“So, are you willing to tell me where to find your father? You can stop this agony. Contrarily, let's see you how you handle this next little gift I have for you...” That was when he saw the leather strip had been wet on one side and had yielded its grip.
Marrhit began to emit a low sounding, guttural noise, which then transformed itself into a type of visceral chant, with low, intense, modulate notes.
“How dare you, stupid son of Sabre!” the captain grabbed Marrhit's face and pushed him against his knee with all the violence he could muster.
Marrhit kept on emitting his magnetic song with his bloody nose. He looked inside the eyes of the captain and thanks to the effect produced by his voice, he was able to go into his stare and distinguish the soul of the man with that of Yellow Eye.
“I can see you, you bastard,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Look at me if you have the courage, Yellow Eye,” Selot then screamed. The captain's head snapped in Selot's direction and Selot braced himself for the impact. The spirit of Baìah united the two Vetems. They saw Yellow Eye's soul vibrate, they felt him tremor and then decide to abandon the body of the captain who was hosting it.
“Don't even think about it, coward. Now you'll stay with us,” Selot said. The captain brought his hands to his head as he cried out like a crazed man. The praetorians didn't know what was happening and they initially didn't make a move.
“Go away! Away, you damned!” he started screaming, and let the vises with nails fall to the ground. The group leaders approached him, worried.
Marrhit and Selot attempted to enter Yellow Eye's soul and reach his actual physical form, hidden in some corner somewhere in the encampment. They heard a cry come from a tent, not far away. Yellow Eye managed to overcome Marrhit, who was weary from his wounds and pain. Selot had focused all his energy to penetrate the defenses of their enemy; without realizing it, he had taken his help away from his brother, and now his brother had lost all control over the hurt that consumed his body. A terrible spasm from one of his crucified feet rose up to Marrhit's forehead, amplifying the burning pain in his chest, making him close his eyes. Selot felt the excitement of Yellow Eye over this victory. Without being attached to Marrhit, Yellow Eye moved into Selot's head with a power the boy could not imagine existed. He screamed to warn Marrhit he was in trouble. His brother was there, ready. The spirit of Baìah took hold of them both and increased their ability to resist. Selot expelled Yellow Eye from his brain, who was stunned for just a very short time. Selot took over Marrhit's pain and contrived a diversion. He tried an attack to his throat, attempting to close off the epiglottis of the physical body of Yellow Eye. The Xàmvetem concentrated on nothing else, but he didn't realize that at that moment, Marrhit, relieved from his pain, had been violently penetrated in the depths of his central nervous system. Marrhit used all the energy he had. The brothers, with one accord, exchanged their physical sensations right then, and so Selot took on all of his brother's pain once more. Marrhit was free and now engaged in a very challenging attack on Yellow Eye. Selot's words had liberated him from the reverential fear he'd felt only minutes before. He was in Yellow Eye's mind and he had no intention of failing. Their strength was evenly matched. Yellow Eye had committed a grave error in using another person as a vehicle, losing an important part of his original strength. His fear of the two young Vetems had been his worst move. Marrhit penetrated the being even further. He'd never before met with such elevated resistance. There was a moment where he and Yellow Eye were in perfect balance. In that instant, Selot played his cards. He tried opening a passageway to pour all the painful sensations into the body of the Captain. He couldn't do it because he was without the required strength, but it was enough to distract the old Xàmvetem for just that brief moment. Marrhit made the most of it and arrived at a very precise point. He touched him and Yellow Eye's heart stopped all of a sudden. He was about to do the same thing to the body of the unarmed Captain.
“Wait,” Selot stopped him. “He's got the keys to the chains and he'll succumb to your voice.” Marrhit stopped himself just in time. “Yes, you're right...”
Selot was holding Marrhit's pain within his own body. “Agreed...I am ready,” his brother told him, inviting him to let go. He had no idea how Marrhit was going to face all that pain and together with the fatigue that would befall him like a huge weight after the encounter with Yellow Eye. He faltered.
You can do it, little brother. Selot did, keeping himself latched on to help him.
His brother sagged for an instant like an empty sack, emitting a pitiful moan.
“Resist, Marrhit. You're almost there...”
The captain, once more in possession of himself, took a few steps back, confused. He was conscious when Yellow Eye entered his mind. He looked at the two Vetems chained up and kneeling in front of him. The adult Vetem was doubled over in pain and groaned out of suffering. Everything seemed normal, and he could hardly believe what had just occurred. He felt exhausted. He called one of his group leaders forward. He, along with the praetorians, had been glued to what unfolded, none of them understanding a thing.
