14. The Battle Ahead

An appreciable distance was covered in the next two days. Zimon and Marco hardly spoke to each other during this time. Marco would ride by Peter’s side occasionally and would tell him all that he learned from Zimon. Albert roughly calculated the covered distance from Legendia to their present location.

“Around three hundred and ninety or four hundred leagues!”

“We must speed up!”, Zimon ordered. The sand was slowing their speed. Their feet would sink up to the ankles in the loose sand beneath and it made quite difficult to move.

Fred and Peter would sometimes sit together during the night by the fire side. Fred would boast about his heroic deeds during the childhood. Peter started to get used to his pride and his jealousy seemed to lessen. “Your boastings are going to kill you some day, Fred.”, Peter laughed.

“Maybe, but that too for your a good cause!”, Fred smirked.

“Shut it off now!”

One moment they would be sharing laughter fits and the next moment they would be having great quarrels on petite matters.

The next day was the hottest of all. The sand dunes would be seen flattening. In no time they found themselves marching on plain barren lands.

“We’re nearing the centre of the desert.”, Zimon said, “We can expect our foe any moment now.”

They saw a desert eagle far off in the sky.

“So you are one of the few who speak Robec?”, Marco asked to Zimon.

“Some words of Robec are used for spells, so it’s always better for a wizard to learn the language.”

“Are all the magic done by using spells?”

“No.”, Zimon replied, “After a certain time of wizardry practise, you become capable of producing magic by your intensions itself... in other words, without speaking a spell.”

“That means magic is not performed just by spells?”, Marco asked surprisingly.

“Very few... Most of magic is done with the help of your mind.”

“My lord?”, Marvelo joined, “I hope Marlin and his men will arrive right on time.”

Marvelo’s uneasiness in the tone could easily be sensed. He seemed nervous for the first time.

“Sure they will!”, Zimon said, “But they can’t be too close. Perhaps twenty leagues away from them.”

“Twenty leagues? That’s a lot to hold their large army with just three thousand of us!”, Marvelo exclaimed.

“You seem to be losing it, Marvelo?”, Zimon said calmly, “You can’t lose hope now. We’ve come this far!”

“Yes of course my lord. You’re right!”, Marvelo grumbled.

The plain land seemed to never end. The following night, Marco saw a dream. He was sitting on a throne. He could recognize the Great Hall. He saw people bowing to him. Zimon was standing beside him. “We’ve won the battle atlast, Marco!” Zimon’s voice echoed. He shone very brightly. “Now I shall relax for the rest of my life. You may take the throne!”, Zimon said smiling. Marco beamed, “Thank you my lord, thank you.”

“Will you shut up!”, Peter said in Marco’s ears. Marco instantly opened his eyes to see Peter staring at him furiously, “I was sleeping and you were unnecessarily thanking me like a mad man!” And with that he pulled his blanket and dozed off. Marco took a few seconds to realise it was just a dream. The journey across the desert was taking a toll on his mind, making him realise how tired his mind was. He took a deep cold breath and slept again.

The next morning was greeted with a slight sandstorm. Fighting their way through the storm they covered a lot of leagues now.

“We’re closing the centre of the desert now... almost their... I can feel it!”, Zimon said in an undertone.

Marco remembered the day when he saw Simon’s face for the last time. ‘He must be arriving soon’, he thought. Somewhere in the heart, Marco felt recklessness for he was going to face the Dark Lord soon.

“They can be here anytime!”, Zimon whispered as he stopped his horse.

But no one appeared and the moon showed up.

“Constant vigilance, my faithful ones... constant vigilance.”, Zimon ordered half the battalion to stay awake while the others rested. Albert shivered in the gloomy night in the open space. Zimon never slept and he sat straight with the staff gripped tight in his palm. However, Marco was fast asleep close to Peter, who was busy as usual having a cold war with Fred.

“You’ll witness it soon, Peter. Our strengths shall be judged on the coming performance in the battle.”, Fred smirked.

“Yes, where I will be the clear victor.”, Peter snapped back.

“You think so? You can never match my speed, nor can you indulge in long range combats.”, Fred said his voice tensing up.

“Oh yeah? Not bad for a self trained hard working knight. I didn’t just sit around like you doing nothing and still gifted by skills.”, Peter shot back.

