by Gwynn White
“Point me and my shotgun at the targets,” Heron said without hesitation. “I promise I won’t miss. Forever and always.”
New hope filled Axel. With Heron and Magridal at his side, he could make something of the ruffians who showed up at his door looking for wealth, adventure, and blood. He smacked Heron on the back and led the way into the chamber. Magridal, Clay, and Heron headed for Chad.
The Trevenite king leaned against the wall next to King Jerawin. Both fondled shotguns. Although a Norin sign of deference, Axel thumped his chest at them.
Chad raised his hand in greeting, and Jerawin smiled, making his tattoos dance. Axel noted that Jerawin and Chad’s commanders had separated from the paid soldiers. They stood to one side of the chamber, silently waiting for his signal to slip into the tunnels to hunt Chenayan grunts. After nine months of training with shotguns, they would find easy pickings. The Chenayans would not know what hit them.
Axel strode to the green table in the center of the room and hopped up onto it. “Silence,” he shouted.
Conversations dried up as the mercenaries turned to face him. A few even saluted. That was a start.
Axel cleared his throat and let his voice ring out. “For those who have not met me, the name is Axel Avanov, late of Emperor Lukan’s army. You can call me Warlord Avanov.”
A few men Axel had pegged as bandits or pirates chortled. He glared at them, and they fell silent.
“A week ago, the Pathfinder comet burst across our skies,” Axel continued.
He had been in contact with Jerawin while on the airship and had endured an hour-long lecture on the Pathfinder comet and the constellation that followed it, the one baby Nicholas was named after.
While he had no intention of making a public announcement about Nicholas, it was time to tell the world that change was coming. He unfurled his flag, holding it high so everyone could see the brilliant silver stars Malika had embroidered into the deep blue silk.
“For the last week as I traveled here from Cian, I’ve watched the constellation called Nicholas the Light-Bearer glide into the northern point in the sky.” He picked out the stars, ensuring his duller recruits saw the stylized image of a man holding a flaming torch on the flag. “By the end of the month, that constellation will have shifted the Dragon from top spot. The goal of our coalition, now to be called the Pathfinder Alliance, is to ensure that the events here on the ground reflect what holds sway in the sky.”
He allowed his voice to rise. “Under this flag, we will take our shotguns and drive the Dragon from these mines. From there, we will plot a course right into its heart. All who are with us say aye!”
Full-blooded shouts and the thumps of shotgun hilts hitting the ground reverberated around the chamber. Axel’s eardrums thrummed. He let the riotous shouting continue for a minute, then held up his hands for silence. It took longer than he liked for his mercenaries to still. Finally, even the wildest-looking bandit turned to listen.
“Tonight, for the first time in four hundred years, bullets will be fired on this planet. In the years to come, our grandchildren will ask why we dared allow that to happen. Let’s tell them it was to secure their freedom.”
He saluted to his crack commanders chosen to spearhead today’s conflict. “Commanders, to your platoons. Let the war begin.”
Chapter 45
Someone gasped.
Felix looked up sharply from his informa, on which he’d witnessed Axel’s speech to his commanders.
Lukan hung on the doorframe of his office, legs buckling beneath him. If Lukan’s haunted face was anything to go by, he had overheard plenty. Body trembling, Felix stood, then flopped back down into his chair and buried his face in his hands. Nothing he could say would ever undo what they had both witnessed.
Lukan broke the silence. “You knew?”
“Does one ever truly know?” Felix murmured.
“You know he can never return now.” Lukan sounded calm, way too calm.
Felix raised his head to look at his nephew. The haunted expression had changed, giving way to one of—Felix’s breath hitched—relief.
What was Lukan thinking? Did he believe that with Axel revealed as a proven traitor to the crown, Felix would throw his weight behind Lukan?
On the face of it, perhaps, but that would not stop Felix leaving the door open for Axel to recant and to return to his family—and to the throne.
“That is a given,” Felix said, voice heavy with sorrow.
