The Channeling (Rise of the Witch Guard Book 3) Read online

  “Yes?” Casper asked curiously when the pause grew too long.

  Falon swallowed the weight of her job and how what she did or did not do was going to decide the lives of so many people. The weight of responsibility temporarily crushed her mind into a tiny ball that was shoved into the darkest corner of her mind. A moment later, her left leg started to quiver slightly breaking her out of her trance.

  She coughed. “Sorry, Sir,” Falon said, coloring with embarrassment, “momentary battle jitters. As I was saying, right now the battalion is split into three separate portions and just like when splitting the food three ways at the dinner table, not all portions are equal.”

  “You mean we have two wings and a center just like the main army,” Casper said patiently, not rolling his eyes at her.

  Falon nodded gratefully, realizing that a food analogy might not have been the best example.

  “Right, just like that,” she agreed. “And just like with the Prince’s army, our most important main leader, along with the strongest and most heavily-armed men—that would be you and your armsmen Captain—will be in command of the center. You will have the largest group in the center. Meanwhile, in order of size, will be myself and the original veteran members of the Swans on the right, and on the left Sir Orisin with a band of stalwarts who will stiffen the spines of the savages—”

  “Hold on,” Sir Casper said, lifting a hand to stop her explanation cold, “you say I’m to have the largest contingent in the center, but so far there’s only myself and my armsmen.” Instead of immediately speaking, Falon pointed to the large body of men ahead of them.

  “The prison sweepings,” Captain Casper said with distaste. “Why wasn’t I given different men?” he asked with censure.

  “Both Sir Orisin and I have had sufficient time to learn the men of the other two companies, and they have learned us. All you’ll have to do is give the orders and those two wings can move however you need,” Falon said, feeling sweat break out on her forehead and her stomach starting to churn at the Captain’s obvious displeasure. Still, if he’d wanted a different arrangement he shouldn’t have left everything to her—or at the very least he should have appeared more often, “as for the center, these are the men in need of the most stiffening. If either of your two lieutenants in this battle were to take them, we’d have needed to siphon away a large number of men from the other companies—making it nearly impossible for the center to be our strongest unit.”

  “I don’t remember there being two lieutenants on the company roster, but let’s set that aside: explain to me why you chose to split the company into three instead of leavening the new men in amongst the currently existing structure?” Lord Casper asked, his voice strict.

  Silently cursing Lord Casper for being a piker who preferred to spend all day living it up with the Prince and his travelling court, instead of marching with his men or even learning the most basic things about its force structure, Falon nodded as if it was the most reasonable of requests. On the inside, though, she was genuinely upset.

  First he told her to do the job however she wanted, and then literally at the last minutes before battle he got upset at how she, a girl—or, in his eyes, a boy—with less than a year of training set everything up. Of course…she had essentially just dumped all the men with the least amount of training, the largest amount of problems, and the lowest morale on him. So she couldn’t get too mad.

  “In short, with either of the two other knights in this Battalion, with the Prince’s reinforcements our Battalion might break in the heat of battle. But with the Captain and his fifty armsmen to stiffen their lines, I doubt we’ll have that problem; this way, the entire battalion and not just half or two thirds of it will be combat ready,” she put the best face on it she could, but everything she was saying was actually true. She’d put these men in the center in hopes that with Captain Casper’s armsmen to keep an eye on them, they’d have no choice to but fight like heroes if they wanted to survive the upcoming battle.

  “I would have appreciated a notification before now so that I could either ready myself or make other arrangements in the battalion,” Sir Casper said coldly.

  “My apologies; I fully intended to go over things with you the first chance when you marched or stayed over to visit with the Battalion, but…” Falon trailed off.

  Casper gritted his teeth and then took a deep breath. “I suppose there’s nothing to be done for it now,” he said, releasing the pent-up anger with one long exhale. “Curse it; I’d been planning to lead from the front—the tip of the spear, or so the saying goes—with this being my first real field command. I’ve fought in the line before and shadowed the captain previously, but…I’d hoped to risk myself in the front along with the men,” he trailed off with regret and what looked like a great deal of angst mixed in.

  Sensing something, Falon kept her face blank like the good little girl she was pretending to be—instead of the back stabbing Lieutenant he could have easily proclaimed her and thought now was the best time to try to continue to distract him and move past it.

  “With the shining example of you and your armsmen behind them, I’m sure that each and every one of the Prince’s men in our battalion will fight like heroes. Sometimes, Captain Casper, sacrifices have to be made by those in command. Besides, with you stationed behind them you might have a better understanding of the battlefield than if you clashed with the enemy in the front,” she said, almost feeling sick as she suggested he protect himself at the back while he ordered the endangering of the lives of men he’d never even bothered to get to know. But what was she to do about it? The truth was that the Prince’s men needed watching and that she had, indeed, planned for him to do that particular job.

  For his part, she could see Lord Casper hide his delight at the words. It was short but she saw the emotion flash across his face, before he revealed a bereaved expression.

  “You’re right of course, Sir Falon. Sacrifices have to be made for the betterment of the men. I guess I’ll have to pass on the chance to lead a glorious foot charge,” he said with a sigh.

