I always believed there was a collective madness preventing everyone from seeing the obvious.
Of course — maybe it wasn't so obvious. But, to me, it always seemed the only right path. For most Lords, the kingdoms were steps. Tools to make the Lord himself stronger each day, up to the point where he stopped being like one of his own and became something greater — an entity. Something so transcendental in strength and skill that it stopped being human and became divine.
But thinking that way always brought me more doubts than certainties.
Because the kingdoms were, in essence, something the Oasis itself offered willingly. And, if there was one thing known about that place, it was this: on the rare occasions when the Oasis gave something, it was always something useful. And, above all, necessary. Even so, the kingdoms were underestimated — treated as something passing, a vault to accumulate wealth and nothing beyond that.
I was one of the few who believed the opposite.
To me, it was there that the true power lay. Not in the competence and strength of a single being, but in the numbers and the specialties that covered any fragility that might exist. Not with more power. With intelligence.
Of course, that had a price.
That choice made me fragile exactly in the period everyone considered the most delicate: the wars between territories, which always happened. Being a weak Lord with a strong kingdom put a target on my back at all times. It was the weight of being the weak link. But, in my head, there always existed a way out — and it was the simplest of all: keep myself protected. Avoid conflicts. Not make enemies. And, mainly, not trust anyone. At least, not until I had a force large enough to entrust the protection of my incompetence to my own subjects.
And, if there was one choice I never regretted since I entered the Oasis, it was choosing my kingdom before myself.
That was why I looked at all that turbulence and saw only one more certainty that I had made the right choice.
✦ ✦ ✦
"How many are there, approximately?"
"Thousands… maybe more."
The infinity of my eyes couldn't see the end of the enemies that approached.
Countless Tyrin filled the void with their own bodies, without leaving even a handspan of visible ground beneath their feet — transforming the entire horizon into a single, enormous black blur that moved in our direction.
"Everyone hold your positions! This will be the fight of our lives — focus on not dying! Mages and Fairies: abandon your position in case of loss. You don't need to protect a wall that's already been invaded. Burmans and Orghaal: form a line flush against the wall and protect the retreat of the mages, if there's a fallback. Wolves: give support to the fleeing mages. Archers: if you lose your position, head to the towers. Yokais and heavy cavalry: hold at the gate. We'll advance to take ground, in case we lose the wall."
The time to use strategy was now.
No strength beyond capacity, no superhuman heroism. To those Tyrin, I was equal to them in strength and power — a body fragile as any other. But, within my kingdom, commanding and being protected, I had the guarantee of being far more capable than I would ever be alone, had I invested everything only in myself. That night would be the final proof of my philosophy. Or its price.
✦ ✦ ✦
"Morgana, Livina — be prepared for anything that might happen inside the territory. I'm going to leave the Urskra and the griffins with you, to identify any attack coming from below. I'm not sure the winner down there is going to manage to hold the enemy."
"Understood, my Lord."
"My Lord… and you, where are you going to be?"
Morgana asked, worried.
She knew — just as I did — that, of all the pieces on that board, I was the weak point.
"I'll stay with Arachne, near the gate. If the wall is broken, the gate will have to be opened. It'll be the only way to relieve the walls so we can recover them."
"But, my Lord… if we open the gate, I don't know if we'll manage to close it again."
"If the walls are breached, we won't be able to prevent the enemy's entry anyway. The most we can do is have control of where we're going to fight."
The logic was simple — and desperate.
If my idea was correct, the upgraded wall, covered in spikes, would cause enough damage to make climbing a terrible deal — and the open gate would become the attractive path. The sides would be relieved in exchange for a total attack concentrated on a single point. And my gate wasn't wide enough for their numbers to suffocate us. Opening the gate was the most efficient way to do two things at the same time: choose the site of the battle, and use the advantage of having few units — but powerful ones — concentrated in a single place.
If I managed to pull back the mages and archers without losing them in the process, I would have a solid front line with the knights and the Yokais, with ranged-attack support behind.
Unfortunately, the mages wouldn't be able to use the mass attacks there — the area effect would hit our own side. But there was a compensation: the enemies closest to the gate would always be the most punished, funneling the horde even more. A grinder. Narrow, controlled, and fed by the enemy's own haste.
"Understood, my Lord. Anything, call us at any moment."
Unfortunately, my entire strategy depended on a single premise: that the attack came only from the known places.
