The light of purpose and understanding ignited in the young man’s eyes. He nodded. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
“Go, lad. Hurry. We’re counting on you.”
The scout mounted, and with a last look back, he spurred the horse and thundered away, crashing through the broad leafy plants lining the rough trail they had only recently cut. The squadron watched until the sounds of the horse faded, then they stared at Nolyn. He wondered if The Arrow of Death was now visible to everyone.
Just as he didn’t know their names, they didn’t know him. They were facing their first crisis, and likely their last. He could lie and offer hope to shore up their courage, but he doubted it would matter.
Everything returns to dirt. All that remains is theater.
“My apologies, gentlemen.” Nolyn tried to sound as gallant as possible. “It appears you are to be sacrificed along with me, and for that, I’m sincerely sorry.”
“What do you mean, Your Highness?” Jerel DeMardefeld asked. Nolyn remembered his name because it sounded as absurdly dignified as the man looked. DeMardefeld stood out from the rest by virtue of his exceptional plate armor and polished weapons, making even Nolyn appear a pauper. At that moment, the impeccably bedecked soldier stared incredulously, as if Nolyn had just declared the sun was but a lie.
Nolyn took a breath. “I’m about to be assassinated, and because someone wants my death to be seen as a casualty of war, all of you will have the misfortune of joining me.” He frowned, felt the need to say more, and added, “You deserve better.”
They didn’t break, which surprised Nolyn. Legions were held together by discipline and faith in the infallibility of their leaders, even unfamiliar ones. By admitting defeat, he had cut those invisible bonds. They were free to run, to panic, or, if nothing else, at least to complain. Instead, they remained silent, though their eyes shifted to the ground.
They’re all thinking the same thing: dirt. This day has forced everyone to become a philosopher.
“I don’t understand,” the First Spear said. “If that’s true, why didn’t you take the horse? Why send the scout? It’ll take days for any help to arrive, and we only have hours. You’ve thrown away your only hope of escape.”
“Did I? What a fool I am.” Nolyn moved to a fallen tree and began breaking off dead branches. “What’s your name, First Spear?”
“Amicus, sir.”
“Well, Amicus, you’re a bright fellow.” Nolyn snapped another stick. “Which is why I’m turning command of this squadron over to you.”
“Me? But you’re the prymus, sir.”
“Not anymore. You’re going to do your best to lead these men to safety. I’m going to stay here and build a nice fire.”
“Oh, no, sir!” one of the others said. Nolyn didn’t know his name, either, but the spike on his helmet declared he was the squadron’s Second Spear. “You can’t do that, sir. You’ll bring the ghazel for sure. Building a fire is like hanging a lantern in a swamp. You’ll draw in a cloud of them, but these pests have four-inch claws and fangs.”
“That’s what he wants,” Jerel said with absolute conviction. “He plans to distract the ghazel to help us escape.”
Nolyn picked up another branch and snapped it in half, tossing both pieces onto a small pile. As he did, Jerel DeMardefeld took out his hatchet and started chopping wood.
“You don’t have to do that,” Nolyn said.
Jerel only smiled at him and then at Amicus.
In reply, Amicus frowned, set his shield on the ground, then scratched the bristle on his neck. He addressed Nolyn, “Are you certain you’re the emperor’s son? Because . . .” He looked down the narrow trail where the scout had gone. “It’s not normal for the likes of you to sacrifice yourself for people like us. It’s always the other way around.”
“Not normal at all,” Jerel added as he cleaved a thick branch in half.
“Oh, really?” Nolyn said. “You’re both such experts. As I’m the only child of Nyphron, who are you comparing me with?”
“I just meant . . .” Amicus apparently didn’t know what he meant and concluded his absent thought by folding his arms.
“You’re wasting time. Sun’s going down.” That was merely a guess. Nolyn wasn’t certain how late it was. In Calynia’s jungle region, time was difficult to gauge. Except for the one diminishing shaft of sunlight, the leafy canopy blocked the sky.
“You honestly want us to abandon you? So we”—Amicus gestured to the others—“can get away?”
Nolyn shrugged. “Look, it’s not like I’m loving the idea, but it’s your best chance. So yeah, that’s pretty much it. I stay, build a big fire, make a lot of noise, and invite as many unwanted guests as I can. Might help, certainly can’t hurt.”
