Steel and Valor: An Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 3)

by Andy Peloquin

  “Save for a few critical flaws.” Invictus Nytano had no need of his war mask to appear solemn and stern. His features were pulled into a hard frown, the lines around his eyes deep.

  Aravon inclined his head. “Who will stay to lure the Eirdkilrs into the trap, and who will be the one setting off the mine collapse?”

  The Invictus nodded.

  “Me.”

  Zaharis, Colborn, and Skathi all stiffened and a gasp issued from beneath Belthar’s mask.

  “Captain—” Colborn began.

  Aravon held up a hand to forestall the protest. “I may not be the fastest of my soldiers—that honor falls to Foxclaw and Redwing—” He gestured to Skathi and Noll. “—but I can outrun the Eirdkilrs any day.”

  “You still can’t fight them alone.” Colborn’s voice held an edge of steel. “The Eirdkilrs won’t fall for the trap unless they have real prey to hunt. I’ll stay with—”

  “No.” Aravon shook his head. “You and Foxclaw are best-suited to lead the way for the rear assault, and we’ll need all the archers we can muster.”

  “I’ll stay,” Belthar rumbled. “I’m better off holding a shield wall than slinking through forests anyway.”

  Aravon nodded. “Thank you,” he signed.

  “And me,” Killian said.

  “Me, too,” Elmessam echoed a half-second behind his fellow Keeper’s Blade.

  “Someone’s got to haul your arses out of trouble.” Killian turned to him, a wry smile tugging up the tufts of his neatly-trimmed goatee. “Again.”

  Aravon chuckled. “Lucky timing, that’s all.”

  The Blade shrugged. “Whatever helps you rest easy.” Humor glinted in his eyes.

  Callista spoke up. “If you two are staying, there’s no way I’m letting you fools fight alone.”

  “Archateros Callista—” Lord Morshan began.

  “All due respect, Proxenos, but I’m staying.” Callista’s jaw took on a stubborn line, resolve etched into every line of her face. “To make this plan work, you need to take as many Indomitables with you as possible.”

  “With me?” Lord Morshan cocked an eyebrow.

  “Yes, sir.” Callista met her commander’s gaze without wavering. “You’re the Proxenos, and there is no one better-suited to lead. With the Invictus and Ypertatos at your side, you’ve the best chance of carrying the day. And if anyone is going to risk their necks in a hare-brained plan like this, it definitely ought to be these two.” She jerked a thumb at Killian and Elmessam. “They’re expendable enough.”

  “You are too kind.” Elmessam swept a mocking bow.

  Callista grinned. “And just like I’ve been doing every day since we were first chosen in the Crucible, it’s up to me to keep you alive. Maybe with Killian’s help, we might actually be able to stop you from tripping over your own feet.”

  Killian gave her an exasperated eye-roll. “Better luck getting water from these stones!”

  Callista continued before Elmessam could retort, her expression growing serious. “And if you’re going to take all of the Indomitables, Proxenos, it’ll be up to us to hold the Eirdkilrs here.”

  “Not all.” Lord Morshan shook his head. “Most. The five of you cannot hope to survive the battle alone.”

  Callista’s shoulders tensed. “Sir—”

  Now it was Lord Morshan’s turn to interrupt his Archateros. “I am Proxenos and I have spoken.” His expression turned as hard as the stone beneath his feet. “Ten Indomitables will remain, along with those too wounded to join us on our journey. They will stand beside you and our Princelander friends.” He nodded to Aravon. “Together, you will hold long enough to lure the Eirdkilrs into our trap.”

  Zaharis waved to catch Aravon’s attention. “You’ll be needing this then, Captain.”

  From within his pouch, the Secret Keeper drew out the round, studded metal sphere he’d called an Earthshaker. Noll’s eyes brightened with eagerness at the sight and his fingers twitched as if aching to snatch it like a child excited at a new toy.

  Zaharis, sensing Noll’s eagerness, held the object far away from the scout. “Placed just right, this’ll buy you enough time to get out before the collapse. Though you’ll have to run like the demons of the fiery hell are on your heels.”

  “Thank you.” Aravon took the Earthshaker with a grateful nod. “I’ll remember that when I’ve got Eirdkilrs on my heels.”

  “Then it is settled.” Lord Morshan’s voice echoed through the cavern, solemn and ringing with a note of finality. “Nytano, Aleema, select the Indomitables best-suited to remain with Captain Snarl. The rest of us move out in half an hour.”

