Path of Fire (Saga of The Wolf Book 3)

by Kris A Hiatt

  “I didn’t know,” Heral said as they neared. “I had no idea.”

  Griffeth placed her hand consolingly on Heral’s shoulder.

  “How could you?” Treace asked. “No one’s ever done that before.”

  “Look out!” Raythien yelled. “Arrows incoming!”

  Treace looked to the sky. Arrows, too numerous to count, were on their way. He grabbed Kiril’s hand and pulled her around the corner. Once there, he looked over the remaining force, knowing full well that not all of them could make it back to safety.

  “Barrier!” he called out, hoping Kiril and Heral understood his meaning. He didn’t have time to elaborate. He picked the person furthest out, thinking that they’d have the most difficult time making it to safety. It was the husband from the trio that had been finishing off the attackers. Treace closed his eyes. He fell quickly into The Calm and brought forth his barrier.

  Time was difficult to tell while using magic, but when Treace thought a handful of seconds had passed, he released his barrier and opened his eyes.

  What he saw was heartbreaking.

  The man that he protected with his barrier was kneeling over his wife, who lay unmoving in the snow. The husband was sobbing uncontrollably. The couple had made it within ten strides of the barn, but it was for naught. An arrow protruded from the side of her neck and the husband’s hands were covered in blood from him trying to stop her bleeding.

  Treace looked to see if more arrows were on the way or not. He needed to go help the downed woman. But he couldn’t yet. More arrows were on their way. He ducked his head back around the barn.

  The second volley of arrows fell from the sky, somehow missing the sobbing man. Many arrows stuck into the roof of the barn, some slid silently into the snow, but, unfortunately for the woman, another arrow also buried itself deep into her side.

  The arrows seemed to stop, for now. He reminded himself that they could resume at any moment. It didn’t matter to him. He needed to help her. He ran over to the woman and slid down in the snow. He placed his hand over her neck, hoping to feel a pulse. He felt nothing.

  “Help her, Treace! Please help her!” the man pleaded.

  He had to try. Just because he didn’t feel a pulse didn’t mean she wasn’t still alive. If she was alive, he may be able to save her. But given the amount of blood on the husband and in the snow, Treace had his doubts. He wanted to be optimistic, but the sight was grim.

  Behind him he heard Heral saying repeatedly that he tried.

  Raythien was yelling at him that it wasn’t safe and that he needed to return because more arrows were likely on the way.

  Treace ignored them and closed his eyes. He found The Calm quickly and focused on the emotions needed for his healing. He thought of his mother, of Kiril, and, of course, his father’s letter.

  Once the healing magic was built, he emotionally reached out to the woman before him and knew it wouldn’t work. There was no emotional pain within her. There was no emotion at all. She was gone.

  Treace came back from The Calm and looked into the husband’s eyes. Treace saw hope there, just for a moment. Then when Treace shook his head, the hope in the man’s eyes instantly turned to sorrow. “I’m sorry,” Treace told him. He truly was.

  The husband sobbed over the body of his wife.

  With effort, Treace pulled himself to his feet and looked around. Those volleys of arrows had injured seven and killed four of his team. Those who remained in the open began to make their way toward the barn.

  “Help the wounded!” Raythien called out.

  “That was stupid,” Moff told him as he rushed over. “What if they fired another volley? You could be dead.”

  “But I’m not,” Treace replied.

  “Luckily, no,” Kiril told him. “But if you pull a stunt like that again you will be.”

  Treace looked to his love. Both anger and relief filled her eyes. He understood both. He walked over to her and squeezed her tightly in his arms. “I had to try,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I know,” she replied with a resigned sigh.

  The team assisted each other in getting back to the barn. Once everyone was safely tucked behind its walls, Treace, Kiril, and Heral began to heal the wounded as best as they could.

  “More troops incoming!” a spotter announced. “Lots more.”

  Treace peered around the corner. There were indeed lots more. At least two hundred men were moving toward them.

