Zenak (4 page)

Chapter 6

The sun rose over the Volski in a brilliant and thunderous way causing the great mountain to look even more wondrous than it already was. The radiance of the sun caused the snow-capped mountain to shine brightly and the green landscape of the valley to twinkle as the dew on the grass picked up the warming rays of the young sun. Zenak's camp, ready for battle, was nestled behind a great sloping ridge that surrounded the valley of the Volski. From this ridge Zenak's scouts could see anyone coming from the great mountain.

Zenak came quickly out of his tent and slowly perused the camp to make sure everyone was ready. Zenak was pleased; the marksmen were sitting next to their marks eating or drinking. In their eyes shone the love of battle and the quest for action that had not been encountered in a year, Zenak was dressed for battle. His chain mail fit a little loose about his great muscles; it was better for the mail to fit loosely because it could withstand the shock of a sword easier. Around his small waist hung his belt from which his sheathed broadsword hung. His broadsword was forged from the strong­est steel known on the Island by the greatest swordsmiths on the Island. These swordsmiths lived in a small town on the other side of the Island, but very few people from the west had ventured across the harsh Manti Desert and the impenetrable Gamon Mountains to reach the eastern shores of the Island. However, Zenak had done this, albeit against his will, but that is another story. The dark chain mail and the dark pants contrasted sharply with the long, blond hair that framed his sun-darkened, weathered face.

As Zenak stared proudly at his troops, Habor came run­ning up to him and informed him that the warriors were ready.

“I can see that,” Zenak said as admiration for his soldiers swelled inside of him.

“So, we march now?” Habor asked.

“We march now,” Zenak said. Then he walked to his waiting mark Gam and mounted him. Gam whinnied and stamped, his razor-sharp teeth gleamed in the sunlight. He knew battle was near. Zenak raced Gam up to the highest hill in the camp, raised his sharpened broadsword, and yelled, “We march!” His great voice resounded throughout the large camp.

The marksmen, at the sound of Zenak's command, jumped on their marks and bellowed out the rough battle cry of the marksman. Then they rode to the long ridge that lay just past their camp and lined up fifty deep. The line stretched along the ridge like a terrible giant snake resting and wait­ing for its next prey. Zenak and Habor rode to the front.

“I assume that Captain Lokos and his men have already ridden, to make sure there are no more enemy encampments be­tween us,” Zenak said.

“He left before the sun rose and found nothing,” Habor answered.

“Excellent, but I expect Tabilo knows then that we will attack,” Zenak said as he regretted sending Lokos out before the rest.

“Maybe not,” Habor said, “for Lokos rode parallel with Tabilo's army but did not get any closer than we are right now. He is waiting to march in when he hears the sounds of our hooves on the ground. As a matter of fact, I doubt Tabilo even knows that we are here for no scouts, other than presently dead ones whom we found spying on the camp, have seen our encampment.”

“Habor, you are truly a great commander,” Zenak said, “much more efficient than I am.”

“I have to be,” Habor said. “You haven't the time for de­tails. You are the king,” Habor smiled broadly at Zenak for he knew that Zenak did not care for being king but ruled any­way because he felt the people of Deparne deserved a just ruler.

Zenak smiled at Habor and said, “Sound the march.”

“Sound the march,” Habor ordered the bugler. The bugler sounded his trumpet three times and immediately after the third note the great war marks started trotting toward battle. The ground beneath their huge hooves shook like a great earthquake in progress and the air around them thundered louder than any storm any man had heard. They rode until they were one karn from the mercenary camp. They stopped and once again lined up.

Zenak now surveyed what he saw. The enemy camp was caught in a terrible surprise and all the mercenaries were scurrying around getting their defenses up. In no time, however, the scurrying stopped and the marksmen were placed for defense with their shields in front of them. Zenak admired the enemy's effi­ciency. There were some 70,000 of them. Behind them were 25,000 archers equipped with longbows. The longbow could easily shoot a lethal arrow one-half a karn away; it was a dangerous weapon.

