Shades of the Past: The Morcyth Saga Book Six

by Brian S. Pratt

  As the bolts reach the apex of their arc and begin descending down toward them, the three crystals atop the staves James had planted in the ground flare. A shimmering field springs to life between them and extends above the staves at least thirty feet. Most of the bolts are deflected away. Some soar high enough to go over the top of the field but are easily brushed aside with shields.

  “Way to go James!” Devin’s voice rings out.

  “Quiet back there!” Illan orders as the crossbowmen ready another volley. “Hedry, see if you can distract them.”

  “Archers!” he hollers. “Ready bows!” The line of bowmen including Errin and Aleya put bow to string and draw them back to await his command. Hedry raises his arm and then lowers it as he cries “Fire!”

  A hundred arrows fly toward the enemy, some taking out crossbowmen while others fly further and find their mark among the rank of soldiers. From the walls of Lythylla behind them, a cheer erupts from the onlookers.

  “Fire at will,” Illan says to Hedry.

  “Fire at will!” Hedry repeats to his men and as fast as bowmen can put arrow to string, they fire at the enemy.

  Horns from the enemy blow and the soldiers behind the crossbowmen surge forward with a war cry. Swords gleaming in the morning sun, they rush Illan’s position. “Any time, Delia,” Illan tells her. Another round of bolts is loosed from the crossbowmen as they and Hedry’s archers exchange fire.

  “Okay my lads,” Delia says as she turns to face her slingers. “Take out one from the pouch and set it into your sling. As soon as you do, launch it to the enemy. Wait five seconds then do it again.”

  Removing one of the special missiles James had put together, she places it within her sling. Before she finishes twirling her sling up to speed, several of the others let fly with theirs.

  As the approaching soldiers see the missiles flying toward them, they pause in their charge and raise their shields. The hardened clay missiles shatter on impact and the soldiers are surprised at the crystals contained within. Each has a glow to them and after nothing happens, they resume their charge.

  “What went wrong?” Illan asks Delia after the first round fails to do anything.

  “I don’t know,” she replies as she winds up her sling to launch her second volley.

  Then all of a sudden, soldiers closest to the first volley of crystals begin falling to the ground as the crystals leech power from them. A second later, orbs begin filling the air and start emitting bursts of electricity.

  The momentum of the charge falters as men are struck with the lightning from the orbs. Officers order their men forward and the charge resumes as more and more men fall victim as the second volley of crystals activates.

  “They’re not going to get all of them,” says Ceadric.

  “No, they aren’t,” agrees Jiron.

  “Be ready,” Illan says as he draws forth his sword.

  Behind them, the catapults fall silent as the approaching soldiers close the distance and move out of the target range. Catapults are for long range attacks, not much good for in close fighting.

  The last volley of crystals soars over head, some of the slingers aiming for the remaining crossbowmen at the rear of the charging men. “There’s their cavalry!” hollers one of Ceadric’s men.

  From his position on the walls of Lythylla, Lord Pytherian sees the hundreds of cavalrymen emerging from around both sides of the palisade. “Send forth our men,” he tells Henri beside him.

  Henri turns to the men waiting in the courtyard below and gives the signal. First through the gates rides the cavalry, five hundred strong. They split up on the far side of the bridge, half moving to meet the oncoming riders on the right and the other half those on the left.

  Illan takes note of the riders spewing forth from Lythylla, coming to their aid. “About time,” he mumbles. The lightning from the orbs is creating merry havoc with the men charging his position. Though their momentum is faltering, it isn’t stopping. “Jiron! Ceadric!” he hollers as he sits his horse with sword in hand. “Hold your position! Let them come to us.”

  The first line of soldiers runs into the barrier between the staffs, their faces showing the startlement of hitting the unexpected barrier. Then they become squashed against it as other soldiers hit them from behind. Around the far sides of the barrier the soldiers encounter Jiron on the right and Ceadric on the left and the battle is joined.

