The first took him in the leg, just above the knee. The second punched into his side, followed by two more. He fell hard, and the rest whistled over his head. He crawled toward them, keening a cry of agony.
Before Duvain realized what was happening, Endyn had pushed past him and raced toward the fallen Legionnaire.
"Endyn, no!" Duvain shouted.
His brother, heedless of his warning, crossed the distance to Owen in five great steps, reached down, and lifted the man into his arms. He whirled, shielding Owen's body with his own. Arrows pelted all around him, more than a few slamming into him, sending him staggering. He crashed into the wagon and fell hard, but staggered up again. He lifted Owen high and passed him into the waiting arms beyond.
He turned to Duvain. "You're next!" Without waiting, he lifted Duvain, armor and all, and propelled him over the wagon. Duvain crashed to the ground. The impact knocked the wind from his lungs. Ignoring the ache, he leapt to his feet and spun toward the cart.
Endyn's massive figure appeared over the wagon, a mountain illuminated by the village burning behind him. Something slammed into his back, knocking him forward. He fell hard and landed face-first in the churned mud. He didn't move.
"No!" In horror, Duvain stared down at his brother. More than twenty shafts protruded from Endyn's back, neck, and legs. Some of the broad-headed arrows had punched through his breastplate, mail shirt, and gambeson.
He crouched over his brother. "Damn you, Endyn, get up!"
His brother didn't respond.
"Endyn!" Tears streamed down his cheeks, and sorrow thickened his throat. He shook his brother. "Don't do this to me, curse you."
Strong hands gripped him and dragged him away. "Meat!" Corporal Rold shouted in his ear. "We've got to move."
Duvain fought to free himself. He couldn't leave Endyn, not like this…
"Damn it, Duvain!" Corporal Rold tackled him, bringing him down to the muddy ground. "Your brother's gone, soldier." The corporal's voice was harsh in Duvain's ear. "And we'll all join him if we don't get out of here."
Duvain screamed and shouted, but the corporal held him fast.
"Corporal," a weak voice cut through the din. Owen, lying on the ground, held up the torch. "The wagon." He coughed, bringing up blood. "Fire…the wagon."
The momentary distraction gave Duvain the chance he needed to break free. He squirmed out from under Corporal Rold, staggered to his feet, and snatched the torch from Owen's hand.
As Duvain reached the wagon, the face of a massive Eirdkilr loomed over the side. Howling a cry of delight, the barbarian raised his massive club to crush Duvain's skull. Terror froze Duvain. The torch in his hand hovered just short of the straw piled high beside the wagon.
A throwing axe hurtled past Duvain's head, burying deep in the Eirdkilr's face. The savage's delight turned to agony. Blood sprayed, and the huge barbarian toppled backward.
Corporal Rold appeared beside Duvain, sword in hand. "Do it, damn you!"
Duvain threw the torch into the pile of straw. The flame licked eagerly at the dry strands and, within moments, the wood was ablaze. The clash of steel echoed just beside Duvain's head. Another Eirdkilr had climbed onto the overturned wagon, only to be cut down by Corporal Rold. Another Legionnaire battled a second barbarian beyond.
As Duvain turned away, he caught a familiar hand poking out from beneath the wagon. The long, slim fingers, still gripping the sword, could only belong to Weasel. He turned away, not wanting to watch the fire consume the corpse of his comrade. His friend.
The lump returned to Duvain's throat as his eyes went to Endyn's body. With the last of his strength, he willed his brother to move, to stir, to breathe. Nothing happened. His brother hadn't moved. With all those arrows in him, he wouldn't move again.
"Let's go, soldier!" Corporal Rold gripped his arm and dragged him away. "We've got minutes before they find a way past."
Duvain didn't protest. He followed, his limbs numb, his mind blank. Only the corporal's hand on his arm kept him moving, kept him from collapsing. His mind refused to comprehend what had just happened. His world had shattered with his brother's death.
He cast a final glance back. The light of the burning wagon cast a funereal glow on Endyn's body, so silent and still.
Wait, was that—?
It was!
Endyn's back rose and fell. He was breathing!
Duvain blinked. Was it just a cruel trick of his brain? No, it was real. Endyn blinked, and his head lifted slowly from the ground.
