Dawn of War (Legend of the Gods Book 3)

by Aaron Hodges

  “I have no wish to kill the Tsar’s mother,” Quinn said. “I’m sure he has plans of his own for you. But I won’t hesitate if you make me. Now, dismiss your magic,” Quinn commanded, his voice ringing from the glass windows.

  For a moment he thought the old woman would refuse. Crossbows rattled as she stepped towards him, but he raised a hand to halt their release. A low groan came from the girl at his feet, and Enala’s gaze dropped to look at her granddaughter. Alana started to move, but froze as Quinn pressed his blade harder against her throat.

  “What, oh…” she trailed off as her eyes flickered open and saw Quinn standing over her.

  Quinn looked at Enala, and smiled as the fire slowly died from her hands, her eyes returning to crystal blue.

  “The sword, too,” he ordered.

  Unclipping her sword belt, she tossed the weapon to the ground between them. Quinn gestured for one of his Stalkers to retrieve it, then grinned at Enala.

  “I knew you would come,” he said conversationally, gesturing with his sabre. “I told the Tsar the boy’s magic would draw you here.”

  “You have my brother?” Alana asked from the floor.

  Quinn stepped back, allowing Enala to join her granddaughter. Crouching beside Alana, the old woman offered her shoulder, and together the two rose unsteadily to their feet. A scuffling came from across the room as one of his Stalkers dragged the innkeeper forward, one arm twisted up behind her back.

  “You said you’d leave us alone!” she snarled as they approached.

  “Yes, yes, yes.” He and his men had arrived at first light to find the boy already departed, but it had been a small matter of rounding up the villagers to find out where they’d gone. The other occupants of the settlement were currently locked up in the roughshod temple, overseen by a few of his men. “When we’re done. Now, would you please tell the girl what happened to her brother? She’s so eager to hear about his fate.”

  The innkeeper looked down at Alana. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “The Baronians have him.”

  “What?”

  Alana sounded as disbelieving as Quinn had first been. Though he’d heard rumours of a resurgence in the rebel tribes, Quinn hadn’t paid them much credence until now.

  “So Joseph was telling the truth.” Beside Alana, the old woman looked calm. “The Baronians have returned.” She smiled at Quinn. “Your Tsar’s power fades by the day, Stalker. Or does he no longer care to protect his people?

  Rage bubbled up in Quinn’s chest and he pointed his blade at the old woman’s chest. “Silence, woman,” he growled.

  Enala crossed her arms and smirked. “Oh, now you’re going to kill me are you, Stalker?” she asked. “I thought my son had plans for me?”

  Quinn clenched his teeth and sucked in a breath. Struggling to quell his anger, he forced a smile. “Ay, and I hope you live to regret those words.” He turned to the innkeeper. Striding forward, he stood face-to-face with the woman. “But you have not told them all of it. Finish the story, innkeeper.” He lifted the tip of his sword and rested it against her chest to emphasise his point.

  She flinched away from the steel, but the Stalker holding her only tightened his grip. Terror showed on her face, but with a deep breath, she stilled. She met Quinn’s gaze with hatred in her eyes.

  “Don’t worry, girl,” she said, still looking at Quinn, “your brother is fine. His friend defeated the Baronian leader. He leads them now.”

  “His friend?” Alana asked.

  “Devon.”

  Before the innkeeper could say more, Quinn stepped forward, driving his blade through her chest. She gasped, stiffening as the cold steel sliced through her heart. Collapsing back into the arms of the man holding her, a soft whisper came from her lips. With a jerk, Quinn yanked back his blade and watched the woman’s lifeblood pump from the wound. Then he gestured, and his Stalker released her, allowing the innkeeper’s body to thud to the floor.

  “Why?” Alana screamed.

  Quinn spun, bloody blade raised. “Because she lied to me. It took an hour to get the truth from her, and she thought I would still spare her for finally telling it?” He laughed as he looked at Alana, hatred twisting its cold coils around his soul. “Just like you lied to me, Alana.”

