CHAPTER 19 – THE ATTACK
Egrick was proud of the position and rank that he had managed to attain in the Aristrian army. He was a career man and had worked hard at it, always gaining the respect of his friends, family and peers for his dedicated years of service and feared by those that dared to displease him. He was important. His job was also important, commanding the twelve-man squad that guarded Lord Azeth’s tent as he slept this night; he had the joy of the graveyard shift before dawn. Lord Azeth had insisted that he was to be awoken an hour before first light and to fail in this duty would ensure certain death so all remained vigilant and alert. It was common practice for the army to ‘Stand-to’ ready for combat at first and last light, much to the disgust of the troops. Having to stand ready in formation enduring the freezing weather waiting for an enemy that would rarely dare to show itself against the might of the Aristrian army was no laughing matter.
There had been a lot of whispered talk amongst the men, mostly away from the ears of the officers in the camp about the defeat of the mercenaries. Their reputation as fearsome fighters had been reinforced in some of the small engagements along the way, they had been deployed as skirmishers leading the advance of the army group and had displaced and dispatched any natives who had decided to stand in their way. The regular soldiers despised them for their lack of discipline and a rumour had started amongst the men that they were getting paid more than the regulars. All the ‘old sweats’ that had an opinion to voice around the campfires reinforced the view that an army wins battles on its cohesiveness and ability to follow orders effectively, not on how ferocious they were. So all in all as far as Egrick could see, any losses to the reckless mercenaries would not be of any major impact to the army and would leave more of the spoils for him.
Egrick’s thoughts wandered back to his wife and child as he stared into the still blackness ahead, they would be gleefully awaiting his triumphant return with numerous gifts. There would be some fine celebrations again upon his return, when the war had started he had hoped that his army group would be assigned to assault the capital, the plunder and bounty would have been unimaginable with so much wealth to go around. But, after his initial disappointment at getting assigned to ‘Army Group East’ his mood had soon changed when their mission, to capture the crystal mines had been revealed. The mine’s wealth was legendary, fetching nearly eighty silver coins for a good crystal; he should have an ample opportunity to turn a good profit on this campaign.
He wiggled his toes in his cold boots to keep himself active and alert, then warmed his freezing hands over the brazier that was located a safe distance away from the tents; his duty was also as fire picket in addition to generals bodyguard commander. He topped up the water pot that was suspended above the fire, it was close to the boil, letting his hands linger in the hot steam. He cursed himself for not buying the expensive fur-lined gloves that his wife had insisted he purchase before his rapid departure to war; she always proved herself to be right on these matters. A hot drink would definitely help to fix him up and keep him alert through the remainder of his stag. Drawing his cloak about him he stamped his feet to get his circulation going again, watching the water boil through the dim light as another icy gust of air blew through his clothes, he already hated it here …too cold.
A sudden flash of light and sound like thunder erupted from Azeth’s tent forcing him to instantly shield his eyes away. Although half blinded, in a second he had freed his broadsword and was running towards his master’s side.
The hysterical cry of ‘Guards.’ was shouted above the singing of blades. Azeth jumped through the tent flap backwards like a frightened cat and left a large bloody smear across the tent from the deep slash that had been inflicted to his forearm. Egrick was instantly at his master’s side ready to stop anything that should come out from the tent.
Barrad slashed open the tent to pursue his prey, only the silhouette of his battle armour and helm could be seen against the bright light of the transportation portal, illuminating the night behind. Amongst the combat Sorus moved himself away from the deadly blades flashing through the night, he began chanting a new magic spell.
The ancient and skinny Su-Katii parried a stunning series of blows that were rained down upon him. Barrad easily turned aside Egrick’s lunge and slammed his armoured elbow into the man’s face, knocking him to the ground then continued his deadly assault on Azeth.
‘You’re getting too old for this game Azeth,’ he taunted through his closed face helm.
‘Save me the effort and offer me your neck. Let me give you a quick send off as I did Thulsa, or else I will bleed you like the pig you are.’
Azeth was wounded in the initial surprise and was now fighting for his life. Two guards attacked Barrad from behind, attempting to save their desperate general. They died in seconds.
Egrick gathered his senses looking up from the cold ground. Azeth now had several cuts on his unprotected body. Any attempts from Azeth to counter-attack back at the deadly intruder were instantly stopped and new cuts were opened up on his arms for his effort. Until now, Egrick had thought his general a God amongst men, but now his jaw dropped, as he witnessed his God being taken apart by this new killing machine. He had the sense to know what would happen to him if he returned back into the fray, instead wishing to once again see his family he shuffled backwards on his arse through the slush, away from the battling men.
A squad of men came charging from the darkness to attack Barrad, but before they could close in on him Sorus released his spell, with his arms and staff waving in the air he seemed to pull a white light from the darkness. A stream of forked lightning flew out from his out stretched arms into the mob, bowling the advancing men backwards to the ground in screams of agony.
‘Hurry up Barrad, stop punishing him and just finish it, we have a lot of company coming.’ Sorus shouted.
