Iron Breakers: The Floodgates (Iron Breakers Book 3)

by Zaya Feli

  Ren frowned. He'd had no idea. Of course, growing up, people had given him his own fair share of hard words for his dirtied blood. He had never considered that Thais might be suffering from a similar judgement. “Why didn't you ever say anything?”

  “I'm not a baby,” Thais barked. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed. “Can I go to bed now?”

  “Sure.” Ren stood, moving to the tent's entrance. Thais' voice stopped him.

  “Ren.”

  Ren looked back.

  Thais' eyes were once again wide in the near-dark. His jaw worked and he seemed to struggle with his words. “What if I can't rule?” he asked finally.

  Ren studied his face, then offered him a slight smile. “You can. It's in your blood. You're tough.”

  Thais didn't say anything more, simply copied Ren's smile.

  Ren left the tent and the hard winds sent a shiver down his back. The tickle in his throat turned to an ache. He made it inside his own tent, just barely, before his chest constricted in a fit of coughing. He gasped for breath, hand clutching the wooden frame of his cot, muscles cramping with his body's apparent need to expel his lungs through his throat. The breath he drew in was ragged. Blood dripped from his bottom lip; he wiped it away and rubbed it off on the grass. With a groan, he let himself fall back against the softness of his blankets, covering his eyes with the crook of his elbow. A metallic taste lingered on his tongue. With a shaking hand, he reached into his pocket and closed his fingers around his mother's key.

  * * *

  An ear-splitting roar of thunder woke Ren and he startled, sitting up. The tent canvas brushed the side of his face and he reached out instinctively to bat away what he thought was an attacking stranger before he remembered where he was. It was sometime after midnight. The wind changed direction and rain thundered against the side of the tent, so loud that Ren couldn't even hear himself mutter a curse when he swung his legs over the side of the cot and stepped into an inch-deep puddle of water. More water dripped from the seam above his head and onto his shoulders.

  His hand bumped the oil lamp and he struck the flint twice before a flame lit the interior of the tent.

  “Fucking...”

  Everything was soaked: his boots, his equipment, and his bag. The cot would have been too, if it hadn't been raised above the grass on two pairs of wooden legs.

  Running a hand through his sleep-ruffled hair, Ren pulled his bag onto the edge of the cot, water dripping from the fabric as he dug through it. His extra set of clothes was soaked. So were the bread and dried beef he had packed for lunch tomorrow. At least the beef would still be edible.

  For a moment, shouts rose over the noise of the rain beating against his tent. He paused and listened. The sound of someone running past his tent followed.

  Dropping the bag on the cot, he grabbed his boots and winced at the cold, wet leather dragging against his skin. Then he gathered his jacket around himself and stepped outside.

  It wasn't just raining. It was pouring.

  Guttering light from torches flashed between the tents. Next to Ren, the flap of Thais' tent was pushed aside and Thais' head appeared in the opening.

  “Stay there,” Ren called, loud enough to be heard over the rain. “It's just the weather acting up.”

  Ren crossed the camp, the grass already turning to mud under his boots. Twice, he slipped, gripping a tent pole to keep himself from falling, but his soaked trousers still got covered in mud. Close by, a group of soldiers fought to re-attach a wagon cover that had been blown off to keep the rain from destroying their food. Ren brushed wet hair from his face and looked around, trying to find someplace he might be able to help.

  A Lowlandish curse made Ren turn. Valkon's voice was hard as he shouted to the men around him.

  The sudden snap of a rope in Ren's field of vision made him duck. Wood groaned and a horse whinnied in fright. The rain put out the torches nearly as fast as the men could light them, but Ren's eyes were adapting to the faint moonlight and what he saw made his heart skip a beat.

  The group of Lowlanders, led by Valkon, struggled to keep a supply wagon from slipping down the muddy slope by the stream. A rope was tangled in one of the wheels and the horse attached to the other end of it danced and reared in fright as the wagon began to slide despite the Lowlanders' efforts. If the wagon tipped onto its side down the slope, it would take the animal with it. Ropes snapped in the wind from the loose tarp still clinging to one side of the wagon.

