“What do you mean I can’t fight?”
Captain Darq strode into view, Leetra on his heels. He turned to face her flashing expression.
“I mean I’ve given you an order.”
Leetra’s mouth hung open for a moment before her voice came. She struggled visibly to keep it controlled, but it was clipped. “With respect, Captain, I am among the best at aerial combat.”
“I’m not arguing your combat skills, but you also have medical knowledge. Josef is the only trained physician here and will need all the help he can get. I have therefore decided your skills are best utilized on the ground caring for the wounded.”
Leetra stood rigidly, breathing hard, and balled her fists, but her jaw clamped tight.
“Leetra,” Darq said, now speaking more as a friend than a captain, “I know you wish to fight, but you are needed here in the keep.”
Still, she did not speak, only gave a stiff nod. Darq turned away from her. When he caught sight of Kyrin and Jace, he raised his brows before moving on. With one more glance at Leetra, they hurried on as well, leaving the crete to come to grips with being ordered out of the fight.
At the base of the wall, most of their Landale group was waiting, including Kyrin’s brothers. What a sight they made. Like Jace, they had never looked like such warriors. She had to be proud of them, for their courage and dedication to standing and fighting for what was right. Each had to overcome something to be here—Kaden with his doubts about leading, Liam who had always struggled to be a soldier, and Marcus who, only months ago, had captained the emperor’s men. This struck her especially. If things had happened differently last winter, they could be facing Marcus as an opponent. The thought broke her heart.
When she reached him, she murmured, “I’m glad you’re here with us.”
He frowned at first, but then appeared to understand. “So am I.”
Together, the group ascended the wall. Many of Samara’s soldiers had already gathered. Kyrin looked around and spotted King Balen with his general and several other officers. The king had donned leather armor and chainmail similar to what Mason wore. It appeared that Balen intended to fight alongside his men, while Emperor Daican sat safe and comfortable back in Auréa.
At the parapet, they looked out toward Arcacia, but the sky and plains were deceptively empty. Still, Kyrin had already seen what marched their way. If only they were going in the opposite direction.
Silence fell over them—an anxious, heavy silence that made Kyrin fidgety. At last, Kaden spoke.
“Remember that tree we used to climb by the pond?”
Kyrin and their older brothers looked at him.
“The one you fell out of?” Marcus asked.
Kaden laughed. “That’s right, I did, didn’t I?”
Marcus nodded. “I told you not to climb that high.”
“Which is exactly why I did.”
They shared a grin.
It was good for Kyrin to see them getting along so well. They all needed each other for strength.
“And you still like heights?” Jace joined in, sending Kaden an incredulous look.
He shrugged. “I guess so.”
Jace shook his head. “You four remind me of what Kalli used to tell me about her nine siblings.”
“Nine?” Marcus raised his brows.
“Six boys and four girls, including Kalli.”
“And I thought five was a lot,” Kaden said.
Another moment of silence followed before Liam spoke up. “Didn’t we hide some old glass and a bottle with a note in one of the holes in that tree?”
“Oh, yeah,” Kaden replied. “I wonder if it’s still there.”
“We’ll have to go back and see,” Marcus said.
He, Kyrin, Kaden, and Liam looked at each other and a silent pact was made. Now they just needed to survive.
The sun arced higher, bright and hot. Kyrin pitied the men in all their heavy layers, but no one said a word about it. She kept glancing up to see how close the sun came to its pinnacle.
Just before noon, Jace straightened, staring out to the south. Everyone looked at him.
“See something?” Marcus asked.
Jace squinted. “I think so.”
On the other side of Kaden, Talas hopped up onto the parapet for a better view. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, it’s them.” He turned and gave a shrill whistle, signaling to Captain Darq farther down the wall.
Restless murmurs and energy swept through the men. Balen and General Mason joined their group.
“They’re coming?” Balen asked.
Jace nodded.
Mason looked at Marcus. “You believe they will offer terms of surrender before attacking?”
