by Paris Hansch
Anton, I’m coming.
28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Anton
Anton sucked in a breath as Sara tightened her arm around his stomach in a death grip. He almost wanted to throw her off the horse altogether, but they had the Calverans on their tail, and they were advancing fast.
“Put your sword away and get us out of here,” hissed Sara. “I’ll take them down.”
He slid his sword back in its sheath with emphasis, spurring their horse into action. She was right, though. Swords were shattering left and right against the Calveran’s stonewood, and their men were falling in waves. A man sailed through the air in front of them, narrowly missing their horse.
Anton leaned forward, concentrating on keeping them out of harm’s way. They weren’t wearing much armor; even if they could get past the stonewood, they were still flesh and blood. Four Calverans fell to the ground, then another, and another, a deep slit carved into their throats. Sara’s silverlight chakram whizzed past his ear and returned to her hand, soaked in blood.
Anton gulped. “I thought you weren’t meant to use your spirit arts!”
Another Calveran swung his spear at them. They ducked, and Sara threw her chakram again, bypassing the man’s shield at an unnatural angle and going straight for his throat.
“Desperate times,” she said. “Look out—!”
A spear grazed Anton’s leg, piercing their horse’s flank. Its legs gave out, and they hit the ground hard, tumbling for several feet. He coughed violently, spitting out dirt. His arm stung, and his leg was bleeding, but a quick once-over told him that it wasn’t too bad. Still, the world was throbbing in and out, and he struggled to roll to his hands and knees. The massive spear had completely impaled their horse, the stonewood tip piercing its shoulder and coming out the other side. Sara kicked and pushed at the horse, one leg partially trapped underneath it.
“Happy now?” she shouted as Anton staggered over.
“That wasn’t my fault,” he shouted back. They were off the horse, just like he wanted, but this was much worse, he realized. The Calveran soldier was gaining on them now. Anton wiped his mouth. “Weren’t you meant to stop his spear with your air nonsense?”
“It was aimed at you!” Sara pushed at the ground. “I barely had time to change its trajectory as it was.”
Anton put his hands on the horse’s rump and pushed with all his might, but Sara was still stuck. The Calveran caught up to them and swung the sharp edge of his shield at Anton’s neck. The boy ducked and rolled over Sara, accidentally kicking her in the face but still managing to draw his sword. He stayed low, launching off the balls of his feet to slice at the Calveran’s leg.
The Calveran leaped out of the way, grabbing his spear and yanking it out of the horse, pulling the beast with it. Sara dragged her leg out as the horse’s body was momentarily lifted, and she immediately threw her chakram at the half-giant, her blade quickly ending his life. She leaned over her knees, panting heavily.
Anton glanced away as she shook her head, brushing the dirt off her legs.
“Thanks,” he muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
As he paused to catch his breath, he scanned their surroundings. The steam was getting thicker, making it difficult to see, but the noise had quietened. The battlefield had thinned out now, and there were more dead than alive. Their enemies were holding back, and they still had the upper hand. Was it time to retreat? Or were they doomed to die? Anton clutched his sword. He had told Adelia that it was going to be all right. It had to be all right.
Sara spat on her glasses, rubbing them on her sleeve before pushing them back onto her nose.
“We have to keep moving.”
Anton took a few steps back as more figures began to materialize from the steam. He and Sara ran, but they weren’t fast enough. Another Calveran emerged, his long legs gaining ground. He swung his spear at Anton as though it were a staff, and the young lord dived out of the way, landing in a crouch. They’d have to face them.
Sara turned and grabbed the spear, using the momentum of their foe’s swing to propel herself upward and deliver a powerful kick to the Calveran’s temple. Anton lunged forward, seizing the opportunity to drive his sword into the soldier’s meaty thigh. The half-giant cried out, toppling backward, and as he fell, Anton went for the killing blow. Blood spattered on his hands, and he quickly looked away from his enemy’s agonized face.
