by Ben Cassidy
The massive war chief strode towards the line of the trench, both axes still in his hands. He seemed to stare straight up at Lockhart. There was no fear in his eyes.
Lockhart swiped his sword down. “Fire!”
A crescendo of carbine fire tore through the night air, momentarily drowning out the cacophony coming from the barbarians. Lead shot spattered the front line of the Jombard warriors, tearing through flimsy shields and ripping through unarmored flesh and bone. More than a dozen Jombards dropped dead, either punched back into the open ground or blasted down into the stake-lined trench below. A half-dozen others spun and fell with gaping wounds. Pain-filled screams rose over the wailing of the women.
It wasn’t enough. The barbarians were pouring forward in a wave that seemed almost endless.
Ladders rattled and clacked as they were thrown up against the palisade. The chanting began again, unbidden and seemingly spontaneous, uttered from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
Harnathu...Harnathu...Harnathu...
“Fire at will!” Lockhart shouted. He leaned over the protective barrier of the watchtower, tracked a barbarian who was running along one of the planks below, then fired.
The Jombard was wrenched off the make-shift bridge by the pistol shot. He toppled down onto the unforgiving stakes below.
Lockhart pulled himself back inside the watchtower.
It wasn’t a moment too soon. A spear slapped against the barrier, followed quickly by an arrow that hissed through the empty space where his head had been.
The reports of more pistol shots sounded from the ramparts below. Many of the dragoons were pulling out their sidearms and firing them down at the Jombards.
The chanting grew louder, mingling with the drums and wailing of the women.
Lockhart scooted over to the side of the watchtower. He struggled to reload his pistol, keeping his head down below the barrier. Beside him one of the dragoons lifted up to fire his carbine. It flashed and fired.
A moment later the dragoon fell back dead onto planks of the watchtower floor, his skull cracked and smashed by a sling bullet.
Lockhart kept reloading the pistol. He ducked as another javelin flew over the barrier and stuck fast into one of the supports.
A ragged cheer sounded from below.
Lockhart stuck his head up for a look.
Dragoons from Sharpton’s command, about ten in all, were scurrying up the steps from the milefort to the palisade wall. Their exhausted nags were still loose in the courtyard behind them.
Lockhart felt a slight touch of relief. Reinforcements at last. Sharpton had only sent one squad, and kept one behind. As much as Lockhart would have longed to see every dragoon from the Rest here at Hangman’s Hill, he knew that Sharpton was wise in holding men back. They couldn’t afford to completely unman any section of the Wall, even in the face of such an overwhelming attack.
More carbine shots sounded off below as the new dragoons manned the Wall.
Lockhart looked out over the trench and smiled.
More barbarians began to topple and fall, shot dead or wounded by the carbine fire.
Then thunder sounded, bringing with it a flash of lightning and a hail of lead. The cannon had reloaded.
Smoke covered the trench. A wall of barbarians dropped, bodies and limbs torn asunder from the scything shot. The air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and the sharp acrid scent of blood. Some of the Jombards actually started to turn and flee, throwing down their weapons as they did.
Lockhart took a deep breath. This might be the turning point. If they could just—
Something drew his attention on the other side of the Wall. The dots of fire, the torches that the barbarians had been holding....
Captain Lockhart looked over the barrier, his reloaded pistol in hand.
On the far side of the trench, he saw a line of Jombard warriors forming. Half held flaming torches. The other half held pitch-covered arrows and javelins.
In front of them was the Jombard war chief. He flicked one of his battle axes at a fleeing barbarian, cutting the man down almost casually. Then he lifted his bloody war axe with a shout.
The Jombards turned and lit the javelins and arrows in the torches. New flames danced and flared to life.
It was suddenly clear to Lockhart. The barbarians were going to use the one real weakness the Wall had...fire.
Desperately, he turned to look down on the ramparts.
The dragoons were in a battle for their lives. The barbarians were starting to climb the palisade itself, and even the sporadic gunfire wasn’t enough to keep the horde at bay. As it was, no one was noticing the true danger that was looming just beyond the trench.