“Wait a minute.” Amicus looked down the trail once more, then whirled back on Nolyn. “Everett’s the youngest. Is that why you sent him on the horse?”
Everett—is that his name? Nolyn thought. By Mar, I’m terrible with names. Faces I do okay with, not bad at numbers, but names . . .
“That’d be my guess,” Jerel said. His smile turned into a grin, which was still directed at Amicus.
The First Spear glared back. “Oh, shut up. This has nothing to do with you and your delusions.”
Jerel shrugged and returned to chopping wood.
Amicus started shaking his head. “No, I’m not buying it. None of it.” His voice picked up an edge of anger. “You don’t even know us. Besides, you’re the prince, an officer, and a—” He stopped.
Nolyn lifted his sight from the woodpile to look at the First Spear. “Yes? Go on.”
The soldier refused to reply. He stared, his face a grim shield.
“Well, say it, First Spear. What am I?”
Amicus remained silent.
“We’re all likely to die,” Nolyn continued. “And although I’m new to Calynia, I’ve fought the ghazel for far longer than you can imagine. I suspect we both know what they do to their enemies. I can’t punish you any more than they. So go on, speak your mind. Tell me. What am I?”
“One of them,” Amicus said. “An Instarya.”
“Ah.” Nolyn presented a judicial smile and nodded. “Honestly, I didn’t know which way you were going to go with that. Could have been elf, or Fhrey, or privileged—none of which is true, by the way, and that includes Instarya.”
“Your father is Emperor Nyphron, leader of the Fhrey warrior clan. That makes you one, too.”
“You’re forgetting Persephone.” He paused, still holding two sticks destined for the fire. “It’s been over eight hundred years since my mother died, so I suppose your mistake is understandable—depressing but expected. A lot of people have forgotten her.” He threw the sticks into the pile. “She was the one who named me. Do you know what Nolyn means?”
“I know it’s Fhrey.”
“It means ‘no-land.’ It means I don’t belong anywhere. My father is Fhrey, but my mother was human, which makes me . . . what? Both? Neither? Something else entirely?” His voice was raised. “You’re pointing the finger. You tell me, First Spear, what am I? I’d honestly like to know.”
That shut Amicus up. He sighed, and with one more look at Jerel, he removed his helmet.
Nolyn saw doubt cut grooves across his brow, but . . .
He looks familiar. Is this the first time I’ve seen him without the helm?
Studying the soldier’s unobscured face, Nolyn was convinced he’d seen the First Spear of the Seventh Legion’s Sikaria Auxiliary Squadron before. But Nolyn couldn’t place where. The memory was as elusive as names had always proven to be.
“Amicus? We going?” the Second Spear asked.
For a moment, the First Spear didn’t answer. His sight tracked to Nolyn with an irritated, almost hateful, glare. “No. We’re staying.”
Nolyn shook his head in disbelief. “This is ridiculous. You’re all going to die because of what? Honor? Decency? Duty?”
“You started it.”
; Nolyn sighed. “Stupid is what it is.” He looked down the trail. “I doubt even Everett will escape. They know we can’t get out any other way, so the ghazel will come at us from upriver, corking our way out.”
Amicus nodded. “In the dark, they’ll expect us to run blindly and become separated. Easy pickings is what they’re hoping for.” He looked down at the little pile of wood Nolyn had assembled. “But with a big fire to help us see . . .”
Nolyn considered this. “The Durat Ran ghazel from the north hate bright lights. Living in mountain caves makes their big eyes overly sensitive. How is it here?”
Amicus gestured at the jungle canopy. “Same way with the Gur Um Ran. Jungles are dark, too.”
Nolyn nodded. “And I suppose if we put our backs to the cliff and had the river in front . . .”
“Then we would narrow their access,” Amicus finished. “Reduce the benefit of their numbers, negate their advantage.”
Nolyn looked around. “They’ll send—what do you think? A hundred daku?”
“They aren’t called that here,” the Second Spear said. “The Gur Um Ran call their veteran warriors zaphers. And it will be more like two hundred.”
Nolyn looked at the man. “I swear I have the worst memory for names. Have you told me yours?”
“Yes, sir. Back in Urlineus, sir.”
“Tell me again, will you?”
“Riley Glot, sir.”
