Chronicles of the Overworld Book 1 — Nihal of the Land of the Wind (21 page)

The general gave them one last, hard look, then turned on his heels and left. The six aspiring knights stood at the center of the tent feeling unsettled and disheartened. Laio was almost in tears.

“You’ll be OK,” Nihal whispered.

The commanding officer was more hospitable than the general had been; he remembered what it had felt like to be a cadet on the eve of his first battle.

He explained the mission anew, told them that they were to answer to him and that he was responsible for their lives. He showed them the weapons and armor they would use in battle and then dismissed everyone but Nihal.

“So you’re the half-elf?”

Nihal nodded.

“The enemy must not know you are here. Do what you can to disguise yourself in battle.”

“Why? I don’t think I matter much to the Tyrant,” she said, baffled.

“The Tyrant annihilated your people; you’re the last one. If he knew about your being here, the entire camp would be in danger. It could mean the loss of an entire division.”

His words reminded Nihal, once again, that her existence endangered those around her. She tried to hide her anguish.

The officer gave her a helmet to hide her hair and ears. It was painfully tight. The suit of armor posed the opposite problem: not a single piece would stay on her slim figure.

Seeing this, the officer lost his patience. “Women! They’re meant to stay home and take care of children for a reason!”

Nihal threw the armor to the ground.

“I don’t need all this stuff!” She retorted.

“You think you’re invincible, do you? There’s one in every group. Do you know what I have to say to that? They last less than the rest. They either die in battle or they hole up in some corner at the first offensive, scared out of their mind.”

“I’m not here to play games, sir. I’m here to fight.”

“Do whatever you want,” he growled. “Just make sure you don’t endanger the lives of your comrades.”

Nihal wandered around the camp. There were people writing letters, sleeping, washing clothes. All of them quiet. The gravity of war seemed to seep into every aspect of life.

The cadets consumed their meager rations in silence, as well. Nihal looked down the table, wondering if it was always like this before war. Were they all thinking about the next day’s battle? Did soldiers grow accustomed to risking their lives? Whatever anyone else felt, Nihal couldn’t wait to fight.

They all returned to their tents after supper. Nihal struggled to sleep. The minute she closed her eyes, battle scenes played in her mind. She quickly gave up on sleep and went for a walk.

It was bitter cold outside. She wrapped her cloak tighter around herself and walked through the foggy, sleepy camp. The winding rows of tents were calm and peaceful, contrasting with the chaos of the battle ahead.

Nihal walked for a long time, until she reached the crumbled tower. She climbed a damaged stairway to where a balcony had once been; the floors above it had collapsed entirely.

She explored the city, comparing it to Salazar. During her wanderings she found a forge like Livon’s. She walked past it and made her way toward the wall of windows. Looking out onto the courtyard she saw the remains of the tower’s central garden, where the inhabitants had tended their vegetable plots and enjoyed the cool shade of its trees. Nothing survived but a single olive tree.

Seeing it there alone brought Nihal a flood of emotions. Suddenly, she recalled her initiation in the woods, how she had heard the earth’s heartbeat. Slowly, she began to hear that same beating once again. She was once again connected with nature.

Her feelings of nostalgia, loneliness, and regret were heightened, but her heart did not waver. She wanted her childhood back—all the fun, innocence, and peace she had felt.

Over the past year, she had begun to feel her life would always be full of sadness, pain, nightmares, and doom. But now she did not want to die. She would not die. She would win back the happiness she had lost and make her life worth living again.

She looked up at the full moon. Why didn’t she just give up war and live like other girls? She could go to the Land of the Sun, find love, enjoy children and a long full life, and die happily of old age.

What could be wrong with choosing that? Nothing. But it was out of the question. There was no way she could live peacefully knowing that her people had been annihilated.

As Nihal’s musings ended, everything around her came back into focus. Once again, the tower was just a ruined hulk. The olive tree stood alone in its bed of weeds. Nihal undid her long braid, loosing blue hair that flowed down past her hips, the kind of hair that troubadours extolled in courtly songs of beautiful queens and doomed love. She took up her sword. One by one, her tresses fell to the ground. She gathered them up and dumped them in the garden.

