Destroy: (The Blades of Acktar 3.5)

by Tricia Mingerink

  It hurt so deeply Addie couldn’t even cry. After all their hopes and dreams for the beginning of their family, Keevan’s duty to the kingdom forced him to miss it.

  And, if he died, he’d never even see his child.

  War wasn’t fair. No matter the cause, it was heartless.

  But sometimes, it couldn’t be avoided. Duty pulled all of them to it. Everything in the past four and a half years had been in preparation for this moment. Keevan couldn’t shirk from it, and Addie couldn’t either. She’d agreed to this when she’d married him, knowing the country would often have to come first.

  “Just stay alive. Win. We’ll join you as soon as we’re able.” Addie tipped her face up and captured his mouth with hers. She would give anything to keep him here with her only a little longer. Another day. Another hour.

  But Keevan pulled back. His duty called, and she couldn’t do anything but let him go.

  As he strode from the cabin and she watched him mount his palomino, gather her brothers around him, and lead his army from Eagle Heights, Addie prayed it wasn’t the last time she would ever see them.

  Keevan prayed as he turned his horse around, his hands shaking on the reins. The battlefield lay in front of him. Dead soldiers piled in lumps marring the prairie. His blood pounded in his ears, as if to reassure him it was still in his body and not pouring from a gaping wound like so many of the soldiers staggering from the field.

  Respen’s army remained solid and impenetrable behind their entrenchments. The besieged town of Walden anchored their eastern flank while a fortified ridge held the western flank. Keevan’s charge at the middle had done little good.

  “Where’s Captain Alistair?” Keevan glanced at the bluff overlooking the enemy’s western flank. No movement. Not even a stir of breeze or a puff of dust.

  As predicted, the enemy scouts had detected the three hundred and fifty riders circling down the Spires Canyon, led by General Stewart’s son. The eastern flank had been strengthened, and by the time Captain Stewart led the charge from behind Walden, the line had wavered, but not buckled.

  The western flank was weak due to all the reinforcements that had been shifted to the center and east to ward off Keevan’s and Captain Stewart’s charges. Now was the time to strike, if only Shadrach got in position in time.

  He had to. Keevan could accept nothing else.

  “Form up for another charge.” Keevan steadied his horse and adjusted his grip on his sword.

  General Stewart shouted the order, and it was picked up by the captains and lieutenants. While their men assembled, General Stewart eased his horse closer to Keevan and lowered his voice. “If Captain Alistair doesn’t arrive in time, this charge will break like the last one, and this time, I don’t think we’ll recover. We’ll have to retreat and regroup.”

  “I know.” Keevan didn’t turn to look at General Stewart. He couldn’t afford to show even a hint of doubt. He was the Leader, and at this moment, he might be leading his men to disaster.

  But at least he’d made a decision.

  He straightened his shoulders. “He’s an Alistair. He will do nothing less than arrive at precisely the right time.”

  General Stewart’s saddle creaked. “The men are in position.”

  Keevan drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Once he gave the order, he was committed.

  All those years ago, God had preserved his life when he should’ve died. Maybe he’d been kept alive for this moment to restore truth and justice to Acktar.

  Or maybe that wasn’t God’s plan at all. Perhaps Keevan would die here, and restoring justice would be left to his son or daughter.

  Nothing Keevan could do but trust God and move forward.

  He’d done so little trusting in his life. He’d either wandered without a purpose or moaned about the purpose he’d been given. He’d focused solely on himself, kicking against anything that wasn’t what he wanted.

  But it didn’t matter what Keevan wanted. God had placed him in this position at this moment. Keevan was the Eirdon heir, even though he’d been born a second son. He’d lived, even though a Blade had been sent to kill him. He’d been given Addie’s love, even though his past should’ve made that impossible.

  Maybe victory would be possible. Keevan couldn’t be sure, but duty demanded he ride forward and face whatever God had in store for him.

