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

by Andy Peloquin

  There were no war cries, no shouts of “For Shalandra!” or “For the Keeper!” Those around him had no breath to waste. Yet Aravon could feel the sudden shift in the mood of the brave souls marching behind, beside, and before him.

  The enemy awaited them, and the time had come to join battle.

  Straight into the smoke the three Keeper’s Blades charged. Into the sweltering heat and the burning flames, and through the heart of the blaze.

  Callista leapt high over the branches piled in a wide circle around the mouth of the mine. She seemed to hang in air for a moment, a figure of pure black shrouded by grey and set against a backdrop of purest blue. Killian and Elmessam vaulted the burning branches in her wake, and the three of them disappeared beyond the fire a heartbeat later.

  The Indomitables, too, charged the fire, but instead of leaping over, they lowered their shields and drove into the piles of burning branches. The metal of their shields, helms, and armor protected them from the flames, which had already begun to burn low, for a few heartbeats as they shoved aside the boughs that fed the blaze. Through the opening they charged, across ground strewn with ash, glowing coals, and charred wood.

  And then they were through. Through the wall of smoke and into the fresh, clean air, the brilliant daylight beyond. Aravon and Belthar charged in their wake, never slowing as they raced through the breach to face the enemy.

  Three yards ahead of the foremost Indomitable, Callista, Elmessam, and Killian were locked in battle with the Eirdkilrs. The Keeper’s Blades spun and twirled, their huge flame-bladed swords carving devastation through the barbarians they faced. Callista, in particular, seemed to move with impossible speed, her attacks as graceful as they were lethal. Killian drove a fist into an Eirdkilr’s face, and the impact rocked the barbarian’s head back hard enough that his neck gave a loud snap. Elmessam lacked the speed and strength of his companions, yet he appeared no more fatigued by the combat than if he’d awoken from a nap.

  But they could only fight alone for so long. Fifty Eirdkilrs stood within the narrowing space between the rocky walls of the mountain, and more had heard the sound of battle and raced toward the mine. With every step forward, the Keeper’s Blades drove farther into Eirdkilr-held ground, and more enemies could strike at them from their flanks.

  Now the Indomitables raised their voices in a roar. “For Shalandra!” Five shields, still hot from the fire, locked together and drove forward, bolstered by the five soldiers marching in the rank behind them. Straight down the middle they charged, and Callista spun off to her right in time to make room for the rushing soldiers to meet the Eirdkilrs head-on.

  The Indomitable shield wall met a disorganized, chaotic jumble of Eirdkilrs. The attack had caught the enemy off-guard. Those not felled by the Keeper’s Blades still stumbled, surprised, fumbling to bring their weapons to bear. The black-armored soldiers hit hard and drove forward with the force of their charge.

  Yet even as Aravon leapt over Eirdkilr corpses and raced along behind the soldiers, the Shalandran advance began to slow. The Indomitables could only push the Eirdkilrs back so far before the barbarians’ superior strength bogged them down. Worse, the farther the soldiers pushed from the mine’s entrance, the more the space between the rocky cliffs widened. In seconds, the Eirdkilrs would encircle them.

  Not a damned chance I’ll let that happen!

  “Belthar, left!” Aravon roared. He, in turn, hurled himself to the right, at the first Eirdkilrs slipping around the Keeper’s Blades and the Indomitables’ right flank. His spear wove a blurring wall of steel and wood, thrusting, stabbing, hacking, and chopping. One Eirdkilr fell screaming, blood spraying from his slashed throat. Another died a moment later, coils of intestines spilling out of a gaping wound in his gut. Aravon knocked aside an axe blow with enough force to send the Eirdkilr stumbling, drove his spear into a fourth barbarian’s face, then spun to finish off the staggering man. The fifth fell to a savage thrust that punched through his neck and severed his spine.

  Another shout of “For Shalandra!” burst from the tunnel, and Emvil’s Gangers roared through the wall of smoke. A few stumbled and fell into the fire, one never to rise, but the rest poured into the space cleared by the Keeper’s Blades and Indomitables, bolstering the line of soldiers.

  Two of the Gangers joined Aravon on the right flank. What they lacked in skill they more than made up for in ferocity. The brutish thugs hacked and chopped with all the grace of lumberjacks felling trees. Only their trees screamed, bled, and died.

