Marek didn’t know who was puffing more—him or his overworked horse. It had been two days since they had left Mesaa. Two days of constant fighting and riding. While Marek and his company had managed to get far initially, their enemies had extra mounts and were lightly loaded. The company had only one set of mounts and were loaded up with food and supplies.
There had been a few skirmishes when Mesaa’s troops had caught up with them. However, besides a sliced wound on Anton’s arm that was still bleeding a few days later, there had been no injuries. Wyatt’s minor injury he had received just before their flight was of little concern.
Even with the cloudy sky and slight fog, they could see the area itself was flat grasslands stretching far around them. To the northwest was Mesaai, a shining city of white mortar that was only a few hours of riding left. It was a beautiful city, quite different from the simplistic red sandstone of Mesaa, which had been built first. Building a beautiful city so close to Mesaa and claiming dominance in the region after Mesaa had been established had been the first of many insults to the Merchant City. It had been over two centuries since both cities had been built, and they were still fighting one another like rabid dogs.
To the southeast was Mesaa, although it couldn’t be seen any longer since they had ridden out far enough. This was despite the grasslands being almost entirely flat, and if one stood in their saddle, they could see for miles.
Well, almost entirely flat, Marek thought, as they crested up a hill. The hill itself was not too tall—just a half-dozen metres high with a single tree and a few bushes on top of it—but it was in stark contrast to the grasslands around it. About ten men and their mounts could comfortably rest upon it. Unless they were comfortable with the whole area knowing they were there, although one would probably not want to do so for too long.
Whereas one could see for miles if one stood in the saddle, he could now see Mesaa and Mesaai both if he strained his eyes. He didn’t bother; instead, he rolled his eyes as Wyatt made to continue onward to their destination.
We’ll be continuing on foot if we push our horses much more.
“We should stop!” Marek called to Wyatt, who had barely talked to anyone over the past few days. Correction, he’s talked to everyone but me, he thought. Marek rolled his eyes again as Wyatt hesitated, visibly considering his words. A few moments later, he stopped his horse without responding to Marek’s shout.
“We will rest for a quarter-hour,” Wyatt relented, his voice sour. He got off his horse and stretched, still ignoring Marek.
Fine, Marek thought. He got off his horse and stretched too, doing his best to ignore Wyatt. The man was doing his best to infuriate him, just as Marek had infuriated Wyatt for attacking Mesaa’s mage. Marek had explained then and there that the mage would’ve killed them all without a second thought. And I would know, given that I was in his thoughts.
Marek went back to his horse, patting its neck. It was still panting, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it nibbled some of the grass. “Good boy,” Marek murmured, feeling sorry for it despite himself. It was just a horse, but it had been a loyal companion and had borne him well and swiftly.
He continued to run his hands down the horse’s neck. Like the rest of its skin, it was brown, with white spots seemingly placed at random. It wasn’t a warhorse or anything close, but it had kept him alive the past two days.
And he’s ready to drop. Marek frowned and went into his pack, where he pulled out a full waterskin. He had two left, and given that they would either be caught or make it into Mesaai today, Marek thought his horse deserved a reward.
“Here, boy,” Marek said. He sloshed the full waterskin. It was warm from both the heat and being pressed up against the horse’s body. Given how the horse stiffened and his ears perked up, Marek didn’t think the horse particularly cared about the warmth of the water.
Marek had done this before with his horse, and he knew what to do. He started by leaving the waterskin capped and lowering his hand until it was at his knees. Marek’s horse dutifully raised his head at a forty-five-degree angle, still panting heavily. Marek smiled and raised his waterskin. He uncapped it with his other hand and gently lowered it to his horse’s mouth.
The horse, who had been the picture of gentleness before, almost snatched the waterskin out of his grip, putting his lips around the waterskin and rearing back. He immediately began guzzling it down. Marek held it lightly so that he remained at the same forty-five-degree angle as his horse’s head. This way, he spilled less water.
