Knight Of The Flame

by H John Spriggs

  He looked over his shoulder at the mass of Black Moon soldiers. They were starting to get organized again. They'd be making their way up the ridge before long.

  There wouldn't be time to move the body. He doubted he could take on an entire army at once.

  And so, Caymus ran.

  He slid his way down the outer slope of the ravine, heading toward the red and gray outcroppings of the Greatstones. On this side of the steep rise, the boulders were both huge and densely packed, with spaces in between that would afford him the ability to move around in secret. Mally had insisted they use this place as an escape route, should the day not end in their favor.

  He felt numb. Every step he took away from the ridge sapped energy from heart. He tried to keep his attention on the uneven ground before him, but he was having trouble concentrating. That terrible moment, when the life had gone out of Mally's eyes, kept playing in his mind, over and over again, and the experience of it was sapping his will. Instinct was keeping him going, the instinct to stay alive, to flee from the men who sought to spill his blood. If not for that instinct, he might have simply fallen to the ground, unable to think.

  An arm grabbed him as ran, yanking him out of his dark thoughts and, instead, behind one of the larger boulders. He spun with his sword, ready to take the arm off, but when he saw Garrin's concerned face looking back at him, he relaxed his muscles.

  "Mally?" Garrin's voice didn't hold any hope. He knew already.

  Caymus shook he head. "I couldn't stop them in time," was all he could think to say.

  He expected to see more emotion in the prince's face, sorrow for a friend whose company he would never enjoy again, or contempt for the one who had let him die, but Garrin's eyes betrayed no such reaction. Those eyes seemed sharp, alert, focused on the moment. Big Grant was crouched down next to him, his head cocked to one side, his eyes closed, listening for any signs of pursuit.

  "We need to get back to the horses," Garrin whispered, addressing both of them. "Black Moon is mostly infantry, so they won't be able to catch up if we can get mounted before they reach us."

  Big Grant, his huge arms tense under his leather armor, opened his eyes and chanced a quick look around the boulder. "They haven't crossed the ridge yet," he said when he turned back. "I was hoping we'd have more even ground, but we can hurry through these rocks if we're careful enough."

  "Garrin," Caymus said, grabbing the prince's arm, "I can't go with you. I have to go." When Garrin turned to meet Caymus's eyes again, they were angry. "I'm sorry, Your Highness," he said, assuming that it was the familiar form of address that the prince was balking at, "but that soldier out front, the one with the horns, he looked right at me. He knew where I was without looking. If we stay together, he'll find all of us."

  "Forget it, Caymus," Garrin replied. "We're in this together, and you're my responsibility. We don't separate. Nobody else is getting left behind."

  "But, Your Highness—"

  "I said forget it!" Garrin repeated in a forced whisper. "Maybe he knows where you are," he continued, more calmly, "or maybe it was just an obvious hiding place. I don't care. We stick together."

  "Mally made me promise to keep you safe, Sire," Caymus said. "The best way I can do that is to stay away."

  Garrin's voice softened a bit, his expression lost some of its intensity, and he put a hand on Caymus's shoulder. "All right, Caymus," he said. "I'll tell you what. Right now, we're being chased through unfamiliar territory that we can't hope to hide in forever, which means I'm likely to need that sword of yours far more than I need to be invisible. Once we get to the horses, we'll need to split up anyway, so you can leave us behind then if you're still so inclined. Deal?"

  Caymus was about to object again when the unmistakable sound of foot-scrapes started coming toward them. Garrin pulled Caymus against the boulder next to him, and they waited for inevitable confrontation.

  Caymus felt his senses intensify again, felt the world slow down a little. He listened carefully to the footfalls, picking out five sets of feet. How had so many of them gotten across the lip of the ravine so quickly? He'd had to traverse the same ground twice that morning, helping Mally set up the trap, and it had taken him at least five minutes each time. He was certain that the fight at the top of the ridge had been less than two minutes ago.

