Destiny Intertwined, Into the Maelstrom of War
#13 of Destiny Intertwined
Alrighty, finally got out of my slump. Here we go. I hope you enjoy this story, it took me a long time to write.
As always, comments are appreciated.
Continued from the calm before the storm...
Cerule stood in the front rank, just behind the wall of the breastworks that lined the morph's positions. Dark clouds boiled overhead, the storm coming in from the nearby sea. The wind was blowing in from the south, bringing the scent of the sapphire waters of the bay where the ships were docked. The vessels were empty, the crews having joined the army earlier that day along with the last loads of soldiers. It was nearing noon, but no one could tell. But Cerule's concern was not with the storm overhead, nor with the empty fleet, not even with the soldiers who stood beside him, lined up in ranks of burnished steel. The steel-grey banners with the white bear that tipped the long lances of some of the soldiers were starting to flap with the wind, but the champion's gaze did not waver. His attention was instead on the horizon to the north.
The soldiers standing in position on either side of the tiger champion were starting to shift in place nervously, but the aquamarine eyes of the large tiger did not move. Off to the north, a dark smudge had appeared and it was growing steadily larger, a smudge that had drawn the eye of the champion from the moment he had caught it. With the dark storm clouds overhead, many of the soldiers could not distinguish it, but all who had once been hunters had long ago spotted it, their attention to detail picking it out from the surrounding terrain. And then, the ranks of soldiers fell utterly silent, for a sound had worked its way through the winds of the storm to their ears. The sound was a faint echo of war horns in the distance, a mixture of many tones. Some were high and uplifting, others deep and throaty. And moments later, another tone came to them, less a sound, more a feeling.
A tremor within the earth; a deep vibration of sound that made the flesh crawl and the heart race. The very stones of the earth were shaking with the marching feet of the approaching army. But still, the only movement that Cerule displayed was a twitch of his ear, adjusting to catch the sounds of the approaching threat. The faces of the soldiers around him, fear-laden with the approach of battle, hardened as his incredible calm spread through them like a wave. And then, one of the magic users attached to the army, an old lion who commanded great powers of nature, made his way to the champion's side, parting the lines of soldiers with ease.
"Champion," He began and Cerule turned his head slightly to hear the quiet voice. "This storm is natural, a product of the elements alone, but we might be able to direct its violence."
"Good." Cerule replied. "Begin your preparations."
The lion nodded and walked off, going back behind the lines to join with the other magi. Cerule remained standing as he was, waiting for the enemy to arrive. The scouts had reported the enemy's numbers to him when they had returned, a number he had kept from the army. The morphs were outnumbered more than twenty to one and Cerule knew that his troops must not know this, or they would break and run. While many soldiers were no doubt cursing the storm and the rain that would follow, Cerule counted it as a blessing, for it would aid his army and harm the enemy.
The champion resisted the temptation to look at the fortifications in front of his lines once again. His army had finished the fortifications just before dawn that morning, and though tired, the soldiers were all ready to fight. A half mile of earth before their army had become a forest of wooden stakes, pits and trenches, and as many mundane traps as they could manage, all arrayed on the shallow slope before the works of the army. Traps of deadly magic sat invisible, scattered out among the sharpened stakes and hidden pitfalls, waiting only a target to unleash their fury upon. Cerule resisted smiling, for the coming rain would make the disturbed soil a muddy quagmire that would slow down any advance to a crawl.
Even more, the army approaching was not totally unified. Made up of professional soldiers of several nations, private armies maintained by noblemen, and the ever-present mercenaries, the army was unified in name only. The scouts had reported that each army was marching on separate courses, well apart from the others. But, even with all these advantages, the outcome of the battle was hardly certain. And though he was very worried about the prospects for his army, Cerule could not show it. Anything less than a show of stoic resolve could cause his army to panic, so he remained still, watching the smudge growing ever larger. All of his army could see it now and the air grew heavy with the scent of nervous warriors, but the strength of loyalty held the soldiers fast in their ranks. Minute by minute, with maddening slowness, the smudge got larger and larger. And then, all at once, it resolved itself into six marching lines of soldiers, each one with a different banner.
