Chapter 13. The battle
“The advantage of the terrain works for us,” the general Lao-Min said to the gathered leaders. “The enemy has only this ford, a hundred paces broad - and our main task is not to let him across, as long as it is possible.”
“My archers are ready,” said a tall, thin man clothed in the leather armour. “Two thousand men, with two hundred arrows each, are positioned in a half-circle around the ford.” The leader of the archers, Tilanok, was a quiet man with brusque manners.
“The catapults are set near the companies of archers,” continued the warrior standing at his side. “Five machines are waiting the command.”
“A thousand pikemen are ready in the middle of the battlefield. They’ll push into water everyone who reaches the bank!” shouted the next.
“Men-at-arms are ready on the right and left side. Fifteen hundred bloodthirsty soldiers!”
“Five hundred men guard our back!”
“Two hundred guards on horses await the end of the battle!” the last report was exclaimed by Orin ar den Raamternan. The old general gave to the prince the command over the king’s mercenaries, hoping that his premonition did not betray him.
“Thank gods for the warrior spirit they gave us!” shouted Lao-Min.
“Now we can only wait the beginning! Go back to your companies!”
Orin and Lao-Min were soon left alone on the hillside from which they viewed the area. On the other hill, slightly more distant, with the warriors guarding the rear, the king with his escort and Arios were settled.
Orin was looking at the river, content. The ford they were guarding really was the only place connecting the south and north bank of the river.
The Grey River was only a few hundred paces broad at that place, and relatively shallow. Flowing eastward, it made a small half-circle around the place at which they stood, probably because the ground was somewhat harder here. Tens of miles upstream and downstream from this point the river banks were made of soft ground, which resulted in great number of dangerous swamps, without a safe way through them. Human beings could cross into Ledonia only at this point. The others maybe have their own devices, but that was not in their power to prevent. Although once it was the bridge connecting north and south, the ford now represented the greatest weakness of the small kingdom.
The king’s mercenaries held themselves apart of the rest of the soldiers, and were gathered around their campfires. They groomed their horses, sharpened their weapons. Orin started toward their camp, to talk to men and try to feel their mood. His whole life he dreamt of battles, armies and the battlefields. In his strategic games, he used to lead companies and command the armies, but this was something else. This was reality and he had to admit to himself, no matter how hard it was for him, that it was not fun at all. Still, the only thing that was left to him was to give his best. I must be a worthy leader of these men, thought he passing through the camp. They were distrustful toward the stranger, but disciplined enough to except Lao-Min’s decision without complaints. If their general thinks that this man can lead a company in battle, then it is so. Orin was sure he will not fail them.
An unusual silence settled over the camp. It was late afternoon, and men were trying to get some rest after the soldier’s meal. Many eyes were looking toward the mist on the other side, wondering what horrors await there. Everyone knew stories of the Lord of Doom’s hordes, and they weren’t nice. No army of the northern tribes could withstand the onslaught of the army of darkness.
Still, among men another story was spreading, story about the sorcerer from the far south, who came to save them. Now men had at least some hope, and that was good. Lao-Min was aware of the fact, although he himself did not believe in miracles. His army maybe will endure several assaults, but the sheer number of the enemies was simply too great. He did not want to think about the forces that were driving the Lord of Doom’s army. The less he knows, the less he has to fear. The less he fears, the more dignity will be in his death. The death on the battlefield was the only future the old general expected for himself.
The prince of the Plain Countries returned from his cavalry men and sat on a folding chair at Lao-Min’s side.
“It’s quiet,” he said. “What do you think, when it begins?”
“The sooner, the better,” answered the general. “I don’t like waiting.”
“Nor do I.”
“They are probably waiting for us to relax. They will attack in the moment they conclude we are least prepared. I would do it that way. But, who knows what’s in the heads of the demons?”
“I talked to mercenaries,” said Orin. “The moral is high, but no one really believes we could win. Only it seems they don’t care a bit.”
“They don’t believe in your friend?” asked Lao-Min.
