Resurrected Soldiers: The Tyrus Chronicle - Book Three

by Simon, Joshua P.

  And bodies. I can’t see them this far away, but I know they’re there. There were over four hundred thousand people in the city proper before the artifact.

  The high walls surrounding the city were in no better condition. In fact, there really wasn’t much about them that any would call “high” or a “wall.” Only near the gatehouse and drum towers were the walls even intact. Most other spots had crumbled so significantly that one could stroll right into the city.

  Studying Hol from the low mountain brought on a mix of emotions—lost hope, regret, worry.

  More emotions came from spotting the advancing armies outside the city itself.

  Four to one odds at best.

  Tyrus was out there somewhere. At least she hoped he was.

  But for how long?

  Though her brother had a talent for strategy and usually a penchant for luck, looking at the numbers he faced gave her little encouragement.

  She turned away with a tight chest and a rolling gut. She couldn’t watch the upcoming battle, not just because she feared the outcome, but because she had more than enough to occupy herself with already. Her own group’s battle would begin soon.

  After jumping off the ridge days ago, they had followed the river drifting and floating for hours. They came ashore to avoid more Geneshans traveling on rafts to Hol.

  But they ran into others traveling by land. They escaped, but ran into more of the enemy. Running and fighting when absolutely necessary in order to run again had occupied their waking moments since then. Stress and fatigue had become constants.

  The one bright spot was that Ava’s control of sorcery had continued to improve during their struggles for if she was awake, she was casting spells. She wondered if she had ever been so good with the subtlety of sorcery.

  Not that it matters. It won’t be enough. We’re going to die anyway.

  She hated thinking those thoughts, but facts were facts, and no amount of optimism from Zadok would change her mind.

  Even the worry he keeps hidden is starting to show through.

  “They’ll be on us in an hour,” said Myra as she walked up to Ava. “Are you ready?”

  She hadn’t even bothered talking low. Given their situation, it didn’t matter who overheard them. Things couldn’t get much worse.

  “I’ll be fine, said Ava finally. “The others?”

  “They’re as ready as they’re going to be.”

  She fidgeted with her hands a bit. Ava could see she wanted to say something.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you want to look over my layout again?”

  “I told you earlier it was as solid a strategy as I have ever seen. If there’s a better way to take advantage of the terrain and our resources, I don’t see it. It’s practically a miracle you were able to accomplish so much in so little time, especially moving some of the stones with rigging Nason helped set up.”

  Myra lowered her voice. “But we’re going to lose anyway, aren’t we? This is where we’ll die.”

  More than likely.

  “Hard to say. Things look bad, but I’ve been in worse situations and survived.”

  That wasn’t a complete lie.

  “I’m scared, Aunt Ava.”

  Ava reached out and took her niece’s hand. Myra had shown so much the last couple weeks that it was sometimes easy to forget she was still just a fifteen year old.

  “So am I.”

  “Do you think we’ll see Pa again?”

  Ava once more considered the numbers she saw lined up against Balak’s army. Then she considered the several hundred Geneshans that would be upon them soon. The odds weren’t good for either group.

  Probably not.

  “Hard to say about that as well,” she said.

  Myra snorted. “Atta way to be vague, Aunt Ava.”

  Ava couldn’t hide her smile at being teased.

  “I know what you want to say,” she sighed, then wiped her eye. “Gods, I really wanted to see Pa again.”

  “Me too,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

  A high whistle sounded, the signal from their lookouts.

  “They’re coming!” Nason shouted from the other side of the small cave, near the main opening, his ominous declaration echoing on the walls.

  CHAPTER 40

  We had a brief reprieve in fighting as we slinked our way through the remains of Hol, darting from one pile of debris to another. We did our best to watch our step, but speed was equally as important as stealth and with so much loose stone and broken wood around us, it was hard not to have something crunch or slide under the weight of our feet. Thankfully, the sounds of battle outside of the city drowned some of the noise we made. I was assured by High Mage Amasa that the remainder of our movement was masked by concealment spells he wove.

