Iron Breakers: The Floodgates (Iron Breakers Book 3)

by Zaya Feli

  Evalyne called for a halt and the order travelled down the lines of men until the sound of a thousand feet was replaced by silence.

  “We need Feywic.” Evalyne stared straight ahead.

  “What if the water is polluted?” Ren asked.

  Commander Kana rode her horse up next to Evalyne. “It won't be. Even if the dead have been lying out for weeks, the rot won't reach the wells. So long as we don't drink water from lakes and rivers, we’ll be fine.”

  “A bad smell never killed anyone. We'll go in,” Evalyne said. “Pass the order for the men not to touch any of the dead. We'll only stay long enough to resupply. Don't break battle formation. Feywic could still be occupied by the living.”

  The commander nodded and turned her horse, passing the order down the lines of soldiers.

  Ren steeled himself. After Stag's Run and the battle at Llyne, he should be used to the sight of dead people, but all he could think about when he looked upon the gates of Feywic and the horrors doubtlessly waiting inside were the cold corpses of Callun and Hellic, grey and rotting.

  Their procession moved forward once more. To their left, a herd of horses grazed, raising their heads as they approached. A few of the horses came towards them and seemed to want to fall in line with the cavalry. Ahead, the fences meant to keep Feywic's mounts contained was broken.

  This close, not even a favourable breeze could keep the stench at bay. Ren pulled his sleeve over his hand and covered his nose and mouth, but it did little to lessen his nausea. Some of the horses whinnied nervously, but their riders pushed them forward.

  The first men had fallen at the gates. They lay with arms outstretched as if they hoped to still somehow reach safety in death. Arrows protruded from their backs and flies buzzed around what remained of their heads. The crows had been busy. Ren stared at the hollow eye sockets and the gaping hole where one man's throat should have been.

  He wasn't prepared for the sight that met them in the courtyard.

  Horses reared and danced backwards. Riders yelped as they struggled to control their mounts. The sound of someone losing their breakfast didn't help Ren keep his own down.

  Next to him, Evalyne swore, voice coming out choked in what was probably an attempt not to draw too big a breath.

  The pile of corpses in the courtyard was high, oozing fluids onto the cobblestones. Their white and gold Fraynean uniforms had turned yellow in patches around the open wounds of the bodies. Here, the sound of flies buzzing was louder than the caws of the crows that fought for the best strips of flesh. The flies landed on the horses, which flicked their tails in irritation. Ren thought he saw a crow with an eyeball in its beak hop across the open space.

  Rafya shook his head. “They didn't even burn the bodies.”

  “Fucking...” Kana gasped, then shouted over her shoulder, “Find the well, refill the supplies, and let's get the fuck out of here.”

  A group of soldiers broke off, shields and swords raised, but Ren doubted they'd meet any opposition. Not even Halvard's men would be crazy enough to stay in a place like this.

  “We should search the fort for anything we can use while we wait. Weapons, food, medical supplies,” Evalyne said, voice muffled by the fabric over her face.

  “I'll take a group inside,” Ren offered. He'd do anything for a chance to escape the pile of corpses in the courtyard.

  Ren picked out a search group of his own men to spare them the wait in the courtyard and Evalyne gave him a group of ten of her soldiers to help search the keep. Inside, the smell of death was more bearable. The body count was lower, too. Most of the fort inhabitants had died outside in an attempt to protect their home. Some had tried to hide inside the keep and had been cut down in the hallways or chambers. Less exposed to nature, the bodies were in better condition, but Ren still left most of the doors closed and passed by open doorways without looking inside.

  It was a relief to find that no one had died in the kitchen. Bread and fresh produce had gone bad, but they found barrels of salted fish and crates of dried meat in the storage rooms.

  Ren searched boxes and cabinets, ordering the soldiers to carry the food outside. The door to the wine cellar was securely barred, but they had little use for alcohol in any case. Turning to ascend back up the stone stairs, Ren paused. Why would the wine cellar be barred?

  Ren smoothed his hand over the sturdy planks across the door, nailed onto either side of the frame. It seemed absurd that the fort's inhabitants would spend precious time protecting the contents of a wine cellar. Unless it wasn't the fort inhabitants who had nailed it shut. Suspicion made Ren's skin crawl. “Quickly,” he shouted. “Help me with this door.”