  Delia and her slingers are protected from the onslaught by the barrier and the fighters on either side. “Fire at will!” she calls out as she sets a slug to sling and begins twirling. Letting loose, she watches the slug fly through the air and strike a soldier square upon the forehead. The man stands stunned for a moment then disappears from sight as he falls to the ground and is trampled by the men coming up behind him.

  At first she was worried that the barrier would prevent the slugs from going through, but James had allowed for that. You can’t imagine the relief she felt when her first slug went through the barrier. Now, they rain a constant hail upon those wedged on the far side. Most of the slugs simply bounce off the soldier’s armor, but a few find their mark and take them down.

  Given the chance she would lead her slingers off the field of battle, this is no place for them. If the barrier were to fail, they would be cut down in no time. Out of the corner of her eye she keeps track of the fighting going on around her. Jiron and his men are devastating the line of enemy soldiers, Shorty stays closer to Delia and her bunch as his knives wouldn’t be as effective in such a melee.

  A group of Parvatis moves against Ceadric’s position and wades into them with both swords felling men fast. “To the left!” she cries to her slingers. “Take out the Parvatis!” Turning slightly left, she winds her sling up and lets loose another slug. It flies through the air striking a Parvati in the side of the head. As he falls, more slugs and arrows from Hedry’s group begin to take their toll.

  The memory of the Parvati Qyrll whom she had met once while he was staying with James flashes across her mind. A good man and honorable, she dislikes having to kill his countrymen, possibly his kin. But what else can she do?

  From the edges of the battlefield, the sound of horses neighing can be heard as the two cavalry forces meet. The riders from Lythylla are outnumbered but are holding them at bay while their foot soldiers rush to their aid. Still streaming from the gates of Lythylla, they race as fast as possible to join in the fray. Already, the number of allies on the field is approaching that of the Empire.

  The light from the Star moves throughout the battlefield as Miko tends the wounded as only he can. He longs to join in the battle, but the need to save the lives of these men outweighs the need for glory. Moving from injured man to injured man, he ministers to them with the healing power of Morcyth.

  At one point he was healing a man with a severed arm. He reattached it through the power of the Star and was about to move to another when the tide of battle shifted. The line between himself and the enemy suddenly collapses. Putting away the Star, he draws forth his sword and meets the oncoming soldiers.

  With speed the likes of which few soldiers have ever encountered, he blocks the attack of one while kicking out at another. In a blinding attack, two soldiers fall away with mortal wounds while a third launches into a series of attack which Miko is able to easily counter.

  From the side a sword strikes at him and leaves a long gash along his side. The pain of the wound is barely even noticeable as he strikes out at the soldier and removes his head from his shoulder.

  Then, Scar and Potbelly are there and stand with him shoulder to shoulder. “Miko!” hollers Potbelly, “Stig needs you!”

  “We’ll hold here!” yells Scar.

  Nodding, Miko takes out the man he’s facing with a quick thrust through the chest and then disengages. He finds Stig a few yards away, a rapidly growing stain spreading across his front. Returning his sword to its scabbard, he hurries over.

  “Miko,” Stig says weakly as he approaches.
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  “Just relax,” he tells him as he removes the Star.

  Stig lays back, the pall of death upon his face as the glow from the Star shines forth. Miko has done this enough now to be able to tell if he’s too late or not and with relief he realizes he’s not. With the power of the Star and Morcyth, he closes the wound in Stig’s stomach, repairing the severed intestines and other organs within.

  When the glow disappears, Stig sighs in relief. The pain, once a flaring sun is now little more than an ache. “Thanks man,” he tells him.

  Miko takes his arm and helps him to his feet. With one of Stig’s arms across his shoulders, he helps him back to where Delia and the slingers stand near the center of their force. “Keep an eye on him,” he tells Delia as he sets Stig on the ground.

  She nods her head as she begins twirling her sling yet again.

  Looking around, Miko finds another in need and goes to him.

