Lieutenant Vespin eyed Gaspar. “What’s the message?”
Gaspar repeated the message exactly as Commander Laroche had relayed. Vespin scribbled away. Finished, he folded the parchment, hoisted up a stick of wax, held it over a candle, and let the wax drip onto the parchment. Pressing the commander’s seal into the hot wax, Vespin walked over to one of the raven cages. Grabbing a large raven, he offered the parchment to the creature. The bird grabbed the parchment. Vespin carried the bird to the balcony and released it, watching as it flew southward toward Tar Ebon.
Gaspar exited the aviary with a word of thanks to Lieutenant Vespin and stared at the scene to the north.
Closer now, the swarm had almost reached the walls. Gaspar saw strange creatures on four legs, with upright torsos like humans. They possessed claws on the end of each arm and massive pincers jutted out from the sides of their mouth. Thick armor or skin covered them, like the carapace of beetles. They looked to be at least twice as tall as a man.
Atop the walls of the Haguesfort, men with bows rushed up and formed a ragged rank. Their leader, Captain Gestalt, ordered them to release their deadly payload. Arrows rained down upon the oncoming horde. Most of the arrows splattered against the hard carapaces of the creatures and fell to the ground, ineffective.
Onward the creatures came, unrelenting. The first creature leaped toward the wall. Instead of being repelled, the tip of its leg stuck into the stone. Chips of stone went flying. Another of its legs slammed into the wall, followed by its rear legs. It began to race up the wall, making holes in the stone as it went. Other black shapes began to follow the creature up the wall.
“Brace yourselves!” Gaspar heard a man shout further down to the wall. Men with swords, spears and shields rushed to the space of wall directly above where the creatures were climbing up.
The first creature reached the top of the wall, bent its legs and leapt into the air. It crashed into the first rank of soldiers. The razor-sharp tips of its feet slammed into two of the soldiers, knocking one man with a shield to the ground and impaling the other. It’s feet firmly on the stone wall, the creature lay about with its claws, knocking soldiers aside.
The soldiers atop the wall attacked the creature, spears stabbing, swords slashing, but the weapons struck hard carapace as if the monster were clad in steel armor. Another spider-like monster leapt up, causing men to jump back or be crushed. Crab-like claws struck out and sliced into the soldiers, cutting off limbs. The razor-sharp pincers jutting from its mouth beheaded several soldiers. A group of soldiers were surrounded when the creature from the third creature leapt up and pressed them toward the its companions, gutting two men before they noticed it was there.
Gaspar shook his head, breaking him out of his stupor. Fumbling for his sword, he strode toward the crowd of soldiers that surrounded the trio of monsters. Before he could engage, at least a dozen more of the creatures had leapt up, landing among the men and around them. Gaspar could envision more monsters climbing the walls.
We’re doomed, Gaspar thought, his legs growing weak. All is lost. We should flee, run away. There’s no way we will hold.
Chapter 32 - The Goodbye
The roar of the crowd served as a distraction to Boris as he faced off against his opponent. He looked around at the sea of faces, each face belonging to the body of an eager spectator in this deadly bloodsport. Seated at the end of the arena was Victor Helgstad. He stood, arms up, his calls for quiet drowned by the crowd. Across from Boris stood his friend Clarence, shield and sword held in his hands.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Victor shouted above the din. “Today we have a special match. Two of our house’s greatest champions will face each other! There is a catch, however. You, the audience, will decide whether the loser lives or dies. Their fate will be in your hands! Let the battle begin!”
Boris lifted his sword and advanced toward Clarence. Clarence moved forward at a slower pace. Blades clashed as they made their opening strikes, testing each other’s strength. Boris looked into Clarence’s eyes and saw resignation in them. He was ready to die. Pushing his sword against Clarence’s, Boris disengaged from him and brought his shield up. The strike he was expecting, however, never came. “Strike, you idiot!” Boris whispered. “Put up a fight or we’re both dead.”
