Threads of Vengeance

Part 1 Chapter 8

Outside Syral

Dark clouds gathered and swirled in the sky as a gust of wind blew. Maya looked up with a smile. She rode on a pure white horse. A mixed bred, bred for war. A battle axe with a spear handle was strapped to her back. It was a weapon, specially made for her.

“The weather favours us,” she commented.

“Indeed,” Proahn, the captain of her guards replied. He rode next to her along with a dozen of her bodyguards.

In the front were the infantry and at the sides elephants. Behind them, her cavalry followed. The army that had started out loud and boisterous had grown increasingly silent as they arrived closer. The mercenaries they had hired were scattered throughout the army, easily distinguishable by the mismatched armour they wore, compared to the strict uniform of the empire's army. Not for the first time, she caught Proahn staring at her axe.

“Still not used to it?” she asked.

“Bloody large. I still don't see how someone as skinny as you can use that damn thing,” he replied with a shake of his head.

She had let him try it out. He had lifted it over his head and swung it around, nearly beheading one of his own men. She smiled at the memory.

“You use technique, not power,” she told him. They had the same conversation several times throughout their journey.

The ancient walls of Syral, towered majestically over them. It was one of the oldest cities of the empire. Shouts and yells erupted from the left side of the army.

“Ambush!” one of her guards cried.

She nodded and headed in the direction of the battle. The enemies attacking were relatively few in number, with only a couple of hundred men. At the sight of her, one man blew a shell and all of them charged towards her. Their only goal was her, she realized. One man ahead of the rest made to her first. Her guards cut him down. She took a deep breath and pulled in power from her crystal. It glowed white as usual, from behind her eyepatch.

Maya put her hand on the man her guards had cut down, and concentrated. His blood froze into a large icicle, she flicked her wrist forward and it impaled itself into a nearby enemy. She closed her hand into a fist and the icicle shattered. With another flick of her hand, they flew towards the oncoming men. The battle did not last very long with the enemy vastly outnumbered. The few that had survived fled.

She looked at the fleeing riders and mournfully said, “We should have taken them prisoners.”

The army resumed its march towards the gates of Syral. As they approached the gates, she looked up to see defenders lining the walls. A shower of arrows fell upon her army. They lifted their shields above their head in unison. Very few died. The second round was flame arrows. As the arrows flew through the sky, something soft fell on her cheek. She looked up to see flakes of snow, descending upon the world.

“The gods are with us, Proahn,” said Maya.

He nodded. She lifted her hand and brought it down. Her men fired their own arrows towards the walls. She brought out a horn to her lips and blew thrice. Elephants charged towards the gates. The earth shuddered as dozens of elephants ran. The defenders brought out some liquid and poured it on the elephants. Either boiling water or oil.

Some lucky elephants only got a small splash, unlucky ones that got completely drenched reared in pain. The mahout sitting upon it, stabbed a spear into the back of it's head and as the elephant collapsed, he fell upon the spear himself. From early childhood, he would have grown up with his elephant and with it he would die. One more elephant took its place and continued bringing down the gate.

She lifted her hand and signalled her archers. Once more a rain of arrows flew through the sky towards the walls. She blew her horn twice and the infantry charged forward shooting ropes towards the walls and climbing. The defenders hack and sawed the ropes. Many fell, but were replaced swiftly.

An arrow whizzed past Maya's head from the side. About four hundred men had somehow crept in and were attacking the side of the army. She blew her horn. A single call, loud and clear, reverberated through the battlefield.

She charged towards the attackers, riding low. Her cavalry followed. Unsheathing her battle axe, she raised it over her head and swung it downwards at the closest man. It split his head in two. She followed through with her swing, and brought it around her for another kill.

Maya cut through her enemies relying not upon strength, but upon the momentum of her horse and gravity. The axe never stopped moving. When it swung over her head, she would apply slight force to change the direction and it would come down ferociously onto whatever unlucky sod stood before her. Not a single movement was wasted. She killed with efficiency, without any euphoria or bloodlust. It was simply her or her enemy.

When she and her cavalry were done, mounds of corpses littered the ground and warm blood dyed the fresh snow red. She dismounted from her horse and touched the ground. A mark of respect for the dead. For throwing their lives for their cause. As she knelt down an arrow flew where her head had just been. At once she took in a breath and a wall of ice rose from the snow.

More arrows came and embedded themselves in the wall. She closed her eyes and concentrated as hard as she could. Beads of sweat dripped down her forehead and then, countless icicles sprung up around her. She lifted both her hands and brought them down hard. All of them flew in the direction the arrows had come from. She smiled in satisfaction as there was a scream and a body fell down from a tree.

“You majesty!” Proahn rode up to her. “Please don't leave your guards and charge into a fight!”

She nodded with a small smile.

“Daarva's fecking breath!” he swore.

“Pardon?” She glared at him. Her eyes moved to the direction he was staring at. Her glare dropped along with her jaw. In the distance, the gates of Syral slowly creaked open.