Toby Neighbors: Crying Havoc

He forced himself to eat, even though he knew he would only vomit the food back up. Still, eating and drinking had always been the way he restored his magical powers in the past. The wine burned down his throat and set his stomach on fire. He waited as long as he could, but soon he felt himself growing sleepy. He knew if he fell asleep he could die or become too weak to work magic. He had to heal himself now, or he was lost.

He let his mind look into his stomach. The effort was excruciating, but he managed to see the problem. His stomach had torn loose from his small intestines. Blood and food were filling his body cavity. He would have to deal with the blood later. He focused on healing his organs. It took longer than he expected, but he was able to repair the damage. The pain eased considerably, and he passed out.

* * *

Zollin and Quinn had climbed up to the ramparts of the city wall, near the destroyed main gate. They had a clear view of the army that was regrouping along the vast plain that spread out in front of the city. Zollin remembered seeing the city for the first time from the high hills in the distance. There had been a sprawling village of makeshift homes and shops in the plain, but they had been destroyed in anticipation of the siege. Now it was a killing field that the troops would have to cross in order to attack the city.

Zollin looked back, just inside the city gate. Commander Hausey had soldiers lined up, ready to make a human wall across the expanse left vacant by the ruined gate. He also had men stationed on the mounds of rubble that Zollin had built up against the city walls. The King had arrived only moments before with his generals. They were inspecting the lines of defense with approval. Commander Hausey had done his work well.

Zollin turned back to the empty plain and began stirring up an immense cloud of dust. The dirt rose into the air, swirling and churning until it blocked Zollin’s view of the opposing army. Then he sent fear and panic through his magic toward the invaders. Soon he could feel their terror as the dust cloud approached.

“Now,” he told Quinn.

His father signaled to Commander Corlis, who had been waiting with the entire force of Orrock’s Heavy Horse. Whereas the cavalry in Felson were considered light horse, meaning their horses were smaller and built for long-distance riding, the Heavy Horse squad consisted of half a legion of fully armored riders. Their mounts were large warhorses, slower than the light cavalry but bred for war: they would kick and trample anyone who got in their way. The horses’ massive weight made them difficult to bring down in a melee, and when they were moving at a full gallop, nothing could stop their charge.

Quinn waved his arms, and Commander Corlis lowered his visor and raised his own arm. The cavalry filed out of the ruined gate and formed a long line between the city and the opposing army. The riders were completely hidden by Zollin’s dust cloud. Commander Corlis gave another command, and the horses started at a trot, quickly accelerated to a canter, and then reached a rumbling gallop. They covered the ground between the city wall and the opposing army in less than a minute. Zollin’s dust cloud had moved out in front of the cavalry, enveloping the opposing army, and he could sense that the invaders’ panic had devolved into chaos. The enemy soldiers were turning on one another.

“Havoc!” cried Commander Corlis to his troops, ordering them to fight as wildly as possible.

The horses smashed into the unprepared soldiers. Their officers had heard the thunder of hooves, but in the cloud of dirt they couldn’t control their own troops. The cavalry soldiers used long lances, dealing death en masse to the foot soldiers across the plain.

The thunder of hooves diminished as the horses slowed in the throng of soldiers, to be replaced by the cries of the wounded. Men screaming in agony was a sound that Zollin knew he would never forget. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, and his bowels felt watery. He was glad that he was high on the city wall, rather than trapped between the panicking soldiers and the massive horses. Once their lances snapped, the soldiers drew long swords. The heavy blades were finely honed and cut indiscriminately through armor, flesh, and bone.

Five hundred men faced well over four thousand, but the Heavy Horse soldiers were practically unstoppable, and Zollin’s dust storm terrified the invaders. More men were killed by their brothers in arms, either due to sheer panic or mistaken identity, than by the Yelsian cavalry.

* * *

“What is that?” King Zorlan asked his generals, who were gathered with him behind the massive army that was forming in ranks ranging along the plain before Orrock’s main gate.

The dust cloud was just beginning to form, and a sense of unease was settling over the army. They watched as the cloud thickened and moved toward them. Some men broke and ran, only to be cut down by others. Desertion was not tolerated in any army.

“I do not know, my King,” said the Falxis general. “But it is coming this way.”

“We need to fall back,” said King Zorlan.

“But, Sire, we were told to attack.”

“Send the army. Send them all forward. I don’t want that cloud to reach me.”

“All ranks move forward!” the general shouted, but the order was only half-heartedly repeated down the line. The rows and rows of soldiers didn’t move.

“I said, send them forward!” King Zorlan said in a high-pitched, frightened voice.

The general beside him grew angry. He turned and threw a punch at his King, who fell from his horse.

“You send them forward!” the general screamed at him.

Then the gathered generals heard the sounds of the army as it began to panic. The dust cloud had reached them, and the men were breaking and running. Some were using their weapons on their own countrymen. It was a total disaster.

When the cavalry broke through the cloud, the army offered no resistance. Even after the cloud dissipated and Zollin stopped casting his spell of dread and fear, the invaders were terrified. They ran screaming in all directions.

The noise woke Offendorl. His eunuch had just returned with the heavy golden crown. It had been in the wizard’s massive wagon that Zollin had destroyed. The soft metal had been dented and bent out of shape on one side by the blast, but it still fit on Offendorl’s head.

“What is happening?” the wizard asked.

The eunuch had no way to communicate what was happening, but Offendorl didn’t expect a reply. He sat up, and the pain in his stomach made him dizzy. He knew he needed more time to rest and heal himself, but from the sounds of things, he didn’t have any time left.

“Put it on my head,” he ordered.

The servant raised the helmet and settled it over the wizard’s wispy, gray hair. Offendorl felt a shock of power that once again wrenched his physical body, but he held himself together. The dragon was not as far away as Offendorl had feared. Obviously the beast wasn’t able to venture far from its master now.

“Come to me,” he ordered the beast.

He left the golden helmet on his head only long enough to make sure the dragon was obeying, then he ordered his servant to lift it off him.

“Get my horse ready. We can’t stay here,” he said.

The servant hurried out of the tent, and Offendorl sagged back onto the bed. Fear was taking root in the old wizard’s mind. He was losing this war, he recognized now. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to restore enough of his physical strength to match Zollin in direct combat again. He knew he certainly couldn’t anytime soon. He needed to get away from the boy. He needed to get back to where he was strong. Somehow he needed to get back to his tower in Osla, before Zollin could find him and kill him. Every second that passed now was agony. He was terrified that he would be discovered at any moment. The fear of death pressed in on his mind, and Offendorl fled.