Chapter 191: Battle of Spinewood

Book 4, Chapter 32 - Battle of Spinewood

Every step Ophelia took seemed to quicken her heart and dry out her mouth.

The combined armies marched in a column through the Spinewood, toward the alleged position of enemies threatening Red Vine. Roosting crows fled their homes, crying out as they went. Harsh winds whistled past, the trees doing naught to hinder them. Ophelia clutched the thick cloak she'd been given. Her hood was drawn and still the cold found ways to nip at her skin. Her calves burned from the trek across uneven ground. Keeping her feet from catching on stray roots or fallen branches while keeping pace with the soldiers guarding her wore Ophelia's strength quickly. Worse yet was the long skirt she had on with her white robes.

Each going moment quickly became a faraway Ophelia yearned for. Why had she uttered what she had? She'd spoken the words well and true, and now here she was walking closer to death. Of course, she'd be allowed back if she asked. Neither Lord Caranel nor Lord Rask would object. But she couldn't ask. How embarrassing would it be if she went and proclaimed she had cold feet after all that talk?

There were also the soldiers to consider. Some of Lady Serene's soldiers had beamed when learning a Healer was in their midst. What would happen to their confidence if she suddenly turned in fled?

Right. That's why I came. To turn lie into truth. To be an actual Saintess than one in name. A Saintess who saves as I made myself out to be in Heira.

Ophelia steeled her nerves in attempt to rise to the expectations she'd set for herself. It worked for the span of five breaths. Her arms soon began to quake, each muscle fibre become strings of an instrument thrumming to the tune of fear. She prayed in silence but to whom, she did not know. Ophelia meant to make a saviour of herself, but who was there to save her in her time of need?

***

Not two years of quietly raising young men into proper soldiers had gone did Rask now find himself standing exactly where he had when serving High Lord Serene.

Leading an army again, Rask? Can you still do it?

But of course he could. He'd done it his whole life. A lengthy break would never take from him the memories, the thrills, and also the horrors that came with swinging a sword, with screaming at the top of his lungs, with breaking enemy lines and watching men with families break down in cowardice and fear. War could not be pulled from his soul as much is bones could not be pulled from living flesh. War made both great and terrible men. Rask, too, embodied both a great and terrible man.

Here he was again, marching through the woodland aside a new lord, leading a new company of young men all too unaware of what awaited them. All to protect the smiles of townsfolk he'd come to know.

“Lamenting, Commander?” asked the boy lord.

Rask did not answer. He took measure of his new master. Aarondel had forgone his coat and actually bothered to put on a spare leather vest with the Eagle crest upon it. He had that Artifact blade on his hip, and no doubt the Shadow Walker followed somewhere near. The boy had too much foresight and wisdom to make any sense for his age. Oft Rask thought those grey eyes of Aarondel's looked more jaded than Rask's own reflection in a mirror. But for once, he'd seen that unnatural mask shattered. He'd all but acted like a prepubescent teenager in the tent back there for a split second. So too did Elizia, who'd taken so much of her mother's burdens upon her shoulders from such a young age.

“I am sorry for dragging you into this,” Aarondel said. “Sorry even that I could not prevent Ophelia from coming with us. She is her own person. I cannot guide her every action.”

Rask glanced to the side. Elizia marched farther to the right, out of earshot and surrounded by a company of shield bearers. “Could not prevent it, my lord? Or did not want to?” Rask accused. “What Ophelia wants to do will only spread greater rumors of her 'saintly' powers.”

It was Aarondel's turn to remain silent. So he did consider the possibility , Rask thought. Yet the fact that he did not answer meant he felt at the least a shred of shame. But the advantages one with the Gift of healing provided was also not to be ignored. More in this wooded and uneven landscape at the base of a mountain range. There were too many variables in fighting in a woodland that a commander could not control. Elizia's soldiers were lightly equipped. They had weak wood boards for shields and tough leather for armor. In place of helms they had hooded cloaks. In place of plated greaves, they had long leather boots.

Of the two hundred marching beneath Lord Caranel's banner, a few dozen had chain vests, but the rest were lightly equipped —not enough time had passed since the discovery of the iron mines for more works of iron to be made. If the rumors of Virk barbarian ferocity were to be believed, wounds attained in the battle to come would be grievous. Ophelia could save many lives here.

