by Brian Fuller
“Leave her be, for pity’s sake, Dason,” Gen chided him. “The black eye will heal, and you’ll have your looks back. Help me find a couple of straight branches for a litter.” Dason scowled at him but complied.
They stayed near the grieving Queen, and Gen ached for her. His time with her had taught him that she feared one thing above all—to prove a failure and doom the world. While any rational creature would never assign her any blame in the day’s events, he knew her diffident heart pounded her with guilt. He understood what it was to feel as she did, and it had taken a great deal to pull himself out that hole.
She needs her mother, and she needs a purpose, he thought.
While Dason cleared a branch, Gen crossed to her and removed his cloak. “Chalaine, listen to me. This cloak is special. We will make your litter with it, but do not lose it. It is elven and imbued with magic. By its power we were able to survive the fall from Echo Hold. It can be very useful in the right places.”
“Then you keep it,” she said. “You should take your stones back, too.”
The numb apathy in her voice shocked him. “No. Mikkik is not going to come for me, Chalaine. He wants you.”
“Why? I am unimportant. Chertanne is the one who had Eldaloth’s blood.”
Gen furrowed his brow. “What?”
“Padra Athan explained it to us. It was a part of the Apocraphon they kept hidden. Chertanne’s blood was what held the power to destroy Mikkik.”
Gen sat as he absorbed the information, trying to puzzle something out that tickled in the back of his mind, but the Chalaine’s renewed weeping pulled him back to her.
Leaning close, he whispered so only she could hear. “Chalaine, please. Nothing that has happened today is your fault! It’s more mine than anyone’s! Even if you had done something wrong, I would not love you less. If you had never borne the title of Chalaine or been as beautiful as every sunny spring day piled on top of each other, I still would have fallen in love with you in that canyon. I know it was a mistake you fault me for, but I could hardly help it. Please remember that while all of Ki’Hal only knows you as the Chalaine, there are those of us who know you as much more.”
She hugged him fiercely. Dason returned quickly, frowning.
“What did you say to her?” he asked grumpily.
Gen disentangled himself from her arms and stood. “Just the truth, Dason, just the truth. Be at ease.”
“Ho!” Torbrand shouted some distance off. “Gen! We have a problem!”
“You cannot do this! There are too many!” the Chalaine yelled a short while later, voice hoarse and frantic with desperation. Rather than the friendly forces of Rhugoth marching to their aid, a column of Mikkik’s host two thousand strong surged up the canyon. Torband mentioned a narrow gap where they might bottle the army for some time, and Gen had decided immediately—he and Torbrand would buy escape time while Falael and Dason bore the Chalaine away.
Gen smiled at her as he and Shadan Khairn adjusted and tightened their armor. Gen’s eyes were hard and resolute, while Torbrand’s lit up with childlike anticipation. The heat of the late summer afternoon beaded sweat upon their brows.
“Don’t worry, Chalaine,” the Shadan said happily. “We can hold the gap for a good long while. I give us one chance in four of surviving the entire onslaught, unless they have magic, in which case I calculate one in ten.”
“Listen to me, Gen,” the Chalaine pleaded from her litter. Her veil obscured the tears sliding down her face, but the pain in her voice could not be hidden. “Two cannot stand against two thousand! Please don’t do this. Please, Gen. Obey me just this once.”
Preparations done, Gen crossed to her and took her hand, eyes clear with purpose.
“Chalaine, we must hold them until your mother’s army arrives. Torband and I are the only ones who have a chance to stall them.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Chertanne is dead now, Chalaine. Happiness and love is at last yours to have.” He drew her eyes to Dason scowling nearby. “I will see it done. Never forget that you are the best of women, and that I am never wrong. Farewell.” He grinned affectionately at her and stood. In her grief, the Chalaine lay back, limbs flaccid as if the bones had been pulled from her body.
“Dason,” Gen said, “may I have a word?” Dason nodded, and Gen stepped apart with him. “Dason, the plan was to meet with Mirelle’s army and climb out of the canyon on a path to the south that I told you about. From there, we were to head south until we passed the Kord Forest and then strike west for Tolnor and Rhugoth. It is quite possible that Harband’s army was defeated by what approaches us now. If so, you must make the journey alone.”