  Soldiers rushed down the stairs. Ren stepped aside as the men jammed the tips of their swords between the planks and the door frame and pulled. The wood groaned and splintered and the first plank fell onto the steps, followed by the others.

  Ren pushed past, then hesitated with his hand hovering over the door handle. What if the sight that awaited him in the cellar was worse than the one in the courtyard? “Light some torches,” he said, voice sounding breathless to his own ears.

  Ren held his breath. The door handle creaked when he pushed it down and the cellar door opened into total darkness.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  At first, there was no sound and nothing to see, the torches casting light only on the nearest barrels lining the walls. Ren moved into the darkness, his steps echoing in the silence. He inhaled slowly, wary of the stench of death. Instead, he smelled something else: urine and sweat. It was too hot in the cellar. Hard to breathe.

  A sound like a whimpering animal made his heart skip a beat. The nearest soldier stepped forward and raised the torch.

  A girl shielded her eyes from the light with both hands. She wore a thin nightdress and not much else, her legs, arms, and feet bare. She whimpered, scampering backwards until her shoulder hit a barrel.

  Ren hushed her softly, signalling for the guard to back away as he knelt in front of her and extended his hands. They trembled slightly. “Hey. It's okay. We're not here to hurt you.”

  The half-darkness enfolded them and she raised her head, her eyes wide.

  “It's okay,” Ren repeated, reaching for her shoulder. “Come on.” He drew her against his chest. At first, she resisted, limbs stiff, but then she seemed to realise the truth of his words and clung to him, wrapping her arms around his neck with surprising strength. She didn't stop whimpering, the sound turning into hitching sobs in his ear. He continued to hush her as he rose to his feet. “Search the rest of the cellar,” he said to the nearest soldier.

  “My lord.” The voice came from Ren's other side and he turned, pausing at the sight.

  The soldier who had spoken held out his torch. On the floor, with their backs pressed against the barrels of wine, sat two dozen men, women, and children, shielding their eyes from the light.

  Ren swallowed hard, his mouth dry. “Get them out. All of them. Get them something to drink right away. And call for my physician.”

  Ren carried the girl upstairs, waving off the soldier who reached out to take her when they reached the kitchen. He found a quiet corner, pulled out a chair, and took the water skin a soldier handed to him. He dried the girl's cheeks and offered her water, making sure she didn't drink too fast. The bottom of her white dress was stained, her knees and feet scraped. Ren held her, half-crushed by guilt. His father had caused this. His father had let Ren's soldiers put the people of Feywic through so much suffering. Ren was of the same, dark blood. It felt wrong to hold this girl in his arms.

  “My lord.” One of the soldiers from the cellar saluted, although he spoke quietly, as if afraid to startle the girl. “There were twenty-three people in the cellar. Four more were dead.”

  “Probably from dehydration.” Jayce's voice made Ren look up. Jayce came towards them and knelt, smiling at the little girl on Ren's lap.

  “How long do you think they were down there?” Ren asked.

  Jayc
e felt the girl's throat, checked her eyes, and pinched the skin on her arm. She hung her head, eyes glassy. “Three, maybe four days. Some of them look right on the edge, and judging by the state of the b-” Jayce hesitated, eyes flickering between Ren and the girl, “the people in the courtyard, whoever came through here must have stayed for a day or two, locked these poor people in the cellar, and been on their way.”

  “Can you take her?” Ren asked, trying to will some strength into his voice.

  Jayce nodded. “Sure.”

  Ren bumped into Kana on his way out of the kitchen. Her stern facade had cracked and she seemed flustered for a moment before she offered him the Skarlan salute. This place was getting under everyone's skin. “My lord. Her Highness would like a word.”

  Ren nodded and followed her out. Evalyne had directed their men to the fort gardens, which were void of dead bodies, the smell less pervasive. When Ren arrived, soldiers were passing barrels of water to load onto their supply wagons outside.

  Evalyne leaned against the side of the well, brushing a lock of hair from her face. She panted softly with exertion. It didn't surprise Ren to see her joining her soldiers for physical work instead of standing idle.

  “You heard about the wine cellar?” Ren asked as he approached.

  Kana took a full water skin from a soldier and passed it to Evalyne.

