Revolution (Cartharia Book 2)

by Spencer Reaves McCoy

  "Listen," Sean said, pulling both of them close. He could see his breath coming out in little spirals, "It's going to be cold. We're going to be freezing. Do you understand? This won't be easy."

  Both of them nodded, but Sean wasn't sure either of them really understood. Janice had grown up in a home full of a lot of family, and they'd been tight-knit. She'd never wanted for more than friendship and love. Will had grown up in a castle, with servants to tend his every need. Neither of them knew what it was like to be miserably, hungry, or cold. They'd grown used to it over the last few years, between the Guard, the cells, and the running, but it was about to get a lot worse.

  He could only hope they were ready for it.

  "It's so cold," Janie said, pulling Will close to her. Sean was already holding her against his chest, as they tried to share body heat. Despite how much trouble it could cause them, they'd tried to light a fire earlier that evening. All of them agreed facing soldiers was more preferable to facing the bitter cold.

  But the fire hadn't taken. It refused to even spark. Sean was the most skilled at practicing different types of manipulation, but even he couldn't make the flames catch. Will had wanted to cry, but he hadn't been able to. It was cold, but it was also dry.

  There was no wildlife either. They were sustaining themselves off the small amounts of food they'd brought with them. They'd been traveling nearly a week though, and they were running low.

  "I know," Sean said, "I know. We should try and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning, we'll try and start a fire again. There's some brush. I saw it, underneath the snow. In the morning, it'll be a bit warmer. Then we can start a fire."

  Janice nodded. They made a bed out of their pelts. They were all wearing their extra clothing and they cuddled as close as possible, keeping Will between them. He was the important one, the Prince. He had things to do in Cartharia.

  But Janice was worried. She was worried he wouldn't make it out to do those things. They hadn't eaten, and they hadn't drank, and they were cold, like ice. She felt Will's breathing, a hand on his chest. It was shallow.

  Her own breathing was shallow too.

  "We're going to die out here," she whispered to Sean. He reached out and took her hand. She could read it in the gesture. He wasn't disagreeing.

  It seemed amusing to her after all the time, after everything they'd been through, all the places they'd seen, it would be the cold that finally killed them. They would freeze to death, and their deaths would never be meaningful, for either side. They would just disappear. That's all.

  At least they'd be together. Janice was too tired to fight the thought. They were together, and there was that. She closed her eyes and let the cold take her.

  Will felt hands shaking him. He opened his eyes, but it was hard. Unfamiliar faces swam before him. They muttered in languages that he didn't understand. None of it made sense. Hands were touching him, picking him up. Liquid touched his lips.

  He knew he was dreaming. He was dreaming again, and that made sense, because this was the last dream he would ever have. Janice thought he was sleeping when she said they'd die, but he'd been awake. The thing was, he knew she was right. They couldn't survive the night.

  The hands jostled him again. He let out an irritated sigh. He wanted to die in peace, not with these dreams plaguing him. He'd never wanted them. He'd never asked for them. He was just Will, just a boy. Some people called him William the Fourth, and they said he would rule the Kingdom of Arinford, but Will had always liked his nickname better. He liked being just Will.

  And Janice and Sean were his friends, and he was glad if he was going to die, it would be with them. He didn't want to die in war, or battle, or at Catherine's hands. Or in any other way. He just wanted to die with friends, because that's what really mattered. He knew that now.

  The thought filled him with warmth. It radiated throughout his body. He could even feel it in his toes. Which didn't make sense.

  He forced his eyes open.

  He was still with Janice and Sean but something was different. He looked around. The snow was gone. It must have melted while he slept. He could see a few trees in the distance. That meant there would be water nearby.

  "Janice, Sean, look."

  He reached over, shaking both of them. They came awake slowly but surely, and both of them looked as confused as he felt.

  "We must not have realized where we were when we fell asleep," Sean mused, "We must be nearly out of the mountains."

  "That doesn't make sense," Janice said, "According to all the maps I've never looked at, we should have spent at least ten days in the mountains, maybe more."

  Will thought of his dream, of the people with the strange faces and the unfamiliar speech. But even if they'd been real, they wouldn't have been able to bring them out of the mountains in one night. That wouldn't make sense, so he kept quiet. There was no need to bring it up now.

  Not when they were almost home.

  "We must have lost track of time," Sean said, "We were almost dead. One more night in the cold, and I think we would have been."

  Janice reached over and took his hand again. Will smiled at both of them, and then started forward.

  "Where are you going?" Sean asked.

  Will pointed at the trees on the horizon line. "Me? I'm going home."

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  With Traitorous Gifts

  DEYNETH STOOD IN FRONT OF THE THOUSANDS of fresh troops, drawing up to her full height. There was some resentment on the faces before her, but some excitement too. Some were pleased she'd taken the time out of her busy schedule to meet with them personally.

  These were men that had been recruited with the new draft. They'd just finished training in Westwood.

  "You will receive your deployment orders very shortly," Deyneth said, "you will be headed to Lamonte, to provide support to Commander Arthimur Stini. Many of you may remember him from years past -- he was one of the Arinford soldiers that escaped the fall of one of our highest military divisions. We only recently found out about his survival."

