After a momentary huddled conference, King Clement looked at Lord Lanthas wearily. “Make it so, Loren,” he said with a heavy sigh, the order appearing to cost him dearly. He brought his sons in close and hugged both tightly.
Lanthas bowed to his king then stepped forward to take charge, stepping in front of the king and princes. “Men, listen up—we must break camp at once! Get those wounded into wagons and transported first, along with our remaining supply wagons. We’ll withdraw along the road to Llantry and fall back to the fields of Varrackot and test their appetite for pursuit. Perhaps they see us bloodied and think us easy prey to be brought down with a single swift strike, but I vow that will not happen this day! We shall regroup and meet them with steel if they’ve the courage to face us in a straight-on battle and not like murdering cowards in the dark of night.”
Men murmured in agreement at the lord’s conviction. A few even cheered his words. Elyas admired Lanthas for taking charge of a dire situation and giving the men some small sliver of hope.
“I need two hundred brave men to form a rearguard to buy us precious time,” Lanthas continued. “Prince Dorian will have command of that force. Sergeant Glin, you will report to him—get him the men he needs to succeed, archers and infantrymen both. Horses for all if enough can be recovered, for you’ll need speed. And someone tend to this man before he falls from the saddle.” The last was directed at the wounded scout.
Elyas stepped forward to volunteer to join Prince Dorian and Sergeant Glin. The sergeant was obviously one of Lord Lanthas’s trusted men, for they had an easy camaraderie, clearly used to working together. The veteran was steady and competent, and his men had saved Elyas the prior night, so he wanted to return the favor and buy his liege and the remaining army time to retreat and regroup. He knew naught of the prince’s reputation, but volunteering to lead the rearguard had taken some stones, and he couldn’t help but respect him for that.
At Glin’s bidding, Elyas joined others in lining up to gather needed equipment from the quartermaster. After waiting a few minutes, he followed some of the other men’s leads and collected the gear he needed from the fallen: a longbow and quiver of arrows, a shield, and a helm to replace the one he’d lost the past night when he’d fallen from his horse. He didn’t have time to search for long, and the helm he ended up with was slightly too large, but it would have to do.
A few minutes later, someone pressed a set of reins into his hand, and he was climbing into the saddle on a spirited bay mare. He joined the scores of men gathering near Glin, recognizing several of the sergeant’s soldiers from the past night, including the raven-haired female archer and a tall dark-skinned man with a battle-axe. Once the two hundred were gathered, the sergeant looked them over and gave them a nod, then at his command, they spurred their horses toward the southern edge of the camp.
Ahead, the flat ground turned to a series of gentle hills and valleys, and out there somewhere lurked the concealed remnants of the Nebaran attackers from the past night.
To the north, the first wagons were moving up a road, bearing wounded and supplies. The encampment resembled a riled-up anthill, with some men scurrying around hastily gathering what equipment and supplies they could, while others were attempting to round up horses that had gotten loose from the paddock.
When Prince Dorian rode up with a pair of knights and a handful of men-at-arms, Glin went to consult with him. The prince was wearing unadorned armor and a full helm that concealed his face, likely to avoid painting himself as a valuable potential hostage. He could’ve been a hedge knight from the look of him, yet he garnered the respect of those near him.
The prince rode closer to the gathered group and raised a hand for silence. The nervous murmuring of those around Elyas ceased.
“Take heart, men, for today is a new day. The horrors of the past night are banished with the dawn. This is a day in which Sol will bless our sword arms. We shall be the shield that staves off ruin for the sake of kingdom and countrymen, parents and siblings, wives and children. Join me with courage in your hearts, and make these bastards pay for every pace of ground they think to steal!”
Elyas joined the others in raising his sword in the air and roaring a cry of approval. The prince’s words were simple yet well spoken, and they hit home. All knew this mission was deadly and likely suicidal, yet each had volunteered willingly. Elyas thought of Taren’s vow to hone his magic into a weapon to fight back and felt a rush of emotion. This now is my path, Cousin. If it leads to ruin today, then the gods willing, I’ll take as many of them down with me as I can.
