Tense apprehension became the order of each and every day. No more skirmishes or social time between men and women. The squads of the volunteer army got shuffled around and sorted out among the more noble soldiers and officers. Much to Kyle's chagrin, his squad and a few others were lumped together in one battalion. Their leader?
"It is imperative that all of you need to pay attention to exactly what I'm telling you. This isn't a free exchange of ideas. I'm giving orders and you're carrying them out." No Scratch walked up and down to view the soldiers at attention.
The men all swallowed what they would have liked to say. Kyle thought if he learned anything while being a volunteer soldier, it was being able to take a faceful of verbal abuse and his only response being "Yes sir!" or "No sir!" This leader could bark all he wanted but he and the other men of the battalion would be doing the real work. All he had to do was make sure to keep the guys around him in one piece.
More importantly, to Kyle, he had to make sure Mischa made it back to his family. He'd never made friends with other men very easily, if at all. Either he kept comparing them to the ugly Men he'd seen as a child or they were rivals in gaining the attention of a woman. Mischa was different. He was a true friend who he worried about and in turn, Mischa worried about him. They would watch each other's backs in this war or he'd die trying.
Officers didn't bother informing their troops of the way the war was actually going. But with the way the existing forces cheered at the fresh troops, it didn't take a lot of intelligence to figure out things were going badly. Armes had gained a foothold in Sable and they were determined not to let go of their chunk of Falena. Rumors abounded of massive troop movements, of Armes cutting ahead toward the sea and trying to claim Estrise.
Equally strong were rumors of the new royal couple, Arshtat and Ferid, working like no other couple before in trying to fight the invasion. They were using a new strategist from some country far across the sea to the north. Her plans were starting to work. Ferid was heralded as being one of the best commanders to take the post in decades. Instead of just watching things happen and directing, he took to the field, the Queen's Knights right beside him. The soldiers at the campfires would repeat stories and exaggerations they heard about the royal couple.
All these tales meant nothing to Kyle. One royal person or another, they were all the same. At least they were trying to stand up for their country instead of busy killing each other with games of intrigue. But that's what anyone would do if someone was invading their house. You didn't open up the gates and invite them in for tea. You fought back even if all you had in the house was a broom you'd made yourself.
So in his mind, the royals were only doing what they were supposed to do in the first place. There wasn't any need to get excited about a man or a woman doing their regular job. He didn't even know what the royal couple looked like and judging by the stories he heard, neither did anyone else. The men and women of the army were so removed from that life that Sol-Falena and its citizens might as well be abstract concepts. You knew they were there but it's not as though you'd ever meet face to face.
Whether the royal couple were doing real good on the battlefront remained to be seen. Skirmishes between groups of Falenan and Armes soldiers happened daily. The members of the battalion were split into working groups or worked as one depending on the orders that came to No Scratch. They were outfitted with swords and light armor, with a few people given runes based on their aptitude. Sometimes they stood as one unit, working with other battalions to repair roads for supplies. Another time they would pick out Armes scouts in the distance and either report what they were doing or wipe them out.
Kyle's first battle in the war happened fast as his group fell over some Armes scouts by stupid luck. There was a stunned silence as though either side weren't sure what to do. Once an Armes man let out a war cry, it startled the Falenan men to action. Kyle, newly outfitted with a Water Rune, chanted a Breath of Ice spell that slowed down the group of scouts. They didn't stand a chance under Falenan swords.
While the other men of the battalion celebrated this victory over the enemy, No Scratch berated them. "Why didn't any of you think to capture one scout? They might have had valuable information!" He beat his fingers in a steady drumming against that shiny armor.
"With all respect, sir, it happened too fast!" Garren stood painfully at attention. Being the one in charge of the group, most of the incrimination were being thrown at him. "We had just a few seconds to draw our weapons and get them before they got us!"
"And how exactly did you just stumble on a group of scouts and neither one of you realized the other was around?"
"Might be the windy trails in the rocky parts hid us from each other, sir!"
"Might, maybe, I think, THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH!"
Kyle bit back a gasp at how loud No Scratch screamed in Garren's face. Garren kept his posture, but didn't look in their leader's face. The battalion held its breath, not knowing what would happen.
"In the future, Garren, if you want to keep leading, you will follow my instructions. First, if you are in, as you say the 'windy trails in the rocky parts', you will be sure to have someone ahead of the group to scout the way. Second, if you come upon any scouts, you will stop and assess their numbers. Then and only then will you attack and you must capture at least one of them! Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir. It is, sir."
