by Morgan Rice
Aidan stood his ground, feeling that this was his only chance to fight for his father.
“I will not,” he said proudly, sticking out his chest. “I am Duncan’s son. And I will tolerate no such speech of you. My father may be dying out there, and you are standing here, wasting time and words. Are you a warrior or not?”
Leifall’s eyes widened in shock as he stared back at Aidan.
A long, tense silence followed, until finally, the commander took one step toward him.
“You are a fresh one, aren’t you?” He stared Aidan down, and Aidan stood there, feeling a rush of nervousness. Slowly, the commander rubbed his beard. “Yet you stand up for your father. I like that,” he said, surprising Aidan. “I wish my own sons were half as bold as you.”
Aidan felt a rush of relief as the commander studied him. He felt that this was his chance to make his case and influence the destiny of his people.
“I asked my father to send me on this mission,” Aidan replied, “because I thought you and your men would follow us, that you and your men were valorous. Does valor mean hiding behind a gate? Waiting for an enemy to come to you? Taking the safe route?”
Aidan took a deep breath, summoning all his courage, even though, deep inside, he was trembling.
“You can come and join my father in the greatest battle in history, in the greatest cause of your lives,” Aidan said, “or you can stay here, hiding behind your gates, doing what boys do. Not what men do. Whatever you choose, I will leave this place and turn back and defend my father alone.”
Leifall stared back for a long time, reddening, then finally shook his head.
“The better part of valor, boy, is knowing when to fight and where. Your father’s tactics are foolish.”
“My father freed all of Escalon before the Pandesians invaded.”
“And where is he now? Asking for our help!”
“He asks for no man’s help!” Aidan retorted indignantly. “He is offering you a gift.”
Leifall scoffed.
“A gift!”
His men laughed.
“And what gift is that?”
Aidan held his ground.
“The gift of valor,” he replied.
Leifall studied Aidan for a long time, and Aidan stood there, feeling his heart pounding, knowing his father’s destiny lay in these moments, trying to hold onto a brave face.
Finally, Leifall smiled.
“I like you, boy,” he said. “I don’t like your father, or his cause. But the blood in your veins runs true. You are right: we may be safer here. But safety is not what men were born for.”
Leifall turned and nodded to his men, and suddenly a series of horns blew. Aidan looked up and saw dozens of warriors on the battlements stepping forward, all sounding horns, echoing each other, until finally, the gates opened.
There came a rumble, and moments later, there emerged hundreds of horses, riding fearlessly out for battle. As Aidan watched them all come, he felt his heart leap in anticipation. In victory.
“Let us go to your father, boy,” Leifall said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “And let us show these Pandesians who the men of Escalon are.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Duncan ran proudly, facing off against the battalions of Pandesian soldiers, clutching his sword and bracing himself for battle. Beside him stood a dozen soldiers, Kavos, Bramthos, and Seavig amongst them, all bravely making a stand with him against the incoming army. Duncan knew it would be a massacre. Yet his being here, making a stand, would also give the bulk of his forces the precious time they needed to retreat to the canyon. Saving his men was more important to Duncan than saving his own life.
Duncan also knew that they could not stand and wait here for the army to come to them. If they were going to die, they were going to do it bravely, boldly. Duncan charged with his men, all rushing forth boldly to meet the army. He felt emboldened having these fearless warriors by his side, all running in step with him, none hesitating to meet death in the face.
He had a plan, though. He was not ready to sacrifice their lives that quickly.
“CLOSE THE RANKS!” he commanded.
These veteran warriors all followed his command, coming shoulder to shoulder, tighter and tighter, a solid wall of men in step, charging like an arrowhead into the great army. Duncan looked up and saw the Pandesians hardly fifty feet away, on horses, rumbling right for them in a great cloud of dust.
Duncan waited and waited, his heart slamming, knowing they had to be disciplined, to wait until they got closer.
“RAISE THE SHIELDS!” he yelled, his command barely audible over the sound of the army.
