Chapter- 5 Night Raid
The country of Imantea was ot large by any means. In fact as far as countries go it could barely be called one. After all, The number of proper cities in it didn’t even reach three figures and that was including the two conflicted ones. But still it was feared. Not because of its large army or advanced weaponry, but because of its mages.
It was ruled by a council of wizards that ruled with an iron fist. Sometimes quite literally as some of their metal casters could turn their skin to metal. You rose up against them you died, you spoke against them you died, you disobeyed you died, and if you were a slave, if you thought more than necessary, you guessed it, you died.
In a remote corner of a country like this where the magicless seedlings were nothing more than a number on some wizard’s cashbook, a small town called Inkaros was facing something half the towns in the country faced almost every decade or so - A rebellion. You would think the Council would be worried by this frequency but on the contrary it was worried that the peasants weren’t rebelling enough. How else will they train their young ones in combat without risking their life. After all, A non mage killing a mage was almost unheard of.
But still this sorry group of Rebels had managed to take down one of the five wizards present in the town. Now this was cause of outrage. But the outrage wasn’t that they had lost one of their own, it was that the shitty piss poor rebels had canons. Muskets and guns were alright, but canons, those were really hard to build by themselves. That means someone was supporting them.
You see, people raising up arms against injustice looks extremely cool but seldom happens in reality. The common man simply has no grand worldviews. He wants to go to work in the morning, earn his living in the afternoon and come home to his loving family in the evening for a good night’s rest. He has no time or organization to move as cohesively and radically as a rebellion needs to.
Its not that he is not angry, He just doesn’t want to be the one to rock the boat. For you see, rocking the boat means taking responsibility. It means walking into a risky future with no certainty. So instead he grumbles and goes back to sleep. The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t, right?
But all this changes when somebody else starts. After starting, each day he survives he becomes a symbol. Not a grand one like that of power or rebellion. At least not in the beginning. In the start, he is just a symbol of certainty. That yes, you can survive even after defying the will of the masters. Yes, something can change. Little by little he becomes everything else.
So how do this ‘start’ usually occurs? You might think it occurs on a desolate street with a dead mother and missing sister but no, it usually begins in grander halls with glasses of champanes. Your usual run of the mill protagonist story, that happens everyday. But what doesn’t happen is the fortunate encounter between the victim and the mysterious entity. And that encounter is usually built in those halls.
For example, this rebellion. Its origin wasn’t the usual one with the backer aiming to weaken or overtake the country, but a far more simpler one. The lord of the town and the general of the army from the last chapter Lord Arif Guntenberg went to a gathering of nearby mage lords. In this gathering while drunk on champane he had insulted the honarable Lord Kolam’s wife. A duel followed which Kolam lost. So being a aristocrat he decided to hit Arif where it would hurt most. His reputation. Gold flowed and the angry little one who would have found themselves in a cell or a grave found themselves in a clearing in the middle of the woods cheering to the death of a mage.
I’m not saying people with these proper ideals do not exist. Just that they need a good platform to exist on. And as soon as they get it, they shine and sometime, just sometimes, Make it more than it was supposed to ever to be.
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Max slurped at his soup while his newly appointed team practiced loading and unloading the four canons that the rebels had. He had been given a Hero’s welcome on returning to camp. Apparently someone had seen him blow up the commander on the boat. And to the rebels, for whom a mage was the very symbol of oppression he had become a liberator. He was given a special gun and 10 recruits to do what he had done best. Canons. He had originally wanted to practice his shooting but it felt bad for morale if they realized that their hero couldn’t even shoot. Especially after making such an impactful first impression by taking the commendation in a blood covered dress.
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When the rebels started they were 4 times the enforcers. (the ones Max had been calling imperials.) At the first clash the ratio became twice and after the river they were almost equal. Morale was sorely needed to keep all this from falling apart.
He had spent the day getting to know the recruits and learning the basics of command. Which basically included him telling them to practice for a while. Then not knowing what to do himself he had opted to help in the food preparations. Not out of kindness or anything but because he felt stir crazy like most other soldiers.
When he served the food he was greeted a lot by those who learnt what he did, but the mood didn’t lift much. They had simply lost too many. What shall tomorrow bring? Was a question all of them were asking as more and more of their comrades stumbled into the large clearing with gaping wounds and news of dead comrades.
But they had been wrong. They should have asked what will tonight bring?