Cerule swept his eyes back and forth across the marching lines and smiled grimly. Five of the banners were those of nobleman and kingdoms, but one banner made Cerule uneasy. It was all black, adorned with a familiar cruciform mark in red and blue. It was the same mark that had been burned into handle of the curved dagger he had found on the assassins at Scolor, more than a year ago now. It appeared the Scio were out in force at last. The great lines of marching soldiers became like snakes formed of innumerable silver scales. Closer the columns slithered and distant lightning from the storm cast the lines as rivers of quicksilver, flowing towards the distant sea. And then, as the first drops of heavy rain fell, the rivers joined into a tide of metal, coming forward like a crushing wave, its frothing crest formed of spear of blade. And then, thrice the distance of the longest bowshot from the front line, the tide of the army halted. But the rumble of marching boots rose still from the earth, filling the air with silent thunder. While the attention of the waiting morphs had been on the six columns of soldiers, more and more soldiers had come into view behind them. They filled the land to the north from horizon to horizon, many thousands under dozens of banners. All at once, with a mighty peal of thunder, everything grew silent and still. Even the falling rain seemed to make no sound. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, man and morph alike, drew upon air that was rapidly filling with water, waiting for the braying of horns that would signal the inevitable charge.
And then, at last, the vast horde of soldiers began to move. Silver ranks were drawn back, and an unruly tide of darker colors swarmed to the fore. Mercenaries, like lambs for the slaughter, sent ahead to reveal the traps lain before the army. And, as they began to move forward, sound returned to the world. Lightning cleaved the sky, thunder shook the earth and the ringing beat of rain on metal filled the air. And then, a horn call sounded, a noise barely muffled by the full force of the storm's fury, and the mass of mercenaries swarmed forward in a wild charge.
Through all the pounding of armored feet, and all the terrible silence, Cerule had remained unmoved, motionless in the rain and wind. But now, as the mercenaries came forward, the champion moved at last, turning to one of the young cheetahs that were standing near him, runners waiting the word to ply their speed on the trampled turf behind the army.
"Tell the magi to hold the traps." He stated and the cheetah nodded, sprinting off to the knot of magi standing at the rear. The magic traps would not go off with the mercenary charge. The undisciplined mass of soldiers rushed forward, unperturbed by the forest of stakes. As they advanced, a note of metal on leather sounded in the morphic line, a metallic hiss filling the air as Cerule drew the hand and a half sword at his side, its blade catching the flashes of lightning at his drew it. The sound of the Champion's blade being drawn seemed to stiffen the resolve of every warrior in the army, and hands tightened on weapons all across the line. The army was ready for the battle to begin.
Soon, as the mass entered the forest of wooden spikes, masses of soldiers would suddenly vanish, falling into pits and trenches. Some hauled themselves back up, painted black by the mixture of mud and pitch that covered the bottoms of some of the pits, but most did not rise again, felled by sharpened spears of wood and bone. And then, as they came closer still, within bowshot of the morphs, the charge began to fail, bogged down in the slick mud and the growing slope. The morphic archers bent their bows, arrows on the string, but Cerule did not signal them into action yet.
And then, well within the range of bows, the mercenaries ground down to a crawl, unable to make headway against the storm. And, as they milled around, trying to find a way through the traps and wooden stakes, Cerule raised his blade into the sky, unafraid of the storm. And then, the glittering blade fell, signaling the doom of the humans trapped in the mud. A volley of arrows, black against the dark clouds, soared upward into the sky, and then fell again swiftly. The bellows of war, the fierce cries that had so heartened the mercenaries in their advance, became cries of pain and fear as hundreds of shafts fell from the sky, a deadly rain that fell from all sides with murderous precision, felling hundreds of soldiers in an instant. The sword fell again and a second whistling volley fell, carpeting the ground with corpses. So cunningly had the trap been laid, so perfect had been the timing, that of the thousands of mercenaries that had swarmed to the fore, barely a hundred fled back from the field of battle to the relative safety of their own lines.
