Story : “A Dream of Fishes” Part IV
by Pappy April 29th, 2007, Posted in: Writing
Chapter Two
From the open doorway of her tent positioned high on the hill, Ophetta watched the battle playing out in the marshlands below. Tendrils of dark smoke drifted up from the scene, rising to meet the carrion birds circling overhead. She counted at least two dozen dead or wounded sprawled in the mud, most of them enemy. It sickened her to see how they ignored their fallen comrades. No wonder they were losing.
Three days of carnage and the Belydonian generals still continued to throw their fighters at Kausidor like dandelion seeds to the wind. There was no strategy to it, never had been, with obvious results. The well honed defenses had easily repelled the invasion of Kausidor’s eastern border, shredding the offensive with the efficiency of a butcher’s carving knife. The pointless loss of life curtled Ophetta’s stomach.
“Ma’am, we are ready.”
Ophetta turned to the young girl who’d beckoned for her. Her apron smeared with blood and dirt, the nurse pointed towards the soldier now sitting up on the operating table, a fresh bandage over much of his upper right arm. Ophetta approached the man and examined the wound’s covering.
She cupped her left hand over the outside of his wounded arm and reached up under the soldier’s chin with her right to gently turn his face towards her. She looked into his eyes for a moment. He stared back, and Ophetta thought she saw a hint of fear there. He was much too young to be here. War destroyed the youth in a man, she thought.
“Your wound will mend in a few days,” she said softly to him. “Your king thanks you for the defense of our homeland.”
Ophetta concentrated her healing aura with true compassion and a diffuse green energy penetrated from her hand into the man’s arm. She could feel the tissue below responding, pulling together and closing the gash that had nearly severed the muscle completely. Yes, this man would regain use of his arm in short order.
“Tell your sergeant you are to return to the barracks, by order of Chief Surgeon Ophetta. Your battle is over, at least for today.” She stepped back from him and smiled to see the fear had fairly drained away from his face.
“Thank you, Miss Ophetta,” he said.
She nodded and turned back to her post overlooking the battle as the nurses helped the soldier to his feet and out the back of the tent.
Ophetta saw the remains of yet another Belydonian charge crumble in the boggy marsh, men dropping like anchors. The last infantryman, realizing he was now alone, turned in retreat. He’d only gone a few steps before he was cut down by archers from his own side, the arrows appearing from out of the mist hanging on the far edge of the wetlands. Better to surrender than retreat when a servant of Belydon, but he’d learned that lesson too late. She winced with the cruelty of it.
From her vantage she could easily see the Kausidorian battle lines. Infantrymen and archers settled behind defensive ramparts built up on mud and stone berms. Sharpened wooden shafts pointed outward towards the enemy to prevent any attempts at a cavalry charge. Not that the Belydonian horsemen could rush across the marsh if they wanted to. The muck sucked horses’ hooves downward with sickening speed, all but eliminating their effectiveness on this front.
Kausidor’s riders, on the other hand, had no such limitations, mounted on the great striding spooners. Large, flightless birds, spooners were ideally suited for this environment. Their long legs easily negotiated the boggy terrain. Large, flat bills, from which they derrived their names, were twice the length of a man’s arm and could be turned to great violence in the heat of battle. Without the great beasts the kingdom might surely have fallen many wars ago, a fact that had made the Kausidorian marsh cavalry legendary among her neighbors.
Ophetta saw them gathering now on the northern edge of the defensive fortifications. For three days, Kausidor’s generals had been happy to let the Belydonians flail against their defenses, but it appeared now that they were preparing to go on the offensive. Several units were mounted in groups of twenty, battle standards hanging limp before them in the misty air. Squires and stable hands were bustling about, tightening cinches, adjusting armor and helping to make final preparations. This would be the crushing blow that would surely drive the Belydonians back into their own territory for yet another season.
Just as assuredly it meant Ophetta and her healers would have more wounds to mend, more souls to sooth, and more bodies to send home for burial. She settled into a nearby chair and closed her strained eyes.
Far below in the marsh, a single trumpet sounded the cavalry’s departure.
—
General Algernon Stennis leaned forward in the saddle, his hands loose on the reins. His spooner needed no further instruction and it strode forward into the fen. The dark violet plumage on the back of the bird’s head bounced steadily with the pace of the creature’s footing.
The strategy was simple. A primary Kausidorian contingent would assault the Belydonians head on, while he circled to the north to strike at the command camp, a third cavalry group flanking south to cut off any attempt to retreat across the river. The heavy mists which had clung to the wetlands for weeks prevented his scouts from getting an accurate census of enemy forces, but Stennis was confident his riders could smash any resistance they encountered.
His adjutant, Lieutenant Kettering, pulled up alongside him, his roan spooner tossing its head in agitation.
“Get that beast under control, Lieutenant,” Stennis barked. “Are you a cavalryman or a carnival clown?”
“Sorry, sir,” Kettering apologized. “Sir, we have a problem.”
The general raised an eyebrow. “Well spit it out, Lieutenant! Don’t make me ask for it!”
“It’s the Battle-Mage, sir. He’s missing.”
Gods-be-damned mages. He hated them.
“Missing? And how is that, Lieutenant? He was mustered with the unit not half an hour ago, and I gave you strict orders to keep an eye on him personally.” Stennis spat angrily.
Lieutenant Kettering blanched. “I know you did, sir. I only left him alone for a few minutes, just long enough to double-check provisions with the supply sergeant and he was gone, sir.” The junior officer hung his head, obviously as much or more disappointed in himself than the general was.
Emmeritus The Hermit, as the locals called him, had been a thorn in his side from the moment he’d been assigned to Stennis’ unit. Apparently, he’d not come to defend his countrymen voluntarily and was quite vocal about his desire to be elsewhere. Twice yesterday alone, Algernon had threatened him with imprisonment should the coward decide to abandon his post, but apparently that had not been enough motivation to keep the wizard in line.
Stennis reconsidered the assaut plan in his head. Without a Battle-Mage they’d be without protections from the Belydonian mountain witches. Their curses tended to be weaker than other foes, but magic was never something to be triffled with.
“Okay, Lieutenant, pass the word among the troops. When we engage the enemy I want every man focused on finding and taking out their witches first. And if that traitor Emmeritus shows up, there’s a promotion in it for the the man that brings him to me in chains, do you understand me?”
“Quite clearly, sir!” Kettering threw up a salute and turned his mount back the other direction.