  “Yes, Proxenos.” With a salute, the two Keeper’s Blades hurried off to see to their commander’s orders.

  “With your permission, Lord Morshan,” Aravon said, “my men will also prepare to travel.”

  The Lord of Blades gave a dismissive wave and turned to the Blades that had volunteered to remain. “As for the three of you, let me make one thing abundantly clear…”

  The Proxenos’ voice faded from hearing as Aravon and his Grim Reavers hurried from the tunnel, heading back toward their secluded sleeping area.

  “You sure about this, Captain?” Colborn spoke in a low tone. “I know we’re backed into a corner, but this feels a bit more suicidal than our usual last-resort tactics.”

  “Can you see any better option?” Aravon asked.

  He’d given it a great deal of thought over the last two days. Even if they managed to hit the enemy from behind, they had far too few Indomitables to defeat the remaining Eirdkilrs—at least four or five hundred, even after the heavy losses sustained during their assaults on the mine. If they didn’t do something to drastically even the odds, they stood little chance of victory, even with the element of surprise on their side.

  A shadow darkened Colborn’s blue eyes, but after long seconds, he shook his head.

  “It’ll work.” Aravon poured as much confidence as he could muster into his voice. “With Zaharis’ Earthshaker, we’ve got a shot of killing hundreds of the bastards in a single blow. That ought to tip the scales in our favor.”

  “Just because it might work, that doesn’t mean I’ve got to like it.” Colborn’s voice was a low growl. “Especially not with you risking your neck to set it off.”

  “There’s as much risk in here as there is out there.” Aravon tried for a casual, lighthearted tone. “At least this way, I get a few minutes to nap before facing certain death.”

  “Now, if only we could find some food lying around,” Belthar rumbled, “we might be able to make a proper last meal of it.”

  “Then go!” Aravon shooed the big man away. “Even just a mouthful of water and a bit of bread’ll go down nicely.”

  Belthar didn’t need to be told twice; he took off at a near-run down the passage that led to where Emvil’s Gangers guarded the supplies.

  “What about sending off for help, Captain?” Noll asked. “Sentry Garrison’s a half-day’s ride away.”

  Aravon shook his head, letting out a long breath. “I thought about it, but the truth is that we’re on our own here, Noll. Even if you could talk the Garrison Commander into sending his lancers, it’d take far too long for them to get here.”

  “Damn,” Noll growled. “I guess it’s too much to hope for a repeat of my perfectly timed return, like at Hangman’s Hill.”

  Skathi snorted. “You ever going to stop talking about that? Every day since, you won’t shut up about how you arrived in time to save the day. And how you took down the Blood Queen from…how far is it now? Three miles out?”

  “It was a bloody good shot!” Noll protested.

  “It was, but I think we’d all appreciate your skill more if you just shut up about it once in a while.” Skathi sounded tired and annoyed—though, oddly enough, not at Noll. More likely, she was feeling the strain of their circumstances, and the little scout made for a convenient target.

  “Hush!” Aravon said as they approached their
small camp. Rangvaldr lay curled in his blankets. “Don’t wake him!” He accompanied the silent hand signals with a stern gaze. “Any one of you does anything to interrupt his sleep—”

  “Captain?” Rangvaldr’s voice, thick with exhaustion, drifted from the Seiomenn’s bedroll. The Fehlan’s eyelids fluttered open and he sat up, groaning and pressing a hand to his head.

  “Easy, Rangvaldr,” Aravon said. In the dim light, the Seiomenn appeared long past fatigue, the lines in his face deep, the circles around his eyes far too dark. “You went ahead and pushed yourself too hard, didn’t you?”

  Rangvaldr ignored the question, instead asking, “The way out is open?”

  “Aye.” Skathi nodded. “And the four of us are heading out now.” Her gesture included Zaharis, Noll, Colborn, and herself. “You even think of trying to get up, I’ll put an arrow in your knee to keep you down.” She reached for her quiver, but found it near-empty. Only two of her red-fletched arrows remained, alongside three of the iron-tipped Fehlan hunting arrows they’d found in the Deid Hefjakumbl.

  “Here.” To Aravon’s surprise, Noll bent over, drew a handful of arrows from his quiver, and held them out to Skathi.

