Circle of Reign (55 page)

High Lord Marshal Tulley, leader of the Sentharian military forces, was not a happy man. Reports from the front lines were contradictory at best, unintelligible at worst. He did not underestimate his foe and had sent in forty-five thousand men as well as two thousand archers. Well over half the Realm’s forces in this part of the war effort. Appointed as High Lord Marshal for this conflict, he chose to be at this location because he knew Lord Banner Therrium would be here as well. And, of course, General Roan. He could not make one misstep in his planning or execution, but this was not his plan that he was executing. The audacity that High Duke Wellyn had displayed by giving battlefield orders and forcing his men into action was maddening, and was leading to a potential travesty. He, as High Lord Marshal, would bear the complete blame as well, should the attack fail. Adding to the stress of the situation were the enigmatic men with shorn heads standing next to him. The one who bore him the message would visibly shake from time to time and appeared to be in pain or…
was it excitement?
No normal or sane person thirsted for war and bloodshed.

“Siege engines to the front!” a Field Marshal bellowed. Twenty-seven large war machines with catapult arms set on wooden wheels were drawn slowly to the front lines by yokes of oxen. The earth broke beneath the weight of the catapults as they were slogged forward, adding to the strain on the beasts of burden. Soldiers gathered by the score behind the contraptions and pushed, slipping on the grass and mud.

An Infantry Marshal approached in sprint, nearly tripping over himself and spoke with concern. “Lord Marshal, our men are still behind enemy lines. We must pull them back first!”

“There’s no time,” Tulley answered. “Their aim will be high and the ordnance will have minimal effect on the ground. Casualties should be kept to a minimum.”

“But—” the Infantry Marshal began but was cut off.

“You are dismissed, soldier!” Tulley snapped. The young officer saluted and sprinted back to his post.

Tulley heard a curious sound beside him and turned away from watching the droll progress of his artillery. The robe-clad man next to him was grinding his teeth violently and inhaling heavily salivated breaths. A high whine followed, which descended in pitch to a low growl. The other four men seemed not to notice, or perhaps care. Tulley backed away several steps. The man closed his eyes, inhaled slowly for several moments and seemed to regain a modicum of control.

“Burning Heavens man, are you well?” Tulley asked hesitantly.

“It is of no concern to you,” came the rebuff. “The time has come.”

Tulley nodded. “Perhaps it has.” He retrieved the message scroll delivered to him earlier that was pinned under his belt and opened it. He raised his eyes to look over the parchment at the man and then back down again at the message.

“I don’t understand this at all,” Tulley said, delaying. “What will this accomplish?”

“Victory,” was the only response.

“Fire!”
they heard a Field Marshal command. Hatchets cut short ropes and released the arms of the coiled siege weapons, which flung large rounded projectiles of thick twigs, earth, pitch and fire. The night sky turned orange as the burning ordnance sailed overhead. It landed against the trees approximately thirty feet high. Shooting the ordnance above the height of the trees was impossible so the catapults had to be aimed through clearings as carefully as possible with the hope that the burning projectiles would penetrate deep into the forest before striking a tree and exploding. If it did not find a tree and fell to the earth, the Sentharian forces would take the punishment meant for the Arlethian soldiers. It was a risk of war. Shouts were heard calling for adjusted trajectory of the catapults.

“Victory?” Tulley asked, searching for more insight. He did not receive a response. Letting free a deep breath and raising the parchment to eye level he said, “Very well.” Then, reading from the parchment, he said, “Acting as a duly appointed agent of High Duke Emeron Wellyn, he who holds the
Urlenthi
, the Stone of Orlack, I Charge you with Prime Lord Banner Therrium and all who stand to deter you from him.”

Finished, he lowered the message and viewed the man, this strange courier that stood beside him. He and his companions threw their heads back and growled toward the sky as if beasts in human skin. Throwing off his robe revealed a thick body covered only by a loincloth. The man’s body seemed to become bulkier and muscles appeared from where there had been none discernible just a moment before. All over his skin were tattoos of no color, more like scars carved into specific designs. They were symbols of some create, Tulley could discern, but of what he could not tell. The beast of a man let loose a menacing laugh through a shudder that bespoke a predatory intent. High Lord Marshal Tulley recoiled and again stepped back. The other four retained their clothing and darted off at a supernatural speed.

“No, wait,” Tulley said, placing a hand on the all but naked man’s shoulder just as he started to run toward the forest, restraining
him. He was rewarded with a look that sent shivers through his body. “What are you?”

“I, High Lord Marshal, am a Helsyan. I share this with you because you will be able to do nothing with this knowledge.” The Helsyan looked down at the hand on his shoulder that stopped his advance. “That is most unfortunate for you, I’m afraid.”

Fire rained around General Roan and his men. It was not unexpected, but made the strategy that he and Lord Therrium had devised treacherous for his men to continue. The spheres of fire that burst against the trees were easy to spot and avoid for his wood-dwellers, but the splashes of flames and embers that exploded outward once the spheres impacted were more perilous. Dozens of his men were scorched from the constant barrage, some falling to the ground from their elevated stations, dead and smoldering. They had managed to cut down the enemy by a large number, likely near double their own numbers, but they were still outnumbered three to one. The advantage was definitely on their side despite this fact, especially as the battle was being waged in the forest. However, trees were burning and his men had begun to waver in confusion under the now constant bombardment, as their habitat in this part of Arlethia was becoming an inferno. The fires would not spread throughout the land due to the rains that were common in the Dimming Season but would no doubt burn for days before being snuffed out. However, the smoke itself, caught in the canopy not far above them, was perhaps more lethal than the fire in their current positions. No, they could not continue their attacks from above.