“That is what I would expect. They’ll make a show of force and then offer us a chance to surrender peacefully.”
General Mason nodded and moved on down the line to give encouragement and make sure the soldiers were prepared for whatever may happen.
Over the next hour, Daican’s army marched steadily over the grasslands. Dozens of firedrakes and their riders circled overhead, appearing like giant black vultures in the distance. Kyrin swallowed and looked up at Kaden. It was up to him, his men, and the cretes to fight the beasts. She worried for him, but he looked determined. Despite his fears, she knew he would give his new role everything he had.
It happened just as Marcus said it would. When the army finally reached the river that marked the border of Samara, they spread out, forming their neat ranks to display the full might of their gold and black force. Here, the firedrakes landed amongst the units. One by one, they unleashed a series of wailing, shattering roars, all joining together and rising to a pitch and volume that nearly vibrated the stones. Kyrin trembled and had to cover her ears at the spine-chilling sound. She had hated firedrakes ever since the one that had nearly killed her in Valcré.
Even with her ears covered, the sound seemed to consume her and threatened to drive her to her knees. At a gentle touch on her arm, she looked up into Jace’s eyes and held them until the beasts grew quiet and she uncovered her ears.
Silence reigned for a moment, but then Mason strode along behind his men, speaking in a steady voice. “Stand firm. Don’t let their overconfidence and show of strength get the best of you. Yes, they are strong, but so are we. We are neither helpless nor defenseless, and they are not invincible.”
His words didn’t just bolster the soldiers, but Kyrin too. Only Elôm was invincible, and He was on their side.
Nothing much seemed to happen now that the firedrakes were silent, but then three horses broke from the ranks and crossed the river. Even from here, Kyrin recognized the big gray warhorse in the lead and its rider.
“It’s the General.” She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. She glanced at Marcus. His expression was stony.
One of the three riders held a black and white parley flag aloft. The third rider looked completely out of place. He didn’t wear the gold and black uniforms of the other two and had long dark hair.
“Falcor,” Jace murmured.
He touched his neck, and Kyrin thought of the cruel things the crete had done to him. Not only that, she thought of her father, and a hard thumping hammer took the place of her heart.
Balen, Mason, and Darq gathered behind them and spoke to Trask.
“We think there should be someone down there to represent your force,” Mason said.
Both Trask and Marcus stepped forward.
“You don’t have to go down there,” Trask told him.
Marcus stood up tall. “I’m your military leader. I should be there.”
Trask nodded, and they turned for the stairs, but Kyrin stopped her brother for a moment.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right… with him?” She glanced over the parapet to the approaching riders.
“I’ll be fine.”
He moved on, but Kyrin worried for him. Their grandfather’s words had a way of cutting deep and destroying confidence. Be with him, E
lôm.
Kaden suddenly turned from glaring at the approaching group, and headed for the stairs as well.
“Where are you going?” Kyrin asked. She would definitely not let him go down there. That would turn ugly far too quickly.
“To get Exsis,” he said over his shoulder, “just in case they don’t play fair.”
Marcus pulled his shoulders back and walked steadily beside Trask, but his stomach did somersaults. He hadn’t come face to face with the General since they had cut ties back home and chosen two different sides. It was more difficult than he wanted to admit to walk out and face him again. He had dedicated nearly his entire life to following the man. This reminded him too painfully of how blind he had been.
“Captain!”
They all turned as Leetra rushed toward them to Captain Darq.
“I want to go with you.” Her eyes churned a deep, stormy purple.
Darq shook his head. “No.”
“Please.” She glanced at the other men and lowered her voice to a hard murmur. “I need to see him.”
Marcus watched the crete captain. He couldn’t imagine it would be a good idea to let Leetra go out with them when her hostile feelings were so evident. Still, Darq did not refuse her.
“You will take no action. None,” he said.
Leetra gave a curt nod. “Yes, Captain.”