  I exchanged glances with Hamath who paused behind an overturned wagon. The contents of the wagon were in pieces around him, unrecognizable, though if I had to guess, they probably once belonged to a merchant.

  He peeked around the wagon, scanning the path before us. With much better eyesight and a stronger knack for scouting, this was a situation where I was more than happy to defer to him. After a moment, he waved his hand. Everyone moved forward wordlessly to the next cluster of cover.

  We stopped again to repeat the process when a hiss to my right caused me to jump.

  “This is ridiculous,” snapped Amasa. “And taking far too long.”

  My hand lashed out and grabbed him by the robes, pulling him close to me as I whispered in his ear. “What in the name of Molak is wrong with you? You trying to get us all killed?”

  He tried to twist away from my grip, but I held him firm as he lowered his voice to answer back. “I told you earlier. The Sky Tower is more than two blocks away and Datan said he detected no other Geneshan forces in the streets leading to it.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve done this before. There is no such thing as being too careful.”

  “But there is such a thing as being too late,” he hissed. “With Balak already engaging the Geneshan army, we have to get the artifact now. I can’t save them if they’re already dead.”

  I hated to admit it, but he had a point. Thousands of lives were depending on us. Sometimes in order for a mission to be successful, caution had to be cast aside.

  “Fine,” I said, releasing his robes.

  I signaled Hamath to move forward with greater speed using hand gestures we had perfected during the first Geneshan War. We traveled less than half a block when I regretted that decision.

  I’ve always said that luck was a fickle thing. I’ve been lucky at six straight hands of cards, then the next day in battle taken a freak wound in the side from one of my own men.

  I’m sure the Geneshans thought it was their lucky day as we walked right into their laps unprepared. With the Sky Tower still two blocks away and Datan confident he had not detected the enemy near it, High Mage Amasa had felt we were safe. I should have considered that the Geneshans might no longer be at the Sky Tower because they had detected our approach and had staged an ambush.

  A shout of alarm in Geneshan welcomed us as we rounded a collapsed wall of what looked to be once an inn. Two enemy platoons reacted to our arrival as if they had expected it, hitting us about as hard as we could be hit. Spears thrown, arrows released, and sorcery from a dozen locations hammered us all at once. The fact we didn’t all die right then said that at least for a few moments we had luck on our side. Not only that, but I had picked the right men for the elite units. Everyone responded without orders to move for cover.

  High Mages Amasa and Datan threw up protective barriers, but they couldn’t stop everything while simultaneously protecting themselves. Eight of our men died in that initial assault.

  The Geneshan soldiers charged.

  On his own, Hamath signa
led for three quarters of our surviving soldiers to run out and meet them. I thought him a fool at first. Well, more than a fool. I thought him a reckless lunatic, given that he was intent on leaving a more superior position. Then I caught the small look he gave me before turning toward the enemy.

  I understood.

  I signaled the rest to follow me as I hunched low while skirting around rubble and other debris. At that point, I had no idea how Hamath and the men would fare, nor had I the time to give it any more consideration. All I could do was contribute and hope everything worked out.

  I assumed the two High Mages were at least holding ground since bright flashes of light and swirling shadows flickered in my peripheral, but I had no way to confirm my assumptions just yet. I only knew that they were at least alive and fighting, since we weren’t engulfed by sorcery from the enemy.

  From an immediate standpoint, my heart pounded so rapidly in my ears, they ached. The stink coming off me made my eyes water—sweat and grime had mingled with my wounds and the remains of previous kills splattered across my burnt armor and clothes. An immense clenching of my rear was caused by an awareness that each moment might very well be my last.

  Gods, I wanted to see my family. Gods, I missed my wife.

  I pushed those fleeting thoughts aside as I rounded a corner of what looked like a partial chimney and half a roof. When I did, my perspective widened, and I brought the men following me into position behind the enemy.