“You are good with your horse,” Ako said from behind Marek.
Marek smiled as his horse finished his drink, looking at him with something like gratitude in its soft dark eyes. Satisfied, the horse trotted away to nibble on some grass.
“Not like you and your people,” Marek said finally, turning to face her. He nodded to Ako and her horse, which seemed to instinctively know what its master required. “You can direct your horse with your knees and turn on your saddle to shoot a bow. Much better than any of us wetlanders can do.”
“Wetlanders,” Ako said, laughing softly. “It’s one thing to say it, Marek, but another to see it. Even though we’ve been running for our lives the last two days, it’s been a blessing to be able to see so much green grass.”
“It’s what kept our horses alive at least,” Marek said. As if on cue, his horse looked up at them both and whinnied.
Ako and Marek both laughed at that. Marek opened his mouth to ask Ako some tips about how she managed to both shoot a bow and ride her horse so smoothly, but he was interrupted before he could.
“They’re coming again!” Anton shouted from behind Marek.
Marek spun around to see Mesaa’s forces coming into view in the far distance. He didn’t know if he was imagining it or not, but despite the long distance, he thought he could hear the pounding hooves of the enemy riders. They were like a hum that you couldn’t distinguish until someone pointed it out to you. Then, it was all you could hear.
“Azmar’s eye!” Marek cursed. He squinted his eyes and looked down at the horsemen chasing them. His stomach dropped, and even though he had barely eaten or drank anything he wanted to throw up.
“Three-score,” Marek said, his voice faint. “Three-score riders are coming.”
Wyatt was at his side, looking down at them with a seeing glass. “Three and a half score,” he corrected Marek calmly. He lowered his seeing eye glass and met Marek’s eyes for the first time in two days. “What can you do?”
“Against seventy men? Not much,” Marek said, barely managing to keep his voice even. His hands were shaking. He forced them to remain still. “Not enough to make a difference, Wyatt. If I used all my Essence contained within both my Wand and myself, it wouldn’t be enough.”
Wyatt nodded. He pursed his lips and frowned down at their foes with the casual air of someone discussing the weather. “Hmm,” he said descriptively. He turned to Anton. “Anton, how is your horse?”
“Good enough for a hundred-meter charge and not much else,” Anton said. He was leaning against the tree, mirroring Wyatt’s casual demeanor.
The last few days have changed all of us, for better and for the worse, Marek thought grimly. Gone was the affable youth, replaced by a man who was as dangerous as he was capable. He had killed more than any of them. He had done it with an ease that suggested he would only grow more capable as he grew older and into his body.
“We will not be able to escape,” Ako said, interjecting for the first time. “We may be a few hours from Mesaai, but it may as well be days.”
Wyatt digested this silently. The grey-haired warrior turned to Anton solemnly.
“Burn the tree,” Wyatt said.
To Anton’s credit, the blonde immediately went to his horse and began digging in his saddlebacks for his flint. He produced it moments later and began making his way to the tree.
“Why should we burn the tree?” Marek asked Wyatt. The horse’s hooves were growing louder, like the buzzing of bees coming closer and closer. “I fail to see how it can help us.”
“It probably won’t,” Wyatt admitted. “But King Haradon of Mesaai is known to patrol with five-score men. If he sees the burning tree, he may come to investigate it.”
Marek instantly imagined the tree burning on the hill, one of the only hills between Mesaa and Mesaai. It would certainly catch my attention, at least.
“It can’t hurt,” Marek said, scratching his now two-day-old beard. “Except for the tree, of course.”
Wyatt smirked. It was an odd sight from a man Marek had seen nothing but scorn and weariness from. “Let’s not worry about the tree and try to save ourselves,” he said.
“Agreed,” Marek said. He left Wyatt and Anton to burn down the tree. As they attempted to set it ablaze, he went to Ako, who was looking over her bow.
