Light in the Gloaming (The Gloaming Book One)

by J. B. Simmons

  The two remaining knights began to circle each other, with no semblance of footwork. The tiny one looked like a ten-year-old; the other was built well enough, but he held his sword like it was a sheepherder’s staff.

  This was no way to set an example for the other soldiers, Wren thought. But what he heard himself say aloud was, “it is no melee with only two players.”

  He stepped towards the mess of men and picked up the wooden sword of the fat fallen knight. As he joined the two circling men, he thought with a broad smile that practice against amateurs might help build confidence.

  In mock encouragement, he taunted them, “see men, and everyone listen now, when circling right, your left foot may cross in front of your right, like so.” The two knights tripped up as they looked down at their feet. Some onlookers laughed nervously.

  “Ah! Now you see, a second lesson, in a merry-go-round of three men, it will not be much of a contest if only one knows the steps.” Wren continued circling, amused, as the other two knights picked up the basic footwork. He began to juggle his wooden weapon from hand to hand, bouncing lightly on his feet. A few of the surrounding infantrymen began clapping, enjoying the show.

  “Aye, and even three men with training steps makes a weak show.” The words came from behind Wren. He did not need to look back to know who was approaching. The laughter and clapping around them silenced instantly.

  Ravien held a long, thin wooden pole in her left hand. She stepped into the circling men. “Now, with a woman joining the dance, we’ll be sure to entertain everyone.”

  Wren could see that she was tense and focused. He knew this would not be pretty. The other two men were in a precarious position—either fight against the Prince’s sister, lose a fight to a woman, or pull out. They faltered even more in their steps.

  “Do not dare consider abandoning our play,” Ravien said loudly enough for all the onlookers to hear. “We will be facing real enemies soon. Learn to fight anything that threatens you, that threatens our prince and our nation.” Her left foot crossed in front her right, her right crossed behind her left. The circling continued as her words hung in the air.

  The tiny man then began to open his mouth, tentatively, as if to sound a retreat.

  “My lady, I don’t—”

  Before another sound left his lips, Ravien pivoted off her right foot and sprang towards the man. She leapt into the air and brought her wooden pole down hard at the man’s head. He lifted his stick in time to block the full force and take a glancing blow off the shoulder. But Ravien’s momentum knocked him to the ground, and she kicked the wooden blade from his hand.

  The other knight’s instinct had pulled him in, and he tackled Ravien from behind. The two rolled along the ground, dust and cursing rising from their struggle. The downed man crawled away to the ring of spectators.

  Wren approached the grapplers. He told himself that it was only right that he defend the Prince’s sister.

  The man had managed to end up on top of Ravien, pinning her to the dirt. She roiled beneath him and then slammed her fist into the man’s left ear. Just as he dizzily reached up to block the next punch, Wren landed a hard blow to the back of the man’s head. He fell over limply.

  Ravien was on her feet before Wren could make another move. He ducked instinctively as she swung at his head. She predicted his move and delivered a swift knee to his groin.

  As he crumbled down, she slapped him hard across the face and then pushed him to the ground. “Learn well, my friends,” she declared to the onlookers. “Soon, we fight Icarians!”

  Kneeling down beside Wren, she spoke so that only he could hear. “My bird, I am starting to enjoy your flights. It pleases me to see your wit persist, from wealthy trader to trash knight. Take care to bathe well. I would not take a man who smells. And tell your prince to be more careful to avoid being seen with men like the priest.” She sprang up and was gone without another word.

  Wren sat still, stunned. He watched as a few soldiers carried off the man he had knocked out. The others dispersed in small groups. There were more men than when the fight had started. Their laughter was not hard to hear.

  A familiar chuckle from behind Wren announced his brother’s arrival. “That was a fine show, Wren. Ravien seemed to enjoy herself.” Jon smiled down and offered him a hand. Wren groaned and reached up to accept the help as he rose slowly to his feet.

  “Should you not be with the prince, noble knight? This practice field is awfully close to the rear of our camp, where we do not often see the likes of you. It has been, what, five days since you visited? You should come visit my waste station. The pile should be burning aromatically by now.”

  “Tempting, but the stench is too much for me. I have come from a meeting in our prince’s tent, or movable palace, really. It seems our armed campaign is not going completely to his liking.” Jon gestured towards a small copse of trees to the south. The brothers walked towards it, just two aimless knights talking before they broke camp.

  Wren shrugged, part in doubt, part post-melee stretching. “Tryst is hard to please. What is not to like? We move into the mountains within the day, and we will be meeting these Icarians soon enough.”

  “Our march has been too slow,” Jon explained, “and we have been losing deserters, lots of them. Tryst is thirsty for battle. I think I accidentally insisted that he be on the front lines, by the mere mention of concern about his safety. But mostly, our recent pace is a consequence of Tryst’s anxiety.”

  “Anxiety about what? Have you heard from Andor lately?”

  “No, have you?” Wren shook his head, and Jon continued with a look of concern. “Before, it seemed he found secret moments to visit each of us every few days, even though I feel certain that we are being watched. Andor is too obvious. He has been training the men from his group, the Fourth Marchers, and they are building a reputation of skill where none existed a month ago. At least the leader of his group, a young knight named Pikeli, is keeping the secret if he suspects anything. Tryst will learn soon enough, and I fear he already senses an unknown danger.”