  Ren ran forward. “Take the lead off the halter,” he shouted, boots skidding as he came to a stop next to the men.

  “The halter's broken. Sikyn tied the lead with a double knot,” Valkon shouted back over his shoulder, eyes lingering on Ren before a shout from his men made him whip his head around. The horse tugged on the rope in the wrong direction and one man slipped and fell onto his back in an attempt to keep the wagon upright.

  “Get a knife!” Valkon roared.

  Ren approached the horse with caution, staggering back to avoid its kicking legs. He reached for its nose, but the animal tossed its head out of reach. It turned sideways and Ren leaped back to avoid ending up under its belly.

  A young man came running, knife in hand, nearly falling against the shifting wagon. He sawed at the base of the rope with the knife and Ren saw the strings spring apart one by one before the rope suddenly snapped and the horse reared up, losing its balance. It skidded in the mud, sliding sideways into the wagon.

  Disaster struck. The horse bolted away, men shouted, and the wagon began to tip. Ren tried to reach for it, but against its weight, there was nothing he could do. Men darted out of the wagon's path, helpless as it slipped down the slope and then fell onto its side.

  A shout of pain pierced the air. Ren's heart skipped. The young man with the knife had tried, foolishly, to hold the wagon's weight. Ren saw him fall and disappear under the far wheel. Wood splintered as the wagon landed at the bottom of the slope with the man underneath. Supplies spilled into the stream.

  “Get the wagon up,” Ren shouted, leaping past the men around him. He slid down the slope and landed against the side of the wagon. He thought he heard the man's sobs of pain.

  Ren gripped the splintered wood, men falling in on either side of him, boots slipping against mud and splashing in the shallow water. Ren put all his strength into lifting, muscles cramping, but it was impossible to find purchase on the slick surface.

  “Get it up!” Valkon roared to his left. Someone else slipped and fell.

  “Wait,” Ren said, holding up a hand. “On three, then we all lift.” He readjusted his grip on the wet wooden planks and dug the toes of his boots into the ground. “One. Two.”

  On three, they all pushed, wood groaning and splintering under the force of their combined effort. The wagon skidded along the pebbled bottom and began to tip onto its wheels. It fell the rest of the way upright, the axles cracking with a snap.

  The young man cried out, twisting in the cold water. Valkon reached for him, but Ren stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Don't. If you move him, you could make it worse. Get my physician.”

  Valkon waved a hand at one of the others, who darted away.

  Ren knelt next to the young man. He thought he saw blood on the ground, but in the dark, he couldn't be sure. He looked up at Valkon. “What's his name?”

  “Sikyn,” Valkon said, hovering above Ren like an anxious hawk.

  Ren took the young man's head in his hands. “Listen, Sikyn. We're getting you some help but you have to keep still. Can you do that?”

  Sikyn's dark eyes were wide and brimming with unshed tears when they met Ren's. He managed a choked-out consent. He reached out, fingers bunching in the fabric of Valkon's trousers. “I-I'm sorry.”

  “Don't be sorry, kid,” Valkon said, giving Sikyn's hand a squeeze. “You got that mare free. She'll be okay.”

  From across the camp, Jayce came running, closely followed by the Lowlander messenger. Jayce's jacket was askew and his trouser knees
were covered in mud. He met Ren's eyes, searching quickly as if to make sure Ren wasn't among the injured. Then he set his jaw and skidded to the bottom of the slope.

  “I've kept him still,” Ren said.

  “Good work. I'll take it from here,” Jayce said. “I need four men to help carry him to my tent. Careful. Grab his legs like this and try to keep his back straight.”

  Ren stepped back, giving Jayce room to work. The roaring of the wind had lessened slightly, but the rain was still beating down, creating deeper and deeper puddles as the ground saturated.

  Ren panted as he made his way back up the slope, supporting himself with a hand against the ground. He hadn't noticed how cold he was before, but now he was aware of how much he was shivering, teeth chattering. He was soaked to the bone, clothes clinging to his skin. He looked across to where the Skarlan soldiers had struggled to recover the wagon tarp. They seemed to have finally succeeded in saving their supply of food.

