“They were looking for us two days ago...”
“Yes. We should have returned, and they tolerated our tardiness. But now, the situation does not add up. They know we have changed plans.” Selot shook his head to regain composure.
“What can they perceive of us?”
“Our position, roughly. Two days ago they were already in alert, as we were not where we should have been. They saw us in the lands of Atiarav, which we should never have remotely neared. They can sense when we kill another Xàmvetem. They can feel our faculties, when we activate them, the intensity of them and lengthened use. They must have certainly perceived we have been in Baìah for hours and they will have made their own deductions. Nothing else. They can however, act upon our bodies and vital functions even at this distance.” He painted a pinched smile on his face. Selot looked at the battle lines. The warriors of Atiarav fought with much courage and did not retreat in the face of the power of this army which outnumbered them. Var had regained control of the situation and now, his tiny army was looking more coordinated and efficient. Ucal was untiring. Selot admired the female warriors who were not spared; they were capable and swift.
“We made it this far...” Selot whispered.
“We have made our decision. Right or wrong as it might be. We shall not turn back now,” Marrhit assented.
“What shall we do?”
“I can shield them for a bit. Not much.” Selot's thoughts went straight to his illness. The strength needed to create a shield to protect from the Council might provoke it.
“Yes, exactly. That is my limit. And I am closer to it than usual.” He was referring to his injuries and the exhaustion he had accumulated while imprisoned and during his encounter with Yellow Eye. His determination was solid though.
“We must win this game, or we will lose all. Var has bet all that he has without forcing you to use the Cumbal. You can't lose your life on this terrain now. You are the key to the entire future.” Marrhit stopped for several instants. “The Council reclaims us, but they do not understand what you represent. They must never find out, or else all this determined hunting against Atiarav and Var will fall onto you. Try and imagine what would happen if the Council or the Congregation found out that access to the Cumbal is through you only. No more searching, no more Steles, no hunting down of the mountain marquis who has tormented them all so much.” Selot had obviously thought about it since the night he read the Steles. It made Marrhit want to laugh. As the two armies were facing one another, amid the clanging of metal and the screams, in the light of the fire that was destroying the fence of the encampment, Marrhit bent over the neck of his horse and started laughing; he thought of this half-Vetem, this half-brother of his who was the only being in the world who could use the power of the Cumbal.
“You are currently the most dangerous and powerful being in the world, little brother.” His laugh turned into a grimace of pain. Rest from the battle had stopped distracting his brain from the hurt he had been subjected to. He turned serious. Very serious.
“In the end, the Marquis of Atiarav has shown himself to possess a soul I did not recognize. He deserves the faith and friendship you have always attributed to him. I understand that now. I understand why men can be better than the Uicics and why the Cumbal was entrusted to them and not left with our species.” Selot pursed his lips. All that which he'd not been able to tell him, Marrhit had understood on his own.
“You must not die,” his brother continued. “You have the ability to stay true to your heart.” He stopped, because of a searing spasm that came from the burn, which had been heavily aggravated in the movements of battle. Selot sensed the tormented skin, with its burnt nerves, screaming out in agony. He perceived the deafening pain and the throbbing of the wounds in his feet.
“We cannot fail.” Marrhit began again. “We must carry out the orders of the marquis and assure victory to Atiarav. Then we will return to the Valley and use astuteness when it comes to the enemies nesting like serpents inside the Council. We have no alternative.”
“Well then. Let's go,” Selot cut him off, ready to dive back into battle.
“Not so fast, little brother.” Marrhit held him back by the arm. Underneath the sash, he smiled.
“There are ninety of them. The Council could block us again.”
“So?”
“We must draw them into a trap, get them away from the encampment and the army of Atiarav. We must get near their captain. I must be very close to him, a few feet away. I'll instill a vision in him, a deception. They will follow you, and you must lead them away for as many miles as possible, far from here. Go and place yourself at the south door, eliminate whoever you find guarding it and be ready to flee. Take them onto terrain that is difficult to navigate the horses, then find a way to hide. After a time, they will realize they have been following just one man, leaving the encampment undefended and they'll come back. By then, it will be too late.” Clear instructions for what he had to do. It was the perfect idea: leaving the army undefended and ensuring the best possibility of escape.
“And you?” asked Selot.
“I'll take care of myself, I'm not a weakling like you,” Marrhit answered rudely, which allowed no room for reply. Selot wouldn't accept it.
“You could fall prone to your illness and I will be too far away from you.”
“There are risks. Go and get ready to be chased like a fox, and leave me alone.” Marrhit closed off the discussion. He purposefully closed off the spirit of Baìah and both of them immediately felt lonelier and weaker.
