Slaves to the Sword Page 6
The Avestonian infantrymen, recognized the sound as well, stopped running toward the battle, knelt to the ground, and raised their shields. The Carpenter’s soldiers were completely exposed as they ignorantly sprinted into the Avestonian’s aerial trap.
Dozens of arrows lodged in the mouths, necks, and every unprotected part of the Carpenter’s soldier’s bodies as they made for the slowly descending portcullis. The resulting losses were immense.
This flawless execution of death was done on the orders of Prince Stuart, the leader of the Red Guard. He lacked his father’s leadership ability, yet he excelled in military strategy—something his father had not allowed him to prove in previous battles. “Archers, fire again!” the prince commanded. More of the Carpenter’s soldiers went down under the barrage of Avestonian arrows.
***
The Carpenter was rife with anger; his sweaty face was red with fury as he took notice of the severity of the losses from the Aveston Midlander’s counter attack. He quickly commanded his archers to aim at the Aveston gate’s archers hoping to suppress their onslaught. “Advance forward and kill those archers!” Carpenter commanded.
The arrows loosed from his archer’s fingertips just as the Avestonian horn sounded again. This sound had the Avestonian warriors running toward the frontline, trampling the bodies of the enemy soldiers killed from the first arrow onslaught. Within moments, the Avestonian infantry was making progress.
They hacked at the legs of Carpenter’s Cavalry war horses—dismounting the riders and killing many of the first ranks.
Prince Stuart was proud of his warriors, and from his perch on top of the Aveston battlement, he could clearly see he had received the miracle he was praying for.
They were close to advancing on his archers when Carpenter started to contemplate retreating, and it wasn’t long before he shouted, “Regroup! Withdraw the archers and stop their advance right bloody now!” Ordered the Carpenter. His commanders obliged, and bellowed to the over matched and under protected archers to fall back as the remaining members of the Carpenter’s Cavalry advanced forward to meet the inspired Aveston infantry at the newly created front line.
***
“Your plan is working, Your Highness,” said Earl Baker.
“That seems to be the case Commander Baker. Yet, I am not fully content in believing our success is imminent. We must push the Carpenter back to the point of retreat, or, if we are lucky, we kill him first.” Stuart was surveying the battlefield several yards in front of him.
“Shall we sound the horn again to signal a final push, Your Highness?” Baker asked.
“No, Commander Baker, we shall let our fighters press on at the pace the battle provides us. We do not have anyone left to send into the fray, and only a small amount of men to protect the city from behind the walls.”
Indeed, the Midlanders of Aveston were stretched thin. Their primary fighting force was already overextended on the frontlines.
The face of Thomas the Carpenter, once brimming with joy, was now showing signs of uncertainty and anger. His self-financed cavalry had suffered heavy losses, and his commanders were seeking his advisement. “Sire, the Midlanders are pushing our army back toward our position, what is your desire?” asked one of his bravest commanders, Scott Donovan.
Carpenter stood still, stoic, and silent. He could not believe his plan failed. Maybe it was his ego that led him to lose most of his fighting force to the Avestonian aerial assault earlier.
“Sire, we must retreat!” said Commander Donovan. Still confounded, Carpenter was standing within several feet of the advancing Avestonian fighters before he came to and yelled, “Fall back on your positions, and regroup at Tawny!”
Captain Fitzgerald, the Avestonian swordsman, looked out on the devastation on the battlefield, and sensed the impending retreat. “Hold your position! Do not advance!” he bellowed. His soldiers complied, and the short-handed band of fighters, priests, and farmers rejoiced with happiness as the last of the Carpenter’s Army retreated toward Tawny.
Back at the Aveston gate, the men cheered in celebration of the successful defense of the city they loved. Stuart looked to the sky and tearfully said, “Thank you for my miracle.”