Sara ducked behind a rocky pillar, and Anton followed her. As his hand touched the rock, he jerked it back, feeling an enormous heat radiating from it—a geyser.
Sara poked her head around the side. “There are at least a dozen of them coming.”
Anton glanced around the other side. “We’re about to be surrounded. They’re too close to outrun.”
Sara put her hands on the rock, squinting at it. “I have an idea. But you’re going to have to get their attention away from me for a few moments and make sure they’re all headed straight for you.”
“Are you insane?”
“Father says brilliance is often mistaken for insanity.”
Anton stared at her, hoping she was joking. She wasn’t. He sighed. “Fine. But don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.”
Sara grinned. “Great. Over by that tar pit should be fine. When I yell, drop to the ground.”
Anton waved a hand. “I got it, I got it.” He hoped she wasn’t using him to make a run for it.
He sprinted for the nearby tar pit. It wasn’t one that had been on fire, and it was only covered in dry leaves and ash, but the soldiers were being more careful of where they ran—probably because the majority of the pits had at least one poor soul trapped in it. Their screams were hard not to notice.
Anton readied his sword, thrusting it in the air. “Hey! Come and get me, you fools!” he yelled lamely. He couldn’t think of anything more intimidating to say, but it seemed to have done the trick. There were at least seven Lanadese and four Calverans who now turned their attention toward him. They glanced at each other, chuckling, and one of them began to walk around the pit in exaggerated steps.
“I know you’re desperate, but this is just sad,” said the barbarian. The small group didn’t bother to charge at him.
Anton fought the urge to look at Sara. He could feel his cheeks turning bright red. These may very well have been his last moments, and he didn’t want to spend them acting like a fool. She’d better have a plan.
“Hey,” said one barbarian. “He’s got red hair. You think he’s Lord Alexander?”
“Could be,” replied another. The two of them shot him a grin, and all of them advanced closer.
Anton shifted back and forth, his impulse to bolt excruciatingly powerful. Now, they were all bunched together.
“Anton!” Sara yelled.
He dropped to the floor. A massive jet of steam exploded from the geyser, but not upward. It shot over Anton’s head in a split second. He yelped, rolling out of the way as he brushed off a few droplets that fell onto his arm. It was scorching hot. Screams echoed around him as their enemies clutched at their faces. Their skin was bubbling, raw and exposed, and they blindly staggered into each other, with two of them tripping into the pit.
Anton tore his eyes away from the scene and ran back to Sara, who was lying on the ground, her legs crumpled underneath her. He sucked in a breath, and his heart stopped. He rushed to her side, checking her over. Was he too late again? Adelia flashed into his mind, her tiny body lying at an awkward angle in the ravine.
“Did we… get them?” Sara asked, blinking slowly. She looked like she was about to pass out again.
Anton looped his arm around her, supporting her weight on his shoulder. Thank dragons, she was alive.
“You did good, Sis,” he murmured. He half-dragged her across the battlefield, but he could only see the forest, and the ravine. Her legs were struggling to support her. She was practically dead weight in his arms, and it took
all of his strength to keep moving.
Sara tugged his collar. “I need to… I can’t…”
Anton stopped, bending his knees and readjusting his hands. “Get on. We don’t have time.”
She hooked her arms around his neck, and he hoisted her onto his back. He ran. They had to get out of there. It didn’t matter where they went; anywhere was better than there. His heart pounded in his ears. If they stopped running now, they were going to die.
Just keep moving.
A cloaked figure stood in his path. It was obscured by the steam, but something silvery glittered in its hand. Anton stopped dead in his tracks.
“What are you doing?” cried Sara.
“That… woman.” His head was throbbing, and he could barely hear the noises around them.
“What woman?”
“There!” He almost let go of her to point straight ahead.
Sara craned her head over his shoulder. “The only woman here is me.”
He shook his head violently. “I saw her, Adelia!”
There was a moment of silence. Anton grimaced, sucking in his lip. The woman was gone, like she had never been there in the first place. It had been so real. The way Sara was lying had been exactly how he’d found his sister in the ravine all those years ago. The heat must have been making him see things, and it couldn’t have been a worse time to have another episode.
