Chapter-4-2

⁠—⁠—⁠— II ⁠—⁠—⁠—

“Listen, Sem—Raku, Guro, Tubai, Rasa!”

Not long before the battle with the Gohran invaders began, Guin was repeating his orders to the wildlings. The ape-men were unused to fighting together as a group, and he admonished them sternly.

“You must not spread out and divide your forces! We do not have the numbers for such careless tactics. Your enemies are trained elites. If they learn how few we are, then we are done for. Lose yourself in the heat of battle, and forget what I have said, and that will be the end of the Sem!”

“Aiii!”

The brave Sem warriors brandished their stone axes and stone-tipped spears.

“Riyaad! Riyaad!”

“Do you understand? You must do exactly as I have told you!”

Istavan was nowhere to be seen among the assembled Sem, nor the twins Rinda and Remus. In fact, the wildling army he spoke to seemed considerably smaller than the force of five thousand that the grand alliance of Sem tribes—excluding only the two thousand Karoi—had placed at Guin’s disposal.

The Mongauli scouts, judging the numbers of the Sem by the dust cloud they raised, would report to their general that ten thousand of the diminutive warriors were approaching them. But here were gathered less than half that number.

“Are you ready? This will not be the final battle, but how we do today may determine the ultimate victor. Don’t forget that. Remember my orders and don’t let them know our true numbers. Kick your feet and raise a giant cloud of dust!”

Guin rode atop an enormous black stallion that one of the Sem chieftains had procured for him. Upon it, he looked like an avatar of the beast-god Sasaidon leading a war party of little demons, or some giant-king of myth and magic leading the spirit folk of the earth.

Lifting his right hand high and bringing it down in a chopping motion, Guin gave the signal to begin the attack, and the Sem began to move as one.

The leopard-man had divided the Sem into four groups of a little less than a thousand each. Led by Loto, Ilateli, Tubai, and Kalto, each of these mixed forces now advanced in the shape of a slender triangle with its sharpest point forward. They held this formation until, still shrouded in their dust cloud, they were almost in sight and range of the Mongauli army with its bowmen at the forefront waiting for the order to shoot. Then the battalions of Sem began a peculiar maneuver.

They advanced to just the range at which their poison arrows became effective. The four battalions then began to circle like the arms of a pinwheel, shooting poison arrows toward the Mongauli army as they revolved. As soon as one group fired, it swiftly swung around to the right and gave up its place to the next.

This was a tactic Guin had adopted to mislead the enemy further about the Sem’s numbers. On a flat plain with the opposing forces at a considerable distance from each other, unlike in a siege, missile weapons were of limited use. Neither Gohran bowshot nor Sem arrow had their full devastating effect. The Sem’s poisoned arrows, fired at long range, were easily knocked aside, or bounced off helmets and armor. Bowshot, on the other hand, was extremely slow to load, and did not always serve as more than a means of intimidation.

The opening salvos were about to come to an end.

“Bowmen, stop shooting!”

“Footmen, advance!”

With these orders, the Mongauli crossbowmen started to withdraw, and footmen clad in shiny armor removed the shield wall. Then, brandishing their spears, the infantry companies of Talos began their advance.

Seeing this change of tactics on the part of their enemies, the Sem put away their bows. Drawing their stone axes and raising their terrifying war cries, the wildling warriors charged for the front lines of the Mongauli.

“Aii, Iiaa!”

“Riyaad! Riyaad!”

“Aii ai ai!”

Against the birdlike calls of the Sem sounded the full-throated pledges of the human troops.

“For Mongaul!”

“Mongaul! Mongaul!”

“Forward, brave warriors! Forward!”

The advancing troops were clad in black. Captain Irrim was the vice-lord of Talos Keep, one of the five Marches strongholds, and he had defended against many a Sem attack during his tenure. Now he shouted with wild courage to inspirit his men.

Irrim was baffled by the strange yet precisely organized movements of the Sem, for he was unaccustomed to seeing the barbarians of Nospherus employ sophisticated tactics. In every past battle with the ape-men, he had known them simply to shoot their poison arrows haphazardly, before raising a chorus of strange yells and charging in wildly. The vice-lord of Talos knew how to respond to such an attack.

It seemed to him that the large force currently arrayed against him was behaving entirely differently. This Sem army was now sending well-knit troop after troop in lightning-like advances, each approaching from the right to attack, only to retreat away to the left, to be replaced immediately by another fresh troop that would repeat the maneuver. The endless waves made the wildlings’ numbers difficult to estimate. They seemed to have an unending supply of fresh forces, striking and then running away.