Var looked towards the southern sector of the encampment. Many minutes had gone by and the Vetems still hadn't jumped into action. The praetorian guard was lying in wait like a lion behind the battle lines, ready to strike once Var's men were exhausted and decimated in the encounter with a unit that was far more numerous than his own. Ucal and his captains kept the terrain with insane determination, inciting the men and throwing himself headlong into the fray. Each one of them faced more than one enemy at a time, with fierce audacity. The soldiers of the kingdom fought with fear running through their veins, with the sole desire to survive. The men of Atiarav fought to redeem their people, for the survival of their families, the faces of their children shining through their eyes, knowing that the day would signal, one way or another, the fate of their people for always. They could not give up and they couldn't turn back. They had made it to the furthest regions of the kingdom, or they'd been hiding in the mountains for a year and a half. Now, here they were, led by their marquis to the front line; he'd bent the Vetems' will too.
Ucal glanced at Var over the battle, with a mute question in his eyes. Where were Selot and Marrhit? Var tightened his jaw. He didn't want to admit that he didn't know. He kept looking to the south, without understanding why he couldn't see any movement.
Selot silently approached the south gate. He took out the only two guards who had been left to guard it. It was the furthest from the battle lines and nothing indicated an attack could come from there. He threw open the door and placed himself in the center, so he and his bare swords were very visible. He was ready.
Marrhit was used to planning every move. He'd been trained as a war machine. Much more than a simple assassin. Since he was a child, he'd been taught to think, evaluate, calculate every aspect to reach his objective. Who knows why at that very moment, the arduous training sessions he'd been subject to since he was six years old came into his mind. Even in the most unlikely situations, his mind began searching for solutions. Everything within him led to making him an instrument on the offensive. For generations. Instructions for war that went through the centuries, were in his blood and in his brain. He took out his biggest sword, holding it in his left hand. With his right hand, he held one of his twin swords. He spied the captain of the praetorians from afar. It was the man who had tortured him two days earlier, and yet there was no time to hate him. He could only think about obtaining the result for the people of Atiarav. He spurred his
horse on at full speed. In one very agile movement, using the strength in his wrists, he stood atop his horse as it galloped, his body forgetting all about the pain in his feet. The praetorians turned in his direction, taken aback. They shouted out warnings, as the captain whirled around in his direction only half a second later. Marrhit was already very close. The captain recognized those steely gray eyes immediately, but it couldn't possibly be him! On his feet, and on a galloping horse, like an artist at the circus. Though the similarities with a circus act ended right there. That face, swathed in black fabric was menacing and the warrior was armed with his swords. The arrows that tried to hit him all failed. The few that would reach his body, were broken and deflected in flight by his blades. He was coming straight for him. The praetorians fell into rank to protect their captain, but they were slow and couldn't imagine what that Vetem was capable of. Without hesitation, Marrhit continued guiding his horse straight for the man, maintaining balance with his feet on the saddle. He leaped from the horse's back, flew over the lines of the praetorians with a pike somersault and landed squarely in front of the captain. He took hold of his stare and it was sufficient. Then he fell to his knees. He could no longer stand up straight. He had painfully lacerated his wounds. The guards surrounded him, holding their swords to his neck, but they feared exchanging looks with him and didn't know what to do. No one dared plunge their sword, with fear in their bodies of being struck by lightening, or some such thing.
The captain remained dumb for several moments, then saw the ghost of an attack to the South which made his blood curdle. How could they have underestimated that danger? The second part of the army of Atiarav was surely planted there, and they could easily flow in through the camp at any moment and then it would all be over. He gave a sharp order to one of his men to alert the vice general there was an attack from the south which he must prepare to combat. He gave the order to fall into line to push against the attack on that side. At that moment, everyone saw the second Vetem framed by the south gate which was wide open. Their fears were confirmed.
“They've fooled us!” the captain yelled. Then he pointed to Marrhit.
“What are you doing? Capture him, chain him up. We need him alive. We'll use him as a safeguard, as goods to exchange. Blindfold him, otherwise his eyes will bewitch you.” One of the praetorian guards approached him from behind and attempted to put a piece of fabric over his eyes, but Marrhit twisted his torso suddenly and drove his sword up through him, from down below. Everyone else retreated, as if they were dealing with a dangerous and poisonous snake. He was finding it hard to breathe. He was tired and he was about to faint from the pain, and soon his illness would get to him. To make himself useful to the captain as a prisoner was the last thing he had planted in the mind of the captain, before falling to his knees. His life was hanging by a thread of deception. He hoped it would last as long as was necessary, but he wasn't entirely sure. Not much time would pass by before they realized that the army in attack from the south was an illusion, an illusion that would disappear along with the conviction that his life was also of utmost importance. The praetorian guards tried to blindfold and chain him. He managed to kill another two from his position, then he felt a sack come down over his head, his strength abandon him, and his arms forced behind his back. A sharp metallic click closed the chains. His eyes which no one could see, became opaque. His Zav switch was about to torment him, but the Council lost the signal of his presence in that moment.