The two armies stared at each other now as if to stare one another down, but their concentration was broken when, mysteriously, three riders appeared out of the air and rode between the two armies. The riders were dressed in purple robes and were cloaked. They stopped their marks for a moment right between the armies. It looked as if they were conferring with each other and then they disappeared only to reappear a second later next to Zenak and Habor. Zenak and Habor reared back a little.

They didn't trust magic.

“Socians,” whispered Habor to Zenak.

“No doubt,” Zenak said as he warily looked at his guests.

One of the three riders rode up to Zenak and Habor. The two warriors could now see his white face and long unruly black beard, his eyes as black as the sands of the volcanic isle of Kera. He stared long and hard at the two, and then he slowly surveyed the rest of the standing army. Every man he looked at averted his eyes from fear. Then he spoke. “Oh, great King Zenak, we have come from the land of Soci.” Habor glanced at Zenak. “And we have come with knowledge of your barbarous powers. I have been asked to implore you not to attack Soci.”

“What do you mean?” asked Zenak.

“Our wizards want you to know that Soci has no interest in this mercenary army that is sitting near our border,” the rider stated. “When you have conquered them do not march on Soci for we have not hired them.”

Zenak was even more baffled now. It would take him months to drag an army through the mountains to the paradise retreat of Soci, assuming the army could even make it. It would probably be frozen by the icy winds of the mountains or it would die of hunger for no food can exist on the barren mountains that pro­tect Soci. And even if the army got through to Soci, the sorcerers could destroy any conventional army.

Zenak after a few moments finally recovered from his bewilderment and said, “I cannot believe that Soci worries about so small a thing as my army. Surely, the great wizards have some ulterior motive. Tell me what it is, for I am no fool and I do not believe your phony compliments.”

“The king is wise,” the rider said. “And that is no phony compliment. I can tell you only one thing: you are des­tined for some greater achievement. An achievement that must be realized. That is why we are here. We have been sent to help you so you can accomplish the feat that is in your future.”

“If it is in my future, then why do you have to protect me?” Zenak asked.

“Even the Fates and Destiny sometimes sleep,” the rider answered. “We are given only one chance to help you before you accomplish your task—your major task that Destiny has assigned you. And we have chosen this battle to help you, for the sooner you finish this fight the sooner you will do what has to be done.”

“What is it that I have to do?” Zenak asked. He bit his lip slightly for he did not like to be part of any sorcerous des­tiny.

“You will not know until it is done,” the rider said. “Now we must do what we were sent here to do.”

The rider who had spoken motioned to the rider on his right. That hooded rider took down his hood and turned his head and eyes toward the sun. He stared straight into the sun and his body was as still as a windless summer day. Zenak watched calmly and seemed rather interested. Then the man began to sing a soft melodic song. Its pleasantness could be felt throughout Zenak's army and Zenak himself felt as if he were floating in a dream. Then the dream was quashed and Zenak, along with all those who were near the rider staring into the sun felt an impending doom, but oddly enough it did not bother them. On the contrary, they felt more courageous than ever. They studied the wizard even more as his jet black eyes pressed toward the sun. All of a sudden his eyes began to fizzle and burn. The whites of his eyes began boiling and finally, in a puff of smoke, his eyes burned out. Zenak stiffened in his saddle as he looked into the sorcerer's eye sockets. Habor, who never trusted wizards, backed his mark up a bit. An instant after the rider's eyes went dark the sun blacked out. Both armies jumped to attention and stared in fear at the darkened sun. Then, as fast as it was blocked out, the sun reappeared, revealing a black shadow falling in the direction of the mercenary army. Tabilo, the mercenary leader, ordered shields up, and not more than a second after the order was relayed and obeyed, black arrows struck throughout the mercenary army. The marksmen, trained in war, raised their shields quickly, so only a minimum number of marksmen were fatally wounded. But at least 20,000 war marks were killed forcing their masters to defend in the impending battle on foot. The archers, however, had not been as lucky as the marksmen. Every one of them was killed for none of them had a shield nor was there time to run for cover. Their bodies, riddled with black arrows, were strewn all through the camp.