  The battle has been raging now for fifteen to twenty minutes. The individual moments of valor and bravery are too many to count. When the line crumbles under the onslaught of the Empire, reinforcements move to close the gap.

  Once the men from Lythylla joined the fray, Illan could see that after the effect of James’ crystals, the two forces were equally numbered. When the archers from Lythylla finally made their appearance after the foot soldiers took the field, the outcome was a foregone conclusion. Their deadly barrage began mowing down the enemy in swaths.

  Taking advantage of a momentary lull in the fighting, he surveys the battlefield and can see where the Empire’s men are beginning to turn and flee. Now that victory for them is out of the question, most are simply interested in survival. Suddenly, the line of men close to Ceadric’s force breaks off and turns to flee toward the palisade. As Ceadric moves to follow he hollers, “Hold your position!”

  Ceadric glances back and sees him looking at him, covered in blood from head to toe, some friendly but the vast majority is from those he’s slain this day. Nodding, he begins forming up his ranks and holds his position. A cheer rises from his men at their victory.

  Then all of a sudden the entire enemy line is in retreat. The forces from Lythylla set out in pursuit as those under Illan maintain their position. They’ll let Madoc’s forces do the mopping up.

  “Report!” he hollers.

  “Lost a third of my men,” Ceadric says as he comes near.

  “No one got close to us,” Delia tells him. Glancing at her boys she says, “They all did magnificent.” Illan nods his head and then turns to Jiron.

  “Would have lost half of mine if Miko hadn’t been with us,” he says. “Most won’t be good for a day or two, but they’ll live to fight another day.”

  “Very well,” he says. Looking to the fleeing soldiers, he grins when he finds the palisade, which had so well protected them during the long siege, is now a wall barring their escape. Madoc’s forces, so long desiring retribution for the rape of their country don’t even offer them quarter, they simply cut them down.

  The battlefield is a ghastly sight, the dead and dying cover the ground between the river and the palisade. Cries from the wounded men sing out and the light from the Star can be seen moving from one to the next as Miko does his best to save every last one of them. Even Brother Willim and the three remaining members of the Hand are out among the injured doing what they can for them.

  “Ceadric!” hollers Illan. “Have some of the men get the wounded and those unable to fight back to the city.” They may have beaten this force, but there’s still the other force James saw in his mirror on the way.

  “Delia, have your group stay with Hedry’s” he hollers. The battle before the palisade is winding down, men are escaping through the gates. Madoc’s men are riding in pursuit. Seeing one of Madoc’s officers nearby, Illan shouts, “Kippen!”

  Looking his way, Kippen brings his horse to a halt. As he does, Illan hollers, “Get your men back. There’s another force on the way and we have to get into position.”

  “Yes, sir,” he replies and kicks his horse into a gallop as he races to the palisade.

  “We’re not going to fight another battle are we?” a voice from the slingers calls out.

  Illan turns to them but can’t determine who asked the question. “Yes we are. They’re not expecting an attack and the element of surprise will give us an edge.”

  “Any of those son’s of a dog we take down now will be less we’ll have to face later,” Ceadric adds.

  As Ceadric’s men begin removing the injured and recently healed, Illan starts moving toward the palisade. The remainder of his force, still over seven hundred strong, follow along behind.

  Calling to the officers from the various forces to fall in, he begins marshalling the chaos around him back into an effective fighting force. Hedry and Delia’s people stay to the rear this time, no need being out front.

  To one officer of a cavalry unit he orders, “Send out riders and find the force coming from the south.”

  “Yes, sir!” the officer hollers as he carries out the order. Soon, four riders are racing for the gate in the palisade.

  “They may already know of the battle from those who fled,” one of Ceadric’s men states.

  “Be that as it may, we are still going to engage while the numbers are on our side,” he says.

  Madoc’s archers fall in behind their force as well as soldiers from many units, swelling their numbers by the minute. While not in the actual line of command for any of these forces, in the face of the Black Hawk banner, none will gainsay him. His legend awes them into compliance.

