by Ben Cassidy
Beckett cleared his throat. Rain plinked off his coonskin cap. “More men will come. Just give it time, sir—”
“Ashes, Beckett, we don’t have any time.” Kendril wiped rain off the grill of the lobster helmet he wore. He stared back at the shape of the palisade wall. “Colonel Root.”
The man straightened in his saddle. “Aye, sir.”
“I’m putting you in charge of Redemption’s defenses until we get back. Man the walls as best you can. Fortify them if you have time, but don’t let anyone wander far from the walls.”
Root nodded. “I’ll start with the eastern gate, sir.”
Kendril paused. “If we don’t come back, then I want you to hold the walls as long as you can.” He swept an arm over the buildings clustered in the direction of the eastern gate. “Once the Jombards are through, fall back into the houses and buildings. Make them pay for every street.”
“Yes, sir,” said Root in a solemn voice.
Kendril stuck out a hand. “It’s been an honor, Colonel.”
Root reached over his mount’s head and took the hand in a brief shake. “That it has, sir.”
Kendril turned his head back around to Beckett. “Get the troopers formed and ready to ride, Beckett. We’re punching through to Stockade.”
Beckett actually grinned. “Looking forward to it, sir.” He swung his horse around and rode back to the waiting riders.
Another man came trotting up to Kendril, riding a sorry-looking pony.
Kendril struggled to make out the face of the approaching rider in the darkness and falling rain.
“Sir!” It was Wilkes. He pulled up just behind Kendril. “It’s good to see you, sir. I knew that prison couldn’t hold you.” He patted a basket hilt rapier at his side. “I’m ready to go, sir.”
Kendril glanced down at the sword. “Your father’s?”
Wilkes lifted his head. “It’s mine now, sir.”
Kendril pulled his horse around. “You know how to use it?”
Wilkes put a hand on the hilt of the weapon. “I can swing it just fine, sir.”
“Wilkes,” Kendril said in a quiet voice, “this will be a bloody ride. It’s war and death outside those walls.”
“I’m ready, sir.” His voice sounded a bit too strident.
“I’m putting you with Root’s men,” Kendril said in the same low tone. “He’s going to need help with—”
“No!” Wilkes blurted. “I mean...please, no sir.” He looked back at the riders. “This is my home, sir. I can fight for it, too. I can ride.”
Kendril was silent for a long moment. A flash of lightning lit the sky over the ocean.
“Please, sir,” Wilkes said again. “I want to fight by your side. Don’t make me stay behind.”
Thunder rumbled off to the northwest.
Kendril finally gave a slow, almost sad nod. “All right, Wilkes. You’re with me.”
The boy gave an eager salute. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this.”
Beckett trotted back over again. “The men are ready to ride, sir. Just give the word.”
“All right, then.” Kendril turned the head of his mount towards the eastern gate. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is. Let’s head out.”
The road to Stockade was still packed with refugees. Broken down wagons, discarded furniture and chests, and even a few dead animals clogged the muddy road.
Most of the fleeing people got quickly out of the way as Beckett’s cavalry troop came thundering down the road. Even still many of the troopers had to ride in the fields to either side of the road to avoid the mass of refugees.
Kendril led from the front, blinking rain out of his eyes as he rode. He instinctively kept one hand on the hilt of his rapier. With the drenching downpour his flintlock pistols would be unreliable at best. It certainly wouldn’t pay to keep the waterproof holsters uncovered for long.
“This way, sir,” Beckett shouted to Kendril. He pointed across an open field at a nearby ridge. “We can cut cross-country and come up to Stockade from the south.”
Kendril gave a nod. With the road so clogged the going had been painfully slow. He was willing to try a different approach. “All right, Captain. Have the men—”
A face appeared suddenly among the line of fleeing people. A woman, pale skin, dark hair.
Bronwyn.
Kendril blinked, his thoughts completely interrupted. He searched the train of refugees, but the familiar face was gone, vanished as soon as it had appeared.
