Tales of Cobardon

Chapter XV

Merisa

Darkness shrouded them. The main gates of The Tower had been swung open and their meagre 300 cavalry had poured out, meant to block the entrance till her 1,000 foot soldiers formed lines to create an impenetrable structure similar to a phalanx. The foot soldiers were still forming, her whole plan depended on this crucial moment. Will it succeed? It had to!

The Tower had precisely 123 floors, and each floor was pocked with arrow slits and adorned with a balcony. A hundred archers awaited per floor, approximately. Each floor had four doors leading to the same circular balcony. It was an architectural masterpiece!

Others new not much about The Eye's ancestry. It began with the exile of Combrak and her wife from the Barren Lands. They left, conquered and built, like it always is. They built their first fortress, but it was no match to the might of The Tower, built through ages of wealth, sorcery and craftsmen, none of which her ancestors had. Thus, they built a tunnel, which would soon become forgotten and forbidden, which connected them to The Tower. Via this tunnel came riches and with riches came many craftsmen and wizards. They built a second fortress, eager to expend their newfound bounty but, alas it was still dwarfed by The Tower. Combrak's wife was dead and his own life was near its end. Frustrated, he cursed The Tower that it would remain undefeated - an immortal relic, a silent viewer - never to be destroyed or tainted. It was a curse indeed, for when it rains on the Barren Lands, it is The Tower's tears that fall and drench the wretched desert. It grieves, empty and feared, lone and undefeated. This was the start of her lineage, filled with sorrow of theirs and of their enemies.

A loud single horn burst, echoing throughout Barren Lands - The Eye had entered the arena. To her ears it marked the announcement of the news that the base structure was complete. This was her taste of surprise, shocking even her own allies. Hundreds of doors flung open and thousands of archers marched out, jewels embedded on the crown, which was black and menacing its granite and sound floors reciting memories, more grim that not. Wingbearer's flag rose on top of The Tower, hoisted in the unbreathable, thin air.

She signaled with her hand, one finger outstretched, the bows were readied. The second finger flung out, arrows were strung. She herself took an arrow and strung it on and let it go. With a delay of a breath, thousands of other arrows flew behind her - a rain of sharp metal points!

Her gaze turned to a patch of land which was not sheathed in red. On the east another block of archers blasted arrows relentlessly. She mechanically turned to face in that direction and raised one finger. Thousands of other feets shuffled above and beneath her. Second finger, she readied the shaft. A volley of arrows landed few hundreds of meters short of The Tower. We have the advantage of height, our arrows shall reach them, she mused to herself. A single arrow whizzed seamlessly towards her. It was racing straight towards her! Do the old charms still work? The arrow hit an invisible barrier and cracked open, few meters from her; this was why The Tower remained unconquerable. The arrow had flown from The Valley's lord's bow, only he had such skill.

She let her arrow fly, among the horde of other shafts. Dhakk! She heard the fall of bodies of many archers, miles away.

I will be amazed to see even one of my soldier go down, she bet in her own mind.

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Trevan

The blazing sun cast ferocious shadows, even to the timidest warrior. His horse shook and neighed in protest, warning him to leave now before it was too late. No clouds broke the glare of the sun, a watcher from beyond, as if the sun didn't want live streaming of the battle to break to break.

A shadow fell on him! There were no clouds and when he looked up he saw no clouds but a flock of eagles as large as his horse. Their glinting claws shone in his eyes. Somewhere in this army of the Skinchanger Brotherhood was Demzan, leading them on. They were the trump card that Rulerstead never knew they had. The eagles numbered nearly 500 and could be easily spotted as bizarre. This was not just due to their size but also due to the fact that the flock was flying too orderly to be wild. They seemed grand, majestic in truth - tiny brown specks against the blue, wide and unbroken canvas of the sky. He could feel the presence of many gods intently watching, Loshpel, Lady of Wind, definitely among them yet not meddling. This was how gods were supposed to be. What pleasure did they attain by disrupting mortal affairs?

He felt for his bag, which was a loop of cloth attached to the horse's side and pressed between the horse's side and the cloth's fabric were at least ten spears. He slid one out and bore it into the ground to observed the arena beneath; the air stilled and all noise faded into ignorance. It was as if the gods were holding their breath, as if it all depended on this moment! Would he run away? Would he fight?

He plucked out the spear, Rulerstead's flag was strapped just beneath its jutted head. A gentle breeze picked up, making the flag ripple and snap. This was his moment of utter internal peace and control before he too headed into the fray.

"For Arthur!" he yelled and with a kick to his horse, he rammed into the war.