Boris’ words seemed to awaken the man, for he lifted his sword and began to strike repeatedly. Boris blocked the blows with ease. Distantly, Boris could hear the volume of the crowd rising. He retaliated with his own deluge of sword strikes, circling the man.
For several moments the two men traded blows, neither landing a hit. Then Boris’ sword struck flesh, slicing into Clarence’s leg, causing him to stumble. Boris capitalized on the moment and shoved forward with his shield, causing Clarence to trip and fall onto his back. Boris moved forward and placed the tip of his sword at Clarence’s throat. “Don’t move,” he commanded.
Clarence lay still, eyes wide. His arms lay out to the side, his sword in the sand. “Just do it,” he said.
Instead of pushing the sword deeper into the flesh of his neck, Boris looked toward the booth where Victor sat. The man wore a superficial smile, a mask intended to fool the crowd, but Boris knew he was disappointed in the outcome. Darin had no such pretense, openly wearing a frown, his eyes blazing.
Victor stood and cleared his throat, holding his arms aloft to command silence. The crowd slowly quieted and he spoke at last. “People of the city, the time has come to decide whether the man lying on the ground shall die! Give a thumbs up to vote that he lives, a thumbs down if you vote that he dies. Vote now.”
All around the arena, spectators thrust an arm out in front of themselves, thumbs pointing up, or down. Boris scanned the crowd. All he saw were thumbs pointed down. Desperate to save his friend, Boris dropped his shield and thrust out his own arm, thumb pointed upward. He held his arm high in the air, hoping to catch the attention of the crowd. Some spectators flipped their thumbs, following the action of the man they were cheering for, but too few changed their minds. His eyes fell to Clarence. “I’m sorry, friend,” he said.
“You have nothing to apologize for, Boris. ‘Twas not your fault.”
Victor let the crowd make their decisions for a few moments more, before he called for silence again. “The decision has been made. Boris, champion of the arena, kill your opponent!”
Boris stared at Victor for a moment then looked up and thrust his blade forward. He felt the blade sliding into Clarence’s throat, heard the final choke as the man died. Still keeping his eyes toward the point above Victor, he withdrew his blade, spun on his heels and walked toward the tunnel, cheers chasing him.
Once in the tunnel, Boris dropped his sword and collapsed to his knees. By the Founders, he had done it. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes as the tears came unbidden. He had killed countless enemies, yet the loss of a friend hit him hard. Images of Veronica lying on the floor of the tavern that fateful night assaulted him again. He had been as powerless to save Clarence as he had Veronica. For all he knew, even Alexandra was dead, killed by her abusive husband. Why did death seem to follow wherever he went? Was it payback for his time as an assassin? Perhaps a cruel joke of the gods some people worshiped?
“Get up, slave,” one of the guards ordered after several moments.
Boris didn’t move.
“I said, get up.” Boris heard boots crunching in the sand as the guard stepped toward him. He was expecting the boot to the chest that came next, shoving him backward. He put his arms out behind him to stop from landing on his back. Using his arms to catapult him backward, he kicked the guard and somersaulted into a standing position.
The guard, surprised by the kick, drew his sword and held it out. “Stay back. Don’t you try anything.”
Rage filled Boris. Don’t try anything? Perhaps that was his problem. He had never tried anything when it counted, and others paid the price. He had stood aside as bad things happened to those around him. When Veronica died, he had stood
there. Perhaps if he had rushed forward he could have parried the killing blow and saved her. When guards rushed into the room of Alexandra, he could have fought, could have tried to escape. When Darin told him he and Clarence were to fight, he could have choked the life out of Darin or bashed his skull in. Years ago, in his home town, he could have tried to explain, instead of running.
Boris bent and grabbed his sword, swinging it up as he rose. The guard tried to parry, but Boris shifted at the last moment from an upward sweeping motion to a forward stabbing motion, taking the man in the genitals. The man screamed and fell to his knees.
