The Gift of Battle
Page 4
Erec saw the shores lined with Empire ships, guarded casually, none of them suspecting an attack. Of course, they would not: there were no hostile forces in the Empire, none that the vast Empire army could fear.
None, that is, but Erec’s.
Erec knew that while he and his men were outnumbered, still, they had the advantage of surprise. If they could strike quickly enough, perhaps they could take them all out.
Erec turned to his men and saw Strom standing there beside him, eagerly awaiting his command.
“Take command of the ship beside me,” Erec commanded his younger brother—and no sooner had he uttered the words than his brother burst into action. He ran across the deck, leapt off the rail and onto the ship sailing beside them, where he quickly headed to the bow and took command.
Erec turned to his soldiers crowding around him on his ship, waiting his direction.
“I don’t want them alerted to our presence,” he said. “We must get as close as we can. Archers—at the ready!” he cried. “And all of you, grab your spears and kneel down!”
The soldiers all took positions, squatting low all along the rail, rows and rows of Erec’s soldiers lined up, all holding spears and bows, all well-disciplined, patiently awaiting his command. The currents picked up, Erec saw the Empire forces looming close, and he felt the familiar rush in his veins: battle was in the air.
They got closer and closer, now but a hundred yards away, and Erec’s heart was pounding, hoping they were not detected, feeling the impatience of all his men around him, waiting to attack. They just had to get in range, and every lap of the water, every foot they gained, he knew, was invaluable. They only had one chance with their spears and arrows, and they could not miss.
Come on, Erec thought. Just a little bit closer.
Erec’s heart sank as an Empire soldier suddenly turned casually and examined the waters—and then squinted in confusion. He was about to spot them—and it was too soon. They were not in range yet.
Alistair, beside him, saw it, too. Before Erec could give the command to start the battle early, she suddenly stood, and with a serene, confident expression, raised her right palm. A yellow ball appeared in it, and she pulled her arm back and then hurled it forward.
Erec watched in wonder as the orb of light floated up in the air above them and came down, like a rainbow, and descended over them. Soon a mist appeared, obscuring their view, protecting them from Empire eyes.
The Empire soldier now peered into the mist, confused, seeing nothing. Erec turned and smiled at Alistair knowing that, once again, they would be lost without her.
Erec’s fleet continued to sail, now all perfectly hidden, and Erec looked over at Alistair in gratitude.
“Your palm is stronger than my sword, my lady,” he said with a bow.
She smiled back.
“It is still your battle to win,” she replied.
The winds carried them closer, the mist staying with them, and Erec could see all of his men itching to fire their arrows, to hurl their spears. He understood; his spear itched in his palm, too.
“Not yet,” he whispered to his men.
As they parted the mist, Erec began to catch glimpses of the Empire soldiers. They stood on the ramparts, their muscled backs glistening, raising whips high and lashing villagers, the crack of their whips audible even from here. Other soldiers stood peering into the river, clearly summoned by the man on watch, and they all peered suspiciously into the mist, as if suspecting something.
Erec was so close now, his ships hardly thirty yards away, his heart pounding in his ears. Alistair’s mist began to clear, and he knew the time had come.
“Archers!” Erec commanded. “Fire!”
Dozens of his archers, all up and down his fleet, stood, took aim, and fired.
The sky filled with the sound of arrows leaving string, sailing through the air—and the sky darkened with the cloud of deadly arrowtips, flying high in an arc, then turning down for the Empire shore.
A moment later cries rang through the air, as the cloud of deadly arrows descended upon the Empire soldiers teeming in the fort. The battle had begun.
Horns sounded everywhere, as the Empire garrison was alerted and rallied to defend.
“SPEARS!” Erec cried.
Strom was first to stand and hurl his spear, a beautiful silver spear, whistling through the air as it flew with tremendous speed then found a place in the stunned Empire commander’s heart.
Erec hurled his on his heels, joining in as he threw his golden spear and took out an Empire commander on the far side of the fort. All up and down his fleet his ranks of men joined in, hurling their spears and taking out startled Empire soldiers who barely had time to rally.
Dozens of them fell, and Erec knew his first volley had been a success; yet still hundreds of soldiers remained, and as Erec’s ship came to a stop, roughly touching down on shore, he knew the time had come for hand-to-hand battle.
“CHARGE!” he yelled.
Erec drew his sword, leapt up onto the rail, and jumped through the air, falling a good fifteen feet before landing on the sandy shores of the Empire. All around him his men followed, hundreds strong, all charging across the beach, dodging Empire arrows and spears as they burst out of the mist and across the open sand for the Empire fort. The Empire soldiers rallied, too, rushing out to meet them.
Erec braced himself as a hulking Empire soldier came charging right for him, shrieking, lifting his ax and swinging it sideways for Erec’s head. Erec ducked, stabbed him in the gut, and hurried on. Erec, his battle reflexes kicking in, stabbed another soldier in the heart, sidestepped an ax blow from another, then spun around and slashed him across the chest. Another charged him from behind, and without turning, he elbowed him in the kidney, dropping him to his knees.
