Suddenly, there was silence. The last barbarian fell beneath a stabbing short sword, and a heavy boot crushed his throat. The pounding of Duvain's pulse in his ears drowned out everything.
"Meat?" A hand shook his arm. "Meat, you hurt?"
Rold's face hovered in his vision. Duvain blinked and tried to speak. His mouth refused to form words.
Rold slapped his face; the pain barely registered. "Snap out of it! You've got to move."
"Duvain." The rumbling voice—Endyn's, a dim part of his mind registered—drew him back to reality. "Duvain."
He drew in a shuddering breath, gasping, and staggered. Blinking hard, he wiped the torrent of sweat from his eyes.
"Welcome back, meat." Rold said. The harsh anger had gone, replaced by a congeniality terribly at odds with the corporal's usual demeanor. "You survived your first shield wall. We'll celebrate later—there's work to do. Find a shield and spear and arm up."
Duvain scanned the area. Bodies lay on the ground—close to a dozen Legionnaires and at least as many of the white fur-clad barbarians. Blood, so much blood, turned the earth to mud. The metallic tang rose into his nostrils. He wanted to retch, wanted to empty his stomach at the scene of carnage, but Rold's insistent voice kept him moving. "Now, meat! There may be more of them."
He turned to stumble back to his quarters, but Rold snagged his arm and shoved him toward the corpses. "Get one of theirs. Keeper knows they won't need it!"
Duvain stooped and fumbled for a fallen spear. Blood stained its edge and soaked into the wooden haft. When he lifted it, he found himself with two cracked halves. He stared down at the fallen soldier—the same axe that shattered the spear had split open his skull.
He tugged the shield free of the soldier's lifeless fingers. The fallen Legionnaire gave up his protection without a protest. Duvain turned and stumbled over another prone figure. This body had once been a barbarian. His flesh was stained an odd blue color—similar in shade to the festive robes of the Fehlans—but he had the same long, blond hair, strong features, and heavy beard of the villagers of Saerheim. Yet there was an oddly bestial quality to his features. Even in death, he appeared more monster than man.
"Watcher's twisted taint!" Weasel's voice echoed from a short distance away. The rat-faced Legionnaire was crouched over a fallen body, knife in one hand and the corpse's ear in the other. "It's the bleedin' Eirdkilrs, ain't it?"
The word turned Duvain's blood to ice.
Awr, standing over him, nodded. "Damned right it is." His face twisted into a frown. "What the bloody hell are they doing this far north?" He lifted his eyes to the east. "Front lines are a long way off. Raiding party, maybe?"
With a savage cut, Weasel sliced the barbarian's ear free. "Judgin’ by the number, has to be." His voice held a note of desperation—he truly wanted to believe it.
"Corporal Awr, report!" Captain Lingram's voice sounded cool, confident even amidst the carnage.
Awr snapped a salute. "Four dead, Captain. Eight wounded, two seriously."
"Get the wounded to the main longhouse for Eira to tend to them. Haul the dead off to the side—Eirdkilrs in one pile, ours in another."
"So they are the Eirdkilrs, Captain?" Owen asked. He'd come up behind Weasel on Captain Lingram's heels. Blood trickled from a wound in his forehead. He looked queasy, and vomit stained the corners of his mouth, but he'd gotten his hands on a spear and shield.
"Much as I hate to say it, that's them, no doubt about it." Captain Lingram crouched over the body. "Their size alone would be a dead giveaway. Add to that the war paint and these furs—they come from a Wasteland ice bear—and there's only one clan they could be."
"Keeper's horny elbows!" Awr breathed.
"Where are my scouts?" Captain Lingram demanded of Sergeant Brash, who stood a short distance away tending to a wounded soldier.
Sergeant Brash shook his head. "They went out earlier, haven't gotten back." He pressed a cloth against the Legionnaire's shoulder, trying to stanch the flow of blood from a deep gash.
"Damn!" Captain Lingram's forehead furrowed—the first sign of worry Duvain had seen. He pondered a moment before speaking. "All companies, arm up and get to the gates. Double the watches, and keep patrols along those lines. If there are more of them out there, I want to know before they hit us. Got it?"
"Aye, Captain!" Sergeant Brash said.
