Volume 1: Arc 3: Chapter 7
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This is a pretty long chapter and it takes me over 60000 words for the series so far.
Also, two more chapters left in the volume. Also, if you read the last chapter carefully you might have seen hints about the ending to this chapter.
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November 10- November 19, 30 R.E
For almost two weeks, the enemy force had pulverized the iron-bound wooden gate leading into Kankur. Rajac often stood on the ramparts not actually fighting but leading through his presence. He couldn’t do much up here except use his exceptionally keen eyesight to notify the soldiers when another assault would be coming long before the others could see it.
Rajac often considered attacking the enemy who congregated below as they beat on the gate; however, a few of Kankur’s engineers told him it would be a bad idea as it would damge the soil beneath the gate which might destabilize the gate further. So, for now, only archers were being used on Kankur’s side.
Off and on, Rajac would pick up a bow and augmenting his fire with his magic, shoot at the enemy soldiers far enough away from the wall to where it would not cause any damge. But he was a poor shot compared to many soldiers in the army as he had never trained with a bow while many soldiers from Abria had used a bow since they were children.
When the attackers breached the gates, there was no question about it at this point, Rajac would enter the fray. Yaka and he had planned for such an occurrence at the outset of the siege.
While the siege itself had taken Rajac and his men by surprise, the perpetrating force had not. Both he and Yaka had hypothesized that Lord Gaya had sent the force before confirmation came in the appearance Muhal at the helm of the invading force.
That had come as a slight shock to Rajac who never expected to actually see the ‘man’ again. From Yaka, though, he learned that Muhal was a Rajin. A race known for its prowess on the battlefield.
It appeared Muhal had risen through Lord Gaya’s ranks rather proficiently in the decade since Rajac had seen him last. He was a mere subordinate, now though, he had what his scouts estimated to be three-hundred elite soldiers beholden to him.
A remarkable rise Rajac could only wonder at.
While Rajac stood stoically on the rampart, no more than a symbol to his men, Yaka took charge; he shouted orders, developed a strategy from thin air, and basically controlled the ebb-and-flow of the battle from his wily fingertips.
On the ninth morning of assaults, Yaka walked up to Rajac who was standing in his customary position overlooking the wall. Below, the remnants of the most recent assault were freshly strewn across the soil below.
Bodies riddles with arrows and other, larger projectiles, stared up blankly towards the heavens surrounded, on all sides, by the after-effects of magic. Scorches yards across furrowed the ground and walls of dirt stood crumbling, hit by a variety of magics until they no longer had a stable base.
“This has to end.” Yaka said with a frown. “One way or another, neither side can take much more of a pounding.”
“What is the condition of the gate?” Rajac asked as he scanned the distant tree line, looking for any straggling scouts.
“Not good.” Yaka said as he moved to stand next to Rajac.
“It won’t last another week. Our patchwork repairs aren’t enough to keep the gate intact more than that. We would need a week of uninterrupted work to have a thoroughly strong gate again.”
“What do you have in mind then?” Rajac said turning to him. Enough was enough. To sit like mice in the baseboards while the cat toyed with them, utterly pathetic. Something needed to be done. If Yaka was the one to come up with the plan, so be it.
Rajac had learned, over the previous months, that it was sometimes good to delegate tasks one found too tedious or onerous to do. He did not have to do everything himself. In some respects, he thought that might have been one of his mistakes from the start.
He tried to save his people alone. Yet, he was unable to do so. Captured by Muhal, he spent nearly a decade in the prison-like Circle; only when he escaped did he actually find the Ventros and it was only with Temos’ help that he rescued the Ventros.
In some respects, Rajac’s relationship with Yaka was like his relationship had been with Temos. While Temos received the adoration of the masses, Rajac was hated and feared. Now, the soldiers saw Yaka as their commander, someone to rely upon, while they saw Rajac in a somewhat mythical light as he was connected intrinsically to their hero, Temos. There was also more than a little fear involved; many believed that once even if the gates fell, Rajac would swoop down from the ramparts and cut down every single enemy soldier in sight.
Rajac could only chuckle at that. If only he was so strong, he would not have to go through this charade he and Yaka improvised to boost the soldiers’ moral.
“I have thought of something.” Yaka said, a small smile touching his broad lips. “But?” Rajac asked. He felt there was hidden depths to Yaka’s statement and his fears were confirmed when Yaka stated, a grin spreading across his face, “Oh, I think you will like it. A lot, if I’m to hazard a guess.”
