Chương 406: 12.3

The sound of levy marching, the smell of terrified men sweating under armor, the feel of their breaths as they carried the burden of weapons and protection. The touch of the summer baked earth between the Dacian hills beneath her toes and claws. It all stirred old memories of her youth in a way Jewel did not expect. For the first time since she was eleven winters old Jewel marched onto a battlefield among her men.

She held her wings braced back and regal, her neck towered over even the heights of the longest spears held upright and her eyes could look over the tallest banners. Her steps were soft, gentle and her weight lightened by the churn of internal wyrmflame. She had sent all but two of the Gryphon Riders with her Father and Mathias' General on Land.

Along with them were Twenty-five thousand of her army's soldiers including young Kliatbatrn with the entirety of the Viznove cavalry, the majority of the followers' camp and most of the supply caravan. Jewel retained the direct service of Hewer of Wheat and his skill in drawing up fresh food from fallow land, her own footmen from Kaeketeh, Rochford, and the needed men to direct Viznove's Levies.

Also remaining with her as requested, was March Lord Sergej as her General on land for this remaining force, leading the majority of the footmen and levies. For the army in air she was keeping only the barons Timotej and Ladislav to act in the role of scouts for while they were under march and herself as a counter to any serious harassment sent to slow them in following the Magarskans south. Once more Jewel was walking among the army, and it would again be a ruse, but not one that ended in her taking flight.

Her lines stilled themselves, as they found their place on the mostly flat ground that Magarska had chosen to meet them, Sergej had insisted they give up the apparent initiative to the enemy in order to help bait the trap. To assure them of her apparent blunder and overconfidence. Magarska's war flocks had ruled the skies in every engagement, their sheer numbers seemingly unending, reinforcements constantly replacing those that were lost in pressing Jewel.

New packs of their handlers or fresh Gryphons waiting for the army every day it marched south. Even without the lesser gryphons they had numbered twice Jewel's original force in Gryphon Riders, and that discounted the Rocs that arrived and departed every other day with parcels the size of full wagons! Attempting to match them in the air was fighting a strength even she could not find the means to counter.

So Jewel had commanded the split of her forces, the full army all together was bleeding with every engagement, she could not protect all of it from the sky with Magarskan dominance in the air. Ceding the air to the Magarskans should be a blunder, yet with fewer troops to protect, joined with her on the ground? Supporting her and preventing the Magarskan Dragon Hunting spears from overwhelming her? Wyrm flame would suffice for those that dared to approach the men near her. And for the rest?

Well the appearance that she could not defend all of the army despite its diminished size was part of the ruse. More than one in fact. Hewer of Wheat was among them as well. The straw colored figures walking with an almost jaunty fluidity. Rough cloth sacks tied into the shape of men. Each with a wide brimmed hat of the same pale gold. They marched onto the field of battle, Viznove black and red dominating where before it had been filled with the colors and banners of other lords under the realm.

Jewel marched with the army, two lines of men back from the absolute front, but her neck alone had the height to make a banner visible to all the battlefield for those that needed to rally to her, at her captain's commands up and down the line the steps ended. Her own steps have already been slowing to arrest her momentum from barreling over the men before her. At last count roughly thirteen thousand men should be with her today.

Although that number appeared to be closer to eighteen thousand to her enemy thanks to Hewer of Wheat's proxies. It was a sizable force, enough levy that in her youth it would have risked the labors of the baronies to have so many able bodied men (and women!) at war. But Viznove's people had grown in number and her closest and most loyal allies had captains and footmen to bolster the force. Against even twice its number Jewel would normally be confident they would be victorious all else equal.

Spread out to either side was more than six times her diminished army's number in regimented red and green of Magarskan men, every levy armed with a spear and shield, the heavy composition of footmen with swords or the almost halberd like spears of Wyrm Slayers. The Magarskan voices thinned by distance bellowed orders up and down the line, echoing out from its leaders like waves or a sorcerous wind (although it was not).

