Battle Dawn: Book Three of the Chronicles of Arden

by Shiriluna Nott

  The story hit home. If anything happened to Gib, Liza didn’t know what she’d ever do. Struggling to keep her voice steady, she let out a sigh. “My little brother is with the army in Perth.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I know not a single soul who doesn’t have stakes in this war, whether they themselves have been called to arms or a loved one has. No one’s immune to it. No one can escape it. You must be worried about your brother.”

  “Every waking moment, sir,” Liza answered honestly. “I don’t fear for my own safety nearly as much as I do his.”

  “I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but it doesn’t.”

  “I’ve been suspecting that’s the case for some time now. But really, is anything in life ever easy? I’m no stranger to adversity, and neither is my brother. Our family’s been through a lot. We’ve seen our share of hardships and heartbreak, but we’ve always managed to pull through. Strife is a two-sided blade, after all. It can break a person down, yes, but it can also make them stronger. If we’d never known struggle, we wouldn’t have the strength to make it through this war now.”

  “Such wisdom from one so young. You continue to impress, Liza Nemesio.”

  The captain ran his fingers through his grey hair, and it dawned on Liza just how much he’d aged since she’d first joined the troop. His hair had been a rusty brown back then, with only the slightest peppering at his temples. It seemed ironic that he’d grown so old, yet Liza often felt like the same, timid youth from years past. Had so much time really gone by?

  Captain Brishen measured Liza with astute eyes. “What are your plans after this war is done? After your tenure is over? Are you going to leave the military?”

  “And do what?”

  “Perhaps you’d like to get married? Have children?”

  Liza held back the urge to laugh. “I’ve never been one to fit into societal molds. And truth be told, I don’t think I’d make a very good housewife. I know how to swing a sword, repair armor, and assemble horse tack. What good would any of those skills do me in the kitchen? I’m more suited for a soldier’s life. It’s what I know.”

  “Aye, but is it what you want? You joined the army out of necessity because you had no other choice. It was a means to provide for your family. Now that your brothers are grown—able to care for themselves—what keeps you here?”

  Liza took her time responding. She’d never dedicated much thought to why she stayed; it was just something in her heart Liza felt was right. A feeling of duty and of pride.

  At last, she said, “What keeps me here, sir? Loyalty to Arden, I suppose. The desire to protect the people I love and defend those whose names I don’t even know. Justice for my father. A sense of pride. Not every man or woman is courageous enough to risk their life for their country. I’ve found myself in good company, amongst the bravest of the brave. Being a sentinel of Arden is an honor, a privilege, and I’ll continue to fight for her until age rends me unable or death takes me.”

  Captain Brishen nodded with approval. “Spoken like a true warrior.” With no small effort, he climbed to his feet, his right leg stiff and sluggish to bend. He hoisted the saddlebag he’d been using as a cushion into his arms and made a point to turn his back as he secured the sack to his white palfrey’s saddle. “I’m ashamed to admit I had my doubts when King Rishi passed the law allowing women into our ranks. I believed they didn’t have the strength to wield a weapon nor the ability to keep their wits about them in the heat of battle. You, of course, proved me a fool.”

  “Not a fool, sir. Naïve, perhaps, but never a fool.”

  “No need to mince words. The truth is clear. I was wrong.”

  “You weren’t alone in your assumptions. Many felt the same as you.” Liza winced and then added, “Many still do.”

  An artful grin crept onto Captain Brishen’s lips. “I’d say anyone who doubts a woman’s ability to fight should be forced to spend a wheelturn on the border with one like you. I dare say their opinion would change rather swiftly.”

  Liza didn’t know what to say, so she simply smiled.

  Clearing his throat, the captain turned fully around. Sharp, gauging eyes fixed onto Liza, and she held her breath, knowing whatever he planned to say next would be important.

  “Perhaps it’s time for another first—something to really give our good steward Neetra Adelwijn reason to whine about.”

  Behind them, Yama’s crisp voice raised above the din as he relayed the order to move out. Liza could hear the bustle as men hastily gathered their belongings and climbed into their saddles.

