“Boisterous elements. I gave them orders to control the camp’s perimeter and the supply train,” Bertrant replied.
“I still disapprove their implication in the supply train. There will be frauds,” Louis complained.
“I don’t doubt you will have an eye on it,” Bertrant said. “Now, look here, both of you.” He pointed at the map. “We are here, and here is Breyburgh, or what is left of it. The city has burned to the ground. Only charred walls and remnants of beams stand here and there and will collapse with the first heavy rains.” Bertrant looked at Louis. “Did you speak with the survivors?”
“Hundreds of refugees are parked on the side of the camp. We talked with them this morning. They described how the orcs arrived in the city, massacring everyone. Many people fled, leaving all belongings behind. I proposed the men to join the Rebellion while their families would head to Millhaven.” Louis stopped and frowned. Selen knew Louis had still not stomached their answer.
Selen continued the report in Louis’s place. “A few accepted, but many chose to head north. I insisted that they get at least a one-day ration of food,” Selen whispered the last part. It had been a source of tension between him and Louis. Hearing the refugees’ refusal to his proposition, Louis had considered sending them away at once with nothing more than a kick in the rear. Selen had pleaded for mercy and reminded Louis that there were women and children as well. Louis had finally agreed, on the condition that they leave the camp at once. He had authorized a double ration of food to the women and children.
“Good. We can’t afford to feed civilians.” Bertrant pointed at the map again. “This is the way we have to follow if we want to reach Nysa Serin. South and down that plain, the Eryas Lowlands,” Bertrant said.
“This is where the Rebellion was defeated by the dragon four years ago. It is barren lands. Only high, dry grass grows there. It was once a fertile plain, but not anymore since they built the Silverfall dam on the Falst River to irrigate the southern lands,” Pembroke said.
“Where is the dam?” Selen asked.
“Here in the mountains.” Bertrant pointed at a cross in the east of the plain where the mountains began.
“Oh no,” Louis whispered.
“Do you see it too?” Bertrant asked. Selen feared he saw it as well.
“They will destroy the dam to inundate the plain. Preferably with us on it,” Louis said.
“I did not understand first why no one attacked us,” Bertrant said, “but I see it now. They don’t need to attack. They only need to wait.”
“Unless we take over the dam,” Selen said.
“We can’t. We are too big and slow to lead an attack in the mountains,” Louis replied.
“We will have to divide our forces,” Bertrant said. “A battalion will go to the mountains while the rest of the army will move south. Hopefully, Josselin is keeping the dragon away.”
“I can lead the battalion,” Louis proposed.
They heard screams come from outside.
Selen hurried outside the tent, followed by the others. A horse galloped towards the pavilion. The rider lay across the collar, his hands gripping the mane. Selen recognized Faremanne. He ran towards the horse and took down the captain. The man was covered in blood from the waist down. A crossbow bolt was set deep in his flank.
“Don’t move,” Selen said, holding the man still on the ground. “Someone give me water!”
Louis knelt on the other side. “What happened?” he cried out. Behind them, Bertrant shouted orders to bring the man to the infirmary.
A board was slipped under Faremanne, and four soldiers carried him to Brother Benedict’s pavilion. Pembroke hurried to join them. Selen stood at Faremanne’s side, washing the blood from his face and mouth. Louis strode on the other side, shouting to clear the way. At the infirmary, Faremanne was placed on a bed. His blood from the wound tainted the white sheets red.
“Remove his armour,” the monk ordered.
“I need to cut the bolt first,” Selen replied, looking behind him for help.
“Take this,” Bertrant gave him tongs.
Selen took them and cut the bolt right above the armour. The metal snapped. Selen and Louis proceeded to remove the armour. Faremanne’s gambeson and linen were soaking wet. “He has lost too much blood,” Selen whispered. He took pincers to remove the bolt’s head.
Faremanne opened his eyes. “Am I dying?” he asked with a feeble, croaky voice.
“Don’t talk,” Louis said, holding the man’s hand. “You’re not going to die.”
