Brave Men Die: Part 3

by Dan Adams

  ‘Please,’ she whimpered. She knew it was coming.

  He met her eyes before raising his hammer and violently ending her life. The sounds of her whimpers hung in the air; a ghostly memory replaced by silence from broken lips.

  Breathing heavily, Volans managed to look up in time to see the sword strike come from the left. Dodging to the side, he brought his hammer up and deflected it from taking him dead centre in the chest. It sliced down the side of his left arm leaving a shallow gash. The bitch had led him directly into the path of a waiting comrade. He hadn’t thought it possible.

  Volans kicked the man in the knee, hoped to break it, but settled for unsteadying the man. He barrelled into him, clutched the man’s weapon arm and tried to disarm him while clonking him over the head with his hammer. They fell to the floor in a tangle as each tried to disarm and kill the other. Muscles strained under the pressure, both knowing that only one man would survive the outcome and help was not close.

  Hydrus watched on as the enemy company’s standard bearer walked under the trees, doing his best to hold the pole upright while the banner itself got snagged on the branches. Tugging, the man finally wretched it free only to smack it on the next tree. A thin smile formed on his lips as the poor boy strained to keep it upright and tangle free.

  A few metres away stood the captain of the unit and a bishop in his robes. They trudged through the forest, the captain yelling orders to keep their eyes open and the bishop saying that this was the One God’s will.

  It may have been their God’s will to march through the forest, but it was Hydrus’ will that they had to worry about. And his men. A group of Nails squatted down behind a decaying tree stump, bows in hand with arrows nocked, waiting for him to give the order.

  Taking a deep breath, he nodded and the waiting men stood and turned, drew back their arms and sighted targets. Within a heartbeat six Kyzantines were dead or dying and the Nails were racing for their lives.

  The Kyzantine infantry went chasing after them, archers fired and spears flew through the air. The captain screamed for his men to chase and only realised his mistake when his men ran past the concealed Murukans and they sprung their traps, cutting down the pursuers.

  ‘Stay in line!’ the Kyzantine captain screamed. ‘Don’t break ranks!’

  It was already too late.

  Hydrus stepped around the tree and impaled the first soldier who was startled to see him there, his blade a foot out the soldier’s back. Pushing the body away he started running toward the command group, the need to silence the officers his top priority.

  The adrenalin pumped around his body as he reached the standard bearer, battered away his feeble attempt to defend himself, sending his sword flying and hammering a blow down across his face. The man fell in agony as the captain charged, trampling over the fallen company flag.

  Steel clashed and sparks flew around the blades as they slid along each other. The two opponents sprung apart as the bishop started hollering blasphemies and cursing Hydrus and his barbaric ways. They circled briefly, eyed each other off before they launched at each other. The combatants shifted between wards, blade parried blade, moving in and out of distance.

  He couldn’t look around, but Hydrus hoped no one else would join this fight. This was between them. The bishop was screaming off in the corner, some incoherent chanting that was starting to get annoying as it got louder and louder, faster and faster.

  The captain surged forward, pressing his luck as Hydrus parried the first and second blow and stepped around to avoid the third. Striking out at the exposed side, Hydrus covered quickly as the man snapped his blade around and countered as if he was expecting it. Cursing under his breath, Hydrus’ blade whirled around him in a blur of movement, defending and striking, inching closer and closer to his target.

  An arrow flew through the space between himself and the captain, took the Kyzantine sneaking up on him in the throat. Gurgled blood sprayed from the dying man’s mouth over the combatants. Temporarily blind, the captain brought his blade up which Hydrus parried with a low cross, kept the blade low, snapped his left arm around with a hook that sent the captain reeling back. The man charged back with a low thrust that would have impaled him if he hadn’t had the foresight to spin away to the right, letting the man ran slightly past him before he cut him down.

  Exhausted, Hydrus turned to the bishop, his lips still moving fervently in his high pitched preaching. Moving with deadly purpose, he tightened his grip on the blade as he went to finally silence the holy man.