“I think not. Do you?”
The old general looked at him sideways, and then shook his head.
“I think there’s something in him, some power from which he draws magic,” said the prince.
“At some times, it seems he really has enormous powers sleeping inside him. The only problem is, he does not believe too much in himself. He has a bad habit of ascribing to the pure chance, or making worthless, everything he’s done. He refuses to acknowledge his power and to use it.”
“We’ll have to trust our own powers,” said the general, his voice meaning the end of the conversation. “Try now to sleep and to save some strength. You’ll need it.”
As the day was coming to its end, the slowly rolling muddy water began to grow dark. The soon-to-be battlefield was still peaceful. No movements were visible on the other side. The sun was slowly descending beyond the distant horizon and night covered the small army.
The campfire lights enabled the war leaders gathered around the king to have a good view of the situation. Arios was sitting near them and looking into darkness, not much interested in the strategy details. There was mighty magic on work on the other side of the river. The presence of the demonic entities enveloped his mind, choking him. With great effort he was trying to remember the simplest magic incantations, and he was not clear about how he’ll deal with the pressure and succeed in confronting the enemy. There was an icy emptiness and fear in his guts, the kind he never felt before in his life. Lost in feverish thoughts, he did not notice the nameless warrior from the east seating near him.
“The advantage of the dead man is, he doesn’t have to fear death,” said he, looking at the Arios’ face, streaked with grains of sweat, glittering in the light of fire.
The sorcerer turned, and the warrior continued: “When there’s no fear, the man is free to act the way his sense tell him to, and to react to the danger in the best possible manner. That way, he becomes a real danger for his enemy. It’s even possible to win over someone much stronger.”
“Maybe,” said Arios, “but I’m not dead. I can’t ignore the fear.”
“So our wise men say,” said the man. “I’ve been learning that philosophy my whole life. I still do believe in it, but it works when a man has only his life at stake. I never used to doubt it. My enemies were just human beings. Tonight, I forebode that losing life is the best thing that could happen to men. Tonight, I’m feeling fear for the first time in many years, just like you. In this war, we’ll have to fight against fear, too.”
Arios looked at him, smiling. “I was just thinking I am the greatest coward here. You gave me some comfort.”
The easterner smiled back, and reached in his soldier’s food bag. He took out a flat hand-sized stone and said: “In my country, it is a tradition that the dying man writes his own epitaph. I cut my last words deep into this stone. I hope there’ll be someone in the future to read it.”
“What does it say?”
“Carried by storm,
This cherry leaf
Finally falls on the ground.”
So said the man, then rose and disappeared in the darkness.
Arios was silent for some time, and then he rose
too, and went in search for Orin.
The prince was sitting by the campfire in the company of the king and his war leaders.
“Here you are,” said the sorcerer, lowering himself to the ground near him. The counsel was over and the conversation turned to less formal directions.
“Hi! I didn’t see you since the last night!” exclaimed the prince. “How are you?”
“Ask me after the battle,” answered Arios.
“Ah, this is hard for everyone. We came a long way, eh?” Orin offered. “And now, we are at the end, as far from our goal as ever.”
“The need for glory obviously leads into doom,” laughed the sorcerer. “I knew it since the beginning. It would be better if you stayed at home.”
“You knew nothing and me neither!” flared the prince. “And if I did sit at home, don’t you think that the Lord of Doom would be knocking at our doors, too?”
“Maybe he would stray in the Blue Mountains?”
“I’m not so sure of it. I think we have been brought here with some purpose.”
“Maybe,” said Arios. “Anyway, it’s good to have a good excuse.”
“I am, like always, stunned by your optimism.” said Orin. “Why don’t you, for the first time in your life, try to believe in yourself? Just a little?”
Arios was thinking about what to say, when a cry came from the camp: “They are coming!”
Both of them rose quickly.
“So, this is it,” said Orin. “Time to say goodbye.”
He tried to give a hug to Arios, but the sorcerer stopped him gently. “Leave it,” said he, with a smile. “I don’t like touching.”
