Here's part 2 of today's NaShoStoMo Challenge stories. This one visits again the world of Airthai...
Day 11 – April 11 – Part 2 - The Battle of the Black Field
It was on the third day of the eight month that two kingdoms clashed on the plain called Eiragin. This battle was called the Battle of the Black Field.
“Sound the call.” As the horns of the army sounded and was joined by the clashing of spear and swords upon shields, Prince Elkaatan of Trelkanor stared over the field at the approaching army of Reiaghy. Once sister-kingdoms, their last years had been plagued by strife caused by ambitious men with deep enough pockets to be able to buy fighting men. The horns sounded again and Elkaatan could feel the tenseness of the soldiers all around him. Dressed in white, red and purple – the colours of Trelkanor - he looked every bit the regal leader. Yet he was quite a few people removed from the throne. Well-liked by his people, but being only the fourth son of the king of Trelkanor, Elkaatan was to lead the suicide battle against the forces of Reiaghy. Though he could not see the Werlea between the soldiers, he was sure they were there. Réjhal, his own Ahma, a scholar of the True Light, was not at his side. Maybe he would even miss the entire battle. He prayed it would not be so; his men needed all the help they could get. He lifted his sword in his left hand and the clamouring stopped just long enough for the last blast of the horns to sound as the signal to charge.
From the river Tarathlon and Dieuwke could hear the sound of battle drifting from the field. “We are too late,” Dieuwke said, trying not to let those around her hear.
“We can’t turn around now.”
They got off the barge and got onto the horses awaiting them.
“Reiaghy will have reinforcements coming,” one of the young hands warned Tarathlon. “If you cannot help, those of Trelkanor will surely all be slain.”
Tarathlon of Reiaghy and Dieuwke of Trelkanor charged towards the battlefield. Behind them more than one hundred Khallahna came, their yellow cloaks streaming in the wind. From the water the land rose until the battle plain was revealed beneath them. From the north they could see another party in the dark blue and gold of the Reiaghy close in. Trelkanor would be crushed, the men too few to hold the tide of blue-clothed men.
Tarathlon turned to the Khallahna. “You know what you have to do,” he said. “Keep them from each other as long as you have to. Follow me!”
Tarathlon’s horse carried him swiftly down the hill to the plain where he stopped between the bodies of a few who had tried to flee the field. He searched for the source of power within him, straightened his arms and pushed between the two groups of fighting men with all his might. He knew he could keep at least twenty men like this and he started entangling the leaders of both groups. The fighters first strove with the sudden blocking of air around them, but soon slackened when they saw there was nothing they could do. The other Khallahna followed suite, their arms outstretched, blocking the air and making it impossible for the men to fight. Seven of the men broke away from the group to go and stop the nearing column of men from the north.
Dieuwke, too, had her arms outstretched. Within her the power was stronger than ten of the men combined. She walked through the blockings as if they didn’t exist until she was within earshot of the leaders. Behind her, much slower, Tarathlon advanced.
The carnage was greater than they had thought. Only a small band of the Trelkanor men remained standing around their prince.
From the Reiaghy he could feel the dark power of the Werlea breaking down the barriers ever so slowly.
“I am Tarathlon,” he said, “A leader of the Khallahna. You were led into the battle by the greed of the Werlea and their minions. Let them step forward and all your lives may be spared. If you do not, they will face blinding or death.”
For a moment there was utter silence. Then Tarathlon could feel the bonds on the air weaken around almost twenty men. The Werlea stepped forward, grinning as they stepped towards him.
“We have trained in our knowledge for hundreds of years,” their leader spoke. “Now you want to quell us?” He reached out his hand and clenched it into a fist. One of the men Tarathlon was holding was cut-off in mid-scream and fell to the ground dead.
“You dare oppose me?”
“I do,” Dieuwke said and stepped forward. A murmur went through the crowd.
“Really?” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. He stuck out his hand again and Dieuwke blocked it, sending his arm back in a wide arc. The Werlea cursed. “Finish them!”
Some of the Khallahna stepped forward and more men, of both Reiaghy and Trelkanor, fell to the ground with their breath taken from them. Stunned, Tarathlon turned to the Khallahna, searching for the traitor’s faces. The others released the men they held fast and who now didn’t dare move on their own. The Khallahna strove with the traitors among them and with the Werlea. Some of the soldiers now joined in as well, attacking the Werlea with sword and spears and axes. Side by side the soldiers of Trelkanor and Reiaghy fell to kill the Werlea. Dieuwke stretched out her hands and blinded many of the Werlea, leaving them without their Power and begging for mercy. None could believe her strength.
Elkaatan lowered his sword slightly and looked at Tarathlon. Dieuwke saw the leader of the Werlea move towards the prince, but she blocked him so that Elkaatan only staggered a few steps back.
“Not fast enough,” the Werlea said and grabbed a small knife from his belt and hurling it at the prince. Dieuwke tried her best to stop it, managing to keep the blade from sliding in more than an inch into his flesh. The prince was knocked down, grabbing at the hilt of the knife to remove it from his chest. With a final effort, Dieuwke got it free, slamming it back at the Werlea, the knife sinking deep into his thigh. She turned to block some of the other Werlea who were advancing.
Tarathlon ran over to the prince, clamping his hand over the wound, using his Talent to staunch the blood. Too late did he see the advancing, half-dead Werlea who took up a fallen soldier’s knife and stabbed Dieuwke from behind.
With a last effort Dieuwke made her hand a fist and twisted her arm sharply, causing pain to restrict the Werlea’s chest and leaving him gasping on his knees. Tarathlon ran to Dieuwke’s side. Elkaatan brought his sword down on the gasping Werlea and slew him. Those of the Werlea and traitors of the Khallahna still alive, on seeing their leader dead, started to flee from the field, their yellow cloaks making good targets for the archers.
Tarathlon knelt next to Dieuwke and, with his remaining strength, blocked the pain from her wound. Her eyes had been closed, but with the block in place, she opened them briefly before they faded and no life in her burned anymore.
“She is a hero,” Elkaatan said, “we will sing of her for a long time to come.”
Tarathlon shook his head as tears flowed freely from his eyes. “Say nothing of her. Not her name, nor where she came from. Say that she was of the true Khallahna and nothing more.”
“I will not, she will get the honour her actions deserve.”
Tarathlon lowered his voice. “I don’t think you understand,” he said softly. “She was not taught how to use the Power.”
Elkaatan looked at the white cloth covering the body. “Born that way? That strong? But she must have blinded thirty Werlea on her own!”
Tarathlon nodded. “Better leave that knowledge to live another day. She has a daughter.” He took the cloak from his shoulders and laid it over her.
Elkaatan understood what he was getting at. “You have my word. I will make sure her family is provided for.” A messenger gave a swift message to the prince. He said a quick farewell before trudging off to the other side of the camp.
Tarathlon bent down and kissed Dieuwke’s covered brow. “I will see you again Dieuwke,” he spoke softly. “After all this have passed.”
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