Rise and Fall (11 page)

Tobin wiped his knives clean and sheathed them. Gathering his bow, he edged to the east. He had no way of knowing whether another scout would be waiting at the next turn.

A hundred yards later, he found two lean horses tied to a cactus, their heads down, nipping on the sparse vegetation. He shook his head in disbelief.

He actually told me the truth…so far anyway.
The muscular animals were hard and beautiful. Their black coats reflected the glare of the sun above.
A far cry from the workhorses in Munai. These are specifically bred for battle.

He moved to take the two animals when a disturbance coming from the other side of a large hill, some fifty yards away, pricked his ears. The thunderous beating of hooves faded as he listened, replaced by shouting voices. He sat crouched behind a boulder for several minutes waiting for something to come into his line of sight, but nothing happened.

He muttered a curse. He would have to work his way over to that hill and see what was on the other side. The barren land between the two points lacked cover. He’d have to chance a sprint—something he dreaded with his ankle.

No use in thinking about it.

He leaped to his feet and raced across the clearing, hasty in ascending the next hill. He stumbled but once, a third of the way up as his ankle buckled. Recovering quickly, he paid little attention to the noise he created while cresting the hill, confident the commotion near him would drown out any extra sound he made.

He inched along on his stomach, working toward the ridge above, arm over arm, dagger in hand. Stealing a look over the rise’s peak, a set of dark eyes encircled in black cloth met his at the same moment, widening, as a howl started from the man’s mouth. Tobin’s hand snapped forward like a viper. His dagger stabbed into one of the desert warrior’s eyes. Pushing hard, until the blade struck bone and jarred his hand to a stop.

The cry, although brief, alerted three others nearby. Each pulled a large scimitar from leather scabbards, dyed orange and striped black. They took up the howl started by the other man as they closed in on Tobin.

They swung their swords down in unison. Tobin half-rolled, half-stumbled to his feet, narrowly avoiding their reach as he unsheathed his short sword. They gave him little time to slide the blade free and he narrowly avoided the flashes of whirling steel around him.

Tobin kicked sand into the face of the man to his right. He continued to move that way and dodged dual strokes attacking from the other two. Loose gravel fell away beneath him. He gasped and tumbled down the hill.

He stood just as the first warrior reached him and Tobin’s sword swept out to deflect a slash meant to disembowel him. Tobin stepped back as the other warriors joined the first in forming a circle around him. Their eyes glinted with violence.

In the space between the warriors’ attacks, Tobin noticed the furious clamor rising in volume behind the hill.

I need to get to the horses.
Tobin sheathed his sword and in its place withdrew his throwing axes, weapons he felt more comfortable with. He rushed the nearest clansmen.

The man let out a yell and raised his scimitar overhead, gripped in both hands. Tobin deflected the man’s swing with one axe, stepping into his opponent’s exposed side and drove his second weapon into the warrior’s skull.

Without pause, Tobin spun and let fly his second axe as the other two warriors charged him. The man deflected the throw with a flick of his sword but unknowingly diverted its path into the trailing warrior’s. Embedding itself in the trailing warrior’s leg, he crashed face first into the ground. The warrior’s scimitar came loose and tangled itself in the feet of the warrior in front.
I couldn’t have planned that better if I tried.

After two quick stabs Tobin hurried away in the direction of the two horses. He ran no more than twenty yards before a wall of orange and black cut off his path. With weapons drawn, several dozen riders approached. Tobin spun around and saw another group coming in from the rear. He instead ran to a small opposing hill where the riders had yet to form. He drew his short sword. He eyed the riders’ short bows nervously, eyes darting. Gaining higher ground remained his only option.

One rider separated himself from the others and advanced. The man’s dress stood out from the others. More ornate, pieces of fire opal, orange coral, onyx, and obsidian decorated into his armor and scabbard.
A Warchief.
“You are alone and far enough away from Munai that no one will come to your aid, warrior.”

Tobin said nothing, standing ready in a crouched position.
If I die, I’m taking this one with me.