“In fact, me neither.” Orin laughed, too. “Besides, if we happen to survive, I would feel rather stupid.”
“Hurry, the guards are waiting for you,” said Arios. Orin turned and ran to the horses. The sorcerer was watching him for a moment. A strange thought flashed through his mind. You are a man I always wanted to be. And you are completely unaware of your real worth.
So in the middle of the night began the desperate battle of the people of Ledonia against the army of darkness. The first thing they have heard was the distant thudding of the countless feet on the other side of the river. Then, first dark figures emerged from the mist and sank into the river. The soldiers of the Lord of Doom rushed from the night, trying to get across the ford. The water reached to their waists, and they were advancing slowly. The two thousand archers were waiting for them to reach the middle of the river; then they launched the first shower of arrows. Many of them found the targets and the screams of the soldiers who were hit broke the silence. The rest, however, were advancing on. The catapults released their bolts, which fell down straight at the ranks of the attackers, stopping them at least for a moment. The second, third and fourth wave of arrows came, too. Many of the attackers already disappeared under the surface, but thousands of enemies kept coming, walking over corpses. It seemed that the death of their companions didn’t cause them any fear. They marched on and fell, pierced by the missiles that kept raining on them.
Later, the clouds dissipated, and the full moon appeared, giving some light to the battlefield. However, the heavy mist was still hiding the horde.
The king, surrounded by his escort, watched the battle from his position on the hillside.
“What kind of tactics is this?” he asked Lao-Min, who stood behind him. “They just keep coming, no matter how heavy their losses are.”
“They have the advantage of numbers, and are confident about it,” answered Lao-Min shortly. He wanted to continue, but changed his mind and fell silent.
“But, what kind of warriors would go to death in this manner, so willingly? I can’t understand it.”
“Maybe the death in the battle is a kind fate compared to the one awaiting the cowards,” the old general’s voice was ominous.
“Do they want us to spend all our arrows?” continued Seton. “It cannot pay off in the end.”
At that moment, they heard the rumour that was spreading through the ranks of the defenders: “They have rocks tied to their belts! They are tied to the rocks!”
“Bastards!” spitted Lao-Min. “Just as I suspected!”
“What’s happening?” asked the king.
“Do you know what the purpose of such headless onslaught is?” answered the general. “They are making a bridge across the river! Damned bridge made of the corpses who, tied to rocks, stay where they fell. When there are enough of them, the rest of the army will come running across, and we’ll be out of arrows to greet them!”
“Can’t we do something?”
“No. If we spare our arrows, they will come across and attack the pikemen. The archers would be useless then. We are forced to continue with this, as long as we have arrows. Who knows, maybe they will run out of soldiers,” answered Lao-Min, not believing his own words.
The horrible slaughter lasted until the dawn. When the pale sun finally appeared over the plains, the river ford was completely covered with dead bodies, the river was flooding the meadows where the pikemen waited, and the quivers of the two thousand archers were empty.
The king Seton’s army was horrified by the unexpected turn of the events, but also more determined to fight and die in the combat, rather than ending up in slavery.
When the bridge of death was finished, everything went quiet. Pikemen, swordsmen and cavalry tautly awaited the next move of the demonic enemy. And then, slowly, the mist on the other side began to disappear. The Lord of Doom decided to show his power to the defenders, and to destroy the last remains of hope in their hearts. For a moment, the dark, ominous bulk of his army stood unmoving, and then, without a warning, they charged across the corpses toward the pointing spears that were prepared for them. The assault was accompanied with deep laughter, which silenced all other sounds, shaking the ground, the laughter of man at whose will the demons abandoned their dark dwellings, to walk the earth freely. Seton’s warriors, completely soaked, the water reaching their knees, lost the courage for a moment and lowered their weapons. First ranks fell without any resistance, and only the cries of the dying brought back the spirit, shattering the will-binding spell. The pikemen were forced to retreat a few dozen paces, but this manoeuvre enabled the cavalry and men-at-arms to cut deeply into the flanks of the attackers. The clashing of weapons and the screams of the soldiers of darkness, surrounded from three sides, were interwoven with shouting and screeching of the monsters. The king’s mercenaries on their powerful steeds were wading through the demonic army as through the swamp mud, wielding swords and hacking at all sides. The murky river water that flooded the meadow was turning red. For a moment, it seemed that the enemy was beaten into retreat. The losses on Seton’s side were few.
