Ragged Heroes

by Andy Peloquin

  "Duvain!" Endyn's cry filtered through the blood pounding in his ears. "Let's go!"

  Duvain moved, slowly, as if lead filled his legs, stumbling after his retreating company.

  Beside the gate, the last wagon waited for the wounded soldiers. The driver fought for control of his horse, which reared and plunged, its eyes wide. The smell of blood and smoke drove it wild with fear.

  The beast let out a terrified shriek and reared once more. It took Duvain's mind a moment to register the arrow that had suddenly sprouted from the horse's neck. Beside him, the driver fell with a cough, hurled to the side by an invisible hand. He lay where he'd fallen, blood trickling from the arrow lodged in his throat.

  "Enemy contact!" Rold shouted. "About face, lads!"

  The corporal seized Duvain's arm and whirled him about. At the far end of the main square, a few hundred paces away, dozens of Eirdkilrs appeared through the smoke. Ten of them carried bows, which they drew back and loosed at the huddled Legionnaires. Duvain ducked behind his shield as the arrows thunked into the earth around him.

  "The gates!" Captain Lingram shouted. "Get to the gates!"

  Duvain watched from behind his shield as Weasel, Owen, and two other Legionnaires rushed toward the open gate. He knew it would be futile—the Eirdkilrs would swarm over them in a matter of minutes.

  A looming figure lumbered past him. Endyn. His brother raced not toward the gate, but in the direction of the cart. The horse's protests had quieted, its struggles weakening as the blood gushed from the arrow wound in its neck. With a quiet moan, it fell and lay still.

  "Endyn, what are you doing?" Duvain screamed.

  "Help me!" Endyn cried. Drawing his sword, he cut the horse's traces and seized the cart's wheels.

  Duvain suddenly understood. Closing the gate would do little, but Endyn had found a way to block them.

  He raced toward Endyn. "Owen!" he cried, thrusting a finger toward the nearest burning home. "Get fire."

  With a nod, Owen raced off.

  The barbarians' howls of delight filled the night, adding to the clatter of arrows thumping into the earth around Duvain, Endyn, and Weasel. Endyn heaved on the wagon, dragging it toward the gate.

  "Corporal, we need to get the wounded out of here!" Duvain shouted. "We'll hold them off, at least a little while."

  Rold's jaw had taken on a stubborn set. "You're idiots if you think this'll work."

  Duvain ignored him. He reached the wagon and gripped one of the shafts, lending his weight and strength to Endyn's. Weasel did the same with the other shaft.

  The wagon, loaded with provisions, weighed more than Duvain had expected. Even after Rold got the wounded off the wagon and on their feet, the three of them struggled to move it even a hand's breadth. He cast a glance back and his heart sank. The horse's struggles had cracked the front axle.

  But that didn't stop him from pulling for all he was worth. They had to cover the escape, no matter what. If they didn't, Awr, Brash, and the other Legionnaires at the east gate would have sacrificed their lives for nothing.

  The approaching Eirdkilrs seemed to understand what they were doing. Arrows whistled down around the three of them, and Endyn grunted as one pinged off his breastplate. Duvain ducked into the protective cover of the wagon.

  Weasel had nowhere to hide. He shrieked and fell, an arrow piercing his leg. Without a shield, he couldn't protect himself from the arrows. Howling in pain, he crawled under the wagon.

  Endyn cried out. Duvain's eyes widened—an arrow protruded from the side of his breastplate. A moment later, another thunked into his upper shoulder, followed by another in his leg. But the big Legionnaire refused to fall. With a grimace, he leaned forward and dragged the wagon onward.

  Duvain had a choice: help Endyn or shield him from the arrows. It was no choice at all. Releasing his grip on the wagon, he dove for a fallen Legionnaire's shield and raced around Endyn. He took up position between his brother and the oncoming barbarians. Arrows thumped into the shield as Duvain tried to block the incoming shafts.

  Too many slipped past. Every time Duvain looked back, a new shaft had pierced Endyn's chest, shoulder, back, sides, and legs. The barbarians loosed as they raced toward the struggling Legionnaires. Within seconds, Duvain knew they'd be overwhelmed.

  "Endyn!" he screamed.

  With a cry, Endyn threw his weight into dragging the wagon. The wheels creaked forward for a moment before, with an ominous crack, the axle snapped. The wagon tilted precariously—right toward the open gate. Duvain shielded Endyn as his brother raced around to the side of the wagon, crouched, pressed his shoulder against the underside of the wagon, and heaved. His muscles corded, his huge legs driving upward. A thunderous roar rumbled from his throat. Slowly, the wagon wheels lifted from the ground, and it toppled over onto its side with a tremendous crash.

  Endyn sagged, exhausted. The effort had taken everything out of him.

  "Get over the wagon!" Duvain shouted.

  Endyn struggled to his feet and tried to scramble up onto the wagon bed. His arms trembled, exhausted from the effort, and he fell.

  Duvain's gaze darted toward the oncoming Eirdkilrs. They had reached the well, and closed the remaining distance to the gate at full speed. Their howling war cries grew louder as they drew closer.

  A small figure appeared from the thick smoke. Owen raced toward them, a torch held in his hands.

  Duvain's gut tightened. The Eirdkilrs spotted the racing Legionnaire, and their bows turned toward him. More than a dozen barbarians loosed at the same time. The shafts streaked through the darkness toward Owen.

  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 approached.

  "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 Icespire 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. "Barkus, Scathan!" He called out. "Bring the girl here."

  The mercenaries pushed through the crowd, gripping the makeshift stretcher upon which lay 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 mome
nt 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 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 serve 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.