War of Worlds: Chapter 2

The hooves of the mare Firewhite came to a halt scant inches away from the edge of the rocky cliff-side that dropped off into the Valley of the Serpent. Atop the steed’s back, Prince Gerad ibn Farid el Arassi surveyed the winding expanse below him. The gorge was immense, twisting to the east and back to the west between towering bluffs of mountainous stone, thus providing this natural landmark its namesake. Prince Gerad could barely make out the northern face opposite him where the Valley of the Serpent ended, some five thousand yards away. He wondered how cataclysmic the battle of Mount Deismaar must have been to tear the very crust of Cerilia asunder.

But such awe-inspiring thoughts would have to wait for now, for Gerad was here for another purpose. A purpose he was quickly reminded of as the army of Aftane began to emerge from behind one of the eastern bluffs a thousand yards, or so, away and two hundred feet below him. And, just as Gerad would have planned himself, another unit of Aftane’s force could be seen making its way around a western pillar somewhat adjacent to its eastern neighbor.

The prince of Ariya looked to his left to see Bastone, the commander of his military, ride up to the cliff edge next to him on a well-muscled black steed. Bastone was a small man, stocky in stature, but unmatched in hand-to-hand combat, no matter the warrior or the weapon. He was also the finest battle tactician and strategist Gerad had ever known. Many battles were won because of this man, and the prince knew today would be no different.

Gerad nodded to Bastone, and the commander raised both arms high in the air. In his hands he held two mirrors, and he allowed the sun to reflect its light off those mirrors down onto the valley floor below them. Skillfully trained, Ariya’s infantry recognized the signal and began to march forward, coming our from behind their own hiding spots. The two armies would meet at the belly of the valley, where its span was the widest. This area was pockmarked by close to a dozen large boulders that had fallen onto the valley floor. One such boulder was much more immense than all the others and was about halfway between the two armies.

The key, Gerad knew, was to time the march perfect so that they would engage right after Aftane’s army had passed that boulder. Ariya would pin a good portion of Aftane against it, thus giving them little or no room to fight or retreat. Of course, this being Bastone’s plan, the commander gave the signal for his men to slow their pace, for it would be better for them to be too far from the boulder than too near.

Now Aftane’s infantry was considerably larger than Ariya’s; nearly two times as much. Their overconfidence viewed the enemy’s slowing as hesitance and fear, and so they began to swiften their pace. Soon, nearly three quarters of their soldiers were past the giant boulder with still close to three hundred yards between the two armies. At this rate, Aftane’s entire force would engage Ariya’s with plenty of distance between the boulder and their back flank. Their sheer numbers would overpower Ariya and the battle would be Aftane’s.

Gerad and Bastone both knew this, and they also knew that in a battle, time is the most unpredictable variable. It will either work for you or against you, and right now, it was working against them. Again, Gerad nodded to Bastone, and the commander reflected the mirrored light on the cliff faces to the left and right of Aftane’s army. Suddenly, well-hidden archers stood from behind rocky outcroppings on ledges of the cliff walls. Some men even wielded small catapults that were covered by tumbleweeds. Aftane immediately came to a stop as they realized their predicament.

And that’s when Bastone gave the final signal.

Piercing arrows and catapulted rocks began to assault the front flanks of Aftane. Ariya’s infantry also charged forward to cut off as much distance as possible between their enemy and themselves. Soon, Aftane was no longer moving forward. In fact, most of them retreated a little or fell over slain bodies behind them.

Aftane also had archers in their back flank, but they were positioned to shoot arrows at Ariya’s army once they were in range. Now, many of them were trying to pick off the attackers stationed high on the cliff walls, but Ariya’s snipers had cover and this mainly proved unsuccessful. Ariya, even though they were still outnumbered, had the tactical advantage. And while Aftane’s soldiers were busy looking to avoid the missiles shooting their way, they were now confronted with Ariya’s charging infantry.

The two armies collided with a loud clash, kicking up an impenetrable cloud of dust where they met. The Ariyan archers halted their missile barrage and descended on ropes that they threw from their perches, anxious to join the foray.

Aftane, still confused by their enemy’s tactics, failed to notice Ariya’s soldiers circling to the left and right to form a u-shape around them with the boulder in the middle.

The sight was encouraging to Gerad and Bastone who were now on the valley floor riding to join the fight. They could see the plan was working flawlessly, for close to half of Aftane’s men had no room to fight at all. They had to wait until the comrade in front of them either pushed forward or was slain, the latter occurring most often. Gerad knew that time was now on their side and it wouldn’t be long before Aftane would retreat, and with minimal losses to his valiant men.