  “Well, it looks like they know The Wolf is here,” Raythien remarked.

  “It could be that they’re coming for me,” Moff argued.

  Now was not the time for humor. Treace was about to say as much, but Griffeth did it for him by smacking Moff with her staff. “We can’t fight that many, we need to get back to the city,” Griffeth advised.

  “Do you think we gave Primain enough time?” Raythien asked.

  “Perhaps,” Treace replied. There were only a few hours of light left. “Let’s lead this group toward the walls. They’ll have to fall back or be shredded by the archers.”

  “Through the city and out the front gate?” Kiril asked.

  “Yes,” Treace confirmed. He couldn’t wait to stand beside Exodin and send Shamir packing.

  Chapter 26

  After ensuring that Shamir’s forces had given up the chase, Treace led his small force through the western gate and they were now nearing the southern gate.

  Swords clashed against each other and Treace heard men both crying out in pain and crying out to continue the battle. He was reminded of the first time he heard steel ringing off of steel. It was the first day he saw Exodin fighting. Granted, there were no cries of pain back then, but still, the memory was there.

  “I thought they were going to follow us all the way in here,” Moff remarked.

  “We could have only hoped,” Treace replied in all honesty. If they had, they’d all be dead. As it was, the dozen or so archers on the wall between where Shamir’s force was and the gate had already cut their number in half.

  “Any reports of attacks elsewhere?” Treace asked a nearby captain who was issuing orders. He believed the man’s name was Jak.

  “You came through the west gate?” Jak asked.

  “Yeah,” Treace confirmed. “There were a few giving chase, but our archers drove them back.”

  “Good,” Jak replied. “Nothing from the northern gate either. The bastard seems to be content throwing all he has at us from here.”

  Treace thanked the man and climbed the ladder to get to the top of the platform over the gate. He wanted to get a good look at the battle and see where Exodin was before heading out.

  He was dismayed at what he saw.

  Shamir’s forces were overwhelming them. Liernin’s men were outnumbered. For every one of Liernin’s men there were at least two, if not three, of Shamir’s. The only solace Treace could find was that, inexplicably, Shamir had yet to send his full force at Exodin. It was a good thing he hadn’t already, otherwise the battle would be lost. It didn’t make sense to Treace why Shamir wouldn’t, but he wasn’t about to question their good fortune. If you could call it that. There were already hundreds that lay dead or dying on the battlefield. The snow-covered ground was hardly white anymore. Everywhere Treace looked, the snow was stained with blood. It was horrifying. All that blood so that one man could call himself a King.

  Treace looked back over the battlefield to discern if Primain had already executed his move or not. He picked his old fellow guard out of the fight and guessed that he had. But if he did, it was either ineffective, or he and his men were driven back. Primain should have met up with Exodin’s force by now, but his men were being cut down by the second and they were being pushed back toward the sea. They were too far away for the archers on the wall to offer much support, so Treace knew that they were in a fight for their very lives.

  Exodin’s force was faring much better numbers wise, but they hadn’t gained any ground moving toward Primain. If Primain’s for
ce didn’t get help soon, they’d be overrun. Of the five hundred men Primain had at his command, less than a quarter of that remained alive.

  Treace looked back to Exodin and was again impressed by his mentor’s moves. He was fluid, precise, and, judging by the numerous bodies that lay at his feet, devastatingly effective. Treace believed the war may already be over if Exodin wasn’t on the battlefield. Exodin’s armor began to shimmer. A barrier. That explained some of his mentor’s effectiveness, but surely not all. Treace looked for Drevic, thinking the barrier was the Archbishop’s doing.

  A quick scan found him. Near the gate, with the other magisters, and the other brothers of the Church. The magisters were casting barriers on various friendly combatants and some brothers were busy tending to the wounded. Drevic stood apart from the group with Brother Baros next to him, apparently acting as a lookout and guard of sorts for the Archbishop. The other brothers that weren’t healing were mixed in with Liernin’s forces, either bashing Shamir’s men with staves or healing the wounded. Treace had expected to find Yelsn and Emiah out there with the Archbishop, but remembered that they were in the Priory leading prayers with those of the city that weren’t fighting.