"Good." No Scratch stalked around the soldiers. "Maybe you think I'm being extremely harsh, but there's a reason for it. There are forces coming into Sable and there will be pitched battles fought. We need every little scrap of information we have. Even if all we get from a captured scout is what they know about the number of horses, it gives the entire army a way to prepare.
"It's good to kill Armes soldiers but not every scout has the same information. If we can capture enough of them, we'll get more insight into our enemy. That, gentlemen, is why you need to think before you react, even if you're surprised." No Scratch looked up at the sun for a moment. "For now, everyone is dismissed, but rest well. Tomorrow there will be more missions."
The soldiers walked back to their respective tents. Only when they'd put some distance between themselves and their leader did the insults start to fly. "Prick!" "Sun smoke his ass!" "Feitas freeze his balls!"
"Knock it off!" Garren smacked the back of one man's head. "Doesn't matter what you think, it's all in what we have to do. We gotta follow orders."
"But what if those orders suck balls?" Kyle retorted
"HEY! What did I tell you about proper address, Blond Bastard?"
"Sorry. What if those orders suck balls, SIR." Men started chuckling. The tension in the air lowered a few notches.
"What if they actually don't? What if he had a good idea but it got jarbled up in the telling?"
"What? Try me, old man."
Garren gathered the men around and started drawing a little map in the dirt with a stick. "We got surprised and we reacted. That's not hard to figure out. But we should have done is this. Kyle, next time we find a group of scouts, use your Breath of Ice. Then when they're reeling from that, the rest of us can capture them. 'Cause I've been doing some thinking."
He pointed the stick at a few Xes. "Let's say each of these are scouts and each of them knew something. Like the noble was saying, say this guy knows about horses. This guy knows about where he's been and what they're looking at. This other guy knows where the food is going. If we captured maybe one guy, we'd get some idea there'd be Armes guys rolling in somewhere. Maybe another guy we'd know they've got a big supply chain. You get the idea.
"Each guy would tell us a little something. Like a small chapter in a book. But what if we had all the guys and the whole story. The whole story would say Armes is swinging everybody north and cutting for the river and slipping past our lines."
Kyle chewed on his thumb. When Garren spelled it all out, it made a lot of sense. It really wasn't that different than what No Scratch was trying to say. Damn nobles always thinking themselves better. If he'd just explain it, it wouldn't be so bad.
Garren provided a decent buffer between the soldiers and their volatile leader. Kyle soaked in the lessons and tried to listen and interpret the way the others were beginning to do. It certainly helped when trying to explain things to Mischa.
Poor Mischa never enjoyed being screamed at when he couldn't follow instructions to the letter. However, he never demanded special treatment as one noble to another. That won him praise from the other men of the battalion. They tried to help the young noble out whenever he couldn't quite pass muster. They respected the fact he was under Kyle's protection, so to speak and they'd run to find Kyle if they couldn't solve whatever problem was going on.
It's what several soldiers did the first day Mischa killed someone in a minor skirmish. Kyle's heart thumped hard in his chest. Please don't tell me he cracked. Feitas and Sun, please don't tell me he cracked. "Okay, guys, leave this to me. Can I have some privacy? Or as much as you can give?" The battalion members nodded and offered to run interference in case No Scratch needed some bodies for another mission. Kyle took a deep breath and entered the tent.
Mischa lay in his bedroll, looking up at the patches in the tent ceiling. He hadn't escaped his fight unscathed. A thick bandage covered his left hand.
"Mischa? Hey, heard you had some combat today." Kyle sat down cross legged on the ground, right beside the bedroll. "Heard you did all right."
"Yeah, not too bad. Just I finally had to do what I was afraid to do. He was coming after Bartlet and those Raftfleet guys and I had to protect them so I...I cut him down from behind." The noble sighed deeply, as though it felt better after admitting his crime.
"You saved the guys. That's good." Kyle squeezed Mischa's uninjured hand. Mischa sounded as though he weren't cracking. Maybe it was just shock. Just him trying to process what happened.
"It's terrible, Kyle. I just feel sick thinking about it."
"Mischa, if you didn't do anything, those guys would-"
"No. No, not about that." The noble sat up and stared at Kyle. His eyes were wide, haunted with new burdens. "You were right. It's not hard to do at all. It's -easy-. So -easy-. It's a terrible, terrible thing to realize. But I know if I didn't do it, they'd do something terrible, too. It's just a cycle of evil. That's not the worst part."