“I have not been completely upfront, Rask,” Aaron suddenly said.

“About?”

“The battered fort of the Virk. Viper scouted it. There were many more dead men before it than there were monsters. I am led to believe there are two warring faction of Virk tribes here.”

Rask frowned. “This would have been something worth mentioning at the meeting. If they're fighting each other, there's no reason for us to march now. We can wait—” Rask cut off. Aarondel was not the kind to turn up any advantage there was to be gained. Which meant he sought something else here. “You… mean to help one of them. To indebt them to you. To what end?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Ashes it remains to be seen! The frigid mountains of the north held no resource, no money, nothing of reason to be extracted that might put House Caranel in a better position to challenge the might of more treacherous High Houses, or the Trillian forces. No resource save for man power. He wants to build an army , Rask realized. He'd known Lord Caranel long enough to know the boy was ambitious. And ambitious men did not build armies for defense purposes.

Rask opened his mouth, then shut it again as an unnatural whistle pierced through the air.

***

“On guard!” Aaron called. “We've been spotted.”

A whistle meant to sound like a bird's cry. Only, the birds of the north migrated south for winters, and the Spinewood remained void of all but crows during the cold months of the year. Aaron drew Butter Knife. He sucked in a breath and absorbed himself in as many vile memories as he might, letting hatred build in his breast, and letting the magic blade consume it in return for violent strength needing to be used.

Several of Lady Serene's soldiers with shields surrounded him. Aaron's brow twitched in annoyance. He glanced at the princess, seeing her tight lipped, as if reluctant to aid him. She was pulling farther back behind her lines to join a company of archers spreading out and taking cover behind a ditch, inching up its incline and utilising trees for cover. Farther back down the line of soldiers was Ophelia, surrounded by her own company of twenty. I asked for two dozen, Aaron thought, grounding his teeth.

Human cries pierced the woodland. Aaron flinched as something struck the shield of a man standing before him, knocking the man back into Aaron. A thick fletched arrow was embedded in the wood, a cut on the soldier's cheek. That would've gone through my forehead…

More arrows flew through the air.

“Hold!” Rask cried. “Shields up and advance!”

The shields would be useless. They'd weigh the bearer down if too many arrows got caught within them. Pained cries echoed from far and near. Some had already fallen prey to Virk fire, while Elizia's company returned the favor. This continued for some scant minutes made to feel like agonizing hours, men marching haplessly into arrow fire. Then came the animalistic cries ripping through the air.

Dozens upon dozens of thick muscled Virk warriors in fur hides charged through the trees. They came with broad blades, axes, and rectangular boards for shields. Their forearms and shins were armored with strapped bark, and their bare torsos were painted with intricate woad tattoos.

Aaron stumbled as an ear splitting shriek arose from behind him. Elizia's soldiers met the Virk's war cries with their own, feral, and higher pitched ones. Something about that cry felt familiar to a fragment of him, but he hadn't the time to dwell on that.

Aaron broke free of the guards Elizia had assigned him, running ahead of all allied lines —much to Rask's dismay, and met his foes head on. Butter Knife had been fed its share of hatred, and Aaron's veins desired a massacre. He begun the slaughter, moving faster than his larger, and more ferocious enemies could react, uncaring at all for his previous fears of stone-skinned enemies. Such things were no bar to Butter Knife's deadly edge with the sheer amount of power flowing through Aaron at that moment.

He sliced through axe hafts and bones with ease. He carved into wood shields and the flesh behind it as a burning blade might breeze through a block of fat. Blood sprayed in his wake. Screams rose and died at his feet. Virk warriors tried surrounding him, but black hands arose from their shadows, cutting at their ankles, and turning them to helpless fodder before Aaron's wrath.

***

“It's an Artifact,” Elizia breathed. Her eyes were narrowed in on Lord Caranel, who'd recklessly charged into the larger enemies. He was ripping through them with ease. An Artifact was the only explanation. It also explained his willingness to fighting at the van. This wasn't the first time he'd done something like this, she realized.

