“I promise,” Selen said with a sad smile. “I will.”
The flap of the tent was open. Selen lay on his bed, looking at the moon rise in the sky. It was a full moon. At least they would see something on their way. The camp had turned silent. Folc slept in his bed, breathing deeply. Selen rose and put his armour on. He approached the boy and caressed his hair. “I will try to be back. I promise.” He went out.
The braziers glowed in the night. He saw sentinels standing guard. Nothing moved in the camp. He wondered if the men could sleep the night before the battle, or if they lay awake, thinking of their dear ones. Selen walked towards Louis’s tent. He stopped before the entrance. A single lantern in a corner threw a faint light. The candle was dying out. Faremanne snored in his bed in a corner. Louis sat at the table, his head lying on a pile of papers. He had fallen asleep while working. Selen walked nearer. Bertrant may be the commander, but Louis took all the work on his shoulders. Selen knew that it was not for the pride. Louis wanted to win, and he only trusted himself. Selen looked at his friend’s comely features, maybe for the last time.
“I’m sorry I have to go. I hope you can forgive me,” he whispered. Selen grabbed his hair from behind his back and untied the ribbon that fastened it. He folded the ribbon and placed it near Louis’s hand. “Win this battle for me,” he whispered. He needed to go before his heart imploded. In the silence of the night, Selen left the tent, his cheeks bathed with tears.
CHAPTER 32
They ran in the shadows of the forest, the moon as their guide. The city lights glowed in the distance. They halted here and there to catch their breath. They would have to hold through the night and the following day. Yet, they could not stop to rest. Once in the tunnels, they would lose all notion of time. They had to send the signal in the morning. Every instant counted.
The bag on Selen’s shoulder was heavy. Each of the forty men of his party had gathered as many axes as they could carry. They had to make it to the hill before dawn. If there were patrols, the orcs would stay on the plain. There was no point for them to venture into the hills with the Rebellion standing in the west. Selen looked back. The men followed him in a line. He spotted the soldier carrying the bird cage wrapped in cloth on his back. Faremanne’s idea was good, if the animals survived the trip. The sky’s color was changing. They had to hasten.
The first rays of the sun shone on the horizon as they climbed the last levels of the hill. Selen’s pulse was high and his legs hurt. When he stepped onto the plateau, Selen fell on his knees. His hair stuck with sweat to his neck and brow. At his side, the soldiers staggered and fell on their backs.
“We’ll take a short break,” Selen said, trying to catch his breath, “then we search for the tunnels.” He stared at the blue sky and concentrated on his breathing. At this altitude, the air was fresh and cold. After a few minutes, his lungs responded again. He rose. “Everyone up! Find me these intakes!”
The plateau was mostly rock, dust, and short grass. The men scattered on the surface, their eyes scrutinizing the ground. It was not hard to find the air intakes. They located three of them. Selen checked the three and opted for the largest one. One soldier tied to a rope was lowered down the hole. Once he touched the ground, they secured the rope and went down after him.
The tunnel allowed only one man at a time, but at least they did not need to crawl. A draft blew on their faces. The ground sloped gently. Two times, they were forced to use the rope to change levels, always progressing deeper into the heart of the mountain. After a while, they heard the first sounds.
“I think it’s picks,” one of the soldiers said.
They followed the noise. The sound grew clearer and louder.
“It’s just here in the hole under us,” a soldier whispered. “I can see light.”
“I can go first,” Selen said. He drew his sword out of its sheath. It may as well be orcs down there. He removed the bag from his shoulders. Selen could see the ground of the next level through the hole. He sat, leaned on the edge, and let himself fall down. In front of him, a dirty, brown man looked at him with terror. “Don’t scream,” Selen whispered. Above his head, the soldiers climbed down.
The miner raised his pick in protection. “What are you? Demons?”
“We are soldiers of the Rebellion, idiot,” one of the soldiers said, irritated. “We are here to free the city.”
“Free the city?” the miner repeated.