As the mercenaries retreated, a ragged cheer came from the volunteers that flanked the army of Lan'as'atal in the curving crescent of the line. But the soldiers under the banner of the white bear remained grimly silent, for they knew that the thousands that lay dead and dying on the battlefield were only a small fraction of the forces that faced them. And, as the echoes of the cheer faded away, the horn call sounded again, and the silver armored tide began to move forward, a wall of silver and leather armor under blood-red banners. Heavy infantry, shock troops, clothed in plate and scale armor advanced behind rank upon rank of light infantry. But there would be no word to hold this time. The soldiers marching forward were no mass of undisciplined soldiers. These were professional soldiers, well-trained and disciplined. Neat, ordered ranks stomped forward, silver weapons glittering.
A wave of unease passed through the army at this show of force. Surely against such a foe, there could be no victory. But, a single look to where the champion stood was enough to banish any such fear. Cerule stepped up onto the breastwork, revealed to friend and foe alike. He stood tall and resolute, rain cascading down his armor, his blade unsheathed to the storm, and for a moment, his proud face and fearless manner made even the army falter in its march. At the site of an entire army stopped by a single warrior, even the grimly silent soldiers in the center of the line took heart, stepping up to the breastworks and readying their lances. For a moment, the soldiers of the enemy army looked upon the proud champion, then, they came on again, marching faster as they sought to destroy the tiger who dared to stand before them so brazenly. Cerule smiled and waited, watching as the enemy approached. The light infantry, the least experienced soldiers in the enemy's army, sprinted forward, outpacing the slow moving heavy infantry behind them.
And then, as the waves of lightly armed soldiers crossed into the fortified land before the army, the traps of magic began to activate. The first was a wall of flame twenty yards across that consumed soldiers by the dozen, remaining burning bright even with the torrential downpour that cascaded down from the heavens. From the moment the magical flames leapt into the sky, more and more traps were triggered, carving large holes in the advancing lines. Thick spikes of ice that rose from the ground suddenly, impaling many soldiers; brown vines the color of the mud that suddenly wrapped themselves around limbs and bodies, choking the life from soldiers; creeping fog that left all who breathed it in unconscious, dead and dying. And on and on, every imaginable use for offensive spells springing up from the earth. But despite hundreds of soldiers falling to the hidden spells, the advance ground on. And then, arrows began to fly from the advancing lines of soldiers, shafts falling among the troops behind the breastworks. The arrows were not aimed well, so few found their marks among the soldiers, but Cerule dropped back down behind the wall, knowing it was foolish to remain exposed.
And then, when the enemy began to walk over the bodies of the dead mercenaries, an answering volley of arrows soared into the air. Soldiers began to fall once again, quicker this time. A second volley followed the first and again the ranks of soldiers bogged down in their advance, unable to reach their goal. A third and a fourth volley of arrows fell and the infantry began to fall back, then run, breaking ranks to retreat. The heavy infantry behind were only just beginning to come into arrow range, but Cerule did not allow his archers to loose their bows, knowing that their armor would not be pierced by the shafts. The twin lines of heavy infantry advanced quickly, ignoring the traps that killed members of their lines. They were more disciplined and experienced than their comrades and Cerule waited. The wooden stakes driven into the ground broke up their formations, shattering the neatly ordered lines into fragments. And then, when their advance too slowed in the rain and mud, Cerule raised his sword high once more. Soldiers who carried captured crossbows readied their weapons and watched for the signal. Moments later, it came, the blade carving its way through the rain and bolts spiraled into the trapped infantry.
Unlike arrows, the bolts had more than enough force to punch through the armor and shields of the infantry and men fell by the dozens. No force, no matter how well trained, could long withstand the shower of deadly missiles and it wasn't long before they too fled back to the host. The morphs cheered as one and Cerule joined them, roaring loudly, releasing some of the tension that filled him at last. As the shattered remnants of the soldiers fled back from the battlefield once more, Cerule continued to cheer with the rest, though his mind was troubled. The blood red banners that the soldiers had born lay in the mud along with hundreds of soldiers, but the line of the fallen that were closest to the top of the breastworks were closer than the last charge had been when it ended. And there were many more soldiers than those that had fallen already in the enemy army. Even as the cheering stopped, another wave of soldiers was already advancing...
