by J D Franx
Sahar scoffed at the bold statement. “I doubt even your magic is capable of raising the sun from its rest two hours ahead of time.” His sarcastic remark made her turn and walk his way until they were nose to nose.
“My dear, lovely Northman,” she cooed, sighing with pleasure. “The sun does not have to shine for daylight to be present.”
“You really are goddamn crazy if you believe that,” he stated.
“No,” she whispered. “I’m far too young to be crazy, that will come later, the price of the demon’s favor. For now, I am the youngest and most powerful Cardessa to ever lead the Dead Sisters’ coven and bringing light to the dark is child’s play.”
Without another word she spun and barked a string of words in a language never before heard by any Northman.
“Elhoss Duna!” The witch raised her arms and a small bright light jumped from each hand and arched into the sky. The two glowing orbs came together and exploded a hundred feet above the ground.
Sahar felt the blood drain from his face and his stomach went cold. It was as if the witch had actually brought daylight early. Everywhere he looked the light above him touched and he could see as if a white midday sun were blazing overhead.
Effelia stared at him with that sly smile. “Your people are outmatched assassin, and they no longer have the advantage of using bright magic to stun the Orotaq warriors, though you will soon come to understand the Orotaq do not like to fight at night, not because of their eyes, but because of tactics. Gorak will grind what is left of the Northmen people into the dust of the past.”
“Perhaps,” Sahar snarled as the reality of her words sunk in. “But the Orotaq will lose numbers too, a lot of them.”
The witch laughed and the sincerity of it drove a cold shiver down his spine. “The Orotaq consider those who die on the battlefield no longer worthy of living. War and battle cull the weak from their ranks. That is what your fellow warriors will be facing now. A people who do not suffer weakness.”
He couldn’t help but match her laugh and the sincerity of it. “You stupid cow. For a Northman, to die in battle means earning a place of honor and favor among the gods in Valhalla, but only if you stand out on the battlefield,” he said. “Your Orotaq are in for more of a fight than you think.”
“Perhaps you are right,” she said. “Care to join me, lovely? We can watch the fight from the rise.”
“I’d rather die with my people,” he said, spitting at her feet.
“I like you, lovely,” she said and nodded to the guards. “You may join your people, one more warrior will not mean victory for your people. But... you will have to do so empty handed. I cannot have you stabbing others in the back. Also, only after you tell me of the enchantments some of your weapons hold.”
To his surprise, both Orotaq guards released his arms. “No, I don’t think so,” he said as the guards stepped back. “Why do you want to know, it will do you no good?” he asked, stretching his sore arms.
“I am curious, nothing more. You may believe you are a threat, lovely,” she said with a wink. “But I assure you, your kind are not. You will come to see this very soon. Follow me.”
She turned to walk away and Sahar didn’t hesitate to act. Drawing the slim, hooked dagger hidden between the metal plates of his left bracer, he slashed the first guard in the throat, making sure he dragged the blade out sideways so the hooked end caught and opened the guard’s throat wide. He pivoted on his feet and drove the dagger up through the second Orotaq guard’s chin as the man reached for his sword far too slowly. The hook tore out his windpipe and the big man fell gasping for air. Wasting no time, Sahar leapt forward, stabbing the witch in the back. Instead of feeling the resistance caused by his blade entering her body, the witch pivoted on her left foot, sliding around him so his blade met nothing but air.
“Very impressive,” she said, watching the two Orotaq warriors bleed out and die with a fascination that struck Sahar as more than morbid. “You move like a wraith, but you’re still far too slow.”
“We’ll see,” he said. Spinning his dagger forward, he lunged at her, but a twist of her left wrist was all he saw before a crushing weight hit his chest and the sky flashed past his vision. The ground followed a second later and again he was looking up at the bright lights in the sky. Something struck him and he crashed to the ground in agony. Dazed and fighting to stay conscious, he tried to stand, but the world spun under his feet. Someone grabbed him and offered him their shoulder so he could walk.
“Sabjorn?” he grunted.