Faremanne grinned. “You really can’t lie,” he coughed. The captain grabbed Louis’s hand tighter and pulled it to him. “It was the count, Elye, he …”
“He betrayed us. We got it,” Louis interrupted the captain.
“Shut up for once and listen,” Faremanne snapped. “He’s got my men as hostages and…he’s got…something else.” Faremanne coughed and spat blood clots. “Something precious. Louis, you need…to go there. Argh!”
The bolt went free. Selen cast it to the side and took clamps. “Hold the wound open,” he said to Bertrant, who knelt at his side. Selen worked hard on the wound to block the bleeding. He pressed on the flesh where he thought the artery was, but the blood kept on spurting. Selen barely contained his anger enough to steady his hands. “I can’t stop it. I can’t clamp the artery. There is too much blood.” He felt helpless. Tears came to his eyes. “Brother, you have to do it!”
“I won’t do it better than you,” Brother Benedict said, resigned. The monk looked at Faremanne with compassion.
“It’s all right, Selen,” Faremanne whispered. “Louis, you must free my men…”
“I will, I swear.” Louis cried.
“Tell my family I love…” Faremanne sighed. He closed his eyes.
Heavy tears ran down Selen’s cheeks. His throat choked with emotion. He laid his bloody left hand on the captain’s right shoulder. On the other side of the bed, Louis clenched his fists on the man’s hand and bedsheet. His jaws pulsed. Selen saw burning hate in his wet eyes.
“Blood will be shed,” Bertrant said, hoarse. “Everyone, back to my tent.”
Selen and Louis embraced their dead friend.
“We will give him a proper burial,” Louis said to Brother Benedict with anger.
Selen, Louis, Bertrant, and Pembroke returned to the pavilion in mourning silence. Soon, they were back at the headquarters again. Their faces were red and their eyes swollen.
“I’m leaving at once with a battalion!” Louis exclaimed.
“Don’t be a fool. It’s exactly what the man wants,” Pembroke replied.
“We need to act, but we need to plan it well. I don’t want to lose more men to this,” Bertrant said.
“I want to help,” a silvery, appealing voice said. Folc walked towards them. The boy cried and his features were taut. They all looked at him, stunned.
“This is not the time for a young boy to take part in these matters, my lord,” Bertrant objected.
“He was my friend as well as yours!” Folc shouted. “You will let me help. I too want revenge!”
“Folc…” Selen said. The boy was too young and inexperienced to be part of an expedition against the count. Selen did not want to lose another friend.
“No. That’s enough with the coddling,” Folc retorted towards him. “I’m not a child anymore. I am here to fight. Faremanne had always been good to me. He wanted me to be a knight. I will avenge him.”
“The boy is right,” Pembroke said. “Everyone has to do his part. He is ready enough for me.”
“Then, that’s settled,” Bertrant said. “Folc will be part of the expedition.”
Selen sighed. “What do we know about the castle? Has someone been there?” he inquired.
“It’s a stronghold on a hill. The walls are ancient but thick. It’s too uncovered to approach with riders without being seen from afar,” Bertrant said. “I suppose the man will be expecting us.”
“
If he is waiting for a battalion, I could try to sneak inside with a small party of men,” Louis suggested.
“I could help you with that,” Folc said. “My parents and I stayed at Mighthorn a few times. I know of tunnels leading into the castle.”
“Are they still in useful condition?” Louis asked.
“They were, some years ago.”
“Then, we will use that way,” Selen said. “It’s a full moon. We could leave in an hour and take advantage of the night.”
“No,” Bertrant objected. “Not you.”
“Not me?” Selen was puzzled. “But…”
“You will take a battalion and ride to the dam. We can’t waste time with that. You need to attack simultaneously with Josselin while we progress south,” Bertrant said.
“But…my lord.” Selen gaped, searching for words. He gave an appealing look at Louis. His friend looked confused but did not dare to speak. There was nothing to say.
“It’s an order,” Bertrant insisted, inflexible. “You will lead the attack on the dam while Louis rescues our men. Louis, you leave in an hour.” Bertrant’s voice resounded in Selen’s chest like the bang of a judge’s gavel. The sentence was death. “Take your leave,” Bertrant said.