"What is?"
Mischa's voice broke. "I have to go out tomorrow and be expected to do the same thing again. And this time I'll know what kind of evil I'll be doing."
The tone of his voice broke Kyle's heart. He wanted nothing more in that moment to pull Mischa away from that pain. All he could do was pull the noble in his arms.
The action became a catalyst for Mischa to wail out his sorrow. He wept to the gods, to the Sun to forgive him his actions and the Feitas to wash him clean. Even Kyle found himself crying, wanting to steal away that pain and carry it on his sturdy shoulders. Time lost its meaning as both of them sobbed the insanity out of their systems.
When they'd both calmed down, they found themselves curled around each other in the bedroll. "Kyle? Don't go. Stay right here."
"Mmm." It was all the response he could give. They were bone tired with grief and all they could do was keep each other warm.
"This is good. Just this." Mischa rested his forehead against Kyle's collarbone.
"You know...this would be better if you were a woman."
"What?"
"Well, I mean they're softer and more attractive looking for one."
"You know, if I squint my eyes a little bit, you could look a bit like a woman. I mean, you have the hair for it."
They both snickered. "My hair's better," said Kyle. "But...this is good. I like this. Everything bad kind of goes away for a while."
"How are we going to explain this without people assuming...well..."
"Fuck 'em. It's a fucking war going on. If holding each other makes us less crazy about Armes tearing up our country and what we have to do to get them to go away, then we'll do what we want."
"Hmmmm. It's probably better than getting drunk. At least we'll be sober for morning roll call."
"Damn straight we will."
"I know one thing I'll be doing after the war. I will be fighting tooth and nail to make sure there will be no more killing. I want to make a place of peace. And one more thing."
"What's that?"
"I want you there with me. Kyle, if you don't have any place to go after the fighting is over, come with me back to my home. I think you'll really like it there."
Kyle had no idea what kind of look he must have had on his face. His brain froze at the casual offer thrown out by the noble. Misinterpreting the look, Mischa continued, "You don't have to be worried about your background or anything like that, Kyle. It wouldn't be important anymore. You would adopt my family name and that would be that."
A home. A real home. Even though he was treated well by Volga and the other orphans, it was never really a home. It was just a place to live. The same with the manor. That was just a place to live and work and screw pretty women. He hadn't had a real place to live since the dirty alleys of Lelcar. Could he really find that place with Mischa?
"Kyle? You're just kind of staring into the distance. Are you all right?"
"Yeah! Yeah, just, wow, Mischa, I'm really surprised. Are you sure you want to give something like this to me?"
Mischa sat up and gripped his shoulders. "Why wouldn't I? You are worth it to me."
There were always stories among the older soldiers of chance meetings turning into lifelong relationships. Just as war and death reigned over the battlefront, so to did life and love. Finally, Kyle realized how true it really was. All he had to do now was live through this war and he and Mischa could live the rest of their lives on the sleepy family lands in their boring lives. It would be great.
The heavy fighting began days ago. No longer did each side content itself to pick off each other's scouts. Pitched battles between hundreds and later thousands of soldiers echoed through Sable's dusty valleys and rocky slopes. Men and women watched and waited, torn between wanting to prove their worth to their country and breathing a sigh of relief when their battalion stayed behind.
The bloodiest of battles stretched out for miles. It was not a complete line of Falenans versus a complete line of Armesmen. Rather, there were concentrated groups in the main fighting and countless snarling, vicious attacks up and down the valleys. Kyle's battalion had acquitted itself well in the heavy fighting, but found itself on the sidelines for what would later be called the Battle of Sun Scorcher Valley.
They were being held in reserve, waiting for the chance to bloody a few Armes troops. The main fighting was taking place three miles away in the center of the valley. The battalion waited near the southern end of the valley with other troops. Though this part of the land had been taken over by Armes, they stood as a buffer to make sure Armes troops couldn't run around to attack the backs of the Falenan soldiers. Towering cliffs flanked the narrow trail. Next to the westernmost cliff face rose a hill where Armes posted some kind of camp. What exactly it held couldn't be seen from a distance, but it seemed to act as a guard tower, offering protection for fresh Armes troops from the south trickling through the narrow opening.