That night, Nihal turned her back on dreams of a normal life. She became a warrior.

Laio woke when he heard the second horn call. He saw Nihal standing at the foot of his cot and his jaw dropped.

“Nihal!” he gasped. “What happened?”

“Long hair spells trouble in battle. Now, get up. You’ll be late for inspection.”

Nihal took a seat in a corner of the tent, feeling strangely calm. She took a long piece of black cloth and set her sword down in front of her. She saw her reflection in the metal and got a lump in her throat.
Nonsense. Stop acting like a fool
.

She wound the cloth tight around her head until her face was completely hidden. People would notice her, of course, but no one would know she was a half-elf.

Laio, still sitting on his cot, watched her, wide eyed.

Nihal took one last look at herself. Her eyes shone against the black cloth. She had never noticed how pretty they were.
Enough, Nihal. This is no time for vanity
.

It was still dark when the troops began to march. They had to reach the camp near the battlegrounds before sunrise. Nihal was looking forward to seeing Fen.

They marched in utter silence. Within an hour, the camp came into view. It was much bigger and better organized than the one they had left. The mood was tense. Nihal scanned the faces passing by, looking for Fen.

At last she saw him as he came out of a tent. He looked tense and serious. Taking care not to be seen by her commanding officer, she slipped away and went to him. “Fen?”

The knight looked puzzled. Nihal had hoped he would recognize her despite her disguise. She sighed, disappointed, and opened her cloak so he could see her cadet’s uniform.

“It’s me,” she said.

“Nihal!” Fen took her hand and held it tight. “Try not to take any unnecessary risks. You’ll have a thousand chances to be a hero in the future. I’ll be thinking of you while I’m flying.”

Her commanding officer yelled from down the lane. “I have to go,” she creaked.

Fen let go of her hand. “Good luck.”

The cadets joined the other foot soldiers in the second line. It was a mixed group: young men, old men, dwarves, and even wood sprites who served as spies.

The strategy was spelled out for them once more. They would wait until the first group had engaged the enemy. Their job was to get into the castle while the enemy was busy fighting the vanguard.

They took their positions.

Dawn was approaching. Nihal looked over at the archers, then the knights and their dragons. They all stood quiet and stock still as they awaited the signal.

The fortress was nothing but a tower slightly less ravaged than the others. Its walls had been fortified with buttresses, making it look stout and solid.

Long moments passed before the archers raised their bows at the signal and loosed their arrows in unison. The chirp of their bowstrings was followed by the swoosh of dragon wings as the knights took to the air.

A third sound pierced the air. Large firebombs whistled across the sky toward their army. They fell just scant meters short of the first line. Then a flock of flying beasts rose from the tower walls.

“Blasted buzzards!” cursed a soldier near Nihal.

“What are they?” she asked, alarmed.

“Don’t know. We call them fire buzzards. They breathe fire and keep the archers engaged so the foot soldiers don’t have cover.”

As the man spoke, large clumps of earth began to change shape. Hundreds of hollering Fammin emerged from the earth like cockroaches. It took seconds for them to form strong defensive lines along their walls.

Nihal’s heart beat hard in her chest. Waiting was torturous, but they could not attack without orders. It was the first thing the cadets had been taught: follow orders. She saw the knights astride their winged creatures and thought she could make out which one was Fen. Then she looked at Laio standing next to her. He was trembling and biting his lip so hard it bled.

“Relax. Don’t be afraid,” she told him.

Then came their orders. The group charged. Nihal raced down the field. There wasn’t a moment to think. Fammin came at her from all sides. Her black sword spun in every direction, striking flesh with every swing.

The battle was long. Men and Fammin attacked mercilessly, using weapons, claws, and teeth. Hundreds of bodies lay on the ground. The grass was red and slick. Blood sprayed across the battlefield like rain, but Nihal took no notice. She kept fighting and killing, determined to take the field yard by yard until they reached the tower.

When she made it to the outer wall, a fleck of boiling oil burned her arm. She looked up and saw the Fammin emptying cauldrons of the stuff onto the soldiers. Nihal ran around the tower until she found a niche where she could hide. She held her breath and chanced a look out of her shelter.

