Light in the Gloaming (The Gloaming Book One)

by J. B. Simmons

  The timing fit my strategy, but not the attire. “I will wait for the gate to be broken, and I won’t be pinched off by an arrow or anything else.”

  “You don’t choose where the arrows fly. Wear armor.” She had read my non-answer like a book, and the satisfaction was gleaming from the big sister look she gave me.

  “I will have my own protection, and I will dress myself. Haven’t I told you, dear sister, that a prince works best in comfort and style?” I turned my head to look behind me, and turned back with a grin. “Just ask Mailyn.” Of all that Ravien tolerated, my love life had always gotten under her skin the most.

  She paused only a moment before responding, her glare hard. “Fine. Wear your delicate black cloth into the fortress of your enemies. Before you do, please draw up a will naming me as your successor.” She did not wait for a retort. “Third, I am leading a dozen men to a hidden entry to the city. We leave within the hour, and we will help prepare the way to the inner keep for you.”

  “Ravien, you know that you must tell me more if I am to allow this.” I stalled to hide my genuine surprise.

  I did not mention that my scouts had been circling the city for two days and had not seen any openings, aside from a few grates far up on the wall. Icaria was like an island rising on its isolated peak. Its wall was low, but it grew up from the steep cliffs dropping below it. The only way in was through the front gate. And the only way to the gate was across a ravine. My men had been preparing stronger, fireproof bridges to replace the one that the Icarians had destroyed in an explosion the day before.

  Ravien’s laughter drew me out of my thoughts.

  “Thinking through your strategy, brother? I know you do not believe that a city can survive with only one entrance and exit, no matter how small. The front gate is your army’s access point. I am going in another way.”

  Inquisition rarely went far with Ravien. She was perhaps the only person who harbored not an ounce of fear of me. I had always made my love for her clear, maybe too clear. I was thankful again the people would never accept a woman on the throne.

  “This is taking too much time, Ravien.” I turned to practicalities. Light was beginning to seep into my tent. The sun would be rising soon. “Tell me how you are getting in. I will not win this battle with my forces divided and outside my control. Besides, it would be a shame to lose you in some foolhardy vainglory.”

  “Cut the lecture, little brother. Fools hungry for glory walk through the front gate wearing cloth instead of steel.” Ravien looked around the tent impatiently. Her eyes narrowed when they glanced over my right shoulder. I guessed that Mailyn was there, wearing something distracting.

  “Sometimes secrets are not hidden.” My sister continued. “They are standing right in front of you, nearly naked. And it takes the discipline of an army to pretend the secret is unseen. In this case, I will use the Icarians’ own secret. Our scouts, as you know, discovered some of this magic substance they have been using to rain boulders down on us. It is immensely destructive. I learned a way to reconstruct their devices. With this power, I am going to blow open the steel grates high up on the wall. I cannot go over the wall, so I am going through it.”

  “That does not sound like a quiet entrance. Each Icarian will be like a wolverine protecting its cubs in a cave. There are not many of them, but they are an impressive bunch. I admit I have learned from the discipline of their scouts—lessons that will be ingrained in my Lycurgus. My forces will be needed to make them bend the knee.”

  She stepped closer as if challenging me. “Just say it, Tryst. They are men. I am a woman. That is why, for you dear brother, I promise to skulk rather than fight my way through the city. I’ll leave the battle glory to you.”

  “Dare I ask why you need this adventure?”

  “I have my reasons.” She took my face in her hands, leaned forward, and kissed my forehead. “You know you can trust me. Let me have some fun.”

  Then she stood straight with her hand on her hip. Her casual smile was a lackluster attempt at beguilement. She was so devious and hidden about her ways, but she was right. She had always been loyal. This kind of troublemaking was nothing out of the ordinary for Ravien, and it did not threaten my plans.

  “Fine. Have your fun. Now, as you seem to be aware, the battle begins soon. A prince has plenty to do at a time like this.”

  As she turned to go, I remembered that she had mentioned a group joining her.