All the previous day and night, the battalion waited and maintained their distance. To Kyle it felt like the childhood game of stare down, trying to force your opponent to blink first. Garren kept everyone fit and battle ready with drills and tried his best to cool hotter heads intent on doing damage.
Soldiers breathed a sigh of relief as a messenger trotted to the camp. His colors proclaimed him a regular army man and a subordinate of Lucretia Merces herself. "It is under orders that all the battalions of this area are to withdraw along designated paths. You are to draw the enemy toward you and then they will be hit by ambushed attacks hidden in the hills. This enterprise will be taken up very soon." The messenger bowed, handed the written orders over to No Scratch and sped off on his horse.
"So, we'll bait them and trick them. A good plan," Mischa murmured.
"Yeah, it is." If you couldn't stare down your enemy, faking them out worked just as well. Armes might not follow them, but then again, they were the invaders, wanting to grab every bit of Falena they could. So of course they'd follow and get slaughtered. Then some other groups would regain control of the valley and cut off the Armes route.
No Scratch made a good show of contemplating the sealed message. He shook his head and proceeded to rip the message into little pieces. Men exchanged looks with each other. Muttering began and picked up volume. "All right, that's enough out of all of you. It sounds like a pretty plan but it's asking a lot of us as men, isn't it? Showing our backs to the Armes soldiers! That Grasslands woman obviously doesn't think very highly of us if she thinks we'll just blindly follow along her plan that will get all us all shot and killed."
Oh shit. This was what Battleaxe was talking about. Men taking things into their own hands. What was he supposed to do in this case? Follow along? Raise an objection? He looked at Mischa worriedly. The noble squeezed his hand back. Whatever happened now, he had to look after his friend.
"Well, if we aren't going to follow the orders, what are we going to do, sir?" Garren asked. Everyone looked at the commanding officer.
"There isn't that much distance between us and the mouth of the valley. Maybe a quarter of a mile? There aren't that many men lingering either. We are going to charge them and hold the valley. Look at how narrow the trail is! A few men can easily hold it, guard it and build something to block the way."
Something in Kyle's gut said it couldn't be done. While the men around him were starting to reconsider the plan, Kyle tried to think the plan ahead. In order to hold the trail, they would need sizable supplies and heavy timbers to create a sturdy door. Where were they supposed to get these from in this Sun bleeding valley with little shelter? And even if they could hold the trail with only a few men, the narrow gap lessened the amount of men it would take to reclaim the trail. All Armes would have do would equip every man in their line with a bow and arrow and start taking shots at Falenan soldiers.
This just wouldn't work. Why couldn't their commanding officer see that? Because he's too busy thinking of his own record and how Sun bleeding frustrated he's been he can't make a name for himself. Damn nobles...except for Mischa.
Kyle patted his armor. Inside a pocket deep inside he kept a letter from Mischa. Mischa kept a similar letter on his armor from Kyle. The idea was if one of them were killed, the other could hang onto their last thoughts and deliver them to their loved ones. Kyle already had sent Battleaxe a previous letter before the heavy fighting, wishing her luck and long life if they never met again. His letter Mischa carried was for Mischa alone, letting him know how much his offer of a family had meant to him. Odd, he thought, he'd never bothered to write a letter of love to any woman he'd fancied but to the man who would be his brother someday, the words poured themselves out.
"We'll stick together, Kyle. No matter what," Mischa said, readying his sword.
"We'll be ready."
No Scratch, riding on his horse, gave the call to march for a few minutes and then once they were closer to the rise near the cliffs, to charge and kill any Armes soldier they saw. Even if the men had any objections to this plan, they were swallowed up by the fever of the fight to come. Finally they would have their chance to defend their country.
"Steady all of you. They see us coming and will hold their ground. We'll cut them down!"
A wild ear-splitting cry filled the air. Armes soldiers leaped from the ground. Covered in grass and dust, they emerged from countless hiding places. Kyle's mind immediately flashed back to the messenger's words. What if Armes just did what they were supposed to do by baiting and trapping them? Archers winged their shots into the air, making No Scratch duck low on his horse. There were few other archers and Armes on horseback. Even if it was impossible to tell how matched or unmatched they were, a good charge should break them up.
Instead, harassed by the enemy, No Scratch wheeled his horse around and ran from the field of battle, chased by the other horsemen. Fear turned Kyle's guts to ice. Before the fear could spread, Garren's voice rang out clearly. "Don't watch that coward! You are going to fucking charge and put the fear of Feitas and Sun into these bastards! CHARGE!"