However, that vision was slightly altered as Gerad saw close to a score of Aftanian archers standing atop the giant boulder firing arrows into the crowd at unseen targets. Knowing those targets to be his soldiers that he could ill afford to lose- that he did not want to lose; Gerad’s path became clear. He caught Bastone’s attention and pointed to the archers, and the stern warrior nodded once in affirmation.

Gerad kicked Firewhite into a savage run, Bastone doing the same, and both men raced along the battle line. One of the archers must have seen them, for an arrow whistled right in front of Gerad’s face, the feather tracing a small cut on the bridge of his nose. They circled around the open end of the battleground heading directly for the huge stone that held their quarry.

Prince Gerad, letting go his reigns, raised his shield and unsheathed his sword. In two giant leaps, Firewhite carried his rider atop the boulder. Bastone was right on his heels swinging a spiked morning star above his head. Fully aware that Bastone was left-handed, Gerad took to the right, thus allowing his friend the left side to favor his weapon arm.

Most of the archers didn’t even know the eminent danger coming up behind them, though there were a couple who had followed Gerad and Bastone’s course around the battle lines and were now waiting for them with arrows drawn. Both shot for the lead man, being Gerad, who blocked one quarrel with his shield, but took the other, glancing off his arm.

The pain made him wince, but did not deter his task. The Ariyan prince bent low to his right side and held his sword out at a parallel angle allowing it to slice through the hamstrings of the inner knee where the archers had no protection. More than a half-dozen of them fell immediately, dropping their bows and clutching their legs as they screamed in agony. Some of them even fell off the rock and into the battle below them.

On the other side, Bastone took a more direct assault, and merely smashed his spiked weapon against enemy skulls, providing instant, yet merciful, death. Nearly ten archers fell to the commander’s hand within seconds. There were only a couple of assailants remaining who, reacting out of fear, were fumbling for their swords. Prince Gerad pulled back on Firewhite’s reigns, rising her back on her hind legs. Both archers cowered in defense as she came crashing down, her heavy hooves striking the first squarely in the chest. The force of the blow knocked the soldier back into his compatriot, vaulting the two of them off the boulder and into the crowd below.

Bastone and Gerad stood on the rock and watched as the battle continued and was nearing its end. Aftane was simply not prepared for the strategies that Ariya had implemented. This skirmish was far easier than Gerad expected, in fact, it was almost too easy. Even now, the Red Kings’ army was fast retreating or surrendering, whichever option was available. Something did not settle quite right in Gerad’s mind and he had to wonder; was Aftane not properly prepared for his men or was their some other unseen motive at work here in the Valley of the Serpent.

Gerad would have to ponder these questions some other time as the resounding cheers of victory began to echo off the cliff walls. His men had fought extraordinarily well, having followed Bastone’s plan perfectly. As a result, they had suffered very little loss with just over a score of fatalities and three times as many injuries. And whatever the Prince was thinking concerning the ease with which the battle was won, Gerad did not believe in pointless victories. This was certainly a day of celebration, and given his position high on the rock above he felt encouraged to address his men.

Gerad dismounted Firewhite and Bastone did the same, not wanting to stand out from his liege. He took Firewhite’s reigns and stepped to the side giving the Ariyan prince plenty of open space. Gerad stepped past one of his archers, patting him on the back as he did so.

As Gerad looked out across his battle-weathered soldiers, all the cheers stilled and there was complete silence. He knew this is what his men had lived for. They yearned to hear him speak. They yearned to be inspired. That is what a great leader does and Gerad was not going to disappoint them now.

“Hear me, my countrymen, and listen well.” There was a deep echo across the valley and Gerad knew that no man’s attention was anywhere else but on him. “You have led yourselves to a great victory this day. This battle is yours and it is I who cheer for you!”

Again, the valley filled with applause and shouts of rejoicing from the grateful hearts of the Ariyan army. After a few moments Gerad raised his hand up and the valley became quiet again. “Bring before me our fallen brethren.”

Immediately, the soldiers directly below Prince Gerad moved back to form a circled area and other soldiers were carrying their dead comrades into the clearing. They laid them all next to each other, some with dismembered limbs resting on their chest.

One of the elite archers climbed upon the boulder and handed Bastone a small sack, and the commander reached inside and pulled out a platinum ring. He handed the ring over to Gerad, and as he did so the entire Ariyan army knelt and bowed their heads.

“We honor these men above all else for their courage, their valor, and their love.” Gerad’s voice wavered as he spoke showing the deep respect he had for those who were slain. “For certainly no greater love can a man have than the willingness to lay down his life for his fellow man and his country.”

Gerad looked closely at the ring, reading the name that was on it, and then held it high for all to see. “This day we honor Faroun ibad Khaleen of the Second Order. Though he has breathed his last breath, his service to Ariya will never die, neither will he ever truly die. I commit his body to this battlefield and advance him beyond the rank of Third Order and into the Order of the Crown.”