His men huddled together in a tight semicircle and as one, raised their shields.
“PREPARE TO DEFEND!”
His men stopped and knelt together, as one.
The army hit them like a stampede, a wave of men and horses. As it did, Duncan felt himself reeling from the stampede of a million men and horses.
But they held the line. A solid wall of brass, they were able to block the incoming blows of hundreds of Pandesian soldiers. Horses stumbled and fell all around them, while dozens of soldiers fell head over heels, collapsing to the ground and causing an avalanche of fallen soldiers. Chaos and confusion spread quickly in the Pandesian ranks.
Duncan and his men held tight, despite the force of blows, all one unit, one wall of steel, preventing any swords or spears from getting through. Duncan waited for his moment of opportunity, and then he shouted:
“SWORDS!”
As one, the men quickly lowered their shields and stepped forward, stabbing the soldiers all around them. Duncan thrust his sword to the hilt in a soldier’s stomach, watching as his eyes widened in shock.
Immediately, they all pulled back and raised the shields again, forming another wall of steel before the next wave of attacks came.
Again the blows rained down, and again they blocked them in every direction. Duncan’s arms shook as he was slammed, feeling the pounding of battleaxes and halberds smashing against his shield, the sound of reverberating metal deafening in his ears.
“SWORDS!” Duncan boomed.
Again they lowered their shields and stabbed the soldiers before them.
Again and again Duncan used this maneuver, keeping his men safe against the much bigger army, while dropping dozens of Pandesians at a time. They were like an arrowhead cutting its way down the center of the army, creating great havoc while managing to stay alive.
Yet the storm of blows never paused, and Duncan felt as if he were up against the weight of the world. He blocked and stabbed, again and again, his face dripping with sweat and other men’s blood. Soon enough, exhaustion crept in, his shoulders lowering just a bit. He breathed heavily in the stifling heat of the shield wall, and he knew he couldn’t make this last forever. He could see his men tiring, too.
On the next wave, Duncan raised his shield just a bit too slowly, and a blow scraped his arm; he cried out in pain as he felt it tear flesh.
“SPEARS!” came a great cry, cutting through the air.
Duncan was immediately alert as he recognized it as the voice of the Supreme Ra.
He peeked out and saw Ra sitting on a horse with a golden harness, towering over all his men, at the rear of the army. No sooner had he uttered the command than dozens of spears soared through the air, sailing right for Duncan’s men.
Duncan tightened his grip on his shield, raising it a bit higher to block, as did the others. A spear fell on his shield, bruising his arm, echoing in his ear with the clang. Yet his shield held.
Another spear fell, and another, dozens raining down, until soon his shield grew heavy with all the spears stuck to it. The shield crept lower and lower, until finally he lowered it and sliced off the spears. As he did, it left him exposed, and Duncan dropped to one knee, gasping in pain, as a spear grazed his shoulder. He heard a cry and watched Kavos’s calf get grazed by a spear, too.
“ARCHERS!” cried Ra.
<
br /> Duncan saw the Pandesians around them moving out of the way, and he saw in the distance a legion of archers step forward and prepare their bows.
Duncan’s heart fell. He knew they could not survive this wave of arrows. They had made a brave stand and had gotten farther than he had ever expected, killing hundreds of men around them. But now they had reached the end of their run. If they were going to die, he figured, better to die not cowering behind a shield, but taking out as many men as they could in one last, valiant charge.
“MACES!” Duncan cried.
As one, his men all threw their shields, using them as weapons. Duncan bashed one soldier in the jaw, then used his shield as a disc, throwing it, severing the heads of several soldiers as it spun through the air with its sharpened edges. Duncan immediately drew his mace and raced forward into the throng with all his men.
They swung in wide circles, his men spacing out, creating distance from each other as they swung wider and wider. They struck and killed unsuspecting soldiers in a greater and greater circle, the air filling with the steel clang of spiked metal balls hitting armor, of armor rattling as Pandesians dropped in all directions. The circle grew wider and wider, till they had created a perimeter of fifty feet right in the center of the army, none of the Pandesians able to get close to them.
