Before Duvain could say anything, an enraged shout echoed across the square. He whirled toward the source of the sound: Lord Virinus' hut. The nobleman himself was striding toward the village square, dragging a struggling Eira in his wake.
"Legionnaires, to me!" the nobleman shouted.
Whether entranced by the song or shocked by the fury in Lord Virinus' voice, none of the Legionnaires moved.
"To me!" the nobleman cried again. He dragged the ancient healer through the crowd and onto the stage, where he hurled her to the bluestone courtyard.
Captain Lingram stepped onto the stage. "What is the meaning of this, Lord Virinus?" he demanded.
Lord Virinus' face was twisted in a mask of rage. "Captain Lingram, I demand you execute this witch at once!"
Chapter Nine
The villagers were on their feet in an instant. Angry shouts echoed from the crowd, and a couple of men surged toward the old woman to help her up to her feet.
"Captain Lingram," Lord Virinus snapped, "I have given you a command."
"I heard you, my lord." Captain Lingram's face could have been made from flint, so hard was his expression. "But I don't believe I understood."
"What's not to understand?" Lord Virinus thrust a finger at the healer. "That witch went against my instructions and administered more of her foul concoctions to my guest. As a noble of Icespire and the Prince’s Envoy, I am in charge of this outpost—pathetic as it may be—and fully within my rights to have her executed."
"My lord," Captain Lingram protested, "this is no outpost. This is a village. Their village."
"Were Duke Dyrund here, you would obey him without question!” Lord Virinus’ eyes flashed. “As his successor and the one entrusted with carrying out his final mission, that authority falls to me!"
"Be that as it may," Captain Lingram gave a dismissive wave, "surely you cannot expect me to execute her. She was doing her duty—she is Saerheim's healer, after all."
"And if that duty leads to the death of my charge?" Lord Virinus demanded. "By then, it will be too late—not only for the innocent girl who lies ill, but for our alliance with the Fjall."
The name of the clan, well known to all Fehlans, brought a gasp from the crowd. The villagers muttered amongst themselves, shooting glances at the hut Lord Virinus had claimed for his own.
A hand gripped Duvain's shoulder. "Move, now," Awr rasped in his ear.
Duvain shot the corporal a look. "What are we doing?" he asked from the corner of his mouth.
"Supporting our captain." Awr's face had gone cold, dead, but fury burned in his eyes. "Just in case he needs us." His hand rested on the hilt of his sword.
Slowly, Duvain stood, trying hard not to jangle his armor. He followed Awr and Rold as they slipped through the crowd. A few of the villagers they moved aside shot them angry glares, but their expressions changed as Awr muttered a few words in Fehlan. Some of the men of Saerheim broke from the crowd and hurried toward their homes.
Duvain's gut clenched. This could get ugly very quickly.
"My lord, I fully understand how important the girl's life is. Indeed, important enough that I and my entire company of men have been sent to safeguard her." Captain Lingram gestured to the healer. "But Eira was only trying to help. Duke Dyrund would—"
"The Duke is dead!" Lord Virinus shouted. "Taken by the same Wraithfever that even now ravages the girl. The same fever that would destroy all we've worked so hard for."
The old woman held up a wooden bowl and rattled off a stream of angry words in Fehlan. Captain Lingram listened, then turned back to the nobleman.
"She says the fever is about to break, but only if you allow her to help." He pointed to the bowl. "That poultice should bring her temperature down and restore her to consciousness. By tomorrow, she would be able to eat solid food."
The old woman continued speaking, and Captain Lingram translated. "She has seen the Wraithfever before—the Wasting Decay, she calls it. It is a stubborn illness, one that weakens the body until it can no longer fight for itself. If you keep her away from the girl, she will die."
Lord Virinus' lips twisted into a sneer. "Of course she'd say that! She would say anything to save her life."
Captain Lingram spoke in a quiet voice. "I believe her."
The nobleman's eyebrows rose. "You'd take the word of a savage?"
"Not a savage, my lord. A Fehlan. One of our allies."
The sneer returned to Lord Virinus' face.