  There was a bated breath response to this, not the cheering or applause that Deyneth had hoped for. She supposed it had always been a false hope. She knew the people had not loved Stini like they'd loved Matilyn. Most of them didn't even know who he was.

  "Will you be deploying with us?" a soldier in the back asked, "Warlord?"

  "No," Deyneth said, surprised, "My place is in Arinford where I can strategize with the King and create battle plans to help us win this war."

  She frowned at them, and then smiled, "And win we will. With the draft that recruited all of you, and hundreds of other charges your size, we will have Lamonte outnumbered for the first time. Sullivan does not know what he is up against."

  There was applause at this, but it was weaker than Deyneth would have liked. She hadn't liked the idea of a draft either, but it had been necessary. She just wanted people to understand that. You didn't get to have freedom for no cost. There were sacrifices that had to be made, and sometimes it was important to be willing to give your own life for those causes.

  And sometimes, it was important to give someone else's. She thought of the King and his council. Despite her original proclamations to Rafinnel that they served their purpose, she'd grown more and more frustrated with them lately. She wanted them gone.

  That was something else Deyneth would need to do, when she took control of Arinford. She would not allow the king's own men to treat him like a puppet because he was too afraid to stand up to them. If killing them was necessary, she was not above such things. Sometimes keeping a Kingdom clean was dirty work.

  "You will deploy to Lamonte," she repeated, "and you will make sure the Black King rued the day he came to Arinford and killed your neighbors, and brothers, and mothers. You will make him pay for every death, every rape, and every robbery."

  The cheer that time was a little louder. Deyneth leaned back, satisfied.

  Stini moved towards Aeliana, keeping his sword ready.
"Jehryme!" he shouted, "To your left!"

  Aeliana spun on a heel, swinging her own sword sharply to the left. It struck the approaching soldier in the chest. He went down with a grunt. She focused forward again, on the soldier she was fighting.

  He moved with her, easily matching her movements. Even from a distance, Stini could tell she was outmatched. The soldier pushed her back further and further. He ran faster.

  Before he reached her, Carl Cox was there. He slammed his broadsword into the soldier's lower back. Aeliana flashed him a grin, and together they moved on.

  Stini let out a sigh of relief and turned back towards where the fighting was happening. He rushed towards one of the enemy men, quickly engaging in combat.

  Their swords met. Stini shoved him backwards with all of his considerable strength and then struck out towards his right. The soldier spun, barely avoiding the blade. His own swung forward and Stini moved quickly to avoid it.

  He let out a curse, and tried again, this time striking out towards the man's chest. The man got his sword up in time, and metal on metal rang out through the camp. It blended in with the rest of the battle sounds.

  In the distance, he heard a scream.

  Stini didn't let himself focus on that, instead concentrating on the fight. He felt the man's blade pierce his side, and looked down in surprise. It was only a flesh wound, but gods did it hurt.

  He knew he couldn't handle the wound at the moment though, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. He could feel adrenaline pumping through his veins, urging him to fight. The sound of his heartbeat filled his ears, and a tendril of sweat ran down his forehead.

  The soldier struck forward again, and Stini dodged to the side. He moved quickly for a man his size, and brought a leg up in a sharp kick towards the man's right knee. He connected with armor, but the blow was still enough to unbalance his opponent.

  Stini used this opportunity to drive his sword up and into the man's throat. The soldier's eyes widened and he let out a gurgled scream of rage, bringing his weapon out suddenly. Stini knocked it away, and kicked him again.

  When the man went down, he glanced over the battlefield. His men were destroying the camp of Lamonte soldiers. He felt a sudden, strong surge of pride for them; his Lost Brigade.

  They were tougher than they thought they'd ever have to be, Stini included. He remembered a time, not so long ago, that he could hardly run a mile. He remembered sweating extensively when he had to reroof his house. He remembered gardening, and how even that was an exertion.

  War, if nothing else, had at least given him the ability to get in shape. He thought this with a grim smile.

  The smile faded as he felt a sudden wave of lightheadedness wash over him. He glanced down at the wound on his side. It was larger than he'd initially thought, and bleeding profusely. He cursed himself for not wearing a full chest piece to the battle.

  He put a hand against the cut, trying to stem the blood flow. He winced at the wet, tacky feeling beneath his fingers. He pressed harder, looking around for one of the medics. He didn't see one, and sighed in resignation.

  Stini yanked off his outer tunic, and quickly ran his sword through it, cutting in half. One half, he folded into a pad. He pressed this against his wound. The other part was wrapped around his abdomen and tied. With that in place, he felt much better.

  The bleeding wasn't enough to cause serious concern, but he knew that if untreated, it could lead to him passing out. In the midst of battle, that would almost surely mean death.

  So once the tunic was in place and tied, he moved away from the closest soldier to him, letting his men fight. It was a difficult thing to do. He wanted to fight -- he needed to fight. He also knew he couldn't let himself get killed for stubborn pride. The Lost Brigade had the battle under control.

  The attack had been planned for several days. They'd been training the people from the city to fight with them, and this was their first real fight. Stini was impressed how quickly they'd all caught on. He'd already named some of them as captains.