Under shock, Selen gazed at the ground and walked outside the pavilion. He felt a hand on his wrist.
“Come,” Folc said. “I’m sorry.”
Once back in their tent, Selen sat on his bed, his eyes wide open. He could not grasp all that had happened. Faremanne first, then Bertrant’s decision. It was a nightmare.
“We will make it,” Folc said, confident. The boy put his armour on. “I know these tunnels well, and I promise to watch over Louis.” Folc smiled.
“Maybe I won’t make it,” Selen said. He had no idea where he was heading. Every step he made in this land was a discovery, let alone to protect a structure he had never heard of.
“With a whole battalion? Of course you will.”
Unless the orcs are waiting for us with a bigger army, Selen thought. He would have to send scouts ahead.
Louis entered the tent, looking overwhelmed. “I’m sorry, Selen. I could not object to his orders, not on that,” his friend said. “Besides, he is right. We need to act now.”
“I agree on the what. I am blocked on the how,” Selen said, getting up.
“Don’t be scared.” Louis approached him. “I am sure you can make it.” He smiled. Behind him, Folc tiptoed out of the tent.
“Me, leading a battalion?” It sounded awkward to his ears. He shook his head.
“You led that party brilliantly in Millhaven. I trust you.” Louis put a hand on his shoulder.
Selen looked up. Louis was tired. His eyes were streaked with red. Even faint smiles could not hide his misery. “What about you?” Selen asked with concern.
“I have the boy to protect.” A poor answer that his friend did not even try to enhance with a smile. Louis laid his hand on Selen’s cheek. “I will avenge Faremanne,” he said, resolute. Louis kissed him softly. His lips were full and warm. “I have to go,” Louis whispered. The fingers left his cheek, but the sensation lingered.
Selen watched Louis walk away. His tormented heart hurt him as never before. It could not be, it would not be the last time. Then, he thought of Faremanne. He thought of Folc and his parents. His heart screamed. The words crossed his lips.
“Louis, wait!”
His friend halted.
“I see the sorrow that you hide deep in your soul. Fate has been hard on both of us, but you keep on fighting. I admire you. I have laid my heart in your hands from the start. You protect me. You hold my hands when I shiver with fear. The force I feel inside to carry on, I find it in you. Louis… I can be strong, but I can’t live without you by my side. If we are to die…” Selen stopped. “I love you.” He took a deep breath. “From the depths of my soul, I love you.”
Louis turned around. “So many times I have lost hope. So many nights I have wanted to die. Then I look at you, my angel, my love…and I see a world worth fighting for. You keep your faith strong, even in the darkest hours, never asking for more than a smile. You are so pure, so kind, and yet so brave. We may lose the war. We may die on the field. Or we can survive and save this land. But it will be together. You and me.” Tears ran down Louis’s face. “Whatever tomorrow brings, I will love you, forever.”
Chuckling and crying, Selen tottered to his friend and embraced him. Louis sobbed and chuckled. Grazing his trembling fingers on Selen’s cheeks, he kissed him long and deeply. Selen’s heart ignited with adoration. “I love you, Louis. I love you.” He sniffled and pressed his forehead against Louis’s.
“And I love you too. I always have.” Louis hugged him tightly. “My Selen.”
“It was about time,” Folc said, looking at them with a broad smile.
CHAPTER 48
For several days, Josselin rode east with haste through meadows and forests. Hoping to escape the notice of the enemy’s eyes, he slept in hollow grounds or under thickets. As he did not dare to light a fire, he was perpetually cold. He had taken enough food with him to sustain himself during the journey. Alone with his thoughts, he had pondered his mission. Of course, it was suicide. He did not even hope to come back. But as he had said to his fellow captains, he wanted his death to be worth it. While he did not doubt the captains’ bravery, he did not put much hope in the Rebellion, especially if no one could control the dragon. Josselin knew that his life was already ruined. With such a large scar on his face, he would never find someone, get married, or have children. Everyone looked at him with pity and commiseration, when not with disgust. Even his own aunt had asked him to return to his lands. Though she had insisted that he consider it as a reward for his services, he knew that the noble court of Millhaven could not bear his presence. Should he stay in the city, he would have to be confined to the army’s barracks and fight until death called for him. Therefore, it might as well come now. Dying a hero was a beautiful way to leave this world.