Erec ran through the ranks of soldiers, quicker and faster and stronger than anyone on the field, leading his men as one at a time, they cut down the Empire soldiers, making their way toward the fort. The fighting grew thick, hand-to-hand, and these Empire soldiers, nearly twice their size, were fierce opponents. Erec was heartbroken to see many of his men fall around him.
But Erec, determined, moved like lightning, Strom beside him, and he outmaneuvered them left and right. He tore through the beach like a demon released from hell.
Soon enough, the business was done. All was still on the sand, as the beach, turned to red, was filled with corpses, most of them the bodies of Empire soldiers. Too many of them, though, were the bodies of his own men.
Erec, filled with fury, charged the fort, still teeming with soldiers. He took the stone steps along its edge, all his men following, and met a soldier who came running down for him. He stabbed him in the heart, right before he could lower a double-handed hammer on his head. Erec stepped aside and the soldier, dead, came tumbling down the steps beside him. Another soldier appeared, slashing at Erec before he could react—and Strom stepped forward, and with a great clang and a shower of sparks, blocked the blow before it could reach his brother and elbowed the soldier with the hilt of his sword, knocking him off the edge and sending him shrieking to his death.
Erec continued charging, taking four steps at a time until he reached the upper level of the stone fort. The dozens of Empire soldiers who remained on the upper level were now terrified, seeing all their brothers dead—and at the sight of Erec and his men reaching the upper levels, they turned and began to flee. They raced down the far side of the fort, into the village streets—and as they did, they were met by a surprise: the villagers were now emboldened. Their fearful expressions morphed to one of rage, and as one, they rose up. They turned on their Empire captors, snatching whips from their hands, and began to lash the fleeing soldiers as they ran the other way.
The Empire soldiers were not expecting it, and one by one, they fell under the whips of the slaves. The slaves continued to whip them as they lay on the ground, again and again and again, until finally, they stopped moving. Justice had been served.
One at a time, they began to cheer, and a great cheer rose up in the sky, louder and louder, as their faces filled with pure joy. It was a cheer of freedom. This, Erec knew, made it all worth it. This, he knew, was what valor meant.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Godfrey sat on the stone floor in the underground chamber of Silis’ palace, Akorth, Fulton, Ario, and Merek beside him, Dray at his feet, and Silis and her men across from them. They all sat gloomily, heads lowered, hands across their knees, all knowing they were on a death watch. The chamber trembled with the thumping of war up above, of the invasion of Volusia, the sound of their city being sacked reverberating in their ears. They all sat there, waiting, as the Knights of the Seven tore Volusia to pieces above their heads.
Godfrey took another long drink from his sack of wine, the last sack left in the city, trying to numb the pain, the certainty of his looming death at the hands of the Empire. He stared at his feet, wondering how it all could have come to this. Moons ago, he was safe and secure inside the Ring, drinking his life away, with no other worries but what tavern and what brothel to visit on any given night. Now here he was, across the sea, in the Empire, trapped underground in a city under ruin, having walled himself into his own coffin.
His head buzzed, and he tried to clear his mind, to focus. He sensed what his friends were thinking, could feel it in the contempt of their glares: they never should have listened to him; they should have all escaped when they’d had the chance. If they had not come back for Silis, they could have reached the harbor, boarded a ship, and now been far from Volusia.
Godfrey tried to take solace in the fact that he had, at least, repaid a favor and had saved this woman’s life. If he had not reached her in time to warn her to descend, she would certainly be up above and dead by now. That had to be worth something, even if it was unlike him.
“And now?” Akorth asked.
Godfrey turned and saw him looking back at him with an accusatory look, voicing the question that was clearly burning in all of their minds.
Godfrey looked around and scanned the small, dim chamber, torches flickering, nearly out. Their measly provisions and a sack of ale were all they had, sitting in one corner. It was a death vigil. He could still hear the sound of the war up above, even through these thick walls, and he wondered how long they could ride out this invasion. Hours? Days? How long would it be until the Knights of the Seven conquered Volusia? Would they go away?
“It’s not us they’re after,” Godfrey observed. “It’s Empire fighting Empire. They have a vendetta against Volusia. They have no issue with us.”
Silis shook her head.
“They will occupy this place,” she said somberly, her strong voice cutting through the silence. “The Knights of the Seven never retreat.”
They all fell silent.
“Then how long can we live down here?” Merek asked.
Silis shook her head as she glanced at their provisions.
“A week, perhaps,” she replied.
There suddenly came a tremendous rumble up above, and Godfrey flinched as he felt the ground shaking beneath him.
Silis jumped to her feet, agitated, pacing, studying the ceiling as dust began to filter down, showering over all of them. It sounded like an avalanche of stone above them, and she examined it as a concerned homeowner.
“They have breached my castle,” she said, more to herself than to them.
Godfrey saw a pained look in her face, and he recognized it as the look of someone losing everything she had.
She turned and looked at Godfrey gratefully.