But an Artifact could only take one so far. The human body had its limits. Forced beyond that, it would shut itself down. Aarondel was pushing far past allied lines. He'd done well in keeping the morale of her soldiers high, but gone too deep, he'd be left without aid.

Elizia pulled back her bowstring to her chin. She spent a breath to aim and released to a familiar twang . The arrow found its mark, taking a man in the young lord's blind spot. She inched closer to a tree several feet ahead, shield bearing honor guard stalking her steps. She cursed beneath her breath. Why am I covering for him instead of my own?

“Because if I don't, it'll be like I killed him myself,” she said to herself. Killed him herself just as she'd originally planned to. The guilt of it still plagued her, and so she fired each arrow only for him, to cull farther away enemies seeking to surround him. Elizia spared a glance behind her lines. Lord Caranel's squad of two hundred stood anxiously for the battle to reach them. Some hotheads had run forth, but the vast majority had not. It'd been wise for her more experienced soldiers to head the front. Those young men would have collapsed before Virk bloodlust.

But it was her soldiers falling in place of his . Elizia ground her teeth, firing another arrow at a distant archer whose bow had been aimed at the young lord. She failed to kill, but caught the man in his shoulder, preventing him from pulling back his bowstring again. Her eyes flitted to the carnage of the first line where her lightly equipped men battled against larger boned and muscled foes.

For every one Virk felled, two of her own collapsed in a spray of dark liquid. Her soldiers seemed weakened in this northern climate, or Elizia's eyes played tricks on her. Some among the Virk endured fatal attacks, for metal blades and spear tips hardly dug a fragment into their skin. It was madness. Her soldiers were not so weak. For such seemingly invincible enemies, Elizia marked their eyes with her shots, but between felling them and covering for the fool lordling, too many of her own were dropping like flies.

Where in bloody Ashes is that Saintess?

***

Ophelia gagged.

Bile and spit dribbled from her mouth and down her chin, making a mess of the robes she wore. Dirt had already stained her skirt —she was sitting upright on her knees. Men with the Eagle crest surrounded her. To her slight relief, they stared not at her but at the chaos before them, keeping a tight guard over her, and shielding her eyes from the scene she'd but a brief glimpse of.

That glimpse had been enough for her imagination to fill in the gaps. Screams tore through the air. Ophelia's imagination painted pictures of it all, and all she could do was sit on her knees and clutch her ears as another bout of bile forced itself up her throat.

“Saintess,” a soldier said. “Saintess, our lines are collapsing. The barbarians are nearing us. We have to pull back.”

Pull back? But she'd come to help…

“Haul her back,” an older man said. “She's lost her knees. She's no use to us now.”

No use. She was useless. All that bravado and she was useless.

It's okay, Phili. Just run. No one will blame you.

Someone grabbed her by the arm. They began pulling her back, but her stubborn knees resisted.

“Saintess, we must retreat!” urged another.

Ophelia looked into the man's eyes. “I… help. Have to… help.” She unwittingly pointed forward. Her guard were pulling back, trying to haul her with them. There was a gap between them, and Ophelia saw it all. She saw bloodstained weapons, rolled back eyes, gore flying through the air, and fear. So much fear to mirror her own.

The stench hit her then too. The sickening smell of blood and filth. Ophelia pulled free of her captor and vomited out what little her stomach had left.

“Saintess? Saintess, they're almost on us. Please .”

Saintess. She was not deserving of the title. Ophelia clutched her ears. It needed to stop. Someone had to make it stop. Tears bled from her eyes. She sought out Lords Rask and Caranel through her cloudy vision. Rask was there, battling many, wolf helm gleaming in the late evening light. A blade bit his calf, and he went down on one knee. He got up no sooner, screaming, making two pieces of a single person with a mighty swing.

Ophelia could not shut her eyes. She saw every horrid detail despite her tears. She found Lord Caranel much farther ahead, surrounded, but unyielding, unafraid, being useful.

“Saintess, come,” a soldier insisted. They pulled her back again.

Ophelia ripped free, mind caught in a storm of thoughts and emotions. Her legs acted on their own, pulling her forward unto certain death. She had to be useful. Had to do something. Anything.

A lone soldier in leather fell in a brilliant spray of red as an axe was brought across his chest. Ophelia threw herself on the man, crying all the while. She pressed her hands into his blood and willed her powers forth, closing the wound in the span of a breath.