“Wohoho!”, Fred chuckled and raised his palm, “Hold it right there. You’ve touched the soft spot. Guess someone is jealous of my natural skills.”

“I am not!”, Peter lunged forward close to Fred’s face, “I challenge you to do a one on one combat as soon as we’re done here.”

Fred saluted Peter mockingly, “Challenge accepted sire.”

The sun rays had hardly reached the skies when Zimon jumped up to hastily proceed with the journey. This time they ate a heavy breakfast. The wind was calm and was moving in the same direction as the army.

The sun mercilessly showered boiling rays. Zimon kept on encouraging his men every now and then. A soldier stumbled over and fell down as his leg hit a tiny rock. Zimon turned to glance at the soldier and said, “People stumble not on mountains, but on small stones.”

No one spoke to each other for rest of the journey. Although the water kept the thirst at the bay, Salaha worked upon the men in strange ways, pulling the happy mood out of them with each step.

“HALT!”, Zimon screamed at the top of his voice and all of them bumped into each other.

Zimon raised his hand for silence. His eyes were half open again, his staff was glowing orange. Slowly he opened his eyes and the orange light faded away.

“I see them!”, Fred shouted from somewhere.

“REGROUP!”, Zimon ordered to Marvelo and Marco.

“Archers on the left... regroup... you heard me! Make haste!”, Marco shouted riding amidst the thick army.

Marco called out for Fred and gestured him to take the charge for the archers. Marvelo rode to Fred and said, “Take charge of my archers too!”

Fred sprang into action and shouted, “Archers! Step backwards... Let the soldiers move to the front!”

Marco rode to Peter and said, “Put only half your knights at the front this time. We shall reserve rest of them in front of the archers.”

“Got it!”, Peter rode away in the knights group.

“Line up soldiers. All in your positions!”, Marco said as he passed each and every row.

Marvelo was similarly busy arranging the Knights in order followed by his soldiers.

“All ready, my lord!”, Marvelo grunted.

“Me too!”, Marco joined.

Zimon was busy staring far away into the dust.

“Are they coming?”, Marco asked.

Zimon nodded slowly.

Marco turned to face his batch and gestured them to notify the arrival of the enemy.

The response from the men was great. No one panicked and everyone was determined to bring it on.

“And so, it has come... most awaited time of all.”, Yoyo whispered to Albert who were in the soldier’s row standing erect, their armours held high against their chest, their helms placed intact on their heads.

A sound of horn rang through the vast empty land. It blowed again... and again.

Marco quickly glanced at Peter. Peter had his special helm on, which covered the head, with protection for the nose and deeper coverage on the sides and back of the head. Peter shook his head smiling, to approve that he was fine.

Marco smiled back, turned his face to the enemy and placed his helm on the head. There were two horizontal slits at the location of the eyes and the protection stretched down to the jaws leaving the lips and chin open.

Tiny, tiny men appeared far away, but they seemed to be in large numbers.

“FRED!!”, Zimon shouted.

Fred came racing to the king, “Yes, my lord?”

“What do you see?”

“I see they are moving...”

“And?”

“They are blimey large in number, my lord!”

“How large?”

“Not sure! But not less than three times ours.”

Marco kept on changing his glances from Zimon to Fred, Fred to Zimon. Marco’s breath caught up in his lungs when he could see the outline of the opposite army. Marvelo shook his head in dismay. The army of the foe stretched from extreme left to extreme right. Peter let out a whistle of surprise at this sight.

Fred continued to speak, “I can see different coloured armours! ... and different flags too!”

“I see... so they are not only men from the Dark Dume.”, Zimon looked at Fred, “Others have joined too.”

“Start your positioning.”, Zimon said to Fred.

“Aye!”

“Get your arrow and bow ready. One step back and kneel down! Wait for my orders!”, Fred shouted to the archers.

Marvelo had asked the knights to attack the foe in a semicircular path so that they can target the foe from the sides too. But it was impossible now to reach the extreme right as the lineup was longer than expected. Marvelo rode to the knights and shouted, “Knights! Change in strategy! Head on collision! Straight collision! Understood?”

The knights replied in unity.

The foe seemed to be closing at a fast pace. They were a quarter leagues away now.

“We should delay the fight.”, Zimon spoke, “We need to buy as much time as possible so that Marlin arrives and diverts there army.”