  Treace looked back to Primain and thought about how he could help. He wanted to jump over the wall and rush to Primain’s aid, but he couldn’t rightly do that with his whole team behind him. He was used to thinking for himself, not commanding a unit.

  “We have to do something,” Kiril said next to him.

  “I know,” he replied.

  “What are your orders?” Raythien asked.

  Treace looked around. He would willingly sacrifice himself in an attempt to save Primain and the others, but could he truly ask his small force to do the same? He suddenly didn’t like being a commander.

  “Treace!” Kiril urged.

  He needed to do something. He wished Drevic and the others would have offered offensive support in this. Certainly the barriers and healing was saving lives, but if all it did was put them back into the fray against the superior force, it wasn’t enough. They needed to thin Shamir’s army. He looked down at his small force, who was looking to him for direction. He looked to his friends on the platform. Could he risk Kiril or either Moff or Heral for that matter?

  “Treace!” Raythien yelled out, trying to get his attention.

  Other barriers around Shamir’s forced popped up periodically, meaning Brental and his followers were helping Shamir, not that Treace expected otherwise.

  Kiril gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “Treace?” she asked softly.

  “Restock your arrows. Quickly,” he bade the archers. “You’re coming with me.”

  They immediately went about their task.

  “I know how badly it went last time,” he began, talking to Heral. “But I need you to start lighting the opposition on fire.”

  Heral looked down and began to shake his head. “I can’t, Treace. I can’t.”

  “Yes you can,” Kiril assured him. “We’ll do it together.”

  Treace was relieved to hear that Kiril intended on staying on the wall with Heral. She’d be much safer there than in the midst of battle trying to use magic. The question was, would Heral be willing to do it again?

  “Don’t think of them as people,” Raythien urged. “They are enemies that want nothing more than to end your life and the lives of everyone else here. That’s what you think of.”

  Heral nodded his head. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

  “Okay then. You two stay here,” Treace told Heral and Kiril. “The rest with me.”

  “Oh, we’re not staying here,” Kiril protested.

  “I thought you said—” Treace began.

  “I don’t care what you thought,” Kiril said boldly, interrupting him. “We’re going with you.”

  After she was done speaking, she pushed Heral toward the ladder.

  Treace marveled at her ferocity and bravery. Many others would have gladly stayed behind. Not her. It made him love her even more.

  Once the archers restocked their arrows, Treace and his crew moved through the gate toward Drevic. Dozens of men were either being treated by the brothers, or waiting to be treated. The snow under the feet of the brothers had long ago turned red from blood. A large pile of bodies lay off to the side, most likely either from those with wounds too grievous to heal, or those that were already dead by the time they were brought to the brothers to be healed.

  “We’re going for Primain,” Treace informed Drevic.

  “Good luck,” the Archbishop replied and closed his eyes, most likely getting ready to cast another barrier.

  “I was hoping to get some added firepower,” Treace informed him, hoping the mentioning of fire would ring a bell.

  Drevic didn’t reply. Either because he didn’t want to, or because he had already found The Calm. He assumed the latter.

  “Archbishop, unless you disagree,” Kelvrin began. “I’m going with them.”

  Treace smiled at the craftiness of the older magister. Drevic was in The Calm and couldn’t reply.

  “Then I’m going,” Kelvrin announced a heartbeat later. “Let’s go.”

  Brother Baros simply shook his head at the one-sided conversation.

  Even though it was a single caster, it was more help than Treace thought he’d get. Considering Kelvrin was another magister, and quite powerful, Treace felt lucky.

  They pushed on, being careful to stay behind the primary line of battle until they reached the far edge of Exodin’s force.