After Prince Dorian spoke quietly to Glin and his knights a moment longer, Glin turned toward the gathered men. He pointed toward the gentle slope before them. “We’ll take position atop that rise and surprise the advancing army by raining arrows down on them from up high. Leave your horses down here at the base. We’ll hit them hard then fall back to the north of camp and keep harrying them as long as it takes.”
They fell in behind Dorian and Glin, two hundred men, with a few women among them, spreading out as they neared the rise south of camp, beyond which open fields led all the way to Ammon Nor.
Elyas dismounted, patting his horse reassuringly on the neck, then climbed the rise in a loose line with the others. Before reaching the crest, they dropped low and crawled the rest of the way into position. As soon as he could see the land ahead, he gasped involuntarily. The scout had been correct. A long ribbon of troops stretched to the horizon, the nearest less than a mile distant, undulating like a great worm across the rolling hills and smooth pastures.
“By the gods,” the raven-haired archer muttered from nearby. She caught Elyas’s glance and gave him a grim smile. “Anhur should favor us—’twill be hard to miss so many of them.”
“Taking Ammon Nor must have posed as much trouble as kicking apart an anthill,” added the tall, dark-skinned warrior on the other side of the woman.
Elyas nodded agreement. The grass was covered with dew, and within a short time lying on the cold ground, he was shivering from his wet breeches. Luckily, his gambeson was thick enough to not soak through.
The female archer—Kavia, he learned her name was—loosed an arrow with a bright orange fletching, marking the distance. The arrow flew in a looping arc and lodged into the ground a couple hundred paces away. He marveled at her strength, for it was no easy feat for a woman to draw such a heavy recurve bow and fire it with deadly accuracy as she had the prior night, but she made it look easy.
Looking around, he saw everyone was in position, bows in hand, lying prone in the tall grass to surprise the foe. Their numbers seemed pitifully few against such odds, and they sorely needed every advantage they could get. He strung his longbow and held an arrow loosely to the string, waiting until the enemy was within range and trying to keep his nerves calm.
The column grew closer, and he could finally make out features of individual troops. The Nebarans moved at a rapid march, intent on catching the Ketanians unprepared, seemingly not having bothered to deploy scouts. Elyas gave a morose smile, for at least the bastards’ plans to fall upon their wounded prey would be foiled—for a short time, at least. A quick glance over his shoulder showed the encampment abandoned, the last of the infantrymen just passing out of sight to the north, many heads craning nervously to check the rearguard’s position.
The Nebaran column neared Kavia’s marker, the bright fletchings just barely visible at that distance.
“Loose at will!” Glin cried when the first rank passed the marker.
They did so, rising up and loosing their first volley of arrows in a deadly rain upon the head of the formation. Elyas let fly an arrow that arced down into their midst, then quickly fired a second and a third, not waiting to see what he’d hit. Kavia’s bow hummed as she loosed three arrows for every one Elyas managed to shoot, putting three or four more into the air before the first had even struck. The Nebarans’ first few ranks were decimated in a hailstorm of arrows, but the column swiftly rec
overed, the rows tightening up and men locking shields with those around them. A few score had fallen in seconds, but the rearguard’s volleys became less effective, only occasionally finding a chink in shields or armor.
“Save your arrows!” Glin ordered. “Wait for a shot.”
The Nebarans had bunched together in a shield wall as the long column ground to a halt. At some unheard command, the wall split apart, and crossbowmen stepped into the gaps at the forefront to loose a volley of their own. Elyas ducked as quarrels filled the air. Someone cried out to his left, and more grunts and screams of pain came from up and down the line. Kavia brought down three crossbowmen before the shield wall closed back up.
A growing thunder of hooves announced a unit of cavalry riding hard up the eastward flank of the main column. Elyas counted a hundred or so at a glance, riding with lances and long spears to break their ragged line. As the cavalry passed, the Nebaran infantry broke into a charge on their heels.
Elyas brought down one of the riders with an arrow to the chest. A dozen or two fell rapidly, men and animals crashing to the ground in a flurry of twisted and broken limbs. But the majority continued to charge, nearly upon them, the ground trembling at their approach. He drew his sword and gripped his shield to meet their charge.
