The House of Yeel

Chapter 20: Battle under a Blue Sky





As Yeel reached the battlements, he heard a thunderous cheer coming from beyond the walls. The morning sun revealed the huge barbarian army encircling Maristaple. They brandished their weapons and assembled for a charge. Yeel saw ladders and rams scattered among the lightly armored warriors.

“Most likely they’ll simply try to overwhelm us from all directions,” Aruscetar said. “There are rams set up close to each gate. Our defenders are spread thin.”

“Yet we have to wait until they attack to deliver our surprises,” Yeel said. “Your men will have to hold for a short time.”

“I understand. Vot’s forces can’t attack now, or they’ll be overwhelmed while we sit here on the walls.”

They watched and waited as the horde seethed before them.

Somewhere out there, Methric is preparing to give the order. And he believes this is the best way for his people to flourish. Sad.

It didn’t take long. The screams on the field rose to a new height. Then waves of fighters surged forward toward the walls.

“Now!” urged Aruscetar. Yeel started to reel in a thin line. He collected several feet of it before it grew taught.

“I think it’s hung up on something.”

“They’re charging now! Get it unstuck!” Aruscetar yelled.

“Nope, it’s hopelessly stuck,” Yeel verified. “I’m going to have to go out there and free it.”

“Good damn luck! I’m not going out there with you!” Aruscetar bellowed.

But Yeel was already sliding down the outside of the tower. He dangled from his long tentacles, searching for new purchases lower on the face of the tower.

The deep voice of Aruscetar followed after him.

“If you succeed, we’ll sing of you every year on this date for sacrificing yourself to save us!”

As Yeel fell to the ground, none too softly, he pulled the line again. Warriors were bearing down upon him, perhaps a dozen paces away.

I’m going to need some protection.

Yeel projected the idea of a huge, monstrous worm tearing its way up from the ground. Its gaping mouth was wide enough to swallow a man whole. Then he slid forward as fast as he could, tugging on the line this way and that.

The warriors ahead of him broke to each side, giving him a wide berth. He plucked one man off his feet and tossed him away, just to add to the effect. It would look like the monstrous worm bowled the man over just by grazing him.

Yeel glanced behind him to his left. A huge ram approached the gate, carried by dozens of barbarians. The soldiers above tried using arrows to stop the men pushing it, but there were many hides and shields attached to the massive device to give cover to those manning it.

Finally, the line freed up from its snag. Yeel gave it a mighty tug. There was a loud popping noise. Up ahead, Tuluk appeared. The monster roared. It sounded like the squawk of a bird. The sea monster was the size of a small dog.

“I’d best make myself scarce,” Yeel told himself.





***





Jymoor stood with Vot on a field next to the roveportal’s new location outside the city of Maristaple. The last of the Ascarans walked through, carrying their fenlar.

“They’re charging! We have to commit our forces now!” Jymoor said.

“Not until we see Tuluk. Remember?”

“Yes, but…I thought we would see it as soon as they charged.”

“Tuluk is key to the strategy. And even failing strategy, its brute force has to be worth scores of men at least. Timing is critical. We can’t move until we see him. He breaks their line providing us the opportunity to flank. To do otherwise—”

“My pardon, Vot! But what if he doesn’t appear?” Jymoor interrupted.

By the moon, she’s just as long winded as Yeel.

“Then we might charge for that gate and try and destroy that ram. But the other gates will still fall. Perhaps if we could reach the castle—oh, there he is.”

Tuluk appeared above the heads of the barbarians seconds later. The creature rose taller. It snapped at a nearby man, ripping his head from his shoulders. Tuluk kept growing. Someone hurled a spear into its back, but the weapon looked increasingly insignificant as the monster gained half its normal size. Men were caught under its belly as it expanded to dominate the field. It moved fitfully, grinding its huge flippers against the soil, sending men flying.

“Let the attack begin,” Vot intoned. Somehow Jymoor heard it in her mind clearly as if Vot placed it there directly. It must have been the same for the rest of the Ascaran army, as they starting running forward as one, aiming to the right of the opening in the line created by Tuluk.

The barbarians were roiling about, contemplating what to do in the face of Tuluk’s sudden appearance, when they spotted the Ascaran charge and braced for it. Jymoor ran swiftly for someone in such heavy armor, able to keep up with the lighter Ascaran soldiers wielding their fenlar.

A man with an axe and a metal breastplate challenged Jymoor. He wore part of the skull of a bear or a lion over the top of his head. Its fangs descended over his brow, adding to his fearsome appearance.