“I would be up there now if it weren’t for you. You saved our lives.”
Godfrey sighed.
“And for what?” he asked, upset. “What good did it do? So that we can all die down here?”
Silis looked glum.
“If we remain here,” Merek asked, “will we all die?”
Silis turned to him and nodded sadly.
“Yes,” she answered flatly. “Not today or tomorrow, but within a few days, yes. They cannot get down here—but we cannot go up there. Soon enough our provisions will run out.”
“So what then?” Ario asked, facing her. “Do you plan to die down here? Because I, for one, do not.”
Silis paced, her brow furrowed, and Godfrey could see her thinking long and hard.
Then, finally, she stopped.
“There is a chance,” she said. “It is risky. But it just might work.”
She turned and faced them, and Godfrey held his breath in hope and anticipation.
“In my father’s time, there was an underground passage beneath the castle,” she said. “It leads through the castle walls. We could find it, if it still exists, and leave at night, under the cover of darkness. We can try to make our way through the city, to the harbor. We can take one of my ships, if there are any left, and sail from this place.”
A long, uncertain silence fell over the room.
“Risky,” Merek finally said, his voice grave. “The city will be teeming with Empire. How are we to cross it without getting killed?”
Silis shrugged.
“True,” she replied. “If they catch us, we will be killed. But if we emerge when it is dark enough, and we kill anyone who stands in our way, perhaps we will reach the harbor.”
“And what if we find this passageway and reach the harbor, and your ships aren’t there?” Ario asked.
She faced him.
“No plan is certain,” she said. “We may very well die out there—and we may very well die down here.”
“Death comes for us all,” Godfrey chimed in, feeling a new sense of purpose as he stood and faced the others, feeling a sense of resolve as he overcame his fears. “It is a question of how we wish to die: down here, cowering as rats? Or up there, aiming for our freedom?”
Slowly, one at a time, the others all stood. They faced him and all nodded solemnly back.
He knew, at that moment, a plan had been formed. Tonight, they would escape.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Loti and Loc walked side by side beneath the burning desert sun, the two of them shackled to each other, as they were whipped by the Empire taskmasters behind them. They trekked through the wasteland and as they did, Loti wondered once again why her brother had volunteered them for this dangerous, backbreaking job. Had he gone mad?
“What were you thinking?” she whispered to him. They were prodded from behind and as Loc lost his balance and stumbled forward, Loti caught him by his good arm before he fell.
“Why would you volunteer us?” she added.
“Look ahead,” he said, regaining his balance. “What do you see?”
Loti looked ahead and saw nothing but the monotonous desert stretched out before them, filled with slaves, the ground hard with rocks; beyond that, she saw a slope to a ridge, atop which labored a dozen more slaves. Everywhere were taskmasters, the sound of whips heavy in the air.
“I see nothing,” she replied, impatient, “but more of the same: slaves being worked to their deaths by taskmasters.”
Loti suddenly felt a searing pain across her back, as if her skin were being torn off, and she cried out as she was lashed across her back, the whip slicing her skin.
She turned to see the scowling face of a taskmaster behind her.
“Keep silent!” he commanded.
Loti felt like crying from the intense pain, but she held her tongue and continued to walk beside Loc, her shackles rattling under the sun. She vowed to kill all of these Empire as soon as she could.
They continued marching in silence, the only sound that of their boots crunching beneath the rock. Finally, Loc inched closer beside her.
“It’s not what you see,” he whispered, “but what you don’t see. Look closely.
Up there, on the ridge.”
She studied the landscape, but saw nothing.
“There is but one taskmaster up there. One. For two dozen slaves. Look back, over the valley, and see how many there are.”
Loti glanced furtively back over her shoulder, and in the valley spread out below, she saw dozens of taskmasters overseeing slaves, who broke rock and tilled the land. She turned and looked back up at the ridge, and she understood for the first time what her brother had in mind. Not only was there only one taskmaster, but even better, there was a zerta beside him. A means of escape.
She was impressed.
He nodded in understanding.
“The ridgetop is the most dangerous job post,” he whispered. “The hottest, the least desired, by slave and taskmaster alike. But that, my sister, is an opportunity.”
Loti was suddenly kicked in the back, and she stumbled forward along with Loc. The two of them righted themselves and continued up the ridge, Loti gasping for air, trying to catch her breath beneath the rising heat as they ascended. But this time, when she looked back up, her heart swelled with optimism, beating faster in her throat: finally, they had a plan.
Loti had never considered her brother to be bold, so willing to take such risk, to confront the Empire. But now as she looked at him, she could see the desperation in his eyes, could see that he was finally thinking as she was. She saw him in a new light, and she admired him greatly for it. It was exactly the type of plan she would have come up with herself.
“And what of our shackles?” she whispered back, as she made sure the taskmasters were not looking.
Loc gestured with his head.
“His saddle,” Loc replied. “Look closely.”
Loti looked and saw the long sword dangling in it; she realized they could use it to cut the shackles. They could make a break from there.