“What if they still don’t arrive?”, Marco asked.

“I have weapons ready. We’ll use them from this distance. I believe by that time Marlin might turn up and we engage ourselves in the combat.”

Zimon got down and turned to his men and shouted, “Hold on to your posts! No one moves until I order!” Marco gestured the corresponding signs. The opposition blew the horn again. Fred was able to see their fierce faces vaguely. Zimon unwrapped the round glassy platinar along with the golden knife from the bag. Zimon observed the army again. Zimon observed the opposition and commented, “They seem to be around ten thousand and we are not even half of them!”

“We will be half if Marlin arrives.”, Marvelo added.

Zimon pulled out a fire arrow shooter and placed in the holder on the back and the silver sword in the scabbard on the belt under his beard. The two armies were close now. Zimon’s men looked no match to the Dark Lord’s men. They were roaring at top of their voice in a different language.

Even the wind had stopped blowing.

Zimon asked Marco again to convey the men not to move. The two armies stood firm on their positions, close enough to appear in vicinity, yet far enough for arrows to reach. The enemy’s armies were divided in a number of batches; each representing their cities. The foe in the centre batch was undoubtedly the Dark Dume’s men; dressed in heavy black warrior suits. One of them held up a black flag with red slashes like marks. The other flags bore the colours golden, blue, green, orange, grey and purple. Zimon did not recognize the green and orange ones. But the rest he had seen before.

“Saberon has a golden flag.”, he mentioned, “Sooryu, Zurkan, Breg... Hmm.. almost the complete west.”

Marco turned to see Peter but couldn’t spot him amongst the knights, who were spread out on his left and right. Albert and Yoyo stood side by side, swords gripped tightly in their hands. “Good luck, my friend!”, Yoyo said.

“We’ll be fine Yoyo. Fine like your heaven forsaken name!”, Albert giggled.

The foe blew the horn again.

“Aah C’mon you bloody demons!”, Marvelo growled.

The enemy had no horses. All of them were on foot. A hefty looking man screamed something and the army started to move.

“NO ONE MOVES!”, Zimon shouted and reminded his men.

Fred positioned his fire arrow shooter waiting for orders.

The huge army was too close now but the Dark Lord was nowhere to be seen and Zimon still did not act. The huge army was too near now and still Zimon did not act. The hefty man in the opposition was laughing madly. He ordered something and their archers held their bows pointing towards the sky targeting the Legendians.

Before the arrows released, Zimon pulled out a golden chain, length of a whip, from his pocket and struck it hard on the ground. And as if the sand monster has arrived again, the dust on the ground rose high and with a great force blew into the Elezbor’s army. The Dark Lord’s men started to panic as they started to sweep off the ground in various directions. The dust caught up in their eyes and they screamed madly and stepped back a bit. But the windy dust covered about two thousand of them only. The impact was not great enough to act on ten thousand men. However, many stumbled on each other and most of them were carried away due to the fierce wind. The second strike of the golden chain broke it and the reaction was far greater than the last time. Tornadoes of dust erupted and travelled into the army and created havoc and confusion. But amidst all this confusion, the archers of Mighthorn were unharmed as they occupied the last row. And as the tornado’s effect started to wither, the arrows were already shot and it was just a matter of few moments when Marco and Zimon together shouted, “COVER!!”

With an impulse, the Legendians covered themselves under their armours. Those who were slow, met their fate. Few horses fell down too. Zimon asked Marco and Marvelo to send orders on their will.

Marco screamed amidst the havoc, “FRED!!”

“ON IT SIRE!”. Fred understood and shouted, “FIRE SHOOTERS!!! RELEASE!!!”

The dozens of fire arrow shooters that Zimon collected were distributed by Fred to some of Marvelo’s and Marco’s best archers. The fire arrows shot up into the air. While they were mid-way in the air, they suddenly transformed into a fire dragon the size of an elephant, blazing intensely. But the more skilled the archer is the better it shapes in size. Undisputedly Fred’s dragon was largest in size, triple the size of others. Even Zimon was shocked at this sight. The foe trembled as the fire dragons neared. The dragons hit the ground releasing an endless chain of fire quickly forming into huge circles of fires engulfing men in them. They burned around three thousand of Mighthorn’s army. The damage was insanely huge. This shook their strength.

