Horizon (In the Absence of Kings Book 3)

by Lee LaCroix

  “Although it pains me greatly to bring this battle into our fair city, it has become an unavoidable measure given Vandar’s formidable strength. Even though it was not my first choice to resume the fighting here, I can tell you that we have a chance of repelling them. From the walls above and using the streets far narrower than the wide peninsula, we can force them into tight spaces which make their numbers count for naught. They dare not roll their siege weaponry into the city because we can surely break them from atop the walls. With an archer in every window, and the remainder of our siege placed on the street, we will make Vandar pay for their crimes!” Ayden boomed over the crowd of soldiers, raising his sword to them.

  Having the chance to fight and die inside the city that had birthed them and sheltered them put the Kal’reth in a state of ease and acceptance, and they responded to Ayden’s call with barking shouts and the shrill slaps of swords against steel. The ground shook like a heartbeat as the Kal’reth and Malquians formed up in front of the city gate. For a moment, each defender stood paralyzed as they looked into the lifeless eyes of the ornate goat’s head carved into the Vandarian siege ram. From the wall, volunteers dropped rocks and tried their hardest to debilitate the strong-armed henchmen working the massive goat-headed ram, which cracked the gate and shook the floor below them. Regardless of how many boulders they dropped, arrows they launched, or Vandari they felled, the defenders of the city could not seem to make a noticeable difference in their enemy’s numbers. The louder the sound of wood splintered, the more nervous the defenders all became. They could feel the force of the giant ram rush by them in great vibrations that rattled their bones and churned their bowels to water.

  Soon, the barricade of excess wood began to shake and fall as it was forced out of its bindings by jolts of breaking force. As the timber was spread across the street, a wide fiery crack appeared in the middle of the door, tall and sharp as a cat’s pupil, and continued to widen as the siege continued. The metal barring of the gate groaned low like an apocryphal choir and then screamed high and loud like its worshippers before there was a loud crack and then a prevailing silence. Every time the gate opened and closed a crack, the defenders could see the grimaces and the scowls of the Vandarian soldiers who stood in the rain of rocks and arrows. The light beyond the door grew brighter and brighter until the last bar was broken, and the nearby faces of houses crumbled as the walls of the gate were thrown against it.

  “Archers!” Dontas called out as the first rows of Vandari marched into the city.

  Like the spitting of hail, the arrows bounced off the Vandarian shieldbearers.

  “Catapults!” Dontas yelled, throwing his hand forward, and watched the craggy boulders fly over the heads of his men.

  The shieldsmen did not even see the falling doom upon them, so preoccupied with covering themselves, and many were crushed at a seconds notice, rendering their shield line to naught. By the time the first wave of catapult shot had landed, the Vandarian lines had buckled and had formed their full charge. Under the soaring arcs of catapult fire, the battle raged on.

  The Malquians found themselves at the forefront of the battle again, and their experience and their weapons helped fell any Vandari who had wandered too far from the front line. Even though many stones fell, dozens of arrows struck, and many boulders rolled, there seemed to be no end to the soldiers of the Order, who made their way through such a torrent of death to meet the outnumbered defenders. Even if ten Vandari fell, there was always one Malquian or one Kal’reth among them.

  Regardless, Garreth still held his composure and bided his time at the frontline, waiting for the end of the Vandari forces or the rising of the sun. The front lines of the enemy force, the tower-shielded soldier, were rare to see this late in the battle. Garreth struck out at the remainder of the Vandarian forces, the wielders of two-handed weapons, and put them into the panic with his glinting blade. They could only charge at him in groups, hoping that one ally would score a crippling blow before they were blinded and sliced down.

