The Warriors of Valishna (Cartharia Book 1)

by Spencer Reaves McCoy

  "Yes ma'am," was the reply that came quickly and took Matilyn by surprise. She wet her bottom lip, unsure what to say next. She glanced over at Sean, who gave her a slight nod.

  "For a lot of us," Matilyn said, "Valishna was all we had. We lost our friends, families, and homes there. For many of us, it might have felt as though we'd lost our entire lives. We didn't though," she said, "those of us who survived, we didn't lose our lives. We're here, and we're fighting, and we're going to give Lamonte a reason to fear the ones they didn't kill."

  "We are the warriors of Valishna," Matilyn said, "and we're a family now. So we didn't lose everything. We have each other, and for now, that's all we need."

  There was a smattering of applause after her small speech and then Matilyn stepped away from the center, feeling a wave of relief sweep over her when she was no longer facing everyone.

  In the distance, she saw Jones giving final orders to the Stoneheart Charge. Then he made his way over to them, "Lieutenant Malevus," he said, lifting his hand in a salute.

  "Sir," Matilyn said, returning it.

  Jones glanced at the hundreds of men waiting silently for him to speak, and he let out a low sigh, "I'm not going to give a speech," he told them, "You've all heard enough, I'm sure. You've got your deployment orders, you know your chain of command, and you've had some time to train on the field. Good luck out there."

  He saluted the entire Charge and in unison--much to Matilyn's pleasure--they saluted back. She saw tears and fear on some of the faces but for the most part, her troops stood tall and proud. She saluted Jones once more and then he was gone. "Well?" she said, "What are waiting for? Let's go."

  Will stepped forward, meeting the oncoming blade with his own. He shoved it aside and then sidestepped the immediate following strike. He brought his sword over in a sideways arc, but missed his opponent by mere inches.

  "You fight well," Rafinnel said, pausing in the duel.

  "I learned from Warlord Delanu," Will said, "She told me that to fight is to dance. But I've never seen anyone fight as well as you."

  "Not even Warlord Delanu?" Rafinnel asked, a bit of amusement in his tone.

  Will shook his head, "No. I wished to speak to you regarding that, in fact, if you have a few extra minutes."

  "I do," Rafinnel allowed.

  Together, they sheathed their swords, shook hands, and went back towards there they'd pitched their tents. Coffee was waiting just inside. Will let out a low, happy murmur, wrapping his fingers around the warm mug. He'd never liked coffee in the castle but something about the bitter, lukewarm flavor appealed to him now that he was deployed.

  "What is you wish to speak of?" Rafinnel asked.

  "I learned to fight from the Warlord," Will said, "But I did not learn how to be at war. I know I am simply an Officers' Boy, but I hoped that now that we are actually out in the field, you might teach me more. I want to learn how to be a true soldier."

  "Officers' Boys learn," Rafinnel said.

  "They learn slowly," Will said, "They fetch armor and make coffee and wait back in camp while fighting happens. I don't want to do that. I joined the Guard because I want to be a part of this. I can't do that if I'm left behind when the real fighting begins."

  "You are the Prince of Arinford," Rafinnel said, "Certain precautions must be met. If a soldier dies in the field, it is a tragedy but an expected one. If we were to lose the crown Prince of Arinford, it would be devastating."

  "If I were to die in the field, it would hurt the people," Will said, "But it would not be a killing blow to morale. My father would make Alyssa his heir, and he would walk her through the troops to inspire and encourage them. They'd mourn me, certainly, but perhaps in some, it would even incentive them to fight, for revenge, or out of grief."

  Rafinnel leaned back, taking a sip of his coffee, "You've thought this through."

  Will nodded, "I have," he said, "I know what I want. I know what I want to do. For what it's worth, I don't think I'm going to die out there."

  "Neither do I," Rafinnel admitted, "I should be more worried, but I find that I trust your intuition, Prince William. Perhaps more than I ought to. I heard you speaking in your tent again last evening."