Squad One, already clad in full armor, rushed toward the gate, which someone—in all the confusion, Duvain didn't know who—had had the good sense to close. The Legionnaires mounted the parapets and stared out into the darkness. There was no mistaking the sudden nervous tension that permeated the entire village.
"Squad Three, grab your weapons and get back here. Double time." Sergeant Brash ordered.
"Sir!" Weasel saluted—every trace of his usual mockery gone, all professional soldier now—and sprinted toward their quarters in the main longhouse. Duvain, Endyn, and the rest of the company followed. Duvain's legs felt leaden, his feet numb. But the sight of Endyn stumbling ahead of him forced him to keep up. He couldn't let his brother face this threat alone.
Entering the longhouse felt like stepping into a hell of blood and pain. The eight wounded had been dragged here to be tended by Eira. The old woman knelt over one soldier, using a needle and thread to stitch up a gaping tear in his shoulder. She barked out commands in Fehlan, and two young women rushed to obey her orders.
"I bet Lord Virinus sure is glad he didn't have her executed now," Weasel muttered.
The cries and groans of the wounded men followed Duvain through the longhouse. His shield and spear remained where he'd left them resting against the wall. Seizing them, he rushed back toward the exit. He couldn't help glancing down at the still, pale figure lying on the ground. The man had succumbed to the gaping wound in his abdomen, where an Eirdkilr axe had hacked through his mail shirt, just below his breastplate. He'd died a painful death.
The night seemed suddenly chilly when Duvain emerged from the longhouse. He sprinted to catch up with Endyn and Weasel, who raced toward the gate at full speed. The clanking of their armor sounded oddly quiet beneath the hum of the village. Most of the people remained gathered in the main square, talking in low voices. Their faces were grim. They knew why the Eirdkilrs had come.
Of Lord Virinus, there was no sign. His four mercenaries stood at the entrance to their little hut, swords drawn and faces serious. If they were afraid, they showed no sign.
Duvain could only imagine what his face looked like. He was terrified, no doubt about it. Only the shouted orders of Rold, Awr, and Sergeant Brash kept him moving.
The tension among the men around the gate had grown so thick it almost stifled him. They felt just as he did, as unprepared and fearful as he. Only the few Legionnaires who had served under Captain Lingram showed no sign of fear.
"Orders, Captain?" Sergeant Brash was asking.
"Gates fortified, patrols moving?" Captain Lingram asked.
"Aye." The sergeant nodded. "No one's getting within pissing range of us before we see them."
Captain Lingram rubbed his chin. "If we had scouts, we might be able to get a better view of what's going on out there. But I don't want to risk anyone else getting lost or caught by surprise."
"So what do you suggest?" the sergeant asked.
Captain Lingram ground his teeth. "We hold. Get the villagers buttoned up in the longhouses, and keep a sharp eye on the surrounding forest, lakeside, and farms. Any movement, you sound the alarm."
"Aye, Captain!" Sergeant Brash saluted.
"Captain Lingram!" A nasal, pompous voice sounded from behind the captain.
The captain's jaw worked, but his voice was calm as he turned. "Yes, Lord Virinus?"
"I demand a situation report at once." The words were spoken in the petulant tone of a toddler.
"Eirdkilr raiders, a small detachment, by all appearances. The scouts haven't returned, so there's no way of knowing what's out there."
The nobleman blan
ched, his eyes filled with fear. "And what do you intend to do, Captain?" he demanded.
Captain Lingram replied. "Sit tight. Keep watch. If there are more of them, prepare ourselves for a fight."
“How?” Lord Virinus breathed as he crouched over a dead barbarian. "How in the Keeper's name have they gotten so far?"
Captain Lingram shrugged. "My guess is that this party managed to skirt the main force. They either stumbled across the village and decided to raid, or…" He trailed off.
"Or what, Captain?" Lord Virinus insisted.
"Or somehow they knew you were here." The words were spoken so quietly Duvain nearly missed them.
Lord Virinus' eyebrows shot up. "Impossible! Our mission was kept absolutely confidential. Only the highest-ranked members of the Icespire court knew of the Duke's task."
"But there's a chance someone from the Fjall camp leaked the information, isn't there?" Captain Lingram asked.
After a moment, Lord Virinus inclined his head. "The possibility does exist."
