"Once you get us to the camp, you will do as you were ordered to do and deliver these supplies. The three of us will find a way across on our own," Ursa replied sternly.
"What do you mean? You need us!" Zehava argued in retort.
"We could use their help. The more of us there are, the better our odds if we run into trouble again," Meath added.
"The more of us there are, the harder it will be to hide and slip by unnoticed." Ursa countered.
"Ya, I think Master Ursa is right…. Uh…we should just let them out a bit before we get there and do our job Zehava," Dahak added, agreeing with Ursa.
"No way! I am sick of this delivery boy job. Besides this is as much our problem as it is yours! She is my future Queen and I will be damned if I am not going to protect her in her time of need," Zehava barked back.
Ursa looked squarely into his eyes and spoke sternly. "You will do as you are told, understand?"
"No - I will not back down, Ursa! This is just as much my Kingdom and my problem, as it is yours!" Zehava fumed. "She is my Queen. Fate brought us together for a reason and I will be damned if I will be treated like a child. You are going to need all the help you can get."
"He is right - he has every right to help save his Kingdom. That is what he was trained to do," Meath put in, stopping Ursa from saying anything else.
"Maybe it would be wise to have the extra help." Nicolette finally added, beginning to feel overwhelmed again. Everyone was still for a minute in quiet consideration.
"Do you smell that?" Ursa asked quieting everyone.
Meath smelled the air deeply. "Almost smells like smoke."
"Not almost, that is smoke," Ursa replied, his eyes scanning the tree line around them.
"We are not far from the encampment - it is most likely just cook fires." Dahak said calmly, not seeing what the big deal was.
"We are too far away to be able to smell cook fires," Zehava said, drawing his sword and resting it beside him, which prompted Dahak to do the same.
"Look!" Nicolette exclaimed pointing to the sky through the break in the trees where black smoke bellowed up.
"The encampment must be under attack," Dahak cried out.
"We must help them," Zehava said, about to slap the reins down on the horses.
"Do not charge in," Ursa ordered, drawing a confused look from Zehava. "We have with us the Princess. We will not risk danger to her foolishly."
"But the camp needs us!" Zehava bellowed out, his instinct nearly overwhelming him.
"Do you really believe our small number will make a difference if the camp is being overrun?" Ursa countered. "Go in slowly and be prepared to turn the wagon and run." Zehava nodded his head in understanding.
Nicolette gripped the small crossbow in one hand, and her dagger in the other, as fear started to overtake her again. She wondered if this is what people felt like when they rushed into battle.
Meath noticed Nicolette's hard grip on her weapons and tried to ease her mind with a half-hearted smile, but he knew that it probably would not help. The closer they got to the camp, the more intense the stench of smoke and death became.
They stopped the wagon just outside of the encampment log walls. The gate had been burnt down from a constant volley of pitch and burning projectiles. A horde of half-charred, butchered bodies lay all around where the front gates once stood. The bodies were of both the defenders and attackers. Meath looked over one, and saw crude weapons, and scraps of leather….Barbarians.
The Barbarians had sacrificed many warriors to take down the gates. There were ten dead savages for every Draco soldier.
Nicolette gasped in terror when she climbed out and witnessed the slaughter - it made her stomach turn. She tried to fight back the urge to vomit, but could not hold it for long and retched on the ground.
"We are too late," Dahak coughed. The smoke and stench of burnt flesh was overwhelming.
Slowly, they crept into the camp, their weapons drawn and ready, but the place was a barren wasteland of death. The only thing that moved was the smoke as it slowly drifted up into the sky, being whisked away by the light breeze. Even the ravens and other scavenger birds had not shown up yet for the feast that awaited them.
"Meath, Zehava, go check out the north side and see if anyone is alive. Try to help if you can. The others will come with me to the south. Do not linger long," Ursa said, his eyes taking in the gruesome scene around them.
