Queen Yavara Ch. 28

Editor's note: this story contains scenes of incest or incest content.

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TITUS

I shuffled over to Zander, every step a labor of agony. It had been two weeks since I'd sustained the wounds, but I still felt them acutely. Solar fire and Nadi wood were not things a vampire could simply recover from. It took the specialized training of the greatest wizard on Tenvalia just to get me walking again. He sat in his chair, smoking a pipe and staring out at the elven encampment three miles west. We were atop a hill, one of two hills in the entire Tundra, it seemed. The other was a quarter-mile to the north, where Brock and his son surveyed the impressive sight to the west, and the equally-impressive sight to the east. Behind the hills, was a horde the likes of which hadn't been seen for a thousand years. Every tribe of the Ten, the Pines and the Maples was there, the tents stretching to the shores of Glacier Lake. Tomorrow, the resplendent forces of gold would clash with the savage forces of black, and the world would hold its breath to see which way its destiny would turn. But me, I didn't really care much anymore.

"How are the burns healing?" Zander asked.

"They're dreadfully painful, but they are fading." I grunted, carefully easing myself next to him, "The wounds from the Nadi wood are still numb."

"I suspect the nerves are dead forever then."

"Well, I have forever to find out."

Zander nodded. "Anastasia died last night."

"I felt her passing." I sighed, "I came here with two-hundred and twenty-one of my children, and left that godforsaken marsh with sixteen. Tiffany bit Angela and Julia a week ago to bring the total to eighteen, and now Anastasia brings me back to seventeen. You must understand, Zander, that much like your pet orc warlord, I am very selective with who I let into my clan. Julia and Angela had been groomed for months before I let Tiffany bite them, and even then, I allowed it more for Tiffany's benefit than my own."

"I smell a request."

"Your nose hasn't failed you. Please inform our monarch that I need prisoners of war. They must be attractive, intelligent, well-educated, eloquent, funny, witty, and interesting. Oh, and preferably rich."

"That's quite the requirement list. I don't remember you being so selective in Ardeni."

"Well I couldn't be, could I?" I mused, "Attractive, intelligent, well-educated, eloquent, funny, witty, interesting rich people weren't usually in the market for vampirism."

"And now they are?"

I gestured broadly to the elven army. "Look at all these candidates! Even if my requirements disqualify ninety-nine of a hundred, that still leaves me with eight-hundred. Officers, Zander; I need officers! No poor enlisted men, but men of means and education! Men of confidence, bravado, and command!"

"Sounds like a sausage fest."

"My favorite kind of party." Yavara giggled, having dropped from the sky without a sound.

"It's not often that I'm caught off my guard, my queen." I mused, sniffing the air, "Are you wearing a special fragrance, or are you simply an apparition?"

"Zander helped unlock my shielding ability." Yavara said, removing the ethereal protection, "Nothing comes in, and nothing goes out. It makes breathing difficult, but I have to keep an air-tight seal for arcane attacks."

I raised my brows at Zander. "You're a teacher now? Tell me, how does a natural-born wizard teach wizardry? It would seem akin to a bird trying to teach a fish to fly."

"That was why Prestira was such a gifted teacher;" Zander said with a morose smile, "she learned her abilities from scratch, and so understood them in a way I never could. I'm afraid my nonsensical rambling has stunted our queen's development indefinitely."

"Oh, shut up." Yavara slapped Zander affectionately, and sat on his lap, "You're a wonderful teacher, especially when you bring Professor Destiny into the mix. Such a strict disciplinarian she is," Yavara cracked a lecherous smile, "and how creative she is with that staff of yours."

"That reminds me," I mused, "about that gender ratio problem Zander posed."

Yavara looked to me. "You want me to turn half your imprisoned men into women before you bite them?"

"Would you?"

She frowned. "After I change a high-elf, I feel a bond with them, like how I felt for... Patricia." She choked up at the mention of her lost blood-daughter, and blinked away a tear. "Even the man who killed her, when I changed him I felt a maternal love for what he'd become. They're like my children, Drake, and I can't just give them to you."

"I gave you my children, my queen. Two-hundred and five of them, and they were every-bit as dear to me."

Yavara paused, then nodded. "Okay, Drake."

