The Echoes of Solon
Chapter 23.
The Atlanteans were spread far across the countryside, but their numbers were such that their ranks were deep. Thu’Ra ordered Emak’Rus and his five thousand men to travel east, through the wilderness, in hopes to ambush their enemy. The vision was dim for the snowstorm and the chill was unlike anything the Atlanteans knew. Their home was seldom victim to foul weather. Just five thousand carried torches, great burning poles illuminating but a quarter of his men, he did not wish for his unsuspecting quarry to know of his true numbers.
Before the chosen’s army marched that morning he had been informed of the battle upon the northern shores. He was disgusted at his prince’s use of their warship’s siege weaponry, it was cowardly and honourless. He swelled with regret and rage for letting the boy lead part of his fleet, and at these people who murdered him. The boy had no reason to be on these shores, he sighed, marching through the deep freeze, what’s done is done.
“How much further, chosen?” His fifteen thousand men stumbled behind the lively giant, “I fear the cold will be the death of me if we aren’t warmed by battle soon.” Thu’Ra nodded, his elongated skull felt numb for the icy touch of snow and biting winds.
“It cannot be much further, Iltuk.”
“Chosen!” From amidst the ranks of his men Thu’Ra heard a desperate cry. Turning about he pushed through the lines. In a clearing of bodies an aging Atlantean warrior was slumped upon one knee, two of his peers held him. The giant strode over and knelt with his countryman, upon approach he saw blood smeared across the male’s chin and a hand covered red. The aged warrior breathed with a rough husk then coughed once more, spluttering blood. “The cold is taking him, chosen.”
Thu’Ra breathed deeply, exhaling a mist of condensation from his mouth. “One of you return to camp with him, keep him warm and fed.” He stood up, looking briefly at the relentless fall of snow above, then out across his scarcely distinguishable army. “Double pace!” He roared. At that moment another sound thundered into the air. A chorus of Atlantean war horns bellowed through the silence rushing adrenaline through the chosen’s system. “Prepare arms, warriors of Atl’As!” The men hollered at his words, grasping tightly upon their weaponry. Some of them held their enemy’s swords and shields. The majority carried the animal hides and orichalcum maces their people were accustomed to.
“Hold your nerve! Do not engage, lure them to us! Do not engage!” He knew already of his enemy’s methods on the battlefield, a quarter of his army had seen them engage, he wanted to lure their ranks to his, to scatter them and break their solidity.
With the relentless stream of snow continuing to plaster everything in its path, through the storm, the Atlanteans at last cast gaze upon those who had felled their prince. Thu’Ra returned to the front of his army. He stood a pillar of strength, his mere presence filling his men with courage. He towered over all present. “Poseidon, give us strength!” Fifteen thousand warriors cheered their chosen’s words as a deep tremor shook the earth beneath their feet. Some colossal rupturing sound groaned far below. “He is with us!” His men screamed wildly at sight of their enemy through the blizzard.
He could hear his opposition now, he could feel their confidence, to merely look upon their lines struck awe. An endless wall of bronze stepping forward in unison, slowly, steadily.
“Lock ranks! Do not engage!” Thu’Ra’s words were echoed across the pristine, frozen white field. At sight of the opposing army he began to doubt that he could truly break their structure, though he would soon get to test their discipline. “Horns of war!” On his command hundreds of horns blew, their united bellow so devastating that even Thu’Ra cringed at the intensity.
Enclosing upon their steadfast enemy the giant could see their pale bodies bobbing and weaving behind the endless bronze aegis. Now his evasive plan of action would be put into practice, “do not engage!” He yelled once more, hearing a number of his enemy too, doubtlessly bellowing commands, in a tongue he did not understand. “Let them come forward!”
The giant watched his enemy accelerate towards his men, across those last meters of untouched snow that lay most delicately upon the undisturbed ground. He could hear the ice crunching beneath their feet at an ever growing pace, slowly though, still slowly. He looked down, relaxed, merely listening to the tempo of his enemy’s feet. “Withdraw!” With the fluidity of a wave retreating back into the ocean his front lines fell back into the main bulk of his army. He knew he could not avoid them forever, but the weaker he could make them the quicker he could be gone from this land.
