Caymus felt his heart stop in his chest when the figure's gaze fell on him, looked directly at the boulder he was hiding behind.
Everything had just gone horribly wrong.
The black, horned figure lifted the sword from its back, pointed it at Caymus's hiding spot, and yelled something in an alien tongue.
The soldiers of Black Moon broke their strange formation, screamed awful battle cries, and started scrabbling up the sides of the ravine.
CHAPTER 19
"Hold your ground!" Even from dozens of yards away, over the sounds of a charging army, the prince's voice rang out clear. Caymus needed no such instruction, though. He stood, waiting, allowing the soldiers to get closer to him before acting. He looked around himself, trying to find everybody. He, Garrin, Mally, and Big Grant were on this side of the ravine. He could make out Bigger Grant on the other side, but Cyrus, Harrison, and Bernie were nowhere to be seen.
He wondered what the others must have been thinking about him in that moment. Obviously, whoever this figure at the bottom of the slope was, he had been able to sense Caymus's presence. Caymus reasoned he must be the leader of Black Moon, the one that varied so much in description. He cursed himself for a fool: he hadn't considered that the enemy might be able to feel him as easily as he could feel them, and that lack of consideration was about to cost them their lives.
Caymus planted his feet solidly onto the ground, making sure he was standing on deeply-buried rock, then placed both hands against the side of his boulder. Still, he watched and waited as the soldiers approached. They wielded various implements, from swords and shields, to maces, to scythes, as though each man had simply been plucked out of whatever life he had been leading and thrown into the army on the spot. Most of these men didn't appear to be far along in whatever process it was that converted their flesh to kreal. He supposed it made sense, in a sadistic sort of way, to send in the weakest, the most expendable, first.
The soldiers were close enough that Caymus could make out the expressions on their faces, could read their desire to kill, before Garrin finally gave the order. "Now!"
Caymus shoved hard against the boulder, dislodging it and sending it rolling down the slope toward the attackers. As soon it was moving, he bent down to strike the pommel of his sword against the firing flint at his feet. The resulting sparks ignited a quick-burn fuse that traveled down to the rolling boulder as it made its way down to the advancing forms. The kreal-infected soldiers began diving out of the boulder's way, trying to jump to safety, but just as the huge stone reached their line, the fuse reached the graysilt that nestled in a cavity inside and the mass exploded, pelting the figures with sharp, heavy pieces of rock.
Caymus didn't see the explosion, having turned and run up the slope as soon as he'd hit the flint, but the whooshes and screams behind him told him that the plan was working. A few more explosions and a deep, rumbling sound followed, and he chanced a look over his shoulder to see a large section of the ravine falling down on his pursuers. The falling rocks and sand wouldn't bury the army, as they'd hoped, but at least it would take a few of them out and keep them from giving chase for a minute or two.
As he willed his legs to pump harder, to carry him up the slope, he looked back again. Several of the soldiers were still following him, having been above the line of the landslide when it had begun, but the falling sand and stone seemed to be cutting off the pursuit of most of the army. Most importantly, a group of archers near the bottom of the slope, who were even now loosing a volley of arrows, were directly in the path of several large boulders. They might each get off a shot or two, but no more than that.
As he slammed his boots hard against the ground, Caymus suddenly wished he hadn't left his shield with the horses. He very much wanted to have it hanging on his back in that moment.
Even as he'd formed the thought, two arrows landed in front of him, burying themselves in the dirt, just past their points. Despite the tumult of noise near the bottom of the ravine, he was also able to pick out the sounds of a few arrows landing behind him. He was just starting to count himself exceptionally lucky when he felt a heavy thud against the back of his right shoulder and had to reach out to keep himself from stumbling to the ground. He winced. There was no pain—not yet, anyway—but he'd definitely been hit.
When he was near the top of the ridge, he looked up, expecting to see only more sand and rock. Instead, he saw Mally there, beckoning him on. "Come on, Caymus!" he shouted. "Move!" Mally extended a hand out as Caymus reached the top, helping to pull him up the last few feet.
