Sons of Plague

by Kade Derricks

  She laughed then, leaving with an easy smile.

  Cagle blushed. He’d meant to avoid putting himself in just this situation. He was pledged to Nuren; he needed to remember that. His resolve had weakened, though. Nuren was so many miles away and, with Olinia out spying, he had no one else to really talk to. Vlan, his closest friend, was too deep under Meagera’s influence. Anything said to him might as well go directly to the mage as well, and Cagle wasn’t entirely certain he wanted to share everything with the spellcaster. Whenever they crossed paths now, she studied him and then scribbled notes in a little book. Zethul had been acting funny around him since they’d ambushed the men from Washougle. Reeve kept to himself, and Cagle still hadn’t decided if he could trust anyone sent to him by Tresam Dalrone. Huir, he barely knew. The man cared for nothing but vengeance against Washougle. That left Felnasen. After showing a few cracks in his arrogant exterior, Felnasen had rebounded. The older commander was as aloof and withdrawn as ever.

  His group was an odd one. Gathered by fate, loyalty, or plain dumb luck from all parts of Kartha and Iridia: dwarf, Yoghen, human, mage, soldier, and hunter. At times, he wondered about other leaders of men, those famous heroes of old who always seemed to have all the answers.

  Did they have to deal with the like?

  A pair of guards brought Olinia to his tent. The thin waif of a girl was with her, clinging to his sister like a shadow.

  “I’m sorry, General,” one of the guards apologized. “They refused to be apart.”

  “It’s fine,” Cagle assured him. “Leave them both here.”

  The guard hesitated, eying Olinia and the blood on her sleeves and front of her shirt. Doubtless she had a weapon concealed on herself somewhere. She always does.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  The guard dipped his head and backed away. The tent fell shut behind him.

  “Olinia, I am surprised to see—”

  “I need you to take the city tonight,” Olinia interrupted.

  “What?”

  “You need to take it before nightfall. They’ve a weapon there, one they’ll be sending for you tonight.”

  “What sort of weapon?” Olinia wasn’t making sense. “And who’s your friend?”

  Olinia turned to the girl. “Agare, this is my brother, Cagle. He can help us free Melios and the others.”

  “What sort of weapon?” Cagle repeated.

  “An assassin, but it isn’t a person. They call it a Shade. It’s a creature of mist and shadow they summon after nightfall.”

  Cagle struggled to take in his sister’s news all at once. “Well then…maybe Meagera can defeat it.” She and her mages were resourceful, and he still had the crystal’s protection to fall back on. This Shade, whatever it was, might not even be able to harm him.

  “No, we have to take the city tonight. Cagle, to bring the Shade to life, the priest has to feed it a soul.” Olinia looked at the girl. “The soul of a child. The soul of one of her brothers.”

  Cagle paused. He shook his head, only understanding half of what his sister was saying.

  A soul? What manner of people would feed a child’s soul to a monster?

  “Olinia, are you sure…” He stopped himself. Olinia never lied, not to him. If she said they were sending an assassin from another world to kill him, then they were. Still, there are other considerations. “We can’t just attack. We aren’t ready. The army isn’t prepared. These things take time, you know that.”

  “You can’t always be in control, Cagle. Sometimes you have to act before you’re prepared. Not everything has to be planned to the last detail. You can’t just let innocents die while you hope Meagera will protect you.” Olinia’s face shone red, her expression desperate.

  “And you can’t always leap before you look, Nia. This. All of this,” Cagle held out his arms, “it isn’t about you. It’s not about me. It’s about our duty to save Kartha. Men will die if I attack now. Men will die if I attack in my own time, but far fewer. Is one life worth those of my men? Does the city even have what we need?”

  “Why did you order them to rebuild the farms around Crow’s Bay?”

  “We might need the food. We’ve discussed this already. They’ll have something to harvest on our way back.”

