Trial And Glory (Book 3)

by Joshua P. Simon

  He craned his neck. What does the inside look like?

  Harq hissed something. Drake realized the Kifzo had been trying to get his attention. “Yes?”

  “I said, what are your orders?” Harq spat the last word like a curse, obviously upset that Kaz would have him follow someone not of their people.

  “Well, I’d say we should get inside first, don’t you?”

  Harq grunted. “Stay here then. You make too much noise.”

  Harq gestured silently to his squad. They moved until they stood at the gate. After taking a moment to look inside, they signaled Drake and Wiqua over.

  Drake hurried, eyes darting as he approached. He noticed the gate had been left slightly ajar. Harq gestured inside. Several guards lay in the dirt of an elaborate garden. Weapons rested next to them. Blood covered their clothes.

  Though they hadn’t run into any enemy yet, it appeared that some had managed to reach the palace ahead of them after all.

  Lucia. He gulped, knowing what many invaders would do to a beautiful woman during a time of war. Especially one as known as she.

  “We have to hurry. Do you know where Lucia’s quarters are?”

  “Roughly,” said Harq. “I’ve only been inside once and that was before construction finished.”

  “Good enough. We’ll start there.”

  Harq set off. The rest of the squad followed except one Kifzo who took the rear behind Drake and Wiqua.

  The interior of the palace confirmed Drake’s suspicions. Stairways and corridors twisted and turned with little rhyme or reason. Though Harq pretended otherwise, Drake noticed the Kifzo got turned around at least twice. He almost questioned Harq’s decisions until they ran across several more dead bodies of what looked to be servants.

  They froze as the sound of men laughing comingled with the screams of a woman. Harq raised his hand in what Drake assumed had been an attempt to discuss the situation. He ignored the gesture, rushing past the Kifzo, and darting through the open doorway.

  Two warriors held down a large woman, while a warrior, naked from the waist down bucked atop her nude frame. Six others watched, laughing and cheering.

  Nine? One Above, what was I thinking.

  He looked at the screeching woman.

  I was thinking that was Lucia.

  His nerve began to leave him when he saw the woman did not fit Kaz’s description of his wife. He stopped, hesitant to continue his charge alone until his eyes caught the pleading look of helplessness in the poor woman’s face.

  Her identity shouldn’t matter.

  He rushed forward, voice cracking as he screamed in anger. The group turned, fumbling for weapons.

  Drake rammed the warrior closest to him through the gut with his sword. Blood poured out of the gaping hole as he drew the blade clear. The warrior clutched at his waist and fell.

  Something pushed him off his feet. Harq stood in his place deflecting the stroke of another warrior that had attacked Drake from behind. The rest of the Kifzo had entered the room, each engaged with at least one opponent.

  The invaders outnumbered the four Kifzo, but the Kifzo quickly took advantage, slaying with the same ferocity Drake had been in awe of at the High Pass. A warrior in yellow armor ran at him, thrusting his saber. Drake parried the attack, feigned low and struck high slicing into the man’s throat.

  The warrior croaked some inaudible curse as crimson gushed past his lips. He collapsed.

  Drake readied for the next man, but none came. The squad of Kifzo stood over the lacerated bodies of those yellow warriors, gore dripping from their blades. Drake noticed his own breathing had quickened. His beating heart felt like it might burst from his chest.

  Harq grunted. “That took guts. Stupid, though.”

  Drake blew out a quiet breath, realizing how close he had come to dying. “Yeah.” Fighting hand-to-hand didn’t hold the same appeal as working a catapult.

  Harq pointed to the warrior at Drake’s feet. “That move you used was Kifzo. How did you learn it?”

  “Kaz taught me.”

  The Kifzo nodded in what appeared to be approval. He gestured to the woman. Wiqua kneeled next to her. “Just a servant. You wasted your time.”

  “Servant or not, would you want someone to do that to your mother? Or your sister?”

  Harq grunted.

  Drake walked over to the woman. Wiqua held her hand while speaking in a soft voice.

  “How is she?”

  “I’ve healed her physically. But only time can help the worst of her wounds.”

  The woman’s breathing gradually slowed. “I’m sorry for what happened to you,” said Drake in Heshan.

  “Who are you?” She reached out, touching the exposed skin of his cheek, and then flinched as if she expected it to burn her.

  Now I know how Kaz must have felt.

  “I’m no one.”

  “That’s not true. You saved me.” She tremulously smiled. “Thank you.”

  “I’m looking for Lucia. Is she hiding somewhere in the palace?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want with her?”

  “Her husband sent me here in order to see to her safety.”

  She snorted. “Kaz is dead.”

  “He’s alive, woman,” said Harq.

  Confirmation from the Kifzo seemed to be enough to ease her doubt. “She packed and left two days ago.”

  “Where to?”

  “She didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Does she have family or friends she might go to?”

  “An uncle and an aunt, but she rarely speaks of them. I don’t think they’re on the best of terms.”

  “Do you know where they live?”

  “Somewhere in the Warehouse District. I don’t know anything more specific.”

  Drake looked to Harq. “How far away is that?”

  “Not far. But it covers a large area. It won’t be easy to find her.”