If the Wall fell here, if the barbarians broke through the palisade and the milefort, they could pour through the gap into the surrounding countryside, unchecked and uncontained.
Captain Lockhart stood, disregarding the zipping stones and javelins that bombarded the Wall. He raised his voice to shout to his men.
Like a rain of fire, a score of fire-tipped javelins and arrows shot through the air, right towards the wooden palisade.
Chapter 3
Joseph was up in a moment, before he had even registered what was happening or why. His hand held his long dagger, which he had drawn even before he was fully awake.
A scream. There had been a scream—
It came again, muffled through the upper ceiling of the inn.
Joseph threw off the blanket that covered him. He reached for the rapier that was beside him, lying on the floor of the inn’s common room.
Maklavir sat bolt upright. He threw his own blanket off. “Kara!”
“I know,” Joseph said again. He didn’t even bother reaching for his boots. He got up, half-dressed as he was, and ran for the stairs that led upstairs.
The common room of the inn was dark, the fire burning low. The rain-spattered window let in little outside light, and the innkeeper had retired for the night. There was only one other man occupying the floor before the inn’s hearth, a plump merchant from Llewyllan. He still snored loudly, unperturbed by the screams coming from upstairs.
Joseph banged his bare foot on a table leg as he crossed the shadowy room. He stifled a cry of pain, then dashed up the stairs three at a time.
The clumsy clump of footsteps behind Joseph told him that Maklavir was in close pursuit.
A scream sounded again. It was definitely Kara.
Joseph took the stairs in record time. He spun hard on the landing, moving quickly down the short hallway to Kara’s room.
Joseph didn’t knock, or make any other civilized pretense. Instead he just barged straight into the room, rapier in hand.
Kara was tossing and turning in her bed. Sweat glinted on her forehead. She grasped frantically at her sheets. Her legs kicked wildly.
“Kara!” Joseph shouted. He rushed over to her and grabbed at her flailing arms, trying to calm the woman. “Kara!”
“No...no!” Kara moaned. Her eyes were closed.
Maklavir appeared at the door to the room. “What in Eru’s name—?”
“She’s asleep,” Joseph said as he tried to hold Kara’s wrists. “Some kind of nightmare.”
Maklavir came into the room, sheathing his own rapier.
“Kara, wake up!” Joseph said. He leaned down and put a hand on her face. “It’s just a dream. Kara!”
Kara sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp, her eyes open. “Kendril!” She looked around the room as if expecting to see the Ghostwalker standing there.
Joseph let go of her wrists and backed a step away.
“We’re here, Kara,” said Maklavir gently. “It was just a nightmare. A dream.”
Kara twisted in the bed and threw her legs over the edge. Her nightshirt was crumpled and damp with sweat. She took a deep breath, folding her arms across her chest. “It wasn’t just a dream. It was the same dream.”
Joseph moved to the door of the room and glanced up and down the hallway. He look
ed back at Kara. “The one with the burning town?”
Kara looked up at both men. Her eyes were surrounded by dark circles, and her face was pale. “Yes. The same one that I’ve had ever since Vorten.” She rubbed a hand over her face. “He’s in trouble. I know it. I’ve seen it.”
“I’ll get you some water,” said Maklavir kindly. He disappeared out the bedroom door.
Joseph turned with a scowl. “Was there anything different this time? Anything at all?”
Kara gave a small shake of her head. “No.” She glanced up at Joseph. “It was terrible, Joseph. Every time I see it, I want to help to do something, but all I can do is watch as the town burns. There are bodies in the street, and howling in the air. And then I see him—”
“Kendril?” Joseph asked. His face twitched slightly.
Kara looked long and hard at the pathfinder. “You still haven’t completely forgiven him for what happened in Vorten, have you?”
Joseph turned away. “I’ve come with you, haven’t I? Halfway across Zanthora, through war zones and bandit-infested roads.”
“I know,” said Kara quietly.
Joseph turned his head back around. “And all because of this vision of yours. To save him.”
