Walk Through Fire (Prequel)

by Joshua P. Simon

  Why did I let myself come here alone?

  Hezen gestured Jonrell forward. He pulled the flap back and heard Effren shout in surprise. Jonrell leaned over and saw Effren’s large naked frame held down and straddled by three nude women. A fourth woman, looking much like the others with long black hair and tanned skin, sawed a knife across Effren’s throat when she saw Hezen’s subtle nod. Blood spurted over the first three. They climbed off in a hurry and watched Effren’s life slip away. The woman who held the knife bowed.

  “Thank you, Anasha.” Hezen stared down at his father’s body. “See that you and your sisters get cleaned up. Then return to my tent for the evening. We have much to celebrate.”

  The woman bowed again. “Yes, Emperor.”

  Emperor? That’s what he sees himself as? He doesn’t even have enough land to be named a duke in Cadonia.

  Hezen swung back to Jonrell and flashed a smile. “It appears that my father’s opinion no longer matters.”

  * * *

  Kroke had enough of the stares, the nervous twitches, and faint whisperings as he passed. He let a small knife slip from his sleeve and into his palm. The cold steel calmed his nerves.

  Heading toward the large tent that dominated the center of camp, he reached a clearing. He saw Hezen and Jonrell standing near the large tent’s entrance. Soldiers stood in clumps nearby, eyeing the two as they spoke. Hezen pulled the tent flap back and Jonrell peered inside. Kroke saw the slight jump and knew whatever he saw, it was unexpected. The flap closed and Hezen turned back to Jonrell, speaking to him with arms crossed, as if issuing a command.

  Kroke quickened his pace. Two guards moved to block his path, one raising a hand. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Kroke inclined his head. “I have a message to deliver to Jonrell.”

  “He’s talking to Hezen. You can give him whatever message you have when he’s done. Turn around and head back to your camp.”

  “The message is urgent.”

  “Look,” said the guard, jabbing his finger into Kroke’s chest. “Either you turn around, or I’ll just have to embarrass you in front of all these people, little man. What do you think about that?”

  Kroke looked down at the finger on his chest. What is it with people and their obsession over size? The tall ones die just as easily as anyone else.

  The blade in his palm slid forward, ready to strike out at the man’s wrist. But the other guard pulled the first away. He whispered in the man’s ear and the first guard’s eyes widened. He shoved the other man aside.

  “Zoak says you’re the Hell Patrol’s assassin. That true?”

  Kroke nodded.

  The man cleared his throat. “Well, just so we understand each other I was only joking about embarrassing you in front of everyone.” He paused, waiting for a response, but got none. “Anyway, I will take you there. But not armed like that,” said the guard nodding to the knives Kroke visibly carried.

  “I ain’t about to disarm.”

  The two men conferred again and finally the first man spoke. “We’ll take you to him, but we’ll have our spears on you the entire time.” The guard tried to put on a tough visage.

  Kroke shrugged and pushed past them. “Then let’s go.”

  * * *

  “You’re right.” Jonrell shrugged, trying to appear indifferent while hiding his disgust. “I guess his opinion doesn’t matter now.”

  “Then all that’s left is for you to accept my offer.”

  “And if I refuse it?”

  Hezen shrugged. “Then you die and so does the rest of your outfit. By now, most of your men are drunk, some perhaps on the verge of death.” Hezen smiled, seeing Jonrell’s surprise. “I had some men raid your mage’s tent. Krytien is quite the collector of elixirs. Don’t worry, all you need to do is accept and I will have my healers help him care for those affected.” He paused. “I’ll even take care of Ronav for you myself. In fact, it would be my pleasure.”

  Jonrell worked his jaw, not knowing what to say. He opened his mouth to respond when a familiar voice called his name. He turned and saw Kroke walking toward him, two guards trailed with leveled spears.

  Over Jonrell’s shoulder, Hezen cursed. “What is this?”

  They began to stutter but Kroke cut them off, ignoring Hezen. “Everything all right?” he asked, looking at Jonrell.