At the same time, the archers came forward. They leaned back and raised their bows to the sky, and as they did, Duncan braced himself, knowing he was about to die.
But then, suddenly, everyone froze. There came an eerie silence in the battle, as all the soldiers, on both sides, looked up to the sky up in terror. Duncan, baffled, looked up, too—and was stunned by what he saw.
There came a roar as the skies parted, and Duncan’s heart quickened as he saw who it was. Theon. He had come for them. Theon, Duncan was elated to see, dove down right for the Pandesian soldiers, opened his mouth wide, and breathed fire.
Shrieks filled the air as one row after another of Pandesian soldiers were aflame, starting with the archers. Within moments, the flames rippled through the ranks, and thousands of Pandesian soldiers lay dead, Theon creating a wide perimeter around Duncan and his men.
As Duncan watched, riveted, in awe at the dragon’s power, Theon finally swooped down and breathed a huge wall of flame, separating Duncan from the rest of the army—and giving Duncan and his men the precious time they needed to retreat.
“To the canyon!” Duncan cried.
His men all fell in beside him and they ran, as one, away from the Pandesians, away from the wall of fire, and to the distant canyon. It was there, Duncan knew, that he would make his last stand. He had achieved his goal: the bulk of his men were free, safe, in the canyon. Now it was time for him to join them, and to have one last chance to fight the Pandesians on his own terms.
As Duncan and his men sprinted from the flaming battlefield for the canyon, perhaps still a hundred yards away, heaving for air, behind him, he could hear Theon’s flames begin to dry up. He heard the baby dragon flying away, and he knew his fire had run out. His time was limited before Ra’s army caught up.
Duncan, heart pounding, redoubled his speed. He saw the edge of the canyon getting closer, and he wondered how his men had done on their surprise assault on Baris. He prayed they had been successful.
Yet Duncan’s heart dropped when he neared and heard the triumphant shouts of men—not his own—and he knew all was not well. As he reached the edge, he and his men stopped short and gazed down below. He saw the bulk of his men fighting bravely on the steep slope of the canyon walls—and not doing well. He saw the dozens of dead bodies, saw his men surrounded on all sides, falling by the minute, and he realized Baris had somehow anticipated their coming and led them into a trap. Duncan’s men were stuck, trapped on a broad plateau, fighting Baris’s men below—and yet somehow also flanked by Baris’s men above. Duncan looked closely and saw that Bant had taken advantage of secret stone passages, small tunnels in the canyon, and even now had hundreds of his men pouring out of them, above Duncan’s men, attacking them from both sides.
His men, clearly not anticipating this, were falling by the dozens as they tried unsuccessfully to fight on two fronts at once. Duncan watched in horror and indignation as several dropped, shrieking, spears hurled into their backs. Bant’s treachery and deceit never ceased to amaze him.
Duncan tightened his grip on his sword, breathing hard with fury, and felt his destiny rise up within him. He sensed that he, with but a dozen men, could defeat hundreds and free his men, if he caught them by surprise, used the high ground, and with speed and valor at his back.
“CHARGE!” he commanded.
The dozen fearless warriors beside him were already at a sprint, all racing down the steep slope, stumbling and not caring as they zeroed in on Bant’s men below. They sprinted straight down the canyon, Duncan’s heart pounding in his ears.
As he neared, Bant’s men turned and looked up over their shoulders at the commotion—and were clearly shocked to find themselves outflanked, too. Duncan, seeing a soldier about to stab one of his men in the back, knew there was no time. He raised his sword and threw it, and watched it turn end over end and then find a place in a soldier’s back, felling him, and saving Duncan’s man.
Duncan did not hesitate. He threw himself into the mob, drawing the other sword on his belt, swinging two swords at once, chopping off the heads of three soldiers before any could even raise a shield. He felt his veins, his entire being, burning for vengeance against Bant and his people, and determined to free his men.