"Splendid." I smiled toothily, and groaned in pain as I hobbled onto my feet, "Well, if you don't mind, my children and I are going to sit the rest of this war out; I do believe we've played our part in it. Good luck with all the killing tomorrow!"

FIELD MARSHAL DELTIAN, NEW COMMANDER OF THE HIGHLAND ARMY

"It would be a smarter move to retreat and regroup." General Shordian said, "It's only been two weeks since the vampire raid, and we've just finished promoting the last replacements; we'll need every advantage at our disposal."

"We can't wait." I sighed, rubbing my eyes, "The queen is demanding that we attack as soon as possible."

"As your advisor and councilor, I am telling you, we need to fall back." Shordian insisted, pointing at the map, "Read the land, Field Marshal, and see how it works against us here. Yes, the ground is firm, but the enemy holds the moorland before the valley. But if we move back five miles, that puts a bog between us and them."

"No." I said firmly, "We didn't march through all that wet hell just to turn around and march back. You've got to think of the soldier's morale, General."

"Brock Terdini picked this spot for a reason, Field Marshal! I implore you not to fight the battle on his terms!"

"Brock Terdini became Froktora by virtue of his brute strength and savagery." I sighed, "We're dealing with orcs here, General. Even if Brock is the smartest orc alive, he still wouldn't be fit to clean latrines in the Highland army."

"Do not underestimate our enemy! The Dark Queen took Castle Thorum by herself!"

"We have the greatest arcane force in the world. General Shordian, I appreciate your concern, but wars are not won by running away, especially not this one. The queen wants a decisive victory here and now, and I will give it to her. You are dismissed."

COLONEL BORTIUS

General Shordian rarely showed his temper, but his face was nearly scarlet when he exited the field marshal's tent.

"Get the regiment in formation," he growled, "light chain and poles, every company."

"That goes against the division-commander's orders, sir." I responded.

"Division-commander? You mean that idiot boy that leap-frogged into the shoes of a competent dead man?"

"Is that why you went to the field marshal, sir?"

Shordian ignored me, instead assessing the valley before us. The Tundra didn't offer much topography, but the Alkandrans had managed to capture two modest hills that gated the valley. I could see their centaur scouts standing atop them, watching us from two miles away. It was hard to believe that behind those two hills was a horde that numbered over a hundred-thousand. I could hear nothing but the steady hum of wind across the flat expanse of nothing.

"I want a line of long poles stretching the entire front of the light infantry columns." Shordian said, sweeping his hand over the field, "I want them aimed for the hills."

"Are you expecting a mounted charge, sir?" I asked, "Our cavalry outnumber their mounts three to one."

"Brock knows that, and he knows that we know that." Shordian inclined his head, "He can read every book on Highland tactics and know who we are at the core, but we've got no idea who he is."

"You think he reads, sir?" I scoffed.

Shordian shot a sharp eye at me. "What's my golden rule?"

"Never underestimate your enemy, sir." I mumbled.

Shordian picked up a stick, and carved out the formation in the soil. "The formation Deltian wants to use is the 'Golden Jaws.'"

It made sense. The Golden Jaws was the best formation to use against a heavy-infantry dominant force with inferior cavalry numbers. The formation presented a weak center of elven heavies with strong light-infantry at the flanks, archers in the rear, and cavalry on the outside. The superior elven cavalry would engage the enemy mounts and force them inside, encouraging the enemy heavies to charge at the elven center. The elven light-infantry at the flanks would hold their ground while the weak elven heavies would systematically fall back. Thinking they were gaining ground, the enemy would fully commit to breaking the center, all the while the archers would rain on them, and the light-infantry at the flanks would stay put. The center would bend but not break, and once the archers had exacted massive casualties, and the enemy was packed in between the light-infantry flanks, the flanks (the 'jaws') would close.

"You disagree with his choice, sir?" I asked, confused.

Shordian frowned at the formation he'd drawn. "On paper, it's the best choice." He looked up at me, "Have you ever played chess against yourself?"

"No, sir."

"It's an enlightening experience. You end up twisting your head in knots trying to find your own weaknesses. When I don't know my enemy, I must assume he would do what I would do against me." Shordian drew the hills in the soil, then lines representing enemy formations. "How would you defeat the Golden Jaws with Brock's army composition?"

"Don't get bated into attacking the center, sir. Attack the light-infantry at the flanks instead."

