Finn bit his lip, his mind racing. Goblin patted his shoulder. “It’s-okay. I-like-being-tough-you-know. Not-like-I-was-happy-being-a-scrawny-nobody. Sorry-we-didn’t-tell-you-right-away. We-had-to-test-out-what-I-could-do: see-if-I-was-going-to-turn-into-some-monster-or-stay-the-same.”
“We can use this to our advantage.” Salt spoke. “Goblin has no bracer, yet he has a power. Perhaps he will be a better emissary to the king than a Star-Child.”
Finn had to admit what Salt was saying made sense. A voice called out to them from above, urgent and serious. “Salt! Pressing news from one of your runners!”
Salt frowned and ran to one of the ropes hanging down. Finn and Goblin followed, climbing out after the leader. Petreamus greeted them at the edge of the pit, surrounded by the entire Coalition. A young man stood beside the healer, breathing heavily. He was a messenger—Finn had seen Salt use them to learn of the happenings around Lenova, bringing back information of rogue Star-Children and sending letters to the king.
“Sir,” the boy began. “Mal’Bal’s forces are moving out of Kazma. They head North, already destroying the nearby villages, killing whomever won’t join.”
The Coalition murmured to themselves. Finn stiffened.
“That’s not all.” the boy said between lungful’s of air. “Wild Star-Children are joining him. I’ve spotted them sir. They wander Mal’Bal’s troops with bracers on their wrists!”
Salt was no longer playful, but as serious as one could get. There was silence in the camp as the Coalition awaited his words with bated breath. The sailor rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and his eyes flickered for a moment: showing sadness—perhaps a fatherly worry.
“Gather yer belongings. Gather yer weapons. We must end this before Lenova lays in ruins. We march now. We march for war.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT:
March for Lenova
—Circa 5,603 E.E. (Economic Era-The 17th Era): A competition of insults is held in the Raven’s-Corpse Pub, hidden in the grimy downtown of the Opal Dominion. Men—and even a few women—step forward to face competitors. The objective is to display the most colorful, creative, and vulgar of insults. The crowd is made judge and the winner is promised free ale for the rest of their lives. After hours of competition, the insults grow more and more fierce and all believe Trogg the Itcher will take the prize. Confident, and having beat dozens before him, Trogg boasts to the crowd of his success. One man steps forward, nameless and carrying a swanky attitude that leaves the women fawning over him. He approaches Trogg and after clearing his throat, begins to insult him. Only exaggerated rumor is left to tell of what happens next. Some say the insults were so fierce that Trogg fell backwards with an instant nose-bleed, eyes rolling to the back of his head and teeth chattering. Some say the insults were so quick and vile that many in the crowd became permanently deaf while others went stark-mad. The only facts that can be confirmed is that mere minutes later the entire pub was on fire, an escaped horde of goats was running amuck down the alley streets, and a giant wheel of cheese was wedged over the doors of a nearby cathedral, twelve meters up. Trogg did not win the competition.—
After four days on the road, the Coalition was finally marching in rhythm, feet treading with the thump, thump, thump of synchronicity. Eyes forward as he’d trained, Finn focused on Salt, who moved ahead at the front of the battalion, riding on a gray stallion. The twins Justice and Punishment rode as well, using the horses Altin had bought in EldenBurrow. Occasionally, they would canter up and down the sides of the Coalition, checking for stragglers. To Finn’s side, Leeya and Goblin marched as well, both with looks of vengeance and determination. Goblin offered him a waterskin and Finn took only one small sip.
Most in the Coalition wore no armor, planning to activate their bracers before the battle. The only ones who did wear armor were Finn—and surprisingly—Salt. Goblin had chosen to go bare-chested, hoping Mal’Bal would see his failed attempt. He assured Finn and Leeya any brute attack would bounce off him as easily as an apple hitting a tree. He told them weapons cut him, but the wounds would be shallow and none would go deep enough to hit a vital spot. In Finn’s opinion, his friend’s open confidence made him look far older and far more menacing than half the Coalition—in fact, many members glanced to Goblin with reverence and small smiles, as if more relaxed that the boy was on their side and not against them. Indeed, Finn’s friend had grown up, yet was still the same—Finn was glad for that. A few pats to the shoulder even came his direction as Star-Children congratulated Finn on his fight. One told him she was eager to see his bracer come to life and Finn agreed, wishing the damned object would work.
