6th of Locus

The Siege of Calamon

I

Troop Count:

~1000 Calamonis, ~6,000 Alisan Troops

"The first skirmishes of the Second Calamoni War were fought in the northern woods, the Harrow Wood. Tyverius Lancewood took two squads up between the villages of Dunskyr and Leurik, and set to staging their ambush. The villages prepared for attacks that never came, leaving Lancewood and his men to defend the main road which connected to the Way. With their defense mounted, they only had to wait until nightfall for the first of the ravenous beasts to arrive, and not much later did they finally set their plans in motion. On the night of the sixth, they set out to repay blood with blood...

This is suicide.

Dark trees. A firelit campsite. Crickets, insects, and animals chirping and chittering all around. The low rumble of snoring azar.

Tyverius Lancewood sat up on a branch, in a tree. Barely visible beneath his attire of leaves and leafy-green leather. His face, too, was covered by hood and mask. He pulled his bow, nocked an arrow… A whistle sang from his lips.

One of the nearby trees rustled. The gray azar on watch beneath them cast a glance either way. He wrapped his big fingers around his falchion's handle.

One camp of many. This is the first company, some two-hundred men. Scouts. Just scouts.

He counted each of the units, counted his arrows, counted the seconds…

Twenty. This camp will be a breeze. But after that…?

A second whistle.

Thwip!

Bowstrings snapped quietly against the bows, against braced forearms and against the air. Arrows sang on the breeze and thudded unceremoniously into their prey. The gray azar slumped silently to the side. He didn't even gurgle when the arrow pierced his eye.

The other ones sleeping on exposed bedrolls died just as silently. It was the ones in tents they expected trouble from. The grass crunched under three sets of feet. Down went the tents — some of them shouted.

They'll shout more for what came next.

Fires. The tents were ignited with the cats inside. Tyverius would have looked away, if they were elves. Hell, I'd even take humans.

He fell softly from the tree. The flames illuminated his dark eyes. The screams filled the warm air all around.

Then came the bugle.

"Rina—"

A gray-cloaked woman dropped from a nearby tree. Her face was concealed as well, and she rushed forward with daggers drawn. Small, nimble, deadly. Tyverius considered that he very well had a soft spot for the girl. But she certainly wasn't an elf. Or a human. And she'd certainly be dead by the end of the war, on the frontline. They'd all die here.

Forty of us. Two-thousand, nigh three, of them. There's no way this works, is there? Cedric vastly underestimates the Alisan forces. But then — it's better to die fighting than to die running, isn't it?

He drew his bowstring back.

"Trio."

The arrow glistened. Two more arrows formed beside it. He let loose the shots…

Three men fell when the arrows loosed.

He wants us to be nimble. Fast. Ready to die. But not without a fight. Take as many of 'em as we can. Squad by squad, they'll die.

"Tyverius!" A young boy ran out of the northern trees. He had an arrow in his throat.

And then we'll die. And our legacy will be barely a dent in their overwhelming force. The entire Alisan army brought to bare.

"Lance!"

"The north squads, they—"

His voice was interrupted by a SLAM! A giant axe of unpolished black steel ripped through his collarbone, through his red-stained clothes, and spun him to the dirt.

An azar, covered in scorch marks and all sorts of scratches. Light brown fur, matted and weathered, covered in mud. His breathing was heavy.

"Servis, Prospect of Death." Tyverius muttered. He knew not by his appearance, but by the black axe. By the skull carved on the sharp, jagged pommel of the weapon.

He'd heard of the cat. Many winters ago, he’d heard of the cat…

Know when to run. Know when to fight.

I'll fight.

He pulled back the bowstring.

The cat rushed him at bestial speed. The axe went into one hand, swept through the air.

KRNCHH!

He cut halfway through the tree behind Tyverius with the swing. The archer fell to the ground then rolled away. He pulled the string back again and fired an arrow while he backpedaled. He fired a second in rapid succession, then nocked a third. The cat took the impacts into his massive bicep but did not flinch. He was too busy wrestling his axe free.