"Hmm, no." Shordian mumbled, "The light-infantry is still too strong to overwhelm, and then you run the risk of the cavalry smashing into your flank. No, the Golden Jaws is a trap, but once the trap is closed, it's vulnerable." He looked out at the hills, listening to the low hum of the wind. "I don't know what Brock's cooking, but he's not as stupid as Deltian wants him to be. His one tactical advantage is those hills, and he will use them to full effect. Long poles, light chain, and long shields. Leave all extra supplies here."

"Why? We'll need them when we advance."

"We're not advancing a fucking foot today."

CAPTAIN GRERTIAN

"Officers!" Colonel Bortius yelled, "Light chain and long poles! Leave supplies here! Companies one though five: front lines, column one. Companies six through ten: front lines, column four."

"Front lines, sir?" I asked. I was the captain of eight-company of the first light infantry regiment, and our original orders were to stay in column one, ten rows back. For some fucking reason, General Shordian wanted his entire regiment to spread out along the front lines of columns one and four, right in front of the two hills.

"Orders, Captain." Colonel Bortius said. I could tell by the look in his eye that something was wrong. That raid had taken out more than half our regiment commanders, leaving General Shordian one of the few veterans left. Whatever the new field marshal was planning, Shordian was going against it. Well, I wasn't going to report it; shit, in this clusterfuck of an army, I didn't even know who I'd report it to.

"Alright, you heard him." I said to my company, "Long poles and light chain. Short-sword side arms. I want checker-board formations: long shield, pole, long shield, pole. Take a shit, take a piss, jerk-off, and suit up."

"Yes, sir!" They shouted back. I wondered how many of them would be there tomorrow.

PRIVATE FREYTIAN

"We're going to the front?!" Deklian exclaimed.

"Aye, that's what the captain said." I said as I screwed the spearhead into the twelve-foot pole, "New command, new plan. Everyone's gotta fuck it up in their own special way."

"We were supposed to be half-way down the column!"

"It doesn't rightly matter where we are, just so long as we're not in the center." I said as I tested the weight of the pole, "The heavies are taking the punishment; we just have to close in on the sides, and we'll be fine. Shordian probably just wants us to deter a possible cavalry charge."

"Why would he spread his entire regiment out like that?" Deklian said as he hoisted the shield onto his back.

"Probably because he's done listening to that Deltian twat." I said as I strapped the last piece of mail onto my torso, "Old man's going rogue; about time, I say."

"Aye," Deklian said, looking around nervously, "about time."

We walked across the buoyant wooden paths the engineers had built over the bog. Murky water sloshed over the sides and pooled in the cracks, soaking our already saturated boots. If I never saw another swamp again, it would be too soon. Finally, we made it to solid ground, and our boots squelched and thudded against the brown grass and packed soil. The valley opened up below us, a vast expanse flanked by two hills. The permafrost made the ground hard and uniform, and allowed for subterranean pockets of gas to form geysers that spewed sulfuric steam into the air, which settled into a thick blanket in the bowl of the valley. The wind sounded a low humming note, almost a drone that carried over the cacophony of marching boots, yelling officers and blaring bugles. Despite the noise, the army seemed muted. The jovial calls, rambunctious whoops, angry yells and bawdy songs were all gone. In their place was an underlying tension, something that made no sound, yet was nearly deafening. I glanced at Deklian, and he offered a smile that was so tight I wondered if his teeth would crack. His eyes seemed to be bulging from a face that was too pale, his nostrils flared, his jaw fixed. When I smiled back, I was sure I looked the same.

We made our way through the columns of statue men, row after row of golden armor and helms, of stares fixed straight ahead. It was like a forest of regimentation, and I wondered if we'd see the end of it. Then, there it was. Nothing. A vast void, a field of space like a sucking vacuum that pulled at my courage. The front. Never in my life had I felt so naked. The hills that had seemed small when I entered the valley now appeared to tower over me, the bowl of the valley floor seemed an abyss of sulfuric haze from which only demons could emerge, and the grey sky seemed so high, and I was but an insignificant dot below it all. I had not known what comfort the confines of an army were until that moment, when I realized there were no rows of men before me to buffer the charge. I was the buffer. The cavalry trotted beside us, silent but for the low thunder of hoofs on hard earth. The heavies moved in on our other side, a symphony of clanging armor and pounding boots. The archer divisions moved behind the heavies, and the mages came in behind them, though I could not see them from so far away. I could barely make out the silhouettes of ballista and trebuchets covering the rear, their monstrous wheels squeaking through the metallic drone of the army shuffling into place. Then, there was nothing. Only the low hum of the tundra wind playing through the air.

