Aravon’s heart sank. The Legionnaires had seconds before the enemy hit. They’d have to fight.
“Belthar, Endyn!” Aravon sought out the two giants. “Cover our backs.”
Belthar didn’t bother to salute—he seized the heavy wooden shield from where it hung on Draturr’s saddle and turned to face the oncoming enemies. Endyn joined him, and together, the two giants formed a wall of steel, flesh, and wood barring the Rakki’s path.
Aravon slid into place behind them, spear gripped tightly in one hand, his other resting on Belthar’s shoulder. “When I give the signal, we pull back,” he told the two.
“Aye, Captain,” rumbled Endyn.
“No hurry.” Belthar gave a harsh chuckle. “I can do this all day.”
Aravon glanced over his shoulder—half the Legionnaires had already squeezed through the gap. That left only Colborn, Skathi, Noll, the two Legionnaires-turned-archers, and Rangvaldr. Zaharis had doubtless gone ahead with Captain Lingram; without a shield, he’d be more a liability here than his comrades.
Skathi and Noll stood facing the entrance to the hollow, sending a steady stream of arrows down the trail. They’d provide cover fire until the last minute and buy time for the others to get through. Colborn hadn’t drawn his bow, but instead kept his shield handy to guard the two archers with Rangvaldr at his side. All the while, he called orders to keep the Legionnaires moving through the gap.
Grim satisfaction settled into Aravon’s bones. The soldiers moved at a steady pace, pulling their horses into the narrow opening between the cliffs. He trusted Colborn to keep things progressing as quickly as possible.
“Reverse march!” Aravon called to the two giants and tapped Belthar’s shoulder.
Belthar took one long step back, Endyn a heartbeat behind him.
“Keep it tight!” Aravon moved his hand to Endyn’s shoulder. The callow Legionnaire needed the tactile commands, but Belthar had experience enough to maintain a steady pace and match his comrade’s speed, all the while keeping his face forward and shield presented to the enemy.
Five Rakki broke from the pack and surged ahead, howling as they raced into the bowl-shaped clearing. Their wild-burning eyes lit up with mad delight at the sight of their prey. With piercing war howls—like hounds baying for blood—they dashed across the clearing.
Two fell before they’d taken three steps. Noll’s arrow thumped into a Rakki’s chest a heartbeat after Skathi’s took down the first. A third shaft punched through another Rakki’s throat. Blood sprayed and crimson spattered the black-stained face of the Rakki on his left. That man fell screaming two seconds later, Noll’s arrow driven into his leg with bone-shattering force.
The fifth Rakki, however, made no move to charge. Instead, he drew back his longbow, the darkly gleaming iron tip of an arrow aimed high. A loud twang echoed in the space between his companions’ screams and the loosed missile hissed a few inches above Aravon’s head, right toward Skathi and Noll.
Thump! Right into Colborn’s upraised shield. The next instant, Skathi’s arrow buried to the fletching in the Rakki’s throat.
All this in the space of five seconds. And in that time, ten more Rakki appeared up the trail. Twenty, thirty, and still more, all racing into the hundred-foot-wide mountain hollow.
“Back!” Aravon shouted, tapping Endyn’s shoulder to signal the retreat. The two giants took another step backward, and another, crouching behind their huge shields. Aravon glanced over his shoulder. Rangvaldr had gone, as had the last of their horses. Noll was slipping through the gap, leaving only Skathi and Colborn on this side.
Colborn thrust his shield in front of Skathi just in time to stop a second arrow from finding her flesh. Skathi slipped out from behind the protective cover with her bow already drawn and aimed. She loosed the arrow, spun, and darted through the gap in one smooth motion, so fast she was already gone by the time her missile dropped a Rakki.
That left only Colborn. “Go!” Aravon shouted.
The Lieutenant hesitated only a heartbeat before he, too, slipped through the narrow gap.
Aravon turned back to the enemy in time to find the Rakki closing the distance fast. Less than twenty yards separated them from the two soldiers and Aravon. If they stood and fought, they would die.