  And hit back.

  The first Ganger fell to an Eirdkilr club, his head exploding in a shower of blood, brains, and bits of skull. Aravon cut down another barbarian about to kill the second Ganger and barely managed to block a spear driving at the Shalandran’s bloodstained face. Yet a moment later, another Eirdkilr axe overpowered the Ganger’s guard and buried itself in the man’s shoulder, plowing through ribs, spine, and organs.

  In those seconds, the Indomitables and Keeper’s Blades had pushed forward. Two long steps, nearly three yards, clearing a broader space between them and the mouth of the mine.

  And into that opening poured the Kabili miners. Pick axes, shovels, khopeshes, and swordstaves waving high above their heads, the light of determination burning in their dark eyes. A hundred men and women lent their voices to the Indomitables’ battle cries. “For Shalandra!” echoed off the stone walls, a wave of noise and fury that washed over the Eirdkilrs in front of the mine.

  The miners threw themselves into the battle with abandon, lending the Indomitables their strength to bolster the shield wall and striking at any Eirdkilr within their reach. The stunned, off-balanced Eirdkilrs reeled beneath the sudden onslaught. Surprised by the presence of the miners when they’d expected only a handful of choking, weakened men, the barbarians struggled to regain cohesion and present a solid defense.

  Aravon’s world narrowed to a sharp point. He saw only the Eirdkilr before him: the howling, enraged giant in his icebear pelt and studded leather armor. His eyes followed the rise and fall of the axe aimed at his head. Twisting aside, lashing out with a thrust that drove his spearhead into the Eirdkilr’s chest. Blood gushed as he tore it free. Threw himself at the next enemy. Cut the barbarian down with a spinning slash and brought the metal-shod butt crashing into another Eirdkilr’s skullcap. Leapt over a falling Ganger, feet slipping on blood, ducking beneath a high club strike. He straightened and struck an upward blow that laid open the Eirdkilr’s chin, severing the veins in his neck.

  In the space between heartbeats, Aravon risked a glance at the mining camp behind the Eirdkilrs surging toward him. Most of the makeshift shelters had been burned, the rest looted. But through the twisted, still-open gates, he saw no sign of Lord Morshan or his Grim Reavers.

  Then he could spare no more attention. An Eirdkilr spear sliced past his face and scraped off the flange of his helmet. The steel head struck the side of his head hard enough to stagger him. Sparks whirled in his vision, the world blurring around him. In desperation, he lashed out with a wild blow. Heard a grunt of pain and felt the tip of his spear cut through something hard. When his vision cleared, he found the Eirdkilr shrieking and clutching the ruins where his eyes had been. Callista’s sword lopped the man’s arms and wrists off a heartbeat later, silencing his cries.

  Come on! Aravon’s eyes snapped past the Eirdkilrs. The gate was still empty.

  Growling his frustration, he threw himself back into the fray. His spear sliced, thrust, and hacked even as his mind raced.

  The original plan had called for an attack after Zaharis’ explosive brought down the mine atop the enemy, to take advantage of the chaos. Lord Morshan and his men had to be waiting for the telltale rumbling that signaled the mine’s collapse.

  That signal would never come. Aravon could only hope the Shalandrans were in position. He had to trust that Noll, Colborn, and Skathi were watching—their keen eyes and ears had to see the desperate battle, and that they would warn Lord Morshan in time.<
br />
  They have to come in time!

  He had no other plan, no other clever strategy to get them through this alive. There was no way they could fight their way past the Eirdkilrs racing toward them. Lord Morshan’s stone building still stood, but it might have been a thousand leagues away. Their only hope was to hold their position and keep fighting until Lord Morshan could signal the rear attack.

  Something whistled past his face and slammed into the miner behind him. An arrow, driven by the force of those powerful Eirdkilr longbows. More followed, black-shafted missiles that rained down death on the unarmored miners. Screams of agony echoed from all around. Even the Gangers in their armor, taken from Indomitable corpses, could not survive.

  The Eirdkilrs couldn’t fire en masse, not without hitting their own warriors. Yet the miners were packed so tightly together that any arrow loosed over the heads of the Indomitables was guaranteed to strike home.