“Pikes!” Dorian called.
A third of the rearguard swapped their bows for long pikes to meet the cavalry charge, planting the butts of their weapons in the ground. As the pikemen were setting their weapons, a final volley of crossbow bolts dropped a number of them.
Elyas readied himself to face the cavalry charge when a burst of fire suddenly erupted a few paces to his left among the pikemen, scattering men who screamed as their hair and clothes burned. He looked around, bewildered, until he glanced up to find a winged creature hovering in the air about thirty paces overhead. A globe of green fire surrounded one of the creature’s hands, then it lobbed another fireball down into their midst.
“Demon!” he called out, but he needn’t have bothered, for all along the lines, men were crying out in terror.
Kavia loosed an arrow at the creature, but it nimbly dipped down like some great bat, and her arrow flew harmlessly past.
Before more archers could target the aerial threat, the wave of the thundering cavalry rolled over them. Men and horses screamed as lances and pikes met flesh, both human and equine. Elyas lunged forward as a nearby pikeman fell with a spear tip in his throat. He stabbed the horseman through the ribs then looked for his next target. An instinctive reaction saved him from the thrust of a lance as he turned just in time to deflect it on his shield. He batted the lance aside to try to close on the rider, but the Nebaran toppled off the back of his horse with an arrow through the eye.
Kavia’s next shot felled another rider just beyond that one.
“Fall back!” Glin shouted. “Rally at the north end of camp!” He raised his shield to catch a thrown spear aimed at Kavia.
Elyas saw at a glance that they were overrun. The cavalry were laying about themselves, swords and spears and hooves lashing out. The rearguard’s line was shattered, and the charging infantry was nearly upon them. Dorian and his two knights were anchoring the line to the left, while a knot of fighters around Elyas and Glin held the right side. Despite their best efforts, the center of the line was swiftly collapsing.
Then the entire rearguard was falling back. Elyas and Berut, the dark-skinned warrior, met half a dozen of the leading infantrymen with steel, giving the others time to get away. Elyas took down two men in quick succession, as did Berut with his axe. A sword thudded off Elyas’s shield, another slashing across his mail shirt. Berut took down one of Elyas’s attackers, only to get a cut to his arm from the last man. Elyas lunged and slid his sword through the man’s back the same moment as Berut’s axe split his helm.
“Fall back!” Dorian beckoned them to follow as he ran past with one of the knights.
The second knight had fallen, a spear jutting through his chest.
A dozen attackers were hard on their heels as Elyas and Berut followed the prince, racing down the slope toward their horses. Ahead, the other defenders were mounted up, the bulk of them galloping north. Elyas saw his bay prancing nervously and redoubled his speed. Glin and Kavia waited on horseback with a handful of others, the sergeant frantically waving them on. The archer’s arm was a blur, and arrows streaked past Elyas and Berut, thudding into their pursuers.
Elyas vaulted into the saddle and turned his horse, expecting to have to fight his way clear, but his jaw dropped when he noted the number of arrow-riddled corpses strewn along the hillside. Kavia had downed another ten or so men, leaving only a handful remaining, who were wisely crouching behind their shields, hesitant to face the deadly barrage. The archer had several more full quivers strapped to her saddle.
“Ride!” Glin put the heels to his horse, following Dorian and his knight.
A couple score of infantrymen crested the rise, and the men taking cover regained their courage at the reinforcements. The nearest swordsman lunged at Elyas’s mount, but he kicked the man in the face, then his bay was charging after the others. Elyas ducked low in the saddle, following his comrades as Nebaran quarrels rained down around them, horsemen pursuing hard on their heels.
Chapter 4
Ferret couldn’t sleep. The bizarre underground facility they found themselves in, dark and mysterious, its purpose lost to history, unnerved her greatly. Her skin crawled at the sensation—the cause of it, she couldn’t say, only that she felt a sense of pervasive dread, as if some malevolent being was observing them, waiting for its chance to spring to life and attack. She figured she was merely spooked by the memory of the encounter with the deadly yet somehow pitiable automaton, eternally waiting to perform whatever cryptic directives its ancient masters had devised for it. Or perhaps the atmosphere of dereliction about the hall was simply troubling her as it slowly succumbed to rust and ruin, overcome by the ravages of time.