Meath and Zehava walked through the burnt debris and down the crimson-pooled streets, toward the north side of the camp. Appendages and whole corpses littered the encampment. As they got further into the camp, it became apparent that most of the soldiers had been killed and now the citizens and farmers had defended the camp with their lives. Men lay dead with farming equipment and makeshift weapons gripped tightly in their hands. Meath and Zehava stopped several times to check bodies that had not been butchered or disemboweled for signs of life.
"This is…this is…madness!" Zehava muttered, dropping to the ground and vomiting. His head spun and his legs weak. Even in the many battles he had seen, he had never witnessed anything like this.
"Who could do such a thing?" Was all Meath could mutter out.
It took several moments before they continued down the barren, scarlet-soaked road, being careful not to step on the gore that littered the ground. They followed the path that led to the far end, but they both knew there was no one left alive. They kept going however, in hopes of finding one person that had been able to hide.
"I cannot believe this. Why…how could they have broken through? There were more than a two hundred trained men at this camp."
"We had better get back. Maybe the others have found someone and know something more," Meath said, trying to not look too hard at any given spot for long.
They had started on their way back when Zehava suddenly fell to his knees, his hand went to his neck, "What the…?"
"What is it?" Meath asked, turning around to see if his friend was all right.
"Run damn it…ruuuu - -" was all Zehava could manage before he crumpled to the ground in a heap, a small wooden dart sticking out of his neck.
"Damn it!" Meath muttered, another dart hissed out of nowhere and caught him in the shoulder. Meath tore the dart out and tried to run but his legs had already gone numb and he, too, fell to the ground in a heap and into blackness.
5
Ursa leaned down and felt the footprint in the soft earth - it was fresh and deeper than the others they had found. Ursa knew that meant they were carrying something heavy - like the bodies of Meath and Zehava.
When Meath and Zehava had not come back, Ursa and the others had gone looking for them. They had searched frantically for any sign of where they were or could have been taken. It was not until Dahak had found a small wooden dart tipped with a potent sedative that Ursa knew what had happened. They had been taken for information or for slaves.
Finding fresh tracks had been nearly impossible - the carnage and chaos in and around the camp distorted any hope of finding a true set. But Ursa had been persistent for the rest of the day and even into the night searching for the right signs, until he was sure he had found the right tracks.
"We will rest for the remainder of the night and begin following these tracks at first light." Ursa told Nicolette and Dahak, who had been waiting eagerly for his plan. He had no idea if they were even still alive, or how many enemies they would find, he did not care. His son needed him, and he would find him.
*****
Meath woke. His face was on the cold earth, his hands bound firmly behind his back. He shifted to one side awkwardly and managed to sit up. The drug was still flowing through his veins, making him sway a little - so many thoughts assaulted him and swirled in his head. His sight was hazy and vague, disorienting his senses and nauseating his insides. He shut his eyes, head falling backward and connecting with something solid - it kept him upright and for that, he ignored the throb of pain. The whole world felt like it was twisting
and spiraling out of control.
"Nicolette!" Meath moaned, barely loud enough for him to hear. The sound of his own words seemed to help pull him out of his bewilderment. He opened his eyes again and put all the energy he could into focusing them. He saw Zehava laying a few paces away, obviously still unconscious from the drug’s potent influence. Meath gradually took in his surroundings for the first time. They were in an undersized, barred cell, located in what appeared to be a large wooden barn-like building with many other cells like theirs. Everything they had with them had been taken away. Only their clothes remained.
Meath sat there for a long time, breathing deeply, trying to overcome the drug's effects, before moving again.
"Zehava, wake up!" Meath urged, crawling to his friend on his knees, trying hard to keep his balance. "Zehava, you need to wake up!"
Zehava moaned and started to come around. "What… Where are we?" His groaned weakly and slowly sat up.
Meath could tell his friend was going through the same process he had and gave him several moments to clear his head, kneeling patiently at his side
"What is going on?" Zehava managed, his eyes open again and darting to take in the scene.
