The front rank recovered. Found their feet, regained their balance, and pushed back against the Rakki. With a roar, the soldiers in the front shoved the Rakki a step back, hacked out with their longswords. Barbarians fell, screaming. More came on in their wake. Pushing, shoving, striking at the Princelanders. Howling their fury as they clawed, grappled, and wrestled with Belthar and Endyn in the front rank. Thrown backward, staggering, and falling to meet their deaths trampled beneath the feet of their comrades.
A wounded Legionnaire staggered backward, opening a gap in the weakened front rank. Endyn and Belthar pressed forward, Corporal Rold guarding Belthar’s left side. Rangvaldr and Zaharis anchored the flanks of the second row. The Seiomenn’s shield held firm against the Rakki’s ferocity, his sword carving through their legs or hacking at exposed faces. Zaharis whirled his mace with blinding speed. The crunch of bones and the shrieks of wounded Rakki added to the cacophony of battle ringing through the tunnel.
Aravon drove his spear into the face of a Rakki trying to cut down the wounded Legionnaire, then seized the staggering soldier and dragged him backward. Away from the chaos of the battle line toward safety.
He shoved the man at Noll and Skathi. “Go!” he shouted. They and the two Legionnaires-turned archers obeyed without hesitation, scooping up the stumbling Annur and hauling him across the narrow wood-and-rope bridge.
Aravon spun back to the battle. Found Colborn had taken his place in line, bow shouldered and shield and sword now held in a firm grip. He fought at Corporal Rold’s back, supporting the man and driving his sharp steel blade between gaps in the front shield wall. Hacking, stabbing, chopping, cutting down any Rakki that tried to attack the two giant Princelanders’ flanks.
Another Legionnaire fell on the right, a gap opening for a heartbeat. Aravon leapt toward the falling man and drove his spear forward. Cut down the Rakki trying to shoulder his way through. The barbarian screamed and died, blood bubbling from the gaping wound in his abdomen.
Aravon struggled to keep his balance on the blood-slicked floor. His foot twisted on something soft—the arm of the dead Legionnaire—and he stumbled forward. A hand snatched out and seized the back of his armor, dragging him backward. Just in time to avoid a crushing blow of an enemy’s club. Crimson sprayed the stone wall as Zaharis’ mace crumpled the barbarian’s face. More spattered Aravon’s face—his eyelids snapped shut just in time to keep the blood from his eyes.
Stumbling backward, he scrubbed at his unmasked face, trying frantically to wipe away the blood. Something slammed into his chest—a glancing blow that rebounded off his side but sent a stab of pain twinging through his ribs.
Then the blood was gone from his eyes. Blinking, he raised his spear, prepared to drive it forward. Barely caught it before driving it into Zaharis’ back. The Secret Keeper had stepped into the gap. His mace whirled and spun, its spiked head tearing flesh and crushing bone. Any Rakki that came within his reach died. Blood soaked the Secret Keeper, slithered in gory rivulets down his arm.
Aravon sucked in a breath, took stock of the battle in the space between heartbeats. The Legionnaires held their own but the flow of Rakki never slowed. The low, narrow tunnel kept the barbarians from overwhelming the defenders with a massive rush, but they far outnumbered the beleaguered Legionnaires. More and more hurled themselves into the battle. Clawed at the Legionnaires’ shields, snarling and spitting, grasping at arms and pulling at legs. Trying to overwhelm the defenders through sheer weight of numbers.
Twin bellowing roars answered the Rakki’s howling war cries. Belthar and Endyn, shoulders braced against their shields, hurled the barbarians staggering backward. A single step, barely two feet of cleared ground. Some fell, tripping over the bodies of their dead comrades. For one heartbeat, empty air and bloodstained stone separated the two forces.
Now was the time to retreat.
“Break off!” Aravon roared. Without hesitation, he turned and raced down the tunnel toward the bridge. By the time he reached the far side, the pounding of his soldiers’ boots echoed hot on his heels.
Once more on solid ground, he whirled and planted his feet. The Legionnaires, expecting the order, made no attempt at an orderly withdrawal or reverse march. They fled the enemy, as if desperation and panic lent wings to their feet. No coordination or order—just a terrified flight.
Or so he needed the Rakki to think. The barbarians had to believe them routed; it was the only way to lure them into giving chase.