He jogged at a steady pace, refusing to comment on his visions. Sara seemed a lot heavier now, but he was grateful that she didn’t comment on his outburst. He ran past a few of their soldiers locked in combat. They were forced to work in pairs to counter even one Calveran, which made their numbers even smaller, but he couldn’t stop to help them. Another explosion shook the ground in the distance, and a small, fiery plume erupted to his right.
Anton stepped around the dead, their bodies almost forming a maze of their own. Broken swords littered the ground, their steel useless against stonewood. Their enemies had clearly taken significant casualties, but their own army was scattered and broken. It was simply a matter of picking off the survivors.
Out of the corner of his eye, a couple of Calverans were advancing on two more of their men. They stood back to back, swords drawn. Anton almost kept running, until he caught sight of their faces.
“Ban!”
General Ban and former general Barrett turned at his cry. One of the Calverans rushed forward, thrusting his spear at them. They dodged just in time. Another Calveran swung his shield at them. They were forced on the defensive, unable to do anything else.
Anton let Sara slide off his back. “Keep going! I have to help them,” he said.
“Wait—”
Drawing his sword, he took off, sprinting across the battlefield.
Ban sidestepped a spear, slamming his foot down on the tip to drive it into the ground. His father closed the distance from behind, leaping up to throw his cloak around the Calveran’s head. Barrett pulled his cloak tight, locking his arms and legs around the Calveran and bringing them both to the ground. Ban lunged at them, but another Calveran intercepted, thrusting his spear toward the young general.
Anton swung at the second Calveran with a cry, but his opponent turned, landing a solid kick to his abdomen. Anton was knocked to the ground, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. The Calveran readjusted his grip on his spear, aiming for him.
Ban sped forward, using both hands to bring down the Lanadese axe he wielded. The stonewood spear cracked under the blackscale, and one half of the spear flew in one direction while the other half was still clutched in the Calveran’s hand. The half-giant glared at Ban, and with lightning speed, he sliced at him with the shield on his arm.
Ban fell backward.
Anton’s eyes widened. His body moved on its own, closing the distance. He feinted, creating an opening, and moving low, he slid beneath the half-giant’s legs, dragging his sword upward as he went. The Calveran shrieked and stumbled, and Anton whirled around, thrusting his sword through his opponent’s back. The man went limp, falling to the ground.
There was another gurgling cry as Barrett managed to slash at the second Calveran’s throat. He unlocked his legs from around his chest, shuffling back to untangle himself from the body.
Anton ran over to Ban. He lay on his back, a deep cut across his stomach and blood covering his face. Anton dropped to his knees, grabbing Ban’s face.
You can’t leave me, too!
“Just like old times, hey,” said Ban, coughing. “Another… win for me.”
Anton let go of him, scoffing at the grin on his friend’s face. It seemed he would recover, after all. “Don’t scare me like that.”
Ban rested his head back on the ground. “Give me… a few minutes.” He closed his eyes, his hands clutching at his stomach. Thank dragons, it wasn’t a fatal wound, but he needed to get to the medical tent immediately before he died from blood loss.
Anton suddenly tasted dirt as he was flung to the ground. A fist hit his face—once, twice, three times.
“Father, stop!” Ban cried.
Anton could barely bring his arms up to protect his face. Barrett was on top of him, pinning him to the ground.
“You almost got my boy killed with your incompetence,” Barrett growled. His eyes were hollow and bloodshot, his face twisted in rage. He grabbed Anton by the tunic, landing another blow to his jaw. Anton’s ears were ringing, and black spots began to form in his vision.
“I won’t lose my only son because of the spare,” Barrett hissed in his ear. He let go of him and stood up. His hair was a ragged mess, with bits and pieces escaping the once neat ponytail. His uniform was disheveled and caked in dried blood.
