Tales of Cobardon

Chapter XIV

Micura

His mind was overwhelmed - joy, fear of dying, guilt for not being there, confusion of what all he had to do and many other thoughts. He and his facial expressions danced with his wonderings. A daughter was born to him! Quiet a timely coming, he thought playfully. But will I live this? What if I don't?

The massacre that lay before him pulled him out of his blissful musing. His face turned grim and he hurriedly shoved all thoughts out of his mind.

A war was on, a bloodbath awaiting. Flags of Wingbearer - two slit wings sitting on a rich, dark blue field - fluttering in the wind, were tied towards the top of most spears. 12,000 horses raced in an chaotic triangle, a wizard cadre was camouflaged somewhere in this hurling tornado. From the sky, the cavalry, followed by 13,000 foot soldiers, seemed like a racing drop of water, its colour alike water in a violent storm.

He saw the tangle starting some distance, 100 meters maybe. Soon, he could distinguish the faces, many with Rulerstead's banners looking in their direction with hope.

The hazy outlined, blue arrow streamed toward the battlefield.

He was nearing the mess; riding, with fury, at the helm of the arrowhead, barely few paces away.

He was nearing, roaring in the saddle, the horse racing with glee. All the spears facing upwards turned swiftly so that their heads faced straight forward.

Contact was few seconds away. A cacophony of moans, blades crashing, blood spurting drowned everything. His grip tightened against his spear, blood escaping from his palm, drenching the cold, metal gauntlet. His horse sneered. Screams resounded. Hate choked his eyes, vengeance in his stride.

He roared, "All Hail Late King Orwen!"

Thousands of other roars behind him replied in approval. His spear and him entered the arena. His teeth clenched as he drove the menacing, hungry spearhead through the first enemy he met. Rulerstead was always his enemy and would always be his enemy - an eternal vengeance sworn against them!

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Taperend

King Newtriko, Regent Roger and him stood on the vantage point, high and dry from the horrifying gore beneath and away. A ring of 200 soldiers surrounded them. King Newtriko's face was pallid, seconds away from bursting with tears. King, he laughed inwardly at the craven child, spoiled brat more of.

The ring of soldiers had only one purpose, protecting the king. Deep in a trance, he was shaken out by Roger's gruff voice asking, "Tell me with numbers." What is this ludicrous obsessiveness for numbers, he thought while itching to sulk in the regent's face.

Tens of thousands of flags audibly switched from the pale flag of The Eye's to the blue flag of Wingbearer!

A new face of the rebellion! Unaware that he was thinking out loud, he blurted by mistake, "Betrayal of Wingbearer, had expected that all along. But, this doesn't have Merisa's taste to it. They have something more under their pocket." "I agree," Robert said, shocking Taperend for a moment before he realized.

"Now it is 85,000 from theirs versus 90,000 from ours." "Not an advantage of numbers then." Roger determined, "Well how many are there on the field?" Taperend paused a second before replying, "70,000 them and 90,000 us."

He slipped back into his ponderings: those flags were pretty synchronized. Great showmanship, indeed! This had been portended with ease; there was never a slim chance that that imperviously loyal Micura would not avenge Orwen.

Zwhooph! A fist of arrows flew overhead from the master archer's stationed on a safe corner, east most of the battlefield. It was a death machine! Loud blasts of cannons boomed across Barren Lands. Thousands of distinguishable elephants trampled warriors like brittle twigs. Beams of concentrated sorcery flew across the arena, more subtle sorcery spread like a translucent sheet. Hapem and the dragon roasted mercilessly. More than hundred thousand soldiers fought their own war. This was no battle of right or wrong. This was a battle of vendettas and hunger for power. Cobardon fights, with itself! Such is its irony, Taperend smiled at his private pun.

Newtriko was slowly inching to the tent at the center. Taperend couldn't stop himself, "Aah, dear child, leaving already? See for yourself, King." he turned round and spread his arms so that his belly and hands spread across the width of Barren Lands, "This is the glory and horror of Mankind! Can you see the difference? No! Because there is none! Remember child, one person's rise is ever another person's demise! Remember!"

"Into the tent." barked Roger with fury. "Why regent? Show him the world beyond the cozy castle. Show him the unforgiving world of Cobardon!"

Roger marched towards Taperend till they were bare inches apart. He took his hand and wrapped it against Taperend's gaudy shirt's collar. Taperend wore no armor. Roger picked him up with surprising ease, considering the regent's age, and shook him. His voice infused with ad infinitum fury, "You will utter no word in my absence! And you will guard him like it means your life, because it does! His life means your life! Get it?"

Taperend nodded, shaken by nothing except the frothing tone.

He dropped Taperend, who stumbled a bit but regained balance and tried to regain his shattered dignity.

Few moments of awkward silence reigned.

A commander of The Valley was approaching them, one arm outstretched. The commander's mouth hung wide open as she tried to mouth something but was too afraid to. Roger hadn't noticed her arrival because his back faced her and because he was trying to think of something - mostly his nephew, Newtriko.

She came close and tapped on Roger's shoulder, as he turned, his face utterly blank like it is when disturbed from deep thought. Roger saw a jumping commander pointing frantically to somewhere northwest.

He and Roger followed her finger to look at The Tower. "Oh, bloody Ringhal!" he exclaimed.

This was a game-turning move!