Frustrated by the Kifzo’s silence, the Warchief continued with an edge to his voice. “You must be aware your situation is hopeless.” He paused, removing the covering from his face and revealing a beard, formed into a thin line against a hard face. The man removed a water skin from his side and took a drink. He held the skin out to Tobin. “You must be thirsty after such tiring work,” he said, trying a different approach as he gestured toward the dead bodies. “You are a talented man. With such skill, you could rise high in Nubinya if you are willing to help us.”

Tobin spat, tightening his grip on his sword, turning the blade over in his hand so it caught the sun’s rays. “You would kill me the second you got what you wanted from me.” He chuckled. “Many in my clan would take a blade to my heart if they could, but at least they would do so while looking me in the eye. You would wait until my back was turned.”

The war chief sighed, and moved the water skin back to the place on his saddle. He covered his face again and shook his head. “The choice was yours.” He gestured two men forward, one without any visible weapons, bones rattling with each step.
A shaman.
“Make him talk.”

The shaman extended a hand and Tobin felt just as he did at the oasis in Munai, body weak and limbs heavy as if the weight of a mountain rested on his shoulders. He struggled to stay upright, but his efforts were in vain. The other man held a rope tight in his hands. Tobin’s heart raced. A quick death in battle was one thing but if captured, there would be torture first.

And no one will come for me. Even to Father, I am nothing.

Panicked, Tobin attempted to raise his sword in a defensive position but his body ignored the command. His head slumped on his wide shoulders, unable to even lift his gaze past a few feet in front of him, just far enough to see black leather boots come into view. A hand grabbed his arm. Silent curses screamed in his mind, incapable of voicing his anger.

The sun was bright that morning but not so bright to cause the sudden white glare. At first Tobin thought the effect came from the sorcery working against him, but a chorus of yells erupting from the clansmen around him told him there was something more. With head hung low, Tobin blinked away the cloudiness and saw a man collapse in front of him, clutching at his eyes. The rope fell at the man’s feet. Tobin realized that a hand no longer held his arm, and life returned to his deadened limbs. He lunged with his short sword, stabbing the clansmen lying before him through the side. He started for the shaman, but a familiar shout above the confusion halted him.

He spun and saw Nachun astride a black horse, another at his side. Slung on the empty saddle rested the bow and quiver he had left behind.

Tobin covered the distance in haste, flinging himself atop the empty mount. Reaching for his bow, he pulled free an arrow.

“What are you doing? We’re running out of time.” asked Nachun.

“Then go,” said Tobin as he drew back the bow. Nachun stayed at his side. Taking aim, Tobin fired and watched the arrow sail across the disorder of horse and human, piercing the neck of the Warchief, toppling him from his mount.

He kicked the horse forward and Nachun followed close behind. Without a word, they raced across the unforgiving desert as fast as the animals and land would allow before reaching the rim of hills that circled Munai.

Approaching the ridge, Tobin unsheathed his sword once again and holding it aloft, let out a warning to any of Walor’s scouts patrolling the area. They descended the last rise. A horn blew somewhere close by, signaling the others of their arrival.
Good.

Tobin pulled up on his reins.

“What are you stopping for? We must tell your brother!” said Nachun panting, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat.

“No,” said Tobin, turning in the saddle. “You go. We stick to the plan. I need to help Walor recall his scouts and organize our archers. Tell Kaz that I questioned one of their scouts. If we believe what he said, they come with three thousand men on horseback and ten shamans.”

“So many?” said Nachun surprised. “Then those we saw were not their full strength.”

“No, I suspect they were sent ahead to prepare for the main force.”

“How much time then?”

“Maybe an hour. Probably sooner.”

“Is that all?”

“No. What can we do about the shamans? We were not expecting so many and all of ours are with my father’s army.”

“I was only in Nubinya for a short period, but I picked up quickly that their offensive skills are effective but limited. Their defense is almost nonexistent. They can deflect an arrow like that shaman near the oasis did with your ax. But he was ready, and I doubt that under a more stressful situation these shamans would be as effective, especially while trying to attack. Expect them to be heavily guarded, shielded perhaps, and stationed in the middle of their columns for added protection. Their armor may be thicker too, but they still have the same weaknesses as any other warrior.”