“Come on, witch-killer,” the Ama Taugr wizard growled. “The Jarls have called the retreat. It’s time to go.”
Unable to make sense of what happened, Sahar shook his head as the black of unconsciousness finally caught up to him.
ONE HOUR EARLIER
OUTSIDE THE OROTAQ CAMP
Crouching on one knee as he leaned against his shield, Engier kept a close eye on the Orotaq camp and the invisible barrier around it. “He’s running out of time,” he said, glancing from Brenna to the dark sky and back while she rested at his side. The dark was still full with no sign of the dawn’s light, but it wouldn’t be long.
“He’ll find the spell caster,” she reassured him, checking the sky. “We still have a couple hours of dark left.”
“It’s a big camp,” Drengr pointed out. “And not an easy one to get around in without being spotted.”
Engier had to admit, it was an impressive sight from so close up. One he hadn’t seen since the war with Sokn’s southern indigenous people decades earlier.
Brenna sighed and leaned back against a tree. “Sahar is one of my best scouts, he’ll find the one casting the shield and put a stop to them.”
“Words of prophecy?” Eira asked. But no answer came as the magic surrounding the enemy camp flashed and then fell, dissipating on the light wind.
“Not prophecy,” Brenna said as she pushed off the tree. “Trust, and faith in family.”
“And well placed it seems,” Engier rose to his feet and hefted his shield the moment the magical shield fell. He nodded to Eira and a bright silver serpent jumped to life in her hands before shooting into the air. Streaking high above the Orotaq camp, it eventually faded and winked out of existence, but the sign to attack was seen by all the Northmen positions. Engier and his warriors pushed forward while Brenna and the other clans did the same, trying to maximize the effects of the quick strike attack.
It took less than a minute to come across the first of the Orotaq perimeter patrols. Engier rushed in and attacked the bigger of the two guards while a half dozen of his fighters cut and chopped their way through the second Orotaq warrior. The bigger man was far more experienced and lunged at Engier without warning. A large black cleaver whistled past his face while the second one nearly cut his mid-section in two as he jumped back out of range. A shiny mark scored the heavy armor protecting his chest and stomach. Instead of admiring the strike or stopping to brag, the Orotaq attacked again, bringing his cleavers together sideways. Engier raised his shield, but tilted the top towards himself, catching the twin cleavers among the curved blades lining his shield. Pushing the locked weapons up with his shield, he swung his axe low, cutting into the warrior’s unarmored waistline.
The warrior grunted and set his feet, pulling back against the shield. It was exactly what Engier had been waiting for. He rushed forward, slamming his shield into the big man and forcing him backwards as his axe slid from the man’s stomach with a hiss of seared flesh. Though he wasn’t as strong as the Orotaq warrior, the shield rush caught the big man off guard and he tripped. Engier rode him to the earth, driving his axe into the warrior’s blue skull as they fell. The runestone forged into his axe flared red and burnt its way through the bone and into the Orotaq’s brain.
Tearing his axe free, Engier glanced up to see dozens of Orotaq warriors already coming his way. He cursed and dashed forward when a set of drums unlike those he’d heard before boomed across the camp. A hundred more
of his warriors, who held back from the first attack, rushed from the valley entrance into the enemy camp. More drums thundered at their arrival. Engier knew that if it wasn’t for the cover of darkness, they’d quickly be overrun by the sheer might of the Orotaq army, but for now the Northmen were holding their own and the number of Orotaq dead increased rapidly. The Northmen positioned on the beach below the rise entered the meadow across from his position and they moved fast to close the trap.
“Hold them here,” Engier shouted when he spotted his flanking army attacking from the beach. Out of nowhere the hiss of magic hit his ears and a bright light bloomed in the sky above. In a matter of seconds, the entire Orotaq camp was lit up like a bright summer’s day.