  Falon looked at him under lowered brows until finally she couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Well, look on the bright side,” she said, pretending to console him. “When the battle gets heated, as battles tend to do and the men in front of you waver, you might very well be called upon to step to the front and beat back the enemy personally. Without such an act, you might see your lines buckle like they did at the Battle for Ice Finger Keep.”

  Captain Casper grimaced. “Let us pray that we don’t suffer such an ignominy and that the enemy is plainly driven before us,” he said.

  “Yes, let’s,” Falon agreed sweetly.

  Then the Prince finally returned to the Center, having finished speaking with his commanders and the drums changed their beat. It was time to advance.

  It was time for War!

  “I’ll see to my men!” Falon exclaimed, running away to the right

  Horns blew on the opposing side and with the waving of banners and to the accompaniment of horns and drums both sides lurched forward.

  “Gods and King Richard!” was the unified shout from all along the Baron’s Line.

  There was a pause as the men and warriors in the Prince’s army wondered what they were supposed to say in order to recognize one another. It’s not like when they were fighting foreigners or savages. These were other kingdom men.

  “A-Stag! A-Stag,” screamed the men at the Center of the Prince’s army, soon to be taken up by the rest of the men.

  “Spears forward and keep them at a distance, boys!” roared Darius when the well-dressed lines of men in chainmail and scaled armor were less than twenty feet distant.

  “A-stag,” screamed Falon, jumping forward as her portion of the left wing’s line clashed with the heavily-armed and armored baron’s armsmen.

  “Saint George!” roared a man on her side of the line, and then the enemy slammed into their lines like a hammer.

  Sp
ears shattered. Men screamed. For a moment, it was as if the death reaper himself had descended upon the land.

  Chapter 35: Armies Clash

  “Frog—Frog—Frog!” bellowed the enemy armsmen in front, swinging their swords in time with the shouts. The men behind them thumped their swords against the edge of their shields, giving the inescapable impression that they were one unified block.

  “Gods and King Richard!” screamed a Frog armsman, body slamming into the man in front of Falon. Reversing his sword, he almost seemed to kneel down in front of her fallen man. But the resulting scream and blood which colored his blade when he stood up gave the lie to his apparent piety.

  “For a Swan!” Falon shrieked, jumping forward with her sword raised. Thanks to the leather in the soles of her boots, the first swing of her sword only had the strength of a sturdy sixteen year old girl behind it—but moments later a sputtering trickle of power flowed up her leg, and the follow-up strike sent the armsman reeling.

  “A-Swan—a-Swan!” shouted the men beside her as they pushed forward.

  “Forward men; have at them!” she cried, wielding her sword with the might of a genuinely strong man—this in spite of her not being able to pull on the entirety of her magic while wearing these boots. She was starting to despise her footwear—until in response to her wickedly strong blade, an armsman angrily stomped on her foot.

  “Push!” shouted the Imperial Sergeant, urging on their men armed with spears and pole arms, “axes and swords: plug those gaps!”

  Falon cried as she staggered, and hopping on one foot as she worked furiously to defend herself.

  “Take that!” shouted the armsman, bringing his sword down in a stroke that knocked her own weapon out of position before he followed up with a gauntleted punch to the face.

  “NAr-gl…FraGGle,” she gurgled incoherently as red flashed across her vision and blood flowed from her nose down into her mouth. Shaking her head to clear it, one of her teeth seemed to wobble in her mouth.

  Sensing movement and instinctively bringing her sword back to a ready position, Falon felt her sword strike something feeling resistance. Pulling on her magic with a surge and putting all of her enhanced strength behind the move, she forced her sword through the resistance and managed to drive the blade completely over in a rainbow-shaped arc as she seized the initiative against the wielder of the opposing blade.

  Then there was a groan, followed by a gurgle, and something dragged her sword tip down toward the ground.

  “For a-Swan!” Falon shouted, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve and regaining her vision.

  “Frogs!” bellowed an enemy warrior, spittle flying from his mouth and spraying over her face as he brought a hammer down toward her.

  Catching a brief flash of bloody man still twitching on the end of her sword, Falon knew she didn’t have enough time to respond conventionally. So pivoting to the side and dropping to one knee, she repositioned her blade behind her as she brought the hilt around and up over her head.

  A shock went through her hands that seemed to shatter every bone in both of her arms—though even in the heat of battle she knew that was unlikely in the extreme—and her sword was knocked out of her grasp despite the body-enhancing magic power she’d imbued into her grip. With both hands somehow numb and stinging at the same time, Falon didn’t have time think. Beside her, one of her warriors in the line fell with a gurgle. His spear and leather armor had been unequal with the enemy’s heavy armor and sword, and the man with the hammer was bringing it back around for another blow. Help was not coming—she was going to have to get out of this by herself.

  Acting on instinct, she gave a cry and surged up and toward the Frog armsman. Darius taught that when the enemy had the greater reach, you had to get in close and without a weapon Falon’s reach couldn’t get any shorter than it was right now. The motion drilled into her body caused her to duck under the hammer and slam into the other’s heavily-armored midsection.