A large group of armed men charged forward out of the darkness from the Aristrian camp. With a flickering mass of light starting to fill the valley from illuminating crystals they came like an endless stream of enraged ants when their nest is disturbed. The first wave of men to arrive were almost comical as the front runners were smashed to the ground as they struck the invisible magical barrier that Sorus had created, then men following tripped over and squashed into the front ranks causing a mass pile up amongst the chaos.
The killing machine upped his pace and continued to land a mesmerising and unstoppable number of blows; Azeth’s left arm was eventually hacked from its socket as he failed to keep pace, the second blade quickly followed piercing his ribs. Barrad twisted the blade free then hammered it back into the dying Su-Katii’s chest once again. With a final spit of contempt at his killer, the old warrior fell backwards dead into the slush. The intruder that had invaded his camp and killed his master turned around to face Egrick, his dark eye slits watching him like a cat sizing up a mouse, he raised a sword, but the smaller balding man with the staff shouted out to the killer.
‘The portal is closing.’
Both men instantly turned and sprinted back full pelt, jumping through the portal that had formed in Azeth’s tent.
Relieved at their departure, and for his life, Egrick surmised that they must have used some kind of magic upon him to keep him pinned to the ground unable to move to his master’s aid, it must have been the same magic that had repelled the other soldiers who had attempted to come to their aid, there could have been no other explanation. He was no coward and that was what would be going into his report.
‘Good work Barrad.’ Sorus’s relentless excitement was now becoming annoying to the young warrior; the old magician had been shouting his praises and reliving the battle for the last half-hour.
‘By the Great Suckling Sow you can sure fight, laddie.’ he continued to jump around Barrad excitedly.
‘A mother pig. What kind of perverse Gods do you magicians worship?’
‘The kind that has twelve tits to suckle and can provide a fantastic bacon breakfast in the morning.’
‘Ok Sorus. I accept that you are a little odd, but I can’t argue with your logic.’
One of the original Commanders entered the command tent, dressed for battle.
‘All the troops are stood-to and awaiting your orders sir. They have not yet been informed of your victory over Azeth, I thought it better that you address the men yourself?’
‘Yes, thank you Dellneck, you are correct. I shall address the men shortly, then we’ll send the Aristrian scum packing home.’ He patted Dellneck’s back as he went to follow him out.
Barrad turned before his departure. ‘Oh yes, any news on Tress yet, did she get through the enemy lines alright?’
‘Well we certainly provided a large enough distraction this morning but I’m afraid I just don’t know anymore,’ replied Sorus. ‘Once you passed over Tamar’s necklace to her, she remains hidden from all means of tracking, magical or otherwise. How do you think that we were able to keep your existence here hidden for so long? It was a dark night and she has magic to aid her, I can assure you she is not just tits and smiles, she is an extremely resourceful woman, so I hope with the grace of God that she made it through.’
‘Well, I hardly noticed,’ he obviously lied. ‘Was it just me or did I forget to button my breaches? I felt that her eyes never left me during that last briefing, she certainly has a way about her that could easily distract - may your fat old sow of a God bring her luck,’ said Barrad strapping on his helmet once again. ‘Now come on, we have a nation to reclaim.’
Tress picked up her pace as time was critical - she had to make it to the mines in time. Under the cover of darkness she had few concerns about her detection with both her enchanted cloak and the amulet, she had weaved her way past the last of the out lying sentries with ease. From her study of the maps before her departure, she knew that if she continued to head towards the three-star constellation for another hour, she should hit an old cart track that would take her directly to the crystal mine. With daybreak rapidly approaching she would need to try and find a reference point on this flat landscape to keep her line of travel. She removed the fur-lined jerkin that had covered her dull armour. She knew her pace would need to be quick, Sorus had made it crystal-clear to her that time was now of the essence. They could no longer wait until the army broke out. Tamar had communicated just before her departure that the prize crystal was being drawn from the ground today and once it was on the surface and away from the interference of the other stones in the mine the Brotherhood of Keth could claim their prize and transport it back to their master. The wetness of the long grass soon penetrated her knee-high leather boots as she continued to jog across the difficult terrain. She had spent a small fortune on buying different pairs of boots over the years, but not one pair could constantly keep her feet dry and she wished that the magicians of the world would spend more time working on more practical magic to stop these annoying problems instead of conquering the world. She pushed her pace harder as she darted between the lighter patches of grass. The dark patches brought the potential of a hole and a twisted ankle and she had already missed her mark more than once this morning, her mud-splattered legs were testament to that. Eventually crossing the tundra ahead she reached the raised ground that marked the cart-track that she had been seeking and slumped down on the side of the track catching her breath. Her leather armour had began to chafe her inner thighs as sweat had worked its way into every crevice from the hours of exertion and with her breastplate also rubbing her to soreness, the constant movement of another few hours travel could end up very painful. The coldness of the ground began to penetrate her bones as she sat on the track rubbing away the weariness from her burning thighs. With her cloak still tucked around her, she emptied the excess water from her mud encrusted boots and pulled off her sodden socks and replaced them with her spare dry pair. She knew this routine well and was well prepared, this action should keep her feet in good shape long enough to complete her task. She tucked the wet socks under her arm-pits to dry them out. ‘What a picture you must look and smell,’ she thought. ‘If only Barrad could see you now. With damp socks for perfume you will be sure to charm him.’