“What are you looking for?” Marek asked curiously. In the background, the familiar skrit skrit sounds of flint striking steel. I wonder whose alcohol they used, Marek thought. Hopefully, Wyatt’s.
Marek turned his attention back to Ako, who was looking over her bow. He had never really used a bow before, so he was completely unaware of what an archer would require before serious usage.
Ako didn’t look up from her inspection. Her face was centimetres from her bow as she turned it around in her hands, looking over it minutely. “Looking for cracks or any signs of damage that would not allow me to use the bow,” Ako said.
“And if you do find cracks in the wood or any sign of damage?”
Ako smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She lowered her bow to her side and looked at Marek. “Then, I’ll use it until it breaks,” she said. “Please pass me my quiver?”
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Wordlessly, Marek went to her nearby horse, took the quiver, and brought it back to Ako, who was once again looking over her bow extremely carefully.
“Thank you, please hold it for a moment,” Ako said. She straightened and pulled on the string of the bow, grunting as her back flexed, and she assumed a fighting position.
“Arrow?”
Fascinated, Marek passed an arrow to her, which she snatched and smoothly added to the string of her bow. She closed one eye, sighting and turning on the spot and flexing and unflexing her bow.
“The string needs to be oiled, but everything else is good,” Ako said, finally relaxing her stance. Marek passed over the quiver, and Ako put the arrow amongst two-dozen others. It was two-thirds full. Would that we had ten of her with full quivers.
Pushing his regret aside, Marek asked her another question: “Are there any stretches that archers do before a fight?” he asked her loudly. He gulped as the hooves of the enemy soldiers were now fully audible. His hands were shaking again, and this time, there wasn’t anything he could do to stop them.
“You are nervous,” Ako noted, her eyes drawn to Marek’s shaking hands. She sat down on the ground. Marek joined her, tapping his wand against his thigh. He didn’t remember when he had drawn it.
“Extremely,” Marek admitted. “It’s easier when it happens, not when I’m waiting for it.”
To their right, Anton cried out excitedly as he managed to alight the base of the tree. Within moments, it crackled merrily, and both Wyatt and Anton stepped away from the tree, watching the flames consume it.
Marek looked down the hill and was alarmed by the closeness of the horsemen. Before, they were specks on the horizon. Now, he could pick out distinguishing features on individual riders.
Taking a deep breath, Marek breathed in the smell of the cool air and the tree, which was now burning merrily. Loud cracks erupted from the tree. Marek turned back to see fire traveling up the tree, doubtlessly following the path of the alcohol that been poured upon it. The wood blackened, and the green leaves of the tree shriveled and blackened as the entirety of the tree was engulfed in flames.
“At least we’ll die warm,” Marek said dryly.
No one laughed, but Marek hadn’t intended to be funny. In a weird way, I guess I should be thankful, Marek thought. I won’t die alone, and I will die warm. Plenty have had worse.
Marek turned his attention to the horses. His heart caught in his throat as he imagined the horses bolting off, leaving them fully stranded.
Thankfully, the horses didn’t seem to care about the riders or the burning tree. They stood to the side near Wyatt and Anton, who were looking at the riders and talking to themselves. Based on their pointing and frowning, they appeared to be in a spirited debate.
Now, it was impossible to ignore the hooves that were drumming against the ground in a pulsing symphony. It was the most terrifying thing he had ever witnessed. Before it had been different, he had been on his horse. Marek forced himself to turn away from it, trying to keep himself under control. He felt like throwing up even though his chest was tight. He dropped his wand to the ground and fell to his knees, struggling to breathe.
He couldn’t get the images of Ako, Anton, Wyatt, and himself casually slaughtered by seventy men, who were all laughing and jeering as they cut them down, out of his mind. No one would know, and fewer would care. He placed a trembling hand on his amulet, but it was as cool as the afternoon air.
“Breathe, Marek,” Ako murmured from behind him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Breathe deeply and try to relax.”
Marek almost laughed at the idea of calming down. He began to giggle almost hysterically. While it managed to distract him somewhat from the riders, he still felt like his chest was about to burst.