~
A few hours later, Rajac was in a foul mood. If he did not have to maintain his decorum in his present situation, he would be cursing up a storm. Damn that Yaka, Rajac groused to himself. Is this really a plan or a suicide mission? This is exactly what the Council wanted us to do and we refused. Rajac grunted discontentedly. This was the price of desperation. Even the brilliant Yaka was out of ideas other than to throw their best soldiers at the enemy and hope for the best. Otherwise, all could be lost.
Rajac and twelve of the best soldiers within the Kankur army stood, in Jintac formation, outside the valley with their backs to the wall. Thickly corded ropes were synched tight across each of their waists. Another long string of rope was looped through the first rope so that men upon the fortifications held the twelve ropes as if they were playing a massive game of tug-o-war.
“Hashan, Isail, separate your squads. Don’t get your ropes tangled.” Rajac said to the two squad leaders. Both nodded and split the single Jintac formation into two. Rajac feared that if they stayed clumped together that when it when sideways, as he knew it might, then all of their ropes would get tangled and they would not be able to be pulled up by the soldiers on top of the fortifications.
“Fifty paces out!” One soldier from Isail’s formation called to Kankur’s army at large. “Hold formation!” Rajac called to his men. Hashan’s squad, arrayed behind him, bent lower in their Cadences as Isail’s squad did the same, arrayed as they were fifteen paces to the east.
Muhal’s army came upon them like a flood. Men came through the forested underbrush, through the well-travelled paths, and a few of the more daring soldiers jumped from the forest canopy above as they attempted to attack by surprise.
Rajac was a warrior incarnate as he jumped straight into Stepping Stone cutting the men who tried the last tactic down before they even reached the ground.
With his Metal Auxiliary Magic, Rajac thrust forth with Truth of the Many slicing down one, two, three, and four soldiers in twenty seconds with long shards of metal that seemed to appear from nowhere.
For a split-second, there was a momentary silence as both armies seemed stunned by the metal’s appearance. But, the call of blood waits for no man and Rajac, never pausing, rushed into the first grouping of soldiers, a war cry emanating from his throat.
Hashan’s squad quickly followed him as they bellowed their own war cries. Isail’s squad, after a second’s hesitation, turned to face another squad they came upon.
Rajac bellowed as he tore into his enemies. Quickly, he received bruises, cuts, and gouges; however, in return, Rajac delivered death blows. Flowing through the Ventros Sword Style using both the Unbroken Dance and Stepping Stones, Rajac dealt blow after blow cutting men down where they stood.
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Hashan’s squad followed wherever he went. Rajac was the spear and they were the shield. Everywhere they went, Rajac dove into the enemy, dealing out blow after blow. After a few examples of his battlefield prowess, the enemy soldiers began to focus solely upon him. As if already prepared for this eventuality, Hashan’s squad began to form around Rajac like a protective seal, blocking or deflecting the most harmful of blows.
They continued in this way for the next hour; Isail’s squad had long-since been pulled up when three of the six members had been struck by arrows simultaneously.
As Rajac and Hashan’s squad, who had not lost a single man, continued to fight, a nagging thought began to manifest in Rajac’s mind. Where was Muhal? It was clear he was leading this army so why was he not riding forth to protect his men?
So far, Rajac and his soldiers had killed or incapacitated around seventy of Muhal’s soldiers.
As Rajac dove into a squad of soldiers that had pushed passed the dead bodies of their comrades, cries began to rise from his own soldiers around him. It was Muhal. Covered in leather armor, Muhal resembled a boar more than the Rajin he was supposed to be.
Snarling, he cursed at Rajac, “I should have cut you to pieces instead of handing you over to the Circle!”
Weary from his injuries and the long day of fighting, Rajac gave no response as he met Muhal’s blow head on. There was a clash of spark and a concussive explosion that emanated from the two swords. Unlike the last time they fought, Rajac was not blown off his feet from the impact of the blow; however, bot h Muhals’ and Rajac’s men were.
Some crashed into the gate, splintering it further. Others flew through three trees, breaking branches as they went. “Muhal!” Rajac screamed as he pushed forward with all his might. His eyes flared with life as he glared at the Rajin he hated with every fiber of his being.
Muhal stumbled as he received the blow but he quickly corrected himself. Turning on his back foot, Muhal charged him spraying an array of Fire Elemental Magic at him. Using a Metal Auxiliary Magic shield, Rajac blocked the blast easily.