One by one, the Legionnaires sprinted across the bridge. Endyn came next-to-last, shoving Duvain along before him, shielding his brother with his massive body. Belthar brought up the rear, axe in one hand and enormous crossbow in the other. The bridge groaned and creaked beneath the weight of the two giants but held firm. Long enough for the last of the soldiers to cross and join the hastily re-forming shield wall.
The sudden flight had caught the Rakki off-guard long enough for the Legionnaires to flee without being cut down. A pair of arrows sliced the air above the Legionnaires’ heads, but they lacked accuracy, loosed in haste by barbarians surprised by the reversal in battle.
But they recovered quickly. Belthar and Endyn hadn’t even joined the shield wall before the Rakki recovered and gave chase. Howling, shrieking their bloodthirsty war cries, they raced in pursuit. Thundered across the narrow rope-and-wood bridge and charged the formed-up Legionnaires.
Arrows leapt across the chasm and struck them from the sides. Skathi, Noll, Tark, and Zadan, spread out along the walls, loosed a steady stream of missiles at the rearmost Rakki. The barbarians, eyes locked on the enemy ahead, never saw the archers picking them off from the sides. With Zaharis’ flameweed bundles burning and casting light on the southern end of the bridge, the shadows on the northern side were deep and dark, perfect for concealing the four bowmen.
The Rakki slammed into the Legion’s line—into Belthar and Endyn. The two huge men anchored the front of the line, directly in front of the bridge, and their massive weapons swept Rakki off into the chasm with bone-shattering blows. At their sides fought Colborn and Rangvaldr. Shields held in hands strengthened by years of battle, swords swung with expertise and experience. Aravon stood behind Colborn, in the shelter of the Lieutenant’s shield but close enough to drive his spear at the enemy. Cutting down any Rakki that escaped the giants and shield-wielding Fehlans at the front of the line.
The Rakki came on in pairs, stumbling across the bridge that swayed and sagged beneath their weight, and died in droves. Cut down by sword, axe, and spear or knocked into the yawning gulf. Screaming, plummeting to their deaths far below. Only to be replaced by the next Rakki in line, another in what seemed an endless wave of howling, snarling, snapping barbarians.
Blood soaked the bridge, slicked the time-worn wood. Rakki corpses piled up, a barrier that slowed the enemy, forced the barbarians to scramble over fallen comrades to attack the two massive Princelanders. Straight into the teeth of those huge weapons and mighty muscles the Rakki came. Came and died, felled by the finest quality steel or hurled off the bridge.
Aravon tore his gaze from the battle before him just long enough to glance at the rearmost Rakki. The barbarians shoved and jostled each other, pushing to join their comrades crossing the bridge. Even as he turned back to the fight—thrusting his spear into the face of a Rakki trying to tear Colborn’s shield from his grip—his mind raced, his ears listening for the expected order. He was needed to fight, so command of the battle had passed to Skathi. The keen-eyed archer would know when to—
“One step back!” Skathi’s voice pierced the din of combat. An arrow hissed past Aravon’s head, slicing through the air and punching into a Rakki on the bridge. Another hurled toward him a moment later, pinging off his helmet and thumping into something meaty behind him. He had no time to turn and look—he was too busy shoving at a Rakki trying to claw Colborn’s eyes out with sharp-nailed fingers. He brought his spear up and over Colborn’s shoulder, just above the rim of his shield. Drove it into
the Rakki’s throat. Blood gushed over Colborn’s face, shield, and helmet as the Rakki fell back, shrieking, gurgling, and disappeared into the chasm.
“Back!” Skathi shouted again.
“Back!” Aravon roared, passing on the command. His voice registered in the battle-numbed minds of the soldiers before him. Gripping Colborn’s shoulder, he took a step back, opening a cleared space. The Lieutenant followed, and movement rippled down the rest of the line.
The gap between the Legion shield wall and the bridge widened—one long step of solid ground between the cliff’s edge and the Legionnaires. The Rakki hurled themselves into that gap, gained a foothold on the northern side of the bridge.
Just as Aravon intended.
The order came again. “Back!”
Another step backward, all but Endyn moving. The giant struggled with two Rakki clawing and hacking at his shield, trying to thrust their swords around the steel-rimmed edge to strike at him. Corporal Rold cut down one and Endyn slammed the boss of his shield into the other’s face. Blood gushed from his broken nose and he staggered backward into two of his comrades. In that momentary opening, Belthar dragged Endyn back a step and hastily re-formed their shield wall.