  “You can lie to me, but not to yourself.” Olinia shook her head. “Once you took their grain, you felt obligated to those people. It’s just like you. Well, I’m obligated to help Agare and her brothers. They helped me get into the city. I won’t repay their help by allowing them to die.”

  “Olinia, I have a duty to these men. I can’t just...”

  Olinia started to cry. Truly cry. He’d seen her scream and rage often enough, but Cagle couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. It was as rare as a comet streaking across the night sky.

  “Cagle, please, I beg you. This is my fault. I put Melios in harm’s way. Now I’m trying to make it right.”

  Cagle thought for a moment. If Olinia was right, Washougle had a weapon capable of killing him. Something even Meagera might not be able to counter. Still, it wasn’t sure and his duty was to the lowlands and to his men.

  What would father do?

  In his heart, he knew the answer. Father would have done his duty first. He would have focused on keeping the army intact. Irid lives weren’t his concern, but did that make it right?

  “I need you to forget duty for a moment. This isn’t about that. This is about right and wrong. Please help me,” Olinia said. “Or, if you won’t help, then at least help me get back into the city. I can try to stop all this and free him.”

  “Creen!” Cagle called. One of the guards outside the tent stuck his head in. “Get Felnasen, Vlan, Zethul and Meagera. Now. And see if you can find Huir, as well.”

  Olinia smiled through her tears.

  “I can show you how to get through the Grind.” Olinia started outlining her plan. She told him about arriving in Washougle, the Grind, the Line, meeting Melios and the others, and finally, how she’d learned about the Shade.

  Cagle listened.

  An hour later, he sat his horse in front of the assembled army. Meagera stood slightly behind him, using her powers to magnify his voice. She kept her face an emotionless mask, but she’d argued plain enough earlier. Olinia plead her own case. She laid out the facts quickly and succinctly. In the face of his sister and the girl, Agare, and their explanation of what had happened, or rather what was to happen to her brothers, the mage’s resistance evaporated. But even now, Meagera wasn’t happy with the plan. Only Huir supported it with any real enthusiasm.

  “Soldiers of the lowlands, countrymen, friends. We ride tonight to save our homeland,” Cagle called out. He didn’t consider himself gifted at speeches, but if he didn’t say something to his men now, they’d never follow him again. “I do not expect to find the vast stores of grain we need. Not today. I don’t expect to find warehouses full to the bursting as we’d hoped. But make no mistake, this city poses a grave threat to our efforts, one we simply cannot ignore.”

  Cagle paused. He let his gaze sweep out over the multitude. How many will die today because of this?

  “We hadn’t planned on fighting today, and I’d like nothing more than to catch a good night’s sleep before waking up and slaughtering a few enemy soldiers for breakfast.”

  Laughter ran through the army. By now, they’d all heard the stories about what had happened during the ambush. They’d heard what a bloodthirsty killer their leader was.

  If it gives them courage to think of me like that, then so be it. I need them tonight.

  “They’ve given us no choice, though. Such is often the case. Some of you have known war, some of you have seen all too much of it. You know the enemy sometimes doesn’t leave you any choices. Such is the case today. I tell you true, though
, our enemies have made a mistake. They do not know our strength. They risk our wrath at great peril. By nightfall, we will conquer. We will show them the folly of angering us. Tonight, we will sleep in their homes. We will take their city for our homeland, for our countrymen; we will take their food for our hungry wives and starving children.”

  Cagle raised his sword high. He’d spent two days sharpening the dents and dings out of it.

  “You have your orders, men, and I know you will carry them out well and bring honor to your families. I’ll see you all in the city.”

  With that, cheers arose, and Felnasen signaled the bannermen. The bulk of the army began to march. They headed for what Olinia had guessed at as the intersection between the Grind and the wealthy part of the city. If her knowledge was correct, the defenses were weak there, and the army wouldn’t have to battle its way through the Grind. The gangs wouldn’t put up much of a fight—not against armored soldiers—but his men would string out through the collapsed buildings and, as a last resort, the enemy might set fire to the Grind.