  Three Vandari charged towards him with their weapons held high. Garreth sidestepped left and lunged with Darkbreaker, guiding it under the curve of an axe, before swinging his sword down and wrenching the Vandarian’s weapon away. The Vandarian stared transfixed as his weapon flew away, and he dropped to the floor, cut and bloodied. Garreth rested his palm on the flat of the blade as a heavy mace came rushing towards him, and he pressed Darkbreaker against its fall. As the powerful smash met the mursame blade, a wave of light exploded from it, and Garreth pushed the blade down with the palm of his hand and thrust it forward. By the time he had pulled the sword out of his foe, Garreth had just enough time to raise his sword before another Vandarian plowed right into him. Garreth felt his muscles tense as their swords grinded against each other, and he set his foot back to gain his balance.

  Garreth gasped, and his eyes bulged as his foot slipped instead of finding solid stone. His breath jumped out of his body as his back slammed against the street, and a Vandarian corpse laid between his knees. He looked around in a glance, noticing the other bodies that were piling high on the front line with the dead falling on dead. As he looked ahead and tried to pull himself up, two Vandari stood overhead with their swords plunging down. Garreth took a sharp breath, and all was darkness until the great width of Behn’s sword had passed over him like an eclipse, bowling Garreth’s attackers over in a single swing.

  “Come on! It’s not safe to fight here!” Eyrn yelled as he helped Garreth to his feet.

  Garreth raised his sword and circled it around.

  “Malquians, clear the street, fall back!” Garreth ordered as he took off from the front line.

  “What? What! We must hold the line!” Dontas yelled, but soon the Kal’reth began to follow Garreth up the street as well.

  Although he would not show it, it dismayed Garreth to see that less than half of the Malquians soldiers remained and disturbed him that less than one hundred of the Kal’reth stood beside them as well. From his position on the uphill slope, he watched as the Order marched forward, their lines reformed and their numbers snaking all the way out the city gate and disappearing around the corner. The surviving soldiers rallied in front of the mass of catapults, their last line of defense, and rested themselves in the small calm before the overwhelming storm. Shaky, exhausted, terrified, the soldiers looked up at Garreth as he stood before them all.

  “When I left my home in Malquia, I never imagined I would die here. There were times, on a sinking ship, in a rotting cell, that I knew that death crept near, that there was nothing I could do to avoid that fate. And yet, in those times, I always continued on, moving forward and living until the very end. Because we can die before we give our last breath, we can die before seeing our last sight. When we will away the energy of life, we die twice. But tonight, just like those other nights, I have not resigned myself to death. I will fight until the final swing of my sword, the final beat of my heart, and I ask of you to do the same,” Garreth yelled at them over the sound of marching boots of the Vandari.

  The roar of the remaining was long and loud and continued until the two forces met again.

  A man, hairless except for the few whisks of gray upon his chin, stood nearly invisible in the moonlight. With his hood drawn up and his pitch black robe around him, he was like a shadow. He watched the terrible display of the blackened soldiers on the streets below where armies of dark and fire collided late into the night. A low growl rose from his throat as he watched the last of the defenders—prideful, blind fools in his thoughts— go to their deaths against the overwhelming power of the conquerors. A pale hand fell out of his robe and remained bright in the sky, and the twitching of stressing strings whispered across the rooftops. As the monotone melody of the archer’s song rang out, the moon is covered in darkness.

  Waves of the Vandari fall at once. Their great masses are forced into tight corridors, and their line of soldiers are stretched long down the main street of Andalvia. They canno
t move, and they cannot flee in their tight formation. Black arrowheads like slate, black flights like raven’s wings, the arrows of the Dusk assassins rain down from the cloudless night sky. The overwhelming pressure lifts away from the final line of defenders. Under the barrage of the catapults and the martial archers, the Vandari began to buckle. Drunk with vengeance, Dontas raises his sword.

  “Forward! Till the end!” he roars and points his sword forward.