  “I didn’t expect it to be.”

  * * *

  “One Above, we’re lost, aren’t we?” asked Senald.

  Probably.

  “Nope,” said Raker. “We’re right where I want us to be.”

  “But I thought you were working toward the main thoroughfare.”

  I was. Fighting sounded nearby. Saved. He pointed. “Senald, get up that drainpipe, and tell me what’s going on.”

  Senald cast him a look but obeyed the order. He scurried up the drainpipe, climbed a slanted roof, and perched at the top of a chimney. Within a few moments he rushed back, sliding down the drainpipe in a matter of seconds.

  “About a hundred dressed in yellow are heading our way. We need to get moving.”

  Raker spat. “We’ll never outrun them with the equipment.”

  “Then we’ll have to leave it behind.”

  “Are you crazy?” He gestured at the end of the road and barked out orders to his men. “Get everything set up over there. Make sure it’s pointed this way.”

  “We can’t face that many men by ourselves,” said Senald.

  “You want us to run? You been fighting with the Hell Patrol for over two years. You know we all have to do our part.”

  “There are better ways to do our part,” Senald hissed.

  “We’re engineers. I sure can’t think of a better way to defend ourselves without our equipment. Can you? No? Now, get going and have some faith.”

  Senald scowled but as Raker expected, joined the rest of the team.

  Twenty men in all. Not the best of odds for sure. Maybe it’d be a little easier if we had a couple of them Kifzo after all. He spat. I guess we’ll just have to improvise.

  Raker called out more orders, tweaking the position of each ballista to span from one side of the street to the other. He then pushed the wagons used to lug the equipment in front of each weapon, careful that each missile had an unobstructed view of the avenue.

  During the mad rush to get things into place, Raker positioned another lookout, armed with a bow, near the drainpipe
Senald had used. He used a birdcall to signal the arrival of the enemy.

  Was that a Mytarcian swallow? What in the name of the One Above is that idiot using that for? Even if they had something similar on this continent, those things live in the mountains, not in the city.

  Raker shook his head, making a mental note to have a talk with the man so long as they both made it out alive. He looked back to his crews. “Loose only on my command. We need to time the missiles right. We go too early, they’ll move off into those side alleys farther out, and circle back on us. Too late, and we won’t get enough rounds off.”

  The horde of yellow-armored warriors appeared in the street. When they saw Raker’s men, some shouted something unintelligible and they stormed toward the engineers in a disorganized mess.

  Raker sucked his teeth. Must have already started looting. Half of them are moving like they’re drunk.

  The enemy closed with surprising speed, yelling as they ran. A less experienced man may have panicked. Raker calmly adjusted the shield over his bad arm, then unhooked his mace from his belt loop, raising it in the air. “Outer ballista only!” he bellowed as the weapon came down.

  Ropes scrapped against wood as ten missiles took flight. The missiles struck those warriors on the outside of the horde. Men flew backward from the impacts, taking out others in the rear. He waited long enough to reset the outer ballista before giving the next command. “Again!”

  Not all found their marks the second time, but the assault had the effect he wanted. The approaching mass packed closer to the middle of the road to avoid a possible third attack. He smiled and stepped aside, clearing a path for the two repeating ballista he had placed in the center.

  “Release center!”

  Two dozen shafts, one after the other, took flight. Warriors toppled like stalks of corn in a windstorm. The screams that followed came not only from those struck, but from those attempting to dodge the foreign weapons. The lookout Raker placed earlier did his part, taking out several warriors at the front of the charge with bow and arrow.

  A third of the survivors decided they wanted no part of the fight and fled back the way they came.

  The remaining warriors, some forty men, continued their charge while both the outer and inner ballista released the last of their rounds. Less than thirty men reached the wagons.

  Raker’s crew took up arms. Standing atop the wagons, they thrust with spear and sword. Raker bludgeoned two warriors during the skirmish.

  When the last of the enemy fell, he walked among the bodies littering the street. His mace cracked against the skull of a twitching warrior with a missile lodged in his spine.

  “I think he’s dead.”

  Raker looked up at Senald. “Never hurts to make sure. How’d we make out?”

  “Nok’s dead. Trist isn’t far behind.”

  “Good men. They did their jobs well.”

  “They did.” He paused. “It could have been a lot worse. I thought it was going to be.”

  “I know.”

  “So, about what I said.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I guess I should learn to stop doubting you.”

  “I’ve been trying to tell you that since day one.”

  “So now what?”

  “Well, I still hear fighting.”

  “We’re out of missiles.”

  “We might be engineers, but we’re soldiers first, and Kaz is counting on us. Leave the two carrying the worst injuries behind with bows. Have them watch over Trist. We’ll circle back when this is all over to heal or bury them.”

  Senald nodded grimly. “Alright then.”

  Raker called out to the men. “Weapons out and form up.”

  * * *

  The door flew open, slamming against the wall.

  Lucia whipped her head around as her uncle limped inside, out of breath. Her aunt let out a cry of dismay, dropped the bag she had stuffed with food and hurried to him.

  “How bad is it? I knew you would get hurt.”