Caymus was about to continue on down the other side of the slope, but Mally put a gentle hand against him. "We stand here," he said, an incredible amount of calm in his voice. Caymus, surprised, met the man's gaze as he continued. "You and me," he said. He pointed down the other side of the slope, and Caymus followed the finger to see Garrin and Big Grant making their way down, heading toward the mounts they'd hidden in the rocks beyond. "We're going to give him time to get to the horses. Any objections?"
Caymus met Mally's eyes again and saw the intensity in them. He expected Caymus to do this, to stand with him against the few soldiers who would make it past the landslide, to give the prince—his friend—time to get away. For a moment, Caymus wondered what Amalwyn might do if he actually said no.
He didn't say no, though. Instead, he smiled, finding himself pleased at the thought of getting to meet the enemy head-on. "No objections," he said, then he turned to watch the men coming up the hill.
Six of them were now closing the distance. Caymus pulled his longsword, the one Be'Var had given him on their journey from the Temple and which was now sharpened, free of its scabbard, again wishing he'd brought his shield.
"You've got an arrow in your shoulder," Mally said, matter-of-factly, not looking at him.
"Yeah," said Caymus, also keeping his eyes on the oncoming soldiers. "How bad is it?"
In response, Mally reached around behind him and yanked the arrow free. Caymus expected some manner of pain, but none came. "Didn't even get through the strap," Mally said, throwing the arrow down. "You got iron in that thing?"
Caymus nodded, thankful that he hadn't bothered to remove the leather straps that he used keep his shield on his back, which did contain a few metal plates for sturdiness. At least he'd brought that much protection along.
"You ready for this?" Mally's voice was low, controlled, yet forceful. His meaning was clear: this was to protect the prince. If Caymus wasn't ready, then he'd had no business being here in the first place.
"Ready," he replied.
In fact, he found himself preparing for the fight in more ways than he'd experienced before. Not only was he adopting a modified stance, accommodating the fact that he didn't have his shield with him, but he found that his breathing was slowing, that he was becoming intensely focused on the men coming up the hill.
The six men were about ten yards away. They seemed to be moving in slow-motion, and Caymus was surprised at how much detail he was picking out. Not one of them was particularly dark of skin, and thus couldn't have been under the influence of the kreal for very long. Caymus imagined that they might still be as vulnerable to a blade as a normal man, that they might not have built up the impermeability to steel that seemed to be such a large part of the kreal's nature. He was glad for that; it meant that Mally might be able to take one or two of them down.
Two of the men seemed fitter than the others, not breathing as heavily as they made their way uphill. They seemed to move with greater grace and elegance, too, as though they had more experience in battle. Caymus decided to be particularly wary of these two, to cut them down first, if possible.
One of them, the one furthest to the right, had a hitch in his gait. He didn't seem to be injured, rather Caymus suspected that one of his legs was slightly shorter than the other, that he wasn't able to run with the same efficiency of motion as most people. He would move in unpredictable ways, and so he should be watched closely, also.
The six men, five yards away now, weren't dressed in any sort of uniform, nor did they carry similar weapons. Other than the fact that they all seemed to have some degree of ash-colored skin, they didn't seem to have very much in common at all. Caymus wondered if the men had even known each other before the Black Moon Army had come into their lives. Had they been part of a mercenary group, perhaps? Had they been ordinary men, pressed into service by an invading element? Their weapons didn't even seem as though they had equal levels of care given to them.
That was when he noticed the slight sheen on the edges of the blades. The four swords and the scythe of the first five men, as well as the points of the morningstar of the sixth, all carried the same sickly black color. He'd seen that before, and had nearly died because of it.
"Watch the blades," he said, just loud enough for Mally to hear. "They're poisoned."
Mally didn't have time to respond before the men were on them.