“Now!” Aravon roared in the giants’ ears. He spun, trusting them to obey his orders, and darted through the gap. Heavy footfalls echoed behind him, boots pounding on stone. Even as Aravon spun back toward the enemy, Endyn stumbled into the opening, Belthar’s hand propelling him forward. The huge Grim Reaver twisted as he leapt through the gap, whirled, and planted his feet in the five-foot opening in the cliffs. Shield in one hand, his huge axe in the other, he prepared to meet the enemy.
Aravon’s gut clenched. Even with Belthar holding the gap and Endyn backing him up, the two had no chance of fending off the Rakki. More than three-score barbarians surging across the clearing toward them. The Grim Reavers and Legionnaires would run out of strength long before the Rakki ran out of men to throw at them.
He spun, searching the masked faces until he found the man he sought. “Zaharis, we need to bring the cliffs down!”
The Secret Keeper’s eyes widened a fraction, surprise rooting him in place. But for only a split second. The next instant, he whirled and tore open his chest of alchemical supplies.
Aravon turned back to the gap, to where Belthar fought to hold back the Rakki trying to squeeze into the opening. The big man’s shield formed a solid barrier blocking out the enemy, but his axe was too big and heavy to swing effectively with one hand. And, with the cliff walls so close together, he could do little more than punch out at the enemy. Powerful blows that crunched into the Rakki with bone-crushing force, but far from lethal.
Endyn seemed to have reached the same conclusion. Belthar had just turned aside a fierce club blow, driven the head of his axe into a Rakki’s face, and wound up for another strike when the giant Legionnaire threw himself into the gap, squeezing between Belthar and the oncoming enemies. His hulking frame and heavy shield formed a solid barrier, and his hewing spear swept out to cut down the lightly-armored enemy. What he lacked in skill, he more than made up for in sheer strength. Like a farmer scything a wheat field, he hacked and slashed at the oncoming Rakki with vicious determination.
But he could not stop them all. With every passing heartbeat, more of the Rakki crossed the clearing and threw themselves against Endyn’s shield. The huge soldier held firm, shoulder braced and knees bent, but the spear was ripped from his hands by a massive Rakki with deep scars cutting through the black ghoulstone staining his face. Another barbarian raised an axe high above his head and brought it crashing down onto Endyn’s shield with staggering force.
Before the massive Legionnaire crumbled, Aravon was at his back, shoving Endyn back upright and into place. He thrust his spear around Endyn’s shoulder and drove the steel head through the axe-wielder’s throat. With a roar, Endyn drove the steel rim of his shield into another Rakki’s face. Blood gushed from the barbarian’s crushed nose and shattered teeth. A kick from Endyn’s massive boot sent the bleeding man flying backward to crash into his companions. Four Rakki went down in a tangle of flailing limbs and weapons.
In that momentary opening, Endyn drew his sword—a long, heavy weapon that appeared like a dagger in his massive hands. He’d never practiced with it, only his hewing spear, but backed by the force of his strength and fury, the Odarian steel blade carved through shields, wooden clubs, leather armor, and grizzly bear pelts. His attacks held no rhythm or artistry; he was a butcher, wielding a weapon with a strength even the Rakki couldn’t hope to match.
To Aravon’s surprise, the Rakki actually fell back beneath the ferocity of Endyn’s strikes. The giant Legionnaire towered a full head over them, and their long, lean muscles couldn’t hope to withstand the force of his mighty strokes. Uncoordinated they might be, lacking in finesse, yet powerful enough to shatter weapons and shields, cleave through armor, flesh, and bone ali
ke.
But that pause lasted only an instant, and the Rakki threw themselves at the giant Legionnaire with renewed force. Four of the barbarians rushed him, black-stained faces twisted in fury and hatred, the wild light of drug-induced madness burning in their eyes. They ran straight into the teeth of his attack, scrambling over the bodies that had begun to pile up in front of Endyn. Over their lifeless comrades, slipping on bloody stone and spilled guts, howling their fury as they hurled themselves at Endyn.
Endyn battered at them with shield and sword, but he fought a losing battle against enemies that felt no fear. Even with Aravon to support him, he could only turn aside so many blows. A low, growling rumble issued from the huge Legionnaire’s throat as the Rakki slammed into him. Again and again, swords, axes, and clubs assailing him from all sides.