  As the steps got closer, the three men tensed, weapons at the ready. Caymus considered his enemy's position: if he were the pursuer, and if he were aware that his quarry was hidden behind this boulder, he'd be sure to split his men up and attack from both sides. Remembering what Mally had made him promise, he kept his attention focused on the side where the prince knelt, preparing to deflect and return the coming attacks.

  Just as he was about to leap into action though, he noticed that the footsteps were gathering on only the left side. He paused, thinking it a strange choice of tactic, then realized what it must mean. Quickly, he flattened his back against the boulder again as the five men quickly strode straight past their hiding spot.

  Confused, he held still, controlled his breathing, and quietly waited for the men to get out of earshot.

  "Couldn't find you after all, eh?" Garrin whispered. Caymus turned to look at him, then sighed in relief when the prince gave him a wink.

  "That's good news," he was forced to admit.

  "The bad news," said Grant, "is that we've got Black Moon between us and the horses now. That's going to make the going a lot slower." He turned to Garrin. "We could probably sneak up on the ones just passed us, take 'em out without raising the alarm."

  Garrin seemed to consider this. "I don't know about our chances of getting away with that." He turned to Caymus. "What do you think?" he asked. "You're the only one of us who's actually fought one, so far."

  Caymus wished he could be certain of their success against such foes, but he'd already seen enough death today and he dared not take any needless chances with their lives. "Whatever it is the kreal does to their skins," he said, "it hasn't taken fully to all of them yet, so we've got regular soldiers mixed in with the ones that are harder to kill. I wouldn't recommend going after them, though, not if we want to stay hidden. One of them's bound to get away, and that's all it'll take to get the whole mess on us." He was surprised at the amount of pride he felt in the fact that the prince, an experienced commander, was asking for his opinion.

  Garrin nodded. "All right then," he said. "Looks like we've got some sneaking ahead of us." He turned to look past Big Grant at the southern skyline, just visible between the boulders. "I just hope we get there before we run out of daylight."

  The next several hours passed slowly, tortuously, as the three men spent long stretches of time silently making their way through the rocks and gullies of Greatstones' southern flank. They moved at a snail's pace, each man keeping low to the ground, trying to make as little noise as possible. Each time the sounds of footfalls approached, they had to locate, and quickly scurry into, a small, dark space, wait for the danger to pass, then emerge, make a little ground, and repeat the process over again. After awhile, the sun reached its zenith, and then began to descend. As the hours passed and the sun got lower in the sky, the patrols, always groups of five men, became more frequent. The second group they encountered arrived half-an-hour after the first. By the time the sun had set, Black Moon soldiers were appearing every few minutes or so.

  An hour or two after dusk had settled into night, Caymus found himself on his belly, hiding under yet another low rock shelf, waiting for yet another patrol to pass. He passed his fingers in front of his face. Though a waxing moon hung in the sky, he could barely see anything in the dark space into which they had secreted themselves. The hollow was tight and cramped. Big Grant, in particular, was having a difficult time squeezing his bulk in.

  Caymus hoped the patrol would pass soon. The more time they spent keeping still like this, the greater the chance their tired muscles would start to seize up.

  He thought that they had to be getting close to their mou
nts by now. Keeping to the shadows as they were, he was having a hard time making out any of the landmarks he'd noted when they'd left the horses that morning, but his internal sense of direction was telling him they couldn't be far away.

  "Alright," whispered Garrin, bringing Caymus back to the present moment, "let's go."

  The three men crawled out of the hole they'd been hiding in and slowly crept through darkness, moving toward the same easterly star which had been guiding them for hours now. Caymus, crouched over so as to conceal himself behind the massive boulders as much as possible, made sure his feet landed squarely, not skidding or scuffing but making perfect contact with the ground so as not to create any unnecessary noise. He held his sheathed sword in his hand, not wanting the scabbard to knock into or dislodge any rocks while riding on his hip. The prince and Big Grant did likewise, though they didn't need to stoop nearly as much.