Far more obvious was the gleaming tension of the heaven's cut coming to the surface up and down the ranks. She was certain now, it was not the quality of Magarskan men but the enslavement of heavenly bondage holding them fast against her. Behind her Jewel could hear her General on land ordering the banners raised, then the shout of captains and the raising of order banners further to her left and right.

In Opposition to this the war flocks ascended, the booming cries of the Gryphons large enough to lift the weight of riders almost drowned out by the calls of the 'merely' man sized Magarskan Gryphon's with their comparably shrill voices." Hewer of Wheat, Let fly!" Jewel's command boomed, more for her men's benefit than the need to be heard by the Wizard.

All around her, among every rank of her army the straw filled bodies wearing the garb of mere levy dipped down to the dirt and called in the whisper of sorcery to the world for stones of the correct shape and weight for throwing. She watched the enemy line, but heard and felt no answering sorcery, so far the first ruse held.

More than five thousand soft leather gloves closed around the perfectly shaped stones, all the while every part of the ground beneath and air above her was softly being spoken to by the weird who had guarded and raised grains from winged pests for generations of men. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Like children during bird's bane every pale golden figure all in unison drew back their arms and then slung them forward to loose the stones upon the rising war flocks.

But unlike any child's tossed missile every single stone was wrapped in a promise to the world. The chorus of wordless declarations like a silent rising scream all around Jewel. Buffeting the air in sorcery, joining and echoing with the whistle of the stones as each one flew towards a target.

The warflocks dispersed, climbed, moved with practiced ease as they would from the arrows of mere men, the Gryphons bearing riders did not even do that much watching what appeared to be mere levies hurling stones, they simply maintained their preferred altitude. No answering whisper to the world from the other side touched Jewel's senses. Good, still the enemy's support had not stirred.

It was not overt sorcery, so as planned the Magarskans had not called upon their allies to counter the Hewer of Wheat, but Jewel had so far only called upon him right before she pressed the Magarskans into retreat, if there was a day that the Magarskan lord commanding this army called for aide from his ally wizards it would be after she opened their engagement with a weird's strike. This subterfuge had stalled a response for just a moment, but she knew it would only work once.

She could hear the anticipation in the men, bracing to suffer the direct wroth of the warflock. Not even the captains had not been made fully aware of the nature of the ruse, to protect the nature of the trap from scouts or interrogators. The flock of Gryphons the size of a man charged across the sky to meet them, with beaks and claws sharp and strong enough to tear open a belly or even break through the entirety of a man's neck.

Their bestial roars and shrieks filling the air, the shadow of them rapidly rushing across the dry scrub.. But the stones were wrapped in promised death for all that flew with feathers, even as it seemed like the Gryphons had dodged or were too distant to fear their strike the shapes spun, swerved or simply failed to fall when they should have.

Every one of the dark stones closed with their chosen prey, and every single one had a flier that it sought out, with every moment the hungering promise was left unfulfilled the will of the weird pushed the projectiles harder, the speed increased, the whistles becoming brief screams. The missiles seemed to disappear into their number with no harm to them at first, then sudden cracks filled the air above the battlefield.

A piercing thunder preceding the softer crack of bones, then blood and bodies rained down from the sky all across the Magarskan flock. Across the shadow of their army in the air the march forward even stuttered in place from her enemy's lines as not a few but thousands of Gryphons fell from the sky already dead. But Jewel led her forces at a steady pace that would conserve their stamina for the bouts ahead, the first ruse had succeeded!

In one stroke she saw half the enemy's larger Gryphons limply crashing to their rider's deaths all around her. She roared into the air, voice calling out to rally her army's spirit with this first victory." Warriors of Viznove! Today you will fight and if the Magarskan cowards find their spines seven times your number will fall before you! Do you want to be among the few today that can merely say they only slew a single man in honorable combat?"