Lukan slid into the chair opposite Felix’s desk. “So, now it is just the two of us. The only two in the family who are left to defend the Avanov Dragon.” He shook his head in obvious disbelief. “Until the two boys are ready to take their rightful places, of course.”
Felix’s mind whirled. And then he took a chance. “Don’t you mean ‘three,’ nephew?”
Lukan’s face drained of blood.
Felix braced himself for an outburst of rage.
Lukan sighed. “I should have known it was pointless to keep that from you.”
Months of tension slid from Felix’s shoulders.
Lukan nudged Felix’s informa on the desk. “Or from Axel, it would seem.”
“That was not my doing!” Felix said, determined to head off any more of Lukan’s suspicions. “I did everything you asked. My son figured it out all by himself.”
Lukan shrugged. “What does it matter now, as long as you and I are a team?” Dark brown eyes fixed on Felix as Lukan scanned his face.
Felix nodded his agreement.
Another deeper sigh from Lukan. “It’s up to us now to defend our empire. Are you on my side?”
Felix suppressed a smile at Lukan’s naivety. “Of course, sire.” He held out his hand to Lukan. “Care to shake on it?”
Maybe it was the result of months of isolation, but Lukan didn’t hesitate. He clasped Felix’s hand, squeezing tight. “You and me against the world.”
Chapter 46
Armored and ready for battle, Axel hopped down from his pedestal and caught the shotgun Chad threw to him. Heron and Magridal fell into step at his side, Clay trailing behind as he headed for the doorway. Magridal held a burning torch. It would be the only light to guide them to Red Cavern.
“Whereto, Warlord?” Heron asked.
Axel noted the deference in his voice. Heron was clearly beginning to soften. It prompted Axel to give a more expansive answer than he would have done when first meeting Lynx’s old beau.
“Since King Jerawin’s attack, the enemy has set up a base manned by about two hundred infantrymen at one of the mines’ entrances. It’s close to Maegkin, so they intend to use it as a staging post for sorties into the mine. Our objective is to destroy it before they can establish a meaningful foothold. Our forces are already in place at Red Cavern, about two hours’ walk from here. They just await their commanders. When we rendezvous, we will attack.” Axel glanced at Heron. “The big question is whether you and Clay will be part of that assault.”
Clay’s breath hitched, and he opened his mouth to speak. Heron clamped his hand on the boy’s arm, and Clay fell silent. Axel prepared for Heron’s objection on Clay’s behalf.
“Why would that be a question, Warlord? We haven’t come here to sit on our backsides.”
“You haven’t been trained on the weapons or the strategies we will use in these mines.” Axel paused. “I don’t want to be the one to tell Lynx her friend and her brother were killed on the first day on my watch.”
Heron frowned. “Point taken on the shotguns.” He pulled his crossbow off his back. “But few people are more deadly with a bow than me. And Clay is no novice, either. He’ll do in a battle.”
“I’ll do better than that,” Clay muttered under his breath. “I’ll kick so much Chenayan butt, they won’t know what hit them.”
Axel spun around to face Clay. “Soldier! Attention!”
Magridal and Heron stopped walking. Clay threw up his hands, his face bemused.
Magridal laughed. “Chenayan,
looks like you have another greenie to train.”
Axel suppressed a smile. Clearly, standing to attention was not something raiders were required to do. That didn’t mean the lad didn’t need some discipline to survive this war.
“Back straight, feet together, hands at your sides, and eyes in front of you,” Axel snapped.
Clay stumbled to obey, dropping his crossbow in the process. It clanged to the ground, shooting off a quarrel. It shot between Axel’s legs and down a dark passage. Clay’s eyes widened in shock.
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to almost shoot you.” He rushed to pick up his weapon.
“I said stand at attention. Eyes front,” Axel barked.
They had stopped in the passageway, blocking the way of the other commanders. The men stood silently, taking in the scene. Clay blushed scarlet in the torchlight. Still, it took a few seconds of hesitation before he obeyed.
From the corner of his eye, Axel saw Heron smile. It confirmed Heron’s value as a commander. Now all Axel had to do was to get Clay into shape.