General Roan could either command his men to climb, through the smoke and the canopy to the trees above where fresh air would be found but flames would eventually reach, or fall to the battle below. He heard snapping and popping sounds coming
from the tree where he perched and turned to see boiling sap bubbling through the tree’s bark. The smell was not unlike charred bread.

“Release!” Roan commanded. Thousands of Arlethian soldiers let themselves fall through the smoky air to the field of carnage below them.

“Press through!” he yelled. “Rally toward Bohdin!” He had dropped with his men into the center of a confused Sentharian battalion and did not hesitate in his attacks. While fighting his way westward, cutting down those in his path, a smear of burning pitch fell on his left shoulder from above and clung to his armor. The metal blackened from the burning slime and the fire itself, but General Roan paid it no mind. He saw others, both Senthary and Arlethian, screaming and running while being consumed in robes of orange and yellow. He wondered at the ruthlessness of the Sentharian commanders, to use weaponry against an enemy that would punish their own soldiers at the same time. The brutality of it surprised him, but he realized it should not have, not after what the High Duke had done in betraying his own subjects when he attacked Therrium’s hold.

Girded in flaming armor, he turned to face four soldiers, a spearman, two axemen and one with a sword. They flinched at seeing Roan and took a step back.

They are so young
, he thought. It was part of war. The young died, the old mourned. Fear swept across the soldiers’ faces as they huddled together in a defensive posture.

What are they doing?
he wondered.
Why aren’t they attacking?
The small group took another step back. Perhaps the reality of battle had seized them, the terror of it not allowing them to do anything but cower. Something caught in the middle-aged general as he faced them. Pity? Mercy? Weakness? Whatever it was, he was about to admonish them to flee when two of his men overcame them from behind and cut them down before any of the Sentharians could register what was happening. It was efficient and lethal, and
the two Arlethian warriors were on to their next prey before many moments could be counted.

They were just boys, not much older than I was in my first battle, just following orders
, Roan thought.
Just as my men are following orders. My orders
. He stared at the dead Sentharian soldiers, at their lethal wounds, and felt a tightening in his chest. The old wound that had nearly ended him on his right breast radiated pain.

It did end me, actually
, he reminded himself. Thannuel would not be here to steal him back from Death’s grasp this time. They had each saved each other of the black sands of Pearl Island during the final days of the Orsarian War.

The metal of his armor had heated to a point that started to burn his upper back and singe his hair. He released the light armor plating that protected his torso and backside and it fell to the forest floor. Pine needles and dead leaves from the season began to catch fire under the armor before quickly dying out, causing more smoke than flame.

General Roan was motionless for a few brief moments in the middle of battle before coming to himself again. His men needed him, needed his direction. They were still vastly outnumbered and caught in a most dangerous circumstance. He suppressed his inhibitions and resumed his attacks, pressing ever westward. Hordes of Senthary were still pouring in from the east, appearing to be an ocean of swords, spears, and axes. And then a thought occurred to him, an idea of distraction—or making use of the current battle as a distraction.

He grabbed a young wood-dweller with a lieutenant’s insignia on his breastplate, heavily swathed in carnage. He had a gash across his left cheek that had barely missed his eye.

Fherva
, Roan remembered, the same who had shown him and Lord Therrium that profane stone road that had lead into Hold Therrium. It seemed a different age, that first battle of this war where only Master Aiden and Alrikk had survived, protecting Therrium. Roan briefly wondered where Therrium was in this
chaos, praying Alrikk had removed the prime lord far from the battle.

“Lieutenant!”

Fherva stopped. “Yes, General!”

The clamor of steel, wood, shouts, and screams made vocal communication almost impossible. Roan grabbed Fherva by the shoulder and brought his mouth to his ear.

“Get word to Colonel Bohdin that he is in charge,” he shouted, pointing a hundred yards west. “There is an advantage I intend to press. He must hold until I return. It will mean our victory if I succeed.”

“It will be done, General!” Fherva nodded with a smile, a gesture so out of place for the scene around them. Roan saw confidence in Fherva’s action, confidence not in himself but in his general. Roan prayed it was not misplaced.

He broke from the battle in speed, cutting down a few in his way but otherwise avoiding the conflict. General Roan headed decisively south, away from the battle.

Prime Lord Banner Therrium did not enjoy seeing the slaughter of men, Arlethian or Senthary. He and Alrikk watched the battle unfold from their position, now somewhat removed from the main area of the fight. The epicenter of the struggle had shifted many times but was now moving farther west, farther inland into Arlethia. Before long, the fight might breach cities and towns if the flames didn’t make it to them first. There would no doubt be evacuations occurring rapidly even now. Plans had been made and warnings sounded to all population centers that could be affected by the inevitable fray. He prayed that those left in charge would be able to discharge their duties effectively and save the lives of his people to the greatest extent possible. Not for the first time in these recent days did he wonder what Thannuel would
have done.
Have I been rash? Foolish? Careless?
No time for those thoughts could be spared.