“Sir?” said Beckett with a raised eyebrow. “Everything all right?”
Kendril rubbed the top of his wounded leg. He was seeing things, his eyes playing tricks on him. “I’m fine, Captain.” He looked out across the field. “Let’s go. The sooner we make Stockade, the better.”
Beckett gave a terse nod. “Aye sir.” He swung around and signaled to the other troopers.
Kendril peered into the crowd of fleeing people one last time, lingering doubts still shadowing his mind. Then he turned his horse and followed Beckett across the field.
It was a muddy, uneven go, but at least here there was room to spread out and maneuver. The fifty troopers quickly formed into a line, pounding across the field towards the far ridgeline.
Ahead the skyline glowed with the fire that was enveloping farmhouses and settlements. Kendril could only pray that those flames didn’t already include Stockade.
They kept riding hard. The hot breath of the horses steamed out into the cold air. The rain continued its steady, relentless drumbeat.
“Almost there, sir,” Beckett called out.
The troopers began to ascend the long ridgeline. They passed an abandoned farmhouse. Ahead the sky glowed even more red and angry than before.
The top of the ridgeline came closer. Over the sound of the shrieking wind and pattering rain came what sounded like voices, wailing and shouting.
And gunfire.
Kendril spurred his horse on faster. Wilkes was making pace right beside him. On the other side Beckett rode with an unusually grim look on his face.
They reached the top of the ridgeline. Kendril pulled up his horse, and held up his hand to halt the other troopers.
The panting, sweaty horses came to a halt in a ragged line.
Beckett stared through the rain and darkness towards the north. “Great Eru in Pelos,” he whispered.
The palisade walls of Stockade were just visible in the distance, crowning the top of a wide hill. Flashes of gunfire sparkled from its battlements like enraged fireflies. Around the fortress was a seething mass of Jombard barbarians.
There were thousands of them.
Kendril glanced over at Wilkes.
The boy’s face was white in the darkness, his eyes wide.
A flash of cannon fire came from near the main gate of Stockade. A second or two later the roar of the shot came crashing over the fields.
Horns sounded in the night air. Over the chill wind came the sound of chanting voices intermixed with wailing and screaming.
Harnathu...Harnathu...Harnathu...
“There’s too many of them,” one of the troopers said with gasp. “Too bloody many.”
A murmur of agreement swept through the uneven ranks of the riders.
Kendril swung his horse around, looking at the dark line of horsemen. “We’re not going to attack them,” he said in a loud voice. “We’re going to punch through their lines.”
Another rider, a gray-haired tanner with a floppy hat on his head, spat into the mud of the field. “Begging your pardon, General, but there’s only fifty of us.”
Kendril flipped open the face grill of his lobster helmet. Rain dripped down onto his mud-splattered face. He looked from left to right across the row of men.
Another cannon shot sounded from the fort. The wailing increased. Something howled in a high, unearthly tone.
“Werewolves!” one of the riders cried out. “Did you hear? There’s more of them!”
Kendril scowled. “A werewol
f bleeds just like a man. I’ve killed two of them with my own hand.”
“Maybe you have,” said an older, bearded farmer wearing an ill-fitting hauberk. “But the rest of us aren’t you.”
A nervous mumbling rippled through the line of riders.
“Order in the ranks!” Beckett thundered. “We’ll not have any insubordination here.”
“What the General’s asking is suicide,” the tanner said again. He pointed a shaky finger at the distant fort. “We can’t get through that. The Jombards will cut us to pieces.”
Kendril drew his rapier.
The murmuring and muttering ceased instantly.
Kendril held the blade out to one side. Rain dripped down the sharp steel. “You think those Jombards will stop at Stockade?”
No one spoke. Thunder rumbled off to the northwest.