  His yell is followed, and the defenders push away from the catapults and down the street. Like a tidal wave washing away the shore, the Kal’reth and Malquians rushed forward and left none of their oppressors standing in the wake. By the time the defenders had made it to frontline of the city gates, the Vandari had turned and made a full retreat. Some defenders stop, collapsing for breath and rest. Others continue to run, thirsty to extinguish their dread with bloodshed, and toss the Vandari off the peninsula to a watery grave below. The most predatory were the Dusk, for they leapt down from roofs, slid down sandy slopes, and joined their allies in the streets and outside the city where their unfatigued ranks could chase away the Vandarian forces with savage attacks and dire warnings never to return. Although some Vandari made their way back to their homeland, many did not make it over the Dykos river. The sandy reaches soon became sprinkled with steel helmets like rarely witnessed snow.

  The golden sun rose the next day without a trace of crimson hue. It is the last time anyone wished to see the color of blood for a time. The cleaning of the streets is a tiring work of much drudgery, for many soldiers could not rest until the gate was repaired, and all the citizens were barred from sleep by the battle and the unshakable fear. A long line of buckets ran from the docks, up the cliff side stairs, and through the streets before being poured into the downhill slope. None were happy, pleased, or proud at the staining of the sand when the blood was washed out of their city and into the desert beyond. Very few could be counted as positive until the rally at the marketplace.

  “Kal’reth, citizens, soldiers, merchants, patriots, Malquians! We stand here today at the end of our greatest tribulations, the battle for our freedom! We all may now stand tall as our ancestors once did when they obeyed only the sand and the sun and lived by all of its graces. We now live in a time of great potential, for we have cast off the masters that have shackled us and restricted us from our true callings. I ask that you look forward towards a future as bright as the rising sun, but also that you look behind us, to the people who made today possible. Let us remember the sacrifice of our soldiers, our fellow brothers and sisters, as well as the sibling souls of the seafaring warriors from Malquia, let us praise their valor and their memory,” Ayden announced as he raised his hand to the crowd.

  As if the realization of their victory had finally struck them, those in Andalvia finally gave up their burdens and praised their fortunes, filling the marketplace with fervent applause, roaring cheers, and salty tears.

  “Not so hard,” Novas wheezed as Kayten jumped into his arms, and Garreth held Ilsa close.

  “Well, I think it’s time for a drink,” Behn nodded with a scowl and a smile.

  “It’s not past noon yet, you,” Kayten chided, sticking out her tongue.

  “But, but, I’ve been up all night!” Behn hollered, reaching towards her with a clutching grasp.

  “Well maybe you should get some sleep then, comrade,” Eyrn suggested.

  “Sleep… sleep sounds good. But only after a couple drinks,” Behn continued, yawning wide as a lion, and the laughter of his friends followed in his wake.

  Even though it was hours past noon, the sun still hung bright and high in the cloudless sky when Novas had finally awoken from his slumber. He felt a lightness to himself, perhaps inspired by the calm of victory or finally unburdening himself from the weight of his armour. As he donned his cloth and robe, he peered out of the window of the high room in the Cliffside Corner and down to where life in Andalvia had presumed as regular with few exceptions. The city street looked more full than usual because the citizens had shed their fear and reveled in their freedom. The clanking of hammers and the scraping of paste could be heard across the city as long spires of wood and dirty barrels of clay and plaster were hauled to the tops of buildings to begin the necessary repairs. Although all the fires had been extinguished, the flame-scorched blackening of bloodfire still remained on buildings high and low, and many went from cleaning their rooms to the outer walls of their homes.

  “Unnnghhh,” Kayten moaned low and long as she tossed over in bed, reached for Novas.

  Taking her from the smithy had ruined her practiced sense of sleep, he mused; regardless of the amount of hours, she never awoke alert and able.

  “Good morning! Or should I say good afternoon!” Novas called out from beside the window.

  “Let me rest!” Kayten pouted as she threw her head under the covers once again.

  “Alright with me, but I’m to the market now. I’ll be back later,” Novas explained.

  A longer moan droned from beneath the covers as Kayten swung her feet out of the bed and dressed herself. Soon, she had dressed, and they were a matching pair of white and black robes with their swords strapped to their sides.