  Cagle turned to those who remained behind. He had a hundred select men—some of his finest—along with the dwarves, Olinia, and half the men from Crow’s Bay all mounted. He waited until the rest of the army was a half-mile from the city, and then spoke. “Are you all ready?”

  Zethul nodded gravely, and a wicked gleam shone in Huir’s eyes. After the captain from Crow’s Bay had heard of Cagle’s plan, he’d eagerly volunteered his men for the bulk of the fighting.

  Fighting. No, he volunteered for the bulk of the destruction. Once we have control of the city, I’ll need to keep Huir and his men on a tight leash.

  “Let’s go,” Olinia said. She flicked her reins and raced off toward the city.

  The mounted group didn’t follow the army. They split wide to the right, heading for the same gate Olinia had used earlier to flee the city.

  Their horses surged for the gate at a full run. To Cagle’s ears, it sounded like a hundred blacksmiths’ pounding hammers. He felt the urge to fight rising with every hoofbeat. His blood roared with it. He needed to keep a clear head once inside. He couldn’t afford to lose himself to the rage. Not again. According to Olinia, they had a long way to go to reach the Citadel, and at the end they still had to take a fortress, free Olinia’s newfound friends, and kill a sinister priest to recover a mysterious dagger, all before nightfall.

  The gate was closed when they reached it, and the fly-covered bodies of the two men Olinia had killed remained as they’d fallen just inside. Atop the wall, there were four other guards, each in mismatched armor.

  Cagle and his band rode close and their bows sang. None of the shots found their marks, most missing by wide margins. Even for experienced archers, hitting a man from horseback wasn’t an easy thing, but the defenders ducked out of sight, unable and unwilling to shoot any arrows of their own. The army drew up at the gate, below their line-of-sight.

  At the gate, Cagle dismounted. “Zethul, can you crack it open?”

  Hurried as he was, the dwarf almost fell of his horse. He and three other dwarves tore into the gate with their axes singing. With every swing, the big half-moons tore great palm-sized chunks out of the wood. One of the guards leaned out over the wall to risk a look and took three arrows from Cagle’s men for his efforts.

  “Faster, Zethul!” Cagle shouted. They had little time. The sun hung but a few fingerwidths above the horizon, and sooner or later, more men were bound to show up to defend the gate.

  The dwarves gave nothing back but grunts as their axes cut out a thumping rhythm. Winded, they stepped aside, and four more took their places. The axes struck and wood flew. In minutes, they had an opening cut large enough to walk through.

  “In, in, in!” The dwarves entered the city first, followed by the men crawling on their hands and knees. Inside, a few brave—or foolish—gang members rushed at them and quickly died. Others broke and fled.

  Cagle helped his sister once he was through. “Where to now?” he asked.

  “That way,” she said, pointing.

  With a whoop, Huir and his men set off at once. They howled and their eyes blazed alight.

  Holding his breath, Cagle watched them go. Creator send I haven’t loosed a pack of wolves among a flock of sheep.

  Cagle and Olinia then set out on their own path. They had argued over whether which should go first and lead them. It would have been faster, certainly, if Olinia guided them, but more dangerous for her as well. In the end, he’d won; they could ill afford risking their best spy and the one person who’d been inside the city.

  Huir’s men, two thousand in total, fanned out through the Grind in columns, all pushing north for the Line, boots thundering and weapons flashing. They killed as they went—those hiding in their homes were safe, but any gang members or streetvendors they found were fair game. Cagle had forbidden them from setting fire to anything. Those who disobeyed that order would find themselves dancing at the bottom of a short rope. He and the others, Olinia along with the dwarves and his select men, trotted behind Huir and the Crow’s Bay men in a tight group.

  “How far to the Line?” he asked.

  “Two or three miles,” Olinia said.

  “Big place, indeed. Can you make it that far, Zethul?” Cagle asked.

  The dwarf gave him a dangerous look. He didn’t speak, though; his cheeks puffed with every breath.

