The morning dawned as it always
did, and yet Adesina wondered how it could be so. It felt as though so much had
changed over the past couple of days, and so why could the dawn not change as
well?
Torith shifted beneath her, as if
he were impatient to gallop into battle once more. Adesina was glad that he had
been given some time to rest while she recovered. She did not want him too
tired to be an effective mount for the leader of the cavalry.
Ri’sel sat on his horse next to
Adesina, steadfast and silent. He had been called to take Me’shan’s place as
Chief Protector General. His eyes looked weary with sorrow, but there was no
sign of defeat in his stance. He had always been a warrior, and nothing could
change his fighting spirit.
Me’da had also joined the fight as
one of the leaders of the infantry. She was sixty-eight years old, but her
energy was in no way diminished. She had not seemed reluctant to set aside her
retirement in order to fight for her king and country. Experienced military
leaders were scarce, and Adesina was grateful for her help.
Equally important was the fact that
the L’avan people had great faith in Me’da’s abilities. Me’da was something of
a legend to the young soldiers, and they would follow her with enthusiasm.
Morale was low these days, and that enthusiasm was vital.
Z’eki had seemed disappointed that
he was not able to ride into battle as well. He had offered to fill one of the
many empty leadership positions, but he had known the answer as he spoke. He
was well into his nineties, and his physical age could not be counterbalanced
by his energetic personality.
L’iam and Hestia had also
considered joining the fight, but Adesina had led the arguments against that.
Even with fewer leaders on the field, it was important to continue with the
practice of keeping one L’avan royal safe while the other fought. As for
Hestia, she was more valuable as an advisor to L’iam than as a soldier.
Adesina used her
vyala
to
enhance her vision, and she turned her gaze to the Shimat and their
mercenaries. She could see the Shimat leaders riding among the hired soldiers,
issuing commands or simply waiting for the order to advance. She did not see
Breyen, and this caused her to frown. It had been a while since Adesina’s
former Shar had been spotted among the Shimat, and she wondered why that was.
The call of dissonant horns sounded
from the Shimat stationed by Cha-sak’s tent. The demon was signaling his army
to go forward.
The Shimat and mercenaries began
marching as soon as they heard the horns. They had stopped using their archers
as an opening attack. The L’avan always turned the arrows back to their source,
so the Shimat did their best to distract the L’avan enough so that the archers
could become effective.
The Seharan archers did not have
such difficulties, and they waited for the approach of the enemy so they could
begin their task.
There was a small disturbance among
the ranks as Ruon, Sitara, and Riel made their way to the front. Adesina looked
at them with a furrowed brow. Their presence meant that Cha-sak would be
attacking directly.
Ruon glanced at her with a strange
expression on his face. “Brace yourself,” he cautioned. “It seems the Demon
Lord of the Shimat is displeased with your return to the battlefield.”
The Laithur nodded to Sitara, who
immediately closed her eyes in concentration. Riel did the same, and Adesina
assumed this was because they were working together through their Joining.
The air took on a golden hue,
almost as if the sun were setting. The L’avan and Seharan soldiers began to
murmur amongst themselves, wondering at the change.
Then, without warning, the sky
exploded.
The clouds were consumed by fire,
and the roar of the flames was deafening. Adesina’s nostrils filled with the
scent of ozone, as if there had been a lightning strike.
Cries of fear escaped almost every
throat, and Adesina did her best to regain her composure. She shouted words of
encouragement to those around her, trying to keep control of the frightened
soldiers.
Sitara’s hands were extended above
her head and beads of sweat formed at her brow. In spite of the noise and fire,
no one had been harmed by the explosion. Adesina knew that was because of the
protection of the Serraf.
Ri’sel had only temporarily been
distracted by Cha-sak’s attack, and his eyes were fixed firmly on the advancing
Shimat force. He called for order among the ranks, and he soon had it. Then he
issued the command for the archers to begin firing.
Adesina knew that the cavalry would
be sent forward next, and she gathered up Torith’s reins.
“Steady,” she called to the other
members of the cavalry.
Ravi and the other Rashad were in
position to accompany the mounted attack force. Adesina looked at her guardian
and felt a surge of affection.
Had there ever been a time when the
Rashad were not the faithful allies of the L’avan?
Ravi’s thoughts seemed surprised by
her musing.
Of course not. Our entire
purpose is to assist and protect you.
Adesina smiled sadly.
So many
Rashad have died fighting in this war between the L’avan and the Shimat, yet
you act as though this fight is yours as well.
Ravi’s response was solemn.
This
war is everyone’s responsibility, even if they do not realize it.
Another deafening explosion rocked
the earth.
Adesina cast a worried glance at
Sitara. The Serraf looked even more strained than before. If Cha-sak continued
to attack with such force, Adesina would need to help protect the soldiers from
being wiped out.
Arrows from the Seharan archers
sang through the air, and the first blood of the day was spilled.
“Queen Adesina, Ravi,” called
Ri’sel, “break those front lines.”
“Cavalry forward,” shouted Adesina
as she heeled Torith into a gallop.
The thunder of hundreds of hooves
striking against the ground filled Adesina’s head. She drew Falcon and let it
swirl with the light of her
vyala
. The Rashad leapt forward in graceful
bounds, easily keeping pace with the horses. Ravi led his people in a series of
roars that undoubtedly chilled the blood of their enemies.
Adesina expected the Shimat
mercenaries to meet them with pikes, as was usual when defending against
cavalry. However, not a pike could be seen as Adesina rode closer.
Her instincts screamed a warning,
and her
vyala
flared up in response.