  The Agrotora’s eyes went wide behind her mask, and she hesitated a moment before reaching for the arrows. “Th-thank you?” A question, as uncertain as the puzzlement in her eyes.

  Noll gave a dismissive wave. “What’s an archer without arrows? Besides, what’s the fun if I’m the only one firing at the Eirdkilrs?” A wicked gleam entered his eyes. “If you want to make a once-in-a-lifetime shot like I did back at Hangman’s Hill, you’re going to need—ow!”

  Skathi rolled her eyes. “Just when I thought you weren’t a total arse, you had to go and ruin it!” Her tone held only mock anger, and she was chuckling as she turned to stuff the arrows in her quiver and pack her gear.

  At that moment, Belthar returned. A worried look in his eyes.

  “Food?” Aravon signed.

  Belthar shook his head.

  Hunger and thirst clutched at Aravon’s gut. “Water, rum, anything?” He was already exhausted; the prospect of fighting without sustenance only added to the weight dragging on his limbs.

  “All gone,” Belthar signed.

  A grimace twisted Aravon’s lips. We really are running out of time.

  Belthar turned and found Skathi in his path.

  “You’re an idiot, you know,” Skathi said.

  Belthar’s eyes darkened behind his mask, his huge shoulders knotting tight.

  “Fellow your size, he’d have to be a fool to volunteer to get stuck under the ground like this.” Skathi shook her head.

  The tension drained from the big man’s posture. “Someone’s got to look out for the Captain.”

  “Swordsman, what am I, chopped liver?” Aravon threw up his hands.

  “Nah.” Belthar shook his head, a sparkle of humor brightening his eyes. “Just a man too damned heroic to keep himself alive for long without someone watching your back.”

  “Keep yourself alive, you big lummox!” Skathi punched his arm. “If I don’t see you coming out of that mine in one piece, I’m going to be pissed.”

  Belthar was caught off-guard by Skathi’s friendly attack, so much that he failed to muster a suitably sharp response—or any response at all.

  Skathi cocked a thumb over her shoulder. “The last thing anyone wants to see is Noll getting all weepy and blubbery over your corpse.”

  The little scout drew himself up. “A true man is not afraid to show his emotions.” His superior tone gave way to one of distaste. “Besides, I challenge you to find anyone who doesn’t cry when they see Belthar’s ugly mug. Why else d’you think the Duke gave us these masks?”

  Skathi chortled, but Belthar only shook his head. “I’ll remember that, Noll,” the big man rumbled. “When the Long Keeper asks me if I have anyone waiting for me in the Sleepless Lands, I’ll tell him to keep an eye out for a spiteful redhead and a skinny little rat-faced prick, and keep them far away from me.”

  That only made Skathi and Noll laugh harder.

  “Sir.” Colborn’s voice was quiet, echoing beneath the laughter ringing in the small stone chamber.

  Aravon turned to find the Lieutenant standing beside him, pack slung over his shoulder.

  “What you said back there, before the attack.” Colborn hesitated a moment before continuing. “Thank you. Sometimes it’s easy to forget you’ve got people who care.”

  Aravon nodded, but said nothing. No more words were needed.

  “But don’t you forget.” Colborn jabbed a finger into Aravon’s chest. “You walk out of these tunnels any less than alive, Zaharis is going to be pissed!”

  “I’ll remember that.” Aravon winced at the pain in his bruised sternum. “One way or another, we’re getting out of here alive. We’ve got a traitor to hunt, right?”

  “Right.” Colborn held out a hand. “Swordsman strengthen your arm, Captain.”

  “And guide your aim.” Aravon returned the Lieutenant’s grip. “Though, with so many Eirdkilrs all clustered in one place, you probably won’t need his help!”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “Are you certain of this plan, Captain Snarl?”

  “Not really.” Aravon met Lord Morshan’s eyes without hesitation. “But it’s the best way for us all to make it through this alive.”

  He and the Proxenos stood beside the narrow shaft carved crudely into the mountain. Already, most of the Indomitables had filed through the opening and disappeared into the darkness, though a handful remained inside, awaiting their turn. Noll and two horses—his own and Belthar’s—had blocked the way. The little scout swore and cursed, but Belthar’s mount wouldn’t budge until Colborn spoke a few encouraging words in its ears. Behind the two Grim Reavers, Zaharis and Skathi held the reins of their own horses along with Rangvaldr’s and Aravon’s. Those mounts would come in very handy for hauling supplies, weapons, and the worst of the walking wounded around the mountain.