  Captain Brishen must have also heard, but he didn’t budge. “As you’re probably well aware by now, this campaign is to be my last. After the war, I have every intention of returning to Silver and never leaving again, living out my remaining days lounging on velvet pillows, with Healers doting on me and good wine and food only a cook’s order away. I dare say I deserve as much, after thirty-five years of service.”

  Liza laughed. “You do, sir.”

  “Of course, that leaves my post vacant. And I’ve never been much for politics. I could save myself a headache and let General Morathi fill the position after I’m gone—”

  Liza’s grip tightened around Lilly’s braided reins. If the decision was left to the general, she wouldn’t only miss an opportunity for a promotion—she’d likely be at risk of losing her job completely. The Two only knew what kind of arrogant dog Morathi would appoint. Liza bit her tongue, suppressing the urge to voice her opinion aloud.

  “But,” Captain Brishen continued, “truth be told, I never cared for the man. He would likely assign one of his pompous underlings, fresh out of Academy—someone with no inkling of battle and no respect for my men. No. I can’t, in good conscience, allow that to happen.” A defiant spark twinkled in his eyes. “Besides, I’ve known who I want to name as my successor for some time now.”

  “O–oh, sir?”

  The captain crossed the space between them in a matter of seconds. Large, rough hands settled on Liza’s shoulders, the weight nearly crushing her. “You, Liza. You will replace me.”

  Even though she’d been informed Brishen might choose her, the news still hit her like a club to the head. Liza’s immediate reaction was to refuse. He couldn’t be serious. She wasn’t cut out for something like this! Yes, she enjoyed being a soldier—she was even good at her job—but she couldn’t lead others. Could she?

  Liza struggled to form coherent words against her trembling lips. “But I—me, sir? Are you sure—”

  “Before you start making excuses as to why you think you can’t do the job, why don’t you consider all the reasons you can? Tenacity, candor, wit—not to mention unwavering patience and loyalty—these are all qualities you possess that will serve you well. I’ve watched you step up and take the lead before, like you were born for the job. I haven’t come to this decision lightly, and more so, I’m not just picking you as a means to ruffle feathers on the High Council. You really are the best suited, Liza.”

  “There will be resistance, sir. The law allowing women to serve in the military is still so new. One of us being promoted to captain is unprecedented.”

  “The men in our troop respect you. They’ll follow your lead. As for the rest, they’ll all too soon see how wrong they were to underestimate you.”

  Liza couldn’t quite meet his gaze. “Do you really believe that, sir?”

  “Aye. I do.” Captain Brishen smiled slyly. “It appears you’re out of excuses, so do me a favor—drop the modesty and accept my offer.”

  “I—” Liza’s mouth fell open as she tried to come up with something to say, but she could think of no valid arguments to make. The captain spoke the truth. She was worthy. She did deserve the promotion. Yes, by accepting, she’d be welcoming adversity with open arms. General Morathi would protest, and likely the High Council, too. She’d never be free of the criticism or the blind animosity.

  But nothing in life worth fighting for came easy. Hadn’t her p
arents taught her as much? If she wanted the world to change then she had to stand up and seize this opportunity.

  Swallowing her fears, Liza nodded stiffly. “All right, sir. I’ll do it. I accept.”

  There. She’d said it. No going back.

  “Very good. I think you’ve made the right decision. I’ll make the announcement to the troop tonight. For now, we best get our arses into our saddles before they leave us behind.”

  Liza snickered. “I’d rather that not happen, sir.” Grinning, she grasped the pommel of her saddle and prepared to swing onto Lilly’s back. “Navigation in unknown lands is best left to the scouts—”

  Suddenly, Lilly balked, the first indication something was wrong.

  Liza barely had time to register that before a rogue shadow flicked across the ground—and then another—four, five, a dozen. Her head shot up.

  What in the—

  And then all hell broke loose. Liza gasped, staring in wide-eyed horror as a shower of arrows rained down onto the troop.

  “Ambush!” Captain Brishen hollered, diving for his shield. “We’re under attack!”