At first light she prepared to make off again, tightening straps and adjusting her armour as best she could, then stopped and listened as the faint clatter of approaching hooves could be heard in the distance. Quickly wrapping her cloak about her, she blended into the surroundings as the sun rose fully, filling the plain with light. The rider was in a hurry and coming from the direction of the Aristrian lines. Most likely a messenger bringing news of either Barrad or Azeth’s death, for she knew of their planned attempt on his life. Either way she could desperately use that horse. The rider was still some way off so she used the time to select the best point of ambush. She went thirty meters past a narrow twist in the track because even on flat terrain outriders were trained to avoid obvious choke-points. Instead she selected a point where the embankment, led back to the track from the moor land, it was a very shallow gradient and likely to be selected as the point of return to the track. She found a nice raised mound that would put her inline with the rider, then drew her replacement sabre and holding on tight to her repaired cloak, she waited. After what had seemed like an age, the rider eventually approached. He had been tucked low in the saddle riding hard, but now, as Tress had guessed, his pace slowed to a canter as he appraised the twist in the path. With nothing but open moorland visible for leagues, he slowed and carefully selected a short cut to rejoin the track. As the rider crested the soft ground to meet the track a sword flew out of the air striking the top of his helm. The rider didn’t have the slightest clue what had just hit him and the blow cart-wheeled him from his saddle to the ground and luckily for Tress the rider still had one foot trapped in the stirrup as the panicked horse took off. After a short burst of speed the horse grew tired of dragging the attached Aristrian, who had acted like a brake, eventually stopping the frightened creature. Now all Tress had to do was calm down the animal and then she could be on her way again in comfort.
She walked slowly, crouched over as she edged forward, to present less of a threat to the crazed eyes that now watched her. With a wild snort and two backward paces, the horse displayed its distrust of the stranger, but her soft words eventually calmed the animal. Tress’s hand slowly grabbed the reins.
‘Great, now I’m in business,’ she thought. ‘With this horse I’ll make good time to the mine.’
She freed the soldier’s foot from the stirrup and a groan came from the man, miraculously he was still alive. Her blow had landed towards the top of his helmet, which had deflected the weight of the blow into the large blue crest that plumed from its top. Through mud-encrusted eyes, the man looked up at the dominating female, focusing on the sabre that flicked his sword away and then extended down to touch his throat. She spoke down to the man in his native Aristrian emphasising her words. Her blonde hair was blown across her face by the crosswinds that travelled the plain and the riders eyes widened in genuine surprise at his assailant’s beauty.
‘Which one lives?’ she shouted down at him.
‘What are you talking about?’ groaned the man, still trying to regain his senses after his ordeal.
‘The Su-Katii Commanders, you oaf. …Which one still lives?’
Tress pulled off the man’s helmet by the plume, giving it a good shake to get it off and gain a better look at him. The bearded veteran’s weather-beaten face showed a sneer of contempt at his rough treatment, no doubt being unhorsed by a woman did not sit well with him. His sneer quickly changed to a wince of pain as her sabre’s point pressed deep enough in to his cheek to focus his attention, a small trickle of blood ran down his face.
She knew the man now clearly understood her request.
‘I’ve already wasted too much time with you. I’ll ask you one last time and then I will start to remove body parts, starting with your manhood. Which Commander still lives?’
‘Lord Azeth lies dead,’ the man spat out the words, spraying his beard with spittle in the process.
Tress breathed out a sigh of relief. The short time she had spent with Barrad had left her with a little admiration for the man and his values. Anyone who would fight against the order that raised him because of their inhumane actions got huge respect from her. She especially respected this with her own shady past; she had understood his decision well. Besides he exuded a confidence that was not self-centred and his sparkling green eyes also showed a level of compassion that had made a more-lasting impression on her than any other man she had ever met, or at least remember. Tamar’s words rang in her head again, she pictured Barrads handsome features in her mind and could still clearly recall his face, ‘You fool,’ she thought – ‘Its only after you sleep with them that you forget.’ Every man’s dream was her curse. Looking back down at the injured man she could not contain her smile. This was indeed good news and would be a large blow against the invaders’ combat effectiveness.
‘Well my Aristrian friend,’ she mocked. ‘It looks like your Gods have spared you once from my blade today, let’s not disappoint them a second time today. Your greedy little country lies a week’s march that way’ she pointed her sabre down the track. ‘Your army will soon be defeated, now get out of my country whilst you still have the chance or else I’ll use my magic to track you down and I’ll aim a few inches lower next time.’
Tress mounted her new transport, looking back down at the battered and still invader she jeered.
‘Are you still here?’ She then spurred her new horse onwards up the path. After a few minutes she took a backward glance. The man had pulled himself from the ground and was indeed limping off in the direction she had indicated.
‘Sensible man’ she told the horse.