  “I can't say I'm surprised. Halvard lets his men do whatever they want. Even locking children in a cellar to die of thirst.”

  “What are we going to do with them?” Ren asked, taking the water skin when Evalyne offered it. He drank, the water soothing his dry throat. “And do you think there's a chance we could run into the people who did this?”

  “I don't think so,” she said. “They probably came from Skarlan, so we're moving in opposite directions. Regarding the civilians...we can't take them with us. We'll be crossing into Skarlan tomorrow.”

  “Can't we send a force to escort them to a nearby village?” Ren asked.

  “How 'near' is nearby?”

  “I don't know,” Ren said, grimacing. They had chosen Feywic because it was remote. “If we want to avoid sending them back to Llyne, maybe five or six days away.”

  Evalyne sighed and rubbed her brow. “I'd really hate to lose cavalry, and we're already low on horses after Llyne.”

  Ren frowned, looking across the gardens, searching until he found what he was looking for: a glimpse of curling black tattoos on bare arms and long hair drawn back and tied with two braids. Valkon sat near the edge of the gardens. “The Lowlanders,” Ren said. “Feywic's horses are scattered in the hills around the fort. They'll be too skittish for the soldiers to try catching them, but I bet the Lowlanders can do it.”

  “Good thinking, Ren.” Evalyne smiled and patted him on the shoulder. “Ask them how long it'll take to get the horses. I want to move out as soon as possible. Nothing demoralizes an army like hanging out with a pile of rotting corpses.”

  Ren hesitated, swallowing. Somehow, he hadn't considered the fact that he would be the one to talk to Valkon and his men. Then again, it was only logical. He was the one who had escaped the prison with them, spent the most time with them, and probably also the person they had least reason to hate – so long as they didn't know who his father was. He had no reason to be nervous, Ren told himself. He'd already been planning to talk to Valkon, after all.

  Ren pushed off the side of the well, straightened his jacket, and angled his chin up. The world tilted before his eyes. The atmosphere, he thought. Or his nerves. A tickle turned into an itch in his throat, but he ignored it.

  “Valkon,” Ren said, coming to a stop a few feet from the group of men.

  Valkon raised his head and regarded him with what Ren could only assume was neutrality. The expressions on the faces of the others varied, but Ren couldn't concern himself with that.

  “I was hoping to have a word with you.”

  “All right,” Valkon said, leaning forward where he sat on the stone steps that fringed the garden, bare arms resting on his legs. Ren thought he saw something like a wolf inked on the inside of Valkon's forearm. He was more heavily built than Anik, with arms almost the size of Ren's thighs, but Ren tried not to think too much about that. Valkon made no move to get up, so Ren prepared to propose his idea in front of the group. No problem. Public speaking wasn't one of his fears.

  “Innocent people were locked up in the wine cellar. Children among them. We want to escort them to the nearest village, but-”

  “Innocent is a bit far-fetched,” a younger man said. He sat behind Valkon, leaning against a pillar with his arms crossed over his chest.

  Ren met his eyes. He stared back at Ren with a challenge in his eyes, but Ren ignored him. He couldn't afford to start an argument. Ren looked back to Valkon. “To make the journey swift, we need to send them off on horseback, but we can't afford to lose any horses ourselves. There are horses in the open fields around Feywic-”

  “But you're too dumb to catch them,” the young man interrupted again. He burst into laughter. The hostility in his eyes was so clear it made the hair on Ren's arms stand on end.

  “Tiran,” Valkon hissed over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Ren.

  The young man stopped laughing, but his eyes still bored into Ren's. Ren couldn't help but think that if it came to a fight between himself and Tiran, Ren would likely end up dead. Judging by the look in Tiran's eyes, the young Lowlander knew it, too.

  “With the extra horses, we won't lose travel time on our way west,” Ren said.

  Valkon ran a hand through his hair. He shared a glance with the man who sat next to him and something passed between them that Ren couldn't understand.

  “We'll supply ourselves with horses first,” Valkon said. “Whatever's left, you can have.”

  Ren nodded. “All right,” he said, because he couldn't see them coming to any better agreement. He remembered a conversation he'd had with Anik before leaving for Sekara together. Ren had suggested riding out with Valkon as his companion, but Anik had refused. He hadn't been sure that Valkon would have Ren's back if things got heated. Anik had been right. Valkon wasn't his friend. Ren dared another question. “We'll be crossing into Skarlan tomorrow. How long will you follow us?”