Prince Gerad continued to do this for all twenty-three men who had been killed, advancing all of them not one rank but two, as was their custom.

As he did so, Bastone recorded all of this in his war journal with tears dripping from his cheeks while he wrote. While Gerad had spoken in times past to all of these men, he had only known most of them fairly well. Bastone, on the other hand, trained all of these men and was on a first name basis with them as well. He cared deeply for each one and found himself lamenting the thought of visiting the families of these courageous warriors to offer words of condolences and comfort. Prince Gerad would go with him, as he always did, but Bastone knew it was he who would do most of the talking due to his familiarity with his men. As much as he did not look forward to that time, he also knew no other man was more suited for the task.

Gerad handed the last ring back to Bastone. “Arise Ariya,” he said and all the soldiers stood.

“Stand proud,” he proclaimed, “and know that this day you did not yield to the enemy.” There was a sound of agreement that came from the Ariyan army.

“Know that this day you did not deny your fellow countrymen,” he said, allowing his voice to grow louder. Again, the soldiers cried out acknowledging their prince.

“Know that this day,” Gerad emphasized slowly each word as he spoke, “you did not fail your fallen brethren or your beloved families.” At this, the valley was filled with praise and chants of ‘A-ras-si’ could be heard.

Prince Gerad waved his arms to quiet his men down and it took a few moments before they did so. He felt euphoric at this moment, and he felt confident that being a leader was his first and best destiny.

“This day,” Gerad said more quietly now, but still with vigor, “you have proven that you are Ariya!”

With this last acclamation, Gerad himself was cheering wildly along with Bastone. The Ariyan soldiers began their chants of ‘Arassi’ again and it continued on for many minutes.

As the archer stood between and slightly behind his Prince and Commander, he found himself paralyzed with awe so much, that he fell to his knees and tears of joy streamed from his eyes.

“He’s quite an orator, Bedoureg. He instills a great amount of faith, even fearless faith, in his men.”

The wizard Bedoureg merely nodded in reply to the statement uttered by his peer, Arlando el Adaba, otherwise known as the Red Herald. He could not offer a verbal response for he himself was enthralled by the uplifting speech Prince Gerad was giving the men of Ariya. And so, Bedoureg continued to watch and listen from his perch overlooking the Valley of the Serpent. So captivating was Gerad that he found himself almost wishing he were one of his men- that he was down there pumping his fists in adoration.

The realization of what he was thinking snapped Bedoureg out of his daydreaming trance. “He is no mere orator, Adaba,” the wizard replied through gritted teeth. “This speech has not been fostered by training and experience. It is a gift inherited by him through his bloodline.”

“How can you be so certain,” added Turiye min Saida, leader of the Brotherhood of Khet. She, along with her other two companions made up three of the seven Red Kings of Aftane. Though their identities are kept secret to the general public by concealing themselves behind red veils, they did not fear being discovered here at the edge of the plains and viewed the valley with their faces exposed.

“Did you not feel the pull,” answered Bedoureg. “Were you not swayed the least by his words? He is a descendant of arguably the greatest king the Khinasi has ever had and his men would most certainly follow him to death’s door.”

“This battle was won by Ariya due to the strategies of their commander, Bastone,” countered Arlando, “not by some aura that radiates from their Prince.”

"I agree, but only to a certain extent,” Bedoureg conceded. “Bastone fashioned the plan that granted Ariya victory, and we would be much closer to winning this war if we could find a way to dispose of him. But Gerad fashioned the hearts that led Ariya to victory.”

There was a pause of enlightenment on the faces of Bedoureg’s two peers as they considered his words.

“You see,” Bedoureg began, “in my search of power I have studied the quality and habits of man quite extensively. In so doing, I spent a great amount of time on the subject of loyalty. This, along with its counterpart betrayal, can change the nature of a man. It can lead to unyielding morale or tireless revenge.”

“Look!” Bedoureg pointed down to the Ariyan army who was still in their throes of celebration. “Those are the most loyal men I have ever seen. It takes longer to defeat men like that in the heat of battle. The longer it takes to defeat them, the longer it takes to win this war. And a long war is not good for either side.”

“Then what do you propose we do,” argued Arlando. “All attempts to assassinate Prince Gerad have failed utterly. He is too well protected and ready for such a thing.”

Bedoureg turned slowly to regard the Red Herald.

“You do not have to kill a leader to remove his leadership. I know of something that isn’t as well protected as our good Prince.”

The Red King of Aftane turned back to the valley, watching as Prince Gerad raised his arms to his countrymen’s adoration.

“Yes… something he isn’t ready for.”