“Thank you, Riley. And two hundred, you say? Since there are twenty of us, we’ll only need to kill ten each,” he said sarcastically, then regretted it. Now wasn’t the time to weaken morale. “I mean, that shouldn’t be a problem, right?” he added with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.
“Oh, absolutely, sir,” Riley said, with more sincerity than Nolyn expected. “With Amicus, we ought to—”
The First Spear coughed.
“Ought to what?” Nolyn asked.
Riley didn’t offer any more.
“Is there something I should know?” Nolyn pressed. “I only ask because, well, since you aren’t abandoning me, I remain the commander of this squadron. Our chance of survival is somewhere between nonexistent and iffy, so if there’s something that could help, perhaps you’d like to share?”
Again, Riley stared at Amicus. They all did.
“The squad appears to be tossing the ball to you, First Spear,” Nolyn said. “What’s your play?”
Amicus glared back at the men around him but offered no explanation.
I saw him in a crowd, Nolyn realized, a big one, an event of some kind.
Nolyn studied the annoyingly familiar man. Like the rest, the First Spear was laden with armor, a javelin, dagger, and survival gear weighing nearly sixty pounds. That was a heavy load to bear through a sweltering jungle, so it struck Nolyn as odd that Amicus chose to carry additional weight. The man wore three swords: one on each hip and a third—a giant one—strapped to his back. First Spears were responsible for the men of their squadron. As such, they often carried extra bandages, food, or liquor, which they handed out as needed. Packing two extra swords was an odd choice, particularly the big one, which could be of little use in the dense jungle.
Three swords! The thought finally registered. Of course! That’s what he’s famous for.
“What is your full name, Amicus?”
The First Spear’s frown increased. He shot pointed looks at his fellow soldiers.
“You have one, don’t you? A family name?” Nolyn chuckled at the man’s reluctance. “Come now, The Arrow of Death is hurtling our way. What tale will any of us tell?”
After a deep sigh, Amicus said, “Killian.”
Amicus was a common name, but Killian was not, and everyone knew Amicus Killian.
“What are you doing here?”
The First Spear glared once more at his fellows. “I was hiding.”
Nolyn had fought the Fir Ran, Fen Ran, and Durat Ran ghazel in the forests, swamps, and mountains of Avrlyn, but even after centuries, he still wasn’t certain if the goblins were truly nocturnal. Ghazel attacked at night because they saw better than men in the dark. But even when the legions attacked in daylight, the battles were never easy. The ghazel’s homes and camps were always located in dim, gloomy places where they had the advantage. Light was usually an ally of the legion, but on this day, the Seventh Sikaria Auxiliary Squadron struggled in the fading dusk to build a fire.
The wet wood was stubborn. Gleefully eager to become dirt, it had no desire to turn to ash.
Three teams labored with bow, spindle, drill, and fire board. Two other groups scraped knife blades against flint files. The rest had cut and dragged logs to the base of a V-shaped fissure in the cliff. The crevice provided the walls for their makeshift fortress, which would hopefully have a fire for its moat.
As darkness descended, the men worked by feel, and even Nolyn could barely see his own hands. Full-blooded Fhrey saw almost as well as goblins in the dark, and Nolyn’s improved eyesight was one of the few gifts he had inherited from his father. But the triple canopy of the jungle lessened even his vision, so his men had to be blind. The squadron was deathly silent while drilling and scraping argued with wood. A communal sigh was released when the flicker of an infant flame cast back the darkness. A drilling team had beaten the flint scrapers.
Sometimes the old ways work best.
As that baby flame was raised to a toddler by a community of well-wishers, Nolyn took the time he had left to get to know his men. He shook hands with each, asking who they were. Names remained slippery fish that his mind couldn’t hold onto. Instead, he focused on who they were: a runaway slave, a murderer fleeing the gallows, a fourth-generation soldier, a part-time thief and full-time gambler, an idealist, a drought-suffering farmer, and a young son of a poor Calynian woman who struggled to feed her family.