  Another scream, this time from directly to Aravon’s right. An Indomitable crumpled, head bashed in. A gap in the shield wall opened and Eirdkilrs surged into the opening. Aravon had no time to help—he was too busy fighting three Eirdkilrs, his spear a blur of wood and steel as he fended off their attacks. In desperation he gave ground, tried to find an opening, and failed. Only Callista’s sword saved him from having his face torn open by an Eirdkilr axe. A moment later, his spear cut down the enemy swinging a club toward the Blade’s head.

  Something slammed against Aravon’s left arm. A black-armored soldier, shoved backward by the force of the Eirdkilr onslaught. The front rank was crumbling, the ragged second rank barely able to fill in the gaps. Eirdkilrs cut down the Gangers and miners bolstering the heavily-armored soldiers. Shoved the Shalandrans back one step. A second step, and a third. Two more Indomitables fell, one to be trampled still living beneath heavy Eirdkilr boots.

  In desperation, Aravon looked to the open gate, and his heart sank. Blue skies, a cleared field, and beautiful green of the forests beyond.

  Lord Morshan wasn’t coming in time. They were going to die.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Aravon hadn’t counted on the miners’ courage and ferocity. They fought with the desperation of men and women battling to protect their families. Hopeless odds be damned, they hurled themselves onto the Eirdkilrs hacking at the Indomitables. Some abandoned picks and shovels to scoop up the massive weapons of the Eirdkilrs fallen in battle. Huge axes, spears, and clubs wielded by hands strengthened from years of labor struck back at the fur-clad barbarians pressing up against the ragged Indomitable shield wall.

  Yet for all their efforts, not even the miners could slow the steady, inexorable advance of the Eirdkilrs. The towering giants shoved, chopped, and clawed at the heavily-armored Indomitables, their weight, strength, and savagery impossible for the few professional soldiers to stop. Even with Aravon and Belthar anchoring the flanks, the Gangers and miners at their backs, the Indomitables had no choice but to retreat beneath that onslaught. Only their seven-sided shields and the strength of their heavy black plate mail kept them alive for a few seconds longer. Beneath that crushing press of bodies, the grasping hands and hacking weapons of the Eirdkilrs, those seconds would run out all too soon.

  The Keeper’s Blades fought with skill and speed no Eirdkilr could hope to match. Callista anchored the right flank, her huge flammard whirling in a blur of Shalandran steel that hacked through any Eirdkilr that sought to encircle the Indomitables and strike at the unarmored miners from the side. Aravon had no time to search out Killian and Elmessam, on the left flank with Belthar, but had to trust they still lived.

  If any of them fell, if the Eirdkilrs broke through their ranks and hit the Kabili with their full fury, the untrained miners would fall like a sand castle beneath a tidal wave.

  The Indomitable to Aravon’s left fell in a spray of blood that spattered his armor, mask, and arms. Aravon stabbed at the Eirdkilrs surging into the gap, only to find himself beset by two more from his right. Massive figures that blocked out the bright daylight and brought their axes chopping down toward his head. He had only an instant to move—hurling himself forward beneath their weapons, slamming the wooden shaft of his spear into their faces. They staggered, surprised for a single heartbeat, and Aravon’s twisting slash opened cheeks, noses, and throats.

  Something crashed into his face and darkness flooded his vision. The world spun around him for heart-pounding seconds. Tears blurred his eyes and a weight crushed down on his leg. Yet the pain snapped him from the disorientation. He emerged from his daze to find himself on the ground, a heavy Eirdkilr boot pressed down atop his left ankle. Agony lanced the bone and raced up his leg. With a cry, Aravon drove his right leg up and into the Eirdkilr’s knee. Joints popped, bone snapped, and the Eirdkilr stumbled backward with a scream. The crushing weight lifted from Aravon’s leg, but before he could find his feet, another Eirdkilr loomed over him, club raised high for a crushing blow.

  The barbarian’s face crumpled beneath the force of a khopesh blow. Crimson gushed from the Eirdkilr’s shattered nose, cheeks, jaw, and mouth. The strike tore away the entire lower half of the blue-stained face, and the howl of rage turned to a whimper of agony. Hot, warm blood sprayed across Aravon’s mask, and he barely twisted his head away to keep it from getting into his eyes. He thrust out in desperation and felt his spear drive home into Eirdkilr flesh.