  ‘The One God will not permit you to strike me down barbarian,’ he screamed, staring at Hydrus’ advance.

  Hydrus didn’t flinch, didn’t stop, this man and his words did not faze him. The energy that shot out of the amulet hanging from his neck did. The yellow energy sizzled through the air and Hydrus raised his sword in a feeble attempt to defend himself. The blade took the brunt of the force, shattering in his two handed grip and sending him flying back through the forest.

  The archers fired instantly. All the soldiers fighting in the nearby forest felt the energy, felt the magic. The Nails turned their attention to the bishop, the missiles falling harmlessly off the yellow shield that had surrounded the older man’s body. Hydrus got to his knees, dazed, and wondered when the Kyzantines had started condoning the use of magic, as the bishop started sending crackling beams of yellow light through the forest aimed at his men.

  The light punched through the chest of one, he screamed as his insides were ripped from his chest and fell to the blood-soaked ground. The Nails dove behind any cover they could find as the pulsing light shattered trees around them, branches and splinters exploding everywhere. The surviving Kyzantines ducked as well, edging their way closer to the bishop and behind his field of vision.

  Men died from both sides as Hydrus wondered about this new turn of events. He couldn’t really believe this was happening.

  ‘Archers keep firing,’ he screamed. ‘The rest of you, close the gap and kill that fucking bishop!’

  Sensing the charge, the remaining Kyzantines formed into thin ranks on the old man’s flanks and waited for the charge to come.

  The Nails sprung from their concealed positions, tore across the battlefield. A wave of arrows hit the ranks moments before the first of them crashed into it, blood erupting onto the battlefield. Hydrus charged from the front. He could sense the shadows moving alongside him as others blindly charged up the middle. It was suicidal, but this man had to die or the Nails were lost. Hydrus weaved between deadly energy blasts, his thighs straining under the pressure as his brain told his legs to run faster, to keep moving.

  His dagger felt comfortable in his left hand, his only weapon now except for his fists, but he was worried they wouldn’t be enough. The shield flared once again as the latest barrage of arrows rained down before another blast erupted from the bishop and seared its way through the man running on Hydrus’ left. The dying man’s scream echoed through the trees and Hydrus felt a twinge of guilt for not knowing who had been running by his side. He promised himself that he would find out later, if there was a later.

  On the right flank one of the Nails had broken through the line and ran hell-bent toward the bishop and his indestructible magic shell. Hydrus thought he was going to make it when the bishop turned and fired, the man diving forward underneath the attack and burying himself face first into the dirt. He screamed as smoke smouldered from the burn running down his shoulder and back.

  Hydrus ran harder, pushed himself faster and crashing through the magical barrier, he barrelled into the bishop. It did little to stop the flesh and muscle that was Hydrus — and he hit with enough force to fling the bishop metres back. Clamping his free hand around the old man’s neck, he began to squeeze the life out of him as the bishop’s thin strong fingers wrapped around his wrist and kept his dagger at bay.

  It came down to strength now. Magic couldn’t help the God-fearing man of the cloth and no aid would come from any of the Nails. This
was a struggle for survival and Hydrus wanted it more.

  As Hydrus’ hand squeezed tighter, the bishop’s grip loosened as he struggled to get oxygen through his crushed larynx. The blade lowered closer to his chest, Hydrus’ muscles straining to bring it down and end his miserable life. The old man’s lips moved fervently, a last prayer to his One God, before they too became slower and more deliberate. Hydrus didn’t care to know what he was saying, didn’t think it was really important. As the bishop took his last breath, Hydrus hammered the dagger down into his heart.

  Slowly he got to his knees, taking in the damage around him. It was over. The Nails that were positioned on the flanks were moving in, attracted by the pretty lights and the dying screams. Three Kyzantine soldiers had surrendered: they knelt with their hands on their heads, wide-eyed at the scene that had played out before them. Hydrus pulled himself up even though it was agony to do so. Tired and bloody, he turned to the closest soldier and told him to take inventory. He ran off to do it as Hydrus wondered how many had died.