One Rakki, taller and stronger than the rest, hurled aside his comrades and drove his shield straight into Endyn’s. The force of the rush sent the Legionnaire staggering backward. His huge elbow clipped Aravon’s helmet, hard enough to set Aravon’s brain rattling in his skull. The world whirled around him for a moment, his vision blurring. Blinking away the pain, Aravon struck out blindly, felt his wild spear thrust strike a shield and glance off. His eyes came into focus a heartbeat later—just in time to see the massive Rakki knock Endyn’s sword wide and drive his own steel blade at Endyn’s barrel chest.
“Noooo!” Duvain’s scream set the canyon walls trembling. A chilling, horrified sound that pierced to the core of Aravon’s being.
Time slowed to a crawl in that moment. Aravon, off-balance from his blind attack and still reeling from the blow to his head, could do nothing but watch the tip of the heavy iron sword plunge straight toward the giant’s heart. Zaharis’ alchemy had hardened the leather, but even his Secret Keeper artistry couldn’t stop a direct thrust. As Aravon had learned the day Draian died at the end of an Eirdkilr spear.
Horror thrummed within Aravon as the sword tip sliced through the alchemically-treated leather, fabric, and flesh beneath. He tensed in expectation of the meaty sound of a sword punching into flesh, the grating of metal on bone, and the gush of blood. The scream of pain or the quiet gurgle as Endyn died.
The sword never drove home. A loud clank, like iron striking stone, echoed, and the sword twisted out of the Rakki’s hand. The barbarian seemed as stunned as Aravon, and he stared in shocked surprise at his empty fingers. Endyn’s punch, backed by the weight of his sword, crushed the Rakki’s nose and crumpled his face inward. Crimson spurted over the Legionnaire’s face—not his own, as Aravon had expected, but the blood gushing from the Rakki’s shattered nose and mouth. Endyn slammed his shield into the man’s chest with force enough to send the barbarian stumbling backward. The flying barbarian staggered, tripped on blood-slicked stone, and fell, taking down two of his comrades as he fell.
“Captain, pull back now!” Skathi’s shout pierced the thundering of Aravon’s pulse in his ears.
Aravon, still shocked from Endyn’s miraculous survival, had no time for rational thought. Instinct honed over years of training and battle kicked in, spurring his feet to move as he seized Endyn’s collar and dragged the huge Legionnaire backward. Belthar threw himself between Aravon and the Rakki—too surprised by the sudden retreat to assault the opening—but just for a moment, until the two of them were clear.
“Do it!” Belthar roared and spun away from the gap, racing up the trail after Aravon and Endyn.
Aravon never saw what Zaharis did to bring down the cliffs—he only heard the scritch of a firestriker scraping against stone followed by a loud hissing. A moment later, the howls of the Rakki were drowned out beneath a concussive blast.
BOOOM! The very mountain beneath Aravon’s feet trembled violently, throwing him and Endyn off-balance. He stumbled and caught himself, managing to keep the enormous Legionnaire from falling. What had begun as a deafening roar settled into a deep-throated rumble, as if some gargantuan beast of legend awoke from slumber. Stone crashed down behind him and a massive pillar of dust billowed up the trail and washed over his back.
Long seconds passed before the clattering of falling stones fell silent. Coughing echoed from within the cloud of grit, and Zaharis and Belthar came stumbling up the trail, covered head to toe with fine powder the same dark grey as the cliffs around them. Behind the settling dust, Aravon caught sight of the gap in the trail—or what had once been a gap. Now, the cliff walls had crumbled beneath the explosive force of Zaharis’ alchemy and a massive mound of stone barred the way back.
“Hah!” Belthar’s triumphant outburst cut off in a fit of coughing dust from his lungs. He clapped Zaharis on the back, sending a spray of dust puffing up from the Secret Keeper’s clothes. “That ought to hold them off a while yet!”
“Let’s just hope it took a few of them down, too,” Zaharis signed.
As if on cue, furious howling echoed from beyond the pile of rubble. The Rakki’s rage and frustration resounded through the canyon. Far too many had survived the collapse. It would take them time to catch up—either scaling the cliff walls, clambering over the rubble, or finding another way through the jagged mountains—but not enough. Nowhere near enough for Aravon and his companions to give them the slip.