  “And your man is certain of the placement of that…thing?” The Proxenos cast a doubtful eye at Aravon’s pouch, where he’d stowed the Earthshaker. Even after Aravon had tried to explain what the metal sphere was, Lord Morshan’s face revealed a healthy dose of uncertainty and skepticism. “Emvil and his Gangers—”

  “Will need to get your miners out before we can bring down the tunnels,” Aravon said. “It’ll work, Proxenos.” He trusted Zaharis with his life—the Secret Keeper had always come through for them before, no sense doubting him now.

  “Your faith in your men does you honor.” Lord Morshan straightened and gave Aravon the Keeper’s Blade salute. “Until we meet again, Captain Snarl. May the Faces of Justice, Mercy, and Vengeance watch over you.”

  Aravon returned the gesture with a Legion salute. “And may the Swordsman strengthen your arm, Lord Morshan.”

  With a curt nod, the Lord of Blades joined the last of the black-armored men disappearing into darkness. One by one, the soldiers departed, battered and stained armor clanking, boots pounding on the stone. With grim faces and jaws set in pain and determination, they marched to the desperate battle that awaited them the following day.

  Far too quickly, the last of the soldiers disappeared, the Grim Reavers with them. Aravon stood alone in the cave. Long seconds passed before he turned and marched back through the stone passages toward the mine’s entrance.

  It fell to him now to hold their position, at any cost.

  * * *

  A tense, nervous silence hung thick among the Indomitables guarding the entrance to the mine. Ten black-armored men and women stood arrayed in two ranks, shields interlocked, khopeshes and swordstaves held at the ready. Sweat trickled down Aravon’s spine and slithered tracks along his cheeks. His palms were slick beneath his leather gloves, his fingers twitching on the wooden shaft of his spear. No matter how tight he clenched his jaw, he couldn’t fully banish the nervous anxiety coursing through his veins.

  Less than f
ifteen yards away, the first threads of daylight had begun to appear outside the mouth of the mine. Barely more than hints of soft, hazy blue to brighten the blackness of night. Yet, with every hammering beat of Aravon’s heart, the sky grew lighter. Daybreak approached—and with it, the prospect of battle. A battle they had no chance of winning…only escaping alive.

  Aravon gripped his spear tighter and resisted the urge to wipe his damp palms. He couldn’t let the few Indomitables standing with him see his unease.

  With good reason. Ten Indomitables, three Keeper’s Blades, and two Grim Reavers had no chance of holding back the tide of Eirdkilrs that would soon descend upon them. Their best hope was to survive long enough to repel the first wave and break off without heavy casualties. That was all they’d need to bring the Eirdkilrs flooding into the mine—just in time for Aravon to bring it down atop their heads.

  He called to mind the crevice where, on Zaharis’ instructions and with Head Ganger Emvil’s approval, he’d placed the Earthshaker. Ready to shatter the supports holding up the weakest section of mine tunnel. As he pulled out the small metal pin, the friction would strike a spark off a chunk of flint within, igniting whatever powder filled the studded sphere. Aravon would have a matter of seconds before it went off—if he didn’t run fast enough, the concussive blast and the flying shards of iron could bring him down long before the mine collapsed atop him and the Eirdkilrs.

  Aravon pushed the worry from his mind. I’ll just have to do what Zaharis said and ‘run like the Long Keeper himself is breathing down my neck’. A twinge ran down his spine as he shifted in place, and the ache in his chest settled into a bone-deep throbbing. Easier said than done.

  He wasn’t the only one bearing wounds. Belthar had escaped the previous night’s battle with barely a scratch or bruise, but the Shalandrans hadn’t been so fortunate. All of the Indomitables standing beside him bore wounds—most minor, but some had splints wrapped around fractured arms or legs, bloodstained bandages wrapped around deep head wounds. Killian and Elmessam had both sustained injuries as well. Rangvaldr had nearly killed himself trying to heal the soldiers—even then, it hadn’t been enough. Five of the Indomitables wounded worst in the Eirdkilrs’ night attack had succumbed to blood loss, pain, and thirst before the Seiomenn was recovered enough to use his holy stones. As for the rest…only time would tell. But time was not on Aravon’s side.