  He glanced to either side. General Stewart was there. And the six soldiers who’d guarded him from the beginning. Addie’s brothers were also there, even Samuel. Frank gave him a nod. They would ride with him no matter what.

  “Charge.” Keevan nudged his horse into motion without waiting for General Stewart to pass the order along.

  Shouted orders rang out behind him. Then the thunder of hundreds of galloping hooves drowned out the sound of thousands of drumming feet.

  Arrows arced over his head, soundless as they descended onto the enemy’s line in front of him. More arrows answered, whipping past Keevan’s face and his horse’s flying mane.

  Keevan didn’t stop. He didn’t flinch.

  A distant sound caught his ear. He wasn’t even sure how he’d heard it over the pounding of his own horse’s hooves.

  But there, on the far bluff, a line of men and horses poured down the slope, a shining chestnut in the lead.

  Shadrach Alistair had done it.

  As if sensing his renewed energy, his horse gave an extra burst of speed as they reached the trenches. Keevan knocked aside a thrusting sword and leaned sideways to avoid another. His horse lurched onto the earth embankment.

  His men charged onto the earthen mound around him. General Stewart urged the soldiers onward.

  Keevan kicked his own horse. He had to go forward and trust his men would follow him.

  Everything was chaos. Striking, stabbing, dodging. Nothing Keevan had done in practice could’ve prepared him for this, not even sparring with all three of Addie’s brothers at once.

  But something was changing. The enemy was going backwards. Men broke from the fighting and ran. At first only a few, but then the whole line was wavering and falling back and running and…

  Keevan found himself at the top of the ridge, only his men around him in the closing darkness.

  Frank was next to him, unharmed except for a cut above his eye. Patrick swung down from his horse and stepped over to Keevan. “You all right?”

  “Yes.” Keevan eased down from his horse. His right shoulder ached, as did his arm. As he straightened, he found all the other muscles he’d pulled and overworked. He glanced around between Frank to Patrick to Brennen, who pressed a hand to a gash on his shoulder. “Where’s Samuel?”

  Frank stiffened and spun on his heel.

  Keevan fought to push down the weight in his stomach. Of all of them, why did it have to be Samuel? “Frank, go look for him. Patrick and Brennen, you’re with me.”

  Frank dashed into the twilight.

  Keevan gripped his horse’s reins. He couldn’t think about Samuel now. This entire army depended on him.

  General Stewart appeared out of the gloom. “Your orders, sire?”

  His orders. General Stewart was looking at him as if Keevan really was the Leader. As if he expected Keevan to be the wise one.

  Keevan forced his back to straighten. This was his purpose. Lead.

  After four years of helping to organize refugees at Eagle Heights, he even knew what to do. “Have the captains and lieutenants organize their men into their divisions and take a roll call of those still standing to help us identify the injured and dead. Instruct the healers to set up their tents near Walden. They’ll have better access to fresh water there. And we’ll need stretcher bearers to carry the wounded and a burial detail to see to the dead.”

  “I’ll see to it.” General Stewart nodded and clapped Keevan on the shoulder. “You should get some rest.”

  Keevan shook his head. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, not after the battle. Not while the screams and sobs of the wounded filled his ears. �
��I will later. I need to get Lord Alistair’s report.”

  If he’d been a better leader, he would’ve been prepared for after the battle. He would’ve had healers better organized so that the response would be quicker.

  “Very well.” General Stewart turned to attend to his duties, but Keevan held up a hand.

  “Wait, one more thing.” Keevan should’ve thought of this earlier. “Ask the captains and lieutenants to call for volunteers with any healing experience. Even if it’s only stitching wounds. Have them report to the healers by Walden. Oran, that means you too.”

  General Stewart nodded and strode away to carry out Keevan’s instructions. Oran, the soldier who’d stitched up Keevan’s wound years ago, saluted and dashed toward Walden.