Anton gritted his teeth and dug his nails into his palm to ground himself. They were being slaughtered by their enemies, and he was the one on which Barrett was taking out his anger? His fists trembled. It wasn’t his fault that he was born after his brother, and it wasn’t his fault that Ban got hurt. He dug his knuckles into the rocky earth, heaving himself to his knees, then his feet. He grabbed his sword, wiping blood from his mouth.
“I’ve had enough.” He trudged forward, slowly pointing his sword at Barrett. “I am Lord Anton, and by dragons, if you’re going to turn on your fellow soldier in battle, then I have no choice but to label you as a traitor to Anadrieth.”
Barrett turned his head, a dark smirk on his face. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, boy…”
Anton narrowed his eyes, trying not to let his momentary courage dissipate. “Even if you survive this day, you’ll be tried for treason, and I’ll duel you after this is all over.”
Barrett shook his head. “Pity. I’m ready now.”
Barrett lunged toward him, and Anton blocked, pushing his back leg into the ground. He countered with a strike of his own, aiming for Barrett’s leg. He shouldn’t have lost his temper. What had he gotten himself into? Barrett was better than him. He always had been, and they both knew it. They exchanged several strikes, but Anton was quickly pushed onto the defensive.
“You should have stayed quiet,” Barrett growled, knocking Anton to the ground. He raised his blade over his head.
Anton stared at it. His brother would have beaten the former general with ease. No, Alexander wouldn’t have gotten himself into this situation in the first place. He would have talked him down. The princess would have let her swords do the talking. Even his sister would have studied her opponent’s movements and come out the victor. But he couldn’t do any of that.
Stop trying to be me.
Anton rolled out of the way just as Barrett’s sword hit the ground where he’d been.
The only one forcing you to stay in my shadow is yourself.
He swept his leg around, connecting with Barrett’s leg, bringing the man down on the ground beside him.
You’ve convinced yourself you can’t do better than everyone’s expectations, so you never will.
His brother was wrong. Their expectations were simply the truth. He was u
tterly incapable, and perhaps it was a mistake for him to have been born.
Anton leaped on top of Barrett, landing an uppercut to the jaw. Barrett grinned, spitting blood on the ground. He grabbed Anton’s shoulders, flipping them over and wrapping his hands around his throat.
“You’ve got some guts, boy, I’ll give you that,” Barrett said, pressing his thumbs into his windpipe. “But you’ll never be like your brother.”
Black spots dotted Anton’s vision once more, and he clawed at Barrett’s hands. They wouldn’t budge. He could vaguely hear Ban shouting at them. Maybe he really couldn’t do any better, even if others thought he could. Anton struggled to push him off, but he was too heavy. Maybe he should just accept his death. He was a nobody, after all—just the spare.
Anton the Brave.
The woman whispered in his ear, coaxing him back into the darkness. It wouldn’t be so bad. They could be together again. She was the only one who ever believed in him, anyway. Her lips touched his forehead, and he closed his eyes.
Do I have to follow what everyone else does?
Cynric’s turquoise eyes gazed at him in his mind’s eye, his calm voice enveloping his senses and cutting through the darkness. Anton blinked. Cynric had forged a life of his own, away from his homeland, his family and whatever his duties once might have been. He followed his own path and never looked back. That was true bravery. Anton let his words fill him, warm him to the very core. The woman faded away with the darkness.
But even if he could follow his own path, what more could he do?
His eyes snapped open. The spirits were in full color, dancing around him and illuminating his vision. In a single instant, he felt calm and more in tune with the world than he ever had before. Everything was vibrant and teeming with life. This was something he had that his brother didn’t. He could see.
Barrett’s spirit was a storm of violet, emitting the energy of a savage beast. The glow was fainter on his left side, and he had an idea. Anton slammed his knee upward, and he heard a rib crack. Barrett’s hands released his neck, and Anton coughed violently, gulping in as much air as he could. Barrett howled in pain, clutching his side, and Anton staggered to his feet. He pressed his sword against Barrett’s throat, looking down upon him.