Another detonation of magic to his left forced him to turn in time to see a dozen of his men and women flying through the air. The source of the explosion shocked him. The Orotaq man standing to his left was far different from any of the large blue-skinned warriors he had seen before. He was bald, except for the very back of his head where a long, braided, black ponytail snapped in the wind. The man’s flesh was heavily marked with branding scars like all the others, but unlike the rest of the Orotaq, the scars resembled arcane symbols. Some were even similar to the scratch-like characters used by the Rynstars to create runes for the Ama Taugr. Engier had no doubts the man was an Orotaq wizard. Pieces of whitened bone of all types hung on a length of leather around his neck and the belt around the top of his thick leather pants appeared to be held together by the top half of a small human skull. The wizard reminded him of the indigenous medicine men or women from Sokn’s far south who were called...
“Shaman!” he yelled, stepping forward to challenge the big man. The shaman growled and hurled a massive ball of fire at him. Engier lifted his shield seconds before the fireball slammed into it. The pressure of the detonation drove him back several feet, but he kept his balance and pushed ahead, even as three more balls of fire exploded against his shield. It wasn’t the first wizard he’d met on the battlefield and the ancient runes coursing through his bladed shield kept him alive by weakening each incoming spell. Even so, the impact of each fireball shook his bones to the very core, without the shield’s runed protection, the first ball of fire would have shattered every bone in his body.
One last lunge closed the distance to the shaman, but a swipe of his axe met a black staff instead of flesh. Not hesitating, Engier swung again and immediately followed it with a shield bash. The shaman blocked both with his staff while several arrows whistled past Engier’s head, sinking deep into the shaman’s flesh. The arrows had little effect on the big man, so Engier struck out with his axe, letting the handle slide through his palm until the axe head hit flesh, burning the shaman across the chest. The big man lashed out with his staff and Engier ducked while whipping his shield outward on an angle. The sharp blades embedded in the Northman shield cut deep into the shaman’s thighs. Not hesitating, Engier powered his axe up, striking the shaman’s chin with a sizzle of scorched flesh and the big man dropped to a knee. Slicing his shield forward, Engier severed the man’s throat at the same second the shaman unleashed his final spell. Hit by a blast of air denser than a granite wall, Engier grunted when his own shield slammed into his face and the impact tossed him backwards through the air a dozen feet before he crashed into the grass and trees at the camp’s outer edge.
“Tyr-cursed wizards,” he groaned. Getting back to his feet, he noticed a broken branch sticking out of his side. Taking a closer look he could see it pierced the skin above his hip and exited a few inches later. It was a flesh wound, so he tore it free with a grunt and tossed it to the ground. With sweat dripping in his eyes, he held the enchanted axe against the wound and ground his teeth through the waves of pain while the hot metal cauterized the opening. Glancing across the camp, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and took a quick breath as he watched the other half of the Northman army slowly fighting their way to him. The enemy made it tough going now that they had somehow managed to light up the sky. The Orotaq moved unlike any army he’d fought before. The big men shifted back and forth during their individual attacks. Unlike the shaman, an Orotaq warrior never stood still, instead they weaved their way through Engier’s army striking out at the Northmen as they passed by. Usually a second and third, or even a fourth and fifth warrior followed closely behind the first. The complicated maneuvers made it difficult for his men to know where some of the attacks were coming from until it was too late.
Northman men and women were falling much faster than the Orotaq warriors and Engier finally understood why the enemy didn’t fight at night. It wasn’t so much that they had difficulty seeing in the dark like he thought, but more to do with their style of fighting. The way they shifted targets after only a single or double strike only to be replaced by others as they moved on would be extremely difficult to do in the dark of night.
“Engier!” Brenna shouted as she and Drengr struggled to retreat while under attack by three Orotaq warriors.
He rushed forward to help, swinging his axe at the first enemy warrior. Occupied by Brenna and her flashing blades, the enemy didn’t see Engier coming. Still not used to the strange Orotaq fighting style, his axe met only air as the second warrior appeared in front of him a moment later and the first moved on to Drengr. The third attacked Brenna. Without missing a step, Engier pulled his axe back and charged forward with his shield, locking down his target and preventing another shift in position. Slamming into the warrior and knocking him from his feet, Engier drove his axe down with every ounce of strength he had. His foe tried to block the strike with his black sword but the enemy blade exploded into shards of glass as the ancient Northman axe carried on through until it sunk into the warrior’s face.