Eyes wide, Duvain watched, incredulous. He couldn't believe it.
"Help…me," Endyn rumbled.
The words pierced Duvain's shocked numbness. He ripped his arm from Rold's grasp and raced back toward his brother. "Endyn!"
"Damn it, meat, he—" Rold's cry cut off with a surprised gasp.
Duvain skidded to a halt beside Endyn. His brother struggled to rise to his elbows, groaning with the effort. Duvain hauled on Endyn's arm, helping him to his feet.
Rold appeared on Endyn's other side. "By the Keeper!" he breathed. "How in the bloody hell…?"
Duvain had no answer, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that Endyn was alive! More than that, he was walking and talking, though pain rendered his voice tight.
Together, he and Rold helped Endyn limp down the hill and out of the light of the burning village. When they'd reached the shadows of the forest, Rold slipped out from beneath Endyn's arm.
"How in the bloody hell are you still alive?" he demanded.
Endyn glanced down at his body. "I-I don't know."
Duvain studied his brother. A few of the arrows had fallen loose in their struggle. Through the holes in the mail shirt and gambeson, Duvain caught a glimpse of the thick, grey scales.
"Impossible!" he gasped.
The scales had grown thicker since the last time he'd seen his brother's back. Blood trickled from small puncture wounds in the stony grey surface. The Eirdkilrs' arrows, driven by the force of their powerful bows, had punched through his breastplate, mail shirt, and gambeson. But the dragonskin had saved him.
Duvain tested the theory by tugging on another of the arrows. Though Endyn yelped, the arrowhead pulled loose of the mail shirt with little effort.
One by one, he tugged the arrows free, to the astonishment of the other Legionnaires around him. Thirty arrows had struck his brother—thirty arrows fell to the ground, leaving little more than small punctures to mark their passage.
"Watcher's beard!" one of the Legionnaires breathed. "It's a miracle!"
Rold lifted Endyn's shirt, revealing the thick, crusted scales on his back. "Not a miracle," he growled. "Bloody good fortune, I'd say."
The two arrows in Endyn's leg pulled free as well, though without armor to protect his lower body, the arrowheads had been driven in a bit deeper. None of the Legionnaires could believe it—Duvain struggled with it himself.
The dragonskin that had plagued Endyn for so many years had just saved his life? Impossible! Yet there was no mistake. Endyn had survived because of it.
Rold whistled. "If anyone'd told me that story, I'd have called him a madman." He shook his head. "You're one lucky bastard, you know that?"
A broad grin spread Endyn's massive face, and he colored, this time with pride instead of embarrassment.
The howling of the Eirdkilrs shattered the momentary calm. Their cries echoed with fury at being stymied in their attempts to capture the Legionnaires.
"Can you walk?" Rold asked Endyn.
Endyn nodded.
"Good," said the corporal, tightening his grip on his sword, "then we need to get the fiery hell out of here. It won't take long for them to find a way around. When they do, we'd better be as far away from here as possible."
Chapter Thirteen
A hundred fearful faces turned toward them, and relief shone in the eyes of the villagers as they recognized the Legionnaires. Captain Lingram pushed through the crowd of people and rushed toward them as they appr
oached.
"Situation report, Corporal."
Corporal Rold gave a tired salute. "Saerheim has officially fallen, sir."
Captain Lingram's face grew pale. "Watcher have mercy," he said in a quiet voice, bowing his head.
"The bastards had overrun the village, and they'd have caught us if not for the big one." Rold inclined his head toward Endyn. "He blocked the gate, bought us a few minutes at least."
Captain Lingram turned to Endyn. "All of us owe our lives to you, soldier. You've done the Legion proud."
"Thank you, sir," Endyn rumbled. "But I didn't do it alone." He dropped his gaze to the body in his arms. Even after Owen had grown too weak to walk, Endyn had ignored Rold's orders and carried Owen all this way. He didn't care that the Legionnaire hadn't moved in half an hour. Duvain could see the weariness in Endyn's limbs and face, but his brother refused to leave Owen. "He…he was the real hero, sir. Weasel, too. Gave everything he had."