  Once they got to the Line, they’d have to either find the gate or make a new one, whichever might prove faster. They hadn’t time for a siege, even a brief one.

  They passed bodies as they ran. Gang members, mostly, all unarmored, rarely one of the Crow’s Bay men. Thankfully, neither women nor children were among the dead. Cagle felt guilty enough about unleashing Huir on the city, but he’d need Huir and his men’s ferocity to breach the Line and push through to the Citadel. He was confident they’d throw themselves at the fortress until either it shattered or they did.

  They ran on for what seemed like an hour. Cagle had to keep slowing his pace to allow the others to keep up. It frustrated him to no end, and Olinia kept giving him appraising glances. He’d have to explain about the Aumenthane at some point, but now wasn’t the time.

  At the Line, they caught up with Huir. The commander stood on a platform of broken rock near a gap in the rubble, shouting orders at his men. A number of defenders held the gap, while further back, more men from Washougle worked to fortify a wooden gate. With wheelbarrows, they piled rocks along the gate’s sides and bottom like ants stockpiling food. The men from Crow’s Bay hurled themselves into the gap and the lines of Washougle’s troops with relentless abandon. They hacked and cut at the defending troops, forcing them to a slow retreat through ferocity and sheer numbers.

  “You’re held up,” Cagle said to Huir.

  “We’ll cut through in a minute,” Huir growled. “We’d be through now if we could stem that trickle of men they keep sending forward.”

  Cagle turned to his own men. “Form up and send a few volleys behind that battleline. Let’s see if we can slow down their reinforcements.”

  His men grouped up and sent three volleys arcing high behind the melee. Arrows landed amid a chorus of screams. Encouraged, Huir’s men pressed harder. They broke through the weakened battleline, slaying isolated defenders with swords and spears, and the wooden gate to the upper city swung shut. Swords and axes and hammers smashed at the wood. Made to hold out unorganized and unarmored gangs, it wouldn’t stand long against trained soldiers.

  From above the Line, bowstrings snapped. This time, arrows fell among Huir’s troops, but the archers’ numbers were too few. Cagle admired how fast their commander reacted; he might have succeeded if he’d had more time, or more men, or a stronger gate, but the wood already sagged under the strain of so many attackers.

  Such little things that swi
ng the tide of battle, Cagle thought. He was content to let Huir’s men take the brunt of this. He’d need his Karthans ready once they arrived at the Citadel.

  A piece of woodwork wider than a man’s shoulders crashed inward, then a second and third. Enraged by the stinging arrows, the men from Crow’s Bay broke through and collapsed on the now-defenseless archers.

  A great crash rang out to the west and dust rose in a round white-and-gray cloud rising in the distance. Cagle studied the sun again. Not much time remained until dark.

  Felnasen and Vlan have now breached, as well. Good, we’ll meet them at the Citadel.

  Cagle’s group waited until most of the Crow’s Bay men were through and then followed. Even the wounded among Huir’s men still burned to fight. Those unfit to carry sword and shield fought in pairs, one shielding, the other attacking.

  On the other side of the Line, more knots of Washougle soldiers battled Huir’s men. The defenders were unorganized, joining the battle in ones and twos, and were quickly swarmed over by the men from Crow’s Bay.

  Huir fought a man in bright armor, winning a quick exchange of blows, knocking him down and stabbing him in the chest, then looking for another opponent.

  Cagle felt his heart quicken at the sight of it. The smell of sweat and fresh-spilled blood hung in his nostrils. His fingers found the hilt of his sword. No, not yet. This battle is not my purpose. He forced down the killing urge and released his weapon.

  “Huir. Huir!” Cagle shouted to draw the man’s attention. Huir’s eyes were bright and full of hot rage when he spotted them. “Remember the plan. Make for the Citadel. If they get it sealed up, the rest of this won’t matter.”

  “Forward!” Huir screamed. “Take the Citadel!”