  Satisfied that he had helped where he could, Ren turned to make his way back to his tent to rid himself of his wet clothes. He almost bumped into the Skarlan soldier who rushed towards him. The man panted, hand against his chest as he struggled to speak.

  “Take it easy, soldier. What is it?” Ren asked, steadying the man with a hand against his shoulder.

  “P-Prince Ren! Her Highness is asking for you. East side,” the man said and pointed. It looked like he'd run across the entire camp to find him. “It's urgent.”

  “Thank you.”

  Ren went. He'd expected more storm damage, but the sight that met him was a different one entirely. Evalyne, Kana, and a dozen of their men stood at the edge of the treeline and gazed into the distance.

  “What's going on?” Ren asked, trying to will his limbs to stop trembling. He rubbed his hands together.

  “Look,” Evalyne said, waving him closer. Wet hair clung to her face and neck.

  She pointed, and Ren followed her gaze. His eyes narrowed. Down by the river, maybe half a mile out, flashes of metal reflected moonlight.

  “People?” Ren asked.

  “We sent out a scout,” Evalyne continued. “Something's definitely wrong. It looks like two groups. Armed and on horseback.”

  “In the middle of the night? In this weather?” Ren asked, disbelief mixing with unease. “How many?”

  It was Kana who answered. “Looks to be around a hundred in total. Our scout thinks some of them are Lowlanders.”

  Ren whipped around, eyes boring into Evalyne's. “Some of them?”

  “There's definitely Skarlans down there, too,” Evalyne said.

  Ren's heart skipped a beat. “What if it's Anik?” It was difficult to see in the half-darkness, but there was little organization to the movements of the group ahead. They circled each other, metal shining in the moonlight. “If he's fighting Skarlans, we need to help him.”

  Evalyne looked across at him, uncertainty in her eyes. “Do we?” she asked. “If it is him, we don't know if he's here to help us or hurt us. Those Skarlans might be doing us a favour.”

  “I know him.” Ren closed his hand around Evalyne's upper arm. He ignored the way the surrounding soldiers flinched. Ren felt absolutely certain. “He's not here to hurt us. If he was, he'd have killed me the moment he found out-” He cut himself off, eyes darting to the surrounding men and women. “I'll ride out myself. You don't have to risk anything. I'll take Valkon and my men.” He didn't give her a chance to reply before he spun on his heel and marched back through the camp. He grabbed the shoulder of the first Fraynean he found and ordered him to fetch the others, saddle horses, and alert the Lowlanders.

  Within minutes, they were ready to ride out, spurred on by Ren's barked orders. He could be wrong. They could be riding into a trap. But if there was a chance that Anik could be out there fighting for his life, Ren had to at least try to help him.

  Ren kept his reins tight, his gelding lifting its legs high from fear of slipping in the mud. He had all the Lowlanders with him and his own men, too, as well as a small group of Skarlan soldiers sent at Evalyne's command.

  When Ren had mounted his horse, Evalyne had gripped his sleeve and asked him not to go, but he had pulled his arm from her grip. He was already dying, he told himself. Either way, dying with a sword through the heart would be better than being stuck in a bed coughing up his own lungs.

  They had only the moon to light their path across the sloping hills. To Ren's left, a horse tripped and its rider yanked the reins to direct it. A horse had taken Ren down with it once before, during their wild escape from Skarlan soldiers in the north. He wasn't keen on trying again, especially not with a gelding as good as this one, so he reined it in further even as his heart urged him to race ahead.

  As they got closer, the sounds of the struggle began to rise over the noise of the rainstorm. People shouted. A rider broke from the group only to slip out of the saddle and land on the ground, limp. The horse raced on.

  Ren slowed to a trot and turned his horse halfway around to face his followers. “Stay together – don't take chances. These conditions can kill as easily as a sword if your horse trips mid-fight.”

  Valkon broke free from the group of Lowlanders and rode up alongside Ren, bareback on his stocky mare. “Box them in. Be quick about it.” He turned his horse and made to move ahead, but then paused, locking eyes with Ren. Valkon gave him a single, short nod.

  Ren nodded back, watching Valkon race ahead, followed by the Lowlanders. Then Ren spurred his horse and led his own men forward.