Then, the attack from the air began, deadly and lethal. Enormous winged creatures appeared from nowhere and plunged at the ranks of the defenders. Armed with the sharp claws and the long-teethed jaws, they started to tear apart everything they caught. The guards were trying to hide under their panicked horses, and many were killed by trampling hooves. After the initial moment of terror, several spears were lifted in defence, piercing the creatures, but the damage was already done. The Seton’s army, distracted by the air attack, no longer was able to withstand the horde that was once again charging across the river. They started to fall back.
Orin was riding the panicking horse, trampling the black figures, hammering with his sword left and right, making holes in the crowd of enemies around him. He was covered with blood, part of it his own, for he received many minor wounds and scratches. He was no longer in command of the mercenaries. In the melee, it was impossible to organize the company. The only rule now was: every man for himself. His attention was focused only at killing, so the strong hit in his back came completely unexpected. Falling from the horse, he turned for a moment and saw a huge black winged body looming over him. In the next instant, he was lying in the water, under the horse hooves. The frightened animal started to prance,
neighing, while the prince was desperately trying to roll out of the reach of danger and to regain control. Meanwhile, the winged monster turned in the air, and now it was returning toward the horse and his rider. Orin grabbed his sword with both hands, holding it tight, determined to stand his ground and wait for the attack. The beast plunged at the horse, ripping with its claws at the horse's belly, and the prince swiftly jumped forward and buried his blade deeply in the side of the black, muscular hind leg. The next moment, the winged raider was high above the ground, shrieking horribly, and dragging Orin, who was still holding to his sword, up in the air. The hell-bird gained height for some time, and then turned to the south. However, the weight of the man that was clinging to the sword buried in its leg was too much for its strength. Flying over the battlefield, it began to lose altitude, and finally landed roughly on the ground, trying to get rid of the source of pain. Hitting the ground, Orin rolled, thus preventing severe injuries. The urge for survival excluded the feeling of pain from his mind and forced him to stand up quickly and run away as far as he could from the deadly black wings whose strike could kill him. The animal was frantically spinning in one place, its wounded hind leg convulsing, wings beating the wet soil. Without his sword, Orin could only wait at safe distance and hope the wound was hard enough. The stench of the swamp decay was spreading around the monster. Its efforts to relieve the pain gradually weakened.
Watching the beast constantly, the prince climbed at the top of the hill to see what was happening on the battlefield. The view below him was overwhelming. The army of King Seton was dispersed in several small groups which desperately held their ground against the constant onslaught of the black hordes, and finally, one by one, disappeared. Most of the riders were fighting on foot now, while few surviving horses wandered through the piles of corpses, trying in vain to escape from the deadly trap the battlefield has become. The king's banner was no longer visible; nor was anyone from the king's guard. Somewhere in the melee there was his companion, who was obviously not able to do anything to save the remains of the army, and maybe he was already dead. There was no way Orin could help anyone. He could go back to the battle and get killed, or try to run away, but he did not know what was better. Seton's defeat meant the fall of the whole land, all the way to the Blue Mountains in south, probably even beyond that. Still, Orin was not used to losing hope. While he was alive, there was a chance for salvation; the death should be avoided as long as possible, because it was waiting at the end, patient and merciless. The decision to run away to the south was therefore the right one. The dead friends he will mourn later, if he survives.
But, before that, it was important to get the sword. The black animal stopped moving, and now was breathing heavily, its head extended, and wings sprawled on the ground. Orin approached slowly, from the back, trying not to disturb the creature. Holding his breath, he reached for the sword hilt that was protruding from the hind leg. A sharp, broken hissing was coming from the animal.