***
"Scolor, please!!" Jessica stated, following the Archmagus as he walked up the spiraling staircase to the ramparts. "Listen to reason!"
"I have." Said he, continuing up onto the stone ramparts. The female tiger followed him out onto the stonework, her three young bodyguards trailing behind her. "This is the way it has to be." Jessica had been trying to convince Scolor to go to help the morphs in their battle since she and her guards had arrived, but he hadn't agreed. She was getting increasingly frustrated with him, even though he had been like a kindly old grandfather to her when she was at the academy. Two weeks of constant arguing had done nothing to change his mind. Jessica had one last card to play, then she was going to go alone with her guards to the battle.
"He saved your life archmagus." She stated and Scolor froze on the rampart. His whole posture slumped slowly and he turned, looking out on the forest near the school.
"I know." He said, his voice weary. "But the debt I owe him is not the only thing I have to consider. The lives of every man, woman and child that live here are at stake. If we go to war and lose, they will be slaughtered."
"But if you don't go to the aid of my mate, and we lose, Scio will come after you." Jessica stated and the old mage nodded.
"You see, there is my problem." Scolor said, putting his hands on the stones of the rampart. "Many lives are at stake here. I really don't want to risk it."
"Well, the choice seems to be between death and death." Jessica stated and he looked over at her. "If death is your only choice, you might as well fight."
"You are right, of course." He said, nodding slowly. "I guess I am still afraid. You would think after so long in this world that I would be unafraid of death, but there it is. I am scared of death."
"We all are." Jessica said, laying a paw on his shoulder. "But whether or not the army goes, I am going. I owe it to my people. Are you coming, or are you staying?"
The old mage looked back down at the stone beneath his fingers, then he looked up at her, smiling...
***
Cerule's blade cleaved right through the scale armor of the human soldier, laying open his chest. Another soldier came forward, carrying a huge spiked mace. He was wearing the plate armor of an officer and Cerule ducked a mighty swing of the warrior. Cerule knew his sword would not pierce such armor, so instead he reached into his dwindling supply of strength and swiped his hand through the air, snapping the warrior's neck with a blast of magic. As the man fell, Cerule looked up to see a crossbowman standing astride the breastwork, his weapon pointed at the tiger. Just as the man fired, a long lance held by a morphic soldier stabbed up through his chainmail, throwing off his aim. The bolt narrowly missed, passing within an inch of Cerule's right pauldron. The crossbowman dropped back out of sight, and the assault was over. Cerule wearily sheathed his sword and looked up. The rain was still falling, but with the evening coming on, no one could tell how dark the clouds were or how long the storm would last.
The battle had been raging all afternoon and into the night. Cerule climbed up onto the redoubt, looking out on the battlefield. The tiger champion was standing midway along the western flank of the line, looking out on the battlefield. Countless bodies carpeted the ground in the battlefield, weapons and armor glittering brightly with each lightning strike. The breastworks and the lines behind them were covered in bodies as well and the many, many wounded were being carried back from the line in a ceaseless stream. Cerule sighed, looking along the line. Less than a third of the soldiers who had stood here at the beginning of the battle were still there. Those that still stood leaned on their weapons in exhaustion, barely able to stand. Cerule himself was exhausted, and it was little wonder why.
All throughout the day, the enemy had thrown army after army at them. The morphs had taken every advantage they could have. The magi had used the lightning of the storm itself, striking as many soldiers as they could reach. When two armies advanced together, the archers would bombard one, making it retreat. Two whole armies had been driven from the field in this manner. Every assault had come closer and closer to the lines. But now, every arrow had been loosed, every bolt fired. Every trap had been triggered, and even the magic ones had been dispelled. After every assault, the archers and crossbowman scavenged arrows and bolts, at times even pulling them from the dead to be used again. Ever since mid-afternoon, the fighting had been dirty, close and bitter. And in every assault, where the fighting was hottest, Cerule was there. But now, his sword was notched, his armor battered and bloody. His bodyguards had all fallen or been carried away as wounded. And the enemy showed no sign of slowing down or stopping. Even now, the horn call could be heard and the morphs stepped up to the defense of their line. Cerule sighed, turning his gaze back to the front of the line. Another line of armor clad soldiers were stomping forward, coming towards the other flank. Cerule tiredly lifted his sword and started to run along the line, headed to the other side of the line. About halfway there, Aden caught his arm, stopping his run.