  There was well over a hundred yards between the two forces, but Treace thought he had just enough of an edge to make it work. Shamir’s men weren’t expecting arrows into their ranks, so they wouldn’t be prepared for those. Neither would they be prepared for nearly a handful of men to ignite into flames.

  He allowed himself one quick look back to his mentor before setting his sights on one of Shamir’s men. Drevic’s barrier glistened over Exodin yet again, and the commander was swinging his shield with as much deadly force as his sword, no longer having the need to use it for defense.

  “Command the archers,” he instructed Raythien.

  “Let’s see how they like fire,” Treace told the magic users, focusing on a large warrior who stood apart from others near the front lines.

  He closed his eyes and fell into The Calm. First he focused on anticipation, how his heart skipped a beat when he waited for Kiril to kiss him. He pictured his birthday gifts and remembered the wonder he felt of what they might be. He built that emotion up until it was to the point where he knew if he went further that he could no longer contain it. He then locked firmly in place in its own compartment in his mind. Then he focused on anger. He thought of Wren and the abuse he handed to Emiah over the years and of all the times Wren had bullied Treace as a child. He thought of Drokier and how he had betrayed them and held a dagger to Liern’s throat. He focused that anger, that hatred, and willed it to be stronger. It gained in strength until he felt he might explode and then he mentally locked it in place.

  He released both emotions at the same time, anticipating where his target would be, and willing his anger to ignite the man on fire.

  When he opened his eyes, he had expected to see a similar result to that of what Heral had done earlier. He expected to see the man’s armor catch fire, his hair, and skin. He knew it would be agonizing and that it wasn’t the most humane way to kill someone, but it was effective and it would instill fear in those around him. But what Treace saw he couldn’t believe. Not only did the man’s armor catch fire, but so did his whole body and even his weapon! The fire was so fierce, so intense, that the man screamed for only a moment before falling over dead. Now that Treace’s eyes were open and his concentration broken, the fire around the sword went out, but the leather armor and body remained on fire. Those around the poor soul scrambled to get away, wisps of smoke wafting from their armor and hair. Men slapped at themselves to ensure that they, too, weren’t on fire.

 
Two others were set ablaze, but neither of them had the same intensity as Treace’s did. He supposed he had more anger inside of him than the other casters. The thought that he was a stronger magic user than them never crossed his mind.

  One of the men on fire dove to the ground, rolling around in the snow.

  The other simply stumbled around, screaming in pain until one of Primain’s men stabbed him in the chest. It was then that Treace noticed the dozens of other bodies lying on the ground with arrows in their sides and backs. Raythien and the other archers had been busy.

  A moment later, another soldier burst into flame, this fire burned much stronger than the previous two, almost rivaling the intensity of Treace’s own magic. He thought it was Kiril’s, but when he looked to his left, he found that she was looking at Heral, who had tears streaking down his face.

  The man caught by Heral’s magic screamed in agony, but it didn’t last long before he fell face first into the snow, unmoving.

  “Your magic was stronger that time,” Treace observed with approval.

  “It should, my hatred was stronger this time,” Heral replied.

  “Why this time?” Kiril asked. “What changed?”

  “This time I thought of how much I hated myself,” Heral said coldly.

  Treace realized that this was a turning point for his friend, but he didn’t have the time to properly think about it or react to it. Instead, he waited only long enough for another quick volley of arrows from the archers before moving further toward Primain’s ranks. Heral and his issues using Path of Fire as a weapon would have to wait for a later time.

  Shamir’s men reacted then, turning half of their force toward Treace and the others, leaving the remaining half to continue to fight Primain and the remnants of his band.

  “Again!” Treace yelled, closing his eyes before he even came to a complete stop. He didn’t like that the ones taken out by magical fire were not instant kills, but he decided he could live with himself as long as they won the war.

  Moments later, four others burst into flame. This time, Treace’s magic was matched fairly evenly with another. He suspected that Heral’s hatred of himself was quickly growing.