  For a moment they struggled in a clinch, and then the man’s greater height, muscles, and armored weight began to tell as Falon was bent backward several inches.

  “Die for me!” shouted the armsman, bringing a metal-armored fist up and then slamming his also metal-clad elbow down onto her shoulder.

  Something inside her popped and Falon cried out.

  Red flashed in her vision and she almost fell to her knees. Grabbing hold of him around the waist in a bear hug, Falon ignored the way her right shoulder didn’t want to work properly and held on for dear life. Sensing movement, desperation surged and so did the magic of the earth. With a shout, Falon bent over backward while maintaining her bear hold and dropped the other man on his head in a suplex.

  Crashing to the ground simultaneously, the resulting scramble not to be stepped on or crushed by the feet of their own sides, Falon managed to roll away and regain her feet. Despite her injuries, she was up moments before the heavily-armored man. Drawing back her right foot, she nearly overbalanced and fell before managing to slam her boot right into his head.

  Seeing the armsman fall down limp, she neither knew nor cared if he was still dead or alive—although she suspected the latter. That was the moment she realized she was about to be surrounded by the enemy and her escape route backwards was rapidly closing.

  Stumbling back, she nearly tripped over one of her own men—a man lying dead on the ground with his arm chopped off and throat cut—but maintained her balance. She was nearly back when she noticed she’d just passed her sword.

  Ducking under a swinging sword, she dived down to snatch up her sword before rolling back toward her own lines.

  “Here, Lieutenant!” shouted a man who grabbed her by her injured shoulder, causing her see white and nearly black out as he pulled her back into their lines.

  Falon gasped and fell to her knees holding her right shoulder with her left hand.

  “He’s hurt!” shouted the overly helpful man.

  “I’m alright. Get off me,” Falon said, pushing away a series of helpful hands and struggling to her feet. But before she knew it she’d been thrust toward the back of the line.

  Taking a moment to catch her breath, she looked around bewildered until realizing she wasn’t currently fighting for her life.

  Realizing how close she’d come to death when she’d fallen down, Falon started to shake and nearly burst into tears. That’s when a strong hand landed on her left shoulder.

  “This is going to smart a bit,” said a voice that she belatedly realized was Darius. He grabbed her right arm and jerked.

  “Arrraah!” she screamed, and there was a loud pop.

  “Back in place,” the former Imperial said, clouting her on her good shoulder.

  “By the Lady—that hurt, Darius!” she yelled angrily. “At least warn a body first before you go around yanking on them.”

  “Works better when the soldier’s relaxed and doesn’t know it’s about to happen. If you warn them the rate of success goes down,” he said seriously, but his attention wasn’t really focused on her.

  “Eat dirt,” Falon said uncharitably in response, but couldn’t resist following his gaze. Seeing he was looking at the backs of their men, she started to have a premonition.

  “The line’s bending like a bow at full draw,” the Imperial said, glaring like he was ready to kill someone—and taking into account where they were, she figured in all actuality he probably was.

  “Should we send in the reinforcements?” Falon asked, pointing to a body of about twenty men with a motley assortment of weapons and armor standing to the side.

  “First side to toss in their reserves generally loses,” Darius replied and then grunted. “We’re also starting to thin out dangerously at the edges next to the other units.” He then pointed to their left where Falon’s company mated up with Captain Casper’s before gesturing to the far right where their men linked up with a group of non-swan warriors.

  “It doesn’t look like we’re the one’s thinning on the r
ight,” Falon observed, seeing that the neighboring group, if anything, seemed to be clumping up on the end of their far right.

  Darius grunted. “Doesn’t really matter if the split happens where we join them or in the middle of their formation,” he explained, “those armsmen are still going to up and round them into the back of our line before you can say ‘Saint George’.”

  “Darius, I didn’t know you were starting to pick up so much of our culture,” Falon barked out a laugh.

  “Hard for a man not to pick up a saying or three when you lot are shouting out any random thing you like during a battle,” he quipped

  “You know that’s now how it is—” Falon started to retort but he suddenly stiffened.

  “Lieutenant, I think it would be best if you took the reserve over to the left,” he advised. “The men are starting to waver and those of the new company are looking over their shoulders.”

  “I thought you said ‘the last side to commit their reserve tended to win’?” she observed, then raised a hand over her head and gave a shrill whistle. Seeing she’d caught the attention of the reserve, she made a circling motion and then gestured toward their far left.

  The corporal in command of the reserve nodded and his group started to trot over.

  “If the line breaks now we won’t be around to win anything. We’ll all be dead—or a good portion of us will be,” Darius retorted and then pointed to where an enemy banner was steadily approaching the area they were even now sending men to reinforce. “Looks like we’re not the only ones with the same idea.”

  “Those dirt clods,” Falon snapped, snatching up her sword from where it had fallen on the ground when she was having her shoulder put back in, “you make sure we don’t break in the middle; I’ll go deal with this!”

  “I’ll try,” Darius called after her, “but if we’re already under this much pressure, be prepared for how the center and the left are going to hold up.”