“What’s wrong with him?” Marek heard Anton ask, sounding concerned.
“He’s panicking,” Wyatt replied matter-of-factly. He didn’t sound like he was taking the piss, but he didn’t sound happy either. “Do you have him, Ako?”
“He is coming around,” Ako said. “I do not think he has ever been part of something like this before.”
“A mage?” Wyatt snorted. “No, definitely not. His biggest decision before today was whether he should get his servant to tie his shoes for him or not.”
A rush of anger roared in Marek’s ears. He snatched his wand from the ground and leapt to his feet, almost bowling Ako over in the process.
“Fuck you, Wyatt,” Marek snarled, aiming his wand at Wyatt. A grim smile greeted him.
“Feeling panicked anymore, Marek?” Wyatt asked.
Marek blinked, placing a hand on his chest. He was breathing fine, and his chest didn’t feel as though it was being stretched out like old leather. “No,” Marek said dumbly. “Thanks?”
“Good,” Wyatt said loudly, turning back to the riders who were approaching them, at full speed. It was becoming impossible to hear anyone unless they were shouting at one another. “Get on your horse and get ready. They’ll hit us shortly.”
Marek began to make his way to his horse but then realized his slight to Ako. He turned back to her. “Sorry—” he began, but she shook her head.
“Apologize later!” she said, smiling at him briefly before she bolted to her camel.
Marek followed her, and in short order, he had mounted his horse. They sat on their mounts shoulder to shoulder, watching as the riders approached the hill.
“What’s the plan?” Anton shouted.
“Hit them hard,” Wyatt shouted back. He turned to Marek. “Do you have anything that could help us at all?”
Marek racked his brain for ideas. He looked up at the cloudy sky and cocked his head, considering. “I do?” Marek said loudly. “It might not work, but—”
“Do it!” Wyatt roared. He drew his sword and leveled it at the enemy like a lance. Anton copied his action, and Ako put an arrow to her bowstring as she drew it back. “Do it now!”
The riders had reached the hill and were now racing up it. They would be upon them in seconds. Marek threw caution to the winds, gathering his magic and releasing it all at once. He pictured a wall of air in front of him, fifty feet across. It wouldn’t slow them down to a complete stop, but it would have to be enough.
Marek grunted as he felt the Essence leave his wand. He barely managed to stay in his saddle as the torrent of magic left it. It was far more than what he had channeled before, and for a moment, he thought it wouldn’t be enough to stop them.
It was. The first row of riders immediately slowed down to a walk as if they were traveling through sludge. The second row of still galloping riders crashed into the first, and the third row crashed into the second. Pandemonium broke out as many horses and riders screamed in pain. Lances and sabres slammed and cut into their fellow riders in front of them. Men flipped over their mounts and were trampled by shuffling horses whinnying in pain and fear in deafening synchrony.
Ako began firing arrows, loosening them into the mob of enemy soldiers. It only added to the chaos and confusion. There was a snarl on her face as she loosened her arrows, giving her a feral look.
“Anton, with me!” Wyatt bellowed. He kicked his horse forward. “CHARGE!”
Marek barely heard him. It felt like he was holding onto the edge of a cliff by his fingernails. It was one thing to impose your will onto a single man, but quite another to impose it on seventy. The sheer disbelief of what was happening was almost enough to overwhelm him. Marek gritted his teeth and forced more of the wand’s Essence out of the wand, which was rapidly warming in his hand.
“I can’t hold it,” Marek bit out. Wyatt and Anton crashed into the front line, scattering them with their frenzied attack. Three went down immediately, and three more instantly took their place. “There’s too many of them.”
“You must hold it for as long as you can!” Ako said, the thrumming twang of her bow never ceasing. “Keep going!”
