The Champion

by Taran Matharu

  Yet even as Cade allowed himself a grin, a screech of annoyance from within the formation sent the pair forward once more. Their leader, Cade saw, was a foot taller than the others, with a more ornate helmet; while the pair selected were the runts of the group, four feet tall. They advanced slowly, their dark eyes swiveling frantically in their sockets. Still, Cade remained in place. If he ran now, they would catch up to him. He only wished he had kept up his training since his injury.

  The two Grays stopped but six feet away from him, their spears extended. A jab spitted the air in front of Cade’s face, but he had judged the distance and ignored it.

  Then, with a screech, the two enemies closed, launching themselves forward.

  Cade stood and swept his blade up in a wide arc, knocking the blows askew in a clatter of wood and metal. One Gray stumbled, surprised by his speed, and a swift reverse of his blade took it in its throat beneath its helmet.

  The Gray reeled away, even as its companion made a second thrust, aiming for Cade’s belly. It scraped along his chest plate as Cade twisted aside, steel ringing as his own blow glanced across the bronze metal of the alien’s helmet.

  The alien made for another stab, but Cade riposted in kind, moving with explosive speed to skewer the Gray through its slitted mouth and deep within. Cade twisted and withdrew, kicking the alien back to sprawl on the ground beside the other.

  For a moment, he stared at the pair, startled by blue blood pooling in the sand. He had moved almost by instinct, yet he was shocked at what he had done. Then he remembered himself, and glared up at the enemy, the arrayed faces unreadable as they stared.

  With that, Cade righted his chair and sat down again, his blue-dripping blade laid out across his lap.

  The Grays whistled and trilled in alarm. Had his display scared them into thinking again about attacking the grand fort … or agitated them into seeking revenge?

  If it was the latter, they did not show it. Rather, they retreated back a few steps, with the leader huddling with what must have been a second-in-command. Cade could almost hear their trills in the still air.

  Minutes crawled by as the Grays watched and waited. Cade was growing nervous, the sight of the two bodies before him driving the reality of the situation home.

  And then, with a screech that set his teeth on edge … the formation charged.

  “Bea! Trix!” Cade bellowed as he threw himself back, his sword sticking in the grate before being yanked free in his desperation to pass through the gates.

  He seized the rope and yanked, feeling his feet lift from the ground almost instantly. Slowly, ever so slowly, he was hauled up.

  The Grays piled into the gatehouse as stones tumbled from the battlements above. Cade caught a glimpse of a rock thudding into the masses, blue spray accompanied by squeals of pain.

  The frontrunners pressed into the gates, momentum of those behind pressing them into the grating, preventing them from squeezing through. Cade swung himself forward, using an armored foot to climb up the grate squares, as spears jabbed at him. The gates began to topple, the rope holding them in place fraying and snapping.

  They slammed into the ground, and the Grays stampeded through. For one heart-pounding moment Cade dangled above the enemy, and felt the clatter of outstretched spearheads slicing at his feet. Then he was out of range, swinging as the army below trilled in anger.

  He was safe … for now.

  CHAPTER

  12

  They were outnumbered five to one, if not more. And as they watched the Grays stumble into the sandy basin of the old harbor, this became ever more apparent.

  A few were limping, injured by the falling rocks, and Cade knew at least one had died. But it did not make their odds any better.

  They had faced greater numbers of vipers, it was true, but these creatures were more advanced. These were sentient beings, fighting in formation and armored from head to toe. Defeating them seemed impossible. The best they could hope to do was make them pay so dearly that they gave up trying to kill them.

  “What now?” Yoshi whispered.

  They were peering out of the sea-gate entrance, which Cade had scrambled into moments before.

  “It’s a siege,” Cade muttered back. “Just not of the fort. Of this gatehouse.”

  Below, Cade saw the black eyes of the leader swivel in their overlarge sockets, and moments later fluted orders split the Gray army in two.

  “Shit,” Scott whispered. “They figured that out fast.”