“Together!” The faster they retreated the more their enemy bellowed out yells from amidst their outnumbered formations. The chosen hoped they were becoming confused and overconfident. Already he noticed the ranks of his enemy to his right were advancing at a faster rate than those to his left, even through the distorting hurricane of snowflakes it was obvious there was a weak spot in their command.
From beyond the white sheets the bronze wall pushed forward, Thu’Ra could see them scattering. Their eastern ranks ploughed onwards with a greater eagerness than the west. He knew it was time to separate them and signal Emak’Rus. “West rank, stand! To the east, lure them further! Signal Emak’Rus!” Ten thousand men abruptly stood strong to the chosen’s left, the rest drew their enemy onwards, separating them as they confidently charged into the lingering lines of endless Atlanteans.
Now, from the trees to the east, horns returned chorus and the call of Emak’Rus’ men poured forth from the darkness and wintery gales. He heard the ten thousand warriors stood to his west collide with the ranks of his enemy who had remained together. In the shadowy hours of the morning, as the light snow flakes settled most innocently upon the untouched field, so too did the first drops of blood fall freely to stain nature’s beauty.
He could see the sheer force and brutality of his enemy merely at sight of their impact upon his men. Despite their hundreds deep ranks the opponents small numbers caused his entire army to shift. The Atlanteans were forced back into one another with a relentless aggression.
The freezing air was filled with cries and calls of both friend and foe. For Atl’As! The dulled sound of Emak’Rus signalled his arrival to battle, the eastern ranks of his enemy were surrounded. In the confusion something suddenly caught Thu’Ra’s eye.
Past the waves of ice a young male collided with his troops, he was bare chest, and the only one who donned a belt, he fought with great skill though the chosen did not know fear. The entirety of his army now ploughed forward to join the sway of battle, amidst the collision Thu’Ra made haste, he charged east to confront the young warrior who fought closely to his peers.
Thu’Ra rushed to fight with the formation of men who stood against his enemy’s leader. “Let them push! The deeper they push the further they surround themselves!” His men immediately fell back, further scattering the enemy ranks. The belt donning warrior roared out at his men and their formation tightened. They were now being assaulted from behind by the full strength of Emak’Rus’ charge.
Pushed forward into the Atlantean army’s mouth, the stranded enemy warriors glanced about momentarily, still Thu’Ra could see they appeared untroubled. It seemed they were embracing the moment. With one more savage war cry the male who Thu’Ra knew had taken his prince’s life pointed his blade forward and yelled some unknown command. At once the troop accelerated becoming unstuck from their ranks.
The first chosen stepped forward and his men joined, he saw the young warrior lock eyes upon him, he was fast, with shield raised he enclosed upon Thu’Ra who held his colossal hammer loosely in anticipation of assault. The armies fell upon one another and the sounds of swinging weaponry cutting the air followed, the grunts and screams of wounded men joined the battle already raging to the west.
The belt laden male swung his sword fiercely towards Thu’Ra’s face yet the giant was agile and experienced. A second swing ascended towards his abdomen. It too was avoided, upon his third attack the young male lunged toward
s the chosen’s left leg. With one brutal motion Thu’Ra rotated his weapon arm around and up, raising his leg, the sword glided freely beneath him, yet his hammer rose up with almighty force.
The sound of crushed bone echoed above the disharmony of shattering shields and deflected mallets. His target made no sound at impact. The enormous orichalcum hammer drove up into the young male’s lower jaw. Little blood fell, yet the body of Thu’Ra’s victim did. He crashed with a crunch into the snow beneath his army’s feet.
Without hesitance Thu’Ra cleared his way to the body and hastily ripped the belt away from the young man’s abdomen. Rising up he lifted it into the air and bellowed with glory at his men, holding the heavy belt high to show both enemy and allies that their leader was dead. The moment the belt became visible above the lines of men a staggering shout erupted from the east. Thu’Ra turned about locking gaze upon a male whose height matched his own.
His enemy did not cease their assault, as if this man had meant nothing to them. They simply continued ploughing forward. Thu’Ra watched the large individual who he had shared a brief moment of eye contact with barge his way through his own ranks. He was unrelenting in his pursuit towards the first chosen.
“Let him through!” The giant yelled, angered that his enemy had not acknowledged the death of a leader. The adrenaline and thrill of war that he hated most was cascading through him, if they will not let up their assault, then neither shall we.