Marek tried, but like all mages, he eventually hit what was referred to as The Wall. Even with the aid of a focus like his Dominion Wood wand, channeling magic was tiring. A loss of concentration could kill himself, Ako, and many others as his body simultaneously combusted and exploded. The resulting shockwaves of magical power were akin to a powerful earthquake as his out-of-controlled magic violently returned to the world.
A few moments later, Marek grimaced and let go of his magical connection. The loss of energy was harsh, almost sending him straight into unconsciousness as he immediately felt overwhelmingly exhausted. Marek managed to rally himself, shaking his head and trying to clear it.
“I am out of arrows!” Ako cried. Through Marek’s pain-filled haze, he watched her sling her bow over her shoulder and draw two knives. “We must join Wyatt and Anton, Marek!”
Marek blinked and tried to speak, but he didn’t know what he was saying. Words tumbled out of his mouth, and he felt himself sliding off his mount. It was only Ako’s arm that kept him on his horse.
“Noam preserve us,” Ako said. She looked torn as her eyes went from the fighting—where Wyatt and Anton were presumably still battling—and Marek, who was beginning to slip out of his saddle again.
“I’m sorry,” Marek mumbled. He shoved his wand up his sleeve and grabbed the reins of his horse. A push from Ako kept him upright, and Marek clenched his legs to keep himself seated. “Go to Mesaai,” Marek said, shaking his head like a wet dog. “I’ll go and buy time for you. Yes. I will go help them now.”
Marek could still hear steel clashing upon steel, which gave him the strength for his next task. Under Ako’s disbelieving gaze, Marek slowly reached down to his boot and pulled out his knife. It wasn’t big, but it was better than nothing.
“Go, Ako,” Marek said. Ako’s eyes widened as Marek looked upon the fighting. Wyatt and Anton were still alive somehow. Scores of men had been felled by arrow and steel, but scores remained standing still. It was hopeless, but he could buy her some time to escape.
“Marek,” Ako began. She leaned forward and seized Marek’s reins. Marek let her, puzzled at what she was doing. “You have done enough for me. I will not leave you.”
Marek cocked his head, unsure of how to respond. Before he had the chance, a loud horn interrupted the din of battle.
“MESSAI!” came a single shout, loud and strong.
“FOR KING HARADON!” came the cry from dozens of others. Marek whirled, his neck cracking as a resplendent figure in gold-plated armor galloped toward the fighting at the head of a hundred riders. His gleaming lance pointed directly at the Mesaa riders, who were trying to turn and face this new foe.
Wyatt and Anton were still fighting, hacking and slashing and forcing them to split into two groups.
“MESSAI!” screamed a hundred throats as King Haradon and his men slammed into the Mesaa forces. It was as if a thunderbolt had struck with a mighty crack as the fighting quickly became vicious.
Marek watched it in a daze, barely able to tell what was happening. He managed to twist his wrist and hold his smoking wand, but he doubted he would be able to do anything but glare at his foe menacingly as they disembowelled him and Ako.
No one came. Marek and Ako watched as the Mesaa forces were quickly cut down. None could escape as King Haradon’s forces surrounded the area and cut off all avenues of escape.
After what seemed like a few eyeblinks later, it was over. All the Mesaa men were alive, save for those groaning piteously on the ground being killed by Haradon’s men.
Marek watched the king speak to Wyatt and Marek, both covered in blood in gore. Wyatt pointed to the top of the hill. Haradon then rode up the hill, followed by three other riders, then Wyatt and Anton.
“I greet you,” Haradon said in a light accent. Through his helmet, Marek could see his light brown eyes. “I am King Haradon of Mesaai. Your man Wyatt tells me you are the leader of this mercenary company?”
“I am Marek, a Mage from Velaire,” Marek said, bowing in his saddle. Even bone tired as he was, his lessons immediately sprang to the forefront of his mind. “And this is another member of my company, Ako, who is both a skilled rider and archer.”
“A mage,” Haradon murmured, barely acknowledging Ako with a nod before his attention turned to Marek. “How intriguing. Come, Marek. Let us talk.”