Aravon and Captain Lingram reined in just outside the dusty, rubble-strewn entrance and dismounted. Lingram strode into the mine without hesitation. “Go with him,” Aravon signed to Colborn and Zaharis. The two hurried down the darkened tunnel in pursuit of the Legion Captain.
Aravon addressed the Legionnaires. “Check your wounds, tend to your weapons, and make ready.” He fixed them with a stern look. “We make our stand here.”
The soldiers dismounted from their horses, securing their packs and heavy furs behind their saddles. Their shields and weapons remained close at hand—all of them knew it was only a matter of time before the Rakki caught up, and none wanted to be caught unawares.
A quiet flapping echoed behind Aravon, and he turned to find Snarl dropping from the sky to land in front of the mine’s entrance. The Enfield sniffed at the tunnel into darkness, sneezed, and gave a little bark of displeasure. Instead of padding into the mine, he trotted down the hill toward Skathi, who had taken up position with Noll and Zadan at the rear of their company, arrows nocked and bows held at the ready.
Aravon’s gaze moved from Snarl toward the towering Endyn, who was in the process of struggling to dismount. Blood showed on the bandage around his leg, but it was the blow to the chest that interested Aravon the most. It should have killed him, and yet…
“Endyn.” He spoke in a voice pitched for the Legionnaire’s ears only. “With me.” Switching to the hand signals, he signed to Rangvaldr, “You, too.”
A storm raged in the giant Legionnaire’s eyes as he followed Aravon into the tunnel. Duvain trotted along in his brother’s shadow. Aravon hadn’t the heart to tell the young man to leave them alone; the Legionnaire needed to know the truth Endyn had been hiding from him. From all of them.
Cool darkness greeted him within the mine. A scent both musty and heavy with dust kicked up by their feet hung in the stale air. Aravon’s heart beat faster—the walls seemed to press in close around him, and he almost fancied he could hear the screams and chaos of battle reverberating within the mine.
But he pushed those sounds and images from his mind. He had more important things to worry about.
He stopped five yards into the mine, just within the radius of daylight streaming through the entrance, and turned to fix Endyn with a piercing gaze. “Show me.” Only one thing could explain the huge Legionnaire’s miraculous survival.
Endyn froze, every muscle in his huge body going rigid. His eyes darted to Duvain at his side, to Aravon and Rangvaldr, and back to his brother. Duvain’s eyes were dark, mingled suspicion, fear, and surprise etched there. Slowly, Endyn reached up and set about unbuckling his breastplate. Aravon’s gaze never left the man as he loosened the strap on his right shoulder and peeled the leather chest armor away.
A gasp escaped Duvain’s lips. “Endyn, no!”
Aravon’s gut clenched, and a grim light filled Rangvaldr’s eyes. The dragonskin had returned with a vengeance.
The scales covering Endyn’s chest were thicker and darker than before Camp Marshal, the cracked and bleeding flesh between a darker red. Pus of a sickly green color mingled with the yellow-and-red crust that formed between the flaking patches of skin turned to stone. Endyn’s chest actually clicked when he moved—given how wide the stiff, brittle dragonskin had spread, it was a wonder he could move.
He met Endyn’s gaze. “How long?”
The leather mask concealed the big man’s face, but there was no mistaking the shadows filling his eyes. “It returned last night,” Endyn rumbled.
“Last night!” Duvain gasped. “B-But…”
Aravon grimaced. At Camp Marshal, Endyn’s skin had been as clear and healthy as his brother’s. But if the dragonskin had grown so much in just one day, only the Long Keeper himself knew how fast it would spread to the rest of his body.
“I-I’m sorry.” Endyn turned to his brother. “I should have—”
“Of course you should have said something, you big idiot!” Fire blazed in Duvain’s eyes, accompanied by the first hints of tears.
The huge Legionnaire ducked his head. “I didn’t want you to worry.”
“Worry!” Duvain looked ready to punch his brother. “It’s my job to worry about you, Endyn!”
“And mine to worry about you,” Endyn rumbled. “If the magic stones couldn’t stop this—” He gestured to his chest. “—there’s nothing that can.”
“So you thought you’d keep it to yourself?” Duvain’s voice rose to a shout. “That, what, I wouldn’t notice it spreading again?” His gaze went to Endyn’s neck, and gave a strangled cry of horror.