“I understand.”
“Also, the Chalaine will need you in the coming days. You know how she tortures herself. She has an affection for you that will be important.”
Dason nodded. “I have always loved her, Gen. You know that. You do not think to survive this day, do you?”
“No, and you shouldn’t be too optimistic about your chances, either. Please don’t tell the Chalaine that, if you would.”
“Of course. I will praise your memory for this last sacrifice.”
Gen returned to the Chalaine’s litter and knelt beside her, taking her hand. “You must survive. If you chance to see your mother before I do, tell her that I love her and that I am sorry. Will you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. I leave you with my love. Make haste.”
“And I leave you with mine,” she returned. “Come back to me, Gen. Please don’t throw your life away.”
Gen smiled at her and turned to the others. “Get going, Falael, Dason. Go as fast as you can, in case the Hunters get by us.”
Torbrand ascended to the gap while Gen watched Dason and the elf lift the litter and go. A sadness overcame him momentarily, but he had done everything he could to secure a pleasant future for the Chalaine in their poor circumstances. As her litter disappeared into the trees at the first switchback, he joined the newly reinstated Shadan between the two massive red stones that formed the sides of the gap.
“How long do you think we have?” Gen asked, rechecking his armor.
“By the dust, the main body will arrive shortly. We may see Hunters any moment now. They will be the most important to kill in the short term. If it comes to it, we let the slower ones pass.”
Gen nodded in agreement.
“So tell me, Gen,” the Shadan asked. “Are you really the Ilch?”
“Yes.”
Torbrand shook his head and smiled. “I thought the story a concoction to discredit you for a long time. Does that mean you can use Trysmagic?”
“Not anymore. Mikkik stripped the ability from me.”
“Pity. That would have improved our odds. Should we stand and intimidate them or hide and ambush them?”
“Hide. If we are out in the open, the archers may be able to pick at us from a distance.”
“I concur.” The Shadan breathed out heavily, excitement playing upon his features. “I confess, this is perhaps the most alive I have felt in years.”
“And while you are confessing,” Gen said as he pulled himself out of sight behind the rock opposite from Khairn, “explain to me how you can be brutal and cruel to everyone on Ki’Hal yet treat Mena as if she were a goddess of some sweet religion unknown to the rest of us?”
“Ah, Gen, you should know better. Love is capricious! I first saw Mena when she was five years old placing my wine before me at dinner. I cannot explain how her dark looks and innocent, fierce eyes threw a net over my heart, nor do I wish to understand it. I think understanding would ruin it. She was the dearest of my soul from that instant, and I have labored to elevate her against her culture. My affection for her came from no will of mine and was contrary to my nature. It was meant to be just as the sun was meant to shine or the wind to blow. That’s the best explanation I have.”
Gen grinned and turned his gaze to canyon. The sound of marching feet and the pattering U
yumaak swelled as they army narrowed the distance. “So you think we have one chance in four?”
“Of course not. This will see us both dead. The only question is how long we can hold out, which is a question I am quite excited to find the answer to. As for my bogus odds, the Chalaine seemed so overwrought that I thought I might soften the blow of your demise a bit so she would be quiet and leave. I really can’t abide such blubbering.”
“And here I thought you had at last learned to be considerate.”
“No. Isn’t it strange that if you give people even the smallest sliver of hope they will grasp it and build their lives and dreams around it, regardless of how ridiculous and unreasonable it is? Owing to our illustrious reputations, the Chalaine and her companions probably think we really do have one chance in four.” He paused, the din of the Uyumaak horde complicating their conversation. “Any regrets, Gen?”
“Plenty, and none I wish to talk about.”
“I have just one: I never got to fight you. I so hoped that you would do the noble thing and challenge me during the birthday celebration in Rhugoth.”
“You shouldn’t have been so persuasive in your letter, then.”
“Was it good? I’ve always felt I was a rather pedestrian writer.”