No finesse. No strategy to Falena's attack on Armes. Just kill or be killed and hope to the Feitas and the Sun you managed to live. Kyle's military issue katana hacked away at man after man. Even in the press and confusion, he always tried to keep Mischa somewhere within his vision. He heard Garren's howling and the cries and curses of battalion soldiers. One of their few spearmen ran a suicide course, skewering archers before being hacked to pieces.
Confusion settled into dozens of separate fights. Mischa and Kyle gasped for breath and stood side by side. A group of ten Armes men cut them off from the main Falenan force. "Mischa," Kyle panted. "Mischa, how do you want to do this? Charge 'em?"
"They'll take us both. We split up."
"What?"
"Split up. Don't engage, just run around them. They'll split their forces. Run to the nearest Falenans you see."
Kyle nodded and wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes. "Got it." He tapped his forearm against Mischa's and grinned. "Fucking Armes! Thinking they got us."
"Stupid fucking Armes you mean."
They ran away from each other at the same time, cutting around the group. Kyle found a wellspring of energy somewhere and only heard the wind whistling in his ears. As soon as he found a good place of defense, he whipped around, katana at the ready. But there was no one to fight. All ten Armes men had run after Mischa and cut him down.
Kyle changed direction and sprinted back to the fight, crying out for the fallen noble. The Armes men laughed and joined their other forces. "MISCHA!"
Blood ran from multiple wounds in Mischa's armor. He whimpered in pain. "K-Kyle."
"Hang on, I'll get you some help." Kyle frantically tried to stop the bleeding, hands shaking. "I've got you, Mischa, I've got you."
"K-Kyle." Mischa reached up and grabbed Kyle by the collar, forcing him to stop and look him in the eyes. "You c-can't. Too late. Go. Go fight. Go help."
"Mischa..."
"You always...always protect me." The noble smiled. "This time...I protect you. Go fight."
Words dried up in Kyle's throat. He squeezed the noble to him, not wanting to let go.
"Love you, little brother. Go."
Because he was pressed so close to the noble, Kyle swore he felt the soul leaving the body. Disbelief clouded his mind. He lay the noble's body tenderly back on the grass. It was just like...just like...
Blood on the walls, the bed, the floor. Agony in her eyes. "Run baby, just run!"
"Oh how precious. Look at the little sunfluff mewling for the dead."
"Don't know what you're crying about. You're about to join him."
It's a dark alley. A huge man with a sword is going to kill him. He doesn't want to die, wants to live LIVE!
Kyle leaned down and kissed Mischa's forehead. He sat up, his features slack. Unconsciously his hand reached for his katana.
"Look at him. It's like he's dead already!"
"Hey, hey sunfluff, we're talking to you! Can you hear us? Can you look at us?" Any other taunts the man had died, stillborn in his throat. Kyle's eyes were as blue as they could be, the pupils contracted to mere pinpricks. Because he'd been so busy staring at Kyle's eyes, he never saw the sword that sliced his head from his shoulders.
The other nine men backed off. Even though they clearly outnumbered the Falenan soldier, something in the man's eyes froze them in their tracks. So they watched him casually wipe his blade on Armes armor. He kicked the beheaded body away from his fallen companion. Then he smiled. A beautiful, terrible smile. The Falenan raised his sword at eye level, grinning. That wasn't a stance to protect himself at all. It was a perfect height to go for heads.
Other Armes soldiers grew distracted from the cries of fear. They looked over and saw a Falenan soldier beheading Armes men with every slice of his sword. When he killed the men in front of him, he began to run toward other Armes men and slice them down. There was no reaction in the man's eyes, just a wide blue stare and a grin.
Armes men had outnumbered the Falenan forces and had savaged their ranks. This man gave them pause. "Rip tide!" someone screamed. Other men took up the cry, even as the blond fiend slashed his way into the thick of the Armes fighting.
Anyone living along the banks of the Feitas, its many tributaries or near the ocean itself knew to be respectful of the water. Just as the water could provide a home and a source of life for many, it also hid dangers. Tides circulated in and out, bring in water, taking in water. High waves pounded the land and capsized boats. Those were dangers anyone could see. The most deadly of all were rip tides.