"Cerule, you are exhausted." He said. "You can't go on like this without a rest."
"Later." Cerule stated, starting to move once more. But Aden stopped him again.
"Whoa, whoa, wait, you're bleeding." Aden said and Cerule turned to look at him.
"What are you talking about?" He asked, but then he suddenly felt the pain. It flared on the underside of his left arm, filling him with pain. He looked at that arm and felt himself swoon with the combination of exhaustion and pain. There was a rent in his chainmail, about nine inches long, and the mail around it was covered in fresh blood. Aden caught him, keeping him on his feet. "Give me a hand will you?"
"Sure." Aden stated, watching in amazement as the tiger leaned against the wall, his fingers glowing slightly as he pushed them through the rent, passing them up the wound. In a moment, the blood leaking from his arm slowed and then stopped completely. After the bleeding stopped, he hefted the blade again and continued to run. Aden shook his head, but Cerule didn't pause in his run. He reached the other side of line just in time to meet the assault. As had always happened, the soldiers carrying lances and spears strived hard to keep the enemy back from the breastworks, but it wasn't enough. The enemy poured over the breastworks, and the fighting became close once more. Cerule fought hard, slaying a half dozen before the fight changed. Black clothed assassins were among the soldiers now for the first time. The tired soldiers within the breastwork were hard pressed to defeat these new foes, all of whom were not only fresh, but trained to kill with minimum effort. Cerule stepped forward quickly, intercepting one assassin's short sword with his blade, then struck swiftly, catching the surprised man in the throat with his fist.
Cerule heard a cry and turned quickly, ready to face another assassin, but he found Aden standing there instead, the white fox retrieving his recently thrown spear from the body of a soldier. But then, with a metallic clang, pain far worse than anything he had ever felt before exploded in his side. He looked down and found a black feathered crossbow bolt sticking at an angle into his chest, punching right through the breastplate, the chainmail beneath, the leather beneath that and into his chest. From the pain in his side, it was clear to him that the bolt had broken a rib. But the pain was far worse than it should have been, and it was starting to spread. Cerule looked around and spotted another black clothed assassin standing nearby, wrist crossbow pointed right at him. Cerule let out a bellow of rage and sprinted forward, even as his whole left side began to go numb. Cerule's long blade sliced through the assassin's clothing, flesh and bone all in one motion. The assassin's corpse fell into two pieces and Cerule slumped down to his knees, the world fading from focus and Cerule felt himself falling backward...
***
"That assassin's dart was tipped with several toxins." A voice was saying, and Cerule struggled to open his leaden eyes to find its owner, but his lids were too heavy yet. "I think we countered them in time, but he will be weak for some time yet."
"Good." That was Aden's voice and for a moment, Cerule wondered what had happened to him, but then it all came flooding back to him. He had been hit by one of the Scio's spiked darts, an almost always fatal occurrence. "The dart's shape probably doesn't help any."
"True." Another voice stated, feminine and familiar. Cerule finally managed to open his eyes. The first thing he perceived was the star strewn sky above him. Then, the fuzzy light of a candle came into view and he recognized Aden and Shea standing side by side above him, along with one of the magi who was skilled in healing.
"Welcome back Cerule." Aden stated, seeing that he was awake. "It was a near thing, but you are still alive."
"What happened after I blacked out?" Cerule whispered, his voice as weak as his body.
"Well, Shae and I dragged you back from the line to the healers, and just in time too." Aden stated, helping Cerule to rise a little. The first thing that he noticed was that his torso and arm armor was missing. A white bandage covered his left bicep, and another his torso, over the wound the bolt had left. "Just when we got you to the healers, the enemy threw an all out assault at us. Our lines broke. It was chaos. But, we managed to stabilize the line a short way from here. We are putting up a shield wall as we speak, but the enemy has not attacked yet. I think they are organizing for a final assault."
