WIDA

Chapter 9: The Battle Begins

At this juncture, Wida knew that this was the pivotal moment where her leadership and determination will be tested. She was going to faces off against the might of the Gadir tribe and with that, she must delve into the battle itself, recognize that alliances that may or may not arrive in time, and with the help of her brothers, the small Wida clan, she ought to be more cunning in strategizing in order to shape the best outcome. They have to make a stance.

The drums of the Gadir army echoed across the valley, a steady, ominous beat that rattled the bones of every villager standing behind the hastily constructed barricades. Wida felt the vibrations in the ground beneath her feet, but she stood tall, spear in hand, her eyes fixed on the approaching force.

Obis moved along the line of defenders, checking on their readiness. Most were simple farmers and hunters, untested in battle, but their faces were hardened with resolve. They had chosen to be here, to stand their ground and fight for their new home. That resolve would have to be enough.

"Remember the traps we've laid," Obis reminded them. "We can thin their numbers before they get close."

Wida's eyes flickered to the front of the Gadir army, where the chieftain sat astride his horse, his gleaming armor reflecting the overcast sky. He was a broad-shouldered man, his face partially obscured by a golden helmet. He raised his hand, and the drums fell silent.

The air hung heavy with anticipation.

Wida took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment press down on her. Her village, her people—everything rested on what happened in the next few hours.

"Chieftain Wida!" The Gadir leader's voice boomed across the field. "You stand on land that belongs to my tribe. Surrender now, and I may show mercy to your people."

Wida stepped forward, raising her voice so it carried. "This land belongs to no one but those who live and work on it. We will not surrender what we have built."

The chieftain's expression darkened. He raised his arm, and the Gadir warriors surged forward, their weapons gleaming in the pale light.

"Archers!" Obis shouted.

At his command, the villagers hidden in the tree line released a volley of arrows. The first wave of Gadir warriors stumbled, several falling as arrows found their mark. But the rest pressed on, their shields raised.

Wida's heart pounded as the Gadir forces closed in. They were well-trained and heavily armed, but the village had the advantage of terrain. The narrow valley forced the enemy to funnel into a choke point, where the defenders had laid traps—pits filled with sharpened stakes, ropes to trip horses, and hidden snares.

The first rank of Gadir warriors reached the traps, and chaos erupted. Horses stumbled, throwing their riders; soldiers fell into the pits, their screams cut short. But the Gadir army was vast, and more warriors pushed forward, filling the gaps.

Obis led the charge, his sword flashing as he met the Gadir head-on. Wida followed close behind, her spear thrusting forward, parrying and striking in quick succession. The clash of metal on metal rang out, and the air was filled with the shouts of men and the cries of the wounded.

The villagers fought with a ferocity born of desperation. They had no formal training, but they knew their land, and they used every advantage they could. Farmers swung crude weapons with surprising strength, and hunters moved through the trees like ghosts, picking off Gadir soldiers with deadly precision.

Wida fought her way through the fray, her movements fluid and precise. She had been trained in the royal palace, and though her skills had been sharpened for ceremonial purposes, they now served her well in the chaos of battle. Her spear found its mark again and again, cutting down Gadir warriors who underestimated her.