11
F or a gazelle that is trying to survive in the hot African brush, life is a constant struggle. Every day you are trying to survive, trying not to be eaten, or separated from your family. Survival is not only a priority for the gazelle but also a priority for the Sefu tribe. No one understood this principal more than Amri Sefu, now twenty years old, and fully recovered from his injuries. He, along with several of his fastest running kinsmen, flanked the swift running gazelle as it darted toward the nearby watering hole. The creature did not dare run through the water because it, along with the Sefu men, knew death lurked under the cloudy, dark water.
The animal attempted to cut to the right, away from the water which was what the Sefu men were counting on. “Here it comes!” said Amri as he pointed in the direction of the animals next few strides. “Amu, throw your spear now!”
As predicted, the gazelle cut toward the right just as Amu released his spear, striking the beast in its flank. The gazelle stumbled, but the hit was not enough to bring the large male down. The rest of the Sefu hunters released their spears as the animal tried to recover from the initial strike. Several spears hit the beast, but it was still trying to flee. Amri ran toward the wounded animal and slit its throat with the small, handmade stone knife his father had made for him. The Sefu warriors quickly killed the bleeding beast while on the lookout for jealous and opportunistic hunters.
Amu Sefu whispered to one of his kinsmen, “Did you see how Amri dove onto that beast?”
“Fear has no place in his spirit. That is why he is called the ‘Killer of Death—Black Lion,’” the Sefu warrior replied.
Indeed, fear had not been a part of Amri Sefu’s spirit since the lion attack two years prior. Since that traumatizing event, Amri had lived his life in a way that puzzled most of the people around him. His train of thought was cautious, but did not factor in any doubt or sense of danger.
Perhaps, in his mind, he was already dead. Maybe he felt the lion that had scarred his face and body for life had taken his earthly life and left him as a living spirit. Many members of his tribe believed this was the reason for Amri’s new identity. He did not embrace his “Black Lion” nickname.
As his men quickly secured the gazelle and headed back to the village with their large kill, Amri’s only focus was getting home. His posture was defensive, and even though he was the leader of his ten-man hunting group, he brought up the rear. He watched the land intently, never wanting to give up any ground for a surprise attack. Hoping, wishing—almost praying, the spirit of his nemesis, or maybe the son of his nemesis, would come for revenge against him. That was not going to happen today.
The Sefu warriors made it back home safely, and the familiar face of Amri’s uncle, Coffa, greeted the men upon their return. “Welcome home. It looks like our warriors were successful today!” He smiled and touched each of the men on their shoulders.
“Yes, Chief!” the men responded as they walked by.
“Nephew, your men did well today. You should be proud.”
“We got what the land allowed us to have, Uncle,” Amri said with a miniscule grin painfully cracking his scarred face.
“You are making my new role as Chief easier by assisting in providing for us, Amri, and we thank you.”
He looked over his shoulder at his sister-in-law, Furaha. She was standing in front of her hut waiting for her legendary warrior son to return home.
“Hello, Mother,” Amri said as he walked up to her.
“Hello my son,” Furaha responded as she kissed his scarred right cheek.
The three-and-a-half slashes across the right side of his face spanned six inches, and the rest of the scars on Amri’s body were camouflaged by his darkened skin tone.
“Son, how are you?” asked Zuberi.
“Have some water, and food with me.”
“I will, Father, in a moment. I just want to sit here for a while.”
Amri sat with his legs crossed, and his back to the wall as he faced toward the opening of his hut. He slowed his breathing, closed his eyes, and stepped outside of his spirit body—returning to the person he believed he was. He could hear children playing, and knew whom each one of the laughs belonged to. He also heard conversations outside and around him. He could smell his mother and father next to him and the food being prepared for them by his mother. Suddenly, he sensed he was being observed and watched closely. His first instinct was to revert back into his spirit self, and Amri quickly opened his eyes without taking a breath.
It was a little girl standing outside of his hut, curiously gazing at the man she was told was “The Killer of Death.”