“Go and verify the General's condition,” he ordered, his voice trembling. The guard took off running, and came back moments later, his face pale.
“The General is...he is dead,” the guard said, disbelieving. “He's on the ground, eyes wide open. Lifeless.” Everyone in the square heard those words.
The Captain turned white, retreating further still from the two Vetems, terrorized.
“Free us. First my brother, then me,” Marrhit's voice ordered. The Captain, in a trance, opened Selot's chains, then those of Marrhit, obeying his words. Then he distanced himself by a few steps. The other praetorians stood stock still, as the Captain did not give orders and they didn't know what to do. For fear of erring, they remained at their posts. The fear in their captain, contaminated them too. Selot and Marrhit looked at them, holding their breaths. Selot jumped to his feet in fury. He unleashed his sword and waved it at him to make him step back. Once he was far enough away, he bent down over Marrhit. He slipped the point of his blade between the skin of his neck and the loosest part of the leather strip, cutting it away. Marrhit took a deep breath. Selot then checked the pegs lodged in his feet. They had not sunk too far down into the wood.
“Are you ready?” Marrhit nodded his head and clenched his teeth. Selot, with one fell swoop, took out the first one. A spurt of blood rushed out of the wound together with Marrhit's screams. He did not ask before extracting the second one suddenly. Marrhit bent over, stifling his cries. He huffed furiously and clenched his fists until he bruised his knuckles. “Now genius, I want to see what you come up with to get us out of here,” he said, in a strangled voice. “There are too many of them. My little tricks won't work even if I were in fighting form. I am out of action...”
“Can I tell you, I haven't got a plan?”
“I don't think I can run, Selot,” retorted Marrhit with bitter irony. “And sooner or later these idiots will take out all their madness on us. Though I might be able to keep them off us with some good subterfuge. Run away, without turning back.”
“No.”
“You're too important. You must try to save yourself.”
“No.”
Marrhit tried to stand up with the help of Selot, but he couldn't put any weight on his feet. He raised a very strange call with a bewitching voice, at a very high volume. Selot guessed his intention and joined in with him. The praetorians were scared to death and began stepping away with their unsheathed swords. It was as if they had received orders to fight against a ghost army. Selot watched them, astounded.
“They are making the same mistake we did; they could beat us and yet their idea of us is stopping them,” Selot whispered.
“I would like to be as optimistic as you.”
Two horses came forth from the stables, freed and under the irresistible call of the Vetems. Selot assisted Marrhit up into the saddle. Marrhit with just a
few strides on his horse, reached the captain who was dying from fear.
“Bring us our weapons and our clothes,” he ordered as nonchalantly as a general would have done. The captain stepped back, stumbled, got back up again and ran towards the warehouse. From up on their saddles, Selot and Marrhit stared at the scores of praetorians in front of them. They knew there were many more in the camp and soon news that Yellow Eye was dead would be known.
“This is the best moment to have a good dose of luck,” Marrhit whispered. It all seemed to rest on that fine line of an enchanting spell. The captain came with their clothes and arms. Selot saw with relief that Estela's medallion was also there with their belongings. In just a few instants, they were dressed and armed with their swords, knives and bows. Marrhit didn't put his boots on. He felt very weak, and he hoped no one would notice how difficult it was for him to stay upright in the saddle.
“Now, escort us out of the encampment,” he said.