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The cry of “Raid! Raid! Raid!” woke max up as a bell started ringing. It took him a moment to figure to properly wake up when he recalled the meaning of the words. They were under attack! He had slept in clean clothes but his weapons on. So he simply took up his bag and exited his tent. Not all rebels did but the hero had a tent. All around people were running towards the center of the clearing, where standing on a cart a large man called Ivan was standing stoicly with the fiery air that belonged to the rebellions leader speaking of glory and sacrifice and everything in between. From the west Max could hear the sounds of gunfight and screams. He suddenly started jogging towards the west - The canons were west. As he jogged he heard a loud cheer behind him. He entered a canon tent and found almost all his squad members there. Was I really that slow, he thought.
As the explosions drew near their faces lost colour. Some from fear some from adrenaline. Max wanted to raise their morale but didn’t know how. The tension was so thick that it somehow made movement slow. They were looking at him for commands but he was still debating what to do. Should I run and save the canons? Should I fight? Will I be even able to hit right in the dark.
He was still thinking when a loud voice roared from right outside, “Kills these bastards!, Leave no one alive! You! Set fire to these goddamn tents!” It was not a friendly. They were near the western edge of the encampment so it made sense that the enemy came her fast but this was too fast for them to react. As soon as the man said it a sizzling sound rose followed by a fireball ripping through the tent and exploding on one of the canons. The powder in it caused a subsequent blast hich caused the whole tent to collapse. The shockwave somehow flew the cloth out and they were all exposed to outside. Something had struck Max in his left bicep. A sharp pain suddenly rose up as a burning peace of cloth landed right in front of him on the canon.
The bigger blast had thrown most rebels off their feet and drawn the attention of the men outside. Everything was in chaos and a lot of tents were in flames. It seemed more like a chaotic melee for the fighters. But the in front of Max was a mage in a Red Uniform behind who a lot of Enforcers were standing. For a split second they both just stared at each other. “You!” The mage exclaimed as small sparks of mana enveloped his hands. The soldiers raised their musket.
In that split second Max had a bout of clarity, He immediately caught and jammed the burning cloth right into the Canon’s firing pin. Due to direct contact the Canon immediately shuddered while everybody realized a trick of fate. The mage was standing right in front of the firing line. “Aw F*ck!” BAM. The Canon blew through the Mage’s abdomen and exploded right behind him into the soldiers. A string of notifications went up in the Status window while Max screamed in pain. He held his bloody hand which had now lost a finger and bleeding profusely and just fell down in pain.
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Symbols are a two edged blade. The mere presence of a dignified symbol can raise armies and give hope to the hopeless. There’s a very good reason why kings tried to turn themselves into invincible symbols by associating themselves with Gods and mystical tales. Which made their presence on the battlefield a huge deterrent. After all, who can defeat a God? But there was a flip side too. The second edge. Once such a symbol falls, the exalted symbol of the army’s might, The representation of its power and hope of its victory. The Morale falls in an abyss so deep, that darkness itself refuses to venture there.
A bell started ringing in the clearing in a specific tune - A signal - Tang, Tang, Tang-Tang Tang. The more the rebels heard it the more their spirits grew. Some scout had witnessed Max and the mage and now he was sending out a message. Slowly amongst the cheers of the rebels the Enforcers realised how their enemies had found their second wind.
- A Mage has Fallen
A palpable wave spread thorough both ranks as the word spread. Some disbelieved, some fled some were too far gone into the bloodlust to care. But overall, the blueshirts broke. Chaos ensued because instead of using normal communication their usual method of contact was the Mage screaming in a Mana amplified voice.
Extremely efficient, normally yes. But today, fatal. Orders were given and cancelled and the plan went out the burning window. The maddened rebels charging in the face of death broke what was left of their spirit.
The Officers reeled. The expectation was a rout, they were chasing a tired army retreating to save its life. The were the ones attacking. They were the ones with the element of surprise as using magic they had crossed over the river extremely fast. To ensure a swift blow they had even moved when only one mage had arrived from the town. So how the hell didthey find themselves running through the woods as bullets whizzed past them and their fellow warriors fell. It was a rout indeed, just inflicted on the wrong side. Somehow they had drawn the Tower.
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As the dust settled and the first ray of dawn spread its wings over the expanse of a lively green, spotty red and charred black that was the clearing. The results of the battle made themselves known. For every 2 rebels that died, 3 soldiers had fallen. The initial damage the surprise did was too large. But still the morale was sky high. Once could be said a fluke. But they had killed another mage last night.