Two of the men struck out at Mally. The other four went after Caymus, presumably thinking his great size necessitated extra force. They didn't seem to know how to work together. They got in each other’s way. One of the men edged another out of position, so eager was he to strike out at his enemy, and the result was that neither of them got in a good swing. The third and fourth men, each wielding longswords, thrust out at him with their tainted blades, trying to score a hit, but neither did so very effectively. Caymus easily stepped away from the first two weapons. He parried the other two with a single arc of his sword, then kicked out at the fourth man, sending him tumbling down the slope.
The krealite men continued to move with incredible slowness, allowing Caymus the initiative in the fight. Before they could react to his defense, he was already attacking, dropping low and spinning so as to put momentum into his swing. The third man's leg fell away below the knee and he, too, fell down into the ravine.
The remaining two managed to spread apart a few feet, disengaging from one another so as to get out of each other’s way. Caymus, still crouched, took stock. The one on the left was one of the fitter men; his skin seemed to be just a little bit darker than that of the other. Taking a step forward, the man lunged out in an overhand swing, which Caymus deflected, once again standing to his full height. He barely avoided the thrust of the second man, twisting his abdomen so the blade missed him by less than an inch. He cursed himself for forgetting about the unusual ways in which that attacker, the one with the odd gait, might move. Never mind the poisoned blade, if that thrust had been an inch to the left, it would have pierced his liver.
Caymus had a split-second to decide which man to go after: the first man, fitter and darker-skinned, or the second, less predictable one. The second man made the decision easy for him when he left his sword-hand extended an instant too long. Caymus stepped closer to him and grabbed the second man's arm with his off-hand, then, having the opponent thus restrained, smashed the pommel of his sword into his face with as much force as he could muster. The pommel crushed through bone and cartilage and the second man went limp.
The first man, believing Caymus's guard to be down, didn't waste any time in taking another swing. Caymus, using the restrained arm and buried pommel for leverage, spun and tucked himself behind the second man's body, using him as a shield. When the first man pulled his sword free of the second man's flesh, Caymus threw the lifeless body at him.
Caymus and his remaining foe both backed away a couple of steps, and Caymus used the moment to see how Mally was doing. His ears had been hearing the sounds of steel against steel, but he hadn't had a chance to get a good look before now.
Mally's first opponent was down on the ground, blood seeping into the dirt, but he was currently trading blows with the other.
No. Mally was actually landing blow after blow against his opponent, but the blade wasn't biting. The man—the other "fit" man—seemed to be far along enough in his transformation to not have to worry about swords.
Both opponents, Mally's and Caymus's, seemed, in fact, to have about the same hue of ashen skin, not as dark as those in the scout's vision, but apparently dark enough. Immediately, Caymus changed his stance. This was a krealite, rather than fully human, opponent, and fighting him required different tactics.
He stood with his sword out in front of him, his feet evenly spaced, facing his enemy. Caymus waited for him to move. The man seemed aware that something in his enemy's perception had changed though, and he acted more slowly, more cautiously, than he had before.
Caymus waited. He could make a feint, of course, try to throw his opponent off-balance, but he'd have the best chance of defeating this thing quickly if he could respond to its attack, get his blade into the back of its neck, and make his sword bite.
Still he waited for the man to make his attack, and as precious seconds passed, he became more anxious. Mally was still fighting, his blows striking true but not taking his opponent down. Mally was a obviously the better swordsman, but Caymus knew that part of being a good swordsman was making sure to defeat your opponent before getting too exhausted. Mally wasn't used to not being able to take his man down quickly. Sooner or later, he'd tire or make a mistake, and that would be the end of it.
"Come on, burn you!" Caymus heard himself say.
For a moment, the man's eyes went wide. "Burn?" he said, so quietly that Caymus wasn't sure he'd actually heard it or just read the man's lips. Before he could question the reaction, though, the ringing of steel stopped and he heard a cry escape Mally's lips.
Panic set in. "No!" Caymus heard himself say. He glanced over at Mally, who had a shortsword, up to the hilt, in his gut and was falling to his knees.
