Chaos and Retribution Box Set, page 48
part #1 of Chaos and Retribution Series
But the terl made no move to retreat. Instead, Karliss heard him say, “Now let’s see if they bleed and die like men.”
As the enemy soldiers entered the river, the terl ran back down the slope and jumped onto his horse. He waited a few beats, letting the enemy get well out into the river, then gave a battle cry and spurred his horse forward.
As one the Sertithian warriors raced forward, up over the rise and down the other side.
Chapter Eleven
The Sertithians galloped down the slope in two solid waves, firing arrows as they went. The terl had timed it well, and they hit the enemy soldiers right as the first of them were closing in on the near bank of the river. The Sertithians fought with a variety of weapons, including swords and spears, but their primary weapon was their bows. From the time they started training for war until they became too old to fight, every warrior practiced every day firing his bow from horseback. They could fire at a full gallop with deadly accuracy, having learned to time their shots for those moments when the galloping mounts’ four feet were all off the ground at once, so there was no impact of hoof to the ground to spoil their accuracy.
In addition, they could fire quickly, the next arrow already nocked before the first had yet reached its target.
The arrows raced out a deadly feathered hail and struck their targets. The leading invaders instantly sprouted coats of arrows. They were such big targets the Sertithians could hardly miss.
Kasai’s men were caught off guard by the attack. Those in the lead looked down at themselves, seemingly stunned by the sudden appearance of the arrows. The line wavered. And already the next flight was on its way. Karliss felt his heart ease. He had taken his own kin too lightly. None of the enemy would even make it out of the river alive. Or if they did, they would already be badly wounded.
But none of the enemies fell.
None of them fell!
The momentary waver passed, and the bestial warriors came on as before, spurring their wolf mounts to greater speed. Some ripped out arrows as they came. The others simply ignored them.
When that happened, it was the Sertithians who wavered. A ripple passed through their ranks as they confronted for the first time in their lives an enemy who shrugged off their most lethal attack. Arrows still flew, and horses still charged forward, but they were hesitant now, unsure of themselves. Glances were thrown at their terl, looking for guidance.
The terl led them on without hesitation. Dashin reached the river’s edge right as the first of the bestial warriors emerged from it. This one was clearly their leader. A full head taller than the rest of them, his chest and shoulders bulged with muscle. His eyes blazed yellow. His bared teeth had been sharpened to points. Guiding his horse with his knees, the terl veered slightly to the left. He’d already slung his bow over his shoulder and drawn his blade, and as he came up on the brute he swung his sword at the man’s head.
The bestial warrior carried his mace in his left hand. He raised his right arm, taking the terl’s blow on his vambrace. There was a clang of metal on metal. As the terl’s blade glanced away, the bestial warrior leaned over and swung the mace. It was a huge weapon, the head a spiked metal ball nearly the size of the terl’s head.
Somehow the terl managed to bring his sword back around and deflect the worst of the blow, but he couldn’t stop all of it, and he couldn’t avoid it either, though he twisted in the saddle. The blow glanced off his shoulder and continued down, striking his horse on the hindquarters, hard enough that the animal staggered sideways and whinnied in pain. His arm dangling by his side, blood running from his shoulder, the terl had no choice but to wheel his horse away, barely getting away before the next blow came whistling through the air.
All along the line the Sertithian warriors were having the same problems. Two weren’t quick enough and went down, one struck in the head with a mace, the other cleaved nearly in two by a heavy tulwar. One was holding his own, managing to deflect his opponent’s attacks, his horse dancing beneath him, using its superior agility and mobility to help its rider. But then his foe’s mount joined the fight. The wolf-thing lunged forward suddenly, the huge jaws opening and clamping down on the horse’s neck. The horse squealed and fought to get away, but the creature pulled back and tore a huge chunk out of its neck. The horse staggered a few steps and then dropped to its knees in a pool of its own blood. Its rider rolled and came to his feet, sword in hand, just in time to be ridden down by another one of the hulking warriors. A final swing of the curved blade, and the Sertithian went down.