Dinner was hearty and well-needed for a man of Amri’s size. Standing at six feet eight inches tall, he had developed into the mythical interpretation of what a human body could be.
His extremely muscular body was not only admired by the men, but by the younger women of the village, as well. His father often marveled at the gift of a man he and his wife created, and his pride far exceeded his fear for his son’s future. Furaha had a deeper understanding of her child; she sensed her son’s detachment from humanity, and lovingly nurtured the portions of his personality that he only revealed to her, and his immediate family.
“Where is Endesha?” Amri asked.
“He is at the ridge. You know how much he loves tracking now,” Furaha said with a smile and a raised eyebrow.
“He should be back soon, it is getting late, and he will be hungry,” Zuberi said while inspecting the small knife Amri used to kill the gazelle earlier.
Moments later, Endesha arrived home. His mother welcomed him with a kiss to the forehead, and said, “Hello my son.”
“Greetings Mother, Father,” said Endesha. His father tilted his head down slightly to acknowledge his son’s greeting. “Hi Amri.”
“Hello, brother.” Amri quickly rose to his feet to hug his younger, shorter brother. “You are growing quickly little brother.” Amri punched Endesha playfully in the shoulder.
Endesha smiled confidently at his family as the sting of his brother’s strike radiated down his left arm. “Are you ready to eat?” Furaha asked.
“Yes Mother, thank you,” he replied, trying not to rub his shoulder.
“What did you learn today at the ridge?” Zuberi asked.
“I was tracking some small animals, and I saw some Ema hunters across the watering hole looking for food along our borders.
“The Ema were that close to our border?” Zuberi asked.
“It was only a couple members of the Ema tribe, but they were right along the water’s edge,” Endesha responded.
“They are getting too close to our borders lately,” Furaha said.
“They are not having much success with their hunting which is why they venture close to the watering hole,” Zuberi said.
“Did you talk to the chief about what you saw?” Furaha asked.
“Yes, I did. He said he was aware of the Ema’s activities,” Endesha responded.
“Be careful brother, if the Ema tribe become desperate they may encroach on our territory and you must be prepared to defend yourself,” Amri said with concern showing on his face.
Later that evening, fellow tribeswoman came to the Sefu family’s hut to inform them that Chief Coffa was requesting his brother and nephew’s presence at the elder’s meeting.
Amri quickly rose to his feet from a short rest and assisted his father in getting to his. Ordinarily, Endesha would not be allowed to attend, but Zuberi motioned for Endesha to come with him.
The sun was long down, and darkness filled the sky as Zuberi and his sons joined their tribesmen. There was a large fire burning, and all of the Sefu leadership was in attendance. Coffa was presiding over the meeting—looking very serious in posture and facial expression. “Brothers, we are in a good place today. The land has given us much to be grateful for, and we should be appreciative for that. We are very fortunate to have Amri with us. He has helped us, yet again, with providing for our tribe. However, such good fortune has not been extended to the Ema tribe in the same way it has been extended to us. I have received many reports of recent sightings of Ema hunters near our borders. Sightings that have occurred as recently as today.”
Coffa glanced at Endesha sitting in the background. “Let us not forget,” he continued, “the Ema are considered our allies, and we should not think of them as the enemy. But we should not allow ourselves to be blind to the strife they may be enduring. If they become desperate they will start to hunt on our land and take food away from Sefu mouths. We must make sure that does not happen.” He finished confidently.
“It seems like you are suggesting war is coming, Chief,” said a tribesman.
“No. I am suggesting war could come if we do not help the Ema. Instead of waiting for their situation to become dire we should extend an offer of assistance. This would prevent them from crossing our borders which would absolutely lead into war,” Coffa said.
“What do you require of us, Brother?” asked Zuberi.
“I am asking for a sacrifice from my people. I am asking all of you to prepare an offering of food for the Ema. We will travel to their village and deliver it in good faith.”