  Looking down over the three prisoners, he stared at the young soldiers who had managed to survive. They were dirty and bleeding but wore that resigned look about their eyes, like it was all too much and they knew what was coming next. Two girls and a boy waited for the death sentence to be carried out, they looked no older than seventeen years of age. He hoped that they hadn’t all been that young.

  ‘Take their weapons and let them go. There has been enough death today. I don’t need more blood on my hands,’ he ordered the men standing with arrows trained on the prisoners.

  He looked directly at the prisoners. ‘Go home to your families; the war is over for you. You have served your Empire and you managed to survive — there is no shame in survival. Just don’t line up against us again. Who knows how lucky a man can be but who wants to risk his luck eh?’

  ‘Go.’

  The Kyzantines ran. They didn’t look back.

  Hydrus turned and walked away from the dead body of the holy man. He didn’t want to look at the piece of filth. What he wanted to do was find out who had died beside him.

  Castor came back to the rendezvous, dragging the dead body of a Kyzantine behind him, his arm straining under the weight as he pulled at the gambeson. The Nails had gathered around the fallen when he dumped the body in the middle of the circle.

  ‘They were kids, all of them. Not a single bloody adult on the entire south flank,’ Castor spat in disgust.

  The entire unit focused their attention on his outburst.

  ‘Does no one else care that we just butchered children who were pretending to play soldiers?’

  ‘Given the chance they would have killed you,’ Hydrus commented, the weight of the slaughter resting in his eyes.

  ‘That excuse is getting older by the minute, Hydrus.’

  ‘Not like those kids right?’ one of the Nails said.

  Castor and Hydrus both shot him a look that silenced him immediately.

  ‘If you need to blame anyone, Castor, blame that bloody Kyzantine bitch. She was the one that sent them in after us knowing that they could all die,’ Volans spoke as he entered the circle clutching the wound on his arm. ‘I killed them. We all killed them. No, they shouldn’t have been involved in it but they were and we had a job to do. Us or them. That’s the only rule that matters out here.’

  ‘We are behind enemy lines here, Castor,’ Hydrus interrupted. ‘We aren’t going to get any support, can’t run away to avoid doing what needs to be done. You just need to shut yourself off from looking at it like that. They are not some kids, they are the enemy.’

  Hydrus turned to the rest of the unit. ‘I know you all probably feel like Castor, that this lot was younger than the last, but you have to forget about your conscience and do as you are ordered. Do you understand?’

  The Nails answered in chorus, murmurs and slight nods of the head as Hydrus turned to Castor.

  ‘Yes, captain.’ Castor spoke the words but he lacked conviction.

  ‘How many did we lose? Volans asked.

  ‘Ten. All to that fucking bishop and his magic. When the fuck did they start dabbling in it anyway? Hypocritical bastards.’

  ‘Wounded?’ Volans asked as Hydrus’ breathing slowed.

  ‘Another eight,’ Hydrus answered.

  ‘I want graves dug, shallow but deep enough that the animals won’t get to them. It needs to be done quickly. We move back the way we came and head out before the bitch and her cavalry get around to the other side and realise that they haven’t flushed us out.’

  The Nails dispersed quickly, getting on with their jobs. Castor stood there silently for a while, looked at the dead bodies, their young eyes staring back at him until he didn’t feel anymore. He didn’t care that they were dead, just saw them as bodies, corpses. He blinked once during the whole time, then again only when he was done, deciding that he would kill who he had to, to make sure he had his chance at Pyxis.

  The sun was setting on the horizon and Pyxis became increasingly frustrated and erratic. For hours now there had been no sign of the cavalry exiting the woods and the thoughts that they might have escaped sent her fuming.

  The infantry were slow but it shouldn’t have taken them this long to push the Murukans out of the forest into her trap. Doubt was beginning to set in.

  ‘Cunx better have found them,’ she swore under her breath as she pressed her destrier harder.