Worse, the Rakki, like the hounds for which they’d been named, now had the scent of their prey and wouldn’t stop coming until the half-men were dead. That was a delay Aravon and his companions could ill-afford. They had only eight days left to reach Tyr Farbjodr. Crossing the Sawtooth Mountains on foot—they couldn’t ride in a mine tunnel—would take the better part of four or five days. That left far too little time to cross the nearly three hundred miles that separated the southern end of Snowpass Keep from Praellboer.
As if that wasn’t already bad enough, he couldn’t take the chance that the Rakki would send word to the Eirdkilrs of the Grim Reavers’ presence. Though they hadn’t definitely identified Aravon and his companions as Princelanders—their clothing, armor, and weaponry could all pass for Fehlan, and the leather wolf masks concealed their northerner and mainlander features—Tyr Farbjodr would respond to the potential threat by heightening security. If Aravon wanted to have any chance of success, their attack on the Eirdkilr commander had to be a complete surprise.
That meant every one of the Rakki hunting them had to die.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Aravon spun back toward his soldiers. “We can’t keep running,” he told them. “Not if we’re to have any chance of getting through the mountains and hitting Tyr Farbjodr by surprise.”
Fourteen masked faces—two of which were covered in dark grey stone dust—stared back at him, a grim look in the soldiers’ eyes. They all knew he spoke the truth.
“We need to deal with the Rakki once and for all.” Aravon looked from one to another. “None of them can leave these mountains alive to tell the Eirdkilrs about us.”
The Legionnaires exchanged somber glances. They had trained for war in a Battalion, with scores of soldiers fighting at their sides; this fell far outside the realm of their limited experience.
The Grim Reavers, however, had fought battles of this nature enough that they met the challenge without flinching.
“Any idea how many there are?” Skathi asked.
Aravon shook his head. “Had to be close to two hundred back there, but there could have been more not yet caught up.” His jaw clenched. “Even with the casualties and those buried in the collapse, I’d still call it ‘a bloody damned lot’.”
“Fair enough.” The archer inclined her head.
“They know we’re here.” Aravon looked toward Lingram. “Are there any other ways in and out of this trail?”
“No.” Lingram’s eyes darkened. “Just solid cliff walls all around us until we hit the mine entrance.”
A memory flashed through Aravon’s mind. The low stone ceiling and narrow walls of Steinnbraka Delve. The deep shadows within the mine, the stench of blood, death, and fear hanging thick in the stale air. Dark, choking smo
ke flooding the tunnels, and the brilliance of daylight beyond. The echoing cries of terror, pain, and suffering, underscored by howling, shrieking, and shouts of “For Shalandra!”
With those flashes of battle came a deep, lingering chill. Dread twisted in his stomach at the thought of marching into that darkness again. Yet, with the mine to guard them, a force of fewer than two hundred Shalandrans had repelled and defeated nearly four times as many Eirdkilrs. Now, with only fifteen soldiers still standing, they had no better way to defeat their enemy’s superior numbers.
“Then that’s where we make our stand.” Aravon planted the iron-shod butt of his spear between his feet. “We make them come to us, and hold that mine entrance as long as it takes.”
The thought grated on his nerves; they needed to be traveling, not sitting and waiting for a fight.
Again, images of Steinnbraka Delve flitted before his mind’s eyes. Not just a single tunnel, but many smaller shafts branching out from the main passage. Perhaps once they reached this mine, they’d find a better place to make a stand. Or, if the Mistress’ fortune smiled on them, they might even lure the Rakki into a trap or lose them in the mine tunnels.
Whatever the case, the mine offered a better defensive position than out here in the open.
With a grim nod, Aravon turned to Lingram. “Lead the way, Captain.”
“It’s not far,” Lingram replied in a quiet, solemn voice.
Sure enough, the climb to the mine took fewer than five minutes. The trail ran sharply upward for a hundred yards before curving west. Around that corner, the mine came into view the distance less than a quarter-mile up the path. A single hole set into the side of a tall mountain of dark brown sandstone. Metal pillars rusted by age and the elements supported the entrance, with more support beams of wood, iron, and steel set at regular intervals within the mine’s main tunnel.
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