You couldn't see a rip tide even on the clearest day of the year. They were invisible to any eye until they grabbed a hold of you. They were the deadly currents that pulled the unwary away from shore. You could try to swim back to shore, but the force of the tide invariably tired out the swimmer and drowned him. The only way to escape from a rip tide was to swim parallel to shore until you felt the current leave you. Then if you weren't too far out in the water, you could swim for safety.
In Armes culture, water was associated with their hated enemies, the Falenans. Water rats, fish fuckers, river spawn, the insults and terms heaped upon them went on and on. There was one special term that they applied to the most deadly of fighters. In their own culture, a man crazed by the taste of battle, one who howled for blood and was a chaotic force of nature unto himself was labeled a "beserker."
There were men worse than that. A man who had been taken by a deep fury but didn't call out battle cries and who just walked into the field, killing all he saw was a "rip tide". The reason? Trying to fight against a man who had no regard for personal safety was useless. All a rip tide did was kill anything in his path without remorse. The only way to survive a man like that was to get the hell out of his way and leave him alone.
Anywhere Armes colors flashed before his eyes, Kyle cut them down, wiped his blade on his enemy and proceed to repeat the process. Without conscious thought, he hacked his way across the Armes line. Cries of "rip tide!" reached his ears and it made him smile. Yeah. That's what I am.
The remaining Falenan forces, watching Kyle carve his way into the line, rallied behind him. They formed a wedge of soldiers, ripping and tearing into the Armes front. Soldiers from Armes began to retreat, running for the valley mouth.
Kyle threshed through Armes men like a farmer scything a field of wheat. He barely registered the remains of the battalion following him. Nor did he realize he was fighting up the trail to the rise. Only when he'd reached the top did he have a moment to draw breath.
The members of the camp had been watching the horrifying spectacle in the valley floor below. They couldn't run anywhere except climb a spindly rope ladder to the height of the cliff or throw themselves from the rise. Men and women huddled together, afraid they would have their lives ended by the blond rip tide devouring their comrades.
Faced with no one raising a weapon, the terrible rage in Kyle's faltered. Fractured thoughts surfaced through the relentless tide of anger.
Women huddled together no sir don't hurt me orphans with Volga hiding away from the bad men hurting them no show kindness no fight here mother oh Sun MISCHA no hurting the weak will be a better man don't hurt them stay your blade show...show...
"Mercy!" wailed the women and men. "Mercy!"
Kyle crashed his blade against someone from his own battalion. "Don't!" he screamed. "Don't you DARE!"
The remaining soldiers scaled the heights of the rise and arrayed themselves in a semi circle around the camp members. The man who had tried to clash with Kyle lowered his sword. "They're Armes troops."
"We're better than Armes! They asked for mercy and we will give it to them. Everybody lower your damn swords!" Only after the words left his lips did Kyle realize he'd shouted orders as though he'd been in charge. Surprisingly, all the men complied. They stood around, panting for breath, looking at him.
Kyle looked back at all of the men. He then turned to Garren. "I...I'm sorry, you're the one who should-"
The older man shook his head as though amazed he was being consulted. "No, boy. You're the one who led us through hell. We followed your lead. You keep leading. You tell us what to do."
"That's right!" "Go with Kyle!" "You lead, Blond Bastard!"
Faced with the unanimous support of the men, Kyle bowed his head and accepted the responsibility. What should he do first? "Uh, some of you go into the tents and see if there's anything that can aid anyone who's injured. You and you, herd the Armesmen together. Treat them with courtesy. Everyone else do what you can to hold our position."
Men scrambled to follow Kyle's orders as though he'd been leader all along and not all of five minutes. Kyle looked down at his armor; blood splattered it from neck to toes. None of it was his. He became conscious of his hair feeling stiff; he didn't want to guess what was streaked there. No wonder these people cried for mercy. "Garren, can you come here?"
"Sure, boy. What do you need?"
"What...what do I do now?" Kyle lifted his arms up.
"Well, you've got a good start. Armesmen are gonna eventually come back through the trail so we'll need to decide if he stay here and fight or take everything we can and run for the main force."
Kyle wiped his blade clean on the side of a tent before sliding it into his sheath. They couldn't hope to hold back the Armes army, so running seemed like a good idea. Then he noticed the rope ladder scaling up the side of the cliff. His mind started to chew on an idea.
He walked to the group of Armesmen and crouched down. "I won't hurt you. We'll make sure you are taken care of the best we can. I just want to ask some questions."