But there was no wind. The air was still and humid, and the low hum grew louder. Boom, boom, boom; the sound of distant thunder echoed across the valley, but there were no storm clouds in the distance. The ground began to shake. The hum grew to a rumble. Boom, boom, boom; louder now, the staggered footsteps of some unearthly behemoth. The shuffling of men barely containing their terror, the growl of an officer demanding, 'steady.' Boom, boom, boom; went the war drums, the chant of some horror accompanying it, a beast of a hundred-thousand mouths and twice as many eyes, limitless and inevitable. A man screamed behind me. An officer barked an order, but his voice was nearly as panicked. A horse neighed and reared. Deklian shifted next to me, the trickling of piss sounding from his armor. The rumbling grew to a roar, and I could start to make out the sound of a chant, some three-syllable word. Rah-rah-rah, rah-va-rah, ya-va-rah,-Yah-va-rah- Ya-va-ra! Ya-va-ra! Ya-va-ra! Yavara! They crested the hilltops, a black shapeless mass waving a thousand banners, stretching along the ridgeline as far as I could see, looming above us. They churned like an ocean in tempest, they drove their spear-butts into the ground and smashed their blades against their shields, they roared a horrible chorus of war cries, and they chanted. Ya-va-ra! Ya-va-ra! Ya-va-ra! The yip and snarl of wargs came after, and they added their bulky silhouettes to the mass, their silverback hunches glinting in the midmorning grey light. Their howls soon sounded a shrill overtone to the discordant roar, and all the while, the chanting rose. Ya-va-ra! Ya-va-ra! Ya-va-ra! The chanting became a crescendo, the syllables muddying into one another until it was simply a scream that vibrated in my skull, the pounding of spear-butts, the stamping of feet, and the drums all roiling together in an escalating explosion of sound. And from that explosion, she came.

She rocketed from the hilltops like a missile, her black armor glinting, her hair rushing behind her, her ascension propelled by the eruption of sound bursting from her horde. She shot over the elven army, then ascended, moving so fast it was like she was being pulled into the sky. All I could do, was gawk. I'd never seen a god before. She shrank to a dot before the overcast sky, then circled above us like a patient vulture. There was a moment when all was silent. Then she dove. Her horde roared, their cadence accelerating as though to give rhythm to her freefall, faster and faster their fervent beats became, higher and higher their collective roar. She seemed to crash through the air, a boom like thunder sounding as a ripple moved across the sky. Then she was there, and every man in the Highland army ducked as she swooped overhead, the wind of her flight blasting against us. She smashed right through the siege engines, her path marked by the succession of wooden explosions that sent shrapnel bursting through the air and beams careening into the rear of our army, rows of golden helmets suddenly disappearing beneath tons of timber. The archers fired thousands of arrows, but they just bounced off her like pebbles. It was only when the mages fired a salvo of arcane attacks that she ascended, but not before taking ten men with her and dropping them from hundreds of feet up. Their screams cut through the air, their flailing arms and legs clawing at the wind in the final moments of fevered life. Then, they crashed to the ground.

The horde roared once more, and charged down the hills. It was like watching a tidal wave of black water crest over the ridgeline and flow into the valley. I squeezed my pole tightly, but my grip seemed too weak. Was my stance correct? Was my pivot foot in the right place? Good god, had I forgotten everything they taught me in basic? I didn't belong here! I was supposed to be a stone mason! The cavalry thundered past us, sweeping up the hill like golden wings, undaunted by the churning mass of death before them. Such brave men, such heroes they were! Their banners billowed behind them, their armor gleamed resplendently, their magnificent horses pounded up the hill without a falter in their stride. I would sing songs about them! I would tell my grandchildren about the great charge of the first cavalry division, if only god just let me live! The wargs and centaurs rushed down to meet them, but they were like cattle before the herding shepherds, out of sorts and frightened. The cavalry winged to the outside, and harried the enemy mounts into their own charging infantry. The great tidal wave narrowed to a waterfall between the hills, and plummeted into the haze of the valley bowl.