Kheda shouted at the hesitating men with wordless anger, urging them on, his steel blades bright in his hands. Some yielded, turning to run for the ravine again. Too many scowled and skirted around him to reinforce the scattered men who had been left to watch the slope.
The scarred spearman shouted something, urgent and incomprehensible. Kheda gripped his sword and his hacking blade and they ran forward together. The first of the wild men whom the spearman had successfully co-opted had reached the brink of the ravine and were looking down with shouts of hate and menace. Kheda flinched as missiles soared up out of the thistly scrub. One of the village's spearmen, less wary than the rest, sank screaming to his knees clutching at a spear driven clean through his body just above the hip. A couple of others suffered wounds and bruises as sharp-edged rocks and smooth sling stones skittered and bounced across the hard earth. A wild warrior close by Kheda fell headlong, dead before he could make a sound as a slingshot buried itself in one of his eyes.
Kheda tried to look down into the ravine without exposing himself to danger. The twisted nut trees grew thickly there, protected from the winds and able to wind their roots down into a more constant water supply. It was difficult to make out the tree dwellers hiding beneath the fringes of pale-green leaves. Another shower of stones and sharpened sticks shot upwards, forcing Kheda and all the village spearmen to dodge backwards.
As they did so, a roar came from behind them, as if
some mighty force was charging up the steep slope from the grasslands. The uncertain shouts from the spearmen left on guard rose to a panic that tore more spearmen away from the edge of the ravine. Kheda watched them go, exasperated. The scarred spearman shouted after them, to no avail.
Kheda looked back down into the ravine. He still couldn't make out where the tree dwellers were or what they were doing, but he could see enough dark curly heads to be sure there was a considerable force down there.
The warlord grabbed the scarred spearman's hand and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the Aldabreshin hacking blade. Still gripping the man's hand, he used the broad blade to point down into the ravine, before jabbing an insistent forefinger into the spearman's chest and then down at the ground.
Do you understand me? You stay here and fight. I have to show the rest of your men that these attackers from the grassland are no more than illusion.
Kheda turned and ran for the slope at the edge of the plateau. To his intense relief, the scarred spearman didn't follow, shouting harsh rebuke instead at those others who took a pace after the warlord.
Over by the slope leading down to the grasslands, the village's spearmen were retreating from barrel tree to barrel tree, seeking shelter from a ceaseless hail of sticks and stones. Kheda forced himself not to hesitate, running onwards, flinching inwardly as the missiles continued to rain down.
It's an illusion. Just an illusion.
Just as he had convinced himself, a stone hit him hard on the shoulder, numbing his sword arm. In the same breath, a mob of tree dwellers, their faces twisted with hatred, appeared over the lip of the slope, brandishing their clubs and stone knives.
If they aren't an illusion, I'm a dead man.
An attacker ran towards Kheda, murderous club raised high. Kheda slashed at the man's midriff with his sword before driving upwards instinctively to parry the heavy club. The blade bit into neither flesh nor wood. As Kheda wondered how he had missed the savage, windblown dust blurred his vision. He blinked it away and saw the stone-studded club coming at his face. Kheda dodged to one side but the savage was still there in front of him.
Because it's an illusion.
Cursing himself for a fool, Kheda charged straight at the snarling wild man and found he passed straight through him. A second attacker appeared and Kheda ran full at him as well. A shiver of doubt shook the warlord at the very last moment but there was no way to stop. The attacker vanished, leaving a trace of fine dust sticking to the sweat on Kheda's face. There was no time for euphoria as the warlord realised he had gone too far down the perilously steep slope to stop safely. All he could do was carry on running until the dense tussocks of grass slowed him. Eventually he stopped, chest heaving, and turned to see what was happening behind him.
The last of the illusions dissolved into a cloud of pale dust as a spearman swept his weapon through it. A few of the village warriors were still on the lip of the plateau, looking down uncertainly. More had followed Kheda down the slope, some through choice, others with no more option than he had had. A couple were smeared with dust and blood where they had fallen but didn't seem to be slowed by their injuries. All regarded Kheda with respect tempered with awe. Looking around to get his bearings, he heard screams and shouts coming from the direction of the ravine.
'Let's see how those tree dwellers like being attacked from the flank,' he urged the spearmen. They looked back
at him, uncomprehending. Kheda grinned and beckoned with his sword, moving towards the ravine. Grinning back ferociously as they realised his intent, the village spearmen made haste to follow.
Kheda hung back a little as he reached the mouth of the ravine. Walls of angled rocks loomed on either side, bristling with thorny plants clinging to the crevices. The nut trees grew thick and tangled in the uneven depths. He looked back and saw he had no need to caution the spearmen to move quietly. They were slipping through the scrub with practised stealth.
A lesson you learn on this hostile isle or die.
He did his best to match their deftness as they advanced deeper into the gully, drawing closer to the sounds of fighting. As they rounded a shoulder of red-veined stone, Kheda saw a double handful of the tree dwellers climbing up the rock face under cover of the slingshots and spear casts of the rest of their force.
A shaft of fire-hardened wood from somewhere behind whistled over Kheda's head, making him jump. The village spearman's aim was true and one of the climbers screamed as the point pierced his calf. As he reached instinctively down to the bloody wound, he lost his grip on the unforgiving rock. He fell backwards with a despairing shriek cut short as he landed with a sickening crunch somewhere unseen.
The other climbers froze on their perches, yelling back down to their allies. Attackers came running out of the thistly cover, their clubs studded with sharp shards of black stone and raised for the kill. The spearmen who'd followed Kheda ran forward as one man, shouting up to their allies on the brink of the ravine. Dark faces appeared up above and began hurling sticks and stones back down on the climbers. More lost their hold and fell to death or incapacitating injury.
Kheda raised his sword to parry a tree-dweller's club. This was no illusion. The sharp steel bit deep into the hard, dry wood and Kheda wrenched the weapon out of the savage's hand with an effort that tore deep into his shoulder muscles. The man ripped at Kheda with a stone knife clutched in his other hand. Kheda smashed downwards with the club and sword still locked in their deadly embrace. The impact as the man's forearm broke jarred the club free from the sword and Kheda turned the blade sideways instantly to rip the savage's belly open. The wild man screamed and doubled up, blood flowing down his thighs as he tried to close the gaping wound. Slate-blue loops of entrails bulged around his hands.
Kheda would have granted him a merciful beheading but another attacker threw himself forward, whirling his club two-handed and screaming incoherently. The warlord sidestepped and swept his sword round. He cut one of his opponent's hands clean through at the wrist and smashed the other to rags of flesh and white splinters. Blood sprayed from the savage's stump to stain the nut trees as he stumbled backwards, wailing.