  Jonrell realized he found a way out. It was a risk. A huge risk.

  He walked up to Kroke and slapped the man across the face, the sound echoing over camp. Although activity could still be heard elsewhere, those nearby watched in anticipated silence. “Did I ask for you to follow me?”

  The two guardsmen let out a gasp and stepped back. Kroke’s head had turned with the force of the strike. The sudden tenseness in Kroke’s neck was evident as he slowly faced Jonrell once again. There was a small line of blood on his lip that he licked with his tongue. They stared at each other for one of the longest moments in Jonrell’s life.

  See what’s really there, Kroke.

  “My mistake,” said Kroke through narrowed eyes.

  Good. I have him. At least for now. He lightened his tone. “Well, you’re here now so consider yourself honored to be the first to know. Hezen has made me an offer I’d be a fool to pass up. An offer that all of us would be stupid to pass on. He wants to renew our contract for a sum that’s nearly double what Effren was paying. We will help him conquer Thurum.”

  “Ronav won’t go for that.”

  “That’s why Hezen extended the offer to me.”

  “It sounds like you’ve accepted my offer,” said Hezen from behind Jonrell.

  “I have.” He looked over his shoulder. “But under one condition. Your men are not to touch Ronav. I’ll take care of him myself.”

  “Can you handle him?”

  “I keep my skills closely guarded. Ronav won’t be a problem.”

  “I see.”

  “Besides,” said Jonrell turning back to Kroke, “my new second in command is more than capable of sticking a knife in the man’s heart should I stumble. Either way, I think it best to take care of things within the Hell Patrol. Like you said, it would solidify my command.”

  Kroke gave a slow nod.

  “Good,” said Hezen. He eyed Kroke. “I see you have the skill to handle your men. Very good, indeed.” He paused. “I’ll have some of my men follow you back to camp.” He smiled. “Just to make sure all goes according to plan.”

  * * *

  When the two men were just out of earshot from Hezen, Jonrell whispered. “Do you speak Cadonian?”

  Kroke nodded.

  Jonrell continued, switching languages. “I’m surprised you trusted me.”

  “Who said that I did?”

  “Then why did you go along with it?”

  “Anyone dumb enough to slap me either doesn’t know me, is a moron, or is someone about to try something crazy.”

  “And which am I?”

  “I’m hoping for the last option since that one is the most fun. But given the circumstances you could very easily fall into the second category.”

  “No argument here.”

  “Either way, if you ever try something like that again, I’m going to have to kill you.”

  Jonrell smirked and looked over to Kroke, expecting a grin on the man’s face. Instead he saw a look of stone and his smile faded. He cleared his throat. “Right. So why were you looking for me anyway?”

  “I had a feeling something was going to go down tonight and you seemed like the best person to tell. Then I ran into Glacar and reasoned they were going to kill us. So I told him to get word to Ronav while I went searching for you.”

  “Hezen told me what he had done to our men. It wouldn’t be difficult to wipe us out given most are stumbling around in his camp unarmed.”

  “That and outnumbering us seventy to one.”

  “Well, there is that as well.”

  Jonrell glanced over his shoulder as the men following them seemed to grow wit
h each tent they passed.

  Everyone wants to see how this ends. Or rather see how Ronav dies.

  “So,” said Kroke, “what’s the plan?”

  “I’m still working on that part,” admitted Jonrell.

  “Yeah, you definitely fall into the second category.”

  They continued in silence, a desperate tension tightening Jonrell’s gut with each step. Countless soldiers from Hezen’s army followed in their wake. They closed in around him and Kroke, wearing intense glares. He had no idea how to get the Hell Patrol out of their situation without killing his commander, something he could never do.

  He was considering his options yet again when a large figure came into view, great sword in hand, shield strapped to his arm. Ronav was alone, yet none of Hezen’s men tried to stop the hulking figure gliding toward Jonrell.

  Jonrell’s stomach lurched with dread. He was out of time. He had to confront his commander, a man he admired, amidst a hostile group eager to see them both die.