"They may lead simple lives, my lord," Captain Lingram said, "but there is wisdom in their ways. Their healers may not live in temples or wear shining white robes. But I've seen what they can do."
The captain shot a glance at Awr. "They have brought men back from the brink of death. When I lay dying from my wounds, they did the impossible. I only stand here today because of them." He looked at Endyn. "But more importantly, they have shown us compassion when they have only reason to resent us." He thrust a finger at the old healer. "I have watched her provide comfort and relief to my men since our arrival. She has done nothing but help. So yes, my lord. I will take her word when she says that she believes she can cure the fever. Only a fool would ignore advice from one so experienced."
Lord Virinus recoiled as if slapped. "You call me a fool, Captain? Insulting your superiors is—"
"I gave no insult." Captain Lingram shook his head. "I simply made a statement; whether you choose to embody that fool or not is entirely your decision."
Lord Virinus took a step closer. "And if I choose to force the matter?" There was no mistaking the menace in his voice.
"I would entreat you to reconsider, my lord." Captain Lingram said, simply. "You fear the repercussions of what would happen if Eirik Throrsson's daughter dies, and rightly so. But what will happen when the other tribes discover you executed their healer? One of the most revered among all the clans?"
"Nothing!" Lord Virinus spat. "They are our subjects."
"Allies," Captain Lingram corrected.
"Vassals!" The nobleman's voice rose to a shout. "They pledged their loyalty to the Prince long ago." He gestured around. "Why else do you think we can simply march into their village and demand they house us?"
Captain Lingram shook his head. "My lord, if you order her execution, you will doom the alliance between Icespire and the Fjall. Perhaps all the clans."
"Nonsense." The nobleman snorted. "They will do nothing, because we are the only thing standing between them and the Eirdkilrs." He raised his voice so all the Legionnaires around him could hear. "That's right, the Eirdkilrs have sworn to exterminate any Fehlan who aid us in our war. They have attacked the Eyrr and decimated the Fjall warband. Why else do you think the Hilmir himself was so willing to talk peace? We are their only hope of survival."
He turned his attention back to Captain Lingram, and spoke in a low, menacing voice. "We are their only hope."
By now, Awr had maneuvered into position behind Captain Lingram. At his command, Duvain, Endyn, and the others of Squad Three spread out. They'd keep the angry villagers back, give Captain Lingram time to control the situation. The look in Awr's eyes spoke clearly: if it came down to it, they'd be ready to jump to Captain Lingram's orders.
"But what happens when we become worse than the monsters they fear, Lord Virinus?" The captain's tone matched the nobleman's, but filled with ice and steel. "That is how revolts begin."
"Revolts that are always crushed." Lord Virinus shook a clenched fist. "They cannot hope to survive against us."
"With the Eirdkilrs on one side and the rest of Fehl at our backs, what are our chances then?"
Lord Virinus' face creased into a scowl. "What do you know of such things, Captain?" He spoke the last word as an insult. "I learned diplomacy at the feet of Duke Dyrund himself. But, you, you are just a soldier, not accustomed to the ways of politics."
"Perhaps," Captain Lingram admitted, inclining his head, "but I've spent enough time among the Fehlans to know that this will not end well."
Duvain had been watching Lord Virinus so intently that he'd failed to notice the four men moving into position behind the nobleman. The mercenaries were no-nonsense, hard men with wary eyes. Their hands hovered near their sword hilts as they watched their lord.
"Be ready," Awr rumbled.
"Corporal, this is madness!" Owen whispered. "Surely you can't expect us to—"
"Lord Virinus, I will say it one last time: please reconsider your orders." Captain Lingram's tone turned pleading. "This will only end badly."
Lord Virinus’ jaw set into a stubborn. "Captain Lingram, I am giving you a direct command." He thrust a finger toward the healer. "You are to carry out her execution immediately."
Though only a few villagers spoke the Princelander tongue, clearly they understood the nobleman's words. Hand axes, scythes, and even a few old swords sprouted in Fehlan hands, and a line of men formed between Eira and the nobleman.
"Captain, you have your orders," Lord Virinus shouted.