  "Was I?" Will asked, but he already knew the answer. The night before, he'd been dreaming again. There had been great storms, storms that seemed to rip at the very fabric of the world. In the middle of the storm, he saw a group of soldiers hiding from snapping, snarling wolves. Somehow, he knew its wasn't his troops, but they were important ones nonetheless.

  Rafinnel studied the prince for a moment, "You hold a lot to yourself, Prince William."

  "It's a learned habit," Will admitted.

  "One that you will have to drop if we are to train together," Rafinnel said, "I will be happy to teach you war, but you must trust me with more than just your life."

  Will hesitated.

  "I will not speak of what we discuss with anyone," Rafinnel swore.

  "I know," Will said, "But sometimes speaking of it makes it more real, and Battle-Master?"

  "Yes?"

  Will swallowed, feeling much younger than his fourteen years, "I don't want it to be real."

  Catherine stared out the window, watching a large carriage pull away from the castle. Her father rode in the carriage; twice a week, he headed further into the capital to speak with the people. At first, she'd been encouraged to come along, but it had become quickly clear that her time was wasted there--she didn't fare well with the less fortunate.

  The moment the carriage had pulled out, she leaped to her feet, hurrying from the room.

  Since she was a young girl, Catherine had painstakingly memorized the routines of all the household staff so she could easily avoid them. She move through castle easily now, able to avoid detection by simply knowing what routes would be clear.

  It wouldn't do for her father to get word of who she was meeting with when she should be studying.

  "Princess!" Garrett stood at the door leading to the basement of the castle. He was a tall, athletic man with a pretty face. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't make it. I was worried."

  "When have I ever let you down?" Catherine asked, the corners of her lips curving up in a small smirk. He moved forward to embrace her but Catherine had already stepped forward, her hand caressing the door they stood before.

  "Do you have the key?" Her eyes lifted to his as she whispered the question. There was a childlike excitement to her voice and her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  Garrett looked uncomfortable but put his hand in his pocket, retrieving the key.

  "And your father has yet to notice it's absence?" Catherine questioned, "After all this time?"

  "He drinks at night," Garrett said, his voice a little sour.

  Catherine pointed at the door, "Unlock it."

  Garrett nodded, following her instructions. The moment the handle turned, Catherine swung the handle open and hurried inside. They were greeted with a dark staircase that led down into the dungeons of the castle. It was lit by only an occasional torch that provided more shadows than light. There was a damp, mildewy smell and a small chill to the air. Garrett followed behind Catherine, his nose wrinkled in disgust and his face twisted in nervousness.

  Catherine, however, seemed to relish the atmosphere. She breathed in a few times, her eyes lit up. Once they reached the end of the stairs, they followed a short corridor that ended in another door. Garrett unlocked this one as well.

  The room opened up into rows of cells. The conditions were worse here; the entire place reeked of stale urine. The cells were full of people dressed in rags. A lot of the men had scraggly hair and the women's faces were gaunt with hunger.

  Catherine led Garrett further into the dungeon and at each cell she paused, peering at the people within. Her face twisted into a mask of happiness and she seemed to draw life from each one of the cells.

  The first time Garret had led her down here, people had cried out to her, begging her for help
or food. Now they just stared with narrowed, distrustful eyes.

  Catherine paused at one cell to look at the boy within. He was her age, perhaps a couple of years older. "Who are you?" she asked softly, biting at her lower lip, "I haven't seen you here before."

  The boy didn't answer.

  "Tell me who you are," Catherine coaxed. "Maybe I can help you. I want to help."

  "I'm Jonathon," he blurted out, "I didn't do nothing wrong, miss m'lady. I didn't. They said I was talking bad about the king, but I wasn't, I swear it. I never said nothin."

  "You never said nothin," Catherine repeated, a smile still in place, "That's just not right then. Garrett, open this cell at once."

  "Catherine," Garret said pleadingly.

  "Open it," Catherine commanded.

  Jonathon seemed surprised but eager as Garrett opened the door of the cell. Jonathon started to move forward, but Garrett blocked his path, standing in the doorway.

  "Do it," she said.