  They were headed up the beach, where the wall met the ground and they could run along the battlements to the two doorways on either side of the large room they were in.

  “Do we defend the doorways?” Amber asked.

  “No,” Cade said. “We stick to the plan. Up the stairs, now.”

  They ran, stumbling in their panic up the steps, and it was twice as hard in Cade’s armor. He collapsed at the top, the group gathering around the entrance with their blades drawn.

  Cade took a moment to catch his breath. To think.

  There was advantage in their retreat. The enemy did not know their numbers, even now. And if Cade held the stairs, the Grays would not know how many warriors were crowded at the top of the tower with him.

  “They’ll come up two at a time,” Cade said. “Grays seem to be right handed, like most of us. They’ll struggle to stab their spears around the staircase’s central column at us.”

  “Grays?” Grace asked.

  Cade shrugged. “As good a name as any. Now, Grace has the longest reach and sword—she can take point. Their spears have better range than our swords, but with our longer arms it’s about even. I’m the most protected in my armor, so I’ll fight first.”

  He lifted his blade and stood beside Grace, who drew her own enormous sword. Together, they listened to the sounds of tramping feet below. The enemy was moving quickly, giving them little time to prepare.

  “The rest of you, gather the stones we have left and position them around the stairwell,” Cade whispered. “Quietly.”

  The others moved at his request as the first Gray shifted into view, its diamond-shaped shield raised, spear poised to strike.

  But he was right about the angle. The Gray was forced to step into full view to get its spear into position, and Cade was quick to attack as it moved.

  His sword struck like a snake, scraping over the shield’s top and into the hissing face above. The blade jarred on the metal nasal crest, then passed through to send the beast reeling and tumbling into the next enemy, approaching behind.

  In the confusion, Grace leaped down the steps, sweeping her enormous blade in a downward swing that cleaved through metal, bone, and flesh.

  She moved back as more Grays crowded into the stairway, trampling their fallen comrades in their haste to rush the defenders. The sounds of footsteps and fluting calls echoing from below were louder now—exactly what Cade had been waiting for.

  “Now! Push ’em in,” Cade snarled.

  Hands heaved on round balls, rolling them from the stairwell’s edges down into the dingy steps. There was the clack of stone on stone, then, as the rocks began to tumble down the spiral, the crackle of broken bones. The balls rattled down the stairway, echoing in tandem with the screeches of agony as they pinballed through limbs.

  “All of them!” Cade yelled.

  More balls rolled down the steps, and the cries intensified. Soon, there were no rocks left, and Cade listened to the trilling groans of those below.

  “Charge!” Cade yelled, leaping into the stairwell.

  It was a grisly sight—injured scattered across the steps like broken marionettes. One staggered to its feet, spear trembling in its hands, and Cade resisted hesitation as his blade took it through the neck.

  Another stab finished another, and Grace’s blade swung next, cleaving through a raised helmet before being wrenched free. But in those few seconds, the injured Grays were rallying, and Cade’s next blow was met with a raised shield, and his chest plate clan
ged as a spear dented it.

  “Back,” Cade snarled, kicking out to shove the shield back, gaining them the room to turn and retreat.

  Panting, he turned at the top, where he found a shield wall two deep blocking his view of the stairwell. The Grays were tenacious, even as the wails of the injured echoed from beneath.

  “Get ready,” Cade gasped as Quintus nudged him aside and took his place.

  Cade was thankful, exhausted by his efforts. He fell to his knees and gulped down some water from an amphora.

  Just then, Grace cried out in warning.

  The Grays were advancing. One step at a time, four shields held in a square edged up the stairs, spears poking through the gaps in a hedgehog of wood and metal.

  It was all they could do but surround the stairs, waiting for the beasts to emerge and the real battle to begin.

  “Here they come,” Cade snarled, leaning on his sword to struggle to his feet. The first spear tips came into view …

  But the Grays were at a disadvantage. Their backs were exposed. From the stairwell behind them, Bea and Trix were slashing down. Spears weaved and stabbed in return, and the Grays behind lifted their shields in a makeshift shell from the blows above.