One by one, Star-Children were asked to come forward and talk to Salt. They would walk beside the leader and listen as the man explained a variety of tactics for them to use when the battle started. Unlike traditional war strategies, the Coalition was to try a far more personal spread-out approach. With each Star-Child unique and powerful, Salt wanted them to apply their abilities in specific ways that would greatly improve their chances. Finn could tell the Coalition leader was new to the position of general, but Salt tackled the job with eagerness and energy.
The Coalition halted at Salt’s command and the sailor jumped off his horse. The Star-Children took advantage and fell to their rears, resting. Petreamus, serving as Salt’s right-hand-man, walked to Salt with a map in hand. The two sat on a rock and discussed their position in relation to Mal’Bal’s march.
“We’re here sir. Our last informant told us the cult heads this way.”
“They’re still ahead of us, but we’re angling in from the East. Can we catch up Petreamus?”
“Yes. His forces are much larger than our own. I’m sure Mal’Bal knows we’ll reach him soon.”
“Then he’ll have a strategy to counter us. What are his numbers?”
“Counting himself, nine Star-Children, over eight-thousand cult members, nearly a thousand robbers, bandits, and killers, seven-thousand newly-inducted into the cult, two-hundred golems, and almost twelve-thousand slaves. That’s a force near thirty-thousand strong.”
Those in the Coalition that heard the words staggered in place. The numbers…. the Coalition only had one-hundred! Salt sucked in his breath.
“There are reports that many are weak from malnutrition. It’s hard to feed an army of such size, and it seems Mal’Bal doesn’t care if they drop dead in their march or not: he’ll merely enslave and recruit more. If we consider that many of the slaves won’t fight, we can perhaps expect eighteen-thousand or less.”
“Sir, for us to win a fight of that magnitude, each member of the Coalition will have to kill nearly two-hundred a piece.”
“We’re Star-Children Petreamus. We can do the impossible. Remember what we fight for.”
“Sir…this might be suicide.”
Finn couldn’t process the emotions running through him as he overheard the words. Sweat ran under his armor, yet he wasn’t as exhausted as when he’d first worn Old Heavy. Was he going to die soon? He had no power, only adequate fighting skill.
“We need the king’s support!” one of the Star-Children spoke out.
“It’s pointless.” someone else groaned out in chant.
“We fight for nothing!”
A fear took hold of Finn—but not for himself, no he’d accepted his own death since a young boy, each day stepping foot into the mines. The fear came from not having seen all of Lenova, from not having spent enough time with his friends. He looked about: Goblin was busy in conversation with Cion but Leeya was alone, yards away staring at the horizon. He hurried to her, standing by her side.
“Leeya…” he began.
“Don’t.” she spoke, her words hard and sharp. Finn was thrown back by her anger.
“I was just—”
“No Finn. Don’t say it.” she snapped again. She didn’t look to him, but kept her gaze elsewhere. “You won’t die.”
Finn was silent. Leeya had guessed his words. There was
no emotion in her face, yet there was passion behind each quivering sentence.
“But if I do…” Finn started. “I—”
Again, she cut him off. “I’ll never forgive you.” Her back was rigid and her breathing shallow. Sunlight glinted off her hair and Finn could smell the cinnamon and spice. His stomach rolled. Where was she at that moment? Was she far-away? Or was she so close he could touch her? Embrace her? Finn’s armor was both cold and hot, his bracer ticklish.
“Alright.” he said with a slow nod. “I won’t.”
He turned to leave. “Stay.” she called out. Immediately he was at her side again, so close they nearly brushed shoulders. They didn’t speak after that, but instead enjoyed the break, not knowing if it was to be their last moment alone together.
The march continued and the Star-Children pushed with heavy hearts, but confident steps. They knew the end might come, but by the love of Lenova Salt had instilled into them, they moved without hesitation. Finn made a promise to himself—that he would at least reach Mal’Bal and wound him.