"Trio."

It triplicated. He released the string.

The axe pulled free. The arrows broke against its surface.

Another one shot from behind Tyverius. He glanced back. Rina!

It had stuck the cat in the eye. He flinched for only a moment before he raised his head with a great roar.

I'll run, then.

He spun toward the girl and reached his hand out to signal retreat.

"Bolus!" she cried. Her nocked arrow began to glow. When she released, it was followed by a flurry of magical arrows from thin air. A burst of shots reached the azar, who merely swept his axe through the air to dispel most of them. The few that reached him gave him little pause. "He's a monster!"

"Servis. We won't take him." Tyverius grabbed her shoulder and pulled her away from her next shot."

"Oy!"

"Know when to surrender, Rina!"

"We're here to die, that Calamon may yet live! Or are you a traitor?"

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

He hesitated. When he turned back, the axe was in full swing.

"Down!" he shouted, and pulled her to the ground.

"You're going to kill me!" Rina howled.

Then came another flurry of arrows. The rest of their squad had turned their attention to the big cat. He roared out again as arrows ripped into his reddened fur.

Tyverius began into a sprint and dragged Rina to her feet. She stumbled alongside him.

Then the northern trees broke — Lance's warning was proving true. The northern squads had fallen.

Tyverius shouted out, "Tyv, tyv!" Retreat.

But his squad did not follow that command. The same as Rina, they kept pelting the biggest of their enemies with arrows and bolts. Two spellcasters emerged from the foliage — men from another squad. Their hands glowed with chilling magic.

Instantly their bodies were bisected by the charging cats and their oversized blades. Blood sprayed into the humid air, into the damp grass.

You can't rout an azar, no matter how many of their leaders you kill! We'd be best off targeting the smaller ones, cut their numbers!

Tyverius swerved and sprinted north. He pulled his bowstring back with an arrow.

The azar who ran forward fell to his triple-shot. An arrow apiece, right through the head.

I'm a weapon. I need to deal as much damage as I can, fell as many of the beasts as I…

An opposing arrow struck his shoulder. Two more hit into the ground before him.

Sel soldiers in black masks emerged from the branches above them.

Rina ran to his side. She froze up when she saw them.

"Don't get tunnelvisioned! The azar—"

The black axe cleaved her in half, right before his eyes. Her dark blood spilled into the grass and blended with the shadows of the night. The archers drew their bowstring.

"FIAH!" came a desperate cry, and the trees exploded into searing flames. More mages had come to the side of the defenders. Again, their lips cried, "Fia!"

Two fireballs shot at the azar. They seared into the flesh of his back and finally caused a stumble. He cried out, half with rage.

And down he went.

Tyverius stammered and shook. Rina was dead on the ground beneath him. His hands shuddered. We came out here to die. We came here to die, we knew there was no returning… Right?

Someone struck his body. His whole body tensed up in vibrant panic.

"Don't lock up, Tyv!"

He shook himself from his stupor. There was a soldier running past him, a silver-armored Hunter. His grip tightened around his bow. His fingers turned red. His knuckles turned white. Blood trickled.

Then he lifted his weapon again and let out a screaming cry as arrows soared through the trees. Dozens of azar sprinted forward. There were still flames at their backs — the northern squads had succeeded at least in striking some of their camps. We can kill them all. We can win this!

But then… He turned his gaze sidelong, away from his shot. Who will send me to the deadworld to meet you again, Rina?

His arrows flew desperately through the dark sky. There was no telling if it was day or night, and it only became more confused as the minutes turned to hours. There was no telling how long it had been. He could barely tell if he was still alive by the time he had stumbled through the trees with five men at his back, each covered in red blood and black searings.

He was breathless. He reached for an arrow…

Empty.

The cats ahead were already in a rampant state, charging with their blades poised.

Tyverius said a silent prayer.

