Chapter Nine: Night Strike

The following evening, the three groups moved out. All the soldiers were equipped with swords, small axes, and fire-starting gear. To camouflage them, troops had scrounged armor from the battlefield, and all thirty of the squad men were wearing Cimarron armor. The nobles crests, however, had been replaced with the colors of the man leading the individual squads. Gwendal's men had a splash of green and white. Hube's sported his preferred purple and blue. Yozak didn't have noble colors, so his men bore an orange marking, the color of his hair. The three commanders were dressed in their normal clothing, so they would be easy to follow. Conrad stopped Gwendal just before they rode out. "You really should have the same uniform the men do. At least consider taking a Cimarron officer's jacket."

"You know why I decided not to." Gwendal sighed. "If everything goes badly, we should at least be able to decoy and get our men out safely."

"But it's a risk to you."

"I'm aware of that. But you know my reasons. Would you do any differently?"

Conrad stared at his older brother for a moment, then sighed and let go of his arm. "No, I suppose I wouldn't. But you'd better come back safe. Otherwise, I can't swear that I won't come after you. And I think, His Majesty might take the risk too."

Gwendal winced. "I'm counting on you to see that he doesn't." He looked out at the bright slash of reds and golds that marked the setting sun. "You know what to do." Then he strode off down through the camp, his men behind him.

They'd decided to avoid taking horses, since they were too hard to hide. Yozak's side of the camp had more land protection, so he and Hube were going that direction, while Gwendal circled the other direction. The plan was to move around to the edges of the camp, then wait for Conrad to start things. He and Wolfram planned to light a big fire as the start of the diversion, to catch attention and signal the waiting assault teams. After that, it was up to each of the teams to get in and take care of the war machines. Gwendal hoped they'd all be back between dawn and noon, but he planned for his next strategy meeting to be closer to dusk, just in case.

It took almost three hours to skirt around to position behind the main Cimarron force. He could have forced things faster, but Gwendal was cautious, and he didn't want to lose men just to rush things. Besides, Conrad hadn't signaled yet. He finally got his men settled behind some trees and rocks just behind and to the right of the Cimarron army. There they settled for a break. Men broke out ration packs and canteens. Gwendal ate a little, and took a few sips of water, but he really wasn't hungry. He never was, right before any kind of fighting. Mostly he relaxed, going over contingency plans in his head, thinking about possible strategies.

About ten minutes after midnight, a huge flame lit up the night sky from the direction of the Shin Makoku camp. The effect on the Cimarron soldiers was almost as fast. Even from the tree line where they sat waiting, Gwendal could hear surprised shouts and the vague sounds of panic. Gwendal smiled grimly to himself. Even if all they did was keep the fire burning, the Cimarron soldiers would be edgy. Knowing his brothers, especially Wolfram, it was probably going to be more than that.

He gave it about half an hour, then signaled the men to move forward into camp. He led but two of his captains flanked him, using their uniforms to camouflage his slightly. That had been Yozak's advice, and Gwendal saw no reason to ignore it. Fortunately, most of the Cimarron troops were focused on whatever Conrad was doing, and they were able to make their way steadily forward without trouble.

Fifteen minutes of careful movement got them to the ballista. It was a monster of a machine, nearly twenty feet high, with an adjustable firing bar and a setup that could pitch boulders or the arrow like bolts. Gwendal could see the half-finished ammunition under a tarp next to it. He grimaced. The bolts were the size of small trees, capable of wreaking havoc and going through up to half a dozen men at a strike. Even with only wooden points, they were terrible weapons.

Gwendal nodded to the men to begin cutting ropes and setting up oil splashes for burns. Two men he directed to take care of the ammunition. He moved around the ballista carefully, using his magic to figure the best spots to break the wood fast. Wood wasn't his best medium, but he could do well enough. He looked for knots, or places where the wood was warping easily. Unfortunately, the best spots to break were in the main supports. With or without ropes, when those bars broke, it was going to create a hell of a noise. Gwendal helped his men cut a few of the ropes, then pointed his best men to the weaker spots. The men by the ammunition had it all primed, and the others were standing by to cut the rest of the ropes and set fire to it all. Gwendal set himself, the took a final look around, knowing they'd have to move fast if they were to finish the job and get out of the way before the real Cimarron soldiers came.

As if it were a signal, a sudden whoosh of fire and a crashing noise came from off to his left. He looked, and saw the further of the two center ballistas going down in fire and destruction. Hube. It was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it was a great distraction, on the other hand, it would bring attention behind the lines. Gwendal turned and slashed hard at the timber. His men followed his lead, cutting ropes and wood alike. The timber creaked and snapped as the sharp blades ripped through it, then came crashing to the ground with a boom like thunder. Gwendal and the men scrambled out of the way, but as soon as the main section hit the ground, Gwendal gestured forward. "Burn it!"

Oil from small containers crashed over the wood, and several men struck flints. The pile of bolts lit first, with a bright curtain of flame and a blast of heat like an oven in midsummer. Gwendal turned back to the fire-starters on the wreckage and cursed. Lanzil had used green wood in the construction, and the stuff was almost as hard to light as wet wood. Finally, the first oil-slick patch on the main apparatus caught fire, followed by the rest. But even as it caught, Gwendal heard the alarm sound behind them. "Sabotage! Enemy at the weapons!"