A shadow towered over her.

Ophelia looked up. A thick arm holding a bloodied axe was raised. The Virk warrior wore the stripped hide of a wolf over his head. He gave a sneer before bringing the blade down.

Ophelia shut her eyes.

A sickening crunch was followed by the swish of blade biting flesh.

Ophelia opened her eyes again to find the soldier she'd saved standing over her, breathing heavily as he pulled his blade free of the fallen Virk warrior. “Thank you,” the man said, before running back into the fray.

Ophelia's guard were on her in the moments to follow. They stared at her, not uttering a word. Not wanting to egg her on, but recognizing her value all the same. “I… I will be useful,” she said in a soft whisper. Those nearest her nodded and helped her to her feet. Her robes, she realized, had been stained red.

***

Poking his arms in and out of the Umbra drained far less of Viper's body heat than jumping out entirely, but Aaron had lost himself to the lust of violence. He'd pulled too far, swinging with ferocious speed and dispatching enemies faster than the eye could track.

Aaron had climbed over a hill and out of sight from everyone else, advancing toward the clearing and toward the battered fortress that was under attack by the same foes attacking him. Two conflicting forces , Viper thought. Aaron had been right. But he now left himself open to being surrounded. His limits would come sooner or later. Viper broke from the Umbra, putting his back to his Aaron's if only to cover his blind spot. He had no Artifact to aid in fighting, but he'd spent countless days honing his skill with the twin black blades.

The Virk showed their surprise at his appearance, mouthing the word ' Shieda ' with slight hesitation. Even here this far from our place of origin, our wicked reputation has reached. Viper let his blades sing. Some enemies, though, could not be cut easily. For them, Viper found the underside of their jaw where flesh was soft, or eyes and joints to disable them.

“Aaron, listen to me,” Viper called, as he cut down a man taller than himself. “You've gone too far. We should pull back while we can.”

“No!” came the response.

So he's not lost his mind… “The Artifact consumes you. You'll be surrounded. Your body has its limits.” Viper ducked beneath a sword, cutting upward, before disappearing into the Umbra to dodge two more attackers, reappearing behind one and dispatching him with ease. Heat was siphoned from his body, and that weakness began seeping into his joints. “I cannot watch your back for much longer,” he said, deflecting a hatchet with one arm and attacking with the other. “It's too cold here.”

“We must free the fort of its enemies,” Aaron argued. “Show them that we are allies. Indebt them to us.”

Viper screamed as he dipped in and out of the Umbra again, attacking with a renewed vigor that lasted him spare seconds before greater weakness slowed his limbs. Even now, Aaron would fight for the future. But none of that mattered if he fell here.

Viper, alas, could not back down. He had promised to stay by Aaron's side, and he did just that, matching Aaron's artificial strength with his own unnatural powers. Viper's heart turned into a riot, pumping colder and colder blood by the minute. The edges of his vision began to blacken. He felt his limbs slow. They were but a few dozen paces from the fort's walls, its every enemy turned to focus on Aaron and Viper. Arrows came from its walls, but they were few and far between, its defending Virk warriors few.

Viper saw a chipped sword arc toward him in slow motion. He raised his arms to parry, but they went up too slow. He knew that he should disappear below, but it would be too cold beneath. He stared death in the eyes with the eyes that he did not have, screaming in defiance one last time.

Two knives found his attacker's eyes.

The world turned dark, but Viper's vision had not failed him yet. It was the sun sinking behind the horizon, letting shadow spill into the woods. A shadow that brought madness and mirth all too familiar. A madness become hope in these sparing moments.

***

Elizia turned her attention to her own soldiers. The foolish Lord Caranel had disappeared beyond a hill she could not scale without exposing herself to enemies. Not that she hadn't tried, but Virk warriors had chased her back down, and only cover fire from her own archers saved her then.

But what had that black thing been? For a moment, Elizia thought she'd seen a living shadow fighting alongside the young lord. Fighting back to back with him, disappearing and reappearing at times. Another effect of his Artifact? But so far as she'd learned of them, Artifacts had singular purposes, not multiple.