"We must have been captured," Meath whispered. He did not know who might be in the dark room with them, and he did not want to find out until they had fortified themselves considerably.
Meath closed his eyes, concentrated hard on summoning his Gift, before burning through the leather straps that held his hands. Then, he quickly untied his friend while keeping an eye out in case anyone was approaching.
"What is the plan?" Zehava asked, rubbing his wrists working the blood back into his hands.
The cell roof was just high enough for Meath to stand up straight. He went over to the thick bamboo bars and looked around. He took in the other cells like theirs, but he could not make out if anyone was in them. The barn reeked of human waste and mold, from various sources throughout. The ground was covered with straw and long dried grass that had spilled out from the cages.
"They have housed us like animals," Meath whispered, loud enough for Zehava to hear.
"What have we gotten ourselves into?" Zehava asked, coming up to stand by Meath. "Do you think the others are in here?"
The question got Meath's mind racing, though he doubted a handful of leftover scouts would have been able to overpower Ursa. "Ursa? Dahak? Nicolette?" Meath called out as loud as he dared. The two waited for an answer, but there was none.
Zehava grabbed the bamboo bars and tested their strength. "Not going to be able to break them."
Meath grabbed the bars with both hands, and closed his eyes, tapping into his innate ability. The wood started to smoke as he burnt them from under his hands and with a firm pull, the two sturdy shafts broke, black ash sifting to the earth.
"I wish I could do that! Think of all the things we could have done back when we were training," Zehava said in awe.
Within heartbeats of being out, Zehava had already found a long, sturdy bamboo pole. He swung it in the air a few times to gain a feel for it. "It does not beat steel, but it's better than nothing."
Meath smirked at his friend's new found enthusiasm and was glad he had such a reliable companion at his side. They had been through a lot back in the army - they knew each other's abilities well.
Meath looked around finding only a large knotted branch that was used for beating the dirt from animal hides. "Well, it is no sword, but it should work well enough to help us out of here," Meath said with a sigh at the lack of luck they had gotten.
"I would not try… to escape, if I was you," a raspy voice said from one of the cells in the far dark corner.
Both Meath and Zehava swung around, their makeshift weapons held high, stunned that anyone else was there. They walked over to the cell the voice had come from and looked in at the feeble life-form inside.
The man inside was bone thin, his leathery skin sagged from his tiny frame. His ribcage and backbones protruded through what little flesh covered them. Scars plagued his body, crisscrossing each other in more places than not. Years of torture and torment by rod and lash had inflicted them. His hair had thinned to nothing more than a handful of long strands that were misplaced across his head. All he wore was a tattered piece of cloth, tied around his waist to cover his groin.
"Are you ok?" Meath asked - he knew the question was absurd but it was habit.
The man turned his attention from the ground to face them. His eyes were dark and sunken deep within his skull. "Fine… me, fine," he stuttered back awkwardly.
Zehava took another step forward. "What is your name?"
The caged man shifted several inches closer to the bars. "My name… Ke…no, no, NO…lies… LIES! No name no name. Me no allowed…name…. NOT worth…no…. NO…worth…" He cried out, confused and frustrated as he fidgeted with something on the floor.
Meath and Zehava listened for a long moment, making sure the distraught outburst had not been noticed.
"How long have you been here?" Zehava asked.
"Many moons…many winters…" he mumbled, averting his eyes back to the ground of his cell.
"Come with us, we can free you from this place," Meath told him, grabbing the bars of the cell.
"NOOOOO!" he screeched, terrified, diving back into the far corner whimpering. "No disobey… no try again… no."
Meath and Zehava glanced at each other wide eyed in dismay.
"What did they do to him?" Zehava whispered in utter disgust.
"They broke his spirit." Meath whispered back.
Zehava took several steps back from the cell, his eyes glistening with fear of what their future might hold. "I would rather die…than become…like that."
