatory in his movements. Like a huge lizard that had spotted his victim, he stood motionless, assessing the enemy. Then he quickly turned and ran down the hill.
The magicians met on a small patch of flat ground covered with dry grass and thorny bushes.
Telaris towered over Master Keandr like a mountain. He tilted his head to the side as if to see his opponent better and growled. Tattoos drawn on his dark parchment skin depicted a large tree with people hanging on its branches. When the mage breathed, the picture moved and it seemed that the corpses were swaying in the wind. His big head was clean-shaven, and his beard was braided into two long snakelike pigtails.
Waving his mace menacingly, he stuck one end of it into the ground.
Master Keandr immediately took two steps back, raising his sword above his head.
“I’ll be damned!” Ash muttered.
I looked at my friend and was stunned. The blood had drained from his face, turning it into a deathly pale wax mask. Ash raised his hand, pointing to something; I followed his gaze and immediately regretted it. Tears flowed in streams from my eyes. Gasping, I closed my mouth with my hand, holding back a scream.
In his hand Telaris was holding a spear, not a mace. A human head was impaled on the spear point. The head of Master Dante …
We could not see the face of our king, as he was standing with his back to us, and we could not hear what he was saying to Telaris. The mage listened attentively, nodding from time to time. Sometimes a fleeting smile ran across his face.
Master Keandr pointed at the head with his sabre. Telaris laughed. Then he put the shaft of the spear on the ground, stepped on the head with his foot and, with one jerk, pulled the spear out. He glanced slyly at the king and suddenly kicked the severed head with all his might. It flew like a projectile from a catapult and hit Master Keandr right in the stomach.
In the same instant, Telaris attacked. For a moment, it seemed to me it was all over. I watched as the spearhead appeared from the king’s back and the force of the impact threw him far back.
But just a second later, I realized I was wrong. Master Keandr stood firmly on his feet, holding the enemy’s spear under his arm; his sword flashed in the air and hit Telaris in the forearm. With a laugh, the mage jumped back, and the spear was back in his hands. He moved so fast that I did not even have time to see how it happened.
Wasting no time, Master Keandr went on the attack. His blows were not visible, only streaks of light flashing through the air. Telaris also attacked. His blows rained down from above like lightning. The king repelled the attack and immediately counterattacked.
It was hard to tell which side had the advantage; the magicians were worthy contenders.
“Why do they not use magic?” Ash whispered, leaning towards me out of the saddle. “They fight like ordinary people.”
“I guess they want to find out who is stronger without magic,” I replied. I could find no other explanation. In my imagination, the wizards would have battled to the sound of thunder and flashes of lightning in a devilish cauldron of spells and curses.
“I’ve seen this before,” Mash chuckled. “If the magicians are equal in strength, they can easily block each other’s spells. In that case, neither can use magic. That’s why they have to fight each other as mere mortals.”
That meant that Master Dante was Telaris’s equal. However, the Zontrakian mage had managed to defeat him in hand-to-hand combat… Could Master Keandr handle him? I really wanted to hope that he could.
Meanwhile, first blood was drawn. A long spear jumped, piercing the king’s left hand. In return, Master Keandr cut the enemy’s thigh to the bone. The fighters sprang apart and stopped, looking at each other, breathing hard. I saw how the wound on the thigh of the Zontrakian mage quickly healed. Master Keandr also wasted no time. He raised his left hand, showing that he was all right.
A moment later, the enemy were at each other again, inflicting devastating lightning strikes.
I watched the fight with some detachment. I could not take my eyes off Master Dante’s head, lying there in the dust. He had just spoken to me, and now he was dead. What a horrible death! And what had happened to my friend Nikos? Of course, he was no match for the Zontrakian mage, and his death must have been even more terrible.
Master Keandr attacked without stopping, moving like a whirlwind! The whole chest and legs of Telaris were already covered with deep cuts oozing dark blood, but the warlock did not care. He inflicted one hit after another with such force that, time after time, the king was thrown far back.
Master Keandr defended himself brilliantly. Unscathed and indefatigable, again and again, he rushed to the attack.
It was evident that the giant was not as fast as before. His attacks became less frequent, and his blows became weaker. He was getting tired, while Master Keandr’s counterattacks became even faster, delivering hard blows from all sides. I got tired just from looking at the battling sorcerers. I felt my hands become heavier. My knees started to buckle, and my back went numb. A few more minutes and I would succumb to fatigue.