  “Take whomever you like for your group, as long as it is no more than a dozen low-ranking infrantrymen.”

  She surprised me for the second time this morning by freezing in her steps. So that was her game—something about someone who would be in her little troop. I saw her take a deliberately deep breath, and an instant later she was composed again. Too casually, she turned and said without question, “I had a couple low knights in mind. If I take any of them, you won’t notice that they are missing.”

  She was walking out the tent before she finished the sentence. I sat in silence and wondered about her intentions.

  “Sebastian, you heard her.”

  He slid out from behind a fold in the wall of the tent. As always, he looked like a shadow and acted like a ghost. He drifted towards me lightly and bowed at my feet.

  I tolerated Sebastian’s strange foreign customs because he spied and managed spies better than anyone. If rumors of his motherland gathering an army had any truth, he would also be a valuable asset in the months ahead.

  The whites of his dark eyes shone out from his hooded face. “Low knights, my prince, yes. Do you have any particular wishes for this task?”

  Sebastian never made me say what was necessary, unless I was in the mood. “This time, yes. I want you to follow her yourself. Identify anyone of importance. If this pikeman you have been monitoring is one of her group, send a report to me immediately. And you know Ravien’s talents, so take extra care today.” He cringed and blinked, probably because of his pride in his skills. Let him take offense; Ravien warranted it.

  “Oh,” I remembered, “and send your spiders out to make sure these men are in the front line.” I handed him the piece of paper from Ravien. “Spare no resources, but you must stick with your battle assignments today. I want a report tonight after the victory.”

  “Understood and done, my prince.” He rose to his feet. In the few instances when he stood straight, Sebastian grabbed my attention. He was very nearly my size. Eye to eye, apparently pound for pound, he was a bronze-skinned version of myself.

  He bowed deeply and the connection was lost. As he slid out of the tent, I thought of his mission and of Ravien’s. One was family and the other a foreign brother. They were like alternative versions of me, waging miniature versions of my war. I had no reason to question their love of me, but I shuddered at my increasing dependence on them.

  What would become of me without the few I trusted?

  Chapter 17

  EXPLOSIVE STRAWMEN

  “Men think highly of those

  who rise rapidly in the world;

  whereas nothing rises quicker

  than dust, straw, and feathers.”

  The Summit stood high above the front gate of his city. An army was gathered below him, larger than any that had ever stood at Icaria’s gate. If the reports were accurate, it was almost sixteen thousand men strong. The countless glowing fires of last night seemed to overwhelm the reports.

  As the leader of Icaria, the Summit tried to hold his composure and consider what he knew of the enemy. The bright morning and the crisp air helped; the eight-to-one numbers did not help.

  The finest of Icaria’s rangers, two hundred total, had harassed this massive force at every step of its advance through the mountains. They had used Icaria’s explosives, they had rained arrows down on them, and had even engaged them directly in the narrowest mountain passes. One hundred twenty rangers had returned. Their efforts had been more effective than Icaria’s most optimistic guesses. Hundreds if not thousands had fallen un
der the rangers’ assault.

  But this army marched on. The Summit marveled at their willingness to take staggering losses and continue. He had believed that only people of these mountains could survive the trek while under attack. These opponents had quickly responded to the guerilla tactics by sending out scouts far out-numbering the rangers. The scouts barely knew the mountains and had far less skill, but there were enough of them to slow the pace of slaughter by Icaria’s rangers.

  Even the mountains’ own defenses had not stopped the army’s advance. As if beckoned by the Icarians, a brutal winter storm had swept in from the ocean to the west, clouds carrying dense snow driven by gusting winds and blasting thunder. The city’s walls had shaken at the force of it. The mountains were left under a serene blanket of snow by the time the storm passed.