“And you will not speak to them. Do you understand?”
Leetra hesitated and glanced at the others again, but answered just as firmly. “Yes, Captain.”
Darq nodded and they continued toward the gate. Marcus still questioned the wisdom of the crete girl joining them, but maybe she had to face Falcor the same way he felt he had to face his grandfather to be able to move on. That he could understand.
He drew a fortifying breath as the sentries opened the gate for them. Striding out, he caught his first sight of the General just down the hill. He glanced up at the wall and, though he couldn’t see anyone, he knew all were watching.
After a couple of yards, his grandfather recognized him, and their eyes locked. Marcus fought to keep his confidence strong under that crippling, razor-edged stare. It was not how the General used to look at him. Such looks he had reserved for Liam. Anger built over these memories and strengthened Marcus’s resolve. His grandfather was a cruel tyrant who had brought great pain to the family, and Marcus would not be cowed.
His gaze drifted to the crete standing at the General’s side. This was the first time he had ever seen Falcor, the man responsible for turning in his father and treating Jace so barbarically. Marcus clenched his fists but, like Leetra, he must not let emotion take over. There would be plenty of opportunity for action and fighting later.
On the sloping, rocky ground between the river and the walls of Stonehelm, the two parties met. Mason stepped forward first.
“I am General Mason. You speak to Lord Balen, King of Samara.” He motioned to Balen, who came to his side.
The General took stock of the king, appearing unimpressed. “I am General Marcus Veshiron, commander of the emperor’s armies, and I am here to offer you terms of surrender.”
Balen took another step forward, facing the General down. For once, Marcus’s grandfather didn’t look so massive in front of the Samaran king.
“Samara is a sovereign country,” Balen said. “We have been since the early days of Ilyon. You have no right to make war on my people.”
The General snorted. “Emperor Daican needs no right. He has power. Power you do not have.”
“No?” Balen raised his brows. “I think you underestimate the might of Samara’s warriors.”
“Even the mightiest warriors cannot stand forever against a superior force, which is why I am offering you a chance you’d best heed.” The General glanced up at the wall. “Surrender to me and your men will be allowed to live. Emperor Daican is not looking to destroy your country, otherwise he would have sent the firedrakes to the villages beyond your walls, but he will accept nothing less than your full surrender.”
Balen stood for a long moment. “And what if the answer is no?”
In all his years under his grandfather’s command, Marcus had never seen any man stand up to the General the way Balen did.
The General’s gray eyes narrowed. “Then we fight and you die. Look around you. Do you see the force I command? It is but a fraction of the power the emperor has at his disposal.” His gaze shifted. “Marcus—”
“Captain Altair of the Landale Militia,” he cut in coldly. As far as he was concerned, his grandfather had lost the privilege of addressing him with the familiarity of family. Now, as regrettable as it was, they were enemy commanders—one against the other.
The General scoffed, peering down at him. “A captain of the traitors now, are we? Well, Captain, you can tell them that I’m right. Arcacia has far greater military power than what you see here.”
It was true. This force was only a small part of the army—smaller even than Marcus had expected—but since this was all a ruse to distract them from the true target, it didn’t surprise him. He said nothing, holding his grandfather’s iron gaze.
The General scowled and turned back to Balen. “You can be sure the emperor won’t stop until Samara is in his power. Save your men from slaughter and surrender now.”
Standing tall, Balen responded, “You may have your numbers, but no army has ever breached Stonehelm. And though outnumbered, my men have greater purpose for fighting, and we have forces on our side that you do not.”
A smirk grew on the General’s face. “Falcor tells me the emperor killed your so-called God in Valcré. If He can’t even save Himself, how can He save you?”
Balen’s jaw went taut. “You do not understand what you speak of.”
“No? We shall see.”
“And we will take our chances,” Balen said decidedly.
Marcus breathed in deeply. Nothing had changed, but the king’s declaration seemed to mark the beginning of the battle.