Zimon took out his own fire arrow shooter and targeted the incoming arrows. The fire dragon of Zimon’s arrow burned down all the arrows and added to the destruction of the army. The enemy started running towards the Legendians charging with swords, axes, quarterstaves, hammers, scythes and flails in their hands.

While they were still moments left for the two armies to collide, Zimon took his platinar and slashed it with his golden knife. An astonishing dark blue light busted through the shattered glassy platinar and engulfed a large area of the battlefield ahead of Zimon. Marco closed his eyes as the blue light blinded the men. The foe that came in contact with the light fell dead on the ground. The blue light pierced the fleshes like poisoned needles. Around two and a half thousand men comprising of Saberonians and Dark Dumers, died on the spot. It created an intense heat on the battle field. The others who survived the attack were lucky as the magic died halfway. After moments of regaining from the shock, Mighthorn’s men charged again furiously, stampeding over the dead.

“CHARGE!!”, Marvelo roared followed by Marco.

Peter took out his sword and bellowed as he charged, “YEAHHHH!”

Fred ordered the archers to act on will.

The knights and soldiers charged into the collision. Dust erupted as the two rivals clashed into each other. The rivals were too large to resist. However, the knights proved to be an advantage with their horses running over the army making way for the soldiers. Meanwhile, a troop of Bregians infiltrated Marco’s batch. Marco jumped down his horse, swirled around slashing with the sword. Six heads fell on the ground and blood splashed on his helm. The other Bregians avoided going near him as they witnessed his attack. Marco sprung forward and attacked them instead. It was getting difficult to handle so many men at a time. A man headed for Marco, on whose armour ‘KRASVI’ was inscribed. The blade of the Krasvian slashed the flesh off Marco’s right arm.

“AAHH!!”, Marco groaned in pain. Around ten Bregians grabbed the opportunity of Marco’s imbalance and charged with their weapons when a horse leaped on to them throwing them on the ground.

“You okay?”, Peter shouted as he cut down the throats of the men.

“I’m fine!”, Marco said as he jumped up to face others, blood dripping down his arm.

“C’mon you jerks!”, Albert retorted to the thirty screaming Zurkans who had surrounded him and Yoyo, their backs against each other. One by one, ten men fell right on the spot as arrows pierced through their necks. It was Fred. Taking advantage of the help, Albert and yoyo sprung into action cutting the throats of each and every man on their way.

“Thanks!”, Yoyo shouted to Fred.

“Anytime!”, Fred responded.

Fred had one spare fire arrow given by Zimon to use it when things seemed to run out of control. To prevent more of arrows to pour upon Legendians, Fred targeted the last row of Mighthorn’s army, the archers. And let the arrow release at an incredible speed. Turning into the huge fire dragon, the arrow burned down most of the archers and a few soldiers.

“We’re gaining!”, Marvelo rejoiced.

Zimon turned to look at Fred and remarked under his tone, “Excellent!”

Zimon was at his best. No one dared to close up to the wizard glowing in white with his dangerous staff. He attacked all his enemies using spells. But a sudden attack occurred from extreme left of the army where the fire could not reach. The attackers were half giants from the jungles of Chakuzlam. Their skins were rough, faces scarred, fangs dropping sideways out of their lips and their thirst for flesh visible. They wrapped pieces of cloth around their hips, shackles of chain around their necks and carried thick-long flails. Many knights got killed along with the soldiers. Their beasts like bodies were no match for the Legendians. They smacked the soldiers mercilessly. Riding bravely, Peter patted the horse’ neck and put his feet up in kneeling position on the horse back, so as to cover a wider range especially ahead of the horse’ head. Skilfully he balanced himself on his knees on the horse’ back, with swords in either of his hands. He slashed dozens of half giants on either of his sides. No one was able to stop him or his horse as he sped past them cutting his way through them. Marco appeared soon, to aid the men against half giants. The bruise on his arm was instigating a terrible pain in him.

Arrows, swords, dead-bodies, blood-shed... the land was a mess. Although Zimon’s treasure weapons proved successful in killing around six thousand of the foe, he was not satisfied with the absence of Marlin’s army. Now was the best time for them to attack, as the Legendians still seemed to be in almost equal strength in terms of number. Marlin’s attack now would result in an undisputed victory.