Axel leaned in close until his nose was almost touching Clay’s. “Soldier, you do not speak until spoken to. You address me as ‘Warlord’ and your commanders as ‘sir.’” For the Norin, only the king was called sir, but not here. Axel glanced at Magridal. “Regardless of their sex. There will be no exceptions.”
Clay flinched and opened his mouth to protest, but he glanced at Axel and then at Heron, who nodded, looking as implacable as Axel always felt before his soldiers.
Clay snapped his mouth closed again. Hands at his sides, he straightened his back and stared past Axel at some spot over his shoulder.
It was a start.
“Right, Clay. Let’s see what you are made of. Pick up your weapon and follow me. Within the hour, we will join the rest of the soldiers picked for this mission. They will be using shotguns, you a crossbow. You will position yourself in a place of safety chosen by me, from where you will attempt to kill as many enemy soldiers as possible. Is there anything about your command that you do not understand?”
“No, Warlord, it is all perfectly clear.”
Axel didn’t bother replying.
He, Magridal, and Heron set a brisk pace to the Red Cavern, where the troops waited for them. After a few minutes, Axel looked back at Clay to assess his mood at the discipline and public humiliation. Clay beamed with excitement as he loped along behind them.
Axel smiled with satisfaction. A boy with a good attitude would grow into a man others would happily follow into battle. Axel looked forward to telling Lynx how proud he was of her little brother.
Then it struck him that Clay was now his family. By sending him here, Thorn was entrusting Axel with the responsibility of training and guiding Clay into adulthood. It was not a charge Axel would take lightly.
A practice run for when Nicholas joins me.
A light flickered ahead of Axel.
Heron raised a questioning brow, but before Axel could answer him, Magridal said, “Almost at Red Cavern, raider.” She smirked at him. “Then we will see if you really are as ferocious as you look.”
“And that would please you?” Heron asked in a flat voice.
“Not as much as I intend to please you in my bedroll tonight.”
Heron’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Axel chortled. “You can refuse, Heron. She will probably end up screaming at you if you do, but it’s always an option.”
Heron looked speculatively at Magridal. “Women screaming at me rubs me the wrong way.”
“Now there’s a man with his head screwed on right.” Magridal linked arms with Heron.
Leaving them to it, Axel strode into the chamber and acknowledged his soldiers’ salutes. When silence fell, he said, “Thus far, we have the element of surprise. Let’s keep it that way. Once we leave here, there will be no talking, no shooting, and no sound until the signal is given.”
He pointed to Magridal. She pulled away from Heron and lifted a tiny pan flute, tied with a leather thong around her neck, to her mouth. A sharp blow, and the air trilled with bat squeals.
Axel nodded, and she dropped the flute.
“Evade and avoid detection until you hear that sound. If you do run into a patrol, you all have daggers. Slit some throats.” Axel looked at the faces of the men and women chosen for this battle. Well trained, he didn’t expect any surprises from them.
“After the signal is given, we go in like a thunderclap. Within one minute, I want those two hundred grunts dead. There is no time for reloading, so when your rounds are shot, get out of the way so the next wave can follow. The platoons responsible for taking out the vehicle drivers and stokers, move fast. I don’t want any vehicles making it back to the capital. Lukan must know we routed his entire force.”
He pointed to two elderly Trevenite commanders. They knew the mines better than anyone else on the planet. “Eon and Luk’s platoons are to hunt and destroy any Chenayans who escaped the initial attack.”
Axel didn’t add that he had no desire for his countrymen to wander the mines until succumbing to death by dehydration and hunger. A quick bullet would be far more merciful.
“As soon as the attack is over, the rest of you are to strip the base of all weapons, food, and gear. Then you will vanish like smoke until we reconvene in the Red Cavern. Any questions?” Axel looked around, but no one stirred. “Happy hunting.”