The other guard who had, until that point, stayed back, watching things unfold, fumbled for his blade. The guards of House Helgstad were complacent, never having known true combat. Boris capitalized on his moment of surprise, seized up the sword of the dying soldier and charged toward the remaining guard with both blades. Slashing with his right hand, he caught the blade of the guard, while his left blade thrust forward into his abdomen. The guard dropped his sword and crumpled to his knees. Boris reached down, grabbed a set of keys and left the men to their fate and continued down the tunnel.
The time for running had come to an end. He would get his revenge, or die trying.
Chapter 33 - Preparation for War
Dawyn’s boots clicked on the marble floor as he strode through the Celestial Palace. The summons presented by the courier had suggested urgency, and Dawyn had left immediately. The doors of the throne room were open, and raised voices speaking at once drifted from the room.
Entering the room, Dawyn recognized several members of the crowd that now gathered at a large table in the center of the throne room. Two of the king’s highest-ranking generals, Coryn, several master mages and various nobles and lesser officers, sat at the table. A large map was spread out on the table - a map of the land between the mountains, no doubt.
As Dawyn approached, the king saw him and motioned him forward, gesturing to the empty seat to his direct left. Dawyn took a seat and several pairs of eyes turned to him, several members of the council nodding greetings or waving a hand at him. In his time as commander of the Shadow Watch Guard he had known many of these people. Having been away from the position for scarcely six months, he had not been forgotten. The talking died down as the king cleared his throat.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. For those of you just joining us, let me explain why you have been summoned. Approximately one hour ago, a raven was received. It came from the Haguesfort. The letter indicated the Haguesfort was being attacked by an unknown menace. We have dispatched a raven to the Haguesfort requesting further information, but have yet to receive a response. We-,” the king cut off as a servant rushed into the room, carrying a scroll. Handing the scroll to the king, the boy bowed and rushed back the way he came.
The king opened the scroll and began to read. His brows furrowed as he read, eyes moving back and forth. He appeared to read the letter two more times before setting it down. He cleared his throat. “The Haguesfort has fallen. This is the last letter from them, signed by the keeper of the ravens. The enemy creatures, described as four-legged spider-like creatures with upright torsos covered in a scaly carapace, overwhelmed the defenders and three points along the wall.”
“Krai’kesh,” Dawyn whispered.
The king heard his whisper, for he nodded. “Yes, based upon the description, it would seem the Haguesfort was attacked by an army of Krai’kesh, creatures described by the Founders in the ancient texts of old.”
Some of the gathered soldiers and nobles opened their eyes wide at the name of the creatures, recognizing it, others had a confused look on their faces, the name not registering. “The Krai’kesh?” Lady Matilda asked, the word sounding strange on her tongue, as if it were a foreign language she was speaking. “I have not heard of them before.”
“They are the creatures that, according to legend, drove the Founders from their home among the stars, forcing them to flee to our world. It appears they followed the Founders here.”
“If I may interject, your majesty,” Dawyn began, “a single enemy Krai’kesh was encountered by my companions and I several months ago, down near Henry’s Crossing.” He turned in his seat to face the others. “These enemies are not to be underestimated. It took four individuals with extraordinary powers to defeat one of these creatures. It is also worrying that a fortress built during the time of the Founding could be overwhelmed so quickly.”
The king nodded. “Yes, this is very worrying. Because of this, I am ordering that all the banners be raised. Summon the levies and prepare the army for war. I will be requesting the support of all available mages from the Tower, as well. Magic could prove effective against them.”
“You will have our full support,” the archmage answered. “All possible mages will march forth with you.”
“I will send out the word immediately, your majesty,” General Jenkins answered.
“We will march within two weeks. It takes a month to travel by foot from the Haguesfort, but we must assume these creatures can move faster than humans. You are dismissed.”
The members of the council began to disperse. Dawyn stood to leave, but the hand of the king on his wrist stayed him. “Please remain, Dawyn, I would speak with your privately.”
“Of course, your majesty. Shall we speak here?”
“In my chambers, if you please.”