  Stepping forward, he pointed the tip of his sword at her throat, though he was careful not to touch her with it now that she was conscious. When she was desperate, Alana’s magic could transfer along metal, and he had no wish to be used by her again. “You betrayed me.”

  Alana stared at him a moment, then to his surprise, she bowed her head. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  Quinn blinked, momentarily confused by her repentance—until he recalled the weakness that had infected her, the soft girl she had become when she’d escaped the citadel. His jaw hardened, his anger returning.

  “Sorry? Sorry? What do your sorries matter to me? You manipulated me with your power, used me, and still I saved you. And how did you repay me?”

  “I…”

  “You left me to face your father’s wrath. By rights he should have killed me a thousand times for allowing you to go free. If not for his mercy…”

  Alana snorted. “My father, mercy?”

  “Do not speak ill of my Tsar,” Quinn hissed.

  Summoning his magic, Quinn drew the wind to him. The windows shook, then shattered inwards as the winds gathered around him. With a gesture, he sent them against her, hurling her back against the wall, pinning her there. He walked slowly forward.

  “Your father spared me, trusted me to find his children, so that he might lead our army to glory. I will not fail him, not this time. He will have you, and your brother. And I will have my heart’s desire.”

  He lifted a hand to touch her face, but stopped himself at the last second. She stared back at him, her grey eyes set like stone.

  “And what is your heart’s desire, my love?” she asked mockingly.

  Quinn scowled and raised a fist, and Alana’s eyes flashed. With an effort of will, Quinn controlled himself.

  She laughed. “What, are you afraid, my love? Go on, do it, show me how powerful you are.”

  Baring his teeth, Quinn swung away from her, and found Enala crouching beside the dead woman. He turned his anger on her. “What do you think you’re doing, woman?” he snarled.

  “You missed,” Enala said, her hands bloody as she pressed a rag to the innkeeper’s chest.

  Quinn cursed as the woman groaned, her eyelids fluttering. But it was an easy mistake to correct, and hefting his sword, he stepped towards the wounded woman. Before he could reach her, a shout came from outside, followed by a roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the building.

  A smile came to Quinn’s lips as he faced the window, and glimpsed the flicker of scarlet scales in the square outside. Lowering his sword, he looked at Alana.

  “This should be quite the family reunion.”

  Chapter 17

  Merydith sucked in a long breath as she directed her horse into the centre of the Gods Road. The wind swirled around her, kicking up dust and causing the treetops to sway violently overhead. The rustle of leaves against branches was almost enough to muffle the distant tread of marching feet.

  Almost.

  A shiver ran down her spine and she pulled her cloak tighter about her, though it was not the cold that had her trembling. Her hand dropped to the sword resting across her pommel, and she cast a final glance at the trees, searching the shadows for any hint of movement. But Murdo and Mokyre had done their jobs well, and there was no sign of the Northland force concealed there.

  The rhythmic thump-thump of boots picked up a notch, and Merydith’s attention snapped back to the path ahead. The Gods Road continued straight from where she sat for another hundred yards, before disappearing round a bend in the road. Ahead the road narrowed, allowing only enough room for ten men to march abreast. With fifty thousand soldiers under the Tsar’s command, the forest had slowed his advance to a c
rawl.

  Merydith intended to halt them altogether.

  Her hunters had already taken care of the few scouts the southerners had bothered to send ahead. The Tsar’s advance guard were now marching blind, and she intended to take full advantage. Her people had left their mounts half a mile from the Gods Road, at a confluence of several animal tracks that led further up into the Sandstone Mountains. Now they waited on either side of the path, ready to spring her trap.

  At the end of the road, shadows flickered as the first line of soldiers marched into view. Their attention on anything but the way ahead, they continued on a dozen yards before a whinny from her mount finally alerted them to her presence. The thump-thump of their marching boots rattled to a discordant stop as the front ranks exchanged bewildered glances. Shouts erupted from the following ranks as men marched unawares into the backs of their companions.