“Why should we give what we have, when we have little to offer in the first place?” questioned another tribesman.
“The land has been good to us the last few years, and we have enjoyed many nights with full stomachs and happy children. My fear, is if we do not try to help the Ema, they will try to take by force the little you speak of. We will prepare an offering of food, we will leave for the Ema village in the morning to deliver it,” Coffa commanded.
After the tribal meeting, Amri sat outside of his hut to think as he looked to the brightly shining moon. It was beautiful, and lit the sky sufficiently enough to see the same details as he could during the day. He felt uneasy with his uncle’s plan for the following day, and knew he would not be able to sleep.
Endesha, curious as to why his brother was not resting before their trip north to the Ema village, sought out Amri to enquire. “You should rest, Brother.”
“No. Not now,” replied Amri.
“What are you thinking about?”
“I am not sure about what will happen tomorrow.” Amri did not turn to look at his younger brother. “It seems too easy. I do not believe the Ema are going to turn their backs on thoughts of taking our land just because we gave them some food and supplies.
We have spent our entire lives learning the land of our people, and now, we are going to willingly give what our land has provided to a people who do not appreciate it—a people we do not know.
“When you feed an animal, it will always come back for more food. If you do not have any food for it, the animal may choose to attack.” Amri turned to his younger brother, looked him in the eyes, and said, “I will be sitting here—looking into the night—waiting for the Ema to run out of food.”
“We do not know what Coffa is going to say to the Ema chief.”
“The Ema territory is dryer than ours. The animals are more bountiful here, and that is why they are scouting at the northern edge of the watering hole. If things are this bad during the wet months, imagine how desperate they will be during the dry months.” Amri stood and raised his arms above his head to stretch his long body. His joints popped in protest.
Endesha thought about his brother’s words, then turned to him, and said, “I guess we have some work ahead of us then brother.”
Amri nodded his head in agreement, and the two Sefu brothers went indoors to rest before the trip to the Ema village in the morning.
There was an absence of sunlight the next morning as the men of the Sefu tribe prepared to travel to the north. They had filled s
everal cloth bundles with food that ranged from dried berries and wild nuts to dried and fire smoked meats.
This was the type of sacrifice Chief Coffa commanded the Sefu leadership to make in hope that the Ema tribe would not encroach on their land anymore.
The trip to the Ema village would take the entire day. The group of men had to climb the northern mountains that surrounded their tribe’s valley of land.
While it was not too high, the path was not an easy one. Amri Sefu was pleased with the change of scenery, but was visibly dissatisfied with his chief’s hopeful generosity.
“Are you alright?” asked a fellow tribesman.
“Yes. Just thinking,” Amri replied. He was looking at the land around him as he walked.
“My nephew does not believe in sharing the food that he has helped us acquire,” Coffa said with a smile, adjusting the heavy ceremonial robe and headdress he had donned for the formal trip. The group of men shared a laugh as the terrain turned more laborious.
Hours passed, and Amri’s disposition had not changed. Coffa took notice “What is on your mind, Nephew?”
Amri did not want to question the chief’s actions in front of his men, so he walked a step slower to fall behind the others, and walk in stride with his uncle. “I am concerned about this trip, Uncle. Do you believe this offering will prevent the Ema from coming south to hunt near our lands?”
Coffa took his nephews words into his ears and looked toward the sky briefly. He then remembered Amri as a young boy, and forgot about his immense size and the scars on his face.
He wanted to give his nephew the same hope he thought every child should have, but Amri was not a child—not anymore. His youthful innocence was taken away from him two years ago, at the age of eighteen, by a hungry lion. Amri deserved to hear the truth from the uncle he loved and respected.
“Amri, the offering is the only thing we can do to prevent a war between our two tribes.
I am hoping to convince them to work with the Kuno tribe to the west by the big water for more bountiful lands.”
“Kuno tribe?” Amri asked.