She could see a Fammin, but it would not suffice to hit just one of them. To gain access to the tower, they would need to eliminate the entire defenses of at least one side of the tower.

She looked around anxiously. Not far from her lay a soldier who had fallen from the tower. There was a bow beside him. Nihal ran out of her hiding place, grabbed the weapon and scampered back to her shelter, gathering fallen arrows as she went.

She fitted an arrow to her bow, stepped out of her niche, and hit the first Fammin she saw. Her second shot also struck its mark, but Nihal had no time to rejoice. Behind her, a roaring Fammin waved a bloody axe. Nihal slung the bow over her shoulder and reached for her sword.

The monster was on her in a flash. He swung at her, hard, forcing Nihal back. The general, flying on his dragon, saw and swooped down from the sky. He impaled the monster with his lance, grabbed Nihal by one arm, and set her down on his saddle.

The dragon beat its powerful wings and they rose back up into the air.

Nihal caught her breath as she clutched the knob of the saddle and looked down at the battlefield. The Fammin were blocking access to the wall, and the rain of arrows was steadily fading.

“I’ll circle around the tower while you take them out,” the general said.

Nodding, she said, “I’m ready.”

Nihal fit another arrow and took aim. The arrow struck its target. Nihal felt her leg burn and saw an arrow had grazed her.

“Damn, they’re on to us. You distract them. I’ll take care of the boiling oil.”

Nihal took the last two arrows from her belt and fired them one after the other.

The knight wasted no time, thrusting his lance against one of the cauldrons. It fell toward the inner wall of the tower. They heard the enemy’s cries of pain from above.

The dragon turned immediately back toward the Fammin.

“General!” yelled Nihal. “I’m out of arrows!”

The officer swore. “All right. I’ll bring you back down to the ground.”

Nihal jumped back into the battle and drew her sword. She joined a group that was charging the gate. They were trying to break the doors with a battering ram, but the Fammin kept taking out their men.

Nihal was fighting when she saw someone hiding in a bush.

“Laio!”

He was crouched down, trembling. His sword had fallen from his hand.

“Run away!” she yelled.

Nihal ran to his side. “Do you want to get out of here or what?” she yelled.

Laio came to his senses and ran toward the camp. He would not have made it, had the commanding officer not taken pity on him. The officer reached down to Laio and set him on his dragon.

“It’s over. You’re safe. It’s all over,” he comforted.

Laio clutched him and began weeping desperately.

Nihal picked up Laio’s sword and fought with both blades. She was tired and wounded all over.

She heard a crashing sound and spun around. The gate was beginning to give way. Soon, they would take the fortress. The battlefield was strewn with fallen Fammin and the army was preparing to storm the outpost.

Suddenly, a dense, hot fog descended upon them. The air was thick with smoke. Nihal coughed and struggled to breathe.

“What the hell?” she asked no one.

The gate burst open with a final blow of the battering ram. There was a cheer from the men, but it quickly turned into screams. All the men at the gate caught flame. It seemed the enemy decided to burn the fortress rather than surrender it.

The army had nothing left to do but retreat. One by one, the Dragon Knights moved away. The catapults fired at them as they went.

Nihal, running back toward the camp, did not see some of the Dragon Knights, struck by balls of fire, as they plummeted to their deaths near the tower.

The army watched the tower burn from their camp. Fire whipped around its sides, the giant flames growing taller every second. Finally, the bricks gave way and the building folded over itself, melting into the smoke and the dust.

The troops cheered victoriously when the building collapsed. Nihal raised her sword toward the sky and smiled at the spectacle.

The general appeared beside her. “You performed well,” he said gruffly.

Nihal looked at him and knew she had made it. Now she would have a dragon of her own. She thought of all the enemies she had killed and felt triumphant. That day, she had avenged her people.

Her commanding officer also made a point of speaking to her. “You must be happy to have passed the trial. I have to admit that you performed remarkably on the battlefield. Your friend, though … he hasn’t really come back to his senses. You should check on him.”