They were five days into their North-Western march, curving left to draw closer to the cult. By Petreamus’s estimations, they were only a day behind, hounding at Mal’Bal’s heels. Surely the Lich-Lord knew of the Coalition. They’d seen many horses take off from hilltops in the distance, hooded figures bent low over the animals. The cult had been watching their progression as closely as one could. At one point, Antina and Altin drew out both bow and crossbow, shooting arrows across the wide grassy expanse. Antina struck one of the spies in the spine, killing him. Salt examined the body and found a parchment with a rough drawing of their location and notes on some of their potential powers. Grimly, they moved on, now with weapons drawn in case of a trap.
The ground lowered in elevation, making marching easier. The grass grew taller, tickling their shins, and soon they were squelching in mud. After a while, they were wading through clear water up to their knees, green stalks rising to their waists. They were in a rice field as far as the eye could see. Finn took off the lower part of his armor, freeing his legs and giving himself more maneuverability. His travel pack took on more weight as he put the pieces away. Salt did the same from his horse. In the distance, they could make out a dark line straight across from them. Mal’Bal’s forces, waiting. Yet the Coalition hesitated, because the line was a lot smaller than it should have been.
“I don’t like this.” Salt muttered, and Finn, a few paces behind, was one of the few to hear. Had Mal’Bal readied a trap for them?
“Drop your packs!” Salt ordered. “Weapons at the ready!” The Coalition obeyed.
Having no other choice, they continued to move, the water neither rising nor lowering. Closer and closer they drew, until individual sizes could be made out. There were three lines, stacked one behind another. Finn squinted his eyes. The first line looked human, bent and waiting. The second as well. And in the far back were golems. Many of them. One in particular seemed strange: jagged and awkward, like a massive porcupine on two legs. The golems rose above the water, each nearing the height of three men. But where were the tens of thousands?
When the Coalition was a hundred yards away, they stopped. Silence reigned out save for the chirping and buzzing of bugs. The sky was clear and bright, sunlight glinting off the water and reflecting into their eyes. The temperature was warm and delicious, yet the beautiful day only added a sense of morbidity to the moment.
Up close, they could now make out their enemy in greater detail. The front line was comprised of slaves, chained by the neck. Their metal cords ran back, tied to thick black collars worn by the golems themselves: a human wall of protection. Many in the Coalition swore and spat into the water around them, disgusted and horrified. By being tied, the slaves would be forced into battle whether they liked it or not. The men and women couldn’t run away, nor turn and fight the cult. They’d been assigned their fate. Behind them, a large mass of cult members, slavers, murderers, and thieves awaited. In the center were the eight Star-Children Salt’s spies had reported. But where was Mal’Bal? Where was the large army they’d been told of? The land was flat for at least twenty kilometers in every direction. There were no traps that they could see. Salt was swearing, enraged.
“Damn the rotten demon! He’s left a portion of his army behind to stop us while he moves on! He doesn’t fight us himself!”
Salt’s horse whinnied and trotted a few paces forward. “COWARDS!” Salt bellowed. “WHERE’S YER GREAT MASTER? DOES HE RUN AWAY WITH HIS TAIL BETWEEN HIS LEGS?”
One of the Star-Children broke ranks and walked forward. He was portly and wore fine clothing. His black hair was slicked tight, as if pinned to the back of his head. The Star-Child spread out his arms, laughing. He carried himself like a nobleman. A golem stepped forward as well, its legs arching over the army and bringing itself to the front. It was the golem that from a distance had resembled a porcupine. Up close, Finn could see it for what it was and his stomach dropped. Mal’Bal had brought to life a new monstrosity, this one more terrifying than all others. With a green gem heart, the golem was wrapped by thick layers of metal wire—all of it tightly holding thousands of weapons. Swords, lances, scimitars, axes, and all sorts of sharp blades stuck out in every direction, twisted and knotted by wire. It had no slaves tied to it and moved like it was in charge. With a large rectangular shield for a face, it stood twice the height of other golems. The Star-Child that’d come forward didn’t look pleased or comfortable standing by it. The man took one step sideways, sighed, and looked to them.