Sorrow filled Captain Lingram's eyes. "All of you are." He lifted his eyes to Duvain, Rold, and the six Legionnaires that had guarded the rear. "Each and every one. Your courage and loyalty will be rewarded when we reach Icespire."
Rold nodded. "Let's get on with that, then, sir. The more distance we put between us and those savages, the better I'll feel."
"I couldn't agree more." Lord Virinus' voice held the petulance of a spoiled child. He had joined them at the rear of the company. "It's a pity more of you didn't survive. We'll need every able-bodied man to reach Sentry Garrison ahead of the barbarians." He looked up at Endyn. "You, giant. Your friend is dead. Your strength is needed for the living."
Captain Lingram turned to Virinus, his jaw clenched. "My lord—"
Lord Virinus ignored the captain, but turned to the crowd. "Barcus, Scathan!" He called out. "Bring the girl here."
The mercenaries pushed through the crowd, gripping the makeshift stretcher carrying the chieftain's daughter.
Lord Virinus waved at Endyn. "Let him carry her. Your swords will be better served protecting us all." He turned a hard gaze on Captain Lingram. "Unless you can truly say your man is worth my four blades?"
Captain Lingram's eyes narrowed and his mouth opened.
"Captain," Endyn rumbled, cutting off whatever he'd been about to say. "I will carry her. But give me a moment." He lifted Owen's body. "He deserves to be set to rest."
After a moment of hesitation, Captain Lingram nodded.
Endyn disappeared into the woods, Owen's body cradled in his huge arms. Duvain wanted to go with him, but the look in Endyn's face held him back. When he returned empty-handed a few minutes later, tears streaked his huge cheeks. Without a word, he lifted the girl from the stretcher. He strode toward the head of the line in silence.
"Thank you, my lord." Captain Lingram spoke through clenched teeth.
"For what?" Confusion stained the nobleman's face.
"For volunteering your men to join my company."
The nobleman's eyes went wide, but Captain Lingram turned away, addressing the four mercenaries. "You know these woods better than us. You will serve as the rear guard. Stay two hundred paces behind the main group. If the Eirdkilrs come, do not engage, but report to me at once. Understood?"
The mercenaries' eyes darted to Lord Virinus, whose face had gone a furious shade of purple. "How dare you command my men?" he railed. "You—"
"You said your men would be better protecting us all," Captain Lingram retorted, his voice hard. "I am simply doing as you said, my lord." The last two words came out in a growl.
The nobleman's eyes narrowed. "You overstep yourself, Captain. These men are here to protect me, and—"
"Do you wish to live long enough to see Icespire?" Captain Lingram snarled. "If so, shut your mouth and follow my orders. Or by the Keeper, I'll string you up and leave you to the Eirdkilrs myself."
"You wouldn’t dare!" Lord Virinus actually took a step back. "I am a nobleman of Icespire."
"And I am the commander of these men." The captain looked at the mercenaries. "All of them. Every one of us will be needed to survive. Even you, my lord. Now, get back to the head of the line and keep people moving." He dropped his voice. "Be useful, for once, Myron."
Virinus gaped, but no sound came out from his mouth.
Captain Lingram turned to the mercenaries. "Move out. Now!" His voice brooked no disobedience.
The mercenaries obeyed. Their mottled brown cloaks blended with the shadows of the forest as they returned down the road toward Saerheim, until Duvain lost sight of them in the darkness.
"As for the rest of you," Captain Lingram said to Duvain and the other Legionnaires, "bring up the rear, and be wary. We're counting on you to alert us if the Eirdkilrs catch up."
Despite his exhaustion, Duvain snapped a crisp salute. "Aye, sir." He adjusted his grip on his shield and spear and stood straighter.
With a nod, Captain Lingram strode away, leaving a gaping Lord Virinus.
Duvain and the other Legionnaires ignored the nobleman, but took their place at the rear of the line without a word. A moment later, Lord Virinus stormed past, muttering dark curses on Captain Lingram.
Duvain strained his ears, listening for any sign of pursuit. Dread grew heavy within him. Any minute now, the howling of the Eirdkilrs would split the night.