  The beast under her was exhausted, only her constant urging and prodding kept it at its relentless pace. Pyxis would not stop until they found the Nails or Cunx and his half of her cavalry. Those behind her were trailing at a distance, cautious of getting too close.

  The last soldier who reported no sign of the enemy ended up with a blade through his chest. Pyxis was seething and made no attempt to control her anger. It had taken a few minutes for the red to fade from her vision and she realised that the only thing keeping the soldier upright was her firm grip on the blade buried in his flesh.

  She had left him where he fell and ordered the others to move out. Time was running out.

  In the fading light Pyxis noticed the cavalry riding toward her. They offered some hesitation before continuing as she drew her blade and her screaming battle cry pierced the air. Kicking her mount, the destrier charged toward the shadows on horseback. Her cavalry followed quickly but they would never reach her before she met the enemy alone.

  Galloping across the grass, the woods blurring past her, Pyxis only slowed when she recognised the familiar figure of Cunx at the front of the riders. Reining her horse to a stop, she let him come to her as she returned her blade to her scabbard.

  ‘Tell me you found them,’ Pyxis seethed.

  ‘No, not even a sign of them. There were no tracks of horses or men leaving the woods. I thought they must have come out on your side.’

  ‘They didn’t.’ The two sat there staring at each other, the possibilities turning in their heads. Slowly they both turned toward the woods and peered into the growing darkness within.

  ‘They wouldn’t have fought the entire infantry unit,’ Cunx said aloud, trying to reassure himself more than anyone else. ‘And if they broke through the line, their horses would have been too tired to run from them for long.’

  ‘Since when have this lot run, Cunx? They have butchered everything they have come across.’

  ‘We left that bunch of kids in there with them …’ Cunx let the sentence trail off.

  ‘That was hours ago. Fucking hell, they’re probably all dead by now and those bastards have had that time to move off in the bloody other direction.’

  ‘We can’t start chasing them now, Pyxis. The troops need to rest and the poor horses need to stop or they are going to die. If that happens then we’d really be fucked.’

  Pyxis was about to argue when Cunx interrupted with an authoritative dismissal. ‘No. We stop now and start chasing at sun up.’

  Pyxis was fuming but she knew Cunx was right. He was always right. In the morning
someone would die, and if it wasn’t one of those blasted Nails than the first one of her useless fodder to piss her off would pay.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Night had fallen and Pollux was relieved to see the backs of the Kyzantines through tired eyes. The men and women trudged back down the pass toward the valley, taking their siege equipment but leaving the hundreds of dead lying against the wall where they’d fallen. He silently hoped they weren’t planning to attack during the night, he didn’t know if he could pull himself back up the stairs to defend the walls. By the looks of the men, he didn’t think any of them would be in a hurry to come if the warning was called.

  Pollux pushed his weary legs to quickly walk the length of Black Claw’s walls. He needed to check that everything was adequate before he would be able to sleep. For the last three nights, sleep had eluded him because he’d forgotten to speak to Byrn and his mind wouldn’t rest until he remembered about what. Tonight he would sleep if it killed him. He walked past the sentries that Octans had posted along the wall, the flaming torches at their backs so as not to impede their vision as they stared vigilantly out into the pass. Gazing out for himself, the shadows were already dancing under the sides of the mountains and he hoped they wouldn’t turn into a real threat.

  He strolled through the compound, the familiar smells of dinner wafting to his nostrils and his belly grumbling at the recognition of food. He promised himself he would get some as soon as he had taken care of things.

  Byrn came up beside him and grimaced as he looked over his face.

  ‘Have you slept lately?’ Byrn asked.

  ‘Have I had time to?’ Pollux snapped defensively.

  He immediately regretted it and shrugged apologetically. ‘I need to find out how many more men I lost today so I know if I have anyone left to stand on the walls and defend them in the morning. Then I have to dispatch someone to Buckthorne to see if we can get some more supplies. Do you know that we almost ran out of arrows today? Fucking arrows?’