Despite Taren’s assurance that he could sense nothing living that could harm them there, Creel had still thought it prudent to post a guard in case more automatons challenged them.
Following the attack by the factotum, they had continued exploring the great hall, as she thought of the gigantic room, but nothing else had stirred. Nor did they see any obvious means to escape the dreadful place. Their cursory search had ended at a large door that rose up like a portcullis, which was frozen in place, barring their path. At first, she was grateful when Creel had suggested they make camp, tired as she was, but then she’d been unable to sleep, first during Creel’s watch then Mira’s.
Ferret glanced over from her bedroll and saw Mira, a silent shadow sitting upright, legs crossed and palms resting on her thighs as she kept vigil a short distance away from the slumbering Creel and Taren. Ferret felt a brief moment of envy that the two men were able to sleep.
Something groaned softly in the distant darkness, a metallic sigh just on the verge of hearing, and Ferret sat up. She stared into the softly lit gloom, listening intently, heart thudding in her chest from the sound.
This damned place is like a tomb… Ghosts of these artificers who once worked their dark arts here. She shivered.
“This structure must be settling from all the weight of these ironworks,” Mira said softly.
“Aye. Gives me the shivers… No way I can sleep in this bloody place.” Ferret threw her blanket aside and stretched. “Is it my turn to take watch yet?”
“About another hour, I would think.”
Ferret frowned, for she was wide awake and saw no point in lying back down. She knew, as Taren had said, by their own search that nothing was lurking out there to bring them harm, hence she was angry at herself for her own unfounded fears. As she debated whether to curl back up in her bedroll, an idea came to mind.
“I’m going to look around a bit. Hopefully, I can discover a way out of here. I’ll be back soon to relieve you.” She stood, buckled on her sword belt, and donned her cloak. She walked qui
etly past Creel and Taren, both of whom seemed to be sleeping fitfully. Taren muttered something in his sleep and rolled over while Creel’s hand twitched in the throes of some ill dream, as if he were clutching at the hilt of his sword.
“Be careful, and don’t stray too far.” Mira watched with her typical serene expression as Ferret left their makeshift camp against the cavernous room’s wall, positioned where they’d have warning if any more automatons attacked them.
Ferret envied the monk’s perpetual calm in the face of all the trying circumstances they had encountered. Once, she herself had been excited by the prospect of adventure, but after seeing friends killed and wounded, being chased and constantly fearful, she was quickly lowering her opinion of adventure.
The soft illumination provided by the row of orange crystals throughout the complex lit her way as she backtracked the direction they’d come. She wondered how the crystals retained whatever magic they held after all the long centuries the place had been abandoned.
Within a couple minutes, she came upon the broken remains of the factotum that had attacked them earlier strewn across the floor. Gears and cogs and rods and parts she didn’t have a name for lay where they had spilled from the construct’s innards once Creel had finally destroyed it. The eyes, which had glowed like fire opals held up to the sun, were now dull and inert, its humanlike face a frozen mask in its destruction.
Is it truly dead? I guess something that has no life doesn’t die. Perhaps it is merely dormant, awaiting one of its ancient masters to come along and repair it. Will its iron fingers seize my foot if I step too close?
Ferret shuddered at the thought, giving the remains a wide berth, and made a protective sign for good measure. The memory of the construct’s jerky, humanlike movements as it flailed at them, seeking to bludgeon them to death, silent save for the clanks and whirs of its machinery, terrified her still.
Despite her initial fears, nothing molested her from the darkness of the derelict facility, and she allowed herself to relax slightly. She neared her objective—the passageway with all the runes around it that Taren had taken an interest in prior to them being attacked. She hoped the corridor led to an exit, a way out she could lead them to straightaway in the morn so that they wouldn’t have to spend another hour inside.
The Way of Pain Page 3