  “What’s going on here?” a man bellowed, forcing his way to the front. A silver star on his breast marked him as a lieutenant. He pointed a cane at one of the soldiers and opened his mouth to scream again.

  “Who dares trespass on my land?” Merydith shouted, her voice carrying on the wind to the soldiers.

  The lieutenant spun at the sound of her voice. Lines marked his brow as he frowned. “Who goes there?” he called, taking a step towards her.

  Merydith smiled as she edged her horse forward. “The Queen of this forest,” she bellowed. “You’re trespassing on my land.”

  Beyond the front ranks of the army, further shouting was breaking out as the sudden halt caused havoc amongst their ranks.

  “The Queen of…” the man mumbled, then cursed under his breath. “Get out of our way, woman. This is the Tsar’s forest, and he does not take kindly to usurpers.” Drawing his sword, he gestured to the men on either side of him. “Take care of the madwoman.”

  Merydith smiled as the front ranks surged towards her. “Turn back, or you will pay for your insolence,” she shouted.

  “Kill the b—” The lieutenant’s scream was cut short as an arrow blossomed in his throat.

  On the road in front of her, the charge faltered as the soldiers glanced back to see what had become of their lieutenant. With their ranks broken and shields still lowered, the first wave of arrows sliced through them like fire in a cornfield. Screams rent the air as men went down, steel-tipped arrows finding their mark in exposed legs and necks and armpits. Only the steel-plated armour of the advance guard stopped the attack from becoming a massacre.

  A second volley hissed from the trees, and more soldiers dropped, though fewer this time, as those still standing had turned their shields towards the trees.

  Lifting her sabre above her head, Merydith shouted a battle cry. The rumble of hooves came from behind her as a cavalry cohort concealed around the bend came racing into sight. Together, they charged at the enemy.

  With their shields turned towards the trees, the Tsar’s men were taken unawares, and Merydith’s charge carried her people deep into their ranks. Soldiers scattered before her mount or were trampled beneath his iron-shod hooves, and her sabre flashed out, killing any who stood against her. Alongside her, Merydith’s people were doing the same, as the Tsar’s soldiers tried to flee back down the Gods Road.

  As they neared the bend in the road, Merydith’s charge slowed, the ranks of soldiers closing in around them. A sword lanced for her chest, and she swung out with her buckler, turning aside the blow. Lashing out with her sabre, she felt a satisfying crunch as it struck home, followed by a scream as the assailant staggered back, blood streaming from his severed arm. His shouts were silenced as her guard closed in, and a sabre cleaved his spine.

  Merydith nodded her thanks as her guard spread out around her, forcing the southern soldiers back. She swung around in her saddle, taking the opportunity to gauge the battle. Their charge had carried her cohort deep into the enemy ranks, but now that the element of surprise was lost, the Tsar’s soldiers were pushing back. Several had managed to join their shields and were advancing up the path towards them.

  “Retreat!” she cried, pulling on her reins to swing her stallion back the way they’d come.

  Bodies littered the Gods Road behind them, most of them donned in the scarlet robes of Plorsea. Merydith’s heart clenched at the sight, though she knew she’d had no choice but to attack, to be the first to strike. They were only five thousand against fifty thousand. To hesitate now was to face certain defeat.

  Her mount leapt forward and the northern army followed her, retreating down the Gods Road as quickly as they had appeared. Arrows hissed after them and several of her people fell. Merydith cursed and crouched lower in the saddle until they were safely around the bend in the road. She prayed her archers had already fallen back, but there was no way of knowing until they reached the rendezvous.

  Several riders had pulled ahead, forming ranks around her. The leaders dragged their horses towards the trees, where several trails led deeper into the forest. Merydith and the others followed suit, and together they rushed into the darkness of the trees.

  The cries of their pursuers died away, muffled by the dense forest. Despite the still pending danger, Merydith allowed herself a deep breath, her heartbeat slowing a notch. A smile tugged at her lips as she estimated the enemy’s losses. The Tsar had lost perhaps as many as three hundred soldiers to death or injury, between those killed by her archers and the cavalry charge. She had counted no more than twenty Northerners amongst the dead.