Aravon followed Duvain’s gaze to where the first tendrils of dark grey had begun creeping up the side of Endyn’s neck. They hadn’t been there ten minutes earlier during their clash with the Rakki.
“You didn’t think I deserved to know?! After…” His voice cracked, and tears spilled from his eyes. When he managed to continue, his voice came our hoarse, a harsh rasping whisper. “After everything we’ve endured.”
Endyn shook his head. “There’s nothing you can do, Duvain.” His voice was heavy with regret, sorrow, and resignation. “Nothing anyone can do.”
“No!” Duvain’s voice broke again. “No, I won’t accept that!” He spun toward Rangvaldr. “Heal him again! But all the way this time!” A desperate, pleading note rang in his words. “Please!”
Rangvaldr half-raised a hand to his neck, but hesitated. A war of indecision raged in his eyes—his desire to help fighting against his uncertainty, the knowledge that doing so would very likely kill him, and whatever inner turmoil he’d struggled with all these miles.
Before the Seiomenn spoke, Endyn placed a huge hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Duvain.” With barely a hint of effort, turned Duvain around to face him. “Enough.”
“No!” The word came out in a half-sob. “No, I won’t—”
“Yes, you will.” The big Legionnaire gripped his brother’s shoulder hard. “You will, because I’m asking you to.” He fumbled at the straps holding his mask in place and removed it. Beneath the sweat, grime, and blood that stained his heavy features, his expression revealed calm acceptance. “I’ve made my peace with it. The sooner you do, the sooner—”
Endyn’s words cut off in surprise as Duvain threw his arms around his huge waist and pulled him into a fierce hug.
“I won’t give up on you!” Duvain rasped.
“It’s not giving up.” Endyn held his far smaller brother tight. “It’s accepting the truth.” A small smile tugged at his lips, an expression both sad and serene. “And making the most of the time we have left.”
Aravon turned away—the two brothers deserved a moment of privacy to cope with the inevitable. Rangvaldr, however, remained unmoving. His gaze remained locked on the two brothers, and a strange light burned in his eyes.
At that moment, a shout echoed from deeper inside the mine. “Captain!”
Aravon spun toward the sound. Colborn rushed down the tunnel toward him, his heavy frame outlined by a soft blue light glowing farther down the passage. In his hand, he carried a bundle of what looked like cloth-bound reeds—the bundles Duvain and Zaharis had carefully crafted the previous night. A bright orange flame burned at one end of the flameweed bundle, but thanks to Zaharis’ alchemy, it didn’t consume the dried grass. The marvel of the improvised torch astounded Aravon.
Colborn’s words drew his attention back to the matter at hand. “Magicmaker has a plan,” the Lieutenant said. “This way.”
Aravon hurried after Colborn, racing toward the light burning thirty yards deeper into the mine. The blue light of Zaharis’ glowing alchemical lamp shone on what appeared to be a widening in the passage. The walls expanded outward to form an almost perfectly circular chamber fifty feet across. A gaping void occupied the center of the chamber, a hole into darkness easily forty feet from one end to the other. Zaharis and Captain Lingram stood on the far side of the chasm, on the opposite end of a crude bridge of wood and rope.
As Aravon approached, Zaharis dropped a stone into the hole. Long seconds passed before a faint clatter echoed up from the pitch-black depths.
“Look at this, Captain!” Zaharis looked up at the sound of Aravon and Colborn’s approach and gestured at the bridge, excitement sparkling in his eyes. “Deep enough to swallow every one of the Rakki, if we can get the bastards in here.”
Aravon’s brow furrowed beneath his mask. He glanced at Lingram, then back at Zaharis. “Let me guess, bring the bridge down with as many Rakki as possible?”
Zaharis nodded. “That’s about the extent of it.” He gestured to the bridge. “Wouldn’t take more than a few well-placed bundles of mixed sparkweed and Dragon Thorngrass to bring it down. I’ve got enough of both in my chest.”
Aravon inclined his head. “A solid plan.” He’d seen what Dragon Thorngrass could do—a few bundles of the spiked grass had set the marshlands south of Rivergate ablaze, water and all. “Just one problem, though. The Rakki aren’t stupid enough to charge straight into what’s clearly a trap.”
