They might have a chance after all.
The trek north from Ankar would be a challenging one with such numbers. Jahmai explained that with such a force, Kayna would know they were coming long before they arrived, so scouts would perform reconnaissance along the advance flanks to prevent an ambush. They would avoid travel through narrow passes. And because carrying enough food for such an army would slow them down, much of it would be purchased along the way.
They piled food for the initial march into wagons. They purchased other supplies and equipment, including tents for sleeping, medical use, and a command center, and grabbed as many weapons as they could from the Ankar outposts and local weaponsmiths. Jahmai even bought two bone cepps from a nobleman whose steward sold them some armor. The cepps were empty, but Nara filled them from her own reserves right away and they now dangled from her belt. They would come in handy if she ran low on strength.
As tedious as the preparations had been, once they were moving, there was an enthusiasm in the air. Young soldiers sang and laughed as they marched, confident in victory and eager to begin the contest.
Nara spent much of the early trip walking among the soldiers, listening to their stories and asking about their families. Most of the newer volunteers were poor and spoke of how they had been mistreated by Fairmont. Some told of friends in nearby villages who had disappeared or been murdered. These people wanted to fight back, but they didn’t know how. Laborers, farmers, or simple city folk, few knew anything about real combat, and that would be a big handicap when facing trained soldiers and the Queen’s gifted.
They trained in the evenings, breaking into groups of twenty to practice formations. While several elite groups of soldiers trained together, including Jahmai’s mounted regulars and the archer corps, many of the others included raw recruits that needed guidance. By the end of the third night, all were accustomed to the routine. Break camp, march until midday, eat lunch, march until sundown, make camp, train, then eat again. Those less suited for battle made spears from trees they’d cut down along the way. Light in the evening was provided by torches at first, enabling them to train in the dark. The routine changed on day five, however, as they stopped in the middle of a large, flat plain near a small group of woods outside the small town of Canty.
“You’re not training them tonight?” Nara asked.
“Can’t,” Jahmai said. “It’s too dark, and we’re low on torches.”
“We should stop earlier in the evening to train in the daylight.”
“Hurts our forward progress if we do that,” Mykel said, as he walked up to join the discussion. “We will run out of food before we arrive if we don’t keep our pace.”
“But so many are new. They need training,” Nara said.
“Nara, all the training in the world won’t make most of these young folks fight much better. The moment they face an armored man with a sword or spear, most of these greenhorns will break no matter what training we give them.”
“Well, that’s not very encouraging,” she said. “Train them anyway. Tonight. Even if it doesn’t help them fight, it helps them have hope. They need hope more than anything. I need hope more than anything.”
“No light. How could we—”
Right then, in the middle of the camp, Nara rose on a column of earth high into the air, then flared the light rune. The entire plain lit up with her brilliance, approaching daylight in its intensity, like a new sun. The suddenness of it must have scared many because they dropped their tents or bedrolls with the sudden illumination.
“Holy Dei,” some said.
“Praise Him,” said others.
After a few moments, Nara shouted. “Get to work. To your drills!”
For two hours, the tired army drilled, practicing formations, charges, regrouping, and shield work. Legs ached from the long day of marching, but hopes were high, and they trained with fervor. When Jahmai finally called for them to retire, Nara stayed alight long enough for them to erect tents and build fires.
So it went for the next week. March during the day, then train at night by the light of Nara. She became their inspiration, and they became hers. Spending most of the day walking among them, she learned their names, their fears, and their hopes for the future of the Great Land. Some cried when she hugged them, others saluted. Still others knelt and prayed. Despite the frustration she felt with Dei, the men of her army seemed to have no such problem with their faith, praising Him and calling her ‘angel.’ Some said the evening sun who guided them was the ‘Light of Dei.’
Nara tried to dissuade them at first but, eventually, gave up. Since she didn’t have much of her own anymore, the piety of these simple, honorable people would be useful in carrying them forward. To win this fight, they would need every bit of hope they could get.
31
Assault
Gwyn was no stranger to wilderness survival. Hunting, fishing, and making shelters were activities that occupied her life as a young watcher, but she’d never been required to perform those tasks in the company of a seven-foot-tall half-naked barbarian cursed who could barely speak. And she’d always been given a purpose, someone to follow, someone to watch. Something to do. Now, however, they just waited. For Anne. “Find the boy,” the old woman said, “then I’ll find you.”
Their first night in the wild was uneventful, and Yury’s obvious gratitude kept him close. They stole some clothing for him from a shop in a small town, and all was well as they kept moving their camp, always staying less than a day’s walk from the compound. Several days later, however, he began to wander, watching the roads intently and even following groups of soldiers from time to time. His words started to come back, but he still spoke in fits and starts. Slow progress.
At least finding food was no problem, her vision and his speed making it easy to hunt. Yury had even taken to fishing. He’d stand in a stream, motionless, watching, then, like lightning, he had a dagger through the gills of their lunch, its tail flapping in futility. One afternoon, several days after the rescue, they sat around a fire eating a fairly large sheefish, when Yury remembered something.