"No." The single word, spoken with such determination, rocked Lord Virinus to the core.
"What?" The nobleman demanded. "You refuse to carry out a command from the Duke’s hand-picked successor?"
"This command, I do." Captain Lingram's voice remained calm, but his back was rigid, his shoulders tense.
"You bastard!" Lord Virinus' sneer transformed into a vicious smile. "You've finally done it. You've finally given me an excuse to have you court-martialed." He waved at the Legionnaires in the crowd. "I've dozens of witnesses who saw you refuse a direct order. Your days in the Legion are finished."
"I didn't see anything of the sort," Awr rasped. He turned to Duvain. "Did you?"
After a moment of hesitation, Duvain shook his head. "No, Corporal!"
Awr turned to Endyn and Owen. "In fact, none of us did, did we, lads?"
"Sorry, Corporal!" Weasel replied. "Had a bit too much of the ayrag! Damned alcohol's messin’ with my eyesight. I couldn't tell you if I was lookin’ at a man or a horse's ass."
Lord Virinus' eyes went wide, and his expression grew enraged. "Why you little hedge-born pissant!" He spoke through clenched teeth. "I'll have your head for that. All of your heads!"
Captain Lingram shot a disapproving glare at Awr and the rest of them. "Enough of this, Virinus. If you intend to have me court-martialed when we return to Icespire, so be it. I will hold my head high and give testimony in the Swordsman's Court."
"When they hear that you disobeyed a direct command—" Lord Virinus began.
"My orders from Commander Galerius were to keep you safe until the Duke’s rider arrives with the Wraithfever cure and the Hilmir’s daughter is well enough to travel." He dropped his voice. "And I fully intend to protect you, even if that means from yourself."
The nobleman's face grew livid. "And there he is: Lingram the Bold. Lingram the Hero." Disgust twisted his face. "You think you're better than me because you earned some ridiculous nom de guerre for fighting. Any lowborn whorespawn can fight and die. And that's exactly what you are, what you've always been. I saw it in your eyes even when we were boys running around my father's estate. You resented the fact that you were the stable boy and I the lord's son. You've always been jealous of me, and now you get your moment to take it out on me." He spread his arms wide. "Congratulations, Lingram. You've won."
The captain shook his head. "I never hated you, Myron. If anything, I admired you. You and your father both. I wanted to be like you. It drove me to join the Legion so I could earn a name you both would be proud of."
This revelation hit Lord Virinus like a blow to the gut.
"But the boy I knew became the man that stands before me." Captain Lingram gave a sad shake of his head. "A man driven by pettiness, greed, and a desire for power. That is not a man I admire."
"So you turn against me?" Lord Virinus took a step closer, his four mercenaries at his heels. "You defy me in public, humiliate me, then do it again in front of your own Legion?"
"Get ready," Awr muttered.
A small gesture from Captain Lingram held them at bay. "I did not mean to humiliate you, Myron. I simply could not stand by while you raised a hand against a man who deserved better than to swing from a hangman's rope. Just as I will not stand by now."
"A decision that will be your last!" Lord Virinus shouted. "Your career in the Legion is over! By this time next week, you will be swinging at the end of a hangman's noose."
Captain Lingram raised his head. "Then I will accept my fate, as I always have, knowing I died doing as your father taught me to: the right thing."
Lord Virinus' face turned white, and a look of mixed outrage and shame burned in his eyes.
Duvain tensed, hand on his sword hilt. The mercenaries behind Lord Virinus had already half-drawn their swords. Squad Three had the odds on their side, but once blood was spilled, there was no going back.
He glanced up at Endyn. His brother's eyes were firmly fixed on the mercenaries, his massive jaw set. He knew what he had to do.
A blood-curdling scream shattered the tense silence.
Chapter Ten
Duvain whirled toward the sound. It had come from the east gate!
Another scream, followed by the clash of steel. A moment later, the trumpeting blare of Squad Five's cornum echoed in the night.
"We're under attack!" Rold cried.
Awr's was already sprinting toward the gate, sword in hand, with Owen, Weasel, and Rold a step behind him.