Tobin nodded. “I will spread the word. Make sure you tell Kaz as well. And also tell him where the two scouts we passed are located. It may be of use.” Nachun gave him a nod farewell and kicked his horse into a gallop as he headed toward the village.

I didn’t tell him thank you. That’s twice he’s saved my life.

Tobin hoped that when this was all done, he’d be able to rectify the situation and show his gratitude. But he knew nothing was guaranteed. Odd, but the recent events had brightened his mood; in fact he found himself smiling as he turned his horse toward a small camp of Walor’s scouts and a group of archers. His smile would be unsettling to most but to him it made sense. The Orange Desert Clan warriors they would face were not women and children, not helpless victims of war. Nor were these fishermen caught unaware as they rested in their beds. No, these were warriors—men he had been trained his entire life to fight. And it felt good knowing the men he would kill today would not add to his haunting dreams.

* * *

Plans changed once Kaz received the news from Nachun. The old plan called for Tobin’s group to harass the enemy with a company of longbows, firing when the Desert Clan came within range. Once engaged and distracted with falling arrows, the remaining Kifzo would move in on foot, relying on the Kifzo’s skill to overcome any disadvantage in numbers. The tactic was a familiar one, but given the additional shamans and mounted soldiers, Kaz opted for a more deceptive approach—one that required a great deal of work with little time to accomplish it.

As luck would have it, Tobin’s earlier encounter with their foe and Nachun’s sorcery must have given the Desert Clan something more to consider. Overly cautious, almost two hours passed before their riders were spotted, giving them enough time to accomplish Kaz’s plan.

The Desert Clan riders descended the rimmed slope of hills in the distance, pausing at their base to form battle lines. Tobin watched the scene alone, situated once again on the hill across from the village’s animal pens.

In the daylight, the mound of scalding sand looked no different than any other he had grown intimate with these last few days. Yet, the broken gravel and jagged black rock that covered its surface seemed a starker contrast under the watchful eye of the sun.

Even from far away, there seemed to be a sense of hesitancy about the desert warriors’ movements. With weapons drawn, they stared out across the empty land that separated them from Munai.
They expected us to meet them head on.

Then, without warning, the riders set off at a gallop, racing across the open land as would the sound of thunder travel across an empty sky. Rising battle cries filled Tobin’s ears. Dispersed throughout the mass of some three thousand riders, ten shamans became visible, each surrounded by men with large wooden shields.
Just as Nachun said.

The riders reached the village at full charge. The first line of warriors passed through the far side of the settlement unopposed. Coming to a halt, they turned, twisting to and fro in their saddle, scanning the land around them. They anticipated the Kifzo to use the cluster of huts as cover but to the naked eye Munai appeared deserted. Weaving around these huts while circling the village’s exterior, confused riders searched within the disordered mass of bodies. Shouts of frustration tickled Tobin’s ears.

With skill, two Kifzo worked their way into the fold atop stolen black horses. If Tobin hadn’t known where Ral and Ufer were coming from, or what to look for, even he would have missed them attired in confiscated garb taken from the two scouts Tobin had killed. Kaz personally selected them to infiltrate the Orange Desert Clan forces based on their ability to blend in. Their unique skills had been key during Bazraki’s rise as leader of the Blue Island Clan some years ago.

Tobin peered down on the scene and spotted what looked to be the lead Orange Clan Warchief, assailed with questions from his men. At his command, half a dozen riders broke out from the group and galloped off toward the coast between hills narrowing from either side. They rounded a bend and disappeared only to return a short time later while standing in their saddles and pointing off toward the coast. Sword aloft, the Warchief barked an order and without reforming lines, the riders began spurring their mounts forward in clumps.

This may work.

Tobin drew his bowstring back. His eyes flickered about, patient, waiting for the two Kifzo below to make their move.
There.