“If it is your will to do so.” The General turned. “Falcor.”
The crete stepped forward, his intense eyes only on Darq. “Captain, the same offer is extended to you and our people. Any crete who leaves now and returns to Dorland will not be considered an enemy. Let the humans fight amongst themselves. It is not your fight.”
Darq raised his brows, glancing past Falcor to the army across the river. “No? What about Josan? And what about your attempt to murder Talas? What of the beasts out there you helped train? It seems to me that it is our fight. Will it not be when the emperor marches next on Dorland to destroy our people?”
“He won’t,” Falcor said with odd certainty. “As long as we cooperate and do not hinder him, he will leave the cretes out of this. And, in the end, I will restore our race to its former glory.”
Darq glared at him. “You?” He shook his head incredulously. “By allying yourself with a murderer and committing such atrocities yourself? That is not the way of the cretes, and you know it. What about honor?”
Falcor did not answer, and his gaze switched to Leetra. It was the first Marcus saw of any softening, but Leetra’s face was hard as ice. Falcor said her name quietly, almost as if hoping for reconciliation, but she would have none of it.
“You’re not worthy of those markings you bear,” she spat. “Not worthy of your family name.” She shook her head. “They’ve already cut you off. You’re dead to them.”
Falcor’s jaw shifted and real pain flashed in his eyes. “That is unfortunate. I could have done much for them.”
Leetra nearly shook, her breaths loud, even to Marcus.
“Like this? Are you mad? Good people are dying while tyrants like him are gaining power.” She gestured at the General, who only scowled at her.
“They wouldn’t have to die. They should know when they are beaten.” Falcor glanced at Balen, and then at the men on the walls before returning his gaze to Leetra. “You should know.”
Leetra balled her fists and drew herself up, but
tears glittered in her eyes. “You are no crete. You are a traitor, and you will always be remembered as such.”
Again, pain pinched Falcor’s face, but he hardened himself. Darq’s voice drew his attention away from Leetra.
“The cretes are part of this fight now, and we will not back away from it.”
“Suit yourself,” the General cut in. “You can all die together.”
He lifted his eyes to scan the wall and their defenses. After a cursory look, he released a harsh laugh and dropped his gaze to Marcus. “I imagine your brothers are up there, aren’t they? Or is Liam hiding back at home?”
Indignation flared inside Marcus. “Liam has chosen to fight by my side of his own will, not through any use of force or cruelty.”
The General dismissed him and looked once more at King Balen. “You have until dawn to reconsider. Maybe some of your men actually want to live.”
He turned, and he and Marcus traded a scathing look before he strode back to his horse. The flag carrier followed, but Falcor lingered a moment with a dour look at Darq.
“Someday you’ll see I was right… if you survive.”
Darq just shook his head. “Whatever the emperor has promised you, he will not deliver. You cannot trust him. No good will come to the cretes or anyone in Ilyon for granting him this power.”
Dismissing his words, Falcor took a final look at Leetra and walked away.
Marcus watched the three men mount and turn toward the river. At the bank, the General glanced back, and it struck Marcus—the horror of going to battle against family. Looking heavenward, he thanked Elôm that he was not riding beside his grandfather. Win or lose, he knew he fought for what was right.
That night, when Arcacia’s force was no more than hundreds of campfires twinkling in the distance, Jace followed the others back to the keep for supper. They sat down to eat as they had that morning, though they talked less, weighed down with weariness and anxiety about the future. Only hours remained before they would find themselves in battle, and Jace guessed the night would pass more quickly than the day had. The closer it came, the more he wished he could slow time.
If only Elon were here. Jace still had to wonder why He had sacrificed Himself just before a battle that would shape Ilyon’s future. Yes, Jace would be dead now if He hadn’t, but surely this fight was more important. Jace shook his head to himself. Elon knew what He was doing. Jace could not doubt that.
Samara's Peril (Ilyon Chronicles Book 3) Page 32