“Unless you enjoy the company of the orcs,” Selen said.
The miner realized. “No, no! Help us, please! Guys, over here!” the man called to his coworkers before turning back to them. “What are you doing here?”
“The Rebellion army is waiting outside your walls. We need to reach the bridge and open the gate.”
“How can we help?” the men asked.
“We want you to create a diversion in the city and help us take over the gatehouse. How many men can you gather?” Selen inquired.
“We are several hundred in that part of the mine, but not all of us have picks.”
A soldier stepped forward and emptied his bag on the ground. Axes fell with loud chinks. “Does this change the game?”
“Come with us,” the miners said, picking up the axes.
Selen and his soldiers followed the miners to a great hall. The news of their presence spread fast through the galleries. Soon, several hundred men stood in the hall. The soldiers emptied the bags and distributed the axes between the miners.
The soldiers looked at Selen, waiting for him to speak. Though he was jittery, Selen concentrated on his mission. It was orcs they wanted to kill, not him. He stepped forward.
“We are here to free the city,” he said a bit louder than usual. “What we need is the gatehouse. Once out of the mine, we will free the birds.” Fortunately, the animals were alive. He pointed at the cage. “This is our signal. Once the birds are in the air, we have to be quick.” Selen pointed at a group of men he judged strong and resolute. “You will guide us to the gate. The rest of you will spread chaos throughout the city as a diversion. Is it clear for everyone?”
“Yeah.” The men nodded and held their weapons fast in front of them.
They sneaked up towards the entrance of the mine. A line of orcs guarded the way, facing out. Selen breathed deeply. At this moment, Louis would be waiting outside on the field, counting on him. He could not fail. Should he crawl in his blood, he would open that gate and see him again. “At my move,” he whispered. He spotted the orc he considered to be the leader. The creature had two feathers tied on his helmet. Selen raised his sword, approached silently, and cleft the orc’s shoulders in two pieces. The alarm was raised.
CHAPTER 33
The sun was rising behind the plateau when the army appeared on the top of the mound and rode down on the plain. The thousand riders were aligned on five lines, stretched to cover as much field as possible. They needed to display a mass effect. Behind the soldiers, the oxen pulled the five trebuchets. They had used most of their materiel and deconstructed their carts to build the wheels. The wind whipped from the south. The blue standards and banners flapped against their poles. The armours and plates shone white in the sun. They would not impress the orcs, but at least they would catch their attention. When the trebuchets reached their shooting range, they halted. The army was still many yards away from the ramparts. The four captains rode in a front line, at a long distance from each other. Louis stood on the left of Bertrant. He did not wear a helmet, but he had fixed a large, triangular shield on the side of his saddle.
He scrutinized the sky in search of the birds. They were ready. They could only wait for the signal. Louis felt the pressure of the ribbon he had tied on his wrist. He had been surprised by Selen’s decision to lead the expedition, but it had been an honorable and brave choice. He would not have stopped him. At this point, all of them could be dead by the end of the day. However, though he could understand his motivation, he still could not believe that Selen had left without a word
. Devastated by his friend’s secret departure, Louis had forced himself to invest his last energy in the organization of the troops. Now, only victory mattered. If only he could see the birds. In the distance, Bertrant shouted the orders to load the trebuchets.
The waiting felt like an eternity. Trails of smoke rose from the city’s roofs. Clouds crossed the sky. The tension among their ranks was palpable. A silence of death hovered over the field. Louis burned his eyes on the white walls of the city and begged God for a sign. He saw it. A flock of crows rose in the air among the houses. The iron vise around his heart broke loose. He breathed deeply with relief. The soldiers roared behind him. Louis saw black dots move with haste on the ramparts. It was their time to act. Louis turned to Bertrant. The commander did not move. Louis urged him with his eyes, but the man did not react. Anger filled Louis, and he clenched his jaws. He pulled on the right rein.
“Loose!” Louis yelled, turning his horse. “Loose!”