Gwendal whirled. There, a few yards away was an enemy soldier shouting a warning. One of his own men moved forward and cut the man down, but is was already too late. Several groups of soldiers were already coming towards the hill, too many to finish off quickly. One look told Gwendal the ballista would burn with out further supervision. He threw a hand out. "Move! Come with me!"

His men took off, going from firelight to shadows with him at a dead run. But enemies were approaching from every direction. Even this far behind the lines, a few of the Cimarron nobles and commanders had their troops resting there. There was no way to escape as a group. Gwendal growled, then stopped and slammed a burst of power into the ground, throwing up a huge dust cloud. His men stopped around him, turning to get his orders. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of the enemy. "Split up and make your way to camp separately. We'll gather together at the edge of the Mazoku army. Blend in and try to stay as inconspicuous as possible." The dust was beginning to settle. "Go!"

His second in command hesitated. "But sir…what will you be doing?"

"I will distract them." He saw the dismay in their eyes, and growled. "There's no time to argue. Get moving!" He grabbed the nearest soldier, a younger man, and shoved him roughly away. "That's an order!"

They broke away from him. Gwendal drew his sword and faced the nearest group of soldiers. It was still dusty enough to blur his men's outlines, but he charged them, knowing that he had to distract them completely from seeing the soldiers. He caught them unprepared, slamming into the group with his sword in his right hand and his left fist clenched. It was the work of a moment to lay them out, and it brought him to the attention of the others as nothing else could have done. Then he broke away and began to run for the forest.

More Cimarron soldiers gathered around him. He moved fast, dodging those he could and fighting his way quickly through the groups he couldn't avoid. Mostly they were coming in groups of ten or twenty, and they were still too surprised to be very organized. He knew he was outnumbered, but he wasn't yet outmatched, as long as they stayed this way. Gwendal kept his cool, moving in random patterns, keeping them off balance. Sometimes he dodged a group, sometimes he attacked them head-on, creating even more confusion. Once he even stopped and let a group charge him, running into his blade and fist before they could stop themselves.

He was about fifty yards from the forest when a new group cut him off. The leader of the group was lightly armored, but not carrying any weapons. He raised a hand, and Gwendal had one brief glimpse of a red crystal sitting in his palm before the air charged with esoteric energy. He ducked, avoiding the first shot by inches. The bolt grazed over his left shoulder, and Gwendal winced. That had been a strong attack, capable of paralyzing most enemies and knocking them completely out. If it had hit him, even he would have been severely damaged. They weren't pulling any shots.

Cimarron soldiers surrounded him, quickly, with no obvious gaps, and the man was between him and the tree-line. To break in any other direction would run him into more Cimarron troops, and they were fast organizing themselves. The sight of an esoteric master on the scene had cooled their nerves. The opposing esoteric wielder lifted his hand, and magic began to charge the air once more. Gwendal swore under his breath, then brought his left hand up in a warding gesture. Gritting his teeth, he summoned his own magic in the desperate hope that this esoteric user was one he could overpower. Mentally, he braced himself. Even if he could defeat the stone wielder, this was going to hurt like hell.

The red stone his opponent held lit up. Gwendal raised his hand, summoning every ounce of strength he could into a counter spell. Power flowed through him, summoning the raw magic of the earth, into a powerful casting. And green light flared.

Gwendal blinked. The wrist guard Anissina had given him was glowing brightly within the channel of his magic. He'd worn it nearly all the time, and had more or less forgotten about it. But where it had been dormant, now it flared with green fire, channeling his power through it. Gwendal would have been startled, but there was no more time. The esoteric master in front of him released a bright blast of mage-fire, and Gwendal threw his hand out releasing everything he could into one titanic blast and hoping it would be enough.

The two bolts met between them with a concussion blast that Gwendal felt all the way through his arm and chest. He grunted but surprisingly, there was no pain. None of the agony he usually felt when countering an esoteric blast of that magnitude. His arm was tingling more than a little, but nothing worse than when it fell asleep. The green gem above his wrist shone brightly as power swirled around it. The esoteric blast faded into nothing.

The enemy magic user looked shocked. Gwendal felt more than a little stunned himself, but knew there was no time to waste. He flung his hand downward toward the earth, focusing his energy into a second spell. The ground around him for about 75 yards shook as his magic poured into it, unleashing a miniature quake. It wasn't one big enough to damage the earth, but the Cimarron soldiers stumbled and gasped, some of them losing their balance entirely. Gwendal leaped forward, ramming into the opposing stone wielder. His shoulder hit the man in the gut and as he doubled over, his hilt thumped the man square in the back of the head, knocking him completely out. Four or five more of the soldiers tried to stop him, but with the violent shaking of the ground, they were no match for him. Fifteen minutes later, he reached the trees. He cut off the flow of his magic as he raced into the forest, sheathed his sword to avoid moonlight reflections, and took off into the surrounding cover.