“The monkeys have learned some trick!”

Irrim bit his lip and pounded his gauntlet on the hard edge of his saddle, leaning forward to shout encouragements to his men. “Don’t be fooled by their movements! Close ranks, and stand your ground! We must not shame the lord of Talos Keep by accepting reinforcements! Fight! Fight!”

“Aiii!”

“Iiaaa!”

The battle was reaching a ferocious pitch. The high wild screams and moans of the wounded and the violent clangor of sword blade and stone axe striking home began to drown out even the fiercest of the battle cries.

“Aaaah!” the commander of black knights exclaimed in shock. “What is that thing?!”

Captain Irrim had been distracted from his assessment of Sem tactics by a new and terrible sight. Riding into the fray at the head of a fresh band of Sem was a formidable lone knight who seemed impossibly huge among his wildling cohorts.

Irrim leaned over the knob of his saddle and stared in his shock, having lost his voice. Who was he? He was no Sem. Could he even be called human? By the gods, it’s a man with the head of a leopard!

Perched effortlessly atop his mighty black charger, glistening with the sweat and blood of battle and surrounded by his legions of fanatical Sem, Guin cut a figure that no other could hope to equal. To the eyes of the Mongauli, who expected only the small fur-covered wildlings with their shrill shouts and their painted faces and hands, the fascinating sight of a leopard-headed warrior seemed almost like an irresistible illusion. Guin, clad only in a loincloth and sword belt, his broad chest rippling with muscle as he swung his sword, drove all before him.

“Janos save us! Who, or what, is that?”

“It’s Cirenos! The legendary Cirenos, that’s who it is!”

“Ah, how he fights! Look!”

Irrim and the black knights of Talos Keep were some of those who had crossed over the Kes in the second wave and had joined the expeditionary force midway. Few among them had heard of the man-beast whose figure had stupefied the brave knights of Alvon and Stafolos.

Yet now they were faced with an amazing warrior who wielded his sword with movements far more agile than his size ought to have allowed. Charging into the wavering lines, he cut down Mongauli soldiers effortlessly on either side. None could stand against him. Whenever that sword flashed, a dead man always fell.

The battle lines fell into chaos. The Sem army, too, was caught up in the madness of the melee, and now they fell on the human lines as one mass as though they had forgotten their axle-turning strategem. But since the arrayed black knights, captivated by Guin, had surrendered all semblance of order, Irrim and his officers failed to perceive that there were in fact only thirty hundred or so Sem arrayed against them. The leopard-headed warrior’s movements inexorably drew the eyes of friend and foe alike.

Guin by himself fought and brought death with the power of a dozen Sem, if not an entire troop of them. Although he wore not a single piece of armor, the frequently drilled warriors of Mongaul could not even touch him, even when they attacked in groups of ten. Time and again the flashing sword in his right hand reached out, and time and again Mongauli blood was spilled.

“Stand firm, soldiers! Do not flee! He is only one, this enemy!” Irrim, who at first had been just as entranced as the others by the unexpected appearance of this fearsome demigod, had finally returned to his senses, and now he ground his teeth and yelled. “Surround him! Surround him with many, cut him down! If we can kill that one monster, there will only be barbarians left, who cannot hope to match us! Ach, I’m going in!”

Irrim beat on his saddle and drove his heels against his horse’s sides, fully meaning to gallop into the thick of battle, but his aides hastily cut off his approach to the fighting.

The fact that things were not going well for the troops from Talos was apparent to the two young captains of the red positioned each in his wing. But when the leopard-headed warrior, not even wearing a mantle, charged into the maelstrom of battle, one of the two captains from Alvon raised himself up in his saddle with a start.

“Ah!” It was Astrias, who had suffered horrible defeat at the hands of Guin and the Raku not long ago. “It’s him!”

“I have a message for your lady general who fights and commands like a man. Leave the wildlings and the creatures of Nospherus alone…”

So Guin had told him, coldly, as the young captain lay overthrown. Then the leopard-man had pulled back the sword he held at Astrias' throat. It was a memory that filled the Red Lion of Gohra with a stew of shame, anger, and resentment. His face went almost blue with fury.

“Pollak!”

“It is him, is it not? Look at his strength!” Pollak’s voice was trembling slightly.

“Gahhh!” Astrias yelled. “Monster!” And with that cry, the Red Lion of Gohra charged ahead.

“Captain!” Pollak, realizing that his commander had lost his cool, tried to stop him, but he was not quick enough.