Again the Rakki charged, and again the Legionnaires fought to hold them back. Their plan demanded they lure the barbarians across the bridge, but the more that crossed, the greater the chance they were overwhelmed by the Rakki’s superior numbers. Aravon gritted his teeth and prayed to the Swordsman—give us strength!
Endyn, Belthar, Corporal Rold, Colborn, and Rangvaldr held the front rank, a solid wall of shields and brute strength to keep the enemy at bay. But within seconds, Aravon realized, the enemy would gain a better foothold and spread out to encircle the defenders from the side. If they didn’t do this soon, they’d be—
“Last step!” Skathi shouted.
Even as Aravon struggled to retreat, a faint hissing sound came from his right. A spark suddenly flared bright along the ground, tracing a line from behind Aravon, along the stony floor, toward the near edge of the bridge.
Hope surged within him. Yes! Zaharis’ trail of sparkweed hissed and crackled as the little spot of fire raced toward the bridge. Toward the bundles of Dragon Thorngrass the Secret Keeper had stuffed at various intervals along the bridge, each connected by more braided strands of sparkweed.
“Now!” Aravon shouted.
Endyn, Colborn, Belthar, Corporal Rold, and Rangvaldr leapt backward, opening a broader gap between their front rank and the Rakki. Between them and the bridge. Aravon’s gut clenched in anticipation of the sudden fwomph of fire, the brilliant burst of light and wave of heat that would bring down the bridge and the Rakki with it.
Suddenly, the foremost Rakki stumbled over a fallen comrade, slipped on blood-slicked stone, and fell. Right atop the wisp of burning sparkweed.
Horror thrummed within Aravon, froze him in place. No! Even as the barbarian scrambled to his feet, Aravon caught sight of the Secret Keeper’s hastily improvised fuse.
The spark had gone out. Their plan to bring down the bridge had failed.
The Rakki charged once more.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Time seemed to stand still in that moment. Aravon’s mind raced—their entire plan had hinged on bringing down the bridge, and the Rakki with it. Scores of enemies still filled the mine tunnel, crossing the gap and shoving to join the attack on the Princelanders.
With the bridge still intact, the Legionnaires and Grim Reavers had little hope of victory. The enemy far outnumbered them—he and his men would run out of strength before they ran out of Rakki to kill. If he didn’t think of another plan now, they would all die here and now.
But what? Chaos whirled in his thoughts. The handful of Princelanders alone, unable to retreat, how could they survive?
A mighty, bellowing roar shattered Aravon’s momentary trance, echoing through the cavern with deafening force. An enormous figure broke from the front of the Legionnaires’ ranks and charged the enemy. Endyn’s huge body, backed by the force of his powerful muscles, drove straight at the Rakki crossing the bridge. Shield held before him, shoulders and head down, he slammed into them with the force of a runaway carriage. Sent them stumbling or flying off the narrow bridge.
The sudden charge caught the enemy off-guard, and they fell screaming as Endyn barreled through their lines and tossed them aside like ragdolls. Trampled beneath his huge feet, faces and chests caved in by the steel boss of his huge shield, or plummeted into the gaping darkness of the chasm.
“Endyn!” Duvain screamed, chilling and ringing with terror. Aravon whirled and threw out an arm barely in time to stop the slim Legionnaire from hurling himself after his brother. Gripped him tight as the giant Endyn bull-rushed through the Rakki holding the bridge. Those Rakki too slow or stunned to move fell before the huge Legionnaire, but a few managed to evade his charge. And to strike back at him. Swords, spears, clubs, and axes thumped into Endyn’s back as he barreled past. Cutting deep, slashing the leather armor to ribbons, piercing the flesh beneath. Far too many, yet the huge Legionnaire never slowed in his charge—a charge that carried him to the southern end of the bridge and right into the heart of the Rakki crowding into the mine tunnel.
Belthar roared an answering cry and took off in pursuit of the giant Legionnaire. He hit the off-balance Rakki with terrible force, his axe carving through their thinned ranks in seconds. His powerful blows swept aside Rakki weapons, crushed limbs, and hurled the remaining barbarians off the bridge.