  Garrett looked miserable but kept his attention on the man within the cell, "I'm sorry," he said, "But she's the princess."

  "What are you talking about?"

  Garrett lashed out suddenly, his fist connecting with Jonathon's nose. There was a loud cracking noise as it broke. Jonathon howled with pain. As he doubled over, Garrett threw another punch, this time into his gut. Jonathon crumpled to the floor.

  "Keep going," Catherine demanded when Garrett looked back at her. Her face was flushed and her breathing heavy. She bit the end of her thumb, waiting. Garrett looked back to Jonathon, who had just started to get up. He sent a heavy boot into the other young man's chest. Then into his gut. Jonathon moaned. Garrett kicked him over and over, each blow landing harder and harder.

  Finally, Jonathon stopped making noise. Satisfied the man had passed out for the moment, Garrett looked back to Catherine. She pursed her lips and raised a finger, beckoning him out of the cell. He hurried out, locking it behind him.

  Her eyes were wide and eager. She slid a hand behind his neck as he approached her, forcing her lips to his. They kissed passionately for a long moment, Catherine's body crushed against his own.

  Then she pushed him back against the cell door, one hand fall to the ties of his trousers. She eagerly unlaced them. When he didn't seem quite as ready as she'd like him, she took one of his hands, sliding it up under her skirt so he could feel her need.

  "Take me," she whispered as he grew beneath her other hand.

  And, on the dirty dungeon, in front of rows of cowering prisoners, Garrett did just that.

  TEN

  Freedom Lives Hence

  JONATHON LUND WAS A SHORT, STOUT MAN with large muscles and an even larger mustache. He had a loud voice to match, and a firm handshake. He greeted Ryan first, and then turned to Matilyn and her men.

  "You must be Lieutenant Malevus," he said.

  "Yes sir," Matilyn said.

  "I've heard a lot about you," Jonathon said.

  "Hopefully good things, Commander." Matilyn tried to imagine what sort of things he might have heard. They'd been deployed only a few weeks and so far, they'd seen no battles.

  Jonathon appraised her silently for a moment before saying, "You're leading the Charge of Priests."

  Matilyn blinked. "Yes, sir," she said, "But we can't be the only charge with priests as leaders."

  "You're not," Jonathon agreed, "But you're the first. That fact alone awards you a small amount of notoriety."

  Matilyn didn't know what to say to that, so she simply nodded, trying to look polite.

  "Of course," Jonathon said, "There are plenty of people out there who think Priests shouldn't be fighting at all. What do you say to that, Malevus?"

  Matilyn wants to look back at her troops, but she resisted the urge, "I'd say that everyone is entitled to their opinions sir, but as the king believes in us, so do I."

  "Fair enough," Jonathon said, "Your men can make themselves comfortable for the evening, but I'm sending you out to patrol tomorrow."

  "What are we patrolling, sir?" Matilyn asked.

  Jonathon gestured at the city, "You're going to be in charge of protecting the back of the city. We already have men patrolling the front. We want to make sure any soldiers coming are met with force."

  "Yes sir," Matilyn said. "Will we be protecting the city too, if it gets attacked?"

  Jonathon shook his head, "I want you out on the outskirts, no matter what. We need the eyes back there. The only reason you're to break this order is if you receive orders from me, ordering you somewhere else. Understood?"

  "Yes sir," Matilyn and Ryan said.

  Later, when Matilyn told her captains about the decision, there was an chorus of angry outbursts.

  "But why," one of the men said, "is he keeping us out on the outskirts? I thought it was the city itself that needs protecting."

  Matilyn sighed, "He believes the soldiers may try to come in the back way."

  Eldrin shook his head, disbelieving, "No," he said, "He just doesn't want priests fighting. It's the same prejudice that the Battle-Master had, the one that led us here in the first place."

  "Eldrin's right," Janice chimed in, "It's not fair."

  "It doesn't matter what's fair," Matilyn said, "We've been given a mission, and we're going to do it. We all have our parts to play, after all."

  There were a general outcry of annoyance at that, but Sean held up his hand.