"We will tell you anything you want, just don't hurt us, Rip Tide!" spoke up a woman. She appeared to be the de facto leader.
"What do you have in this camp?"
"Food, medicine, maps, a few weapons, some horses. We just have supplies to outfit our troops."
"All right. How many more are there waiting to enter the valley?"
"I...I can't betray my country, sir!"
Kyle took a deep breath. "All right. Let me ask a different question. Very reasonable. Is there anybody else coming?"
The woman bit her lip and nodded.
"Okay. That's fine. Last question. What's the ladder for?"
"It's to reach the top of the cliffs. Sometimes we have sentries there." Someone else from the party piped up before the woman could respond. She whipped her head around, glaring with venom.
"All right. Thanks. If any of you are hungry or thirsty, now's the time to speak up." Kyle let the other soldiers take requests from the prisoners. Now that everyone had a chance to rest, the tension in the camp lessened.
"Garren, find everybody in the battalion who has a Water Rune and anyone who has a pike or glaive."
"All right boy. What do you need 'em for?"
"I have an idea. I just need to see if I can make it work."
Half an hour later, soldiers milled around at the top of cliff. There wasn't much up to see except for more rope ladders (which Kyle had lowered), signaling mirrors and the cracked and bone dry rocks under their feet. The trail curved back and forth in the cliffs, making it hard to see a good distance ahead. But they could see a dust cloud forming and getting larger.
"What's the plan, Blond Bastard? You want us to throw spells at the Armesmen?"
"Yeah, shouldn't we get archers or somethin?"
Kyle knelt down and touched the cracked ground. It looked as though the cliff had seen untold years of rain and wind to dig deep into the rock. This might work. "No, we don't have enough people to do that. Anybody with a pike or a glaive, I want you to jam that weapon in those big cracks. The ones real close to the edge."
"Why?"
"Just to do it! Make those cracks real wide."
While the pikemen complied with a lot of colorful commentary, Kyle turned to everybody with a Water Rune. "When these guys are done digging, I want you to use Breath of Ice."
"Use it on what?"
"Pour it into the holes. Use every damn spell you got. We'll layer them over each other. It'll make more sense once we get rolling." The men looked at him as though he'd lost his mind, but no one outright disagreed with him.
Ever since No Scratch decided he would barricade the trail, the obvious problem came up: how do you block a trail with natural defenses if you don't have the supplies to do so? If there's no trees to be had and no seige weapons of any kind, can you block the trail? Kyle's mind, chewing on the problem, spat out an answer: yes.
As part of the regular training, men were tested in their aptitude for Runes. Kyle tested excellently for Water, so he'd been gifted with one by the army Runemaster. Any man or woman testing high in any rune gained additional training. If it was a physical rune or something more to aid status, they were grouped together to learn how best to use their runes in a group setting.
Those with skill in the elements sat down in groups to learn more about that particular element. Everyone knew what water could do. Water Runes healed, used ice spells and could silence all magic users in a group. Ice froze enemies so you had a chance to dispatch them before they could escape. One unique feature of ice always had stuck in the back of Kyle's mind.
Unlike nearly every other element in the cold, instead of contracting, water turned to ice and ice always expanded. In northern countries where winter was a yearly occurrence, continual spells of snow and ice would seep through the paved highways for caravans and travelers and crack the very stone.
They didn't have the howling winds and snow of winter to help them, but they did have spells of ice. Kyle's plan was simple. With enough spells to sink into the earth, they could crack off some boulders and plug up the trail. He didn't know how long his makeshift barricade would last, but it would buy them time. If they stopped up the trail and ran for the main forces and told them what happened, by the time Armes broke free, they'd meet up with thousands of angry Falenans.
That was the plan anyway. The dust cloud in the distance looked as though it were getting closer. "C'mon, guys, keep chanting!"
The first rock broke free and bounced down to the trail below. The rock was only a small thing, not even as big as a man's head. The spellcasters saw the result of their work and their eyes lit up with understanding. "Kyle, you're not just a Blond Bastard. You're an EVIL Blond Bastard!" roared one of the men.
"It'll only work if there's enough cracks in the rock. Keep digging and casting. Owen, where's the army at in the trail?"
"Coming up fast. Someone's gonna start showing up here in fifteen minutes or less."