“I am Portious VoidGrasper. I speak for the Lich-Lord, new God of Lenova. Mal’Bal sends you a message: Let’s not fight. Instead, join us. Join us and keep your lives.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE:
The RedWater Skirmish
—Hush now young child, and you shall be marked, with a prick to the finger, black ink your hand pockmarked. The sign of the snake you shall be, to strike for House Glover, bring fear for me. Young boys born for the Family shall be taught all to kill, how to remain silent, how to remain still. Forget dreams of peace and forget mother’s embrace, sun-stroked days of dainty memory erase. You are now… Family.—
-Words too dangerous to disclose origin
There was silence among the Coalition. Finn and the Star-Children looked to each other with shocked expressions. Their feet moved in place, sinking in the marsh. A gentle breeze hit their faces.
“Think about it!” Portious called out, shrugging his shoulders. “No one here has to die. Not one drop of blood needs be spilled! Mal’Bal treats his Star-Children with the greatest of luxuries! The best food, wine, and spoils always goes to us! He’s promised us lordship and dominion over the many cities we conquer and will grant us whatever we want! Come forth and live!”
The Coalition murmured to each other and many looked to Salt. The sailor spat, his face masked by rage. Before he could shout anything, there was movement from nearby. Two Star-Children broke ranks and ran past Salt, running through the rice stalks. It was Scarecrow and Mole-Face.
“Wonderful!” Portious giggled. “Wise you are, the two of you! First of many, I hope?”
When they’d reached a safe distance, the two stopped and turned around. “Altin!” one called out. Finn’s throat tightened. “Altin, come with us!”
Altin took a few steps forward, stepping near to Salt. The sailor held a deep sense of betrayal. The man had given his all to his Star-Children. He looked heart-broken. Finn could see the Coalition leader’s arm slowly moving toward his blade. Altin’s face was red and blotched, his long yellow hair pulled back. He was hesitating in place.
“Don’t stop, fool! Hurry!” Scarecrow called out. “You’ll die if you stay! What have they done for you? Nothing! You know it’s a lost cause!”
Altin moved and Salt went for his blade. Finn sprinted. No, even now he couldn’t—couldn’t let Altin leave them! Altin dropped to his knees, yanking out his crossbow. Salt’s blade swiped over Altin’s head, missing hi
m. An arrow launched out. It flew true and straight, crossing the expanse and hitting Scarecrow through the neck. Everyone stopped, frozen. Altin stood, then hovered above the water, bracer activated, putting another bolt to his weapon. Mole-Face was already running away, the water he churned red from his friend’s corpse. The second bolt whined out, missing the traitorous target.
“No!” Altin shouted, now lowering back down as Mole-Face ran into the cult’s ranks. “It’s not a lost cause! It—it can’t be!”
Finn was stunned. He’d been sure Altin was leaving them… giving up… Even Salt was bug-eyed. The Coalition leader, for the first time, was at a loss for words. Finn kept moving forward, sloshing through the water in a daze. He reached Altin’s side. Altin scowled at him and turned away. “If you think that means anything—it doesn’t.”
But Altin was wrong and they both knew it. It did mean something. Finn smiled, not even caring that within the hour he might be dead. “You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met Altin.” Altin spun, anger in his face.
“Fools!” Mole-Face shouted, his body hidden behind the slaves.
Salt breathed in and cleared his throat. “Leave those of ye that are wise, stay those of ye that are fools! For if I won’t budge, a fool I be!” The coalition leader trotted back and forth on his horse in front of them, a blush to his face and a wild look to his eyes. He stared at Finn and Finn gave him a nod. The Coalition leader pursed his lips. “For I shall be a fool and a fool I shall be, marching through Lenova, sword in hand, defending those that can’t fight! A fool shall I be on the day I die by the weapon of my foe! A fool shall I remain, from now until the end of all time, having challenged unstoppable enemies, unbreakable armies, even fate itself! And when Mal’Bal is at his highest…” He stopped dead center in front of his Coalition, his curved sword upraised. Finn’s heart hammered like a caged animal, fire ran through his veins, ice through his marrow. It was time to save Lenova.
SunRider: Book 1 (The SunRider Saga) Page 37