The sight of Guin once more dealing destruction before his eyes rendered irrelevant for Astrias his position as the leader of a thousand knights, and the general’s strict orders not to charge until so commanded. “I shall be the one to stop him!” he shouted, and dug his heels into his horse’s sides with all the force he could muster. The bewildered steed galloped into the fray at full speed, weaving between the Sem and the footmen from Talos.

“No!” shouted Pollak. “Save the captain! Astrias Corps, forward!”

In an instant the entire right wing had abandoned its assigned task of protecting one of the flanks of the army.

Leegan, commander of the left wing, was taken aback.

’What? Has there been an order to send in the wings?”

His lieutenant Len, no less confused, replied, “Ah, no—there has not been. At least, I do not think so.”

“That is odd. Astrias Corps has gone to aid the Talos footmen. Why would only one wing receive the order to charge? Len, send a rider at once to Lady Amnelis and ask what our orders are. In the meantime, I will join this battle myself and see what’s going on. It won’t do to let Astrias take all the glory for himself!”

Astrias, scion of a leading house of Torus, and Leegan, the eldest son of Count Ricard, keep-lord of Alvon, were both viscounts and nearly the same age. Good friends since their youngest days, they had always been in competition as such boys are wont to be. Seeing Astrias join the fight, Leegan was spurred on. From the beginning he had been trembling with anticipation and had a sour taste in his mouth at having been sentenced to wing duty.

“Are you sure that is wise, without the general’s permission?” Len cautioned.

“I don’t care! Quickly, send a soldier to her and ask. Ech, never mind, we're going in!” Abruptly, he raised his hand and whipped his horse, and the thousand red knights of Alvon that he led charged forth.

Astrias was already in the midst of the fighting.

“Guin! Fight me, Guin! I challenge you! What, are you scared? Guin!” he roared and cut a road of blood, making for the leopard-headed warrior who was slashing back and forth amidst a group of Mongauli warriors. “Yaaar—I have no business with you monkeys!” Astrias knocked away the Sem to his left and right with the butt of his whip. “Have you forgotten me? Or are you just a coward, Guin? Here I am! I, Astrias, challenge you!” Soon his throat was hoarse with shouting.

It was Irrim who was the most surprised by the movement of the red knights. “What? Young Astrias? Was he commanded to save us? Troops! Captain Astrias has been sent to aid you! This will bring shame on Talos for a generation! What is wrong with you? Have you forgotten how to use your blades? Finish off those monkeys and that monster, quick!” As he shouted, he noticed a white knight making his way forward through the ranks. He bore a blue flag on his spear and wore the tassel of the messenger on his shoulder.

“Where is Lord Irrim?” the messenger shouted.

“Here, over here!” shouted the commander of the black.

“I have orders. The leopard-headed warrior who leads the Sem holds the key to a valuable secret. You are not to kill him, but to take him alive. I repeat, he must not be harmed! This is a direct order from the general.”

“Understood,” Irrim grumbled. But after the messenger was gone, he exclaimed in exasperation, “How am I to take alive the living Cirenos? Do they think I own the legendary net of Kaurinos? Not do him any harm!”

He raised his faceplate and spat on the ground, then turned to his lieutenant. “Lukas—deliver those orders! Right now!”

The lieutenant hurriedly galloped into the fray.

Meanwhile, Astrias, in the thick of the battle, was in no mood to pay attention to any order not to do harm. Even had he learned of such a command from the lady-general, he was so caught up in his burning rage and shame that he would have disregarded it.

Now, Guin, I have found you!

The leopard-man towered like an immovable pillar in the midst of a pile of corpses clad in black armor. He was drenched in the blood of his enemies, painted pure red from the top of his round, inhuman head to the ragged loincloth at his waist; his broad chest was like a map of hell defined by his own mountainous muscles. The great sword in his hand was barely recognizable as such, clotted as it was from its hilt to its tip in Mongauli gore.

For a moment, the horrifying force of his heroic rage had frightened off all who would oppose him. He was waiting in the lull for the next wave of opponents, taking stock of his situation. It was into this lull that Astrias came galloping.

“Guin! You were lucky once to beat me—me, Astrias, the Red Lion of Gohra. You made me retreat in shame. This grudge I bear, but I will remove it now! Meet me! Fight me!” the young captain shouted at the top of his lungs. But when Guin turned and looked at him, a sudden chill came over his body and all his hair stood on end.

Guin’s eyes let off a light that was amazing, yellow, burning like an inferno. Here was no human warrior but a giant blood-covered beast, drenched in the ichor of the humans he had destroyed and devoured, a mage-beast, greatly to be feared. An enlightenment of terror pierced Astrias like a thunderbolt.