Kendril spurred his horse to the side, riding down the line of men. “You think you’ll be any safer back in Redemption?” He pulled his mount to a halt, and pointed his rapier out at the besieged fort. “Once those Jombards burn Stockade, they’re coming for Redemption. For your homes, your businesses.” He looked each rider in the face as he trotted his horse back down the line. “They will come for your wives and your children. We are the only hope that they have.”
“Then we should go back,” said a brave soul towards the back. “Defend Redemption.”
There was a subdued but definite chorus of agreement.
Beckett raised himself in his saddle, straining to see who had spoken.
“If we go back now,” Kendril said, his voice as cold and hard as iron, “then Redemption is already lost. We don’t have the men to defend the town.” He glanced back at Stockade. “We need those dragoons to man the town walls. We need the supplies and arms in that fort. And that’s where we’re going to go. We don’t have a choice.”
There was silence from the line of riders. The horses shuffled uneasily, snorting and pawing the field. The wind gusted heavily, slanting the driving rain almost sideways.
“We can’t break the siege,” Kendril said after a moment. “But we can break through their lines. We have surprise and shock on our side. We will get to the gates, then get inside.”
“Then what?” said the bearded famer. “We’ll be trapped inside with the dragoons.”
“Then we take the dragoons and break back out.” Kendril swept his rapier back in the direction of Redemption. “We cut our way through to the town and make our stand there.”
“But what if the dragoons don’t open the gates for us?” came a shaking voice from the left of the line.
“And what if there’s more of those werewolves?” a strong voice shouted from the back of the riders. “What do we do about them?”
“Here now,” Beckett started to say, his face tight with anger, “You—”
Kendril grabbed his lobster helmet and tore it off his head. Rain pounded down on his unprotected head. “You know my face,” he called out. “Now look at it!”
As if by some miracle of timing, lightning flashed at that exact moment. The red and twisting scars on Kendril’s face were clear for half a second.
The men shifted uneasily in their saddles. A few glanced at each other. Others looked down at the ground.
“I got these scars at Vorten!” Kendril yelled above the whistling wind and booming thunder. “When I destroyed the goddess Indigoru and closed the gate to the Void. Now I’m here, fighting for my country and my home.” He sheathed his rapier. “I will not see Redemption burn, not while I still draw breath.”
No one spoke. The rain increased even harder in tempo, drumming against the grass and mud of the field.
“If any of you want to turn tail and run back, go ahead.” Kendril turned his impatient horse around. “But as for me, I’ll cut my way through to Stockade, even if I have to do it alone.”
Lightning flashed across the field again, revealing each man’s face for a split second.
“Who’s with me?” Kendril asked.
The distant sounds of chanting and screaming from the barbarians came again, blown on the wailing winds.
Wilkes spurred his horse forward. “I’m with you, sir. Right to the end.”
Kendril nodded. “Good lad.”
The gray-haired tanner urged his horse forward a step too. “Regnuthu take it, I’m with you too. Show me which way to ride, General.”
“Me too,” came another voice. Another rider moved forward.
“And me.” A third rider trotted out.
There was a sudden explosion of voices. Almost as one, the horses of the riders moved forward. No one was left behind.
Kendril gave a grim smile, even though the darkness hid it from his men. He lifted the heavy helmet back onto his head. Rain tinkled off the metal. “All right. Form a flying wedge formation, on me. We’re going to cut through those Jombards.”
Beckett barked out a few commands.
The troopers quickly formed into a triangular shape, with Kendril at the head.
Beckett rode back up next to Kendril. He hunched his shoulders against the relentless wind. “Formed up, sir.”
Kendril nodded. “Follow my pace.”
Beckett pulled his horse in closer, and dropped his voice so that only Kendril could hear over the storm that raged about them. “Close run thing, sir.”
“That?” Kendril shook his head, responding in the same low voice. “That was nothing. Just wait until we get to Stockade.” He straightened in the saddle and looked behind him. “For Redemption!”
“For Redemption!” came the crashing reply from the troopers.
Kendril kicked his horse into a light trot.