The mountains were drawing nearer and bent southwards. He would reach Earthfell the next day. Josselin wondered which way would be the most effective to get the small artifact inside the dragon’s belly. He could use an arrow and shoot into the beast’s throat. However, this technique required perfect timing, and he wasn’t skilled in archery. There was also the possibility of using bait. Earthfell would not lack sheep or cows to open and to fill with the artifact. Yet, it would have to be a living prey to attract the dragon, and to torture an animal was not his thing. Should he die, he would make it prestigious. He would be the bait.
“The bards will write songs about me,” he whispered.
Earthfell stood at the foot of the mountains, dominating the grassy plains. It was perched high on the rocky, western slope. The city was circled by high, wooden walls. As opposed to Millhaven, Earthfell was entirely made of wood. The constructions denoted its archaic origins. The place, situated at a commercial crossroad, had been the center of horse breeding and trading for a long time. Now, goods coming from the Crysas Peninsula had replaced the horses. The trading was still flourishing, but no one had ever come up with the idea to modernize the battlements and the main buildings. Only the keep, rising high and proud into the sky, was made of grey stone. Josselin passed under the main gates. Despite its situation in the south of Trevalden, Earthfell retained the feel of a village of the Frozen Mountains. The city had been built in concentric circles, forming three distinct districts. The first district was the most populous and spread widely. It included most of the taverns as well as the shops and a broad marketplace. Josselin smelled the smoked meat and seasoned ham hanging on the hooks and felt tempted by the red apples displayed in the stall. He heard the banging of the smith’s hammer coming from the smithy by the riverbank. On this bright day of late spring, the atmosphere was joyful, each conducting his daily business. The streets were tightly packed. Josselin focused on his mission and moved his mount towards the second district, where the residences o
f the rich families stood. From there, he headed to the last district. He crossed a bridge and passed in front of the temple. It was constructed in the style of the great Nordic longhouses, with carved patterns painted in red on the beams.
Josselin had not met a single orc during his progression through the city. Still, it did not mean that the inhabitants would welcome a captain of the Rebellion. Some cities like Embermire or Earthfell had chosen a relative neutrality. They would pay a heavy tribute in exchange for their preservation and the lives of their people. Occasionally, they would deliver traitors to the king to prove their good will. The tragic fate of Millhaven had proven to be an effective example to turbulent cities.
Between the temple and the keep, a stony path wound its way upwards to the mountains. Josselin followed it. There, between the cliffs and large boulders overhanging Earthfell, should lie the dragon’s lair. He had reached the first level of the path when light glowed through his pocket. Josselin took out the bag containing the artifact. The amulet hummed and irradiated white. Something was peculiar with the humming. Josselin raised the object to his ear. He listened. It was no humming—the artifact sang.
“It’s a call,” he whispered. “The amulet is calling for the dragon.”
He realized with horror what that meant. For a moment, he did not know if he should gallop higher on the path, away from Earthfell, or if he should hurry down and raise the alarm. From behind the first cliffs in the east came a steady flapping sound similar to giant sails unfolding in the wind, but Josselin knew that the sea was far. He raised his head and gazed at the sky as the buzzing grew. It was too late for the alarm.
The black shape passed over him, covering him with its shadow in a split second. Josselin’s horse stumbled backwards as he pulled on the reins. The dragon whirled around over the city. The scales on its broad body shone with the color of amber. It had the wings of a bat and was at least the size of two longships. Rows of bony plates ran down its back.
In the first district, black dots hurried in every direction. The beast came back on them, searching the ground like a bird of prey. The guards on the battlements shot their first arrows. Josselin judged it useless and foolish. It only increased the aggressiveness of the beast. The lean neck glowed crimson. As the wide jaws opened, the flames gushed out, down to the wooden palisade. Josselin heard bells resound. As soon as they heard the bong of the tocsin, people rushed out of every house, including the keep and the temple. The dragon spat more flames. It looked up and saw him.
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