After the din of battle and the roaring fire, the sounds of night were oddly muted to Duvain. A night owl hooted high in a yew tree, while the chill wind filled the air with the rustling of dry autumn leaves. The clanking of the Legionnaire's armor seemed to echo from the forest around them, amplified by his anxiety. Boots squelched in mud. Children wailed for their beds and their fathers, only to be hushed by mothers who spoke in voices filled with sorrow. They would never see their men again, yet they marched on. Their children had to live.
Fear hung like a thick pall over them all. They all knew what pursued them, and that knowledge spurred them to move faster. The Eirdkilrs, unencumbered by belongings, children, and the aging, would eventually catch up, and the wave of death would sweep over them. They had every reason to move faster.
As they rounded a corner in the trail, Duvain caught a glimpse of the muddy patch of ground and fallen logs they'd passed on their way to the village. The Legionnaires gave the pile of logs a wide berth, herding the villagers into the forest to avoid pissing off the woodcutter vipers. Duvain shuddered at the memory of what lived there. Endyn had nearly died—he would have, had not the serpent's fangs struck the dragonskin. The dragonskin had saved him then, as it saved him back at Saerheim.
"Captain!" A voice pierced the tense silence of the night. Duvain's stomach twisted. It came from behind him.
He turned to see two of the mercenaries racing toward them, his eyes wide. "They're coming, Captain!" he cried. There was no sign of the other two.
Captain Lingram appeared at the rear of the train of people and animals. "How far?"
"They can't be more than five minutes out, sir!" the mercenary gasped, winded.
"Damn it!" Captain Lingram clenched his fists. He looked at the procession of people and soldiers—they had no way out. "We have to move faster!"
He shouted in Fehlan, and his words had an immediate effect. Women, children, and the village elders broke into a run, panic on their faces. The drivers of the two carts whipped the draft horses to move faster.
Duvain, Rold, and the other Legionnaires hustled after them. Duvain couldn't help looking over his shoulders. At any moment, the Eirdkilrs would appear around the bend in the road. He and his fellow Legionnaires would hold the rear in the hope that they could buy enough time for the rest to escape. A desperate hope, one with no chance of success.
As he cast a fearful glance back, his eyes fell on the pile of fallen logs. An idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. A dangerous, potentially suicidal idea. At this point, they had nothing else.
"Captain," he called. "Permission to remain in the rear?"
Captain Lingram shook his head. "Denied, soldier. This
is neither the time nor place for a desperate last stand. We have to try to outrun them." His expression and the tone of his voice spoke volumes: he knew they had little hope, but he had to try.
"Captain, I've got an idea that could buy us a bit of time, but it'll only work if I'm the only one the Eirdkilrs see."
The captain’s brow furrowed. "What are you thinking?"
Duvain explained his idea. The captain shook his head. "Not a chance!"
"It's the only chance, Captain," Duvain insisted. "It'll work—I know it. Get everyone off the road, into the forest. Keep moving north, toward Icespire. I'll catch up as soon as I can." He glanced toward Lord Virinus' mercenaries. "And I'll need someone to guide me."
One of the two mercenaries, the one named Scathan, stepped forward. "I'll go with him."
"So will I." Corporal Rold joined them.
Duvain shook his head. "Corporal, this isn't going to—"
"Get stuffed, meat." Corporal Rold replied, folding his arms. "I'll be damned if I let you have all the fun. Besides, someone's got to watch your back."
Duvain glanced up the road. He was glad Endyn had disappeared around a bend—he would have protested or insisted on coming along. He didn't want that. The plan was desperate and foolish, like as not to get him—and anyone who went with him—killed. But it would give Endyn a chance of survival.
The weeks spent marching and training had helped improve his brother's stamina. Though he was no doubt exhausted, he would keep going as long as he had to. And Duvain's plan might buy enough time for him to have a chance to reach safety.
Captain Lingram held out a hand. "Show them what a Legionnaire's made of, soldier."
Duvain gripped it. "It's been an honor, sir." He gave a salute, and the captain returned it. "One favor, Captain?"
The captain raised an eyebrow.
"Watch out for my brother, sir." A grin tugged at his lips, and he didn't try to fight it. "Mother'd have my head if anything happened to him."
The captain's smile matched his own. "I'll keep an eye on him, Legionnaire. But I'm sure your mother would want you to keep an eye on him yourself."
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