by John Marco
But his love for Cassandra had never died. He knew that she continued to live in Lionkeep, was still Akeela’s captive. And it was this more than anything that fostered Lukien’s loyalty to Jazana Carr. If the possibility to see Cassandra again ever existed, Lukien was sure it would come through her.
Before that day could come, though, there were battles to fight. Lukien had become an important pawn in Jazana Carr’s struggle for power. Because of his prowess with a sword he was valuable to Carr. There were borders to secure and skirmishes to fight, and towns under Carr’s dominion that needed protection. Towns like Disa.
When Lukien fought, he forgot that he was just past forty. He forgot that his body was growing old or that he had lost an eye to a Norvan scimitar. He did not think of Cassandra or Liiria, or even remember that his true name was Lukien. When he fought, as he had at Disa for five dreadful weeks, he was simply Ryon, a mercenary fighting for Jazana Carr.
Disa had been a nightmare, and Lukien was well pleased to have it behind him. Once Disa had been a pretty little town, with quaint old houses and neatly trimmed gardens. But its southern location had made it a battleground. Suddenly the sleepy town of metalsmiths and shopkeepers had become tactically significant. For five weeks Lorn’s soldiers had battled for Disa, trying to take its bridge. Under the command of a colonel named Ness, the southerners had put up a worthy fight. But in the end they had retreated south, back to King Lorn’s territory. They had not taken the bridge, but they had exacted a heavy toll on Lukien—Ryon—and his men. The protracted fight had laid waste to Disa, sending streams of refugees north, further into Jazana Carr’s bosom. Finally, when reinforcements arrived, Lukien joined the refugees. He was exhausted and longed for the peace of Hanging Man. He was confident that Layton and the others could hold Disa.
Lukien had been on the road for barely an hour when the messenger reached him. He and twenty of his fellow mercenaries had left Disa early in the morning, eager to return north. They wore no armor, nor did their horses. And they bore no lances, only shields and swords. Jazana Carr had long ago secured the northern territories, and Lukien and his men felt safe as soon as they’d left Disa behind. The road was blessedly quiet, with only the singing of birds and the good-natured banter of comrades. Young Marke, who had become a friend to Lukien since joining their ranks a month ago, rode beside him. Marke was barely twenty and reminded Lukien of himself at that age, when he had been handsome and still had both eyes. Now he wore an eye patch to cover his disfigurement, and countless skirmishes had scarred his pretty face. Marke told jokes and sang bawdy ballads as they rode, making them all forget the horrors they had left behind in Disa
And then, like the trump of doom, came the messenger’s cry.
“Ryon!”
The twenty mercenaries turned in unison. A single rider thundered toward them, his black horse kicking up a furious dust cloud. Lukien recognized the rider at once. It was Garrin, one of the men he’d left behind at Disa. Marke also took notice of the man, his young face falling.
“Trouble,” he said grimly.
Lukien spun his horse to face the coming rider. His companions formed a circle around Garrin as he reigned his steed to a skidding stop.
“Thank the Fate I found you,” said Garrin. “Ryon, Ness is back!”
“What?” gasped Lukien. “When?”
“Soon as you left. They hit us at the bridge, not an hour ago. He’s got fresh men with him, dozens of them.”
The news shocked Lukien. He was sure Colonel Ness had retreated. After such a bloody stalemate, even the stalwart Ness needed rest. Lukien cursed himself for underestimating the Norvan colonel. But he had been so desperate to get home, so very tired. . . .
“The bridge?” he asked dreadfully.
“Holding when I left,” said Garrin. “Now, who knows. We need you, Ryon. There’s no time to waste.”
The image of home faded instantly in Lukien’s mind. He knew the bridge wouldn’t hold forever. And if the bridge fell, so too would Disa. Though there were only twenty of them, they would have to lend their swords to the cause.
“Every able man,” shouted Lukien to his comrades. “Come on.”
With Lukien in the lead, Marke and the others galloped back the way they had come, chewing up the road to Disa.
