“Very well,” Klora declared, “the first battle of the Mage Corps is about to begin. Each of you knows your specialties and I will not presume to know how to organize a battle. Everyone will stay out of sight as long as possible before attacking. One thing we must make sure of, no Situ soldier will remain alive to talk about our use of magic in battle. Lord Marak made it clear that he wants to hide our new found abilities. Iscala, you should lead a group into the forest and be prepared to kill any soldiers trying to retreat. Make sure that your group remains hidden until the last soldier has passed you. Everyone else find places around the edges of the practice field. Nobody should enter the field once the battle begins. It will be a killing zone.”
The mages scattered and hid in the woods. Some scrambled under piles of leaves and some behind bushes or boulders while others created small fog patches lying on the ground. The Mage Corps did not have long to wait. The scout returned at the head of a large column of men. The Situ soldiers entered the field and nothing happened as they spread out and looked around. The lead part of the column was almost ready to exit the field and continue on their journey when a Cortain stopped and pulled out a map.
Troops were still straggling into the field when Klora started the attack by using heat to melt the officer’s armor. The Cortain’s screams signaled the other mages to start their own attack. Some soldiers began exploding from their own internal pressures. Others clawed at their armor in a vain attempt to remove the liquefying metal. Every rock and boulder within the field exploded into thousands of flying rock slivers which found their way into the bodies of the Situ soldiers. Large logs flew onto the field smashing soldiers from their horses. Large trees from the edges of the fields rolled across the ground knocking down everyone and everything in their path. Fire broke out among the heap of bodies and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.
The battle lasted only a few moments. The practice field was so large that the test of one’s ability to cast spells at a distance was determined by whether or not the mage could affect something at the other end of the field. Now that field was an inferno of Situ bodies and burning horses. Not one arrow had been fired nor had a single sword been drawn, but five hundred dead Situ soldiers and five hundred horses lay polluting the air. The only sound was the crackling of the flames and a last screaming cry from a few of the Situ attackers.
* * *
Lord Marshal Grefon charged through the gap in the Torak defenses with the rest of his soldiers. Even Lord Ridak urged his horse to go faster as they began the race to the mansion at Fardale. A wicked, spiteful smile adorned the Situ Lord’s face as he thought about his final victory over Lord Marak. The Situ soldiers flew past the Situ Lord as they eagerly sought the enemy.
Lord Marshal Grefon cursed as he heard the twang of bows before him. There should not be any troops this far from the front and he wondered if they had inadvertently caught up with some of the retreating Fardale troops. His thoughts grew more contemplative when the charging men in front of him halted. His Cortains were ordering the men to dismount and take up their bows. Those orders would not be given if the resistance was light.
Lord Marshal Grefon whirled to seek some high ground so he could view the battlefield. That was when he saw the flanks closing in on his men.
“We are being surrounded,” the Lord Marshal shouted. “Retreat and regroup immediately. Retreat and regroup.”
“We are not retreating,” hollered Lord Ridak as he waved his sword menacingly towards Lord Marshal Grefon. “We are almost there. Order your men forward, Lord Marshal. I will not be denied my victory by your incompetence again. Get them moving.”
Lord Marshal Grefon fought the urge to strike out at Lord Ridak. Instead, he dutifully turned and ordered his men to mount and fight their way through the enemy. When the men hesitated, Lord Marshal Grefon took the lead himself, urging his soldiers onward. The road passed through a clump of trees up ahead and the Lord Marshal could already see the flanking attackers closing off any routes around the trees. In a blind rage, the Lord Marshal charged down the road as he saw soldiers on both sides of him dropping with arrows in their bodies.
While the battle raged around him, Lord Marshal Grefon’s eyes narrowed to a solitary black figure standing in the middle of the road ahead of him, the figure’s long black cape blowing in the wind. As the soldiers around him veered off the road to engage the enemy, Lord Marshal Grefon drew his sword and charged directly towards Lord Marak. Lord Marak stood in the road with his feet placed apart and discarded his bow. In one smooth motion, Lord Marak reached back and drew his wicked-looking sinuous sword and stood defiantly waiting for the charging horse to reach him. Lord Marshal Grefon urged his mount faster and laughed as he prepared to take off Lord Marak’s head as he flew past.
At the last minute Lord Marak dropped to the side of the road and swung his sword. Lord Marshal Grefon struggled to comprehend what was happening as the horse slid downward and its chest impacted with the road. Lord Marshal Grefon went flying through the air and landed flat on his back. Dazed for a moment, he was startled when his sword was thrown on his chest, hilt first. He grabbed the sword and looked up. Lord Marak stood waiting for Grefon to rise.
“I believe it was me you were looking for,” smiled Lord Marak. “Well, you have found me. Let us see how fine a swordsman you are.”
Lord Marshal Grefon scrambled to his feet and steadied himself. “You haven’t asked me to surrender,” laughed Lord Marshal Grefon. “I guess you are not too sure of yourself, after all.”
“I have a fine Lord Marshal already,” smiled Lord Marak. “I can not even think of a position for which you are fit. Fardale has no slaves.”
Lord Marshal Grefon spat on the road, his face a contorted mask of hatred. “You shall wish you were a slave before I get done with you,” he screamed as he charged Lord Marak.
Lord Marak stood and waited for Lord Marshal Grefon to close. He sidestepped the mad charge and swung his sword viciously. He quickly turned as Lord Marshal Grefon screamed and saw Grefon’s forearm lying in the road, still clutching its sword.
“What are you waiting for?” screamed Lord Marshal Grefon. “Finish it.”
“I don’t kill unarmed men,” smiled Lord Marak. “I guess you will have to live with what you have left.”
Lord Marshal Grefon bent and picked up his sword with his left hand, shaking his lost forearm loose. “You shall not leave me a cripple,” screamed Lord Marshal Grefon as he crazily charged Lord Marak again.
As the Situ got closer, Lord Marak dropped to one knee and extended his sinuous sword. Either Lord Marshal Grefon did not see it, or he did not care, but he ran until he impaled himself on Lord Marak’s sword. Lord Marak rose and wiped his sword on the green and yellow uniform of the Situ Lord Marshal and strode down the road in search of Lord Ridak. The fighting was practically over as Lord Marak exited the clump of trees. The road was awash with blood and bodies lay everywhere. Most of the bodies wore green and yellow and Lord Marak silently issued his thanks. Hundreds of Situ had thrown down their weapons and surrendered, hundreds more had not and were dead. Lord Ridak was one of the ones who had surrendered.
Lord Marak called for two horses and a soldier promptly brought them over to him. He indicated that Lord Ridak should mount and then proceeded to mount the other horse.
“You are coming with me, Lord Ridak,” Lord Marak declared. “If you try to run away, you will suffer greatly. If you ride peaceably, I will not harm you.”
“Where are you taking me?” demanded Lord Ridak.
Lord Marak did not answer. He took hold of Lord Ridak’s reins and led him towards the hills and the dense forest of their slopes. Before they got too far into the forest, they were surrounded by Chula warriors. One Chula made his way forward through the others and stood before the horses. His lion-like face and long mane identified him as a Shaman. Lord Ridak cringed at the sight of the barbarians and started to visibly shake.