The trebuchets revolved, throwing boulders high in the air. The huge stones crashed and exploded on the ramparts. “Load!” he shouted. The other captains repeated his orders. Louis glanced at Bertrant. His commander gazed at him with infuriated eyes. “I’m sorry,” Louis muttered. He kicked his horse and left his post.
Louis galloped up and down the line, haranguing the men.
“Four years of defeat, four years of shame! There is no turning back!
We will take back Millhaven! We will put their heads on these spikes! If we flee, we die! Today, you fight for yourselves! For honour! For revenge!”
The soldiers broke out in wild cries. Arms clashed against shields. Louis whirled his pawing horse towards the citadel. The mount reared up and charged. The riders drew behind him and about him. In the distance, the drawbridge was still closed. On the ramparts, the orcs turned around, taking their posts again. Some grabbed bows. Boulders whizzed above the riders’ heads. One of the small tower’s merlons exploded. The gates drew near at high speed. Louis could not slow down his mount. He wrapped the reins around the pommel and drew out his sword. With his left hand, he grabbed his shield and raised it above his head. The first arrows flew on them. The riders stretched on a column. “Open that damn door, Selen,” he whispered like a prayer. The bridge shook and fell, dragging its black, heavy chains behind. The huge oaken board slammed on the stone edge as Louis’s horse was reaching the moat. The riders rushed through the gatehouse to the citadel.
CHAPTER 34
The Rebellion had gathered their pitiful forces on the field at dawn. Certainly, they had trebuchets, but Millhaven’s walls were strong. All they would manage to take down would be the edges of the ramparts and the houses on the other side. And Kraalh did not care for the houses. He wondered if he should let them exhaust themselves on his walls or if he should gather a party to clean the field. He remembered how they had conquered the city in the first place. It was best to let them use their strength and pick up the pieces afterwards, once the reinforcements would have arrived. Kraalh did not panic when he heard the alarm. He was persuaded that it was the jesters on the plain using a new trick. He walked onto his balcony with one apple in his hand to admire the show. He looked down and saw the dead orcs lying on the streets. His stupefaction made place for wrath. Kraalh cursed the people of Millhaven and his own mansuetude.
“I should have burned them all!” he yelled, smashing the apple with rage.
Kraalh grabbed his axe and rushed outside to the galleries leading to the allure. He heard the clatter of blades and screams rise from everywhere in the city. However, what worried him most was that the riders on the field maneuvered.
“Where are they going?” he raged. He had a horrible feeling. “With me! To the gate!” the general summoned his orcs.
They ran down the city, killing all and everyone standing in their way. Kraalh and his orcs were attacked by civilians holding the first weapon they had found. Others brandished axes. The rats were still no match for Kraalh and his soldiers. One man ran in his direction, screaming. Kraalh slid his axe through his skull. The next one, he chopped the legs off. Kraalh neared the yard in front of the gate. Bodies lay scattered all around. He heard shouts and a low, steadily growing hum. Men fought on the ramparts. An orc fell and cracked his skull open on the cobbles. The enemy had taken over the gatehouse. The ground quaked.
“Form a line!” Kraalh cried out. “Spears forward!”
His soldiers aligned in a semicircle, their lances blocked on a wall of shields. The drawbridge moved and fell. Kraalh raised his axe. “Hold!”
The first wave of riders rushed inside the yard. Some of the mounts crashed against the shields and rammed onto the spears in agonizing shrieks. Others jumped over the improvised wall, pulverizing orcs’ faces with their hooves, and galloped forward into the city. More orcs dashed down the main street and clashed swords with the breakaway. Meanwhile, a second wave of riders forced its way through the gate and spun into the alleys on both sides. Soon the yard would turn into mayhem, and Kraalh did not want to be trapped in the middle. Heads of soldiers from both camps already rolled in the gutter. Men screamed in agony, mashed under wiggling horses with broken legs. Spurts of blood gushed in the air.
“Kill those riders!” Kraalh yelled.