  Trix cried out in triumph as a Gray screeched and fell away. Yet within a second, another took its place. An endless queue of warriors choked the stairs, undaunted by the slashing blades above.

  Cade stabbed forward, his blade aimed at a gap between the shields, only to find his blade jar against the wood.

  “It’s no use,” Bea cried out, backing away and clutching a cut to her arm.

  Their thin ring of warriors expanded as the Grays emerged from the staircase, limping, bleeding, but in formation.

  “Drive them back,” Cade yelled, lifting his sword. “Charge together … now!”

  They moved in as one, the ferocity of their attack pushing the wall inward, pressing them into the Grays crowding behind. Swords rose and fell, splintering spear hafts and shields alike.

  But no Grays fell beneath their onslaught. They bore the wave of violence like an impenetrable wall. Where blows did pass through, they were deflected by armor, and the spears stabbed back in riposte.

  A flash of pain seared across Cade’s wrist, and he felt the hot trickle of blood, his hilt slippery in his grip. This was not a battle they could win.

  And then, almost lost among the calls of the trilling enemies, he heard it. A bellow from below. Then another, and another. Trills of alarm followed, Gray heads turning to listen.

  “Again!” Cade roared.

  They pressed forward once more, and this time, the shield wall fell back, even as the clash of weapons echoed from below. Again and again Cade swung, the last vestiges of his energy spent in great, sweeping blows. The Grays, distracted, shuffled farther and farther back, the crush of those behind them seemingly gone as their reinforcements turned to face the new threat.

  As suddenly as they had emerged, the Grays at the top retreated, their shields upheld, but only in defense as they scrambled to return to the stairs. Soon, they disappeared from view, turning and charging into the gloom beneath.

  Breathing hoarsely, Cade fell to his knees, blocking the way as Quintus tried to follow down the stairs.

  “Whatever’s coming up,” Cade growled, “it’s more dangerous than those Grays.”

  He stared into the darkness as the battle below intensified. Metal rang on metal, and the garbled screams of the dying set his teeth on edge.

  Minutes ticked by. The black shadow of the staircase loomed.

  Then, as the noise of battle petered out, a figure shuffled out of the gloom, shrouded in shadow. A man holding a shield stepped into the light.

  His mouth opened, eyes flashing in recognition. He choked a single word.

  “Quintus?”

  CHAPTER

  13

  A Roman.

  Cade could hardly believe it, yet there he stood. A legionary in rusted armor, square shield and gladius clutched in bloodied hands.

  Quintus’s face was suddenly split by a broad grin, and he rushed forward to hug the man.

  “Marius!” a voice called from below, followed by a string of Latin too fast for Cade to follow. Marius called back in reply.

  “Translate,” Cade hissed, and the Codex, suddenly invisible, whispered in his ear as it had done so many times before.

  “… the last of them! But you won’t believe who they were attacking.”

  “Bring them to us,” the voice called back. “We have wounded.”

  Marius beckoned for them to follow, then stumbled down the stairs.

  “Quintus?” Cade asked, but the young Roman was already leaping down the stairs after Marius.

  Cade followed, ignoring the clamor of questioning from the others behind.

  The staircase was carnage, with massacred Grays splayed across the stairway like toys across a nursery floor. The walls were slick with blue and red blood, yet Cade could not help but lean against them as he navigated the butchered and broken bodies. Quintus didn’t stop, no matter how loud Cade called for him. Cade could only follow, until he emerged into the large, central room of the gatehouse.

  An unbelievable sight greeted him.

  Legionaries, arrayed in formation, blue blood still dripping from their weapons. Nearby, a handful of injured soldiers lay on the ground, with a man in a red tunic rushing between them with needle and thread.

  Cade counted as many as a hundred men standing to attention. The first man—Marius—stood among them, while another in an elaborate helmet stood at their head.