Colonel Ness sat atop his dapple gray, the visor of his winged helmet up, his eyes scanning the battleground and the town beyond. Here on the east side of the river, he was safely away from the raging battle for the bridge, on a swale of grass that afforded him an easy view of the melee. Exhaustion plagued his battered body. His armor hung on him in broken bits, dented and filthy from his countless clashes with the mercenaries. More than anything in the world, Colonel Ness wanted to return home to Carlion, to be with his wife and to forget about this worthless town that fate had catapulted into importance. But Colonel Ness could not return. He had already tried that, just yesterday. Instead he had been met by a fresh contingent of men from Lorn, one of them bearing a note from the so-called king himself. Ness hadn’t really needed to read the note; he was clairvoyant enough to know what it said.
King Lorn would brook no failure at Disa. Colonel Ness was not to return to Carlion without having conquered the town. No retreat. If he failed, he would be executed.
After reading the dreadful note, Ness had let it fall from his hands into the mud. He had simply stared vacant-eyed at the two dozen new troops Lorn had sent him. Two dozen more corpses to litter the grounds of Disa. Carr’s mercenaries were simply too good for them. Part of Ness had felt like weeping. But he was a military man charged with a mission, and so he had turned back with his own battle-weary men to once again walk into the lion’s mouth.
It was mid-morning and the war for the bridge still raged, as protracted as ever. Ness commanded his men from the safety of the rear, but there was nothing much for him to do. The bridge was too important. And the only way to take the bridge was to throw wave after wave of soldiers at it. His cavalry still tried to ford the river in spots, but the current was too swift to make that practical. Men from both sides clashed in the water, spreading the bloody stalemate like a stain. On the bridge itself, his cavalry had pushed through the barricade of caltrops but had failed to crush the wall of lancers awaiting them on the other side. Horsemen and infantry tumbled over each other like a bloody waterfall, slashing and screaming and plunging down into the rushing waters below.
Colonel Ness watched, unmoved. He had a very clear vision of himself dying today, because he doubted he could take the bridge and because he’d rather die here, in battle, than on the gallows back home.
When Lukien reached the riverbank, he called his party to a halt. The horsemen fell in line behind him, surprised. Garrin skidded up to Lukien with a troubled look.
“Why are we stopping?” he asked.
Lukien glanced around. They were not far from Disa and if he listened closely he could just make out the din of battle over the gurgle of the river. An ample cover of trees surrounded them, shielding them from sight. Lukien knew they’d come far enough.
“We’re going to cross here,” he said.
“Here?” Garrin was incredulous. “Why?”
“To surprise them,” said Lukien, addressing all his men. “We’ll come down from their northern flank, attack Ness directly.”
Marke spied the river with trepidation. “Can we cross here? It looks deep.”
“It is deep,” Lukien admitted. “But what good would it do if we can’t get across the river? There’s only so many men who can die on that bridge at once. If we’re going to finish them, we have to get across.”
“Agreed,” said Travis, one of the more seasoned men. “We’ll go slow and careful. The first man across can string a rope for the others.”
“But the horses,” said Marke. “They’ll be swept away!”
“No, they won’t,” said Lukien. “Once the first man gets across with the rope, the others can hook on through their cantle rings. We’ll take it easy, a
few at a time.”
“Ryon, there isn’t time,” Garrin protested. “We need men at the bridge now.”
“Forget the bridge,” growled Lukien. “If we don’t take the battle to the east side of the river, we’ll lose the bridge and Disa soon enough. Now hurry, Garrin. Tell Layton what I’ve planned. And tell him to send as many men as he can spare south, to cross the river there. They can ride up and meet us. We’ll crush Ness between us.”
“We can’t spare anyone, Ryon! That’s why I rode back for you.”
“Do it,” demanded Lukien. He was already riding down the river’s shoal, testing its depth. “Quick as you can, Garrin. Like you said, there’s not much time.”
Seeing his commander’s resolve, Garrin stopped arguing. “All right,” he said, “good luck,” then turned and continued riding south.
Marke sidled up to Lukien, smiling as they both guided their horses into the first few feet of the river. “You first?”