He wavered and hesitantly backed his horse away—then stopped, chagrined and even angrier than before.

“FIGHT ME, GUIN!” he screamed, pouring all the strength he could into this challenge. He brandished his sword and prepared to charge, but just then, Guin smiled—or rather, although the leopard mask remained as expressionless as always, it seemed to Astrias that Guin was smiling wryly at him. Perhaps the light in those eyes, a man-eating leopard’s eyes, softened just a little, the fearsome glint that moments before would have made a weak man drop dead of shock.

“You are no challenge for me, little one. Wait twenty years and come again. Then I will fight you,” Guin replied in his characteristic growl, and turned to survey the battlefield. All at once the leopard warrior returned from his battle rage to cold rationality. “Damn! The Sem have lost themselves in the battle,” Guin muttered in a voice so low none heard him.

Then, without even looking at Astrias, who waited nearby, too overcome by his awesome enemy’s presence now even to breathe, the leopard-man spurred his horse back into the conflict.

“Siba! Siba!”

“Yes, Riyaad!”

“Retreat—blow your whistle!”

“Yes, Riyaad!”

Siba took up the bamboo whistle that hung at his throat and blew with all his might. Guin charged down the battle lines on his horse, seeking Ilateli and Loto. “Retreat! Don’t forget the plan!” he yelled sternly.

From here and there sounded the high pitched whistles of the Sem, one adding to the other. Though they had seemed lost in their battle rage, the wildlings managed to remember Guin’s master plan and their wits returned to them.

“Aii Aii Aii!”

“Iia Iia Iiiia!”

“Aiiaa, Aiii!”

Howling now like mountain wolves, the Sem began a rapid retreat.

“Don’t let them escape! Give chase!” shouted Irrim.

The Mongauli under his command made to move but stopped in their tracks. Guin, the mad warrior who had driven them all over the brink of terror, was now returning, followed by a contingent of Sem barbarians. The leopard-man drew up before the breathless troops of men and his voice roared out like thunder.

“Lady General of Mongaul, the Sem challenge you!”

Thrusting his arm back, he lofted a spear he had taken from one of the footmen—over Irrim’s head, toward the troop of white knights who were arrayed around Amnelis.

The spear flew with incredible force, and Vlon moved swiftly to push Amnelis out of its path. A moment later, in the place where she had stood, the weapon sank deep into the earth, its long haft wobbling back and forth.

“Aaaa!” the lady-general screamed. She covered her mouth in surprise and her cheeks flushed the color of blood, the same color as the Nospherus evening sun.

How could I let the soldiers hear me cry out like a little girl!

Into Amnelis’ ears, which had turned bright red with her embarrassment, came a fearless laugh and a booming voice. “May that be a lesson for you! Go home and lengthen the hem of your dress, and spend your time turning men’s heads in the temple ballroom! It would suit you far better, tomboy general!”

“…!”

It was as though the entire army had gasped.

Then, before any could react, the blood-covered demon-god had whirled about like a desert wind and galloped off after the retreating Sem forces.

“Follow him…” Amnelis’ voice croaked. Her words were barely audible, so overcome was she with rage. She placed her hand on her chest, and licked her lips many times. Only then could she shout piercingly, “Give chase! Do not let a single Sem soldier survive! Follow them! Follow!”

“All troops, charge!”

The Mongauli army hastily reorganized and began pursuing the Sem, who were taking a northwesterly course.

Although the Irrim Corps had suffered serious losses in the battle, it too moved to advance, heedless of their wounded and dead, let alone those of the Sem. Still, order came for the Irrim Corps to fall back into the center of the formation, and it switched places with Tangard’s contingent.

The Mongauli army changed shape. The ends of the loose crescent curved upwards as both wings set out in advance. The invaders were moving to the attack in the shape of a great U. Astrias, back at the head of his own corps, led his red knights in the forefront, whipping his horse to increase its speed. His face was pale.

You… you you you!

If his men could have seen his young face under his face-plate, or if they could have heard the silent curses rolling off his tongue, they would have realized to their astonishment that their captain, only twenty years of age but already famous and formidable, was crying. Astrias' tears were tears of burning fury. The rage he felt that hour he would never forget for his whole life thereafter.

There was one other in that army who was also crying bitter, unseen tears—none other than the Lady of Mongaul herself.

And so, directed by rage and frustration, the Mongauli army undertook its pursuit of the Sem. Already, the invaders had completely ceased to watch their back and flanks.