Turning to my friends, I was horrified to find them already sleeping in their saddles. Soldiers began to coll
apse to the ground. Right next to me, two bodyguards fell from their horses, eyes closed, armour rattling. Something strange was happening.
Absorbed by the battle, Master Keandr did not notice what was going on behind his back. In contrast, Telaris was constantly watching our army.
As always, the drums thundered suddenly. This time, they were not on the hill but behind our backs. I tried to look around to see what was going on, but I could not. My neck seemed numb and I could barely move my arms.
A moment later, the drums rumbled on the hilltop. Row upon row of Zontrakians came forward, descending the hill.
The enemy were on the attack, and we, entangled by invisible ropes, could not even stir.
I heard something going on behind my back. It looked like the enemy had hit us from the rear, and this time no one could stop it.
It was horrible! It was awful to expect to be pierced by a spear or to be cut with an axe!
Listening to the massacre behind my back, I could not take my eyes off the fighting magicians.
Master Keandr fought with full dedication. Sometimes he tossed the sabre to his left hand when his right was tired and continued to fight. He must have seen how detachments of Zontrakians were coming down the hill, hurrying to the aid of their mage. In a few moments he would be swept up by the waves of attacking enemies and the battle would be lost.
Master Keandr jumped back and looked around. He was amazed by what he saw. That momentary distraction proved fatal. The enemy’s spear darted forward like a snake and plunged into the king’s chest. Telaris laughed, lifting the wizard over his head, royal blood dripping into his gaping mouth.
I couldn’t stand the sight! It seemed that the magic that bound my body did not work on my hands, which were smeared with Master Dante’s balm. I could still move my fingers and hold the crossbow. Aiming it at the laughing mage, I offered a short prayer to Orvad and squeezed the trigger.
My bolt hit the sorcerer in the head with such force that he tumbled head over heels onto the ground. The king fell beside him like a pile of rags. I watched the Zontrakian mage writhing and wriggling in the dust and felt the strength coming back into my body.
The soldiers around me stirred back to life and began to fend off the advancing enemy. The Zontrakians, in turn, stopped dead, staring at the dying mage, unable to cope with the shock.
A detachment of heavily armoured bodyguards spurred their horses and crashed into the stunned enemy infantry with full force, striking right and left. Another squad gathered around the fallen king, covering him with their shields.
However, the Zontrakians were formidable warriors; even without the aid of magic, they were a fearsome foe.
The battle resumed with renewed vigour. Our troops, pressed from all sides, were deprived of freedom of manoeuvre and fought huddled together. Despite the heroic efforts of the officers to organize the defence, the army, left without central command, was not able to resist the furious onslaught of the Zontrakian heavy infantry.
Our small unit barely got out of the hustle. We took up a convenient position on the hill and began to pepper the enemy with arrows, distracting it from the group of bodyguards gathered around the king.
Our soldiers fought like lions, but the Zontrakians were too numerous. Only the desperate assaults of the mercenary cavalry saved us from immediate defeat. Firgan riders, armed with heavy axes and steel lances, cut into the enemy ranks time after time, dealing death. However, I saw that their horses were already tired, their thick armour was pierced in dozens of places, and the blood gushed from countless cuts.
On the right flank, the enemy penetrated the remnants of our halberdiers and wiped out every single one of them within seconds. Our soldiers were completely exhausted; they fainted from fatigue and no miracle pill could bring them back to life.
“And victory was so close!” I cried in despair.
“The battle was glorious,” Ash sighed, releasing the last arrow. The arrow pierced a Zontrakian’s chest, but another warrior took his place right away.
“We’ve done everything we could,” Mash said. “It is time to retreat.”
“And leave the king?” I was outraged. “How could you even think that!”
“The king is dead.” Ash looked at me reproachfully. “We need to think about the living, those who are left in the baggage train. We need to bring them home.”
Of course, he was right. I looked back and nodded. There were a lot of wounded, perhaps even my father was there.
We reined in, intending to turn our horses, but then a trumpet began to sing. The sound came from the small group of bodyguards huddled around the king. The bodyguards stood steadfast as a lone rock in the middle of a raging sea. Their spears and swords stung the enemy through the tight ring of shields. There were not more than a hundred of them, but they fought as a whole army.