"Give me my sword then." Cerule commanded, forcing his weary body into action, managing to get up to a crouch without falling over. Aden looked shocked, but Cerule ignored him, forcing himself up to his feet, his tail swiping back and forth, maintaining his balance. "If this is to be the last fight, then I will die fighting, not laying in bed."
"I think it would be better if you stayed here and rested." The healer stated, but Cerule shrugged off his hand and looked pointedly at Aden. The fox exchanged a glance with his mate and then handed over the champion's sword. Its blade was notched and in need of a good cleaning. But Cerule didn't care. It would serve well enough.
"Where is my armor?" Cerule asked and Aden pointed to a heap of white and silver metal lying nearby. The tiger nodded and tiredly lifted his chainmail shirt, settling it over his torso with a slight grimace as the rings contacted his recent wounds. The only other armor that he took from the stack were the steel vambraces that protected his wrist. Then, properly attired for battle, he turned and walked unsteadily towards the thin line of soldiers that stood a short distance away. The cries of the wounded and the soothing words of the healers as they worked to save warriors from death filled the silent air, but Cerule ignored them, his eyes focused on the line that stood behind the shields that had been planted in the ground to serve as a defense from an advance. When he got to the front of the line again, Aden and Shae flanking him to either side, he stared out to the army that waited out there.
Soldiers wearing the livery of a dozen armies stood seven lines deep across the way, backstopped by the abandoned defenses that had so long held them back. The enemy lines were spread out to an equal distance as the morphs, but the morphic line was only two deep, and sometimes, not even that. The morphs had fought their hardest, but this was the end. This would be the last charge. And, Cerule's keen eyes picked out a few black clothed assassins standing here and there among the soldiers. He was pleased to find that there were very few of them left, perhaps a hundred at most. But there, out in front of the army, amid a group of mounted generals and kings, a solitary black uniformed figure rode upon a black stallion. Even from here, Cerule could pick out that he was missing an arm. 'Scio.' Cerule thought, and as if a signal had been sent, the assassin lord turned toward him and gave a mocking half bow. Cerule's eyes narrowed and he stepped up, placing one foot on the shield in front of him. All eyes on the battlefield turned to him, human and morph alike.
The morphs expected a speech, a passionate and stirring sermon extolling them to brave deeds. But Cerule had no such words inside him. Instead, he lifted his sword into the sky, the pale moonlight shining in its surface. He sucked in a long, slow breath, then he roared. It was not a yell of desperation, nor of sorrow, as the humans no doubt expected. It wasn't even wholly of rage. The tiger's roar was loud and long, carrying along the whole of the line, echoing in and out of the line of soldiers. It was a sound that challenged the army across the empty ground to come to battle, and all who heard it knew it. And then, the tiger's solitary voice was joined by dozens and then hundreds and then the entire army. Thousands of voices roaring a challenge to their foes. The sound was so rich and varied in tone that it seemed to form a kind of fierce song. So loud was the roar that the very air vibrated with its force. Even the most hardened veteran of the army across the way cowered before its sound. And then, as the echoes of the roar of a thousand throats faded away, the Kings and nobles across the field signaled the advance.
Soldiers clad in silver armor began the slow walk forward, advancing onward. When the morphs looking out from their hasty defenses could see the faces of the individual soldiers, it became clear that the enemy was just as weary of battle as they were. The lines that had looked so tightly disciplined from far off were not as ordered as they had appeared. They were sluggishly maintained, and the soldiers wearily lifted their weapons, coming forward to fight once again. Then, the soldiers began to trot forward, their pace quickening as they prepared to charge. Closer still they came on, and, then, when it seemed that they were gathering themselves to break into a run, something changed, and in a big way.
The air the morphs stood in began to tingle, causing the fur of the morphs to stand on end. Cerule looked around himself in surprise, then, when bright motes of blue-white energy began to gather themselves behind the shield wall, he smiled, realizing what was happening. The advancing army suddenly slowed back down to a walk as dozens of vertical discs of magic appeared behind the morphic line. Then, they stopped short in shock as figured began to step out of the portals, led by four unusual morphs, three shorter than normal and dressed in chainmail, the other with a swollen belly. And then, pouring out of the portals, came a swarm of soldiers in armor and hundreds of magi in various colors of robe. And then, when the magi began casting spells into the lines of human warriors, the assault became a retreat, growing steadily faster.