  Ren never felt ready for battle.

  He drew his sword, meeting a soldier who turned his mount to deal with the strangers joining the fight. Steel sparked as the swords slid against each other. Ren locked their crossguards together and twisted, forcing the sword from the soldier's hand. Ren didn't strike, but gripped the collar of the man's coat before he could recover himself and pulled him off his horse. Ren slapped the rear of the mount to make it run and ducked as a sword came swinging for his neck. Ren raised his sword to retaliate, but the man let out a scream of agony when a Lowlander buried his weapon between the soldier's ribs.

  All around them, men were fighting and struggling. Orders rang out in both Lowlandish and the common tongue. Slowly, the Skarlan force seemed to realise the group of enemies had suddenly doubled and a group of them retreated from the fight, cut down by Ren's soldiers in white and gold. Ren scanned the crowd for a tufted ponytail, but the mass of people was a blur, and all Ren could recognize were uniforms. Someone came straight for him and Ren spun his gelding. It was a young man he didn't know, wearing no uniform and with only a blanket for a saddle. They locked eyes and the man reached for his sword.

  “We're with you,” Ren shouted over the noise, raising his free hand into the air before the rider could strike.

  The man hesitated.

  Ren rode his gelding up alongside him and leaned in. “Where is Anik?”

  The young man's lips parted, surprise clear on his face. He didn't answer, but he looked towards the centre of the mass of people.

  Ren didn't linger, but nudged his horse forward and into the worst of the battle, gripping the wrist of an enemy soldier. Ren stabbed his sword into the softness under the man's armour and felt the blade slide through.

  A blow like the kick of a horse against Ren's shoulder made the world tilt. He gripped frantically for the reins, his gelding tossing its head against the tug on its mouth, but the thin lengths of leather weren't enough to keep Ren in the saddle. He landed hard on his shoulder in the muddy grass. Horses danced around him and he curled up, wrapping his arms around his head. He'd dropped his sword. A horse kicked him in the back. He had to get up. He had to-

  A hand gripped Ren by the arm and yanked him upright so fast that he nearly lost his balance again, but the warm, wet flank of a horse was there to stop him from falling. Ren braced his hands against the animal, pushing as hard as he could. He waited for the pain of a sword's sharp edge, but none came.

  “Ren
, stop!”

  The voice was close. Close and familiar.

  He looked up.

  Anik's eyes were hard as stone, sword gripped in the hand that wasn't holding onto Ren's. Anik's focus turned to Ren's shoulder where his strike had landed, jaw tight. “What the fuck, Ren! You can't sneak up on me like that.”

  Ren's jaw fell open, but no words came out. He followed Anik's gaze and saw blood mixing with the mud on his sleeve. The words he really wanted to say weren't the ones that came out. “You cut me.”

  Anik let go of his arm. “I got you with the flat of the blade. It could be worse. Get up.”

  “I didn't-” Ren trailed off.

  Anik reached down for him.

  Ren looked around, bending to pick up his sword before taking Anik's hand, letting him pull him up onto the back of his horse. He settled against Anik's back, his mind still reeling.

  Anik was here. He had come back. Ren had no idea why, but he knew that if Anik wanted to keep his oath and kill him, he could have done it seconds ago, and he hadn't. Ren couldn't help the wave of relief that filled him, the feeling so good that he could almost forget how uncomfortable he was, soaked to the bone and aching.

  Around them, the fight died down. Facing a doubled force, the enemy Skarlans stood no chance. Ren watched as a pair of Lowlanders he hadn't seen before dismounted and gripped the remaining Skarlans by the hair, tilting their heads back and slitting their throats with their swords. Ren averted his gaze. Someone cheered.

  Valkon and some of the others approached the new Lowlanders and exchanged greetings and friendly gestures, clasping the hands and patting the backs of people they recognized.

  “So?” Anik twisted in the saddle. His expression was one of absurd joy, even pride, when he looked at Ren.

  Ren stared at him. Anik had left without a word, given away his sword, and disappeared for a week and now he looked at Ren as if nothing had happened. Suddenly, Ren remembered the look in Anik's eyes the last time they had spoken. The horror and disgust. You're his son.