The mercenary camp was in an uproar and disorder was total. Zenak, realizing that he would have to act quickly, ordered the flagmen to relay to his army that they were to fire three rounds of arrows into the dispersed mercenaries and then charge in for the battle. They were also ordered to fire one more round when they could see the horns on the saddles of their enemies' marks. The flag relay was efficient and swift. The marksmen took their longbows in hand and moved into firing range. Meanwhile Tabilo was trying desperately to get his men back into shape.

“Shields up! Shields up!” Tabilo yelled and his captains and flagmen relayed the order throughout the camp. But it was not until the first round from Zenak's army was fired that the mercenaries reacted to the order. The first round killed 5,000 mercenaries. The second and third rounds were not very effective because the mercenaries had already put up their shields and were crouching behind that defense. Zenak's army, however, had the advantage of surprise and they also had the advantage of being mounted. As soon as the third round had been released, Zenak's force charged. The pounding hoof beats, however, alerted the mercenaries that their enemies were charging and they began mounting their marks and readying themselves for the fight. They had no idea, now that Zenak and his men were charging, that another round of arrows would be released. To their chagrin, the king and his men released their lethal arrows when they saw the horns of the saddles of their enemy. At least another 5,000 marks­men fell from this surprise round and the rest of the merce­naries were beset by confusion.

Seconds after the last round, Zenak's army struck into the mercenary army with the resounding clash of steel meeting steel. Zenak and his war mark Gam were the first to reach the enemy. Zenak's broadsword, swinging with deadly precision, was spilling blood and spewing entrails all around him. Since he was the first to penetrate the enemy's line, Zenak was quickly surrounded, but he never worried for he sat on the greatest war mark in the Island, and he knew his great broad­sword would bring many a mercenary to a grisly end.

The efficiency of Zenak and Gam was something to be envied by every marksman. Gam would rip out the jugular vein of an enemy's mark with a slice of his razor-sharp teeth, and Zenak would lop off the marksman's head as the marksman's mark fell dead to the ground.

Blood from fallen war marks and beheaded riders sprayed all over Zenak and Gam. Besides killing all the riders of Gam's victims, Zenak was busy attending to the many fighting men surrounding him. It was a parry here and a thrust there, a bloody business to be sure.

An instant after Zenak's entry, the rest of his men joined in the battle and the odds became about equal. It was mark against mark and warrior against warrior. The clashing of swords was deafening, as each warrior from both sides brought the full force of years of experience into battle. When a sword was broken or wrenched from a man's hand, he would reach for his dagger and leap from his mark onto the other fighter's mark to try and drive the dagger home, to send the victim to the dark afterlife that every warrior expected. Arms and legs and heads piled up all over the battlefield as the ebb and flow of battle continued into the day.

Zenak felt good, it was good to fight again. But so far, the warriors Zenak had slain were not adversaries that made a great fighter proud. Many times Zenak held Gam back from killing his enemy's mark just so the mercenary would have a chance, but no man could stand up to Zenak wielding his heavy and sharpened broadsword. One, two, three, and it was a cleaved skull down to the teeth or an arm and a shoulder severed from the back, spurting blood all over Gam's white coat and Zenak's sweaty body.

While the battle progressed Zenak noticed, as he put away two adversaries by chopping one's head off and on the re­bound stroke crushing the ribs of another, that Habor was in trouble. For some reason Habor was battling eight marksmen at once. He bled all over and wheeled a bit from fatigue, but the smile on his face assured Zenak that he had the situation under control. Zenak could see, however, that Habor's control wouldn't last long, so slicing his way through the paid warriors, Zenak rode quickly to Habor's side. “Like old times,” yelled Zenak to Habor.

“Tonight we will go whoring and drinking,” replied Habor

“Tonight?” Zenak asked as he shot his broadsword through a warrior's body. “The battle goes well—it will be this afternoon.” Habor guffawed and swung his broadsword into the knees of one of the unmounted mercenaries, slicing the lower legs off.

In no time Zenak and Habor had sent the eight marks­men to their Destiny and for the moment did not fight. Zenak studied the battle. Every man was in a pitched contest for his very life. All the warriors, on both sides, were complete­ly at home. They were living their life the way they wanted it even though the dread specter of death hung over them. Prob­ably if the shadow of life was not there, none of them would have savored the lust they had for battle. They were warriors and they loved their work.