One hundred arrows down. My shots always strike true… we've come halfway. Halfway to death.

He drew a dagger in his left and a saber in his right. He thrust them into the air and crossed the blades, cried out in fiery rage.

His companions took the cry. They all charged.

Kagith of Dunskyrr was gutted by a distant javelin. He killed none of the northern squads.

Hem of Calamon killed three before his head was caved in by an azar's mace.

From the nearby lake, Ylvi'ki of Kylinstrom and Rôhie of the Jinn were drowned by emerging frey, like sirens. They had five and seven kills respectively.

Tyverius hadn't stopped swinging. His saber broke off in the gut of one of the beastmen. He spun around and slammed his dagger down through the collarbone of an ambushing sel. Then he pulled it through his throat, severing the quiver sash and stealing the purple-skin's arrows in one swift motion.

He pulled his bow down from his shoulder. They were encroaching him. He was surrounded. His hairs stood on end. His sweat poured out over his soaked clothes.

"Septo!"

Seven arrows. He shook his head.

"Deka! Sprie!" he shouted, and suddenly sprung up into the air, beside the branches, then above the trees.

He aimed the bow down at the dozen cats beneath him. He released —

Thththwiiip!

Ten of them fell dead in an instant. Next was the fall, sure to be fatal.

I'm here to die. I'm here to die.

"FIAH-EMME!"

A red flower sigil burned itself into his chest. He grit his teeth against the pain. Then he fell…

I did my best, Cedric. Allow this last flame to be my signal to you.

The war has begun.

The sigil began to burn brighter. The flames began to rip across his skin. His clothes began to burn and melt.

But it didn't hurt. He felt serene, oddly enough. The ground was fast approaching. Pikes, halberds, falchions, and spears stretched out to reach him.

There was no more time for parting thoughts. He kissed the palm of his hand, blew a kiss to his beautiful city of Calamon…

He fell upon their spears.

And then the explosion engulfed them all.

Night of the Harrow Wood

6th of Locus

Twenty-second Bell

Losses:

~140 Alisan Troops

~40 Calamonis

There was silence in the woods for a long time after the explosion. Nothing stirred once the birds had fled. The azar didn't dare move without awaiting the next squad. The sel scowled and cursed and lamented — but their cries were too quiet, compared to the overburdening ring in each of their ears.

A squad of Hunters came out a few hours later — a cleanup crew? Or backup?

Who's thoughts are these? Who do they belong to?

A figure choked. He shifted slightly in his bed of charred dirt, sat up, spat into the mud.

The trees around were aflame. He thought the humidity would have stopped it, but apparently not. His flame was fierce, that much was true. But just how fierce?

Whose flame was that?

"Ty… La…wood right?"

He shook his head as the voice called. He looked. Three Hunters were approaching. Or, two silver-armors and a black robe.

The bearded one in the robe reached out a hand to him. "Rith'aka Seran."

Then he was sure — Cedric. Marisol. A dark-skinned man with them.

"How did you do?" Cedric asked.

"I died. I failed."

"Died? Strange, then, that I'm talking to you now."

He looked down at his bare chest, prodded it as though shocked.

"Yeah. I know the feeling."

"How am I…?"

"You sparked something within you, apparently. Your will to live incited Dyosius."

"Dyo…?"

Cedric sighed with a slight smile. His eyes were weathered beyond his years. But there was a strength to them. He was powerful, if exhausted completely. Even if his smile was not genuine, there was a warmth.

"Good job, Tyverius. Glad we didn't lose you, too."

"The rest are…?"

Marisol shook her head somberly.

Tyverius looked at the ground. He dug his fingers into the dirt.

"That's… how it goes. It's a symptom of our kind."

"Our kind?"

"We'll talk about it more once we get back to Calamon. More squads are coming — let's go. Oh, and, you might want to put some clothes on."

Marisol smiled somberly. Tyverius glanced down, then quickly covered himself.