The captain obeyed and set off ahead of them towards the gates. From afar however, there arose a cry. Selot recognized that blunt order. The vice general of the legion had been informed of the death of Yellow Eye and was now taking hold of the situation. They had very little time at their disposition. The Praetorians seemed to come round from their indecision and regrouped under the orders of several officials. Marrhit and Selot sped away at full speed. There was only one strategy in mind and it was very simple: get rid of anything that stood in the way of them and their escape. The excitement buoyed Marrhit, making him ignore the injuries sustained and the burn on his chest. They rode screaming like demons, sending the cry of 'Uch' up to the skies. The spirit of Baìah enveloped them and every one of their senses was sharpened like never before. They saw the world through four eyes at impressively quick speed. Everything around them moved in slow motion and it was very easy to anticipate what would happen next. They cut off the heads of two sentinels; they bent down to rip away two wooden shields from their dead bodies as they fell. They placed them on their backs because sooner or later, someone would get the idea to take them out with arrows. They spurred on their horses as wildly as they could, and they spared no blows. A groups of cavalry had banded together to face them, just before coming up to the palisade that outlined the border. Two groups of javelin throwers had placed themselves in front of it to block them with their spears. They took aim and concentrated a lethal metallic rain on them. Marrhit sped forward, protecting Selot from the first impact. When the spears reached them, the shield exploded, but it didn't stop the Vetems. Marrhit parried others with his big sword. Selot's shield also broke into pieces, but resisted the blow; his horse though, was mortally wounded and spilled onto the ground, unseating him. He found himself on foot, encircled by soldiers and fearful praetorians. No one should have survived a shower of javelins of this kind, so very close. He took out his twin blades and started spinning them. In a body to body encounter, his adversaries had no hope of prevailing, even if they had surrounded him. Marrhit was trying to draw away the cavalry which had in the meantime, attacked. His horse however, was also wounded and he estimated it would fall there shortly. He held off the attacks until the beast fell forward onto its front legs. He tried to fall to the side, protecting himself with his sword. Once he was on the ground, he could do nothing else except stay propped up on one knee and strike away. Selot attempted to near him, to defend him. He wouldn't be able to resist much longer. Seeing him there without a horse and in difficulty, the praetorians and the soldiers threw off the fear of them being supernatural beings. Though not for long. The call that had drawn the two horses from the stables of the encampment, had now reached Selot and Marrhit's stallions, which now descended from the promontory where they had been left. The two magnificent sires had covered the distance that separated them from their masters and with one giant leap they cleared the palisade. They landed right in the middle of the fray. Marrhit sent out one of his sounds, using up all the air in his lungs. The soldiers closest to him were paralyzed. Selot made the most of it by coming to his rescue, and helped him up into the saddle, continually thrashing with fatal blows. The praetorians and the soldiers were beside themselves. It was impossible to beat them, they were far too fast and they were unfailing in their strikes, always killing with the first blow; never caught off guard. The captains behind them pushed the soldiers on, but many of them decided not to risk it, backing off, frightened. They weren't even able to get the better of the one who was down on one knee because of the injuries to his feet. They couldn't possibly defeat them now that they were back in the saddle of two horses which had come from nowhere. Selot and Marrhit heard from afar the nocked bows and a direct order. In the spirit of Baìah, they evaluated instantly that they could do it. They looked at one another and nodded. They spurred their horses on. The beasts didn't need spurring, as they could already feel the excitement of the battle and the spirit of their masters. They headed at full speed against the palisade, while the camp itself resembled a battlefield with scores of bodies littering the ground. The horses then jumped the highest they ever had. Marrhit and Selot lifted their swords to the sky, screaming with all their might. Together they flew over the other side of the paling that bordered the camp, just as the archers had in that instant, let loose the strings. They made it past the obstacle and landed, in perfect harmony with their horses. They pulled on the reins to go back against the palisade to take shelter, lowering themselves against the necks of their stallions. Several arrows fell on the inside of the camp, and some stuck into the stake wall, while others flew by but couldn't intercept the two Vetems in the shadowy area of the trajectory. Before the archers could receive a second order, they spurred their horses towards a wooded area. They could do nothing more than pray for their own speed and for the slowness of the archers. In the meantime, from the gates of the encampment, a group of guards were giving chase. The arrows whizzed by; Marrhit and Selot weren't out of harm's way just yet. Some of the arrows actually reached them, stopped by the thick casings of the weapons they carried on their backs. Selot's arm was grazed by one. Marrhit took a hit to the thigh, but the arrow was at the end of its trajectory and dug in shallowly. Marrhit extracted it and placed it in his own bow, turned round, took aim and hit the group leader who was following them, squarely. They managed to make it unscathed to the wood and they infiltrated it swiftly. Soon enough, their horses were all but useless in the thick of the wood, and the Vetems got down and gave them their freedom once more. They crouched down behind a giant chestnut trunk, immobile. Marrhit clenched his teeth out of pain which had been aggravated by the ride, and he began to cry out.
“Go Selot. If you start running from here, no one will take you. Keep yourself hidden, it won't be long now before dark, and you will be saved. Run to your marquis and warn him.” Selot shook his head.
“Listen to me,” Marrhit began again with dogged determination, “they could attack. There are only about six hundred men in there. The first warriors will have already reached Var by now. You'll have a clear advantage. The general has been eliminated and I did not sense the presence of any other Vetems. If they bring an attack within three days, there is a good chance you'll win. You must tell Var to attack. Burn their stupid fences. You've got excellent archers, use flaming arrows. Then make them waste all the long range projectiles they have available. You must refer this to Var: they have five catapults and flaming tar. Establish a cavalry of a hundred men, make them nervous until they've used up all of the projectiles for their catapult. They have a little more than two hundred. Someone will have to take the trouble to count them. Try to get them to throw their spears, too. There are about three hundred of them, then you can attack. You'll have to resist until their long range weapons are all but used up, including the arrows of the archers and the crossbows, got it? There will be wounded and dead, but you must first get them use their catapults, javelins and as many arrows as possible. Once they are finished, attack with another two hundred men who will be hidden up to that moment. The
soldiers of Dar will be exposed. Advance forward, man to man combat. The foot soldiers must resist the temptation to go to the aid of the cavalry in the first phase. You must attack before dawn, when they are unable to realize the number of you, but not too much before, because they must then see your cavalry to be induced to waste their ammunition. Only after that, can you give the order to send in the second contingent of two hundred men. At that point, you will have the advantage; that will be enough for you to fight without making errors and the victory is yours. Now, go.”