  Wren sighed. “It was only a matter of time before Andor started to stand out. But if Tryst missed Andor when he passed right under his nose, why would he pay any attention to him now?”

  “It is different now, Wren. The pikemen under his command love him. His charisma is returning quickly. Warmth is returning to his face, and you know as well as I do that he cannot stay hidden long once he returns to his old form. Everyone notices him. His men are praising him every chance they get, boiling over in camaraderie and confidence in their leader. Meanwhile, all around us, morale is crumbling. The contrast is clear, and dire. Tryst will not like it when he learns how much adoration is growing for Andor.”

  “What of it? Andor must declare himself at some point. I believe he has been connecting with other supporters among the knights. We have only a few days until battle, and it will be hard to hide Andor then. Just do your best to keep Tryst distracted until Icaria. There are plenty of challenges in the mountains, so he will not have time to worry about some hedge knight leading a group of pikemen.”

  Jon nodded. Then he smiled for the first time since he had pulled Wren to his feet. Wren was not used to seeing him so serious, and he relaxed at his brother’s lightened countenance. Jon, of course, seized the moment of Wren’s relaxation as the perfect time to throw a verbal dagger.

  “You are right, and if Tryst has any spare time, I will fill it with stories of young knights wrestling his dear sister to the ground in melee.”

  “You will not.” Wren could not hide the flush in his cheeks.

  “Oh, I might. You know how much he loves hearing of your waste-disposing exploits. Wait a moment, to what can I credit this rare blush of Wren?”

  “Enough,” Wren said, smiling. “I think we have been away from camp for long enough. We do not want the prince to be missing his most trusted new knight. Remember, distract him, however you can. These next days will be a hard hike.”


  “Aye. I will find you before the battle, unless Ravien gets to you first. Next time you two are wrestling, it would be helpful if you figured out whose side she is really on.”

  “I wish I knew,” Wren answered. “Her mysterious reputation seems warranted, and I am not sure how much I like being her target. I will find out what I can.” Wren turned to walk back. “Take care, Jon.”

  “You too, Wren.”

  The brothers departed in different directions. Jon wished that he could believe his brother. While he loved to see the excitement in Wren’s eyes, he feared what Tryst would do if he learned about the spark between Wren and Ravien.

  Wren thought of how he had grown stronger as the leader of such a messy enterprise, but he was struggling with his weakness to the princess. His usual defenses seemed hopeless. She had caught him off guard and mocked him again, which just left him wanting her more.

  Chapter 16

  THE PATH TO BATTLE

  “Order marches with

  weighty and measured strides.

  Disorder is always in a hurry.”

  The Icarian watchman was sweating despite the frigid air. He sat on the crest of a ridge, looking over the other side. The ravine floor was several thousand feet below. Far above, a seemingly endless line of men was inching along the slender path that wrapped around the mountain. The watchman was close enough to make out a few of their faces.

  Huge, dark clouds loomed to the west. The marching men might reach Icaria’s perched walls before the storm hit, but the timing was going to be close.

  Either way, the watchman would do his duty. Not all of the marching men would make it that far. After several hours of scrambling pursuit, he had found the next detonation spot. It would be his third attack of the day.

  On cue, the watchman’s partner rose from behind a boulder a hundred feet below, half way down the mountain to the soldiers. He lifted his hand to signal that the explosives were ready. The watchman quickly looked at the line of men again to confirm that the attack would have enough impact.

  The men were pressed tightly together below the massive boulder, so he crossed his arms above his head to signal approval. In response, his partner knelt, lit a fuse, and began scrambling up the steep rock face.

  The army had learned by now to watch the cliffs above them, and they sounded an alarm as soon as they saw the climber. The watchman then stood straight up on the ridge and yelled at the top of his lungs, blasting the men below with the sound.

  All eyes below turned to him immediately. That shift in focus caused all the pause that was needed. The explosion erupted ahead of him, sending the massive boulder and a spray of stones hurtling down the mountain. The distraction succeeded: the men below the avalanche turned back just in time to see the rocks crashing down on them.

  There was no time to survey the damage. The watchman ducked to the safe side of the ridge and made haste down the slope. He soon came to a tiny opening in the mountainside. If the army sent pursuers, odds were they would never see this place. If they did find it, they would have two trapped and well-trained Icarians to deal with.

  The watchman had hardly crawled into the little cave when he heard his partner’s voice. “How many do you think we got?” The man had a small torch lit. He was smiling and breathing heavily.

  “I think we got at least a dozen, and that boulder may have blocked the path for a while.”

  “I say we took out fifty. That boulder was in the perfect spot, and those men were frozen in its path. Just the two of us have taken out hundreds these past two days. I believe we will win this fight.”

  The watchman studied the face of his young partner in the torch light. The face wore the beginnings of a beard, no scars, and unmistakable over-eagerness. The watchman sat back and took a drink of the dark liquid in his flask.