  Picking his way through the dead and wounded men, Keevan found Lord Alistair partway down the hill toward Walden, leaning on Shadrach’s shoulder. Lord Alistair’s face showed pale and gaunt beneath his straggling beard, his eyes sunken into hollows. A bandage wrapped around his right leg below the knee while his left hand hung limp from the end of a sling. Gray streaked through his hair, something that hadn’t been there when Keevan had last seen him over four years ago.

  For some reason, Keevan hadn’t expected Lord Alistair to change, even though he’d watched Shadrach grow from a skinny teenager to a confident twenty-year-old captain. When reading Lord Alistair’s reports, Keevan had seen him with his unlined face and brown hair free of gray. The furrows and gray were almost as much of a shock as the tottering steps and thin body.

  Seeing him like this, it no longer mattered that Lord Alistair had hidden the truth of Leith Torren’s identity. He had given his last full measure to hold Walden and keep Respen’s army here. That was proof enough of his loyalty.

  Lord Alistair bowed as much as he could without letting go of Shadrach’s shoulder. “Your Highness.”

  There was something about the tone of Lord Alistair’s words. He’d bowed and said something similar all those years ago, but that had been out of duty to Keevan’s family name. This time, the words carried a depth, as if Lord Alistair believed Keevan deserved the title.

  As if he were the Leader in more than name only.

  Keevan waved at Lord Alistair’s arm. “What happened?”

  Lord Alistair gave a small shrug. The fingers of his hand flopped. “Part of a wall collapsed and crushed my elbow. I haven’t been able to feel or move my hand since. The healer is doubtful I’ll ever regain the use of it.”

  Keevan nodded and resisted the urge to run his fingers over his scar. He understood what it was like to lose the use of part of his body and fear he’d never regain it. “I’m sorry for your hand, but I’m grateful you survived.”

  Shadrach’s arm tightened around Lord Alistair’s back.

  “If you’re able, would you be willing to aid the healers in procuring water and other supplies that Walden has available?” Keevan pointed down the hill where a row of tall, white tents had already been constructed.

  “Of course.” Lord Alistair pulled himself straighter using Shadrach as a crutch. With another bow, he turned with Shadrach’s help and tottered down the hill toward Walden.

  Brennen stepped to Keevan’s side, a cloth now wrapped tightly around his upper arm. “Would you like us to set up your tent?”

  Keevan’s men had died today. Were still dying out there on the battlefield while they waited for someone to tend their injuries. He couldn’t just roll himself into his blanket and ignore them.

  Maybe he should rest or perhaps gather his war council to plan the next move on their march toward Nalgar Castle. Even now, Respen’s army had to be regrouping on some distant hill.

  But sleep and planning didn’t matter while the constant moaning and crying filled the night until even the crickets couldn’t be heard.

  “No. Come.” Keevan set off down the hill. Even this soon after the battle, men lay in rows next to the healers’ tents.

  He forced himself forward and knelt next to the first man in the row. The man’s hands clutched at a gaping wound across his stomach. The man’s eyes widened further. “S-sir.”

  “Rest easy.” Keevan pressed his hands over the wound.

  Patrick knelt, cut off the bottom of his shirt, and wadded it over the man’s wound. The look on Patrick’s face confirmed what Keevan suspected. The man wouldn’t last long, even with a healer’s help.

  Keevan met the man’s eyes. “Press this to your wound, all right?”

  The man managed a nod.

  “Hang on. The healers will get to you soon, I’m sure.” Keevan squeezed the man’s shoulder before he moved on to the next man in the line. Then the next.

  Keevan’s eyes ached, his back and leg muscles burned with the constant bending and kneeling. But he couldn’t allow himself to stop. Not until he’d spoken to every man who’d shed blood for him that day.

  Maybe it was foolish to even try. There were too many, and more being brought in every minute.

  But they had been willing to sacrifice everything for him. The least he could do was sacrifice a little time and rest for them.

  The next soldier in line couldn’t be more than sixteen. He rocked back and forth, both hands pressed to the deep gash across his face from the bottom of his ear to his mouth. Tears streamed from the boy’s eyes.