  And there’s still the rest of the men to worry about. That’s what’s most important. Ronav would say the same. If Kroke gave me the benefit of the doubt, regardless of his reasons, then surely Ronav would do the same.

  Jonrell whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “I need you to follow my lead.”

  “Whatever you say, Boss,” said Kroke, voice thick with sarcasm.

  Jonrell ignored the tone. “Whatever happens, remember this is all for show and eventually we’ll need to find a way out.”

  “So you have a plan then?”

  “Yeah. Stall.” Jonrell pulled his sword and set off in a sprint toward Ronav.

  * * *

  In the Hell Patrol’s camp, people tripped over each other at every turn. Everyone heard the commotion coming from the large crowd of Effren’s soldiers who shouted and cheered only a few hundred yards away.

  Krytien knew those sounds all too well for he had heard them dozens of times over the years. He knew his commander fought at the crowd’s center.

  Perhaps with Ahned?

  Krytien tried to push those thoughts from his mind and focus on the safety of the men as he knew Ronav would want him to do. Krytien always helped cover Ronav’s mistakes and tonight was no different.

  We should have left the money.

  He allowed one more glance into the throng of soldiers visibly congregating between the tents and the maze of ruined buildings.

  How is Ronav going to get out of that? Maybe he doesn’t intend on coming back. That was why he went into camp alone without telling me. It has to be Ahned he’s fighting. His pride was wounded after I helped him with Glacar. He wants to prove himself one last time. And I won’t be able to interfere.

  An unconscious body flopped to the ground next to him with a thud. Glacar loomed over him. “Help me get him on a horse,” said Krytien.

  “Find someone else. This is the last one. I’m going after Ronav,” said the warrior, inclining his head toward the frenzied crowd.

  “He told us to get everyone to safety,”

  “And now they’re safe with you. Ronav is the only man to best me. He will not stand alone against so many,” said Glacar. He unslung his ax and ran toward the crowd.

  Krytien thought about calling after the man but stopped.

  Ronav will likely need him.

  * * *

  Kroke stood at the edge of the crude circle of men, a heaving mass of shouting soldiers, and watched Jonrell and Ronav tear into each other. He still thought about Jonrell barrelling into their commander only a couple of minutes before. Ronav had worn a mask of confusion when Jonrell’s first blow struck and the commander lost his shield deflecting the unexpected attack. Ronav recovered quickly and the two had been going at it since.

  Since that first strike Jonrell fought from a defensive standpoint, doing his best not to die under Ronav’s staggering press. Jonrell impressed Kroke with his skill against the more experienced warrior.

  There is more there than I would have thought.

  Kroke touched the grip of his own blades. With all the excitement, no one cared any longer how many knives he wore. Not that it mattered. He still wasn’t sure what Jonrell wanted him to do.

  “Follow my lead.” What’s that supposed to mean?

  It was obvious that Jonrell sought to buy time for the others back in camp, but at some point they would tire.

  Then what?

  Kroke sighed.

  I hope he thinks of something.

  * * *

  Jonrell stumbled backward only to be pushed forward by Hezen’s soldiers. He worked to keep his balance, ducking beneath Ronav’s sword and rolling to the ground. He raised his sword as he took a knee and caught another strike arcing for his face. A quick counter, aiming low at Ronav’s leg, bought him enough time to regain his feet. He took the chance to draw back. He and Ronav circled each other.

  The shouts of roaring soldiers filled the air with curses and promises of death. Jonrell breathed deeply and tried to slow his pounding heart as he shuffled around the crude ring.

  It happened so fast, from his decision to act, to the first blow, and then the dozens that followed. That look of shock in Ronav’s eyes had quickly turned to an emotionless mask after their initial impact. Jonrell had shouted out some nonsense about Ronav sleeping with his mother and that it was time for him to pay, figuring his commander would know he wasn’t really trying to kill him. Ronav’s response seemed like he understood, yet the man attacked him with such zeal, he found himself pulling out every trick he learned as a boy from his weapons master just to stay on his feet.

  Jonrell continued to circle, widening the area and creating more space to maneuver. Or hide.