Karliss circled overhead, frustrated by his helplessness. If only there was something he could do. He watched as Ganbold engaged one of the enemy. His brother stabbed with his sword and managed to pierce his foe’s side. But the wound seemed to have no effect on the man. The bestial warrior shrugged off the wound and swung a backhanded blow at Ganbold with his tulwar. He caught the young man on the side of the head with the flat of the blade. Ganbold’s head snapped back and blood flew. He slumped to the side and barely managed to keep his seat. Almost casually the bestial warrior drew his sword back for the blow that would finish the stunned youth.
Karliss acted from pure instinct. Using the wind, he scooped up a handful of loose muck and dead weeds from the churned ground beneath the enemy soldier. Instantly he flung the muck into the bestial warrior’s eyes, blinding him and throwing his attack off enough that he missed Ganbold.
A moment later the man had wiped the stuff from his face and raised his blade once again, but the respite had given Ganbold the time to retreat to a safe distance.
Karliss realized that this was a battle the Sertithians would surely lose. They were faster and nimbler than the invaders, but the invaders were too strong and seemingly impervious to all their attacks. The terl must have realized this too, because only a moment later he shouted at them to retreat. One more Sertithian warrior fell, but the rest managed to disengage and gallop away.
The terl rallied his men on top of a low rise off to the side. Strangely, Kasai’s men did not pursue them, but instead headed once again straight for the distant camp, as if they knew exactly where it was, and its destruction was their only purpose.
“They’re not here for us,” Ganzorig said. He was bleeding from a cut on his chest, but otherwise seemed unharmed. Blood ran from his sword, and he wiped it clean on his mount’s neck.
“They mean to destroy the camp,” the terl replied. His right arm still hung limp by his side and he held his sword in his left. “We’re going to make sure they don’t get there.” He looked over his men, his bearing straight and tall in the saddle, though his arm was surely broken and had to be hurting fiercely.
“We have two advantages on them. One is our speed and mobility. The other is these,” he said, touching one of the quivers that hung from his saddle.
“But the arrows don’t hurt them,” one of the warriors said.
“That’s because we’ve been aiming at the wrong place. We need to go for their eyes. Once they’re blind we can cut them down.”
“They are beasts, not men,” Ganzorig added. “We should hunt them as such. Isolate the stragglers, concentrate our force on a few at a time. Kill them quickly and move onto the next,” he said grimly.
The terl was nodding before he finished. “Ganzorig is right. We don’t have to kill them all at once. Break into squads of a half dozen men. Each squad will focus on one target at a time. Kill the beast quickly and move onto the next.” The riders wheeled their mounts and took off after the band of invaders.
They caught up to them quickly. The invaders were clearly confident in their strength. They rode in a loose group, spread out over a sizable area. There were no scouts ranging to the sides, watching for attack. The terl pointed to one of the bestial warriors, riding at the rear of the band.
“Ganzorig, take your squad and bring that beast down.”
Quickly he pointed out targets to the other squads. The squads rode off. Ganzorig and the warriors following him charged their target, who stopped and turned his mount to face them. The hulking man smiled as they came and hefted his weapon, confident in his strength. The lead attackers studded him and his mount with arrows as they charged at him. But at the last moment, instead of pressing home their attack with swords and spears, they wheeled their mounts and raced away, while behind them the second wave of warriors raced forward, fired arrows, then did the same.
The brute took the bait. He spurred his wolf mount and charged after the closest riders, his mace held up and ready. This was what the Sertithians were waiting for. Their mounts were exquisitely trained, responding instantly to the slightest pressure from their rider’s knees. They were steppe-born and -raised, tough, hardy horses, lean and agile, and next to them the enemy’s mount was slow and awkward.