“He’ll die if we don’t help him, Joseph.” Kara grabbed one of the loose blankets on the bed and wrapped it around herself.
Joseph crossed his arms. “And how exactly do you know that?”
“I...don’t know,” Kara admitted. “But somehow I do. He needs us, Joseph. All of us.”
Joseph made a face. He turned his face to the window of the room. “I don’t think we owe Kendril anything, Kara.”
Kara brushed her straggly hair away from her face. “Listen to yourself, Joseph. Kendril is our friend.”
“Was my friend,” Joseph corrected in a low voice.
“He’s still mine,” Kara said. “Even if you still blame him for what happened in Vorten, don’t you believe in the dream that Kendril had? The one with the Guardian, back in Merewith?”
Joseph gave a deep sigh. “I...don’t know anymore.”
Kara stared at him. She opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything.
“Here we are,” said Maklavir as he came back in the room with a pewter cup. “Drink slowly, Kara. Don’t spill.”
Kara took the cup from the diplomat with a grateful smile. “You’re so good to me, Maklavir.”
“Yes, well,” Maklavir said with a cough. “Nothing at all, really.”
“Well, we’re all awake now,” said Joseph. He turned from the window. “Perhaps we should talk about what out next move should be.”
Kara took a sip of the cold water. “There must be ships going from here to Redemption.” She pulled the blanket around her shoulders. “Can’t we find one and book passage?”
Joseph arched an eyebrow. “Booking passage costs money, and we don’t have a lot of that.”
Maklavir chuckled. “What else do you expect us to do, Joseph? Hole up here in Shawnor for Eru knows how long? How could we—?”
“What I’m worried about,” said Joseph slowly, “is getting to Redemption and getting caught in the middle of a war zone.”
Kara gave Joseph a hard look. “Kendril’s there, Joseph. He needs us—”
“You keep saying that,” Joseph said, his voice soft. “But if what that cart driver told us if true, Kendril sounds like he’s doing just fine.”
Maklavir leaned against one of the walls. “You’re not saying we should just leave him over in Jothland, are you old chap? Why, Kara’s dream—”
“We’ve been making a lot of decisions based on Kara’s dreams,” Joseph said. He looked down at the floor, as if ashamed. “Maybe...maybe it’s time we started thinking a bit more practically.”
The room was quiet for a long moment.
“I’m going to Redemption,” Kara said finally. There was a long pause. “With or without you, Joseph.”
Joseph bit his lip hard. He gave a fierce shake of his head. “You’re still healing, Kara. Let’s give it another week. Maybe two. Give us some time to make some extra money. I could—”
“Kendril needs us right now,” Kara exclaimed. She twisted the pewter mug in her hands. “He’s in danger, Joseph. We can’t afford to wait. Don’t you remember the oracle, Joseph?”
The pathfinder didn’t answer. He looked down at the floor.
“I do,” said Kara in a trembling voice. “It’s in my head every day, burned into my brain with a hot brand. Fangs in the east.” She glanced at both men in the room. “That’s where it starts. In the east, in Jothland. At Redemption. I know it.”
The two men were silent. Joseph pulled uncomfortably at his beard.
Kara looked over at Maklavir. “You believe me, don’t you Maklavir?”
Joseph gave the diplomat a sharp look.
Maklavir put his head back and closed his eyes with a sigh. Finally he gave a slow nod. “Yes, Kara.” He looked down at the woman. “Yes, I believe you. And I’ll come with you to Redemption.” He gave a lopsided smile. “Not that I’ll be much good in a battle against barbarians.”
Joseph looked up quickly, his face torn and anguished. “You’re...you’re not ready, Kara. You can’t even draw back a bow yet.”