  Caymus had to stop himself from literally tripping over his own feet when he rounded a jagged boulder and met with a sight that made his breath catch in his lungs.

  They'd found the clearing they'd been making for all this time. The enemy, however, had found it first. Ahead of them were the corpses of all seven horses, as well as the bodies of two men.

  Caymus slowly stepped forward, his heart in his throat, and approached the carnage. He could hear the quickened breathing of the other two men as they, too, rounded the boulder and caught sight of the grizzly scene. The moon illuminated the small patch of sand, shedding ghostly white over the dead. The first body was easy to identify at this distance: Bigger Grant had deep gouges all over him; he lay in the middle of a large, red stain where his blood had soaked into the ground. Harrison was there too, his smaller form a stark contrast to Grant's massive body. He'd been thrown on top of Bigger Grant, as though their enemy had considered him some manner of refuse. One of his hands was missing.

  The horses had been butchered. Legs and heads had been chopped or sawed off, then piled together in the center of the clearing. Caymus had to turn away when his eyes caught the brown and white pattern of the gelding he'd brought with him from Flamehearth's stable. Another tumor of guilt took root in his heart. The animal had been quiet and good-natured during the trip, but Caymus hadn't even learned the horse's name before he'd put a saddle on him. The poor thing hadn't asked to be here; he'd forced this kind, gentle animal to come on this trip, and he'd led it to its death.

  What kind of monster was he turning in to?

  "Caymus." Garrin's voice came from behind, low and gentle. Caymus turned and stared at the prince, unable to speak. "We don't have time. Get whatever supplies you can carry. We need to move quickly." Caymus nearly fell backward in surprise at the prince's coldness. How could he be so calm?

  Then, Garrin stepped forward and put a hand on Caymus's shoulder. "It's not your fault, my friend," he said. "Black Moon did this, not you."

  Caymus felt a held breath explode, ragged, from his lungs. He nodded, getting control over his emotions again. Garrin stepped past him, slid the hand from his shoulder, and moved among the bodies, his eyes to the ground.

  Caymus turned and did as he was told. Finding his gear wasn't difficult: the corpses being all piled together meant everything else—food, water, weapons—lay openly on the ground, bloody, but easy to spot. Swallowing to dislodge the tightness in his throat, he bent down and collected his backpack, opening it to check that his supplies were still there.

  He sighed quietly when he saw his shield, splintered and broken, next to the pile of horseflesh. He'd been anxious to get the shield back, anxious to have one more object to place between the prince and the soldiers of Black Moon. Now, there would only be him and his sword.

  He hoped it would be enough.

  He felt, more than saw, the prince kneel down next to him. "Time to go, my friend."

  ***

  The night seemed endless.

  Caymus kept wishing they could rest as he crouched, waiting in the dark. He wondered just how much time had passed since they'd found the butchered horses and the bodies of Harrison and Bigger Grant. The movement of the moon across the sky made him think it must be have been several hours, at least. He kept expecting the sky to start brightening, but it remained resolutely black, as though mocking his petty desires.

  The patrols were endless, too. Just as they had been leaving the bloody clearing with what remained of their supplies, Bernie and Cyrus had appeared, apparating in the starlight as though they had been summoned there by magic. There had been a very quick discussion about the bodies of their friends, whether they should bury or burn them, pay their last respects somehow, but the prince had cut the conversation short, declaring in no uncertain terms that they didn't have time. The three remaining men of the prince's guard—Cyrus, Bernie, and Big Grant—hadn't liked the idea of leaving their brethren behind, but they'd understood why they'd had to do it.

  Since then, they'd spent the night making their way east, generally following the road to Kepren, which lay a few hundred yards south, but keeping to the boulders and furrows, trying to stay hidden from the thousands of eyes of Black Moon. They'd managed to remain undetected, so far, but they all knew that the road would turn south eventually; sooner or later, they would have to decide whether to keep hiding or make a break for it.