But Jymoor had faced worse. She thrust for his throat as the axe descended on her shoulder. Both of them hit their target; Jymoor’s left shoulder felt a flash of pain but the man gurgled and died as Jymoor’s weapon sliced deep into his throat. She pulled the weapon out quickly.

Another barbarian advanced to take the dead man’s place. Jymoor felt another spike of pain in her shoulder as she pointed her sword at the new threat.

My collarbone is broken. But at least it’s not on my sword arm’s side.

A spear thrust for her eyes. She moved her head aside. Her own counterthrust skittered off the man’s breastplate. Then the barbarian stood next to her. They were too close for their weapons. His horned helm came smashing into Jymoor’s helm, sending stars dancing through her vision.

This may be it.

The man fell dead. Master Kasil removed her sword from the man’s armpit.

“Don’t make things any harder than they need to be,” Kasil lectured. The woman moved forward to skewer another barbarian as Jymoor gathered her wits.

She looked about through her visor slit. The Ascarans had broken through the line on the south side, giving Tuluk’s rage a wide berth. The line was thin here, as many of the barbarians had fled Tuluk’s vicinity. Now the Ascarans were cutting through the remaining warriors rapidly.

“Proceed around the fortress counterclockwise to avoid Tuluk,” Vot said. Jymoor heard her even though Vot was nowhere nearby. “Roll up their flank. Our line will be perpendicular to theirs, allowing us to concentrate our force against a few of them at a time. Many of them are scaling the wall. Knock them off their ladders and set fire to their siege equipment with the firepacks.”

Jymoor’s shoulder started to hurt worse. She looked ahead at the barbarians engaging the Ascarans.

Perhaps over by the wall. Maybe I’m still in good enough shape to finish off some of the men who’ve fallen from ladders…my armor should be distinct enough to keep me from being shot with an arrow from above.

Jymoor worked her way closer to Maristaple’s walls. The first barbarian she approached was just staggering up. Jymoor suspected he’d fallen from one of the damaged ladders nearby. His arm was blooded. Spotting Jymoor’s approach, he looked for a weapon.

Jymoor froze.

Do I engage a man without a weapon? Do I care more for honor or victory?

An arrow sliced into the man from above. His face stretched in shock, then he fell to the ground.

Jymoor stepped forward along the wall to find the next one. She saw him twenty paces ahead.

This man offered no moral dilemmas. He saw Jymoor approach and raised his buckler shield and spear to face her. Scales protected his shoulders and torso. Thick animal skins hung over his loins and thighs. Predictably, he moved forward and thrust his spear at her visor slit.

Jymoor swept her sword to knock the spear aside. Instead, her weapon cut through the spear, sending its head flying. The barbarian growled and thwacked Jymoor across the helm with the remainder. His buckler swung around and smashed into her wounded left shoulder. The pain came back with crippling intensity.

Her sword pointed off to her left, way out of line with her opponent’s heart. In a flash of inspiration she spun away from her enemy to her left, completing a full circle to bring her sword back around, pointing at him. The spear haft hit her as she turned but it wasn’t a good blow. Her sword thrust through the scales on his torso. She quickly pulled her blade back out even though it was agony to do so.

Jymoor staggered over her felled opponent. She held her left arm to her torso, trying to ignore the throbbing pain.

If there is victory today, it probably won’t be because of me.

Jymoor didn’t see any enemies nearby. She pulled her helm off to get a better look. The rest of the barbarians were running away. Ascarans were pursuing them around the perimeter of Maristaple. Though there were still many of them, they’d been broken.

Jymoor sat down with her back against the wall. She rested for minutes there until a squad of Rikenese cavalry trotted up from the direction of the main gate.

“Are you wounded?”

“Moderately,” Jymoor admitted. “Thank you for coming to check.”

“Gladly. We got word the Crescent Knight was hurt by the wall and King Aruscetar sent us out to find you.”

“How goes the battle?”

“Well. The knights came out to help the Ascarans. I think one gate was sundered and a bloody fight resulted, but that’s far away.”

“I’ll be fine. Go help elsewhere.”

“Sorry, but the king’s orders,” the man said. They helped Jymoor onto one of the horses.

“We’ve won,” Vot voice returned to her head. “Though not without cost. Many Ascarans have given their lives. Also, Tuluk lies among the dead. No doubt we owe our victory largely to him. His body lies on the field with a thousand wounds.”