  “We will not win this fight, nor will they,” he sighed. “Everyone loses.”

  The watchman offered the flask to his comrade, who drank too deeply and coughed. He tried to hide the cough with a laugh. “Ha, well, someone must win, and they will be crushed at our gates. We have more of our firepower there. But I must say, their march has been impressive, for lowlanders at least. It will take them only three days to reach Icaria.”

  “No, not impressive. It has been vain, and reckless. A large force whittled down by several thousand men—the weak flecks chipped off by our mountains and our rangers. This prince wants glory more than victory.”

  “I say it is impressive if a leader can push his men so. The strong ones remain to fight us, but they have no answer to our fortress and weapons. They have never even seen power like ours.”

  “Optimism may serve you well, so let’s not talk on this further. For now, duty calls and we another hour before dusk. There may be enough time to set up a night attack. They enter the valley below our city soon, and I think this storm will too. Come, let’s meet the other rangers at the next hideaway.”

  The younger man was on his feet in an instant, darting out of the hole and declaring, “for Icaria!”

  The watchman followed him out of the cave and summoned the last of his waning energy to follow his spry comrade. The storm would hit soon, as the darkening sky warned. As he ran along the tight path under the lip of the ridge, the man thought again of how his people had gotten into this conflict. It seemed unavoidable that a people with power would fall—sooner if driven by pride, later if lulled into contentment. Icarians always favored the sooner.

  Perhaps we are not so different from this prince, the old ranger mused.

  ***

  “Remind your men, we fight today for Valemidas and its people. Remind them that I will be by their sides in the heat of the battle. Remind them that glory awaits those who prove their honor to me and to our people.”

  My Council of Knights took my words steadily, with resolve and purpose. “Be strong for your men and for me. If any of your men look weak or afraid, give them a nip of whiskey, a cup of coffee, and a slap in the face. We must be stronger, and we will win this battle today. We attack within the hour. You know the plan, now you will know greatness. For Valemidas!”

  “For Valemidas!” They responded forcefully, in unison.

  As the knights left my tent, I tried to hold them in a greater measure of esteem. Some merited it—like wise Ulysses and strong Jon. They had all obeyed me and made this march. They had accepted that we would lose men to get to this point. Today they could prove their loyalty and win glory for themselves.

  It would be another hour before the sun rose. Most of the Lycurgus was exhausted and asleep. I had not slept a blink the prior night, and instead had spent the hours studying maps and strategy. The days were blurring together, like the continuous assaults that had rained down on my men.

  I had expected that we would be in a position of strength once we arrived in the valley under the city of Icaria, but I could not have predicted the storm. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. The blizzard had struck at dusk, when about half of the Lycurgus had entered the valley. Icy, howling winds had whipped through the camp and left two feet of snow in their wake. The storm had lasted that first night and all of the next day.

  I could not afford to let the men dwell on the cold and the losses during the march. The snow had at least forced them to rest from the march for a day in their tents. Today, they would have pent up aggression from the day being stuck inside. Today, the sun would shine and we would conquer Icaria.

  I stared into the low brazier fire and forced my mind to the next matter. My best knights understood their tasks. I began cycling through the other assignments and meetings to complete before dawn, and then I remembered Ravien. My sister had made a rare request to see me.

  “Mailyn, send Ravien in.” My admiration of the woman’s slim figure was interrupted by my sister’s sharp words.

  “You left me waiting too long, brother.” Ravien glared at me as she strode in, part anger and part amusement.

  “It is good to see you, too, sweet siste
r.” I tried to look disinterested. She was always full of surprises. Had she been born a man, I had often thought with amusement and pride, she would be prince and I would not be alive.

  Looking at her now, I saw a beautiful, sharp face and unwavering eyes. Her hair fell at various angles, and the dark circles under her eyes showed that she, too, had not been sleeping. She had probably been awake at night plotting, and she was dead serious now. I decided to use a playful, inquisitive tone in response.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know why I’m here?” She demanded, arms crossed.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I smiled as the fib rolled out of my mouth. “You have come to wish your brother the prince well, on the morning of his first great victory as the leader of your nation.”

  “Why yes, dear little brother, you know me too well.” Her return smile was full of dark sarcasm. I loved it. She always kept me entertained because her purposes were the most difficult to detect. “I had a few other thoughts about today’s battle as well, if the prince would be so generous as to take suggestions from a woman.”

  “No, Ravien, I will not take tips on war from a woman. For you, however, my ears are wide open.”

  “Good,” she said, biting her lip. I enjoyed watching her restrain herself. “You have little time, so I will present my points quickly. First, you will not be on the front line. Sir Sigmund and the others on this list will be.”

  I took the small piece of carefully folder paper that appeared in Ravien’s hand. Opening it, I glanced over the twenty names. My sisters both had such marvelous and compact penmanship. I knew half of the men listed and had no particular concern about them surviving the day. I could concede whatever already fit with my plans. I nodded agreement, without any attempt to hide the curiosity in my eyes.

  “Second, you will not enter the fight until our men have broken the first gate. When you do enter, you will wear armor. It will not do to have our glorious prince pinched off by a stray arrow from the ramparts.”