  Not bad, for a distraction.

  Damyn crouched amongst the scrub and peered down at the wagons rumbling slowly through the narrow valley. The Gods Road was rutted here, the going slow for the steel-shod wheels of the Tsar’s baggage train. A ring of soldiers five men thick marched to either side of the wagons, their eyes alert as they scanned the hills. Damyn allowed himself a smile. With the dense bush covering the valley, there was little chance his cohort would be spotted.

  Away to their left, the column disappeared around a bend in the road. They had been marching past for an hour now, and the first hundred ranks of the advance guard had only just given way to the baggage train. Damyn followed their progress up the Gods Road in his mind, along the twisting track through the forest, to where his Queen waited.

  When his scout had returned with her plan, he’d found himself smiling at her boldness. While he would have preferred to fight alongside her, there had been no time to question the intricacies of her trap. His cohort was in place within the hour, and with scouts riding back and forth, their preparations had been finalised.

  Now Damyn had only to wait for the chance to strike. From what he’d seen so far of the Tsar’s preparations, it would come soon enough. The man thought Northland weak. He knew they had only five thousand soldiers, and had barely bothered to send scouts out ahead of his army. Those had been easily dispatched. Damyn intended to make the Tsar pay for his arrogance.

  The distant cry of a bugle carried through the forest, and below, the soldiers to either side of the wagons leapt to the alert. The clash of steel on steel and the screams of dying men followed, whispering through the trees like the ghosts of long-dead souls. Those on the road below closed ranks and drew their weapons, their eyes turning to their commanders. The rumble of wagons ceased as the oxen stumbled to a stop. A dust cloud settled around the convoy, hemming them in.

  Along the ridgetop, Damyn felt the eyes of his five hundred men on him. He raised a hand, bidding them to wait. Squinting through the dust, he watched the sunlight flickering from the enemy’s armour. The screams had set the southerners on edge, drawing their attention to the path ahead and away from the hillside.

  Another bugle cried out. Shouts followed from those below as the Tsar’s lieutenants started waving their men forward. Half of the force guarding the train surged forward, the others spreading out to fill the gaps they’d left.

  Damyn’s heart beat faster as he watched the soldiers march out of sight. He did a quick count of those who remained and cursed beneat
h his breath. They had been more cautious than Merydith had anticipated. She’d warned him not to attack unless the odds of success were overwhelming, but the Tsar had left close to four hundred men below. His own five hundred had them outnumbered, but if things went wrong and they were delayed, Damyn risked the main body of the Tsar’s army catching them in the open.

  Letting out a long breath, Damyn made a decision. Merydith had ordered him not to take any unnecessary risks, but the destruction of the Tsar’s supplies would be a massive blow to the southland army. With the land still in the grips of winter, they would not be able to advance into Northland until they’d been resupplied. It would buy his people much needed time—perhaps even enough to muster an army that could match the southerners in the field.

  Retreating behind the lip of the hill, Damyn mounted up. His five hundred men and women followed suit. Eyes wide, they looked to Damyn for the signal. He swallowed, feeling the weight of their lives on his shoulders. While most had seen combat in the occasional scuffles between clans, none had ever imagined taking on such an army as the one marching up the Gods Road. They knew the odds were against them, but as he looked in their eyes, Damyn knew not a one of them would fail him.

  Silently he lifted his sword and pointed it at the valley and army beyond the lip of the hill. A deafening cry went up around him. Damyn kicked his horse into a charge, and five hundred men and woman followed after him.

  Chapter 18

  Reclining in the comfortable embrace of a cowhide hammock, Devon couldn’t help but smile as he reflected on his sudden change in fortune. Ever since he’d rescinded his commission in the army, it had seemed as though the Gods themselves were against him. His savings had seemed to evaporate overnight, former comrades had turned against him, and everyone from bards to innkeepers had taken great joy in besmirching his name. Since then, his every action, every decision, only seemed to lead his situation from bad to worse.