Elizia shook her thoughts, focusing on picking off Virk warrior after Virk warrior at the front, aiming for the ones engaged in combat, for only her skill among her elite company was great enough for her to never hit allies in the process. She thinned the enemies enough that her soldiers could fill the gaps and take on one Virk warrior between every two men.

The Saintess, that child girl, for her part, had finally found her guts it seemed, moving alongside her assigned guard dangerously close to the van, Healing fallen allies as she went. That too would have its limits, Elizia knew. Those with the Gift exhausted their own bodies to Heal others. And every once in a while, the girl passed by a fallen soldier, shaking her head and leaving him be.

Dead Elizia thought. How many Eagles had already been slain?

How many to become a statistic on a page? How many families to send letters of apology to? Elizia turned her attention to the old wolf commander of High House Serene. Rask battled with a limp, pushing his body beyond the limits it should have to endure. Each foe was his equal in size. Yet he fought valiantly, inspiring everyone with his back. Perhaps he knew those wounds would not be permanent with the Saintess in his camp. But still, Elizia had not seen him this reckless ever. Not that I'd ever been privileged enough to witness him fighting in a real battle before…

Elizia drew back for Rask, finding her quiver running dangerously low on arrows. Her back and shoulders ached as she pulled the bowstring back again, praying that perhaps her father's oldest friend and ally would return home and pull away from this foolish lord he now served.

***

“Thank you lass,” Rask muttered. Ophelia had gotten to him at last. He felt light headed. Perhaps from the blood loss. But this was no time to stop. The sun was setting. Elizia's archers would lose vision, and these enemies showed no sign of stopping just yet.

Another foolish thing we did, coming here without accurate knowledge of our enemy's number. But Virk tribes were not known to be great in number. The boy lord had likely counted on that. Rask, though, had not counted on his foes being as terribly strong as he was reputed to be. He felt drained, and the encroaching night made his bones feel their age all the more. He was too used to both sides retreating at sundown. That was the way of war on open plains. But this battle showed no sign of ending just yet.

“I am useful,” Ophelia said.

Rask spared a glance for the girl. She had bloodshot eyes, and her once pristine garments had become a mess of blood and dirt. “You're more than that,” he said. “You're a saviour.” With that, he pulled from her guard and re-entered the fray, cutting down an enemy already engaged with another soldier.

Ophelia stumbled off toward more fallen allies, several of her guard breaking from her side to stop Virk warriors from finishing kills with certainty before she could reach the wounded to help.

***

Jackrin? Here?

Aaron fought with greater fervor. Though his arms felt weighted, strength pumped through his veins still. His chest burned and his heart felt as if it might burst. The growing pain was picking apart the feeling of euphoria that Butter Knife fed him.

But that changed with the half-blood Vampire fighting alongside him. No longer did Aaron want to collapse. If Jackrin was here, then there was a chance she was here too. The chance to see her again after so long…

“Where is Eksa?” Aaron cried through the carnage of screams and blood. He and his friends fought now before the cracked wooden gates of the fortress. Viper was weak, barely moving to defend, Jack covering his every move while tearing through the Virk with his enhanced strength and twisted dagger.

“Still in Kovar.”

Aaron flinched. His hopes sank, and, for a brief moment, the artificial strength began bleeding away from him. Anger covered for it, returning that power to his blood. “You left her there ALONE??” he roared, shearing two heads off at once. A third attacker meant to split his head in two, but an arrow from above claimed the man's life. Aaron cut the attacker's head off anyway.

Jack began laughing. He had on his mask, and was no doubt using it to spin twisted visions, for Aaron felt the dull throb of a headache every once in a while. “I had to,” the mad jester cried. He howled with delight as he said it. “She hated me. Feared me. I left her. We were friends after all. It'd be un-friendly of me to stay while she feared me.”

Aaron knew Jack enough to recognize the pain behind that laugh. He could not quell his anger, however. He channeled it into his attacks than scream at his broken brother. The end of the Virk line was finally beginning to show. It was far off, but they began retreating, perhaps recognizing their loss.

Or running from the devils the night is sure to bring.