“No, they won’t.” Noll shrugged. “That’s why we’ll dangle a tempting bit of bait: us.”
“Set the shield wall,” Zaharis signed, “and after the first clash—”
“Pull back, retreating to the far side of the bridge,” Aravon finished, understanding the Secret Keeper’s plan. “When they give chase…”
“BOOM!” Noll mimicked an explosion with his hands.
“No, not boom. Definitely not a boom.” Zaharis shook his head and gestured at the stone ceiling and walls. “The structure of the chamber is too weak. A concussive blast could bring down the mine on our heads, killing us along with the Rakki.”
Noll’s eyes darkened. “Trust you to take all the fun out of it.”
Zaharis ignored the scout’s sulking tone. “We lure the Rakki onto the bridge, pull back just far enough to make them cross, then bring it down with as many of them as possible. The rest, we deal with.” He plucked a chunk of rock from the wall and tossed it into the shaft to illustrate his point.
Aravon pursed his lips in thought. A risky plan, but one they’d pulled off at the Fornbryggja against the Blood Queen. He doubted the Rakki would expect it, or they would simply be too invested in the battle to realize it.
His eyebrows shot up. Especially if they recognize us as Princelanders!
Reaching up, he removed his mask and turned to Captain Lingram. “Pass the word to your men: masks off. We want them to see who we are.”
Captain Lingram’s eyes narrowed, but Colborn understood. “Once they see your faces, they’ll stop at nothing to gut your corpses and bring your heads to the Eirdkilrs.” He, too, removed his mask, and a grim smile touched his lips. “Nothing like the sight of you half-men to make their blood boil.”
Aravon nodded. “Precisely.” Their armor, weapons, and clothing might mark them as Fehlans, but beneath their masks, all but Rangvaldr and Colborn were visibly foreigners to Fehl.
The plan had merits, but that didn’t mean it was perfect.
He turned to Zaharis. “You sure you can bring down the bridge while we’re busy fighting the Rakki?”
Zaharis, who had now removed his mask as well, grinned and nodded. “A nice little trail of sparkweed should do the trick. Run it along the ground and once it touches the Dragon Thorngrass, we’ll have a solid blaze that’ll burn through the ropes holding the bridge up. Perhaps even hot enough to kill a few before they plunge to their deaths.”
Aravon studied the Secret Keeper; no trace of hesitation shone in his eyes. Truth be told, Zaharis had never let them down. On the contrary, he’d come through every time, pulling from thin air one miraculous exploit after another. His alchemical skills had saved their lives far too many times to count. If he believed he could bring down the bridge, he’d damn well do it—and in style.
“So be it.” Aravon nodded. “Get it ready, and use as many hands as you need.”
With a nod, Zaharis hurried back up the tunnel.
Aravon turned to Captain Lingram. “Get your Legionnaires to bring the horses and gear across the bridge and as far up the tunnel as you think is safe. But make it quick. The enemy’s going to reach us all too soon.” It wouldn’t be long for the Rakki to scramble over the rubble or simply climb the cliffs. Every minute they had now was borrowed time—he’d be damned certain they made the most of it.
“Yes, Captain.” Lingram gave a crisp salute and turned to follow Zaharis.
“Colborn, take Skathi, Noll, Tark, and Zadan and get somewhere you can shoot at anyone coming up that trail.” Aravon grinned. “We want them frothing at the mouth and raging for blood by the time they reach us. Make sure they see your faces.”
Nodding, Colborn handed the bundle of fireweed to Aravon and hurried up the mine passage, calling out to Skathi, Noll, and the two surviving Legionnaires-turned-archers.
Aravon turned to study the far side of the bridge. After a moment, he stepped out onto the rope-bound wooden planking. To his surprise, it held firm, with far less sway and sag than he expected. Though the bridge had no railings, it was an easy crossing on steady footing. The solid ground on the far side of the bridge was twenty feet across, narrowing sharply inward toward the passage beyond.
Holding up the flaming bundle of grass, Aravon scanned the low ceiling within the tunnel. Sure enough, multiple seams and fissures crisscrossed the ceiling and walls. The wood and metal pillars within appeared solid enough to support the weight of all that stone, but if Zaharis feared an explosion could bring the tunnel down, Aravon knew better than to contradict the Secret Keeper.