Ripping his axe free, Engier turned to see Brenna’s sword strike deep into her opponent’s chest. Her second blade followed immediately, but higher, piercing the warrior’s throat. The big man dropped like a stone down a well as she tore the blades out sideways, spun and then hacked at the third warrior’s hamstrings. The man dropped to his knees and Drengr cracked one his runes before he shoved it the Orotaq’s mouth. Uncontrolled magical fire erupted from the big man’s nose before rolling down his throat. He fell dead as Drengr collapsed from exhaustion.
“Engier,” Brenna gasped. “We can’t stand against them in this light. We don’t have the numbers.”
Scanning the battlefield, he could see she was right. Everywhere he looked the Northmen were no longer holding ground in places where they fought the Orotaq. Most of his warriors were outnumbered two to one. There was no way they could possibly win.
“Give me the Breath of Odin,” he said, holding his hand out to Brenna. The young Jarl pulled an engraved horn from the pouch at her rear waist and gave it to him. Engier raised the horn and blew into it for several seconds, then stopped before blowing three more quick breaths into the horn. As the blaring horn went silent, the earth below his feet shook, nearly tossing him and the others to the ground. A second, weaker quake rolled under their feet and the earth quickly settled. It was the strongest quake since the first ones over a month ago, but no damage had been done to the immediate area. He sighed with relief. The quakes had stopped and the call for retreat had been sounded, so he slowly handed the Breath of Odin back to Brenna.
“Too bad the horn didn’t have the power to actually do that,” she said, clearly referring to the earthquakes. “Drop them blue bastards right into the ocean, along with a big chunk of land right on top of them.”
“The horn might not be able to,” he said. “But if these quakes get much stronger or more frequent, they could bury us all.”
“Further inland then?” she asked. “Far as we can get?”
“Yes,” Engier answered before he turned to Drengr. “Lead our people out of here,” he ordered. “Brenna and I will help those forced to retreat while under attack.”
The wizard shook his head. “Where do I take them, my lord?”
“Move them i
nto the valley and if we don’t make it back then head up the mountain. Get far enough into our land and perhaps the Orotaq will give up.”
“And if they keep chasing us?” Drengr asked.
“Then do the best you can, my friend. Our clan will be yours and Hamay’s, the others will follow,” Engier said. Drengr nodded and followed after those already retreating.
Brenna pushed forward as a small group trying to retreat and fight at the same time came their way. Engier followed, swinging his axe at empty space as he stepped into the fight. The timing was perfect and an Orotaq warrior shifted position just in time for his axe to thump into the big man’s spine.
“I learn fast, you bastard,” Engier growled, tearing his axe free as the enemy dropped to a knee in time to receive a strike to the throat. He collapsed, dead. Brenna also quickly caught on to the Orotaq fighting technique and she rushed into the fight swinging at nothing, but her blades still struck blue flesh as the Orotaq unwittingly stepped right into her well-timed attacks. As the last Orotaq fell, more of the Northmen retreated safely back up the hill and into the valley. The Northmen army from the beach attack were the last to arrive, accompanied by Eira and Sabjorn as they helped Sahar. The scout was in bad shape and his feet dragged in the dirt while the two carried him over their shoulders and retreated.
“That’s the last,” Eira said as she passed. “Most of the Orotaq seem to be hanging back. I think the horn and the quake gave them something to think about, or at least it slowed their attack.”
“Good,” Engier said. Turning, he headed towards the valley. “Let’s not waste the chance to put some miles between us.”
In less than an hour, Engier led Brenna and the others back to the bulk of the remaining Northmen. Upon entering the valley proper, his heart dropped. The late-night attack had cost them at least fifty, if not sixty good fighting men and woman.