  Hamath and his men fought in a tight, disciplined, half circle. They didn’t seem to be making much progress in whittling down the enemy, but they were able to keep them busy so they couldn’t attack our two High Mages.

  Amasa and Datan earned a great deal of respect from me. They stood together, shoulder-to-shoulder, as they somehow defended against, and occasionally got off an attack on, two Master Sorcerers and eight supporting lesser sorcerers.

  During the Geneshan War, I had seen and heard of High Mages pulling off some pretty impressive displays of power when they decided to get off their rears and contribute. However, none of those stories were as impressive as watching two High Mages work so naturally in unison.

  I took all this in, and processed it in barely a breath. A plan took shape. I broke everyone into four smaller squads, each had a person with resistance to sorcery. My leaders were me, Ira, Reuma, and Dekar. Ira seemed a bit upset that I had placed Reuma in a different group than him, but he said nothing. He might not like being away from her, but he knew not to argue. She was too good a squad leader, and too good a fighter, not to have command of one group.

  “Counting them out,” I said.

  That wiped away Ira’s worry, bringing up a grin that Dekar shared, and Reuma took on. She might not have been part of my old unit when I counted out enemies from left to right regularly, but she knew how things worked from stories we had shared on the road.

  “Ira, sorcerers one and two. Reuma, sorcerers three and four. Dekar, five and six. I’ll take seven and eight. We don’t worry about the Master Sorcerers. At least not yet. We need to take out all of these first to even the odds for Amasa and Datan. Let them handle the big dogs. We already killed our share of those today. Those with a resistance lead the way with squad leaders a step behind.”

  I left out the fact that in my squad I was both the leader and the one with resistance. I also left out the fact that the two sorcerers I singled out for my team were those I assumed to be strongest among the lesser sorcerers.

  My leaders nodded.

  I gave the signal forward with a sharp hand gesture before jumping over the debris we hid behind.

  Footsteps and grunts followed as others did the same.

  I focused on my two targets.

  Numbers seven and eight were two sorcerers dressed in gray robes that were tattered at the hems. Geneshan letters adorned the robes, but what they meant was lost on me. I had picked up quite a bit of the enemies’ language during the war, but I had not the time nor need to learn their written word. With sword in hand, heart racing, ears pounding, and balls going tight inside me, the last thing on my mind was what an enemy’s lapel read.

  A brilliant flash of green, followed by a pulsing red, that seemed to echo with a dying man’s scream sounded close to my left. If I had to guess, I’d say Dekar’s unit made contact with their first mark.

  The two gray robes I had targeted turned, first in the direction of the scream, then to me. Thirty feet away, their eyes widened, and their hands shot out, glowing white and red. Whatever hell they had planned to unleash on the High Mages sped toward me. I could try to dodge both, but I doubted those in my squad would be able to do the same. With my resistance, it was best to take at least one of the attacks head on so that those in my squad behind me could follow through, using me as a human shield.

  I chose red.

  Moving left to meet it, I raised my left forearm while ducking my head under it with eyes closed.

  I dropped to my knees when it struck.

  Molak-be-damned the blasted thing hurt in all sorts of ways, most prominently with an intense heat that spread throughout my body. The fact that I felt pain of any type given my resistance meant that I probably chose right and this was a particularly strong spell, capable only from a well-seasoned sorcerer.

  Given that my clothes didn’t catch fire, I assumed the spell didn’t work like that. It was probably designed to cook a man from the inside out.

  Ava would have loved to learn it.

  I gasped, throat suddenly dry as if the spell had taken away my ability to produce spit. My head pounded again while I experienced what felt like a high fever.

  I ground my teeth hard as my resistance dissipated the spell.

  My joints and limbs ached. I blinked rapidly, and my eyes began to water. Sweat was a problem though. I had stopped doing it altogether. The last thing I needed to do was die from dehydration.