I knew that neither Morgana, nor Livina, nor the Urskra and the griffins together would be capable of preventing an advance from beneath the earth, if the enemy decided to dig. But, if I at least knew in advance when that happened, I would have the advantage of repositioning. Of course, if it came to that point, it would be the worst of scenarios — dividing a force that was already small into even more fronts. In the end, I depended on something I hated: that the son of a bitch who won the battle in the nest managed to hold those giant creatures down below as long as possible.
"If he wins the fight, even better…"
✦ ✦ ✦
My mind wandered, trying to assemble the strategy the winner would have to use to survive.
Probably, he would have to use the nest's own guardian as a shield against the two colossi. The problem is that I had no idea of the capacity of those guardians. What was known was an old rule of the Oasis: summons lose power over time — and with distance from their summoner. Of course, dragons were creatures of nearly infinite mana and unmatched power. But even the nearly infinite has a limit. My theory was that those guardians perhaps weren't as strong as they seemed — not after so much time, not in that forgotten place, not with the owner who knows how many worlds away.
And, probably, that was exactly what the Tyrin were counting on.
But, if there was one thing I was absolutely certain of, it was that the Oasis always found a way to destroy expectations.
✦ ✦ ✦
While my mind flew between worry and anxiety, the mages finally began to fire.
Indiscriminately. The show of explosions and flying bodies was something dreadful — and, in a way I was no longer ashamed to admit, beautiful to see. It wasn't the first time I witnessed that; it had been repeating for days. But, with that absurd quantity of creatures, the blood and the bodies escalated to levels I had never seen. And, even so, it didn't seem enough. The numbers made each space occupied by a dead monster be filled, in seconds, by a living one — only to be slaughtered again.
"Keep firing until they enter the tower's range!"
Unfortunately, the mages couldn't cast spells infinitely.
If they could, I wouldn't be so worried about that battle. My strategy was to maintain a healthy line of destruction — a distance at which the enemy simply couldn't get close to the wall. The common towers had an acceptable attack power, which improved with the Magic Tower's embedded magic, but still fell far short of what a mage did. The great tower, on the other hand, was something else: its attacks seemed twenty, maybe thirty times stronger than those of a mage — and, with four lines of magic simultaneously, it alone supplied the damage of an entire company.
The problem was the range.
Its radius of action didn't cover all sides — and it was for that reason I accumulated the archers at the tips, complementing what the tower didn't reach. Of course the efficiency of an archer was infinitely less than that of a mage: where a mage laid down ten, the archer brought down one. That was why I was certain the sides would be the first place where I would lose control of the wall. And it was for that reason, too, that the gate would have to be opened. To take the pressure off the sides, I would have to risk everything at the center. In the end, opening the gate wasn't an option.
It was the only way to win that battle.
As time passed, one decision in particular proved increasingly correct: placing the Fairies alongside the archers. With that power inferior to my mages', they still managed, combined, to match the tower — plugging exactly the hole that worried me. After nearly two hours of battle, I was beginning to feel that the tactic had created what I wanted: an infinite flow of destruction. If the enemy didn't change strategy, the battle was in my hands.
However, while I took pride in my tactic, a guttural sound tore the horizon.
✦ ✦ ✦
"My Lord… she's coming."
The Prince, who flew over the territory and the horizon, saw things my eyes would never reach.
"About time…"
I knew that, if that was the final attack, things would have to be different.
The Tyrin wouldn't achieve a different result by doing exactly the same things as the previous days. And I felt that, if something was going to change, it would be at the exact moment they realized that sending soldiers to their death wouldn't work — no matter the quantity.
"Honestly, I thought she would send a few more of those giants. But I guess she only had those two."
Despite understanding that the enemy approaching was, probably, far stronger than everything I had faced until then, I comforted myself with two thoughts.
The first: she came alone. The second: as far as I could understand, it was that creature that controlled all the others. If she fell, they would all fall together. Of course that was just a theory. But, if there was a possibility — however small — I would try it.
"Follow her. And warn me the moment she enters the range of the towers."
"Understood."
The Prince flew off, and I stayed there, waiting.
Because I knew: the moment that creature entered the tower's range, the whole fight would change. It was clear from the little I had exchanged with her subordinates that, most probably, the towers wouldn't be capable of stopping her. And there was a worse possibility — that she simply used her own body as a lightning rod, absorbing the tower's shots to dismantle my strategy and open the path for the horde. If she did that, I would have no option but to open the gate and face the enemy face to face.
I stared at the distant blur on the horizon, growing with each step.
The queen had made her play. The pieces were on the table. And now only one question remained — the same one I murmured to the darkness, like someone greeting an adversary on the other side of the board:
"Now… what are you going to do?"