  Keevan rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll get a nice scar out of that.”

  The boy glanced up, and his eyes focused on Keevan’s face, probably on the scar. He shuddered.

  “I know it hurts.” Keevan rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But the healers will be with you soon. Hold on until then, all right?”

  The boy sniffed and nodded.

  Keevan had to move on. He had more wounded men and boys to visit.

  A few more lines of men later, he found Frank sitting beside Samuel. All the color had drained from Samuel’s face, and large red spot spread along the white shirt wrapped around his middle.

  Keevan sank to the ground next to them. “How bad is he?”

  Samuel shifted his head. “It hurts.”

  “It’s a bad wound, but should be all right once he receives attention.” The muscle at the corner of Frank’s jaw flexed.

  “Do you need me to speed things along?” Keevan placed his hands on the ground to push himself to his feet. If he asked, the healers would tend Samuel next.

  “No, don’t.” Samuel raised his hand, limply swatting at Keevan’s chest. “I-I can wait. Just like everyone else.”

  Keevan couldn’t find any words for that. He’d seen a lot of courage that day, but this was something more coming from his youngest brother-in-law. “Brennen, stay with them.”

  Brennen nodded and eased to the ground beside Frank.

  Frank met Keevan’s gaze. He understood. There had to be two of them. One to stay with Samuel and one to get help or fetch Patrick and Keevan if the worst happened.

  By the time dawn broke pink and raw across the eastern horizon, Keevan swayed on his feet. But when the captains gathered their divisions for their orders, Keevan saw something else in them. Something similar to the look that had been in Lord Alistair’s eyes.

  Yesterday, these men had followed him into battle out of duty. Today, they followed him because they believed him worth following.

  He wasn’t king yet, and he hadn’t won this war yet.

  But for one night, he’d done his best.

  And it had been enough.

  14

  Four long days of fighting. Three long nights of visiting the wounded. Keevan could count the hours of sleep he’d gotten on one hand.

  If he had the energy to concentrate that much.

  And now he crept along the bottom of the dry moat with his soldiers at his back, peering at the dark silhouette of the Tower looming against the faded, twilight sky and preparing to face the traitor Respen Felix.

  Shouldn’t he have felt more prepared for this? Ready? Excited to be finally facing Respen and taking back the country?r />
  He was just…tired. The kind of tired where his bones ached and his eyelids scratched. His muscles shook with the strain of keeping himself standing.

  But if they didn’t move tonight, his cousin Renna would die. They’d lose the distraction Leith Torren had volunteered to buy them with his torture.

  After all these years, what would it be like to face Respen? Respen had been the faceless monster lurking in the shadows for so long. He’d killed Keevan’s entire family, but Keevan couldn’t remember ever meeting him. Could he handle looking into the man’s eyes without losing his steel?

  Please grant me strength. Keevan breathed out the prayer, and his muscles eased. Whatever happened in the coming battle, win or lose, God was with Keevan, and God’s will would be done.

  Keevan followed the curve of the moat until the wooden bridge connecting the Tower to the rest of the castle rose above his head. With the bridge shielding them from the view of anyone in the main part of the castle, Keevan pointed upward. Two of his men positioned themselves along the wall and boosted a third man out of the moat. They repeated the action until everyone but Keevan had scrambled out of the moat and lay on their stomachs next to the Tower.

  Keevan stepped onto their hands. Dirt crumbled against his fingers when he steadied himself against the bank. The men boosted him upward, and he rolled over the edge onto flat ground.

  Frank and Patrick leaned over and yanked the two men up one at a time from the moat.

  The five-story Tower speared the sky, blotting out any view of the first evening stars. High on the top floor, Respen was meeting with his Blades. Was Leith Torren already dead? Keevan couldn’t feel any urgency for that Blade, but if Torren was dead, then Renna wouldn’t be far behind. And Keevan owed Renna for the misery he’d caused her when they were children, and for all the years when she’d unknowingly stayed in Acktar facing the danger meant for him.