  Liza instinctively reached for her own weapon, pulling the sword free from its sheath. An arrow whizzed past her face, so close she could feel the cold air graze her cheek. A second shaft skidded through the dirt beneath Lilly’s hooves. The mare reared, letting out a frightened whicker, while Liza fumbled to unclasp her shield from Lilly’s saddle. A terrible melody of angry screams rang in her ears—the sounds of her comrades wailing in pain as they were struck by arrows.

  The shield finally slipped free. Liza clutched the metal slab against her body and whirled around, getting her first look at the enemy. Her blood ran cold.

  Goddesses, help us.

  Shirite fighters swarmed the opposing riverbank like a hive of angry wasps, their enraged battle cries filling the air. Bowmen two rows thick kneeled at the cusp of the hill, releasing one deadly volley of arrows after another. Even more soldiers massed behind them, waving cutlasses and sharpened pikes above their heads. Liza couldn’t count them all.

  “To me!” Captain Brishen shouted above the tumult. “Soldiers, to me!”

  Liza dashed to his side without hesitation, hearing the telltale tick of arrows as they pelted her shield. The rest of the troop—those still able—were also fighting to make their way to the captain. Liza’s stomach churned when she realized they were stumbling over the bodies of their fallen comrades.

  Mage Yama reached Liza and Captain Brishen first. One sleeve of the mage’s robe was shredded, and crimson blood seeped from a gash beneath the silver fabric, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Hazy light engulfed his gnarled, outstretched hands, and even as Liza watched, some of the enemy arrows exploded into balls of cerulean flame, disintegrating in the air before they could reach their targets. Some. But not all. Not every arrow could be stopped.

  “They have a mage with them,” Yama hissed as he crouched between Liza and the captain. “The damn mage cloaked their approach!”

  Blood roared in Liza’s ears; she could barely decipher the mage’s words above the noise. Cloaked? By some kind of magic?

  Captain Brishen peered through a tiny gap between his shield and Liza’s. “Only one?”

  “Yes,” Yama replied. “He’s in the back. I can feel his magic, but I can’t target him. He’s too well protected. I’ve shielded our forces against his attacks, but deflecting any more arrows will drain my energy even faster—”

  The captain gritted his teeth. “You worry about the mage and leave the archers to us.”

  More Ardenian soldiers were rallying now, lifting their shields to create a blockade against the enemy onslaught. Liza caught sight of Brimsley farther down the line. His mouth drew into a grimace as he worked to span a crossbow. Three other men were also pulling back the strings on their bows. Liza wished like hell she had a ranged weapon.

  “Shoot the archers!” Captain Brishen bellowed. “Bring them down!”

  Brim took aim. His arrow shot off like a lightning bolt, whizzing across the Nishika. A shriek arose from the Shirite horde, and one of the enemy bowmen crumpled to the ground. Brim dropped to one knee, already reloading his crossbow. Another soldier darted above the barricade to take Brim’s place. He, too, fired into the enemy line, and a second Shirite slumped forward, hands grasping at his spurting throat.

  The enemy answered with a volley of their own, but now that the Ardenian soldiers were in formation, the arrows were mostly ineffective; the majority bounced harmlessly off the shield wall and skidded into the dirt. Arden’s arrows, however, were finding their targets. With every round fired, more Shirite archers dropped, writhing and bleeding on the ground. Their final, gurgling screams made Liza shudder. How many of her own men lay dead or dying behind her?

  The Shirites must have realized they’d lost the element of surprise. Already they seemed to be changing tactics. The bowmen fell back, outranging Arden’s crossbows, and the more heavily-armored foot soldiers ran forward. Brim shot one down, two, and three—but for every man who collapsed, more jumped to fill the empty space.

  We’re outnumbered. So terribly outnumbered.

  Hopelessness tore at Liza’s chest, but she refused to give in to despair.

  She watched in horror as the Shirite footmen rushed into the Nishika. Their iron helmets and weapon points gleamed as they splashed through the waist-deep water, surging with deadly precision toward the Ardenian side of the river.

  Captain Brishen readied his sword. “Prepare to engage!”