Caymus's opponent took the moment of distraction as an opportunity and pressed his attack. Caymus, ready for the man, brushed the blade away with his own, stepped to the right, past him, then placed the tip of his blade against the back of the man's neck and pushed.
The sharp steel slid home, just as it had in his Conflagration training ground.
The final Black Moon soldier watched Caymus with wide eyes. He put a foot on Mally's chest and pulled his sword free, but it was already too late for him. Caymus was there, finding the soft spot under his left armpit, and pressing his blade home.
When the final soldier lay at his feet, Caymus took a moment to look for other opponents to battle. His blood was throbbing through his veins and he wanted badly to fight someone, but nobody was coming. Rather, the bulk of the Black Moon Army was regrouping from an onslaught of sand and boulders at the bottom of the ravine. Nobody else was coming any time soon.
Sheathing his sword, he turned his attention to Mally, who was lying on his side, his hand at his abdomen. His breathing was rapid. His eyes were wide with shock, with disorientation, with fear.
Caymus didn't like seeing fear in Mally's eyes. The world seemed wrong if Amalwyn Cove could be afraid.
He looked at the wound and felt his heart drop into his stomach. He'd thought he might be able to burn the kreal out of Mally's body, as he had his own, but there was too much blood. The blade must have transected a major blood vessel. Be'Var might have been able to stop the bleeding; Caymus didn't have the talent.
Still, he reached out to Mally with his thoughts. If he couldn't heal the wound, he could at least burn the poisonous kreal out and spare the man the pain that came with it.
He quickly discovered, however, that there was no kreal, no poison in Mally's body. Caymus opened his eyes, startled. He looked to one side and picked up the sword that had pierced Mally, so recently fallen from its owner's hand. Examining the blade, he discovered there was no kreal there, either. What'd he'd thought was a sheen of dark poison had turned out to be a simple coat of black paint. What could that mean? Were the Black Moon soldiers just trying to make their enemies think their blades were poisoned? Why would they do that?
Caymus's thoughts were interrupted when he felt a bloody hand grab his wrist. Mally was exhaling hard, as though the simple act of breathing forcefully enough might
keep him alive. Caymus dropped the sword. He still couldn't believe this was happening. It wasn't fair.
"I'm so sorry, Mally, I can't stop it," he said, holding onto the shoulders of a man whom he'd begun to think of as a friend in the last couple of days, a friend whom he'd just gotten killed by the simple act of being here, of being a lightning rod for Black Moon. He closed his eyes. If only he hadn't come. If he'd just stayed back in Kepren, that figure, that horrific leader of the krealite army, wouldn't have known he was there. The trap would have worked, and Mally wouldn't be dying.
He felt arms grabbing at his shirt and shoulders, and he opened his eyes again. Mally's pupils were so large, his face so panicked, that Caymus wouldn't have been surprised to discover that he couldn't see anymore, and yet those eyes were looking right at him. "You have to keep him safe, Caymus!" he shouted, his words hoarse with strain. Rivulets of blood streamed from his lips. "He's all that matters. You promise me you will keep him safe!"
There was no doubt whom he was talking about.
"I will, Mally," he said, softly, his hands reaching up to take the ones holding his shirt. "I'll keep Garrin safe."
"On your life!" Mally said, somehow finding the strength to pull himself up, closer. "Swear it on your life, Caymus!"
Caymus couldn't stand being in that moment. In the short time he'd known Mally, he'd come to respect him as a fine leader, a loyal friend…a good man. Now he was going to have to watch him die. He felt his eyes getting wet. "I swear it."
He wasn't sure if Mally actually heard the words. The life went out of his face in that very instant, his hands released their grip, and his body fell back on the ground.
Caymus knelt there awhile—he wasn't sure how long—not sure what to do. He felt like he was drowning, sorrow and guilt flooding over him. Garrin's closest friend was dead, and Caymus had been the one that had gotten him killed. Would the prince ever forgive him? Should he?
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