"My brothers and sisters," Cerule called, his great voice filling the air, "Our time is at hand. Let this be the end. Charge!!!"
The great tiger suited actions to words, leaping the line of shields and running with wild abandon towards his foes, pain and weariness gone. Like a dam breaking, the morphic army suddenly surged forward, advancing for the first time that day. The human retreat became a rout as the exhausted soldiers faced a suddenly reinvigorated foe. The humans sprinted away from the morphs and their reinforcements. Officers were unhorsed as their animals panicked, sergeants cried for their men to hold their line, but were ultimately swept along with their retreating soldiers. And then, just as the first human soldiers were reaching the abandoned breastworks of their foe, the rout slowed and the army began to gather there, unable to quickly scale the defenses. They turned out of desperation to face their deaths. But Cerule suddenly slowed his wild run, holding up his fist for his army to halt. The morphs halted suddenly and quickly reformed into lines, the champion's presence keeping their instinct to slay their foes in check. Then, Cerule stepped forward before his army, and by chance, the moonlight and starlight seemed to shine off of every part of him.
The humans stared in awe of the morph, standing there before them, silver and white armor shining brightly, sword in hand. He looked so magnificent standing there that no thought of trying to strike him down with arrow or bolt came to any of them. Then, Cerule raised his sword high into the sky, holding it with both hands. Both armies waited with bated breath, expecting doom to fall upon the humans. But, Cerule instead stabbed his sword into the earth, and then stepped beyond it, walking towards the humans with his hands held out toward them in token of peace. The officers of both armies, recognizing this as an offer for a parley, separated themselves from their soldiers and came forward. As each approached the tiger who stood before them, they relinquished their weapons, stabbing them earthward as he had done.
When all were near enough to speak without shouting, the two sides regarded each other carefully. The human leaders were far more numerous of course, but they seemed in awe of Cerule and his companions. Aden, Shae, Tiderunner and Shiktha flanked Cerule on his left, Jessica, Scolor and the leader of the academy's soldiers on his right. Finally, after a minute's silence, Cerule at last spoke.
"I think that we all have seen enough death today." He stated. "Countless soldiers have fallen on both sides. It is clear now that neither side has the advantage."
"We will fight to the death to defeat you Far strider." Scio stated, coming forward before the rest of the humans. But the other commanders did not look so certain.
"I propose an alternative to ending this battle in bloody carnage." Cerule continued, heedless of the interruption. "I propose a duel. One on one, a fight to the death."
"We will never agree to such a..." Scio began, but suddenly, one of the humans wearing a golden crown on his helm spoke up, cutting him off.
"Be silent, assassin." He stated venomously. "When we agreed to lend our armies to this venture, you claimed the battle would not last an hour and that the victory would be easy. We will listen to what he has to say. Continue Far strider."
"Since Scio seems so vehement in his anger towards me, I will fight him to the death." Cerule stated. "If I win, you take your armies from this field and return to your own lands, never to wage war on my kind again."
"And if I win?" Scio questioned, irritation plain in his voice.
"If you win, then my folk will submit to the will of the humans, whatever it may be." Cerule stated. The humans were silent for a moment or two more, then, one by one, they nodded.
"When will this duel take place?" the king asked.
"Tomorrow, when the sun is at its zenith." Cerule replied. "In the meantime, no more hostile actions will be taken by either side. In the duel, neither of us will call upon magic to aid us. It will be a duel of purely martial skill. Agreed?"
"Agreed." The humans answered, and the leaders split up headed back to their armies.
"Cerule, my love, I know better than to try and talk you out of this." Jessica stated, looking at him gravely as they walked back to their lines. "But do you really think this is the best choice?"
"It is the only choice." Cerule replied. "I can beat him, I know I can. And this way, there will be no more loss of life in this battle."
"I know you can too." Jessica stated, "For now though, you need your rest..."