The other troopers followed suit. Beckett pulled his horse in next to Kendril’s.
And in front of them, another unearthly howl rose above the screams and wails of the barbarians.
A wooden chair shattered through a window on the street twenty feet ahead of Joseph and Kara. It crashed into the boardwalk and splintered apart.
From inside, someone screamed.
Joseph grabbed Kara’s arm and pulled her into a nearby doorway. “Not that way,” he breathed.
Kara pushed herself up against the solid wooden door, trying to find whatever shelter she could in the slim doorway. She was absolutely drenched, her short red hair plastered to her skin and speckled with mud.
Lightning and thunder boomed almost directly overhead. The sound of more breaking glass came from further down the street.
“We need to stay sharp,” Joseph said. He kept one hand firmly on the hilt of his rapier. “This town is coming apart at the seams. We’ll never find Kendril in all this.”
“We have to try,” Kara insisted. She glanced back down the street. “What about the alleyway there?”
Joseph gave the darkened side street a skeptical look. “All right,” he said at last. “But I go first.”
He pushed past Kara, and huddled his shoulders against the driving rain.
A whistle sounded from somewhere up the street, followed by angry shouts.
Joseph ignored the commotion behind them. He stepped cautiously into the alley.
It was dark, and the mud was thicker here even than out on the street. Something small scurried away amongst a mound of foul-smelling garbage. The air was dank and sour.
Kara coughed. She pulled her cloak up over her mouth and nose.
Joseph took a deep breath, immediately regretting it. He stepped forward into the sucking mud.
They both ambled along the alley, practically feeling their way in the darkness. The opening to the next street loomed ahead of them.
“Almost there,” Joseph said over his shoulder. “Just stay with me.”
Kara tightened her grip on the man’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere, even if—”
A dark, man-sized shape lunged out of the darkness to the left.
Almost at the same moment another came out of a darkened doorway to the right.
Kara fell back and reached for the hilt
of her dagger. She already knew there was no room in the alley to try for her bow, even if she had been able to see well enough to shoot.
Joseph’s rapier whispered out of its sheath.
There was a snarl, and a squishing of booted feet in mud.
Kara pulled her dagger loose. She strained to see in the darkness of the confined space.
A strong hand gripped her wrist and twisted it hard.
Kara gave out a cry of pain. She dropped her weapon into the black morass of mud below. She could sense someone standing close beside her. The hot rancid breath in her face smelled of onions and whiskey.
Something hummed through the air.
The man beside her in the dark gasped and fell back into the mud.
Kara grabbed her sore wrist. She crashed back into the side of one of the buildings. Rain pelted down onto her face.
A dull clang of steel echoed off the alley walls. Two shapes moved in the dark, quickly and confusingly.
Kara reached for her bow, even though she knew it was almost useless.
There was another clang, then a soft sucking noise.
A man screamed in the dark. Something flopped down in the mud of the alley.
“Kara?” It was Joseph’s voice.
“Here,” she said. She relaxed her grip on the bow.
A strong yet gentle hand came out of the darkness and grasped her arm.
“Come on,” Joseph said.
They moved forward, out of the alley and onto the boardwalk of the next street over.
A steady stream of refugees was fleeing down the middle of the muddy avenue towards the causeway that led down to the harbor.
Joseph pulled Kara halfway down the street, then checked behind them to make sure that no one else emerged from the alleyway.
Kara melted back against the front of what looked to be a tobacco shop. She cradled her wrist.
“Are you all right?” Joseph glanced quickly in all directions as he spoke to her, searching for any threats. His rapier was out in his hand.
Kara nodded. “Fine. Just...surprised.” She glanced back at the entrance to the alley. “What exactly happened back in there?”
Joseph slowly lowered his rapier, but kept his eyes darting around. “Bandits, muggers. I don’t know, and I don’t care. The town’s falling apart, and things are getting worse by the minute.” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped off the end of his rapier.