“We’ll go together,” Lukien decided. He called back to Travis for a length of rope, then tied the cantles of the two horses together. The added weight, he hoped, would keep the current from dislodging them. Either that or they’d both be swept away. Slowly, carefully, he drove his mount deeper into the water.
The bridge at Disa was a marvelous structure, thirty feet wide and built of granite, limestone and brick. It had stood for nearly forty years, effortlessly spanning the river and letting Norvans from either side cross in peace. Now it had became one more flashpoint in the bitter battle for Norvor. Layton of Andra watched men fight and die for the bridge, men who had become his comrades under the payment of Jazana Carr.
Layton was thirty years old, and he had never seen a battle like this one or watched so many men die so quickly. He had arrived at Disa only yesterday, but he’d been appalled by the losses inflicted on Ryon’s men, and he had been shocked to see Colonel Ness attacking once again. The incursion had caught Layton unaware and had caused the needless death of fifteen men in an instant, men who’d been guarding the bridge from the western bank. When the Norvans had broken through the caltrops, Layton’s fifteen men had splintered like twigs. It had taken an hour for them to beat back the Norvans, and now they fought to a standstill on the bridge itself, the wide span choked with men and horses, both sides unwilling to yield. Ryon had warned Layton of Colonel Ness’ tenacity, but to the young mercenary the colonel’s attack seemed more than ferocious. It seemed suicidal.
“Layton! I found them!”
Layton turned on his horse in the streets of Disa. He and four other men were evacuating the town, helping the shopkeepers and their families into wagons for the trek north. Already whole trains of people had left, abandoning their homes as their fellow Norvans fought to reach them. When Layton saw Garrin galloping toward him, his heart sank. The mercenary was alone.
“Well?” he shouted over the noise. “Where are they?”
“North,” cried Garrin. Out of breath and drenched in sweat, he wheeled his horse through the throngs of fleeing families and came to a stop before Layton.
“North where?” barked Layton. “Are they coming?”
“They’re fording the river to attack from the opposite bank,” Garrin hurriedly explained. “They’re going to hit Ness at his flank. Ryon wants you to send more men across the river at the south, somewhere where Ness can’t see them.” He had to pause to catch his breath. “They’re to meet up with Ryon’s men, crush Ness between them.”
“What?” screamed Layton. “I can’t spare anyone! Look at this bloody place! I need men at the bridge!”
“Ryon says the bridge doesn’t matter. He says we have to bring the battle to Ness on his side of the river, try to take him out.” Garrin watched Layton, waiting for his reaction. “It’s orders, Layton. Ryon is still in charge.”
“Orders,” spat Layton. “Right.”
Layton didn’t mind taking orders from Ryon. Like everyone else, he admired the older mercenary. But to spare men for this fanciful idea. . . .
In the end, Layton could only acquiesce.
“All right,” he said grimly. He turned to the four men with him. “All of you, go half a mile south. Find some cover and ford the river if you can. Take Kaj and his men with you. They’re already mounted up.”
“Then what?” asked one of the four. “What do we do after we cross the river?”
Layton was already heading for the bridge. “Then ride like the wind. Go for Ness, and hope that Ryon is there to meet you.”
As soon as he thundered out of the thickets, Lukien saw Colonel Ness’ army. They were pressing their attack on the bridge, and there were scores of them. Barely a quarter mile away, they did not see Lukien or his men against the backdrop of the forest, and Lukien quickly reined in his mount to prevent from being spotted. Behind him, his men fell into position, keeping to the trees and straining to glimpse the battlefield. The roar of the melee rang through the forest. Lukien and his men, all of them drenched and exhausted, spied the fight with trepidation. They had forded the river without incident, carefully guiding their mounts across the treacherous waterway, but that seemed hardly a parlor trick to the daunting task awaiting them. Lukien scanned the Norvan troops. As before, there were both cavalry and infantry. The infantrymen in their winged helmets and ornate armor battled on the bridge with swords and pikes, while the mass of cavalry stood detached, some trying vainly to cross the river.
“We’re alone,” Marke observed in a whisper. He spied the field carefully, looking past the Norvans to the southern plain beyond. “You think Layton did as you asked, Ryon?”