“Is it possible that they are blessed with immortality?” Mash said. “Such things happened in the past when Orvad decided to reward particularly brave warriors.”
“That’s real courage,” Ash agreed. “The songs of their feat will live forever!”
With all my heart, I wanted to run down the hill and fight side by side with these incredible brave men. I knew that I could not reach them. I knew that I would be torn to pieces in a heartbeat.
Again the horn sang. The sound was lingering and disturbing. My heart ached.
“That is the signal to retreat.” Mash was amazed. “We are all ordered to retreat immediately!”
“Not just retreat,” Ash agreed. “We’re ordered to run as fast as we can!”
From the hill we saw the last troops of Firgan cavalry retreating; they rushed away without looking back. The Zontrakians cheered gleefully, shaking their spears.
“To the top of the hill!” Ash ordered, and we instantly surged up the steep slope.
Meanwhile, in the circle of bodyguards, something stirred.
“They have nowhere to retreat,” Mash sighed. “We need to see it all to the very end!”
“I’m not moving until everything is over!” Ash hit himself in the chest with his big fist. “There must be someone to tell how our heroes died!”
“My heart is breaking,” I said.
“I know…” Ash laid his hand on my shoulder.
Then the bodyguards slowly raised something above their heads. My heart skipped a beat. The king, supported on both sides by young squires, stood on a rickety platform made of broken spears and splintered shields.
“Elllaaaa – eeeeeeh!” the scouts shouted, waving their bows. “Lieeeeeh!”
The tears gushed from my eyes, and I yelled too.
The king stood firm, his hands resting on the shoulders of young soldiers dressed in white. It seemed to me that he heard our cry and even looked in our direction.
“Liiiieeeeeh!” the scouts shouted wholeheartedly.
The king raised his hands to his face and put them in front of his mouth in the shape of a funnel. The next moment, we all fell to our knees. We had been waiting for miracles and now we finally had them!
An unbearably bright, yellow-red jet of fire burst out of the king’s mouth. The air shivered from the heat, and the tears on our faces dried up instantly.
The fire turned everything to ashes. A wide black clearing suddenly appeared in the Zontrakian ranks. The earth smoked and melted, turning into lakes of boiling lava.
The Zontrakians screamed in terror. Many fell to the ground, blazing like torches. It lasted only a moment. Without giving the enemy time to recover, the platform on which the king stood began to spin, and the deadly flames continued to erupt from his lips. The red-hot jet overtook more and more troops, turning them all into ashes.
The Zontrakians ran. Their cumbersome armour and heavy weapons were a nuisance, and they knocked each other down and toppled in huge swarming piles. Roaring flames leapt like a hungry predator, overtaking them on the run and turning them into nothing.
The scouts yelled and screamed with delight, slapping each ot
her on the back, while I knelt silently and prayed never again to see such horror…
Chapter 8
The nomads and their allies were defeated, but at what cost?
The Firgan riders returned – the pitiful remnants of our mighty mercenary cavalry. They surrounded the royal bodyguards who were carrying the wounded king on a stretcher made of cloaks and spears.
The soil under my boots was like a burnt cake, black, lifeless, cracked. Slag and stinking black mud piled into heaps. Here and there, small lakes of molten sand glistened.
“It was a great battle,” Ash said, wiping his eyes. “What a great and terrible battle!”
Only now did I understand how terrifying magicians really were. How could they live among us possessing such power? What a terrible danger we faced.
If Master Keandr wanted to take power into his own hands and rule the kingdom as he pleased, who could stop him? He could easily become a tyrant whose desires are executed unquestioningly. Worse, I knew that there were cases where that had actually happened, when mad sorcerers had seized power and condemned entire nations and generations to a miserable existence, designed only to satisfy their every whim.
Perhaps this is what had happened to the Alims and Zontrakians. And what did they get in return? Their lands had been left without armies and without protection. Now their neighbours will tear them to pieces, seizing lands and enslaving the people.
But on the other hand, I knew that if it were not for the power of Master Keandr, the nomads would have turned our country into a desert and our people into slaves.
That is why we must live in peace with magicians. As long as they agree to help us and protect us from powerful enemies.
It was decided. I would become as strong as Master Keandr! To protect those who are dear to me…
All this overwhelmed me, filling me to the brim, and flooding over the edge. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
“Don’t cry, my friend!” Ash held out his hand; his eyes were wet too. “This is a victory!”