Colborn and Rangvaldr followed in Belthar’s wake, Aravon a step behind. But there was no need—the ferocity of the attacks had finished off the Rakki on the bridge, and those in the rear fell back before the two bellowing giants and the shield-bearing warriors on their heels. The remaining Rakki fled up the tunnel and disappeared into the daylight beyond, a wild edge of panic to their howling war cries.
Endyn stood alone on the far side of the bridge. Heaving, gasping for air, blood staining every inch of his body. The blood of his enemies and his own, seeping through dozens of cuts and slashes in his armor, tunic, and flesh.
With a groan, the giant slumped to one knee. Collapsed against the wall with a heavy thump, his shield falling away, his spear dropping from his huge fingers.
“Endyn!” Duvain screamed again. This time, Aravon let the slim Legionnaire go. Duvain burst through the ranks of Legionnaires and rushed across the bridge, threw himself to his knees beside his brother. “What did you do?”
Aravon ran after the Legionnaire and arrived in time to hear Endyn’s weak reply.
“What…I had to.” Endyn gave a wet, gurgling cough. “To keep…you alive.” Blood gushed from wounds in his sides, chest, neck, face, hands, arms—too much blood. What bits of flesh hadn’t yet turned to dragonskin were now torn and shredded. His nose and lips hung in grisly ribbons, and deep furrows crisscrossed his face.
“No, no, no!” Duvain scrambled to press his brother’s wounds shut, but there were too many. Too deep. Gashes in his chest that oozed deep, dark heart’s blood that ran in rivulets among the pus oozing from the inflamed cracks in his dragonskin.
Aravon turned to call for Rangvaldr, but Endyn’s voice stopped him. “No, Captain.” His rumbling voice held a note of grim determination. “Let me be.”
“What are you talking about?” Duvain fairly screamed. He whirled on Aravon. “Heal him! Please.”
“Duvain.” Endyn gripped his brother’s hand. “I don’t…want to die…”
“I know!” Duvain whirled back to his brother, tears in his eyes. “That’s why—”
“Listen!” Endyn’s voice thundered through the cavern, and his eyes blazed with the last of his strength. “Don’t want…to die…from dragonskin.” He coughed again, bringing up flecks of crimson-tinged spittle. “A soldier’s death…is far better…than what’s waiting...for me.” He struggled for each breath; the deep puncture wound in his chest had doubtless pierced the lungs, drowning him in his own blo
od.
“No,” Duvain half-sobbed, half-shouted. “No, no, no, not like this!”
“Yes.” Endyn squeezed his brother’s hand. “Better like this…than any…other way.”
“No,” Duvain protested. “Please, Endyn.”
A strong hand gripped the slim Legionnaire’s shoulder. “Duvain.” Captain Lingram had come up behind Aravon, and now spoke to the soldier in a quiet voice. “You—”
“Tell him, Captain!” Duvain whirled on Lingram. “Tell him to stop being a fool, and to let the healer work his magic.”
Captain Lingram’s bloodstained face darkened. “But that’s not what he wants,” he said in a quiet voice.
Duvain looked as if the Captain had struck him. His jaw fell slack, his breath caught in his lungs. Disbelief, fury, and horror flashed in his eyes.
“Listen to me, Duvain.” Captain Lingram spoke in a firm voice. “If you love your brother, you owe him the chance to make his own choice. To go out the way he’d want to.” He pushed past Duvain and crouched in front of Endyn, taking up the big man’s free hand. “A Legionnaire to the end.”
A smile tugged at Endyn’s mangled lips. “Thank you…Captain,” he gasped. Another fit of coughing racked him, ending in a wet, gurgling groan. “It’s been…an honor…”
“The honor has been mine, Endyn of Northpass.” Captain Lingram leaned forward and rested his forehead against Endyn’s. “March into peace now, brave soldier.”
A sob shook Duvain’s shoulders, but Endyn’s grin brightened.
Sorrow twisted at Aravon’s gut as he turned away; the brothers deserved a moment of privacy to say their final farewells.
“Captain…Snarl.” Endyn’s voice stopped him.
Aravon turned back to the young man. Endyn struggled to sit upright, but blood loss left him too weak to move. Instead, he simply nodded to Aravon. “Maybe…in another life…I’d be…a Grim Reaver, too.”
Courage to Sacrifice Page 24