  It was strange to see the men stood in such neat rows, even as some clutched wounds or held others up. Stranger still for their leader to ignore their obvious pain.

  Only when Quintus touched the second man’s shoulder did he turn, and Cade was shocked to find a sneer of disdain across the leader’s face. He had a cruel look about him, with an aquiline nose and pinched mouth beneath raven hair.

  “So,” the man snorted. “The gods have sent you to help us.”

  He spat, then looked above Quintus’s head, as if searching for something.

  “Do you have the Codex?”

  Quintus kept his lips pursed.

  “Dumb donkey,” the man snarled, barging past Quintus and facing Cade. His face was beet red.

  “You,” the man growled, stabbing a finger at Cade. “Where is the Codex?”

  Cade shrugged, earning himself a furious glare.

  “Any of you?”

  When no one replied, the man threw up his hands in anger. “At least we have a new home,” he said.

  He turned to Marius. “Centurion,” he snapped. “Return to our camp and instruct them that we are relocating our base of operations here.”

  Marius blanched. “Legatus, I ask dispensation for twenty men to accompany me.”

  The commander—which was what the word legatus meant—snorted at the request.

  “All the men are needed here in case of a counterattack. We do not know if the enemy patrol sent word back to their headquarters.”

  Marius’s face paled further. “Legatus, if I am captured or killed, my message will not get through and our camp will be left vulnerable.”

  The commander pursed his lips. “Take the donkey’s friends,” he said finally. “They will be little use to me. In the meantime, I shall interrogate him.”

  Cade moved to protest, but felt Quintus’s grip tighten on his shoulder.

  “Wait,” was all Quintus whispered.

  Marius’s face was drawn, but he nodded at the order.

  “Go. Now,” the legatus ordered.

  Marius nodded and marched away from the formation.

  He stopped at the gatehouse’s doorway, beckoning for Cade to follow. Quintus gave him a gentle shove, surprising him. Clearly his friend thought they would be safer out there than here. But as he turned to question Quintus, a glare of such feeling as Cade had never seen before greeted him.

  “Come on,”
Cade said, motioning at the others. “We’ll do as he says.”

  Cade stopped at the doorway beside Marius and quickly unbuckled the armor he wore, leaving it in a pile beside the sledges. If this was to be a long march, the ill-fitting, heavy armor would be a bad idea.

  “Get some water,” Cade said, picking up one of the smaller amphorae himself. “We don’t know how long we will be out there.”

  With that done, Cade snatched up some bandages from a pile where the Roman medic had left them, and hurried after Marius, who was already walking outside.

  “Cade,” Amber hissed as they emerged into the sunlight of the battlements. “What are we doing?”

  The others had likely understood little of the conversation, despite their now-rudimentary understanding of Latin. But Cade was wondering the same himself. Everything was moving so quickly, he’d had hardly any time to think. But they were alive, and five minutes ago he hadn’t thought that was possible.

  Still, he somehow found little joy in the arrival of their new allies. The legatus had given them a cold welcome, and treated his men almost as badly. It did not bode well.

  “We have to trust Quintus,” was all he could say. “Right now, he knows more about these Romans than the rest of us. He wants us to go, so that’s what we’re doing.”

  “We don’t even know what’s out there,” Scott chimed in. “Marius looked terrified. He asked for twenty men, if I understood the Latin!”

  “Well, good thing we’re worth twice as many,” Cade said, forcing a smile.

  His body ached, yet he did not want to lose Marius, so he broke into a stiff jog, cutting further conversation short. Luckily, once the Roman reached the shadow of the gatehouse, he had stopped to wait for them.

  “Hurry, we must reach camp before nightfall,” the man said. “But take a moment to bind your wounds.”

  Cade sighed with relief. This Roman, at least, had some empathy.

  He was a tall man, with a chiseled, shaven jaw, wide blue eyes, and mouse-brown hair. It was a face Cade instinctively trusted, and any friend of Quintus’s was surely a friend of his.