Kara’s face flushed. She set the mug down on the table next to the bed. “I’m getting stronger all the time,” she protested. “It’s not fair to—”
“You can’t defend yourself,” Joseph continued, as if he hadn’t even heard Kara at all, “and you certainly can’t help Kendril. A week. That’s all I’m asking. Maybe two. Enough time for you to get your strength back, to—”
“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, Joseph.” Kara threw back her blanket and stood to her full height. In her bare feet and crumpled nightgown, she looked strangely small next to the two men. “I see it every night. Sometimes when I’m awake. I know what’s going to happen. I can’t sit here and do nothing. I won’t.”
Joseph put a hand on Kara’s shoulder. “Kara—”
Kara brushed his hand off almost as quickly as it had been placed. “I’m not staying here, Joseph. I won’t let Kendril die.”
The room was filled with a tense silence for several seconds.
“I won’t see you die, Kara,” Joseph said quietly. “I already did once. And I can’t go through it again.” He turned for the door of the room.
Kara’s face quickly changed. She reached forward a hand. “Joseph, wait. I—”
Joseph disappeared out into the darkness of the hallway.
Kara shrank back against the bed.
Maklavir shuffled his feet uneasily for a moment. “It’s...late,” he said at last. “I should let you get back to bed. Grab some more sleep before daybreak.”
Kara lowered her head. She nodded.
Maklavir turned for the door. He wavered for a moment, then glanced back at the beautiful redhead. “Give Joseph time, Kara. He’ll come around. He always does.”
Kara lifted her head and gave a half-smile. The glint of tears was in her eyes. “Thanks, Maklavir. You’re always so optimistic.”
The diplomat gave a flourishing bow. “Just one of the many services I offer.” He exited the room and shut the door quietly behind him.
Maklavir poked the greasy eggs on his plate with a definite lack of enthusiasm. “These look quite...well done.”
Kara sat in the chair across the table from him. Her breakfast sat uneaten on the table in front of her. She stared forlornly at the door to the inn’s common room.
Maklavir put his fork down with a sigh. He noticed Kara’s pensive stare. “I say, are you quite all right?”
Kara blinked and shook her head. “What? Oh, yes. Just fine.” She picked up a lumpy biscuit and weighed it in her hand. “Where do you suppose Joseph went?”
Maklavir turned his attention to his food again. “I couldn’t quite say. He was gone when I woke up this morning.” He put a hand on his shoulder with a frown. “If there’s one thing I’m getting tired of
, it’s sleeping on the ground.”
“Rough night?” Kara asked. Her eyes were still on the door of the common room.
“I’ll say.” Maklavir picked up his own biscuit. He gave it a skeptical glance, and then dunked it in his water. “Those floorboards were hard as stones. The fire went out a little after midnight, and it was practically freezing in here. And that merchant from Llewyllan snored all night long—”
“I’m sorry, Maklavir,” Kara said absently.
“I mean, it’s one thing to make a man sleep on the floor, but quite another to—” Maklavir looked up from his food, and noticed that Kara wasn’t even looking at him. He straightened in his chair. “You’re worried about him, I take it?”
“The way he left last night....” Kara looked over at Maklavir quickly. “You don’t suppose he’s—?”
“No,” said Maklavir with a firm shake of his head. “Not Joseph. You...know how committed he is to you.” He looked wearily down at his water. “I suppose it would be too much to expect a decent cup of tea in a place like this.”
Kara looked over at Maklavir, almost as if she was seeing the diplomat for the first time. “Maklavir?”
“Yes?” said Maklavir. He picked up his fork again, steeling himself for another go at the eggs.
“What were you and Joseph fighting about yesterday morning?”
Maklavir dropped his fork onto his plate with a loud clatter. He snatched it up again with a sheepish look. “Clumsy fingers,” he mumbled.
“Maklavir?” Kara put both her hands on the table and narrowed her gaze. “What were you fighting about?”
Maklavir looked nervously towards the inn’s bar. “You know what, I’ll bet they might have some tea if I ask. Even coffee might—”
“Maklavir.” Kara’s eyes daggered into him. “What were you two fighting about?”
The diplomat leaned back in his chair. He rubbed sweaty palms against his trousers. “Oh, it was nothing, Kara. Silly, really. Just...a minor disagreement. Boys being boys.”