"Shit." Kyle wiped the sweat above his lips. "Call down to the camp. Have Garren get everyone ready to hide in the tents if this doesn't work." If they couldn't block the passage, they at least could steal everything they could, including their hostages. Hopefully someone might make sense of all the information and treat the prisoners with respect.
Another sliver of rock broke off and tumbled to the trail. It still wasn't enough. Kyle grabbed a pike. He found a likely looking hole some distance away from the cliff edge and dug the pike in. Men whose runes had been tapped out started dragging up the rope ladder. If Armes discovered their camp had been taken, at least the men up top would be safe to deliver messages to Falena. The rope ladder would help them climb down somewhere else on the plateau.
"Kyle, five minutes."
Where was the time going? Kyle threw aside pike. At this rate, the rocks would only serve as a minor distraction and were easily moved. He needed just one horse sized boulder to really block the trail. He raised up his Rune hand and chanted a Breath of Ice spell. He could hear the ice race inside the rock, cracking and breaking. Feitas and the Sun, help me. Just help me save someone today. There just wasn't anymore time.
Another spell traveled into the crack. This time Kyle couldn't even hear its passage. Did that mean it traveled further? "Kyle, we're almost out of time!"
Mischa, Mischa help me. Just a little chunk of rock. Enough time to block Armes and run. Enough time to pick you up away from there. Give you a proper burial like a noble. So you can at finally go home to that boring manor where nothing happens. His final Breath of Ice spell wandered somewhere in to the rock.
"Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."
It sounded like a big cat growling low. Men looked at each other. The sound grew, as though the earth tried to clear its throat. "Kyle, the Sun bleeding bastards are heading up the trail now," yelled Owen. He had to yell because the odd sound was beginning to make it hard to hear anything.
Without knowing why it was important, Kyle screamed, "Everybody back up! Run away from the cliff edge! Back behind me!"
Either spooked by the noise or getting used to Kyle being in control, no one tried to give him grief. Men ran what they hoped was a place of safety. The earth trembled, forcing them off their feet. They grabbed the rock as through they would be tossed into the sky.
CRACK!
No one had ever heard such a deep and final sound. If one of the titans of story, the men tall enough to touch the clouds, had his neck snapped, it would sound exactly so. Without preamble, the cliff shed itself of layers upon layers of rock. They tumbled and ripped chunks out of the opposite cliff face.
Armes soldiers in the trail below screamed in horror. With the trail being so narrow, there wasn't any room to turn horses or push men in the opposite direction. Immense boulders crushed untold Armesmen instantly.
The new edge of the cliff started only a foot from where Kyle clung to the earth. Gingerly he peered over and gasped in horror. The trail wasn't just blocked; it had been wiped out. He'd called on Mischa for help and Mischa had definitely answered. His brother had been avenged a hundredfold. Any anger that remained in Kyle's heart vanished in the face of the utter horror far below. What had he done?
Curses and oaths fell fast from the men's lips. They all looked at each other. No one of them had ever imagined they could wreak this kind of devestation with simple spells of ice. They looked to Kyle for some kind of answer. Kyle wet his lips, trying to form words around the dryness of his throat.
"The land," said Raxen, one of the soldiers.
"What...what about the land?" asked Kyle.
"We was doin' what you said and prayin'. Feitas and the Sun, make 'em go away. Send 'em to hell for tryin' t' take our land. The land answered!"
Since not a single one of them, including Kyle, had planned to rip out the earth, the earth must have done it itself. "The Queendom herself is shutting its doors to Armes," said Owen.
This explanation made the most amount of sense to Kyle. His mind literally could not comprehend that he had done this all himself. So if the land felt itself being used, why not punish Armes for invading it? Even if men and women didn't agree with the nobles, most everyone believed the land was blessed by the Sun Rune. What if in using all the power of water, linked to the Feitas, the Sun felt it had to respond?
"Sun and the Feitas! Sun and the Feitas!"
Men in the camp cheered as they descended on the rope ladders. "True Runes, boy, you made the land pissed off enough to do something about Armes!" Garren exclaimed, clapping Kyle on the shoulder.
Soldiers yelled and hollered. With the danger gone, buried under tons of rock, they jeered in the direction of the Armesmen. "The Blond Bastard will burn you!"
"Kyle of the Feitas! Kyle of the Feitas!"
Others took up the cry. "Feitas! Feitas!"
Kyle didn't know who they were cheering for more, the spirit of the river or for him. Intoxicated with the cries, he forgot his sorrow and felt his spirit soar.