His dozen soldiers were as determined as he, Kavos, Bramthos and Seavig throwing themselves into battle, hacking down dozens of men, felling them and causing an immediate panic in the group.
They fought their way straight down the mountain face, cutting through the lines, forcing Bant’s men to retreat back down the slope. As they did, they retreated into the arms of the rest of Duncan’s forces, led by Arthfael, who immediately hacked them down. Sandwiched from both sides, collapsing in panic, Bant’s force of soldiers at the canyon top were soon all dead. Many were killed on the spot, while others Duncan and his men hurled down the mountain face, their tumbling bodies like boulders, taking out more men below.
Duncan was soon reunited with his men, and they all let out a cheer, one solidified force, holding the high ground. Now they all turned and looked down below, and knew they had only to contend with Bant’s army below.
“CHARGE!” Duncan cried.
They all charged down the canyon slope together, regaining momentum as they fought back against Bant’s stunned and retreating men. Bant’s men, caught off guard, could not retreat fast enough, and Duncan felled them left and right. Duncan felt a mounting optimism, and he felt that soon the canyon could actually be theirs. A thousand soldiers awaited them below, but now they had the momentum and the high ground.
Duncan led his men, hacking through soldiers as they fought their way down to a broad plateau near the canyon bottom. From here, it was but a hundred feet to the canyon floor, to vanquishing the rest of Bant’s army, and to victory.
As Duncan rallied with all his men, preparing for the final advance, suddenly, he felt the ground shake beneath him. He looked down, baffled. He looked over and narrowed his eyes as he saw Bant’s men chopping massive ropes. A rumbling followed, and Duncan looked up to see a massive boulder swing on a rope. He braced himself, too late, as a moment later it smashed into the underside of the plateau on which he stood.
There came an awful cracking noise, the sound of rock splitting, and Duncan looked down with horror to see the plateau he stood on separating from the canyon wall. His world turned sideways, he was thrown off balance, and suddenly he and all his men were falling through the air, tumbling in an avalanche of rubble, hurtling down to the army below, and to an instant and sure death.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Dierdre stood in the rubble of the Tower of Ur, Marco beside her, each bracing themselves as the nation of trolls burst through the
woods and charged right for them. Dierdre could not fathom how so many trolls could be in Escalon, how they could have all burst through the Flames. It did not seem possible. Unless, she realized with dread, the Flames had fallen.
If that were the case, then Escalon was finished. A country without borders was no country at all. Without the Flames, Escalon would be nothing but the playground of the savage Marda. Dierdre knew in that terrible moment that not only was her life over, but that all of Escalon would be destroyed. She was wracked with pain at the thought. What a terrible way for this beautiful land to end, she thought, its great coastal cities flooded by Pandesian fleets, its great northern plains overrun by trolls, burning their way south. It was a land destroyed by fire and water, ravaged from both ends.
Dierdre stood there and braced herself, the northernmost victim of this terrible plague of trolls, prepared to die with the rest of her country. She squeezed Marco’s hand, the two of them able to do nothing but stand there and die. As Dierdre looked death in the face, she no longer missed her father; on the contrary, she was relieved that she would soon join him. She did, though, feel filled with regret that she would never see Kyra again, never know what had happened to her, and that she would not have a chance to avenge her father’s death.
As the trolls neared, halberds raised, Dierdre saw the sharpened blades coming down right for her chest and she anticipated the feeling of pain. She closed her eyes, preparing for the worst.
Yet moments later, Dierdre opened her eyes and was in shock not to feel anything, not to feel steel entering her flesh, or to feel herself being stampeded by trolls. Instead, she heard a clang, the sound of metal on metal.
Dierdre looked up and saw a halberd bouncing harmlessly off an invisible shield, inches away from her face. She watched, baffled, as the trolls all charged and smashed into this same invisible wall, stopping in their tracks, stumbling and falling all around her and stampeding each other. It was as if they had run into a wall.