A skittering on the loose gravel on the other side of the rocks ended their banter and brought them to the ready.
“Fight well,” Torbrand shouted, and as one they charged the gap.
The first two Hunters met the men’s blades at a full gallop up the hill, falling beheaded without a chance of defense. Gen and Torbrand yelled at the top of their lungs as they waded into the midst of the vanguard. So fierce was their initial assault that the army stopped, the Hunter advance hastily retreating backward. Gen and the Shadan returned up the incline and hid behind the rocks.
“That will give them something to think about.” Torbrand grinned. “How many did you kill?”
“Seven.”
“Ha! I downed eight. One thousand nine hundred eighty-five to go. Did you see a Chukka or a Shaman?”
“No.”
“Me neither,” Torbrand yelled over the thumping and pattering that erupted from their enemies. “Well, they are cooking up something. If they use magic, we are done for.”
“Yes,” Gen agreed, “but they won’t try it yet. They have no idea what is waiting for them on the other side of this hill, and they’ll save their strength. Let’s pick at them while they discuss their options.” They sheathed their swords and pulled bows.
“Youth first,” Torbrand offered, signaling Gen forward. Gen nocked an arrow and turned the corner, catching his first good glimpse of what they faced. The army stretched down the canyon ahead of them, disappearing behind a bend in the towering walls. Formations of Bashers, Warriors, and Archers waited anxiously as a Chukka consulted with the Hunters at the head. To Gen’s dismay, two towering Gagons hunched in the middle of the army hefting massive crossbows. Throgs loping along the flank released their yellow eyes into the air.
The target was obvious. Gen loosed the arrow at the Chukka, who turned just in time to take it in the face. Gen pulled another arrow and fired it at a nearby Throg before slipping behind cover. Torbrand went next, firing twice. As he retreated behind the boulder, a flight of arrows swarmed through the gap, clacking as they bounced around the stones. The archers kept up a steady stream of missiles to discourage any further forays into the narrow space.
“They’ve got Gagons!” the Shadan exclaimed excitedly. “I hope we get to fight one.”
Yellow eyes floated over the columnar stones of Butchers gap, staring at them and behind them before floating away.
“Now they know we’re alone,” Gen commented calmly. He dropped his bow and drew his sword.
The Shadan followed suit. “Gen, in all your reading, did it ever mention if Uyumaak can feel stupid? Or perhaps display admiration for a clever foe?”
“No. The momentary genius of our little ruse is lost on them all, unless they have any Chukkas left.”
Heavier, slower footsteps approaching signaled the arrival of a company of Warriors.
The Shadan laughed. “Sounds like they sent about twenty to clear us out. You ready, Gen? This will be interesting. If we get through this, they will be angry. Don’t let them push you back if you can help it. Only two or three can fit through the gap at once.”
As before, Gen and Torbrand broke cover and killed the first four with such speed that the rest flinched backward. The meaty Warriors held massive clubs and thick, hide-covered round shields, and once over the initial shock, they clumped together and charged. Gen knew he had to be careful not to be lured forward away from the gap, allowing his enemies to surround him, but he also couldn’t allow too much daylight between the Warriors and himself, lest the Archers find a clear shot. The Warriors, in their haste and anger, didn’t let him ponder the particulars of strategy.
A wicked sidearm club swing whistled over his head and hit the red sandy rock of Butchers gap, sending chunks of the weak stone showering around him. Gen thrust upward, gutting his opponent and chopping down another at the knees as he dodged the falling corpse. The next threw its club—Gen whirling away—and then charged, hoping to catch his human foe off balance. Against a slower opponent, the Uyumaak’s gambit may have succeeded, but Gen’s reflexes were too quick, and he simply stepped aside and slashed a deep cut across the creature’s back.
The Shadan met a club with his sword, grunting as he absorbed the force, disengaged and chopped deeply into a Warrior’s side. As it fell he stepped back and let the next Uyumaak over-swing and miss, cleaving its skull before it could recover. As the initial wave turned back, Gen and the Shadan pressed the attack forward, their footing tricky as they negotiated steps between the corpses. Not one of the Uyumaak Warriors had encountered such skill at arms, and the alacrity of the two men’s assault rendered any attempt or thought of retreat impossible. Twenty Uyumaak warriors lay dead at the two men’s feet, and they retreated behind the boulders as more arrows sped toward them, chipping away more stone and lodging in the creatures that were dead or dying in the gap.