  Ronav called out. “Of all people, I never thought you’d be the one to do this. And to think I came here intent on helping you.”

  Ronav spoke in Thurum’s common tongue. Jonrell shrugged, doing his best to appear indifferent. “Hezen made an offer I couldn’t refuse. He wants the Hell Patrol, but not you.”

  Ronav’s eyes widened. “So Effren is dead then?” He snorted. “My men will never follow you.”

  Jonrell gestured to Kroke. “One has. I think I can persuade the others to do the same. But only after you’re dead.”

  “You pompous little…”

  Jonrell rushed Ronav, whirling his sword wildly in the air and yelling slurs while switching languages several times midsentence until Ronav put him back on the defensive. Ronav knocked the sword from Jonrell’s hand and he grabbed the dagger at his waist. He slipped around Ronav’s reach and closed the distance between them while thrusting upward. Ronav dropped his sword to catch Jonrell’s arm. The two fell to the ground, face to face, struggling for position, pushing and pulling at the serrated blade between them.

  In such close quarters, Jonrell spoke in Cadonian so none could understand him. He masked his tone so it did not betray his words. “This is all a setup. I’m only doing this to buy time for the others to escape.”

  Ronav spat in his face and followed it with a head butt that sent Jonrell’s head spinning. He replied in Cadonian, eyes empty of emotion. “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “Of course I know. I thought it was obvious. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a good fighter, but I could have killed you many times, beginning with that idiotic charge.”

  One Above, I’ve been fighting for my life and he’s been playing with me. “So, how are we going to get out of this?”

  “I wasn’t expecting to. I came to give Krytien time to get the others out of here. And like I said, I was looking for you.”

  “But you came in fully armed,” said Jonrell as a knee came up into his stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

  Do we really have to make it that real?

  “I wanted to challenge Ahned and send him to the One Below before they did away with me. You ruined my plans.” Ronav winked and threw Jonrell off of him.

  Jonrell landed near his sword and scooped it up as he regain
ed his footing. He moved his dagger to his off hand. “So now what?” he asked, switching to a rare island language as he spat toward Ronav.

  “Krytien’s had more than enough time. Time to start hacking away at these idiots while they’re engulfed in our fight. Maybe we can carve our way to some mounts.”

  “And if not?”

  “Then we die.” Ronav’s tone was so lacking in emotion it took Jonrell back.

  Since when does he care so little about life?

  An animalistic scream cut through the shouting crowd. A beast of a man with crazed eyes hurled himself through the soldiers with ax in hand, throwing men out of his way. Thinking they were under a full attack, many fled.

  “Traitor.” Glacar roared as he barreled toward Jonrell.

  One Above, he doesn’t know.

  Ronav shouldered Glacar into the air. He skidded to the ground and looked up in confusion. The crowd grew silent.

  Glacar stood up. “I don’t understand.”

  “This is my fight,” shouted Ronav. “The traitor is mine.”

  Someone yelled. “Something’s not right. Jonrell could have killed Ronav just then when he turned his back away.”

  “No,” snarled Jonrell. “I want to do this my way.”

  Cord stepped forward to the front of Hezen’s men and pointed. “He’s lying. Look how long they’ve fought and neither has a scratch. Glacar and Ronav were both worse than this in half the amount of time. They’re stalling.”

  Jonrell’s heart sank as he felt the change in the crowd. Of all people, it had to be Cord.

  “So that means,” started Glacar as the light went on in his eyes.

  Two daggers whizzed by either side of Jonrell’s head and sunk into the necks of approaching guardsmen. Kroke yelled out. “Quit standing around and kill something!”

  Ronav turned toward a spot where the crowd thinned in the confusion. “This way.”

  Jonrell followed his commander as he sliced through men like a farmer reaping wheat. He led them deeper into the enemy camp and away from the Hell Patrol as fast as their feet could move. Glacar roared past Jonrell, pushing him out of the way to share in the carnage. Kroke ran at Jonrell’s side, throwing knives and stabbing any who got close. He smiled at Jonrell with a look of elation.