"Then we have to assume the Eirdkilrs know why you're here, and that they're coming for the girl." The captain pointed to Lord Virinus’ hut. "We also have to assume there are more out there—how many, I don't know, but the Eirdkilrs wouldn't send such a small detachment for such an important task. Which means you have to make plans to depart immediately for Sentry Garrison."
Lord Virinus shook his head. "Absolutely not! The Hilmir’s daughter is too weak to—"
Captain Lingram's jaw clenched. "At this point, my lord, I believe there is a greater risk to her life if you stay here. The Eirdkilrs know you're here, so here is where they'll be coming. My men can hold them off, give you a chance to cover some serious ground."
"No.” Lord Virinus crossed his arms. "Branda’s fever hasn't broken, and she hasn't eaten in days. Such a hasty flight would kill her."
"And so will the Eirdkilrs. At least if you flee, there's a chance she'll live long enough to recover." Captain Lingram spoke in a firm voice. "I strongly suggest you heed my advice and prepare to depart."
Lord Virinus gave a dismissive wave. "I will take your advice under consideration, Captain, but for now we stay put."
Captain Lingram drew a deep breath through his nostrils, but nodded. "Of course, my lord. Now, if you will excuse me—"
"Rider from the southeast!" the cry cut off his words.
Captain Lingram whirled. The cry had come from one of the Legionnaires on the wall. He raced toward the gate and rushed onto the rampart. "Where?"
The soldier pointed off into the distance. "There!"
From his position in the line, Duvain couldn't see the rider. His gut tensed. Were they about to be under attack again? He tightened his grip on his spear and wiped his sweaty shield hand on his pants.
The pounding of hooves grew louder, and a shout echoed from beyond the walls.
"Open the gates!" Captain Lingram commanded.
Two soldiers rushed to the gate, lifted the bar, and swung one of the doors open. A rider pounded through the opening. His horse’s hooves kicked up crimson mud as he drew to a halt in the courtyard.
"Where's the commanding officer?" the man shouted. It wasn't one of the two scouts that had gone out earlier.
"Here!" Captain Lingram shouted. Lord Virinus' echoed "I am!" came a moment later.
The rider glanced between the two men, then strode toward Captain Lingram. "Captain Lingram, sir, I've a message for you from the Commander Galerius."
"Hand it over." The captain held out a hand.
The messenger drew a parchment from his satchel and pressed it into the captain’s hand. "I'm sorry I couldn’t bring better news." He suddenly deflated, as if relieved of an enormous weight. He staggered and would have fallen if not for Sergeant Brash's strong arm.
Captain Lingram unfolded the parchment and scanned its contents. His face grew ashen. The sight of their unflappable captain afraid filled Duvain with a gut-twisting dread.
"Thank you, soldier," Captain Lingram said in a quiet voice. "Get yourself to the longhouse for some food and rest."
"Aye, sir." The rider saluted. "Been riding hard since yesterday afternoon. It'd be good to get some warm food in me."
"Go," the captain told him. "But if this message is true, we'll have need of you soon."
With a salute, the messenger strode toward the main longhouse.
Captain Lingram spoke before Lord Virinus. "My lord, you need to see this."
The nobleman snatched the parchment from his hands. As he read, his face went from florid to pale to a sickening shade of grey. "By the Swordsman!" he breathed. "It can't be."
Captain Lingram’s expression grew somber. "We have to assume it is. The question, sir, is what you want to do now."
Lord Virinus' mouth hung open, and he stared at the captain with unseeing eyes. "What…I…want to…do?" he mumbled, as if dumbstruck.
"Yes, my lord," the captain said. "As the Duke’s successor, you have a choice to make. Do we hold our position and hope we can stand against that?" He thrust a finger at the note. "Or do we flee?"
Lord Virinus' lips worked soundlessly. All his pompous arrogance had fled, replaced by hesitance. Dangerous in such a perilous situation. "I-I…" He swallowed.
"My suggestion, my lord," the captain said, "is flight. The walls will only hold for so long. If we can get out before they reach us, we've a chance of reaching safety. Or at least enough of us escaping to get you back to Sentry Garrison with the girl alive, hopefully long enough for the Duke’s rider to bring the Wraithfever cure. Right now, that's all that matters."