After a few moments the arrows stopped, and the Uyumaak again communicated amongst themselves. The Shadan and Gen grabbed their bows and fired two shots each before the archers pinned them again.
The Shadan turned to Gen, face and armor covered in gore. “If you hit your targets, we are down to one thousand nine hundred fifty-seven . . . I think. Any guess as to what they will do next?”
Gen tightened a shoulder strap. “If they have a brain among them, they’ll just send the army forward in a steady stream. They must realize we aren’t inexhaustible. It’s almost like they are afraid to fully commit to pressing forward.”
“It’s quite possible,” the Shadan shouted over the noise, “that they think this is part of some ploy despite our apparent lack of support. Two people defying an army this size is too ridiculous to be true to them.” The slapping and thumping stopped. “Let’s see what they decided.”
They both peeked around the edge of the rocks. The army had split to allow an enormous Gagon to lumber forward surrounded by a ring of squat Bashers carrying battle-axes. Gen swallowed hard as he pulled back. He judged they had at least a minute to consider their options. The Gagon's massive black crossbow hung in muscular, four-digit hands swaying at its side.
“What do you think, Gen?” Torbrand asked, eyes alight with anticipation.
“Crouch, wait for its head to clear the rocks, and shoot its eyes. If we can blind it, we can try to deal with the Bashers while it stumbles about. With any luck, we can kill the thing and get it to fall in the gap.”
The approach of the Gagon drowned out any further attempt at strategy. Its footsteps boomed amid the clang and clatter of its squat entourage, and as it neared the gap, it stopped, head telescoping forward to survey its prey.
Gen and Torbrand fired their arrows toward the eyes, Gen’s finding its mark while Torbrand’s deflected off the bony
skull. The creature stumbled backward, dropping its crossbow and crushing one of the Bashers with a wide, three-toed foot. A drumbeat from behind was the signal, and the Bashers charged the gap while the Gagon collected itself.
“Cut the bowstring on the crossbow!” Gen shouted as he rammed his sword into the eye slits of a Basher helmet. As if sensing their intent, the Bashers clumped in front of the weapon, protecting it and the suffering Gagon.
Gen doubted that if he were to live another twenty years he would find himself in a fight that rivaled the one he now sought to survive. While slow, the Bashers struck with deep power. Parrying their heavy axes would be as useless as it would be fatal, so the Shadan and Gen danced around the gap, using speed and movement to confuse their foes. Within seconds, however, the Gagon had recovered, grasping its weapon and firing it at the Shadan. The heavy thwack of the bolt’s release momentarily stalled the fighting, the massive projectile crashing with terrific force into the red sandstone to the Shadan’s right.
The bolt hit shoulder-high and at a slant, grit and rocks exploding from the impact point. In the confusion that followed, the Bashers were able to push the two defenders backward out of the gap. Blood ran down the Shadan’s face where some of the fragments had cut him, though Gen couldn’t watch him long enough to assess the damage. A low swing bit through the armor on his thigh, pain shooting up his leg. He retaliated by chopping into the narrow space between the Basher’s helmet and shoulder armor.
The Gagon tossed its weapon down and swung a heavy fist at Gen, who rolled to avoid it. The ground shook at the blow, and Gen stood quickly, jumping away from another ax-blow aimed at his knee and feeling another Basher flanking him. Desperately, Gen swung his sword at a Basher in front of him, hitting its helmet hard enough to stun it and knock it aside. Then he took a chance.
In a desperate gambit, he sprinted between the muscled legs of the Gagon and into the relative clear between the gap and the rest of the army. The Gagon’s head twisted about, trying to use its one eye to find its escaping quarry. The Shadan, finding himself alone, retreated farther backward. Gen watched the army closely and saw what he had hoped for—the archers taking a careful bead on him.