"That will not be us. We will get out of here," Meath snapped back at him, gripping his club tighter.
"You will not make it… stay here better…leave barn only bring pain… only pain…" The man mumbled from his corner rocking back and forth. "Work… obey… no pain… no pain…"
"I will be no one's slave!" Zehava barked, louder than he meant to.
"Enough of this… he made his choice long ago. Let us get out of here. There is nothing we can do for him," Meath said, taking his eyes from the cell.
"You will see…no escape…only pain…" he muttered at them, crawling further back into the corner of his cell.
"Shut up already!" Meath hissed back, causing the man to whimper and rock all the harder.
They went to the doors of the barn and peered out the small cracks in the wood. Three barbarians stood idly about twenty paces away - cruel looking spears and axes loose at their sides. Beyond the barbarians was what looked to be a small village. Meath counted everyone he saw in his limited view… women and children included. Barbarians trained their women to fight alongside them, so their numbers were much greater in times of need.
"I only see five," he whispered. "There has got to be more than that."
"This might prove harder than we thought," Zehava whispered back.
"If we stay together and kill fast, I think we can make it. Once we get to those trees over there, we just run for our lives and stay together; we should be able to lose them in the jungle," Meath said, pointing to the thick growth of the jungle closest to them.
Zehava looked back towards the cell with the man in it and took a deep breath before looking back at the door. "It is now or never."
Meath kicked the large barn door open and before the barbarians turned to see the escaping duo, he called upon his Gift. A liquid ball of flame erupted from his outreached arm and collided into the chest of nearest savage, igniting his flesh like dry tinder. He dropped to the earth hoping to suffocate the flames that cracked and blistered his flesh eagerly. The other two savages hooted and hollered in battle frenzy and charged them.
Zehava ducked under a wild swing from one of the savages and seeing an opening, he smashed his pole into the back of the enemy's legs, dropping the savage hard to his knees. Zehava reversed direction with
a twist and connected with the man's skull, hard enough to stun him. Zehava lunged forward, knocking the savage over backwards. Quickly he braced the bamboo pole over the savage's throat and pressed down with all his weight. The savage's hands grabbed the pole and tried to push it off so he could draw a breath, but Zehava was unrelenting. Pushing down with all his strength, he felt the windpipe crush and the savage go limp.
Meath was still engaged with the other guard. He could tell the barbarian had many seasons of fighting behind him, but by his lazy spear thrusts, Meath knew the man underestimated him. The moment finally came when Meath saw an opportunity in his defense and took it with a great swing. Meath's club exploded into the savage's face, shattering his jaw and cheekbone, dropping the savage to the dirt. With the immediate threat removed, the two quickly moved on.
They crept along the sides of several large thatched and wooden buildings, slowly making their way closer to the tree line. They knew that someone would be coming to see what all the noise was about and their time was very limited.
They came around the corner and were about to bolt for cover behind the next hut, when they were spotted. A barbarian exited the hut they were running for, crying out for help in his native tongue when he saw them.
Meath noticed the savage was not armed - taking full advantage, he charged forward. The barbarian took a step forward before he, too, realized he was empty-handed. He turned to run back into the hut to retrieve his weapon, but Meath showed no mercy in the savage's misfortune. His club smashed into the barbarian's ribcage with bone splintering force, dropping him on all fours gasping for air. Meath brought the club down hard on top of the savage's head.
"Meath, they know we are missing!" Zehava said, catching up to his friend.
"We are almost there." He could already hear the cries of alarm sprouting up all over the camp - their chances of escape were dwindling with every heartbeat.
They ran towards the tree line but stopped short when they cleared the last set of huts. There, in front of them, stood dozens of barbarians with bows and arrows notched and pointed straight at them. Beyond them was at least twice that number, training with the weapons they had stolen from the dead soldiers back at the river encampment. For a few moments, there was silence, as the barbarians almost seemed startled.
The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1) Page 12