  "If it was any other army," Cyrus had said, "we could just steal some horses and get away. Trust us to find ourselves running from the only military in the world that doesn't use regular cavalry."

  The words had brought short-lived smiles to the faces of the men, with the exception of Bernie. Bernie's dark eyes were set into a seemingly permanent scowl, and Caymus had witnessed several contemptuous stares in his direction over the course of the night. The man obviously blamed him for what had happened to his friends. Caymus couldn't argue the point.

  The intensity of the patrols had eased off slightly since they had left the clearing, but they were still appearing, suddenly, out of the darkness, far too often. Caymus couldn't understand why Black Moon was still spending so much effort in trying to find them. Surely, the army should have given up on this small band by now, should have moved on, concentrated on making its way south toward Kepren.

  A possible explanation—the obvious one—nagged at him. Somehow, they knew he was in the area, but couldn't pinpoint his position. Maybe it was just that single figure, the one who had stepped out in front of the army and pointed its sword at him, that could tell exactly where he was. That would certainly make the most sense, considering the events of the last dozen hours or so. Hopefully, Black Moon's leader wasn't among the searching patrols.

  Garrin still wouldn't let him go, wouldn't let him strike out on his own and lead the Black Moon soldiers away, despite numerous pleas that it was the right thing to do. "Look, Caymus," he'd finally said, "even if that horned bastard is able to find you—and I'm not convinced that he is—you're part of this unit now, and we live and die as a unit. If you want to keep me safe, then do it by using that knowledge of yours, that experience fighting these things, but I don't want to hear any more about this 'leave me behind' business. Do you understand me?"

  Caymus had stared at the prince a long while before he'd finally acquiesced. "Good," Garrin had said. "I've lost three very good men today, men I cared about. I'm not losing any more."

  Despite his opinion that Garrin, the prince of Kepren, was making the wrong decision, Caymus had to admit that he respected the man's resolve. He found himself wondering again why he felt such kinship with him. He couldn't think of any single act of Garrin's that had specifically earned his trust, no instant that had cemented him, in Caymus's mind, as a great leader, and yet Caymus felt a strong bond with him. He barely knew the prince in any way that mattered, but he believed he would follow the man into the very maw of death.

  Many hours later, in the cool of a fall afternoon, Caymus found himself resting in a hole in the ground with the rest of his companions. They'd managed to sneak past the groups of soldiers, had managed to run, under
the cover of night, from the edges of the Greatstones all the way to the road at the point where it had turned south toward the city. Since then, they'd moved as quickly as possible, alternating between running for twenty paces and walking for ten, trying to get as much distance as possible between themselves and the invading army.

  He, Garrin, Big Grant, and Bernie were slouched in what was little more than a ditch about a dozen yards from the road, while Cyrus, keeping his eyes just above ground level, served as a lookout. A small patch of rocks and some scrub brush helped to conceal them, though they obscured the view in both directions, which kept Cyrus cursing under his breath every once in awhile.

  Caymus had wondered what the hole, really just a hollow that was barely big enough to conceal the men, was doing there in the first place. Grant had suggested that an earlier traveler had carved it out of the ground in some previous year, possibly to stay out of the wind as he slept. The thought had given Caymus a strange sense of history, of connection. The idea that other people might have encountered hardship in this very spot, a long time ago, and that those people had left this little sanctuary here for them to use, gave him a feeling of comfort.

  "You should all be trying to get some sleep," Garrin said, not looking at any of them, but addressing them all.

  "You're one to talk," Grant said, "you've not slept more than any of us has."

  "Then I should probably be trying to get some sleep, too," the prince admitted, though he made no move to suggest that was his intention. He lifted his head to look at Bernie. "How long would you say we have?"

  Bernie closed his eyes in thought a moment. "Our pace, minus what they were doing when they came through the pass," his eyebrows bunched as he considered. "I'd say we might have anywhere between twenty minutes and two hours, depending on whether they're still out looking for us or if they just got on with the march."