  The rangers reported that the army had not stopped its march as it was pummeled by the storm. Men with plows were set at the front of the train of men, pushing snow off the thin trail and over the cliff to the chasm below. As men grew tired, relentless groups of reinforcements took up the task. The scouts estimated that over a hundred men had fallen to their deaths during the weather’s assault. A ripping push of wind, a loose stone under foot covered by snow, or the cold itself had claimed many soldiers. As if driven by fiery whips, the army barely slowed.

  Now they had arrived. Their camp filled to the brim the entire valley that sat below the city. Most of the men were armed and in tight formations stretching out from the edge of the ravine that separated them and the valley from the city’s gate. They were a few hundred feet away, but he could see clerics wisping ceremonious smoke among the soldiers, likely saying the final blessing that many of the men would hear.

  The Summit understood their courage better when he saw the famed prince. The man emerged from the center of the army’s long front line. Even from the distance, the Summit could see that he stood apart, leaner and straighter, than those around him. His blade and crown gleamed brightly, reflecting the snow.

  He turned his back to the city and roared words to his men. It looked as if he was wearing no armor. Just mere cloth, and it was all black.

  If he would not suit up for battle, the Summit thought, the Icarians would bring it to him. He made an instant change to his plans. Arrows could be wasted. This recklessly bold man had to be taken out. He whispered a few commands to the strongest archers around him on the wall. He had hoped to save their few arrows until the army attempted to cross the ravine and was an easier shot, but this opportunity could not be missed.

  He raised his hand, and the bows went up with it. The snap of the bowstrings left a heavy moment of silence. The prince below had stopped his speech and turned to face the city. The Summit’s heart raced as he followed the arrows’ path. There were at least twelve arching toward the man.

  The next movements happened so quickly that the Summit could hardly tell what happened. A few glimmers of steel and black blurs, and then all was still again. The prince was standing, as if he was the only one who had moved. A handful of arrows were pinned into the ground around his feet. The prince seemed to have dodged or deflected the ones that were on target.

  He held his sword raised overhead and roared at the city, echoed by the men behind him. Where no one had been before, two knights crouched at the prince’s side, huge shields now at the ready for any new attacks.

  The Summit had figured the arrows would miss, but not that they would be dodged. Perhaps some of this prince’s brashness was deserved. The Summit would keep that in mind through the day, but now he shifted his focus to the army bringing forward its first bridge. The Icarians still had the high ground and impregnable walls. He looked to his sides, along the line of men. Several of the remaining rangers stood near him. Their faces were grim, almost resigned. The younger common Icarians around him looked terrified.

  “Icarians!” The Summit shouted it, and the surrounding heads snapped towards him. “We have a thousand more arrows, let him shrug off the first few. Let’s see how his army stands against our bombs. They come in through our front gate or not at all. There, we face them one on one. These lowlanders will be the overwhelmed ones.”

  The words had some effect. He saw several of his men glance at their feet, where piles of explosives were gathered. It was those weapons that had gotten the Icarians into this fight, and they were the only hope of getting them out of the day alive.

  He reached down and grabbed a round bomb the size of an apple. He lit the fuse and looked at his men again. With a yell he hurled the ball over the wall. It was near the middle of the ravine when it went off. The sound, like a thunderclap, grabbed the attention of soldiers on both sides. His men shouted with fervor.

  The army below stirred in its place, seemingly shaken. But the prince stood motionless, staring at the city. Lifting his arms, the prince seemed to be calling forth a bridge. The Icarian rangers had taken out one, but also had seen pieces of others towed along with the army through the mountains. They could not tell how long it would be, or how many there were. Some estimated five bridges, while others said there were only two.

  The Summit had explained the simple plan to his men yesterday. Litter any bridges with bombs and watch them fall to the bottom of the deep ravine. No army could take Icaria without some way to cross that ravine and surmount the walls.

  A long plank began to rise up from the ranks of men below. It was drawn up with ropes anchored to pulleys. It rotated up slowly and steadily. The Summit was taken aback by its size. When it was perpendicular to the ground, the bridge looked like a thin tower far overhead. It was several times the height of the wall that the Icarians stood upon. Set against the low morning sun, the impromptu bridge cast a slender shadow over the full length of the valley.