  On the far side of the palisade, they find what’s left of the enemy’s camp. Tents, wagons and a large number of slaves who are being set free. Many can’t believe their lives are once again their own. Some have never known freedom, having been born slaves and simply don’t know what to do now that they are free.

  Off in the distance, pockets of fighting are still going on as Madoc’s men continue the annihilation of the enemy. No quarter is given as their anger and rage at the Empire has finally found an outlet.

  Illan sends the cavalry off to the right to swing around the approaching force to take it from the rear once the fighting begins. As his army makes its way through the palisade’s gate, he gets them into position to meet the oncoming force. At the rear are the five catapults with wagons of rocks to use for ammunition, this time filled with smaller rocks ranging from the size of a baseball to that of a watermelon. Moving along at the pace of the slowest unit, the army doesn’t cover ground very fast. But then Illan would like to hold off confrontation until the cavalry has had a chance to maneuver around them.

  Having sent the cavalry around to come at their rear, all he’s left with is several thousand men at arms, hundreds of archers and what’s left of the Black Hawk Raiders. The bearer of the Black Hawk banner takes position at the head of the force and the wind whips the flag as if to display the black hawk for the entire world to see. A scattered cheer rises up from the men.

  Once the pockets of resistance have been nullified, he gathers all friendly forces together and marches down the road to meet the oncoming reinforcements of the enemy army. The brief look in James’ mirror had revealed roughly five thousand strong strung along several miles.

  With just plains to contend with, there’s very little chance to orchestrate an ambush. They’ll know they are coming and will move into a defensive posture as soon as they realize what’s going on. That is if they don’t already.

  From the road up ahead, two of the four scouts return at a fast gallop. “What’s the news?” questions Illan when they pull up to him.

  “They’ve stopped about five miles down the road,” one scout explains as he rides beside him.

  “Looks as if they got word of what happened here,” the other adds.

  “How many?” Jiron asks.

  “Five thousand foot soldiers,” the first scout replies.

  “No horse?” asks Illan.

  Shaking his hea
d, the scout says, “Not that we saw. We returned with the news of their whereabouts and numbers, they were still arranging themselves to defend against attack.”

  “Rejoin your unit,” Illan says as he thinks about what they just told him. No horse, just foot. Excellent. If as the scout said they still only have five thousand, then the numbers will be on their side by about two thousand. With the cavalry coming up behind them as well as the riders with Ceadric, they should be able to win the day.

  It isn’t long before the enemy force comes into view. They’ve positioned themselves across the road, a massive block of heavy infantry with several hundred crossbowmen protected in the center. No matter which direction a force attacks from, the crossbowmen can easily decimate them.

  When the enemy sees them on the road, they form their ranks tighter. The soldiers at the leading edge have long spears to use against any cavalry units that attack.

  Stopping just out of crossbow range, Illan turns back to his men and says, “Form ranks, bows and slings to the rear.” As the men begin moving into formation for attack he takes his horse to the rear where the catapults are sitting.

  The officer in charge comes to attention as he approaches. “Captain,” Illan says, “are we close enough to pepper them with grapeshot?”

  “Yes, sir” he replies.

  “Then as soon as you are ready, let them have it.”

  “Yes, sir,” replies the captain. To his men he hollers, “Get them catapults into position and bring those wagons closer! We need to soften them up a bit so our delicate soldiers can go and be heroes.”

  His men break into a laugh and quickly get the catapults into position. Once they’re ready, the men begin filling the catapult’s bucket with the grapeshot from the wagons. As soon as they are filled and ready, the Captain yells, “Let ‘em go boys!”

  Five arms fling their deadly projectiles into the air. All of Illan’s forces hold their breath as the projectiles fly to their target and then let out a cheer as they begin ripping through the enemy soldiers. Even though most of the soldiers had lifted shields to protect themselves from the rain of death, several dozen men fall. The crossbowmen, without the benefit of the shields fall in droves.