“I have family,” he said.
There it was. This would change things. “Yes, you do.”
“Sister.”
“Yes.”
It was bound to happen, and she worried what he’d do when he remembered. She’d allied with a giant racer who now carried a grudge and plenty of ability to act on it. But to attack a compound full of armed men would be foolishness. They’d surely have increased the guard by now, probably augmented by gifted warriors, and stealth would no longer be their ally. It’d be brute force against a vastly superior enemy with better arms and a fortification.
“We will save her,” Gwyn said. “I have friends coming to help.”
It was an empty promise, but it might stall him. She hoped so. Anne should find her, and if she was with Nara and Mykel, they could attack the compound straight on, even against several gifted. She pictured Nara leaping over the wall, or perhaps Mykel smashing right through. Earth would trap the legs of soldiers, and they could save every child in the compound in just a few minutes. But Gwyn and Yury alone would be a different story. They could kill a few soldiers, then would be slowed by efforts to rescue the children. There was no way of making an exit, and they would need to escape through one of the gates. That would require fighting nearly every soldier in the compound, including gifted. Suicide.
“When?” he asked.
“Um. I’m not sure. Soon.”
“Two,” he said. Then shook his head, struggling to articulate. “Days. I wait two.”
“Okay.” Frustrated, she didn’t know what else to say. The boy wanted his sister, and Gwyn had failed to save her. He would go alone if he had to.
Where are you, Anne?
The two days passed, and despite her reluctance, it was time for Gwyn to make good on her promise. Both she and Yury crouched near the edge of the tree line overlooking the outpost. As expected, the compound
had fortified the guard, even building more sentry towers and adding lighting. Gwyn’s eyes surveyed the torches that now circled the outpost, seeing some even scattered about the open area on posts between the trees and the fortification’s walls.
“We can’t approach without being seen,” she said.
He turned to her, smiling, then pointed at the nearest torch post. “Burn.”
Burn it? She looked at the posts, torches flaring. Interesting. And it might work. Yury was fast enough, for sure. It would be hard to hit him with an arrow unless they got lucky. Even if they did, he could heal. “If you stack enough torches at the base of the wall, it will surely alight. Heck, they use oil sealer to keep that wood from rotting. Should go up pretty quick.”
He nodded.
“The buildings are all made of brick, so the children should be fine, and the chaos will be to our advantage.”
“Gate.” He pointed at the western gate. “Out.”
Their escape. They’d have to get the gate open. Children didn’t climb walls very well.
“After you start the fire on the east side, we’ll go around the outpost and enter over the western wall. It’ll be a lot of running, for both of us, and we will battle several guards on the way to the main building to rescue the kids. I’m not sure how we’ll get in, but maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“We go.” Yury jumped to his feet, heading straight at the first torch.
“No! Not that way. Other side. East.” The look on his face showed that he didn’t know what east meant. “Follow me.”
They headed straight south, then east, skirting the wall, then north again. There was no gate on the eastern wall, but the open area had plenty of torches.
“Whenever you’re ready. Get the wall burning, then come back here and we’ll circle around again.”
Yury dashed away. Gwyn watched the first torch disappear—the speed of his run had blown it out. He paused at the second torch, using it to relight the first, then continued at a slower pace. He’d acquired four before a sentry saw him.
“Hey!”
Yury ran straight for the sentry, throwing one of his torches at the tower, missing. He dropped the other three at the base of the wall. Arrows flew in the half-darkness, but he dodged them easily, then raced back as they raised the alarm. He grabbed several more torches, then sprinted for another part of the wall where he dropped them at the base.
“Fire!” shouted another guard. They were slow to react. “Get the buckets!”
The front gate opened and soldiers, carrying buckets of water, tried to douse the first blaze, but Yury had started a third fire now, near the southeast corner.
Gwyn rose to her feet and started running the perimeter of the wall, expecting Yury to join her, but when she looked for him, he was nowhere to be found.
She looked at the southern wall. The sentry towers were empty, save one. She ran straight for the guard, nocking an arrow as she bolted across the open area that separated her from the compound. He saw her just as she shot, the shaft impaling his neck before he slumped, eyes wide in surprise. She threw the bow over her shoulder and launched herself for the wall, hand over hand to the top, then over the other side. As she descended, she looked around, seeing soldiers carrying buckets to the eastern sentry towers. They stormed up the ladders and threw the water over the side. One of them saw her just as her feet hit the ground. He dropped his bucket and drew a sword just in time to catch an arrow through the heart.
Gwyn ran and hid behind the field latrine. The stench was overwhelming, but she needed time to survey the scene. The rear door of the main building opened, and a guard stepped out. Aiming with her bow, she had almost loosed the arrow, when a blur took the man off his feet, dropping the soldier to the ground with a gaping wound in his neck, then disappearing into the building. Yury.