His eyes went back to the cleared stretch of ground at the foot of the bridge. Twenty feet wide and nearly fifteen feet across, it offered ample space for their small company of Legionnaires to defend the bridge and lure the Rakki across. As long as the bridge fell with all the Rakki on their side, they could put an end to the barbarians. Once that was done, they could retrieve their horses and gear deep within the mine—and Snarl, safely out of harm’s way—and begin the underground trek toward Cliffpass.
Aravon drew in a deep breath and tried to ignore the twanging of his nerves. Their plan had far too many ways that it could go wrong, but given the time pressure, the enemy hunting them, and the forces at their disposition, it was the best they could do.
He hurried across the bridge and back toward the mine entrance. Please, mighty Swordsman, he prayed silently, give us the strength to pull it off, and get us through this battle.
The fate of the Princelands and all of Fehl rested on the outcome of this desperate attempt.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Aravon’s gut tightened as Noll charged down the mine tunnel toward the shield wall formed up on the southern side of the bridge.
“They’re coming!” he shouted. Behind him, the tunnel darkened as four more figures raced on the scout’s heels. An arrow pinged off the stone wall three inches from Colborn’s head and ricocheted down the tunnel, skittering across the floor before dropping into the mine shaft behind the shield wall. Before the five archers reached the formed-up Legionnaires, the first of the Rakki appeared in the entrance. One, two, five, ten, until their huge figures blocked out the sunlight as more poured down the mine tunnel.
Howls of “Death to the half-men!” echoed with deafening force off the stone walls, all but drowning out Captain Lingram’s command to “Open ranks!” But the soldiers had trained in the Legion shield wall long enough to expect the order. The shield wall split down the middle, opening a gap just wide enough for the five archers to dart through, then closed as smoothly as if they’d practiced it every day for the last months, not days.
The foremost Rakki slowed at the sight of the soldiers arrayed against them, their steps stuttering in hesitation. Yet as their comrades jostled and shoved them forward, they resumed their racing charge toward their prey. They had found the Princelanders, and nothing would deter them.
“Loose!” Skathi shouted. Five arrows hissed above the Legion
naires’ heads and slammed into the Rakki. Four barbarians fell to the hasty volley. Skathi, Colborn, and Noll managed to loose just once more, their shafts flying through the Legion ranks, dangerously close to the helmets of their comrades, before the barbarians closed the distance.
A loud whomph echoed in the mine shaft, and the bolt loosed from Belthar’s enormous crossbow sliced the air. Three feet of steel-tipped hardwood hurtled toward the Rakki and punched into the foremost warrior. The barbarian’s shield disintegrated into a mess of splinters and the bolt drove straight through his armor, body, and furs with such force that it hurled him backward into the Rakki behind him. The two fell, screaming, and for a moment, their bodies blocked the narrow mine tunnel.
Four more arrows hissed past Aravon’s head and slammed into the Rakki—two thumping into wooden shields harmlessly, the other two finding the exposed flesh of a barbarian’s face and leg. The man collapsed with a gurgling cry of pain.
But the Rakki raced past the now-bloodstained floor, leaping over the bodies of their fallen comrades, and thundered up the shallow incline toward the Legion shield wall. The cacophony of heavy barbarian boots pounded on the stone in time with Aravon’s fast-beating heart.
“Brace!” Aravon shouted. Tightened his grip on his spear, bent his knees, and pressed his arm against Belthar’s huge back.
A deafening crash echoed through the tunnel as the Rakki slammed into the shield wall. In twos and threes they came on, throwing themselves onto the Legionnaires with maddened ferocity. The front ranks of soldiers stumbled backward, thrown off-balance in the clash. A Legionnaire’s head exploded in a spray of blood and gore beneath the vicious swing of a Rakki club. Another screamed in agony as a Rakki’s sword dug deep into his arm.
But Endyn and Belthar anchored the center of the line. The two giants stood in the second rank, their massive tree-trunk legs braced against the impact. The Rakki charge hurled the front rank backward, but broke against Belthar and Endyn like a wave crashing into a rocky cliff. Belthar’s huge axe carved through Rakki flesh and bone, sending a head, an arm, and a hand flying. Blood sprayed in the mine shaft as three Rakki fell, cut down by Belthar’s axe and Endyn’s hewing spear.
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