Instinctively, Rajac threw the metal wall at Muhal who could not dodge in time. It clipped him on the shoulder, spinning him to the ground. Even as he was falling, Muhal threw out Earth Elemental spikes from his fist.
Many hit the metal wall Rajac threw up, but a few made it before Rajac could create his defense. He was hit several times in the gut by the earth spikes.
Groaning, a single though came to mind. It was time to retreat. That last attack, after Muhal arrived, incapacitated at least ninety of Muhal’s men altogether. That would be enough to impede Muhal’s army from breaking the gate anytime soon.
“Retreat!” Rajac called as he pulled on his rope. Five of the six soldiers within Hashan’s squad were still alive. Only one died in that surprise attack. With grim acceptance, Rajac knew that soldiers would be lost in warfare. It was telling that Rajac’s men killed nine men per Muhal’s one.
Statistically, Rajac could not hope for better odds. Though, he wished he could have taken care of Muhal; with him still in the mix, this would not be over until every last one of his soldiers lay dead or dying on the battlefield.
~
Muhal awoke. A sharp pain lanced his side as he tried to rise. He reached over. Coarse bandaged made of old cotton tunics had been applies to his shoulder where he had been hit by the metal projectile.
Curse that man. He’s ruined everything. If Muhal had the strength to fight, he would have swung his fist to break down that blasted gate himself and damn the consequences.
He thought he was being so clever when he waited for the thirteen, only thirteen soldiers to be overwhelmed by his masses of men. He knew what the enemy was doing. They were trying to inflict the most damage while suffering the lowest amount of casualties possible.
But no, nine survived and it was all due to that man. A decade ago, that man had just been another weak Greater Race man. But now, he was a match for Muhal, a man of an Epic Race.
Muhal rose with a grunt. Blinking, he looked around. Most of his men looked fresh and clean as he held them back. But the scouts and low-ranking grunts, their ranks had been utterly decimated. Those that returned were afflicted with missing limbs, scorched bodies, and an overall depressing morale.
As he looked around, he came to the realization, with a sinking feeling that too few of his men remained to hold the gate feasibly. Muhal still believed they could take the gate, given enough time, but holding it was a different matter. They would have to face thousands upon thousands of civilians and whatever remained of the valley’s soldiers.
But, Muhal had always planned for such an eventuality. A good commander always needs a failsafe if the primary plan goes to shit.
“Temos!” Muhal barked. The Ventros man stumbled forward as if pulled by invisible strings. “Yes?” Temos said. His eyes were downcast as if they held a great pain in them. That was not hard to understand. For months, Muhal’s men tortured the man for the information that led them to this mountain. And for the year that it took to travel here, his men tortured the man for information about the leaders’ personalities, the secrets of the race, and anything else they could think of.
Now, the man who was hailed by many as a hero was no more than a sheep among wolves. His horns had been shorn off when he was forced into telling the soldiers that horns were a source of pride among the Ventros, he was beaten when he said that he had never lost an honorable fight, and he was deprived food when he refused to bow before Muhal on his occasionally appearance in Temos’ deprecate prison.
“Cut out your own tongue.” Muhal ordered him as he held out a skinning knife. A panicked look revealed itself in Temos’ eyes as he met Muhal’s. “Nooo.” Temos slurred as his hand, unbidden, began to rise towards Muhal’s hand.
Muhal’s clan, the Pekasii, was a special clan within the Rajin race. While they were few in number, they were one of three of the Rajin clans to have Tertiary Magic. Muhal rarely ever needed to use it as it was only useful in situations that required a certain finesse to accomplish.
Temos shakily grabbed the knife from Muhal’s hand and brought it to his own mouth. With a shuddering breath, he opened his mouth and slowly began to saw away at his own tongue. With every stroke of the knife, a small spurt of blood flowed from Temos’ mouth until the thin, pink organ flopped to the ground at Muhal’s feet.
A smile slowly began to form on Muhal’s face as he looked at the cowering Temos. Beckoning to a few of his men, he barked, “Beat him but make sure his face is recognizable. Then toss him in front of the gate.”
As Muhal watched his men beat on the Ventros man, he felt his grin widen. Mimic Tertiary Magic was only useful in certain circumstances. Only a small vile of his blood in the target and he was all Muhal’s to control. He didn’t even need to see the target to control him effectively. Such a perfect magic for such a limited set of problems.
Such a shame.
As he turned from the bloody mess that was Temos, he prayed inwardly to his clan elders, something he rarely did, that this went as planned.
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