Chapter 18

Jumai’s fingers tightened around the handle of his sword. His eyes narrowed and brightened. The fallen snow clothed him in a layer of white. He crouched, assuming his battle stance, and brought his blade diagonally across his body. The muted light flashed off his shining armor and polished blade. In front of him rushed the entire force of his own blood and flesh; instead of joining them, he now stood, ready to oppose them. He flexed his muscles and clenched his jaw. He gazed into the eyes of those charging him, sensing the confusion and fear they possessed. Each soldier of Csii mentally hesitated to attack their own captain, even if a banished one, for they knew the skill he possessed.

Jumai sprang forward like a cat and leaped straight into the Masok river. Unlike lord Boltor’s spinning and slashing style, Jumai moved at angles, dodging attacks down and to the side and countering with thrusts upward and opposite. With incredible speed he zigged and zagged forwards and backwards, remaining unscathed by enemy weapons. Augmenting his fighting style, he let his limbs flow with his momentum and punched, tripped, and kicked other soldiers. He sprang forward and thrust his sword deep into the chest armor of an attacking warrior, slid it out as he ducked a swipe to the side in a crouch, slicing the legs of another.

Continuing in his random pattern of jabs and slashes, Jumai left a trail of wounded and dying Masoks for the men behind him to finish. He dashed left and right, evading and attacking in subsequent turns. As he moved forward, towards the rubble that once stood as the proud gate of Harken, he fell into an unbreakable rhythm of slaughter. Any who opposed him quickly fell. Soon the men behind Jumai were jogging to keep up with him, plunging their weapons into the wounded and attacking the warriors to each side of the wedge Jumai had driven into the flood of Masok soldiers. Men rushed in behind Jumai, to keep him from being surrounded. Still Jumai advanced, slaying all in his path. He pushed forward, elegantly leaping and thrusting, hardly parrying or blocking attacks.

-¤-

Choking through smoke, dust, and cascading debris, Falcor emerged from the tower, which only partially stood, missing its entire left side. “Emain!” he roared. Dazed soldiers stumbled from the tower in pairs, and Falcor encouraged them across the courtyard to re-arm and join the main ranks. When he called Emain again, an answer came from the northern wall to his right.

“Falcor!” he shouted and raised a bloody blade. “I got one!” Just then, a volley of arrows soared over the wall, all but one missing Emain—that lone arrow stuck in the folds of his cloak beneath his triumphant sword. With wide eyes, Emain crouched and looked back to the tower. Falcor read his intent to descend to the courtyard and shook his head.

“It’ll collapse any minute!” he yelled. “Go around to the inner fortress; I’ll meet up with you there.” Emain seemed ready to comply, when his head turned back to the tower. “Hang on,” he relayed distractedly and raised his index finger. Falcor cringed and directed two wounded to the infirmary. “There’s someone in here!” Emain’s voice echoed from within the tower.

Against his better judgment, Falcor scrambled into the tower and up crumbling stairs. Where the tower wall was missing, he saw Talibor rallying to push back the new wave of invaders. Where the tower stairs were missing, he climbed up stone debris and hauled himself up to the second level. Emain squatted beside a pinned soldier: Nilor. Falcor forgot his regret and scurried to his fallen elder’s side. “My friend…I…”

Nilor lay beneath a part of the collapsed floor above, breathing shallowly and creating a small plume of dust at the tip of his nostril. He shook his head, straining his eyes upward, grey-powdered eyelashes flickering with his spirit. “I think…” he began, sputtering. “I think I found the rubble pile.” He smiled weakly. Falcor forced a choked laugh. Emain dropped to his knees and fingered a loose bit of stone. Words had no place in the silence entwining the three. There they rested, until Nilor’s eyes drifted into a further, more peaceful rest than he had known in life. Falcor bowed and closed the empty eyes; Emain clutched the hilt of his blade. Another concussion outside drew them from their prayers.

“We must join Talibor in the courtyard,” Emain ventured, eyes focused on the dead man. The kneeling man hesitated. “Falcor?”

“Come, Emain,” he said suddenly. “To the inner walls.” The two scrambled across the walls, now littered with rubble and lifeless bodies—coated with the white linen of snow.

-¤-

“What do you need, Valimor?” Talibor wondered. The tactician turned, eyes searching the snow-covered rock beneath his feet. “What is it?” he asked again. Valimor lifted his eyes to Talibor.

“It is lord Sachus; he has set himself up as Emperor of Ashton.”

Talibor’s eyes grew wide in disbelief at the answer Valimor gave. He stood, speechless in the descending snow. “How?” came his only reply. Valimor shrugged and knelt.

“My forces are loyal to you, Talibor, as are Boltor’s, I assume.” Valimor stated simply. Boltor quickly dropped to his knees. Talibor gazed at them both.