‘Where are you, Marlin! Come fast!’, Marco thought as he wrestled the half giant. With no sight of Marlin’s batch, Zimon decided to aid his men using a handful of bursting pebbles. He pointed his staff to the pebbles and muttered some words. The pebbles grew to a size of huge boulders. Swirling all around with the staff, Zimon flung the boulders into the direction of half giants. The boulders hit them at a great speed smashing their bones.

The Dark Dume’s men seemed to be losing. Even though with an injured arm, Marco was getting hold of five at a time while Fred’s rate of shooting increased to eleven targets in a row. Yet, they incurred heavy losses; many died due to arrows and the half giants. Suddenly, Peter’s horse was shot in the belly and it landed a hard crash. Peter hit the ground hard and broke his wrist. “ARGH!”, he groaned. Marco spotted Peter falling down but he stopped dead amidst the commotion. It was not only Marco who had frozen... the whole battalion came to a standstill including the foe. Zimon was breathing furiously, red veins in his eyes profoundly seen. His beard was all over his chest and face. His voice caught up in his throat. Fred’s grip of the arrow loosened as he trembled. Albert was injured on the forehead and blood dripped down his jaws, but less did he care at the sight of the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord was flying a few feet above the ground. He glided around where the fires burnt. He waved his hand over it and slowly the vast line of fires vanished. He carefully observed his losses. As the Dark Lord neared, Marco observed the Dark Lord’s black cloak. His cloak shone wet in dry climate. He held a five feet tall black staff in his grip of thorny metal glove. On the staff’s tip was a golden sculpture of serpent’s head, its mouth wide open, fangs down deep and its tongue out long. His red eyes were distinctly visible from beneath the cloak. His face was buried under the hood, yet Marco could make out the silver mask he covered his face with. A sly high pitched laugh echoed the land as the Dark Lord descended in front of Zimon.

“Not bad for such a tiny army.”, the Dark Lord said, his voice heavy and slow, “You maintained Legendia’s reputation on a battle field.”

Leaning tiredly over his staff, Zimon looked directly into the red eyes, and said, “You have changed a lot since the last time I saw you.”

“Oh yes William Zimon!”, came the grumble, “You have no idea.” The Dark Lord looked around to the silenced onlookers and turned back to Zimon, “You see old man; how they fear and respect me?”

“A man is given some respect before he dies, Elezabor.”

The black hood nodded and chuckled, “You don’t scare me anymore William Zimon.”

“Admit it.”, Zimon snapped back fearlessly, “You are still scared to fight me!”

The Dark Lord growled furiously and turned to his men, “What are you waiting for?”, the seven feet tall Dark Lord bellowed.

His men sprung into action with their blood shredded swords. Peter was on his feet with great difficulty, a sword in his left hand, and excruciating pain with every step. Marco defended the blows from a warrior while he kept on looking at Zimon, worried for him.

Zimon shoved his staff forward furiously and the Dark Lord flew off with a jerk landing on his back. The Dark Lord roared and plunged in the air with a stunning pace and knocked Zimon off the ground with his staff. He waved his right thorny gloved hand at the king. Zimon rose high up the ground and landed a further distance ahead on the ground with a thud. Zimon screamed in pain, his face full of blood. His staff was not in his hand. As the Dark Lord sped towards Zimon, he pulled out the ‘Sword of fear’ and defended the attack from the black staff. The Dark Lord was taken aback and flew to a distance. He glared at the gleaming sword.

“Come now!”, roared Zimon.

He pointed the sword at the Dark Lord and jerked rapidly. A jet of white light shot through the air knocking the Dark Lord away. The Dark Lord’s shrill echoed the field. He was in deep anger. He picked up a dead body and tore it apart in half and threw it away. He let out heavy rasps but kept a distance from Zimon. Zimon charged forward and tried to slash the chest of the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord blocked it with his staff and fell hard on his back. Peter witnessed the strike and rejoiced at Zimon’s success. But Peter let go of his guard and an archer had already shot an arrow at Peter. The arrow was in the mid-air when Fred shouted, “PETER!”

Fred plunged forward from Peter’s behind and pushed him down. The arrow penetrated the flesh with a rough slashing sound. Fred landed on the ground near Peter. Marco pulled a small knife from his boots and threw it straight into the archer’s eye. Peter took few moments to realise that Fred was lying there with an arrow in his chest.