Now you have to be quicker and more determined than ever in your life, thought he. The animal was lying still. One long moment of doubt passed, and then he grabbed the sword with both of his hands, as firmly as he could, and ripped it from the wound. Terrible shriek of the animal resounded across the hillside, while the blade covered with black blood appeared from the flesh. The next moment, the sword was free in Orin's hand, and the beast turned, striking randomly with its beak. In a split second, its long neck was exposed to Orin's blade, and he swung powerfully, without a thought, his eyes closed. The monster’s head fell into mud, and the body gained new strength from its death convulsions, flapping its wings violently, even rising in the air, only to hit the ground again and remain lying there still. Orin was sprawled on the ground, his hands holding the sword's hilt.
It’s over! was all he could think of. Then he rose and started a long-striding walk from the place of death. The state of mind he was in did not allow him to feel pain, fatigue, fear, sorrow; the only goal in his mind was to find a safe shelter. Much later, when the immediate danger was over, everything he was repressing now would return. And that will be a real challenge to the defeated warrior.
Arios was standing at king's side, surrounded by a circle of guardsmen. Seton tried to regain control over the situation, calling his generals, shouting commands, but the sorcerer knew it was useless. Nobody obeyed anyone any more. The battle was lost, and now all they could do was to sell their lives dearly. His summoning of the magic powers went without any effect. He could not remember anything any more. The fear of death was screaming in his guts, disabling his efforts to think of something sensible, but he knew that the real reason of his failure was the presence of the terrible Lord of Doom's powers which deliberately assaulted his thoughts, turning once powerful sorcerer into a frightened child. The demon was too strong for him and Arios could only watch what was happening, a helpless witness to the fall of a brave army that placed almost all hopes in his hands. The dark army completely surrounded the king’s company, preventing all chances for escape. The guards, however, were too strong for the creatures which attacked them, making the piles of the dead bodies in front of them. Suddenly, the eastern warrior was standing by the frozen sorcerer, strongly pulling at his sleeve. Arios shook from his trance and looked.
“Why are you standing?” the warrior was shouting, overpowering the noise of the battle. “Leave the magic and take the sword! It would be a shame to die without a weapon in your hands!”
His face was bright, while the dark eyes glistened fiercely.
“This is a battle of all battles!” he was roaring. “The Lord of Doom will remember it while he lives!”
Arios moved slowly. A part of the enthusiasm was caught in his heart, too. Really, what can be better in this moment than to die covered with the bodies of enemy? He grasped the sword the man was offering him. “You are right!” shouted he to the easterner. Two men ran ahead to take the place of a fallen mercenary, closing the circle. If it was destined for him to die here, he will do it in a proper way, not like a frozen coward. The next moment, his sword was biting into flesh of the dark attackers, rising and falling, while the blood of the dying covered him. The desperate battle lasted now over two hours, and the number of the defenders was reduced to the dozen of the hardiest. Then King Seton fell, hit by a black arrow which flew from the crowd, run over by the muddy boots of the demon servants. From a multitude of the throats, a roar of victory boomed, signifying the final breakdown. The little easterner followed, pierced from the back by a long spear, which was wielded by a deformed ape-like creature. Arios saw the fall of his brother in arms, and cut down his slayer in a second. Then he turned around, looking through sweat which was streaming into his eyes, and realized he was standing alone, surrounded by dark, wild faces which were approaching slowly, carefully, confident in their triumph. In a moment when several long spears were thrown at him, his hand dropped the sword.
His last thought, however, was not the one of dying, but of silent winter night, and the strange words written in his mind. “Remember the smallest things when times are hard.” His hand reached in the pocket, and found a small wooden flute, right in the moment when the first spear went through his stomach. When the second spear pierced his lungs, he put the flute at his lips, and blew his last breath into it. Then the night fell, and he couldn't say if this was death, or just a long dream from which he will wake in his cottage, on the far slopes of Blue Mountains.