A miracle happened. In the years that followed, Var would describe it that way. For some very strange reason, the praetorian guards charged forth from the south gate, leaving the encampment completely undefended. The vice general kept screaming that they'd all gone mad, to send someone to make them come back, that the maneuver didn't make sense, but to no avail. Var had caught a glimpse of Selot's figure which was being chased by the praetorians. The officials of the Kingdom of Dar couldn't understand that foolish move, but the soldiers interpreted it as a sign to flee. And if the praetorians were escaping, then what were they still doing here? The desertion began, and the retreat. In just a few minutes, the army of the kingdom fell apart like an old wine skin without its bottle neck rim to keep it together. Var and his captains brought their most devastating attack on the back of that wave of excitement. Victory had just appeared, salient and very close. The now weakened, thinned out defense lines of the royal army were conquered. The flag of surrender flew and the soldiers threw their weapons to the ground, lifting their arms above their heads. The men of Atiarav took possession of the encampment and lifted the banner of the marquisate. The thistle and the chub had won. Cries of victory shook the air that day; the sun had not yet reached its highest point in the sky.
Var sent his thanks up to the heavens. The officials were rounded up and disarmed. The marquis now had to organize the unusual situation where the much higher number of soldiers had to surrender to the much smaller number of warriors of Atiarav.
While the other captains led the operations to manage and disarm the adversaries, Ucal made a quick reconnaissance of the camp to ascertain there were no pockets of resistance. Three expert warriors accompanied him. They spied Marrhit thrown in a corner, badly tied to a pole with a sack over his head. Ucal's heart skipped a beat. He immediately removed the material from his head to allow him to breathe. There was a heartbeat but he was unconscious. He sent for the marquis. Var flew to them.
“My God, Vetem...what have you done for us?” Then he turned to Ucal. “Selot! They are pursuing him, we must help him, he needs to come back here!” Var and Ucal organized an expedition. Nora approached Marrhit, as she was the only one with any notion of medicine and, at the same time, did not fear Vetems.
“Go!” she screamed. “I'll take care of him.”
The captain of the praetorian guards asked himself where the army that was chasing them could possibly be. One of his own finally had the courage to go up to him.
“Captain...why are we on the trail of that Vetem?” There had to be a reason. Perhaps the Vetem held the key to some essential importance that had escaped his knowledge. The captain turned back to look at the encampment. He ordered them to halt. Was that the flag of surrender blowing in the wind high above the palisade? He shook his head. He knew he'd been tricked. A handful of mountain men and two Vetems had outwitted them. He was amazed to find he actually admired them. By now, their comrades back at the base would be surrendering their arms, and it wouldn't do any good to go back and counterattack. He swallowed defeat. He took it for granted those cruel barbarians would be slaughtering all those who had just surrendered.
“Let us join the legion to the east,” he then said, “there is nothing more for us here.” He gave the order to his men and they began marching in that direction.
Selot had already reached the woody strip of terrain in the northwest, heading straight for a gorge he knew was nearby. He would have a greater possibility to lose them and leave them behind. He didn't realize right away that he was no longer being hunted. He no longer heard the cries of incitement. He turned back. He stopped his horse. With great care, he went to the edge of the vegetation to spy on his pursuers. He blinked. Instead of seeing a group of praetorians, there was a group of men led by Var and Ucal. He came out of his hiding place.
Var, Ucal and the other men saluted him with their weapons held up in a sign of victory. Var guided his horse up to him, until they were almost touching.
“Your brother...he needs you,” and he allowed Selot to read into his mind. Selot's heart skipped a beat. He said nothing, urged his horse and covered the distance that separated him from the encampment without giving neither himself nor his animal time to breathe, and he spurred the horse on until it frothed at the mouth. He flew into the encampment, slid down from his saddle and ran as he'd never done before in his life. The ground beneath him slipped away under his boots as if it didn't even exist. He didn't breathe so as not to waste time. His heart was in his mouth, and he prayed to the Existent that he w
asn't too late. He went directly to the spot indicated in the mind of the marquis; he was still in full flight when he saw Nora bent over Marrhit, who was laid out on the ground as she bathed his brow with a wet cloth. He skidded up to them on his knees. He held his breath and observed his lifeless brother.
“He won't wake up...” Nora said in a low voice. Selot gulped. He hugged Marrhit, and held him tight in his arms, making sure he didn't touch the wound on his chest. He must have used up all his reserves of energy to trick the captain of the praetorians. His heart beat weakly. His closed eyes wouldn't open. He held him even tighter because he didn't know what to do. He cried out his name to the heavens, silently, because the ears of men were not allowed to hear it. He screamed it out so many times that he lost count. He searched for an element in his brother's mind that he could latch onto, but there was nothing familiar. He could perceive nothing more than a fog that wrapped around him whenever his illness manifested itself. Selot removed the black sash from his brother's face because it was impeding his breathing.
“Bring me my sack, I left it on my horse...” Like a lightening bolt, Nora ran to the horse to procure the sack and bring it back to him. Selot took out the last piece of the root supplied by Asheeba. There was so little...
“We also use that root in extreme cases, I have some,” the woman said upon seeing the distress on his face. Selot wheeled around to her.
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