* * *
Axel, the two Norin, and Magridal skirted to the edge of tunnel closest to the mine entrance. Silently, they flattened onto their bellies. Around them, other commanders and their soldiers shuffled into position. Unlike his troops, Axel didn’t intend showing his face in this battle. He had no desire for his old army to know he was a traitor. Still, he needed to reconnoiter the base. Hugging the shadows, he eased forward and peered out at the camp.
The Chenayans had occupied a vast chasm in the mouth of the mountain. It teemed with men in the light of newly mounted torches. Engineers hammered away at wooden structures to house the mountain of supplies unloaded by lines of grunts from steam-powered trucks. The vehicles stood in the chasm opening, limned by the light of the planet’s two moons. The rest of the troops stood guard at the perimeter or drilled in the dark tunnel opening.
Axel recognized most of the men, knew some of them by name. He squashed the sorrow lapping at him. Part of him knew that, no matter how important this victory would be to the Pathfinder Alliance, it was just a flea bite to an elephant. Lukan would just send in more men for Axel to kill. How his soul would survive it, Axel didn’t know.
Stop it! Now is not the time to feel maudlin. Axel shuffled back to Magridal and nudged her arm.
She lifted her flute and blew.
One of the Chenayan guards looked up in surprise at the bat calls.
It was the last thing he did.
Shotguns spewing pellets, a wave of Pathfinder soldiers surged forward from the tunnels into the chasm.
Face contorted with terror at the unfamiliar weapons, the Chenayan crumpled to the ground as a hail of lead hit him. All around him, his comrades fell, too. Axel blocked his ears to the cries of agony, panic, and gunshot ricocheting off the stone walls.
From his hideout, he pumped his shotgun, adding fire to the onslaught. One of his rounds shot out the windscreen of the closest truck. The young driver crashed back into the coal hopper. Axel’s men charged with destroying the other drivers ran across the cave and out the opening.
Gunfire boomed, followed by the shattering of glass and screams. Lukan’s message was clear. Not one truck driver or stoker would survive.
Lying beside him in the shadows, Clay and Heron discharged their bolts. Their quarrels found their marks with uncanny certainty, as if guided by the Winds.
Ammunition spent, Axel’s first wave of soldiers peeled away, making room for the next wall of shotgun fire.
A spurt of misplaced pride swelled in Axel for some of the Chenayans fighting such impossible odds with crossbows. Bu
t their quarrels were no match for the lethal spray of lead. They fell where they stood, their blood running like water on the cave floor.
And then it was over.
The cries stilled and the smoke settled.
Axel stood. “Commanders, check for the injured and dispatch them. The rest of you, get the supplies. Move.”
“General Zarot will certainly have something to tell Lukan,” Magridal crowed, jubilation ringing in her voice.
Axel wished he shared her joy, but he didn’t. Dodging bodies, he strode to the entrance and stared out at the line of trucks. Smoke still billowed from their stacks, but all had shattered windows with broken men slumped in their cabs. His soldiers were already stripping their vehicles of their cargo.
“Pity we can’t use those trucks in the mines. Would save on walking,” Clay muttered to Heron. The two Norin had joined him at the entrance.
Axel grunted. He had a fleet of nimble vehicles on order for the Alliance. Just one more escalation in a tragic war.
Heron grabbed Clay’s arm. “Come, let’s get over there and help with the unpacking.”
Drinking in the fresh night air, pleasant after the fumes and stench of death in the mine, Axel tilted his head back and looked up at the stars. Cold and distant, Nicholas the Light-Bearer gleamed down at him from his spot high in the heavens.
It gave Axel an idea. He unsheathed his dagger and walked to the facing wall in the chasm. The ice crystal had long been stripped from it, but it still shimmered in the moonlight. Using his dagger, he gouged out a rough sketch of the stars that constituted Nicholas the Light-Bearer. Below it, he scratched: Lukan, your end has begun.
Blade poised at the wall, Axel closed his eyes, considering. Could he honestly spend the next sixteen years skulking in the shadows and still live with himself?
He gouged his signature under the image.
Axel Avanov, Warlord of the Pathfinder Alliance, preparing the way for your son, Nicholas the Light-Bearer. Our army will meet you in Cian.