Many called the nearby provinces home, but some came from as far away as western Warica. Most were there because the military was their best option to make money and obtain status. Shiny Jerel DeMardefeld remained unique in his lack of need, and if Nolyn were to guess, he would suspect Jerel had joined the legion out of boredom. The Second Spear, Riley Glot, whose name rhymes with dryly rot, had previously mentioned that Jerel was different but then declined to say more. In addition to Amicus Killian, Jerel DeMardefeld, and Riley Glot, whose name also rhymes with wily plot, Nolyn managed to commit to memory the names of Paladeious and Greig, two giant-sized men whom Amicus had suggested should be stationed on the right and left flanks. Amicus, Riley, and a dark-tanned bear of a man called Azuriah Myth would form up in the center. Nolyn remembered Myth’s name because it bordered on comical and sounded entirely made up.
“I’ve never been to Percepliquis,” a young Calynian lamented. He was the destitute one who sent his pay to his mother living in a hovel somewhere outside Dagastan. Although Nolyn wasn’t personally acquainted with the eastern coastal city, he knew enough that the term city was more than generous; it was wishful. And a hovel in that neighborhood must be an extremely humble home. The soldier admitted he was only nineteen, but he looked to be thirty. His black curly hair and matching beard hid his youth, but his eyes seemed weary—they had seen too much too soon. Like most people from that region, his name was complicated and difficult to pronounce. Knowing a lost cause when he saw one, Nolyn didn’t bother trying. Instead, he mentally designated him the Poor Calynian.
“Is the city as incredible as they say?” the lad continued. “I’ve heard the roads are perfectly straight and don’t get muddy, and that water, clean and clear, can be summoned into people’s houses at will. It must be wonderful.”
“Yes, it is,” Nolyn replied because he knew that from the Poor Calynian’s viewpoint it would be seen that way. But Nolyn knew the empyre’s capital was something else entirely.
“I thought one day I might see it. You know, as part of a victory parade or something. But this war . . .”
“Never ends?” Nolyn finished for him, then nodded. “We’ve been fighting it for ove
r four hundred years.”
“That long?” The soldier scratched his beard. “I’ll never see Percepliquis, then.”
The first volley of arrows came without warning, clattering off nearby rocks. An arm’s length from Nolyn, a man died instantly as an arrow pierced his eye and punched out the back of his skull. Paladeious, that mountain of a man, grunted as a wooden shaft hit him in the thigh. He stayed on his feet, and with an angry growl, he snapped the black-feathered end off.
“Shields!” Amicus shouted. The men responded, and the second volley thundered against a wall of wood.
Only then did Nolyn notice the Poor Calynian on the ground. The young man had been struck in the first volley. An arrow had hit him in the face while he was scratching his beard. The shaft had pierced his hand before continuing through both cheeks. The arrow remained in his mouth like a bit on a horse. He rocked on his knees; his hand pinned to his cheek.
“Don’t move,” Nolyn ordered. Pulling his dagger, he cut the feathered end from the arrow. Then he gripped the youth’s head and jerked the shaft out. The soldier’s face and mouth were slick with blood but not as much as Nolyn had expected. Incredibly, the arrow had missed the man’s tongue, jaw, and teeth—a miracle wound: all flesh and no bone, as the saying went. The Poor Calynian kept his wits and quickly wrapped a strip of cloth around his face.
These men are well trained. Nolyn looked at Amicus Killian, who stood directly before him. That’s because he taught them.
The shrieks of their enemy came next—a high-pitched, jagged set of cries. The sound was all too familiar, and like teeth scraping metal, the noise set Nolyn on edge. The foul creatures flooded out of the darkness like a swarm of wasps. They skittered from the dense maw of the jungle, their talons clicking. A sickly yellow glow rose behind oval pupils. Their hunched backs, powerful arms, and mouths filled with row upon row of needle-sharp teeth were the shared nightmare of all legionnaires, the unwanted souvenir that survivors brought home.
The standard battle maneuver employed by the legion was the Triple Line, a combat system whose evolution Nolyn had personally witnessed. The ancient phalanx, with its rigid devotion to straight lines and long spears, had given way to the more flexible javelin assault followed by a shoulder-to-shoulder wall of shields defended by short swords. Each row had a commander. The first line was designated for fodder—the inexperienced and ill equipped. The second group usually consisted of the strong and young, and veterans comprised the third. The standard station for a prymus was on his horse in the rear, giving him a clear view of the battle. But with only enough men for two lines, Amicus commanded the first and Nolyn the second.
Nolyn Page 2