The Sertithians easily avoided the bestial warrior’s blows, and their horses avoided his mount’s snapping teeth. They wheeled away from each attack, but never going so far that they seemed out of reach of the next blow. They darted in and out like wolves nipping at a bear’s flanks, their attacks doing little to harm him, but quickly drawing him away from the others in his band.
Once they had him peeled off from the rest, they attacked in earnest.
Ganzorig and his warriors pressed in from all sides, firing arrows, some aiming for his eyes, some aiming for the eyes of his mount. In heartbeats both man and mount had arrows sticking out of their eyes. The bestial warrior bellowed with pain and rage and swung wildly with his mace, but hit nothing. His mount snapped furiously, but caught only air.
The warriors closed in on him, switching from bows to swords and spears. One rider raced behind him, leaning low out of the saddle and slashing at one of the wolf mount’s hind legs, slicing neatly through the tendon. The wolf mount yelped and staggered. As it did, its head came up. The Sertithian who was racing past was ready. A swing with his sword and blood spouted from the creature’s neck. It took two more steps and collapsed.
Meanwhile, those warriors with spears used their superior reach to stay out of the range of their foe’s wild swings with the mace. When the bestial warrior’s mount went down they saw their chance and darted in, stabbing at his head and neck. One of the spears pierced an artery. Blood sprayed, and as the bestial warrior tried to stop the flow of blood with his free hand, another warrior raced in and with a huge blow cut his head from his shoulders.
All across the battlefield other squads were doing the same thing. Two more of the invaders fell in quick succession.
The squads left their fallen prey and converged on new targets. Karliss felt a massive wave of relief. It was still going to be close. Who knew how many times they could repeat the same tactics before the enemy got smart and drew his forces together? Would they be able to finish them off before they reached the camp? Karliss shuddered to think what destruction and death such men could sow in a camp of women and children. But at least now the Sertithians had a chance. At least they could fight back.
Then, out of nowhere, Karliss heard the shrill cries of a number of aranti. He turned, seeking the source of their agitation, and a moment later realized that it was coming from back by the camp. He realized then that what he’d feared was true: this was only a diversion.
The camp was being attacked.
Chapter Twelve
Karliss drove the aranti as hard as he could back toward camp, terrified the whole way that he would arrive too late and find the camp in ruins, everyone dead or dying. To his great relief the camp was untouched when he arrived, people still crouched in and behind the wagons, scanning the horizon for sign of enemy.
He forced the aranti down into their midst, back to where Batu and Hulagu stood flanking his body. He slammed back into his body. He opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, trying to force his leaden limbs to respond more quickly.
“You’re back,” Batu said, helping him sit up.
“Something’s coming,” Karliss gasped, his words thick and nearly unintelligible. “We’re about to be attacked.”
His friends helped him to his feet, and Hulagu turned to the warrior in charge of the defense, yelling at him that they needed to be ready, they were about to be attacked.
“What is it? What’s about to attack us?” Batu asked, looking nervously around.
“I don’t know,” Karliss said, the feeling gradually returning to his limbs. “But it’s bad.” The aranti were in an uproar, babbling mindlessly to each other. It was hard to think over the din, and he had to push them out to get some quiet. Their voices receded into the background.
Then one of the women up on the wagons pointed into the distance and cried, “What’s that?”
Everyone turned to look. Something was flying toward them from the south, growing larger by the moment. Arrows were nocked, and Batu hefted his spear.
In moments it was on them, flying in low. It was a man, riding what looked like a crow, but the crow was huge, far larger than any normal bird could possibly be. Its eyes were pure white like the eyes of the wolf mounts.
The man riding on its back wore gray robes and had a hood pulled over his head. In his hand was an intricately carved staff that looked to be made out of bone. Gray flames danced on the head of the staff.
As he flew over them he pushed his hood back, and the Sertithians caught their first glimpse of his face. What they saw caused a gasp to go up from the defenders. Hands holding weapons wavered. No one fired arrows at the man, as if all were gripped by a strange paralysis.