Her captains and levy roared back to her, echoing across the valley that Magarska had chosen for this battle. And then from all around them Jewel felt the whispers of sorcery rising up. The wind called, the air grew dry and the summer heat baking as the sun seemed to grow wider in the sky. It spoke in a tongue she had never heard before, a lilting flowing thing that rolled with the rustling boom of mountains of sand. But even so Jewel knew it for it spoke to the world, the sun and the sky."

Your throats shall parch, your feet sink, the sun's rising arch, fall for want of drink." Around her Jewel felt the sorcery slipping along the air, flowing into her men's mouths and noses on the dry wind, grasping their throats and sinking down into their hips, knees, ankles, knees. All as one Jewel saw and felt her army stumble, she felt the air trying to whisper to her own throat to feel dry, her muscles to falter with a lack of water for her scales to feel the sun's heat bake her to delirium.

Jewel of course simply ignored such suggestions, but her men were not so fortified. Yet from all around her the Weird of Farms gave a dismissive snort and a wind like the scent of fresh berries and chill harvest winds swept around the army and broiled against the dry curse. Sucking the sorcery out of her army's bodies like venom from a wound.

"Now, Now! None of that here you dry crotch whore!" And with that the Hewer of Wheat and whatever the strange dry-sand Weird in the air were joined in battle as well, a furious silent argument grappling over the world, wordless meaning clashing and striking between one another. Tangling winds rippled in the wake of their conflict. Bending the sight of the sun and clouds but otherwise stalling to little effect. As sudden as her first ruse had succeeded it was nullified, Wizard countering Wizard.

Gryphon calls boomed out from the sky, harsh whistles cut the air from the enemy lines in a far too familiar tone, already Jewel could see the flocks wheeling to either side of her, the riders in air taking position to aim on her forces, no doubt lining up to take out her captains and more experienced soldiers. The Hewer of Wheat's figures were occupied, many crumpling into dust or shearing apart under slashes of sandy wind. Levy and footmen who stayed too close to where the Weird's proxies fought an invisible foe.

Well, no more sorcery of men! It was Jewel's time to do her part in the trap she had laid for the Magarskans. She filled her mouth with flame, with the will that in a single pure denial could end all things it touched. She focused on the meaning, on the intent, on the delicate balance of condition and outcome as she had mulled over night after night and only mastered ten days ago. The reason she had been willing to split her forces and meet the offered battle of an army which so gravely outnumbered her.

Jewel stood before the Magarskan force and for the first time with clear sight and unclouded judgement she spoke to the world, commanded what she willed upon the air and sky above her army and felt the world consider." Let Arrows Turn and Spears Rebel, May No Missile Pierce This Hour's Veil!" There was a pause as if the world was contemplating the full scope of what she asked. Then she felt the world take on her command.

Before she saw the result, her flame's presence dipped within her, the current which held her aloft vanishing, making the weight of her muscle and bone press hard through her legs and make her toes and fingers sink into the dry earth. She only barely stumbled, continuing the march with less weightless bounds but a more grounded strut of her four limbs.

The sky above her firmed and stiffened, All along the battlefield the air above braced and formed itself above them and before the first loosed arrow from the Gryphon Riders at her far left flank could find its mark wyrmish sorcery found its place and Jewel's command was obeyed. The missile, the spear sized arrow of a Magarskan Gryphon bow curved and bent in its path, sailing off in an arc instead of passing through the air that Jewel had declared forbidden for its presence.

An hour was the greatest she dared risk on a working so large, even minor forbiddance of passage through air strained her flame without that requirement and faltered and failed eventually anyway. Why did such a working strain her so when she could seemingly engrave water to flow for over a decade accidentally? Jewel did not know. But she had only just barely managed to find even the slightest hint of the 'words' that were not words that seemed at the heart of wyrmish sorcery.

An hour would have to do, a glance to the war flocks trying and failing to sweep down upon her forces up and down the battlefront, the way that Gryphon Riders loosed arrows with futility upon her army? And the approaching lines of her enemy. Jewel mustered her flame into her mouth again, preparing to unleash the far simpler and less costly expression of her power. For those that dared stand against her, commanding them simply to Cease would suffice.