“Did you get all that information from the captain's mind?”
“No. His mind was prey to Yellow Eye, how could I? I took it from the praetorians as we escaped. Now, go.”
“No.”
“Damned idiot! You have victory in your hands, damn it, go! You don't have to use the Cumbal. Go!”
“No. I didn't understand a single thing of what you said. You'll have to explain it to Var yourself.” It was a foolish way to reiterate his no. Marrhit lost it.
“You are a cretin! Get lost or I'll kill you!”
“Let's reason...” From afar, the sound of soldiers approaching rapidly could be heard.
“For heaven's sake! Get a move on, they're almost on top of us!”
“Can you keep me in the spirit of Baìah without fighting?” Marrhit inhaled. Selot had, in the past, always demonstrated that his brain functioned far better under pressure.
“Yes, I can do that,” he said. Selot nodded, as he helped him to his feet.
“Get up onto my shoulders, quickly,” he told Marrhit. Marrhit lifted himself up. Selot began to climb up the enormous chestnut tree they had hidden behind. Marrhit had his legs wound round under Selot's armpits, his feet behind his back. That way, Selot only had to sustain his weight as he made his way up to the tallest branches; he was relieved of his brother's weight when Marrhit used his own arms too, to haul them up onto the branches. In the end, the greatest physical effort came from Marrhit. They reached a height of over forty cubits. Marrhit placed himself on a giant, comfortable branch, where he could easily see around the chestnut and the view towards the plain. Selot jumped down just before the vanguard made it to the tree. He unsheathed his twin swords and went on the attack. Marrhit grabbed him straight away in Baìah and Selot could see every move, and every intention, from up high too. Not only that; his speed and technique were those of his brother's and he let himself be guided with ease, by the spirit of Baìah which increased his physical resistance as well. No attack from behind, caught him unawares. With Marrhit's eyes, he could see everything that happened around him. His body moved to defend and attack much faster than his conscious thought would allow. Marrhit had very few arrows, and he had decided to keep them for the last part, if there was to be one in that fight. He focused on maintaining Baìah with Selot and to ward off the pain of his injuries. The spirit of Baìah allowed him to do far better. The shouts of the men who were fighting Selot called for reinforcements, that did not tarry in arriving. A group made up entirely of praetorians arrived. Selot clenched his teeth and shouted at every assault out of anger. His anger increased his strength. In his mind, the very long years spent at the Abbey of Affradatis passed by; an image of his mother came to the fore, the first time he saw her, chained, and heavily marked by signs of mistreatment. He thought about all those stolen years, the happiness he'd been denied. He thought about Estela and the happiness he would one day have to leave behind so as not to force her to stay with a man who could not sire children. He thought about the fact that he'd never met his father. So, the men who were now standing before him, all seemed so very frail and ridiculous and he slayed them down with no pity whatsoever, not thinking about anything, not Var, not Atiarav. He realized he was now fighting for himself, against his skeletons and against his pain, just like Ucal had told him a few days earlier, guessing very precisely about his own state of being. His memories of Marrhit hit him suddenly and violently: he saw the moment he'd been sold to the Urds by his father. He screamed out like a banshee and caused a massacre. He didn't even realize he was now combating the third group of men. He yelled that he wanted more enemies, that he wanted to kill them all, that they should go and call for more, that they were ridiculous and that they should never dare confront a deranged Vetem. The faces of those who were still alive wore frightened masks; they retreated, turned on their heels and ran away. There were very few left around him. Whoever decided not to escape or whoever was incapable of escaping, was dead within a few seconds. When he understood there were no more adversaries around, and that many were getting away, he picked up his bow and with the arrows from the quivers of dead, he aimed like an assassin. Though he did not strike the men who escaped, in their backs; he stopped that madness just in time. He let the precious bow of his beloved Estela fall to the ground. What he saw before him, was a horrendous battle field of war. The underbrush had become red. He leaned against a tree with his back, and slid down it.
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