Duvain's feet refused to move.
"Let's go!" Endyn shouted.
Duvain stared up at his brother. His mind screamed at him to move, but his body failed to cooperate.
Captain Lingram's voice pierced the buzzing in his head. "Get to the east gate, now, and send reinforcements to the west gate to cover our rear!"
"Aye, Captain!" shouted one of the other off-duty Legionnaires.
A strong hand gripped Duvain's arm and dragged him after the rest of his company. After a moment, he found his own feet and ran without Endyn's help. Somehow, in the confusion, he'd managed to retain his grip on his sword.
Chaos reigned at the east gate. Four Legionnaires fought two dark, hulking figures, while a fifth Legionnaire raced toward the two huge men struggling to lift the gate's locking bar. The Legionnaire cut one down, only to be crushed by the huge bar, swung by the second fur-clad barbarian. The man howled and yanked the gate open. A heartbeat too late, a thrown hand axe silenced his cries.
Dark figures spilled from the shadows, rushing toward the open gate without a sound. Somehow, the absence of noise was even more ominous. The foremost figures burst through the gate and engaged the Legionnaires rushing to meet them. They were huge—nearly as tall and broad as Endyn—wearing huge pelts slung over their back. One of the Legionnaires hacked at the back of one enemy, only for his sword to bounce off the pelt. The barbarian whirled, swinging his huge axe, and the Legionnaire's head rolled free.
Two of the gate guards had fallen, but the alarm had been raised. Dozens more Legionnaires rushed from their patrols, streaming toward the skirmish before the open gates.
Awr reached the battle well ahead of them. A furious cry burst from his lips as he hacked at the nearest barbarian. The shaggy-haired man turned the blow aside with his axe, but Awr followed it up with a chop that nearly took off the man's leg. Awr's sword took the fallen savage in the throat.
"Form up!" he shouted. His rasping voice echoed even above the din of battle. "Form ranks now!"
Duvain's training kicked in. He raced toward the shield wall forming just inside the gate. He took his place in the third rank, just next to Endyn.
Horror raced through him as he realized he'd left his shield in his quarters. Captain Lingram had insisted on the Legionnaires wearing full armor at all times, but he'd left his heavy shield and long spear behind for the celebration. He had only his short sword to face the onrushing threat.
"Forward, march! Double time." At
the corporal's command, the line began a steady jog toward the enemy. The foremost two ranks had their shields, and the rest of Squad Four joined the third rank. Their swords would only serve if an enemy broke through the line.
The barbarians saw them coming, and raised their voices in an animal howl. Shaking their massive weapons—axes, spears, and spiked wooden clubs—they charged.
"Damn, damn, damn, damn!" Someone in the line was cursing at a steady volume. Duvain realized it was him. A fist of iron clenched his heart, and panic tugged at the back of his mind. He had no time to think before the wave of barbarians crashed into their shield wall.
The impact drove the foremost ranks a step backward. The man before him slammed into him, nearly knocking the breath from his lungs. Sergeant Brash's training asserted itself and Duvain caught the man and shoved him forward. The shield wall held.
The barbarians swung their massive weapons in powerful arcs, but they clanged off the iron rims or crunched into the wooden faces of the Legion shields. Men cried out beneath the impact. One Legionnaire dropped his shield, and a barbarian spear disemboweled him.
But the Legion had teeth of its own. The short swords of the foremost rank struck low, aiming for legs and abdomens. The stabbing, slicing blades made quick work of the huge figures pressing against the shield wall. At the corporal's shouted command—Duvain's mind hardly registered the words, but his body reacted—the ranks shoved forward, driving the barbarians back. They stumbled from the impact, only to recover and hurl themselves at the shield wall again.
The clash of battle and the screams of dying men filled Duvain's world. The stink of blood, mud, and loosening bowels flooded his nostrils, accompanied by the reek of his own terrified sweat. A hand on his back kept him moving forward, pressing him toward the enemy no matter how much his mind shrieked at him to flee. Endyn's presence at his side was the only thing keeping him grounded in the midst of such chaos and terror.
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