Lord Virinus stared at the captain, agog. He seemed at a loss for words.
"My lord, you need to make a decision now!" Captain Lingram snapped. "Our lives are all in your hands. Either take command, or step aside so I can do my job." He fixed the nobleman with a baleful glare. "The choice is yours."
Lord Virinus' face went even paler.
Captain Lingram nodded. "So be it." He raised his voice so all could hear. "Deadheads, as of this moment, Lord Virinus has ceded command to me, and I am in charge until such a time as we reach safety. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Captain!" the Legionnaires echoed.
Captain Lingram turned his back on the dumbstruck nobleman and strode toward the men gathered before the gate. He held the parchment high. "I have just received a message from Commander Galerius. Our army defeated the Eirdkilrs at Hangman's Hill, but the enemy withdrew before they could be routed, and now they are roaming the northern Fjall and southern Deid lands, razing friendly villages and slaughtering our allies. The general sent us warning to be aware, but I believe the Eirdkilrs are coming directly here."
He thrust a finger at Lord Virinus. "The girl accompanying Lord Virinus is the daughter of Eirik Throrsson, and the Eirdkilrs know what will happen should our alliance with Fjall be cemented. There is no doubt in my mind that they are coming here to kill her. If she dies, so too dies our hope of peace in Fehl."
The captain looked from soldier to soldier. "But the Eirdkilrs didn't count on one thing: us. They failed to account for the Deadheads that stood between them and their prize. I say we make them pay for that mistake. What say you?"
"Hoo-rah!" Corporal Awr shouted. The other veterans echoed the shout, and a few of the older Deadheads echoed it as well.
"They call this company Deadheads because they believe you are the dregs of the Legion of Heroes. So be it!" The captain smiled. "Let them call us what they will. Let us wear the name with pride, and let us make it a name that every Eirdkilr bastard remembers. For it will be the name of the brave Legionnaires that spit in their faces when others cowered!"
"Hoo-rah!" More voices took up the cry.
"We cannot stand before the Eirdkilrs—according to Commander Galerius, they number at least five hundred."
"Now four hundred and some, Captain!" Weasel shouted.
"Right you are, soldier." Captain Lingram nudged one of the barbarian corpses with a boot. "We've prove
n that our shields, swords, and spears are as deadly as any of the other companies in the Legion. We've already shown that we can stand our ground and face the barbarians head on. But now it's time for us to prove that we can think with these dead heads of ours."
Laughter rippled among the ranks.
Captain Lingram grinned. "The walls of Saerheim are strong, and the cliffs provide us cover to the south and north, guard our retreat. But we are too few to hold off five hundred—"
"Four hundred and some!" Weasel chanted.
"—Eirdkilrs," Captain Lingram continued without pause. "We have a duty to protect the people of Saerheim, and a duty to protect Lord Virinus and Throrsson's daughter. If we stand and fight, we fail in those duties. If we retreat, we have a chance of survival. Though it goes against everything I have learned as a Legionnaire, I value my life over my pride or a chance at glory. We run, Deadheads. We run to fight another day, fight to the last man in order to protect those given into our charge. What say you?"
"Hoo-rah!" Every voice in the line echoed the cry now.
"Sergeant Brash!" Captain Lingram called.
"Yes, Captain!" Brash said.
Captain Lingram pointed to the south gate. "I expect the enemy to come from that way. Cold Lake and the cliffs give us cover enough that they can't come from west, and I doubt the Eirdkilrs have had time to go the long way around to the north. That means this is their only way in. Keep the walls manned until the last minute, but be prepared to pull out when I sound the alarm."
"Understood, Captain." The sergeant saluted.
"Sergeant Danver, have Squad Four prepare the villagers to leave immediately."
The sergeant named saluted. "Aye, sir." He snapped his fingers, and the men of his squad fell out of line and raced toward the city square.
Captain Lingram strode after them. "I will explain everything to the villagers for you, and will translate…" His voice faded as the distance grew.
"Squad Three, Squad One, onto the wall!" Sergeant Brash shouted.
Duvain, Endyn, and the others raced up to the ramparts. They crowded in beside the men already in position, jostling to get a good view. The pointed tips of the wooden palisade wall ended just below Duvain's neck level. Endyn's head, shoulders, and chest protruded well above the protective cover.
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