  “I’m fine,” her uncle puffed, ignoring his wife’s aid as he hobbled across the room. “I just twisted an ankle running back.” He looked at the bags Lucia and her aunt had managed to fill. “Good. You’ve got most of it. That will have to do.” He reached down and opened the hidden door.

  “Is it that bad?” asked Lucia.

  “The fighting is spreading and getting closer with every minute. Hurry and get inside. We’ll start handing things to you.”

  Lucia climbed down narrow steps into darkness. Her eyes adjusted quickly as she scanned the space. Two bedrolls lay against one wall, a chair sat opposite them with shelves above. An empty chamber pot rested behind the stairs. Her uncle began handing her food and other supplies.

  A short while later, her uncle carefully lowered the hatch. He fed a small hook at the end of a stick between a crack in the door. Pulling on the stick, he slid the concealing rug back into place.

  With only the light of a dim oil lamp, the space felt even smaller. Lucia’s stomach jumped worse than it had earlier, sending a jolt into her side. She winced, using the dark to hide her pain.

  It will be alright, she thought. Just nerves. Too much is unknown.

  She felt her way over to the lone chair in the room and sat. Her uncle and aunt whispered near the stairs about what he had witnessed and the latest rumors while patrolling the streets. She blocked them out, focusing instead on breathing as the spasm passed, thinking about how her life had ended up the way it had.

  Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would find myself here.

  She continued to feel sorry for herself, not paying attention to the hushed conversation of her aunt and uncle until a name caught her attention. She bolted from her seat. “What did you say?” she asked, much louder than she intended.

  “Shhh,” her aunt scolded.

  Lucia ignored her. “Uncle, did you say something about Kaz?”

  “It’s nothing. Sit. Rest.”

  She felt her way toward him. “No. What did you say?”

  He sighed. “There are stories circulating in the streets. Apparently your husband has returned with the Kifzo that went off with Nachun. They say he is fighting with them and leading the charge against the enemy. It’s just nonsense. Rumors people like to spread in times such as these.”

  “But—” she began only to have the words ripped from her mouth in a gasp. The pain in her side had returned. It twisted and tugged. She moaned low, doubling over.

  Hands from both her aunt and uncle latched onto her.

  “What’s wrong?” asked her uncle.

  She took a deep breath, trying to straighten. “It must be something I ate. I keep getting these shooting pains.”

  She heard her aunt click her tongue against her teeth. “Describe these pains.”

  Lucia did her best, answering several follow-up questions her aunt pressed her with.

  They took her to one of the bedrolls. “Lay down, child. Then pull up your dress.”

  Lucia felt herself blush in the darkness. “I’m fine.”

  “Do as I say. I need to examine you,” her aunt snapped. “And no need for modesty. We’re family.”

  Lucia leaned back until she lay flat with knees up.

  “Now relax.”

  Her aunt examined her. A long sigh pierced the quiet.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Lucia.

  “You’re in labor.”

  Lucia blinked. “That’s impossible. The child isn’t due for three months.”

  “Even so. The child is coming. And it couldn’t have picked a worse time.” Her aunt gave orders to her husband about water and towels.

  “Can’t you do something to stop it?” pleaded Lucia

  “I’m no shaman.”

  “But I can’t have the baby now.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  * * *

  Krytien thought it best to reach the gatehouse first. There, he hoped to slow the tide of invaders and take pressure off the city�
��s defenders. However, most of the invading force had already breached the city. Only a few hundred warriors continued to climb ladders up Juanoq’s walls or traverse the mass of debris clogging the moat in front of the city’s gate.

  Still, it would be a few hundred less to worry about.

  He canted a quick spell, setting the ladders ablaze. Men jumped or fell to their deaths while trying to beat out the flames licking against their skin.

  Krytien performed another spell focused on the piles of splintered wood used by the invaders to gain entrance into the city. Logs and boards exploded outward, sending most of the broken timbers into the air. Flailing bodies of those who were crossing the moat joined the fractured logs in their flight. Each landed with a thud. The small current of the moat, fed by the Paritia Ocean, managed to clear the rest of the debris. The remaining invaders stared dumbly at the city’s walls, unable to join their brethren in the attack.

  Satisfied, Krytien teleported to where the fighting looked worse.

  The bulk of the defenders had positioned themselves in a side street, narrower and with less entry points than the main thoroughfare. Though grossly outnumbered, and clearly overmatched, the men held.

  A large man, whose mere presence commanded respect, shouted orders that rose above the cacophony of fighting. Krytien could not make out the man’s face due to the helm he wore. However, the warrior’s movements reminded him greatly of Kaz.

  The line began to fail. The warrior pushed aside two of his own men to take their place. Four of the enemy fell by his blade in a matter of seconds.

  Definitely Tobin. He’s willing them to hold. No shamans for now. But I can still help elsewhere.

  * * *

  Though his men had fought hard, fatigue began to take its toll. Despite his demands to hold and the efforts of his warriors, they continued to lose ground.

  We’ll run out of street before long. And then they’ll have us with our backs literally against a wall.

  Tobin sensed a sudden change, stronger, rejuvenated. The lines began to tighten. Men no longer tried to hold. They held.

  Something is different.