Gwyn sprinted across the yard to the building and checked the fallen guard for the keys. She found a chain with half a dozen large keys attached to his belt. After grabbing them, she dashed through the door and found two more guards inside, twitching on the floor, expiring from loss of blood, gaping wounds visible on their necks. Yury stood outside a giant cage, holding a bloody dagger. Inside, the frightened eyes of a dozen children were fixed on the barbarian.
“No,” he said, looking at the children who ranged from about ten years old to maybe sixteen.
“She’s not here?”
“No.”
Well, they were in this far, so they might as well save the kids, if they could. Gwyn approached the cage, looking at the lock and trying to guess which key would fit. A sound from the left caught their attention, and Gwyn fumbled with the keys as she turned to see four guards coming down a stairwell from the second story. A moment later, one of Gwyn’s swords disappeared from its sheath on her back and Yury was across the room, engaging them one at a time as they approached.
She fumbled again with keys. She placed another one in the lock, turned it, and the tumbler released with a click. The huge cage door swung open, and Gwyn beckoned to the children inside. Several were crying.
“Come. This is your chance. We’re here to save you,” she said.
Two of the older children rounded up the smaller ones and started to herd them out of the cage. Gwyn led them out the back door, following Yury. As they entered the main yard of the outpost, heat from the burning wall hit Gwyn on the left side of her face, and she tried to shield several children with her body. The entire eastern wall was ablaze, and the fire had now moved to the southern wall.
“Get to the gate,” she yelled, holding her arms out to direct the children toward the west. One of the smaller ones screamed and darted back toward the door, but Gwyn caught him by the back of his shirt and pulled, then kicked the door closed. The boy turned, a terrified look on his face. Gwyn grabbed him by the arm, pulling to follow the others, who were running after Yury.
“Projects escaping!” The shout was from the north, a single soldier running straight at Yury, sword drawn.
Yury broke from the group to engage the soldier who wore a different-looking tabard than the others. Black. A gifted. Yury closed the distance between the two, sword brandished, and in a whirl of steel, his blade sliced across the soldier’s neck. The man remained standing, with no apparent wound from Yury’s attack. He was a steelskin. Yury paused in surprise, giving the soldier time to slash a blade across Yury’s ribs.
Gwyn engaged her sight to see a cepp glowing under the soldier’s armor at his waist. She thought to launch an arrow, but it would just bounce off the man’s skin, so she rushed the children along toward the west gate. Yury would have to handle that one himself.
As she approached the gate, she saw a guard in the southwest tower, holding a bow, about to shoot. She beat him to it, launching two arrows at once, both landing in his torso and sending his own arrow flying far wide. Another soldier, spear in hand, was running along the western wall toward her. Her arrow found his shoulder before he could engage, and he dropped his sword long enough for her to put another shaft through his forehead. But she was running low on arrows.
Gwyn hurried the children along the wall, almost to the gate, grateful that the fire had not yet spread along the walls this far. As they approached, three guards blocked the exit and one stood in the tower, but their attention was focused on the raging fire. She directed the kids to hide on the south side of one of the small buildings, then launched her remaining arrows at the soldiers. The tower guard was dead, along with two of the others, but the third now closed in on her, forcing her to drop the bow and draw her remaining sword.
She dodged his first thrust and countered with a slash across his lower back that glanced off his armor. Foolish. She should have gone for the back of his neck. She ducked to avoid a sweep of his blade and slashed his boot, her sword biting deep. He fell, grabbing his foot in pain. She thrust forward with the tip of her sword, piercing the leather under his arm to impale his lung.
A moment later, she disengaged the three bolts that held th
e western gate and strained to push it open. Two of the older boys came to her aid, and the gate moved enough for them to escape.
“Go,” Gwyn said as the children rushed through the opening. “Run! As fast as you can. To the nearest town. Tell everyone what is happening and hide from any soldiers.”
Just then, a door on the small northwestern project building exploded open, bursting off its hinges. Gwyn squared herself to face the threat, heart pounding. She had no bow, only one sword, would have soldiers on her any moment, and now this. Stooping and angling its body sideways to get through the opening, a giant emerged and turned to face Gwyn. The creature was a foot taller than Yury and twice as wide. It didn’t have a weapon or armor, but Gwyn doubted it would need one to kill her.
Holy Dei, help me.
It charged.
Gwyn sidestepped as it passed her, reaching with its massive arms. A finger brushed her, almost catching her leather tunic, and she spun in midair, sweeping her sword at the monster as she whirled, the blade biting into its forearm. It bellowed and Gwyn landed awkwardly on the ground, wrenching a shoulder with the impact before scrambling to her feet to face her opponent.
It charged again, and she ducked, then sidestepped to the right. It was fast for something so huge, but not as fast as she was, and her blade found its left thigh, slicing deep. She turned to face it again. It stumbled and braced itself against the wall, the leg wound bleeding. Then it stood upright and the wound on its leg closed. Healed.
Uh oh.
Even if she stabbed this monster in the heart, he would probably survive. It was a cursed with a health rune, like Mykel and Yury, and she would have no chance. She looked about for Yury, but he was nowhere to be found—probably still engaged with the steelskin or other soldiers.
Finding Kai Page 19