  I’d take care of that need soon. If not from a water skin, a muddy puddle would have to do.

  I rose to my feet. Looking up, the sorcerer that had released white was dead, the front of his robes dark with blood. However, the other was not. And he was angry. Two of the three men that had trailed me had died in the few moments it took me to shake off the spell. The last man standing, or rather kneeling, swaying in a trance under the last sorcerer’s influence was Boaz. The innkeeper’s left hand rose, holding his dagger. It was pointed at his throat and slowly drew near the exposed flesh. Boaz’s look of worry and intense concentration told me that he was trying to fight the spell. He was losing.

  I ran toward him, yelling. Just as I had hoped, it distracted the sorcerer, and he dropped his influence on Boaz. The sorcerer faced me, another attack jumping out of his hand. I was too close to dodge effectively, so I leveled my sword and took it in stride.

  It was a different attack, one that should have probably stopped anyone else cold. However, my resistance made it so I only slowed. Not enough for his sake. Especially with weight and momentum working in my favor. My sword entered his chest, and I fell on top of him as we both struck the ground.

  CHAPTER 41

  I must have hit the ground pretty hard. Or maybe the two direct blasts of sorcery so close together affected me more than I would have thought. Regardless, I passed out for a minute, waking up with Boaz slapping the side of my face and calling my name.

  “Tyrus. Wake up.”

  I shook my head and knocked his arm away. “I’m up.”

  “Thank Molak.”

  “No. Curse Molak,” I pushed out through a dry throat before going into a coughing fit.

  “Whatever. You saved my life,” he said, pulling me up to a sitting position.

  He handed me his skin of water. I drank deep while he kept talking. I barely caught half of it. He mostly yammered about how scary the spell was and how so many others had died. His nerves were frazzled. I could relate.


  After a few gulps, it dawned on me that since I was alive and drinking from a skin of water, we had won the battle.

  Not without losses though as the two men who had charged with me and Boaz lay dead just feet away, bodies still smoldering from sorcery. I knew there were many others just as bad or worse, but I kept drinking, not wanting to face those truths just yet.

  Then I caught a word from Boaz. A name. And I sputtered to a stop, choking.

  “What was that? What did you just say?”

  “Just that I feel bad for even complaining with everyone else who didn’t make it.”

  “No, you said a name.”

  “Dekar,” he whispered.

  I dropped the skin and suddenly wished I hadn’t drunk a single drop because it was all ready to come right back up.

  I spun to where I expected Dekar to be based on the numbers I had called out. But there were just bodies. I turned back to Boaz.

  “Where is Dekar?”

  He pointed. “Down there. Other side of that old well. He—”

  He kept talking, but I didn’t hear another word because I had found new life. My legs pumped as fast as they ever had. I could barely breathe as I rounded the other side and saw Ira kneeling over the still body of his brother. Reuma kneeled beside him, arm across his back. They both sobbed.

  I hissed a swear. Then quickly several more. “Not Dekar. Gods, not Dekar.”

  I had lost many under my command, and each one hurt in its own way, but I couldn’t recall their losses resulting in the immediate emptiness I felt from the still body of my friend.

  Ira didn’t turn. It was a powerful thing to see him so still and silent besides his brother.

  I dropped beside them on my knees. I shook my head in disbelief. The entire right side of Dekar’s body, clothes and skin, was burned black. My gaze lingered on his chest, hoping that I might see it move, but there was nothing.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “He . . . he saved Reuma. A sorcerer had targeted her, but she was too busy to see it. I was running toward her, shouting. Dekar heard me and saw her. He dropped everything and sprinted at her. I didn’t make it in time, but he did. Pushed her down and took the full force of the attack himself. I killed the sorcerer on the run with a throw of my knife, but it was too late.” He sniffed, voice cracking. “By the time I got to him, he was already dead.” He swore. “Gods-be-damned, Ty. Why not me instead? He was twice the man I’ll ever be.”