  A hand seized his collar and hauled him to his feet. Aravon had no time to see which Ganger had rescued him—he was too busy deflecting a blow aimed at the man’s side and striking back at the next Eirdkilr in the crush.

  He never saw the second enemy coming. Never had time to stop the blow aimed at the Ganger’s head. A huge, double-bladed axe sheared through the Shalandran’s neck. Crimson spouted and the severed head flew through the air, spinning off into the crowd of battling soldiers.

  Aravon roared in rage and drove the butt end of his spear up between the Eirdkilr’s legs. The barbarian’s blue eyes rolled back in his head and his war cry cut off in a weak gasp of agony. Whirling the spear, Aravon thrust the spearhead into the Eirdkilr’s chest. Coughing, gurgling, the Eirdkilr staggered backward into his shoving, pushing, howling comrades.

  Then a new sound pierced the din of battle: a deep, booming roar, loosed from a hundred throats. “For Shalandra!” rang out across the mining camp, set the mountain’s walls trembling.

  Aravon had no time to look up from his desperate battle, yet hope surged within him. Yes!

  Lord Morshan’s counterattack had come.

  Not a moment too soon. His small force of Indomitables and Keeper’s Blades were being forced backward, step by step, toward the piles of still-burning branches. They’d killed Eirdkilrs by the dozens but hadn’t survived unscathed. Half of the Gangers had fallen—Aravon saw no sign of Emvil, the Head Ganger—and close to two dozen miners lay dead or bleeding. Only six Indomitables still stood to meet the enemy’s fury, their shields and armor battered, bloodied, and dented. Beside Aravon, Callista was a whirlwind of death, cutting down any enemy that came within reach of her huge sword.

  Lord Morshan’s arrival and rear attack could carry the day—all they had to do now was survive long enough for the reinforcements to make a difference.

  Eirdkilrs closed in all around them, surging into the narrowing space between the stone walls. Their huge bodies crashed into the Indomitable shields, staggering the soldiers, pushing them steadily backward. The surviving Gangers and miners fought to steady the Indomitables—the single, ragged line of defense between them and the enemy howling for their blood—and strike back.

  Yet the enemy was too numerous, too fierce for unarmored, inexperienced men. The Indomitable line cracked, a gap opening in the center, and Eirdkilrs shoved into the breach. Axes and spears flashing, cutting down Gangers and miners alike.

  Aravon roared his fury—he had to help, had to take down those barbarians before they slaughtered everyone—but he was too busy fighting for his life to go to their aid. His darting, sl
ashing spear and Callista’s flame-shaped blade was all that stood in the way of the Eirdkilrs trying to crush their right flank.

  The screams of agony grew louder, echoed by meaty thunks of steel finding flesh. When Aravon finally managed to tear his gaze from the enemy ahead and glance back, he caught sight of three Eirdkilrs rampaging through the densely-packed ranks of miners. Crushing skulls, shattering limbs, and carving devastation through the ragged-clad bodies.

  “Go!”

  Callista’s shout took Aravon by surprise. He spun back to the battle, but found the Keeper’s Blade had stepped forward and to the left, her solid form blocking the five-foot gap between the shield wall’s right flank and the cliff wall.

  Without hesitation, Aravon whirled and raced toward the embattled miners. Three steps, raised his spear, and attacked. His forward thrust drove the long, sharp tip of the spear into the back of an Eirdkilr’s skull, beneath the rim of his helm. Tearing the blade free, he spun to face the next Eirdkilr. A slashing strike that carved a bone-deep furrow down the length of the barbarian’s forearm. The huge axe dropped from numb fingers as blood gushed from the gaping wound. The next instant, the barbarian was borne to the ground beneath a surge of miners.

  The last Eirdkilr died before Aravon could reach him—a Kabili pick axe driven deep into his brain. Yet in those precious seconds before the Indomitables closed ranks and the Eirdkilrs were brought down, their fury had killed more than a dozen miners and Gangers.

  A cry of fury echoed from the left flank. Elmessam was bellowing his rage, his sword chopping, stabbing, and slashing. No sign of Killian.

  “For Shalandra!” Lord Morshan’s shout rose over the din of battle.

  In the space between heartbeats, Aravon risked a glance toward the front gate. The towering Eirdkilrs blocked his view, yet the fact that he could hear the Proxenos’ cry meant the Shalandran counterattack had pushed far into the camp.