  The shadow rotated as the massive structure began its fall. It seemed frozen at first, let out of control of the ropes. As the men far below dropped the ropes, the bridge dropped too, racing down towards the city. At the last moment, the Summit saw that the bridge was not aimed at the city’s gate. It was falling several feet to his right. As he dove and rolled along the wall, he was already cursing himself for not guessing this. This was not a bridge to the gate; it crashed hard over the wall.

  Two men had misjudged the bridge’s landing and were crushed beneath it. The day had its first deaths, and now the long plank extended over the wall by maybe twenty feet, hanging above the city below.

  “Bombs! Now!” The Summit shouted. The lowlanders had already scrambled onto the bridge and were sprinting to the city. The bridge was wide enough for two or three men to run along it abreast.

  As the first men reached the half-way point, the Icarian bombs began landing in their midst. A few were slapped away and exploded innocently in midair. Others did better service for Icaria. Each small device that went off near the bridge sent men plummeting to their deaths. The force of the explosion was enough to knock off a handful, splitting limbs and bodies. The noise and disruption would then take out another few soldiers. Already the Summit had counted ten good detonations. And almost every one of the Icarians’ arrows found its mark at this range. Dozens of lowlanders were dead in less than a minute.

  As soon as men fell, others racing behind them took their places. The bombs and arrows were wreaking havoc, but they would run out too soon at that pace. Even worse, the bridge held fast. In moments the men would reach the wall.

  The Summit studied the composition of the bridge, which seemed to be dark wood covered with a hard gray substance. The lowlanders had brought their own competing science. Each bomb could weaken the bridge’s joints, but it seemed too weak to break it entirely.

  The Summit made his way to the crux of the fight, where bridge met wall. His Icarians were fending off the attackers, who came two or three at a time. They came at intervals that left his men enough time to brace for the next small wave.

  He ran the numbers in his head. Maybe they had powder for five hundred small bombs. His thousand men could hold off two thousand at
this pace. Icaria might survive another two hours, but it would not make it many more. But so his people had chosen. We stay and fight. We go down with our home.

  That set off the spark in his mind. We go down with our home, or we live and move on. He surveyed the men surrounding him. It would have to work.

  “Nalin and Therron, fall back and bring a powder keg to this exact spot. Now!” His words took them aback. The battle frenzy was in the two rangers’ eyes, but they obeyed without hesitating. As they sheathed their swords and sprinted away along the wall, two other Icarians took their spot on the thin front line.

  More lowlanders ran onto the wall, only to find an Icarian spear sticking through their bellies and out their backs. The sound of bombs exploding drowned out screams and punctuated the devastation. It seemed like a thousand soldiers had died on the dangerous run along the slender plank hanging above the deep ravine. Most were taken by arrows or bombs, but some fell to their deaths amidst the smoke and confusion. Only a few hundred men had actually engaged in face-to-face fighting by the time the two rangers showed up again at the Summit’s side.

  They had a powder keg. It was one of the last two the Icarians had in storage. The Summit knew that Icarian women were working furiously to assemble more bombs with the last of their black powder. They had more forged metal shells than powder to fill them. Time was running short, and the small bombs were not going to save them.

  The Summit pointed to the spot where the bridge had landed on the wall. The fight was intense there, but this had to be tried. He charged to the spot with the two men following. Swinging his spear wildly, he took out one man and turned back. He grabbed the keg and helped Nalin roll it to the crux of the bridge’s hold. Without hesitation, he pulled a fuse from his waste, connected it to the keg, lit it with a small match, and ran.

  As he fled, the Summit yelled, “Run now! Turn and run!” The rangers and the rest of the nearby Icarians followed on the Summit’s heels.

  The lowlanders flooded into the spot like a river breaking free of a dam. They had expected confrontation but were met with the fleeing backs of their foes. It caused a short-lived pause and moment of strange silence, as if the sound and all of Icaria’s hope was sucked into that one burning fuse.