The king led Dawyn to his private chambers behind the throne room. Similar to his private bedchamber antechamber, the room behind the throne was furnished simply. “Please, sit,” the king said, gesturing to a seat. Once Dawyn was seated, the king began to speak. “I know you well Dawyn, and I suspect you are eager to ride north with the army.” He held up a hand to forestall Dawyn speaking. “I need you to remain here, however. Victory against this foe is not assured, and the kingdom will need stability in the event that anything should happen to me and the queen. Coryn, as you know, is in line to ascend the throne as queen of the kingdom. I am going to ask her to remain behind as well, which I suspect she will accept with as much reluctance as you. But above all, stability must be ensured. The only way to do that is to have the next-in-line to the throne and one of the greatest fighters I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing remain behind in the event things don’t go as planned. You may speak now.”
Dawyn reeled, taken aback. “Your majesty, with all due respect, my place is on the battlefield, at your side. I have faced this enemy before, I know how to fight them and how to kill them. Please reconsider your order for me to remain behind.”
“Despite all of your power, Dawyn,” the king said, “you are but one man. We will succeed or fail in this coming battle with or without you.”
“But you are acting like we have already lost, your majesty.” A thought struck him. “There’s something you aren’t telling me, isn’t there?”
The king averted his eyes. “What I choose to reveal or not reveal is my right as king. Let me just say that I have a strong feeling that our efforts to stop the invasion of these creatures will not be successful.”
“Then why march north at all?” Dawyn asked. “If you feel it is futile, why not wait for the enemy to come, prepare defenses and meet them on the fields of Tar Ebon?”
“Because defeat is not assured,” the king said. “It is my duty as the king of Tar Ebon to do anything possible to defeat our foe, before they arrive at the walls of Tar Ebon. That is why I must go north, my honor and responsibility as king demands it.
“In the event of defeat, I need you to prepare for the defense of Tar Ebon. Enlist the aid of the other nations on the continent, request support from anywhere you can. There is not time now, the enemy will be upon us soon, but the city was built to withstand a prolonged siege, and is more fortified than the Haguesfort. If necessary, allow the Krai’kesh to clack their claws uselessly at our black walls for a while, until you have the army necessary to face them. Above all, comfort Coryn, advise her in the ways of war and guide her
toward accepting the mantle of rule.”
Dawyn shook his head. “I will do as you ask, your majesty, out of respect for you as my king, though I do not expect any of this to come to pass. You will go north, defeat the enemy, and return. But, I will remain and do as you ask in the event the unspeakable happens.”
“Good, that is all I can ask, my friend.” The king smiled. “Now for me to speak with my daughter, which I suspect will be a far more difficult conversation. If you’ll excuse me.”
Dawyn rose, shook hands with the king and exited the private chamber. He had much to tell his companions.
Chapter 34 - Vengeance and Fury
Boris strode down the tunnel, blood dripping from his blades. The tunnel connected to the Helgstad estate cellar, which he exited through an unlocked and unguarded gate. He had to act before Victor and his retinue arrived back to the estates. He estimated they would talk with other nobles for several minutes before returning, based on past matches.
He ascended the stairs and soon found himself in one of the outbuildings that housed the tunnel entrance. Across the training yard, the gladiatorial building stood almost empty. Only two of his fellow gladiators still remained alive - Victor had yet to buy more gladiators. Striding toward the building, he unlocked the door and went inside.
Rodrigo and Artemis were laying on their bunks, getting some rest while they could. The opening of the door woke them. “Boris,” Rodrigo said, surprised. “You are back so soon.” Not seeing anyone entering behind him he asked, “Clarence, was he…? Did he…?”
“He’s dead,” Boris said without emotion. “But so are two guards down in the tunnels.” He lifted up the keyring. “Come on, we’re getting out of here.”
The two just stared at him. Finally, Artemis spoke. “Boris, have you lost your mind? We will be cut down. We are unarmed.”
“Not for long,” Boris said. “We’re going to hit the armory before we go. I mean to be prepared when Victor returns.”
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