The general knew that he could not hold the city with the bridge down and the population against him. He climbed the nearest stair that led to the gatehouse. From there, the path would take him straight to the stables on the other side. He spun his axe at the men in front of him and threw blows on the ones following him. In the yard, his soldiers retreated into the main street and the alleys. The Rebellion was hewing and slaying the orcs into pieces. It was a bloodbath. The flow of horses still poured in, the beasts stumbling and trampling on the bodies of men, orcs, and mounts. Kraalh was heading to the gatehouse when the door opened wide.
“What…?” he uttered.
He barely had time to realize what was happening when the creature in front of him flung itself off the ramparts onto the yard and disappeared. He saw it again further away, pushing its way into an alley, its purple hair flowing on its back.
“The she-knight,” Kraalh muttered.
Fire and smoke rose from different parts of the city. Kraalh heard the banging of the swords against the shields, the orders yelled, and the screams of pain and terror. Kraalh continued on his way through the gatehouse and to the stables. He swore that he would get his revenge. At any cost.
CHAPTER 35
His horse bolted and continued galloping through the main street until it crashed against a second wall of orcs. Louis flew over his mount and the orcs as if he did not weight more than a ball of straw. He rose at once. Fortunately, he was unharmed and still had his sword in his hand. The orcs were on him in an instant, launching themselves at him. He only had time to raise his sword to counter the first blows. The fight was hard, but at the end he stood alone, exhausted, in a pool of dark, slimy blood.
More riders came his way. Louis ran to a terrace overhanging the streets. The cavalry wandered in the alleys as in a maze, mowing all enemy standing in front of it. The battle was chaotic. There were no chiefs shouting orders, only men and orcs rushing against each other in wild screams. He smelled smoke. Some parts of the city were probably in flames.
Orcs came down from stairs above him. He raised his sword and prepared himself for the fight. The first orc engaged him frontally. Louis sidestepped and aimed for the beast’s hips. As his sword passed through the flesh, he ducked his head and avoided the clumsy blow of the second orc. He whirled, blocked, and hacked. The head rolled to his feet. The third orc stepped back and wanted to run, but Louis threw his sword which ran through the beast’s chest as into butter. The creature fell with a shrill cry of pain. Louis fetched his weapon and stopped to catch his breath again. A rider trotted from down the street.
“We won, Captain! It’s a great victory!” the man shouted with joy.
The screams around Louis grew quiet. The clashes of swords became
scarcer, then fell silent. They had won. Louis headed to the castle.
As he neared the yard in front of the castle’s gate, Louis saw Selen stand near Faremanne. His chest filled with joy. He smiled and walked towards his friend. Bertrant appeared in his way, his hand raised. Louis barely saw the blow. The brutal slap on his face was as humiliating as painful.
“You had it coming!” Bertrant shouted in anger. “But we won. So this will have to do. Just remember who commands here!”
Louis placed his hand on his cheek and knew he deserved it. He was not even sure if he would have been so magnanimous should he had been in Bertrant’s place. This time, he did not care about the wound to his pride. They were alive, and they had won. Behind Bertrant, Selen looked at him with a broad smile on his face. Louis smiled back at him, still holding his cheek.
“Should we inspect the keep?” Faremanne suggested.
“Before we do, tell all the lieutenants to spread the word that if one soldier is caught plundering or abusing of the population, I will kill him myself. Millhaven is a free city and these are our people, not a reward,” Louis said.
“I will,” Faremanne said. Bertrant nodded in approval.
Louis and the other four captains entered the castle. They stayed on their guard, ready to face the last resistance. They climbed the stairs to the great hall. The place was a mess, but it looked as if someone had already tried to put some order to it. The overmantel was covered with gore. Apples had rolled everywhere. But the most shocking was the high chair. It had been hacked to pieces with an axe, and heavy chains lay in front of the wretched piece of furniture.
Rising from Dust (Light from Aphelion Book 1) Page 22