The man’s head looked like a skull. It was so fleshless, his skin drawn so tight, that the bones underneath were clearly outlined. His skin was the color of burned leather. He had no lips, leaving his teeth bared. His nose was an empty hole. But it was his eyes that drew their gaze and caused the most fear. They were empty sockets, the leathery skin around them blackened by fire. In the depths of those empty sockets gray flames flickered and danced.
“Fire!” one of the warriors yelled. The paralysis broken, several dozen arrows flew skyward.
As they neared their target the gray-robed man raised his staff. A pulse came from it, and the arrows caught fire mid-flight and burned instantly to ash that drifted away on the breeze.
The gray-robed man swooped low over the defenders and pointed the staff at one of the archers perched on top of a wagon. A tongue of gray flame lashed out and struck her. Instantly she was engulfed by fire. Her bow fell from her hand, and she screamed. She staggered two steps, came up against the side of the wagon and toppled over the edge. Her scream cut off before she hit the ground, and she lay motionless in a heap as the flames continued to consume her. Within moments there was nothing left but a pile of ash and some blackened, twisted scraps of bone.
In a flash, the gray-robed man struck again, bringing down one of the warriors left behind to defend the camp.
Karliss was clear across the defensive area enclosed by the wagons, and the gray-robed man hadn’t seen him yet, but somehow he knew that the man was there specifically to find and kill him. This was the attack he’d so long feared. Kasai had not forgotten him at all, and now the Guardian meant to make sure that Karliss never troubled him again.
This time Karliss didn’t whistle for an aranti. He looked up, spotted an aranti overhead, and from his lips came the word of power.
“Ken-shai!”
The aranti obeyed instantly and dove toward him, compelled by the need and desperation in Karliss’ voice. Karliss grabbed on and drove his mount up into the air.
He saw the gray-robed man point the bone staff again. Flame shot from the end, but this time the warrior he pointed it at was quick enough to dive out of the way. Instead of burning the warrior, the wagon caught on fire and began to burn, giving off an odd, bluish smoke as it did so.
The gray-robed man shook his head as if in anger at missing and pointed the staff again. Karliss saw with horror that he was pointing the staff at Narantse. His little sister was standing in the doorway of their yurt, staring up at the man, frozen in horror.
When Karliss saw that he went a little crazy. There was no time to do anything, so he simply drove the aranti hard at the enemy, ramming into the huge crow just as flames erupted from the end of the staff.
The gray-robed man’s shot went wild, hitting the yurt instead of Narantse. The bird he rode slewed sideways, and it flapped its heavy wings, trying to right itself. He tried to bring the staff to bear on Karliss, but Karliss rammed the aranti into him repeatedly, keeping him off balance. Karliss kept his focus on the bird itself, which was ungainly and awkward. Once more he struck the bird, and then a bone snapped in one of its wings, and it tumbled sideways, spiraling down toward the ground.
As the bird and its rider fell, the gray-robed man somehow managed to bring his staff around and point it at Karliss, staring right at him as if he could see him. Karliss couldn’t react in time to move out of the way or stop him. Gray flames shot out from the staff and struck him squarely.
Karliss felt no heat as the flames struck him, but the impact hit him like a hammer. He was knocked backward—
And lost his hold on the aranti.
╬ ╬ ╬
The gray-robed man and his mount fell onto one of the wagons. The bird hit awkwardly and did not get up, but thrashed in place. The gray-robed man stood up, seemingly uninjured. More arrows flew at him, but he casually inscribed an arc in the air with the staff and a shimmering, barely visible shield of gray fire formed around him. The arrows struck the flaming shield and flared into ash.
Karliss floated in the air above. Without an aranti to carry him around, he could do nothing but watch helplessly. He could see his body off on the other side of the defensive perimeter, but he couldn’t get to it. He had no way to move. He couldn’t whistle for another aranti, and when he tried to use the word of power nothing happened.