  "He is our commanding officer," he reminded the captains. "His word is law. There's no use complaining about it."

  Matilyn shot him a thankful look.

  "Yeah, well, just wait till Stoneheart finds out," Eldrin said darkly, "They're already blaming us for being here in the first place. This isn't going to ease tensions at all."

  "Ryan--Lieutenant Mattheus, I mean--he'll control his men," Matilyn said. "Look, I don't like it either, but there's nothing we can do to change it. So, stop complaining and go inform your men what our plan is. I'll go talk to Mattheus."

  Sean fell in line beside her as she made her way towards Stoneheart's tents. She saw Ryan standing outside of his, arguing with someone. When he saw Matilyn approaching, he quickly dismissed the soldier and turned to smile at Matilyn.

  "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

  "I just got our battle orders," Matilyn said, "Have you had a chance to review them?"

  "I talked with Commander Lund, yes," Ryan said. "He told me we're to patrol outside of Teirford and leave the real fighting for the other troops."

  Matilyn blinked.

  "Okay," Ryan said, "He might not have said that last part. But he was thinking it. I could tell!"

  "How are your men taking it?" Matilyn asked.

  "Not well," Ryan admitted. "They'll do their duty though. What about your men?"

  "I've only told the captains," Matilyn said, "They're going to be telling their men right about now."

  Ryan nodded.

  "I'm sorry," Matilyn said suddenly. "I know you lot don't want to be stuck with us. I'm sorry that you were deployed alongside us."

  Sean frowned at Matilyn. "Don't apologize," he said, "The choice wasn't ours. The choice belonged to our chain of command."

  Ryan nodded his agreement, "I'm not holding grudges," he assured her.

  "This just sucks," Matilyn said.

  "I know," Ryan said. "I know it."

  Sean put a hand on Matilyn's arm. "Let's go back to our troops," he suggested.

  Matilyn nodded and allowed Sean to lead her away.

  Sean ran his knife over the small wooden bird in his hand, shaving off another sliver. He held the bird up for a moment then took off yet another piece of the wood.

  The bird wasn't perfect, not by any means, but it gave him something to distract himself from his own thoughts. The nights when he couldn't sleep, for seeing his sister and uncle burning, over and over, that's when he would start working on a project. The bird had taken three days so far.

  It was modeled after one of the red birds he'd seen f
lying around them as they patrolled the area. The bird had been beautiful, majestic, free. It reminded Sean of his life before the fall of Valishna.

  He'd done a decent job, he thought, but there was something in the eyes that he couldn't quite get right. No matter how he tried, he couldn't capture the liveliness of the winged creature.

  He went to set the bird down beside him but paused as Janice approached. She always found an excuse to be up with him when it was his night to stay watch. He didn't mind though; her company was a welcome reprieve from the loneliness inside his head. He held the bird out to her.

  "Here," Sean said, "This is for you."

  Janice took the bird carefully, holding it up to the light of the moon, "It's beautiful," she murmured. "You're really talented, Sean. You know that?"

  "I thought you might like it," Sean said, "You told me your father had birds once."

  "He did," Janice said, "but nothing quite as beautiful as this one. Thank you."

  "You're welcome," Sean said. He stood and stretched. "I think my watch is just about over if you want to take a walk or something."

  "Alright," Janice agreed easily enough. She led the way past the sentries standing guard around their camp. A few saluted her and Sean, and she returned the gesture with good grace.

  They walked in silence for a few moments before Sean gestured up at the sky, "It looks the same," he said. "It looks just like it did in Valishna. I don't know what I was expecting, but I didn't think it would look the same."

  "The sky looks the same no matter where you are," Janice said, "It's like a little bit of home that you get to carry around with you."

  Sean smiled at that idea.

  "You know," he said, "You've never told me why you wanted to be a Priest."

  Janice smiled again, but Sean thought he could see some bitterness to the smile. "I wanted to be part of something," she told him. "I thought it was my chance to be somebody. I thought, sure, you spend eight years with the same people, doing the same things, you're bound to get close to them.