  He began to consider the possibilities. If one city joined them, why not others? It would be foolhardy to think they could convince all of Lamonte to join in their military... but surely there were more people out there that hated the Black King.

  The idea of stealing people from Sullivan's homeland to fight against him filled Stini with a bitter kind of excitement. It made the idea of the Lost Brigade seem somehow more worthwhile.

  He saw Rose in the distance, fighting. He watched her fondly. She wasn't as good as Aeliana, but she still fought well. She preferred a bow and arrow over a sword, but today she used her sword and used it right.

  He couldn't stop himself from worrying about her, but he knew he couldn't let that fear couldn't control his actions. He had to let her fight. He'd taken her along to a village to destroy for the first time. She'd cried afterwards, but she did it privately.

  The idea that he'd somehow taken her soul couldn't escape him, though. He thought about it a lot, the sacrifice he felt they were making. Men who killed children, those weren't men who would be favored by the Gods. But it was a necessary evil. Not one that was enjoyed, no, but necessary all the same.

  As he was thinking these thoughts, along with feeling his pride, his pride for these soulless men, he heard something in the distance. He turned quickly to the left, staring forward. He felt his heart suddenly sink.

  A division of men, much larger than their own had finally found them. Lamonte had come calling.

  Forgetting all about the wound on his side, Stini rushed back into the frenzied battle. He screamed while he did it, trying to get the attention of his officers. Carl was the closest.

  "Cox!" he cried, grabbing the man's tunic and yanking him close, "Get the men out of here. Get them to retreat. Through the woods! Now!"

  "We're winning," Carl said blankly.

  "No," Stini said, "We're not. Look."

  He spun the other man around and pointed at the incoming troops. Carl's eyes widened and his face paled a bit. He gave a grim nod to Stini and pulled away, calling out to his Charge as he did so.

  Stini looked for Aeliana. He saw her fighting a woman who looked a little like his late wife. He rushed into the battle, ending it quickly by placing a sword in the woman's gut. Aeliana glanced over at him.

  "I had it," she said.

  "We have to move," Stini said. He pointed. Aeliana gave an immediate nod of understanding.

  "I'll get my men," she said.

  "And the others," Stini said.

  Aeliana nodded and took off.

  Stini moved quickly after her, stopping at any battle he saw and helping to end it quickly. The men were all given the same orders: retreat, get to the woods, flee. It was a cowards' way out, but it had saved them before. He only hoped it would work now.

  "We should fight them," Rose said when he approached her.

  "Look at them, Kalles," Stini said, "Look how many there are. They're going to be here in minutes. You think we can take out a force like that?"

  Rose nodded.

  "Then you're an idiot," Stini said, "and this is not a suggestion. Get your men, and get out of here. Now!"

  "We can take them though," Rose said.

  "Now!" Stini repeated, roaring the word in her face. She met his gaze calmly, sheathed her sword, and went after her men.

  Stini moved to several other officers, repeating the order. None of them argued when they saw the incoming troops.

  It was a difficult retreat. There were still soldiers left alive from the battle, but there was no time to deal with them. Stini and his men fled as fast as they could towards the trees.

  Night was falling, but the moons gave plenty of light to the incoming soldiers. Stini hoped the trees would provide enough coverage to keep them from getting destroyed.

  "Move! Move your asses!" he screamed out as he ducked behind the first of the trees. He'd sheathed his own sword by then and was focused only on getting away. When one of the younger sold
iers near him tripped, Stini grabbed his tunic and yanked him back to his feet. He gave him a rough shove, "Go!"

  He went.

  "Faster!" Stini screamed out. The men picked up their pace a little.

  It took them some time to lose the troops. They ran for nearly three miles, weaving in and out of the trees as they went. When they neared the center of the forested area, they encountered a large basin like area.

  Stini grabbed the man closest to him, "Get down there," he snarled. "And get everyone to be quiet if you want to live."

  The soldier nodded and quickly started repeating the message to the others in a whispered voice.

  Once he'd seen most of the men down, Stini began to move himself down the sloped wall of the basin. He lost his footing and fell, tumbling a few feet. He winced when his wounded side hit the ground.

  Aeliana grabbed his arm and helped him back to his feet. "You don't look so good."

  "None of us look so good," Stini snapped back. But he knew she was right; he could feel himself growing faint again, and he wondered how much blood he'd lost while fighting and running.

  He glanced down at his side. The pad he'd tied in place was almost soaked through.

  "Stini," Aeliana started to say, but he shook his head.

  "Not now," he told her. "Just get down and be silent."

  Aeliana hesitated and then nodded. They made their way to the bottom of the basin and joined the other men who were laying on their bellies, weapons drawn once more and held grimly at their sides.

  Stini thought about all the men who were left behind; the ones who'd been too injured to flee. He knew he shouldn't be considering them now -- it was lucky that any of them made it out alive.

  Still, he couldn't help it. Those were his men, and they were surely dead by now. He felt a wave of remorse wash over him. This is what happened when men were too proud, he thought. When they thought they were untouchable. Something came along to prove it otherwise.