The front lines of the mercenaries
dropped to their knees, revealing rows of archers standing behind. Waves of
arrows were loosed, aimed directly at the advancing cavalry and Rashad.
Adesina’s
vyala
threw up a
wall of fire, like a shield before them as they rode. The arrows were burned as
they shot through, but small pieces of flaming embers peppered the exposed skin
of the riders at the front of the attack force. Adesina lifted her arm to
protect her face and gritted her teeth against the pain of dozens of small
burns.
The mercenaries were rushing to
reform their ranks and bring the pikes to the front once more. They were not
fast enough to slow Adesina and her soldiers as they bore down on them.
The galloping horses of the L’avan
and Seharan cavalry broke through the first lines of the Shimat mercenaries,
raining destruction upon their heads. The infantry followed close behind,
taking advantage of the chaos that Adesina left in her wake.
***
A young Seharan farmer stood atop a
hill to the northeast of the battlefield. He clutched his bow in one hand and
nocked an arrow with the other. The men and women around him did the same.
He had never been a soldier before.
He had never seen anything beyond the occasional brawl between angry villagers.
The sheer scale of the battle filled him with unrestrained fear.
He had trained with all of the
other volunteers, and had learned basic swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat.
The farmer had only volunteered because his brothers had, and he had not wanted
to seem like a coward.
When they had called for soldiers
to join the archers, he had jumped at the opportunity. He was not as skilled
with the bow as others from his village, but it was the chance to stay safe
from the fighting while still doing his part.
The farmer had soon discovered that
it didn’t matter that he was not as skilled a marksman as others. More often
than not, he simply had to shoot his arrows into the oncoming enemy hoard and
he was bound to hit somebody.
The young farmer heard the shout of
his commander, and he raised his drawn bow into the air. He calculated the
angle needed for the arrows to travel the desired distance, and then he waited
for the next order. The commander shouted again, and all the arrows were
loosed.
They had aimed for the back ranks
of the enemy army, a safe distance from their own soldiers. It was difficult to
see how much damage had been caused, but that didn’t really matter to the
farmer. He simply nocked another arrow and waited for the command to fire.
The hill on which they stood was
directly east of the set of hills where the main Seharan and L’avan armies
began each day. A river ran along the eastern side of the archers and down past
the battlefield. The river protected the eastern flank of the Seharan army from
the Shimat mercenaries, which was vital to their continued survival.
The command came for the farmer to
fire his bow once more. He took aim and loosed his arrow, once again feeling
grateful that he was not down among the fighting and carnage like his brothers.
He knew very little about war,
especially when it came to strategies and tactics. He watched the movements of
the different groups with a sense of curiosity, but with no understanding of
what he was seeing.
He saw the famous L’avan queen
riding on her powerful black stallion and leading the rest of the cavalry to
attack a group of Shimat mercenaries that had been separated from the rest of
the main army. He could see flashes of light as she used her magic to defend
her soldiers.
The sky still occasionally shook
with the explosive attacks from the demon that led the Shimat army. The magical
creatures that the L’avan queen had brought with her stood on the hills next to
the archers and cast the protective spells that preserved their lives.
Another volley of arrows was sent
into the enemy ranks.
The young farmer was tired from the
pace that had been forced upon them over the past few weeks. They had very
little sleep and nothing but cold rations to eat. The archers spent each day
firing arrows toward their enemies and each night gathering up all the arrows
they could find that could be used again.
Even so, the farmer was somewhat
content with his lot. He was almost certain to survive this war, and then he
would forever be viewed as a hero. He would have the praise of his fellow
villagers, and his father would surely give him some land to farm on his own.
Perhaps those girls on the next farm over would finally start paying attention
to him.
Somewhere from the back of the
archers, a shout rang out.
The farmer started to aim his bow
once more, but then he realized the shout had not come from the commander.
More cries followed, becoming
panicked or filled with pain.
The young farmer’s eyes darted past
the men and women standing behind him. What was happening?
Then he saw them.
Figures clothed in black, with all
but their eyes covered. They moved with a deadly grace as they swung their
weapons and ended lives.
They were coming toward him.
The farmer dropped his bow and
started to run.
How had they gotten there? The archers
were protected at their rear by the river!
The river…
His eyes turned instinctively
toward the flowing body of water, and he saw even more black figures emerging
from its depths.
A throwing knife whistled through
the air and struck the farmer in his lower back, causing him to collapse
midstride. He screamed in pain but frantically tried to keep moving, pulling
himself forward with his arms.
He couldn’t die here. The archers
were supposed to be safe. They were supposed to be protected.
The farmer could hear the quiet
tread of boots approaching him, and he knew that his life was coming to an end.
He wanted to plead for mercy, but
the words stuck in his throat.
It wouldn’t have saved him anyway.
***
Leander was the son of the leader
of the Ojuri. He had been taught from an early age how to inspire the
confidence of followers, to lead through example, to settle conflicts, to put
the needs of others before his own. His mother had known that he would need
these skills, but she had not imagined how they would someday be used.
He hadn’t, either.
The young man raised his axe and
brought it down with all of his strength. He had been offered a sword when he
had joined the ranks of volunteers as they began their military training, but
the weapon had made him uncomfortable. Leander was familiar with the axe, and
had used it ever since he was old enough to gather and chop firewood.
He pretended he was chopping wood
now, even though he knew he was in the midst of battle.
Leander had never been friendly as
a child. He was quiet and reserved, like his father had been. Then, as he had
been faced with the harsh realities of his position as an outcast from society,
he had grown hard and distant.
If an angry villager could maim a
child with a flaming brand for no other reason than that child’s social status,
then Leander was more than happy to have nothing to do with society as a whole.