  Liza crouched low, every muscle afire. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, thrumming in her head and sending electric tingles from her toes all the way to her fingertips. Around her, soldiers chanted, their rallying cry one and the same. “For Arden! For Arden!”

  Liza lifted her own voice, joining them. A fire like none she’d ever known flared inside her, consuming her fear and invigorating her spirit. Live or die, she was ready to fight.

  The Shirites had reached the shoreline. Water sloshed in their boots as they climbed, closer and closer. They were moments away, almost near enough to touch. Setting sights on the closest, Liza pulled back her sword and braced herself.

  For Arden, and for my brothers!

  In a blaze of steel and angry grunts, her blade crashed against the enemy’s. The impact rattled her to the core, rocking her back several paces. Liza scrambled sideways, barely avoiding a second blow, but already she was adjusting to her opponent’s larger frame and weight.

  The broad-shouldered footman stood at least a head taller than she, but Liza was far from helpless. She’d spent her entire career sparring against men twice her size. She just had to outsmart him.

  Letting out a savage growl, Liza flung her shield at the man’s face. The metal rim hit him square in the jaw. A wail erupted from his mouth as his bottom lip busted open, and on instinct, he cupped the oozing gash with his free hand. His eyes flitted away from Liza for only a split second—and she took full advantage of it.

  In one clean sweep, Liza ran her sword through the weak armor just beneath the footman’s arm. He went to his knees, flailing, screeching in pain. When Liza pulled the sword free of him, blood painted the blade crimson.

  She pivoted away, a second Shirite already pushing over the crest of the hill and barreling toward her. This man was smaller, quicker, and likely just as nimble as Liza. They circled one another, a dance of deadly blades. Shield and weapon poised, Liza waited for him to make the first move.

  The soldier lunged—he was fast—and Liza twisted just out of reach of his cutlass. She brought her sword down in a fury, catching him between the shoulder blades as he teetered past. Not a killing blow, but sufficient enough to disable him. Liza darted away, seeking another opponent.

  The battle raged around her. Grunts, shouts, and guttering moans of agony filled her ears. Already, bodies scattered the riverbank, motionless, bloodied corpses in the dirt, Ardenian and Shirite alike. The sight only flamed Liza’s blo
odlust.

  A wisp of red fabric flashed past the edge of her vision. Captain Brishen appeared beside her, his satin cape swirling as he engaged nearly a dozen enemy fighters. Gone was the aging man Liza had spoken to earlier. This man she barely recognized. Like a predator, he danced across the battlefield, movements precise and blows swift. With each strike of his sword, another enemy dropped to the ground.

  Liza fell into place at his side, guarding his back even as he wordlessly did the same for her. Out of the corner of one eye, Liza saw Brim, bloodied but still fighting, and somewhere behind her, Liza could hear the crackle of lightning as Yama engaged the Shirite mage. United, their strength knew no limit. Together, they stood a chance.

  Hope rekindled in Liza’s heart.

  We can overcome this! We can survive! I will live to see my brothers again—

  And then Captain Brishen went down. One moment he’d been fighting, and in the next, he slumped to the dirt, grasping at the enemy blade now protruding from his throat. His mouth fell open, a silent scream upon his lips, his eyes wide and all pupil. One trembling, blood-soaked hand fumbled in vain to dislodge the weapon. The other hand valiantly gripped the hilt of his own sword. Even as he lay dying, the captain wasn’t ready to give up.

  Liza leapt to protect him, but she reacted a second too late. The Shirites had already caught the scent of fallen blood, and now they went in for the killing blow. With one adroit strike across the throat, Captain Brishen’s troubles were over.

  A cry tore loose from Liza’s mouth.

  No!

  Tears stung at her eyes, but the sorrow was swiftly consumed by unbridled and terrifying rage, shaking her straight to the core and momentarily stealing her breath away. And then icy shock settled over her. She lunged forward, screaming, sword clashing against the closest enemy.

  Battle trance seized hold of her body and numbed her mind until nothing was left but the primal urge to slay. Slash. Pivot. Slice. Dodge. Liza went through the motions like a puppet on strings. Lunge. Slam. Dash. She didn’t think. She didn’t feel. She simply reacted.