“Stand up—we have a battle to fight! We shall deal with Sachus later,” Talibor snapped. Valimor rose, but held Talibor’s gaze.

“I am afraid he has ordered our forces to pull out, immediately. If we do not, he shall claim us traitors and perhaps even attack us with his forces. In fact, I believe his army may be marching to the city at this vary moment.” Talibor’s face distorted in anger. He shut his eyes and swallowed slowly.

“Sachus knows we won’t pull out. But could his forces arrive before the invasion is stopped? That is the question,” said Talibor. His fingers tightened into clenched fists, as he pondered lord Sachus. His breaths came lightly and quickly. Boltor glanced out over the courtyard and the battle raging throughout it.

“Lord Talibor, look!” Boltor yelled. Talibor rushed to the edge and gazed downward. A great wedge of soldiers had broken through the waves of Masoks pouring through the breach. It had nearly cleaved the attacking lines in two. Talibor squinted. In the front, enemy soldiers seemed to collapse around a central point.

“It is Jumai,” Talibor noted. He looked back to Valimor. “He is a true warrior, but we must follow his example and do everything in our power to defeat this army before Sachus’ forces arrive.”

“I agree. Go, lead your men. I will send our reinforcements to the courtyard,” Valimor stated. “It will be a long night.”

Talibor turned and mounted his horse. Boltor jumped on behind him and they rode back down to the battlefront. Through the small gate at the base of the inner walls and down the streets, the stallion trotted. Past the archers busily firing into the invading crowd and the incoming reinforcements, they rode. At last, they reached the wedge pushing towards the gate and they wormed their way to the front lines. When they came within reach of enemy soldiers, Boltor bailed off the horse, landing smoothly in a crouched position. Talibor rode off to aid the southern edge and Boltor strode confidently towards the northern front.

His aim focused on the wall. He dodged a slash and impaled the attacker and spun into a graceful series of parries and strikes. Like a whirlwind he moved through the lines of enemy soldiers, ripping a path right through them. His men followed him as he drove forward, striking and blocking fluidly like a streaming brook. His blade flashed bluntly in the orange glow, each flash felling another Masok. The men behind him, inspired by his presence, gave a cry and pushed forward with Boltor. The men began to move quickly towards the wall. It loomed large in front of them, a shadow behind the curtain of snow. At last Boltor slew the last enemy between him and the stone wall. He turned towards the gate. Behind him, the cut-off circle of Masoks was quickly overrun and slaughtered. He pushed along the wall, his movements hastened without worry of enemies on all sides. He glanced across the sea of invaders and found Talibor’s silhouette moving down the wall opposite the gaping hole. He refocused on approaching the demolished gate, and leaped into battle. The archers had moved forward and fired concentrated volleys in the breach, but their arrows fell less and less often as they had to pull their arrows from fallen victims. Soon Boltor and Talibor met in the middle of the gate and pulled back to the open courtyard littered with the bodies of thousands of Masoks. Surprisingly few men had died so far in the Battle of Ara-Min. Archers re-formed on top of the wall and fired at the incoming enemies. Boltor sighed and rested on his sword. Talibor dismounted, but held his steed close.

“We may be able to hold this position until dawn,” Talibor said. Boltor nodded.

“If it wasn’t for Jumai…where is he?” Boltor wondered. Talibor glanced around the courtyard and towards the black hole that had been the gate.

“I don’t see him…do you think…” Talibor left the implications unstated. Boltor hung his head.

“He was a brilliant warrior. Absolutely terrific,” he praised.

“And loyal to the end…a faithful friend, even if a defector,” Talibor echoed. The two bowed and let the small moment of silence linger. Then they stood. “Boltor, I thought you were gone when the wall was breached. How did you survive? Tell me, quickly.”

“Well, my lord, I remember watching that blue bolt arc towards me. I thought I had no chance of survival, but I jumped anyway. I’m still not sure why I did, but I sure am glad that I did. As my feet left the rock, I was lifted up, as if I ascended to the heavens on wings. My flock was rocks from the wall. All around me, like wing-mates, they flew. At last I felt myself descending, falling back to the earth. I watched the stone of the courtyard approach me at an increasing speed. But then, something happened. I slowed and was gently set down on the stone floor, completely unharmed. I looked around and saw a white furry face above me. Balii leaned over the top of the Masckarl’s head and whispered something to me. I forget what it was. And then, he was gone. I rose and joined the battle.”

“That is amazing. Well, my friend,” Talibor finished, “see that the ‘gate’ holds. I must counsel with Valimor. Our tactics may have just changed.” Boltor nodded and raced back to the front lines, spinning and slashing through the enemy lines. Talibor remounted his stallion and rode back up to Valimor.