“I don’t know,” replied Lukien. Across the river, he could barely see his fellow mercenaries in the streets of Disa, organizing counterattacks. Townspeople continued to pour from the narrow avenues, fleeing north. Somewhere in that throng Layton was waiting, probably biting his nails in frustration. He was a good man, though, and Lukien was confident he’d obeyed the order.
“We’ll charge for Ness,” he decided. “Kill him, and the rest of them will scatter.”
“That won’t be easy,” said Travis. “He’s well protected, no doubt.” He pointed toward a swale of grass and a collection of cavalrymen. “That’s probably him.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Lukien. “He won’t be expecting us.”
There were no more questions from the men. They drew their weapons, awaiting Lukien’s word. Taking his own sword from its battered scabbard, the mercenary called Ryon gave the order to charge.
Colonel Ness was about to order more men to the bridge when he glimpsed the mercenaries riding toward him. He had seen them only peripherally at first, thinking the vision a trick of the light. But as he turned slowly north, he realized with dread that he wasn’t dreaming. A brigade of horsemen was riding toward him, swords drawn, steeds devouring the mossy ground. Not many of them, but enough to cause a very big problem. Ness hurriedly considered his options. Then a cry from his aide shattered his concentration.
“Colonel, look!”
Lieutenant Perrin was pointing south. Ness followed his finger and saw yet another brigade riding up the river bank.
“Assassins,” he spat, knowing their mission in an instant. Taking out the enemy leader was a sound strategy. It’s what he would have done.
“Colonel?” asked his aide. “What do we do?”
“What else is there to do, Perrin?” Ness drew his sword. “We fight.”
Roughly sixty of Ness’ men were free to fight. The rest of them were already engaged, battling on the bridge or in the churning river. Ness ordered half his men against the southern flank. All of them were on horseback and could outnumber the mercenaries. As for the northern assailants, Ness chose them for himself, for in the last moments he had spied something interesting in their ranks—they were led by a man with an eyepatch.
“Here I am Ryon, you son of a bitch!” Ness waved his blade in the air, rallying his men and taunting his attackers. He ordered Lieutenant Perrin and the other officers f
orward.
Lukien saw Colonel Ness lift his blade. The Colonel was shouting something, baiting him. His Norvan blade caught the sunlight, an ugly reminder of another scimitar that had long ago plucked out Lukien’s eye. The gesture enraged Lukien. He tucked himself behind the neck of his charger, galloping forward. Next to him, Marke had his own sword drawn and his shield against his forearm, prepared to parry the Norvan spears. Travis and the others were close behind. Out on the bridge, Ness’ men continued their battle against the mercs, while behind Ness another force was racing forward—Kaj’s crusaders. The sight of the Ganjeese mercenary heartened Lukien. Now he knew they had a fighting chance.
“Marke,” he shouted, “Get ready!”
Marke bent low for the coming clash. Ness let his men swarm forward, their weapons poised against the advancing mercenaries. Lukien watched as a young horseman took aim, a lieutenant by the look of his armor braids. As he charged forward, the man leveled his spear at Lukien’s chest.
Suddenly Lukien was back at the tourneys. Suddenly it was Trager advancing on him, lance leveled for the killing blow. All the jousts in his experience told Lukien the right move. He pulled his charger hard left, letting the spear glance past him. His sword arm came up in a flash, cutting through the young man’s gorget and shearing his head from his shoulders. The head rolled like a melon through the air. The body fell backwards from its saddle. And Lukien charged forward as if nothing had happened, a relentless killing machine.
On the east side of the river, Layton watched in fascination as Ryon’s brigade made their charge. Apparently, they had accomplished their objective—Ness had already been distracted. From the south, dark-skinned Kaj and his crusaders were the anvil to Ryon’s hammer. They screamed their peculiar Ganjeese war chant as they rode, twirling their curved blades above their heads. The sight of the counterattack buoyed Layton’s sagging hopes. He was in awe of Ryon, and always had been. The one-eyed madman seemed to care nothing for his own life, yet made staying alive look so easy.