  It was another moment before Valkon spoke. He didn’t look at Ren, keeping his arms crossed. “We'll see.”

  Ren could take a hint. He turned away, making his way back to Evalyne and Kana by the well. Asking Valkon about Anik no longer seemed like an option. Valkon wouldn't tell him anything, especially not about Anik. Ren would have to come to terms with the fact that Anik wasn't coming back, and neither was the friendship, or whatever it was, that had grown between them. It was as if a door had been closed to Ren, shutting off a glimpse into a part of the world that he wouldn't have gotten to see if it hadn't been for Anik pushing it ajar. He still hadn't had the chance to talk to Valkon about the confrontation in the camp, but Ren had a feeling now wasn't the best time to bring it up.

  * * *

  Ren stood on the hill west of the fort and watched the Lowlanders gather the horses. He listened to the whispers of awe among Evalyne's soldiers, but Ren kept quiet. Valkon and his men weren't as refined in the skill of horse taming as Anik was. The horses still ran. Some of them, they had to capture with ropes around their necks. As soon as the horses had halters on, they seemed to calm down and remember that people weren't to be feared.

  What the Lowlanders lacked in the way of delicate handling, they made up in fearlessness. More than once, Ren saw the youngest men throw themselves into the paths of galloping horses as they herded them together like dogs led sheep. A young man wrapped his arms around the neck of a horse and pulled himself straight onto its bare back. In under half an hour, thirty-seven horses had been captured, and nearly half were handed over to Evalyne's soldiers.

  Ren returned to the field where they kept their own horses, mostly brown mares and geldings, strong and hardy horses, but without much else to set the
m apart. Ren's white gelding was grazing there; it was clearly of a finer breed, stolen from Lord Elgrin's herd. It whipped flies off its body with swipes of its tail.

  Anik's dark stallion wasn't among them. Ren glanced to where it stood tethered on a long lead in the open. Even from this distance, Ren could see the way it stretched its neck to smell the mares beyond the fence. The stallion let out a whinny and Ren smiled, crossing the yellow field.

  “Hey, buddy,” he called.

  The stallion paused and regarded him with both ears turned forward. Ren wasn't sure what it was thinking, but he could almost feel the way the horse judged his approach. Ren turned his side to the animal and took little steps towards it.

  “Sorry you can't be with the others,” he said. “It's got to be awfully boring out here by yourself. Maybe we can have the castle horse master take care of you once we return home, although I'm sure you could make some real nice foals.” He spoke softly, trying to copy the tone Anik had used to calm the horse as he inched his way towards it. It stayed where it was. Ren hadn't tried to ride it since Anik left, and he wasn't planning to. A part of him knew it was only extra trouble to bring along a temperamental horse you couldn't ride, but another part of him couldn't bear to let the stallion go. Anik had loved that horse. At least, Ren thought he had. It was difficult to tell what Anik thought about anything. Ren had thought he'd known when he had kissed him in Fort Llyne, but he had been wrong about that, too. Slowly, very slowly, Ren reached out towards the stallion's soft nose. The tips of his fingers grazed fine hairs. Without warning, the stallion tossed its head and danced backwards, putting as much distance between them as the rope would allow.

  “I don't know how to make friends with you,” Ren said, holding back a sigh. “I just thought it'd be less lonely to have a friend.”

  The stallion didn't seem to want to listen, tugging on the rope. Ren left it alone before it could tug the stake from the ground.

  His head spun and he stopped in his tracks, hands extended to steady himself. His vision blurred and he closed his eyes, but that only made the dizziness worse. The grass was cold and dew-wet when he sank to his knees. His hands felt almost as cold as the grass when he used them to rub his eyes. How long would it take to get to Iskaal? How long to return to Aleria? To find a way to free the hostages and take the city? His lungs burned on an inhale and he stubbornly forced down a cough. He only half-succeeded, little choked sounds forcing their way past his lips. Did he trust Evalyne enough to help Thais back to the throne if he died before the job was done? He tried to remember how his grandfather had looked on his deathbed. Pale, dark rings around his eyes, lips stained red by blood. Ren wasn't there yet. Not at all, he told himself. He had to have at least another month, surely. Right?