  “Hey, Malquians, over here!” a voice called out above the din of cacophony in the market.

  Kayten and Novas swung about, searching through the frenzy of bodies, the billowing of cloth, and the wavering of banners for the man who had called them. Eventually, they spied the person, round and bombast, waving them down from behind a stall. In the shade of the overhang, the man plopped down into his chair and watched the two approached. As soon as he was close enough, Kayten recognized the man as one of the volunteers from Erawal that had ridden with Ayden.

  “Never did find that blasted Karon, did we? That traitorous slime. What use the Order has for an unfaithful Kal’reth, I haven’t the clue,” the merchant began, crossing his arms and his brow.

  “I suppose not. It is a great shame what he did, and that he was not caught,” Kayten began.

  “Indeed, it is,” the merchant echoed, nodding his head slowly before trailing into silence, “but that is not why I have called you forth,”

  “Oh?” Kayten asked.

  “I wanted to thank you two for what you have done for our city and our people. If all Malquians are like you too, I cannot wait to see what friendship between our two nations awaits us,” the merchant explained.

  “It was not our intention to help the Kal’reth as much as we did, but when we realized the severity of the Vandari’s influence here, we could not just stand by. Malquia too, not long ago, was ruled by a tyrannous master, and our liberation took the unity of our scattered, desperate people and countless lives to make it free again. When we arrived here and saw the same, we could not just stand idly by as a similar nightmare continued, and decided to be the strength that Malquia was not lucky enough to have to begin with,” Novas explained.

  “And for this great gift, I offer you a selection of my goods, take as many as you can carry,” the merchant said with a smile and waved his arms over his assortment of natural produce.

  The shining red skin of the pomegranate caught Novas’ eye, and two plump pears were the object of Kayten’s desire. With a wave and a bow, they thanked the man and wandered out of the market into the street and had a seat on a nearby step. The sweet juices poured around Kayten’s mouth as she bit into the perfectly ripe pear, and Novas unsheathed Dawnbringer a slight and forced the pomegranate through it. Novas was picking out the pomegranate globules one-by-one when a youth went speeding by with slapping sandals and shortly turned back and stopped in front of them.

  “Are you,” the boy began as he looked down at some parchment, “Novas?”

  “That’s me,” Novas nodded with a smile.

  “Ah, good, I was told you might be in the company of a red-haired one,” the youth continued.

  “Okay. How can I help you?” Novas replied.

  “Oh, I’m fine, thanks, but Garr
eth the Malquian wishes to see you on the northern wall as soon as possible,” the courier spoke.

  “Very well, thank you,” Novas told him.

  The boy nodded and ran off, disappearing around the nearby street corner. Kayten and Novas both stared at each other and shared a curious look.

  Kayten and Novas shielded their eyes as the bright glare of the sun hit them after climbing through shadow of the wall’s stairs. As their eyes focused, they saw Garreth, Behn, and Eyrn but were made further nervous at the sight of Ayden and his two advisors. Kayten looked around for Ilsa in every shadow and near every wall but could not find her and assumed she was enjoying the contents of a book somewhere dark and cool. As the two approached, they watched as Ayden put a spyglass to his eye and looked north across the sea to where Garreth, standing near beside him, was pointing. Garreth noticed Novas’ arrival next and waved him towards.

  “Can you see anything, Novas?” Garreth asked him as he pointed again to the blue sea.

  Novas shook his head no.

  “Try again,” Garreth told him as he passed the spyglass from Ayden to Novas.

  In a spread seemingly relative to the length and width of his forearm, Novas could see rows upon rows of sea vessels. Some were short and thin with five oars on each side and a single mast while others were large galleons big enough to rival the Windwalker, and there was also a few even greater. The gray and black sails of Vandar flew upon every mast. Even though he looked upon them for a short while, he could easily see nearly a hundred ships in that fleet.

  “The Vandari. Do you think they mean a counterattack?” Novas asked.