“And staying with her just wasn't fun ,” Jack continued. He leapt here and there, poking his dagger into an eye, then into a neck, then stabbing it into another's gut. “Sure she gave me some toys. But it wasn't the same . So I left. Imagine my shock seeing you embroiled in a beautiful play in a wooded theatre! I could smell the luscious scent from miles away!”

Aaron felt more and more anger as the moments passed. He could not spit it out at Jack, but he forced it into his strained body, slaughtering as many Virk as he could see. They spoke words in another language he had the vaguest of memories of, turning to flee. Aaron chased after them, screaming while he stumbled over fresh and rotted corpses alike. “You left her alone!” he roared. “Alone in a den of beasts. Dhorjun will devour her!”

“Oh Dhorjun's dead,” Jack giggled, hopping over corpses with ease. He leapt several feet into the air and descended among the fleeing Virk, tearing into those nearest. “Skinned him nice and cleanly, I did. He didn’t scream though. I had to imagine it. Shame.”

Aaron could only howl in reply. The howls of distant Silver Tail wolves carried through the woods at that moment. Aaron ignored them, catching up to Virk fighters that'd tripped over their fallen. He watched the fear in their eyes as he raised his sword and plunged it into each and every breast. Then, no enemies remained for him to kill.

Aaron screamed at the sky. His blood and sweat slicked hand let drop the hilt of Butter Knife. His strength began to fade, and so too did his vision begin to darken.

***

Jahck watched Aarondel scream. “I told you he would hate you,” he whispered. “I told you he'd abandon you.”

No, Jack argued. He's only worried for Eksa. He has not thrown me away.

“And is that so different? He doesn't want you here . You're a liability. A past he cannot reveal to the people he's with now.”

That isn't true , Jack argued. He pulled free the mask and the persona it embodied. A beautiful sight was bared for him to see. One of blood, death, and terror. He turned to the fort, seeing several Virk archers standing at their walls with stunned looks in their eyes. Viper was still at the gate, trembling on his knees and leaning against his swords.

Jack made a decision. It was likely the soldiers fighting for Aaron knew nothing of Viper, and the Shadow Walker was too weak to disappear into the cold that was the world of shadows. He dashed to Viper's side and pulled him into the darkness of the night in the woods, leaving Aaron on the field of death for his allies to recover.

***

Elizia climbed over the hill, her soldiers following. That battle was ended. Rask marched alongside her with labored breaths. Behind, men tended to the Saintess who'd collapsed unto near unconsciousness from all her endeavors.

Elizia crested the incline, eyes growing wide to the horrid scene before her. Corpse upon bloodied corpse was piled in a clearing before the enemy fort. And in the midst of them all was Lord Caranel sitting on his knees with his head bowed. He did all of this on his own?

No. Not all. The scouts had reported corpses here already. But there were too many new and fresh ones to make sense. Dozens of them. Over a hundred if her estimate was near. She moved to make for his side when the fortress gates opened and several Virk warriors rushed outside.

Elizia reached for an arrow, but found her quiver emptied. She opened her mouth to shout as the Virk hauled Lord Caranel away and shut their fortress' gates.

Wolves howled in the distance.

“Arrows. Now!” Elizia demanded. “I want shields up front with lances. Someone find a bloody log we can use as a ram!”

“Wait,” Rask said.

“What's there to wait for? Their fort is battered and their numbers culled. We have to go pull him back now while they're still tired. We've two hundred fresh soldiers who barely saw combat! That fool… He had to go get caught at the end of it all.”

“Hold, my lady,” Rask insisted. “Some of those corpses have Virk arrows in them. I think perhaps those in the fort aren't exactly our enemies.”

Elizia peered into the darkness to see that he was right. Two conflicting Virk factions were here. Had they hastened into battle for nothing then? “If they're not our enemies, then we demand they give him back to us,” she said.

Wolves howled again. This time nearer.

“I don't think we should dally here any longer,” Rask said. “Our Healer has collapsed, and your men are tired and wounded. We ought to pull back to our own camp and fortifications.”

Elizia stared westward, into the dark of the dense woodland. Darkspawn were near, drawn by the smell of blood and the feast there was to be had here. She clicked her tongue, sparing a final glance for the Virk fortress and the idiot lord inside of it. She huffed, breath come out in a cloud from the emboldened cold of night. Then, she ordered a full retreat.