Sacha pondered the nobleman’s words before responding. “How many strong was this army?”
“Alas, those details are lost. But we do know this: Only three survivors returned. A human, an elf, and a small child.”
Sacha’s teachings had not contained these kinds of details. Her tutors had brushed over the conflict as some uneventful mishap between human and elf. Given her country’s attitude toward the woodland folk of Asynia, she could understand why anything that wasn’t either a treatise on how to defend against them, or an example of why they could not be trusted, would be deemed of little importance. She had to admit, the story had meant little to her until the party two weeks ago. “Is there more to your account? What became of the army? Why were no other forces sent south?”
The chancellor looked up from his pants, a small frown on his face. “Not much more to tell, really. It was a long time ago, and neither country has sought to reestablish diplomatic ties or affix blame for the incident. Most of the peasants believe Dry Tower is cursed, and any who go there will never return.” The smile that made its way across his face had fine veins of false pity laced through it. “It’s complete rubbish, of course. There is no gain to going back! The place is a desert, for Eos’ sake.” Kesh’s eye wandered back to the stain on his pants, and with an irritated tsk, he returned to his ineffectual scrubbing.
Sacha slumped back in her seat, crinkling her lips in dissatisfaction. Even the chancellor’s bottomless well of information had left her unasked questions shrouded in mystery. She had hoped to find some tie to Erik within Kesh’s version of the Sha-ou-Taun histories.
“And what of the survivors, what happened to them?”
Kesh hunched his shoulders as he continued his scouring. “Well, they gave their accounts of what happened, which were lost in the fires, and went their separate ways.”
“Of course, but what happened to them after they split?” Sacha was beginning to think the chancellor was hiding something, with all the prying she was being forced to do. The test these past days had been getting him to stop talking. “The child couldn’t have gone off alone. Was there a surviving family member to help? And what of the elf?”
The chancellor ceased his dabbing with a loud exhalation and slumped back in his seat. “Hopeless. These will never come clean.” Shaking his head, Kesh raised his hands palms up. “I am sorry, Princess. I have no clue as to what happened after they parted ways. The conflict occurred over two hundred and fifty years ago. The records are lost. If you would like, I can do some research when we—”
The carriage jolted violently, throwing the passengers, leather tubes, and sheaves of parchment into the air. Sacha pitched forward and landed on the floorboards. Kesh was slammed first into the roof of the carriage then back against the wall below the driver’s seat.
“What on Orundal was that?” Cursing, Chancellor Tomelen clutched his head with one hand while the other reached for the door.
“Wait!” Sacha put a restraining hand on Kesh’s leg. “Don’t you hear that?” Sacha strained to listen. Above the fluttering of pages and the creak of the rocking carriage, faint shouting could be heard. As she listened, the noises grew louder. “I think we’re under attack!”
The carriage rocked violently again, and the door exploded in a shower of splinters. Kesh shrieked as the lurching surge of the carriage springs sent him sprawling back into the chaotic piles of tubes. Stinging shards of wood peppered the back of Sacha’s head and her palms as she cringed lower from her position on the floor. A loud roar bellowed from outside and a looming silhouette filled the empty space left by the shattered door.
Stunned by the twin shocks of the carriage, Sacha could only fling herself backward and scrabble as a thick arm, covered with mismatched leather and crude armor, reached through the ragged opening. The meaty hand at the end of the broad appendage clamped around Sacha’s ankle like a jailer’s manacle and hauled her from the carriage.
Sacha cried out as the horrible pressure sent pain up her leg. Clutching vainly at the seats and papers about her, her voice was cut off with a sharp click of her teeth as her head smacked on the carriage step on its way to the rocky ground. Shaking her head desperately to clear it, she attempted to understand what was going on around her.
Her eyes focused first on the hobnailed fingers poking from an ill-fitting gauntlet, gripping her ankle. From there she followed the heavily muscled arm and shoulder up to the leering, malformed face that stared down at her.
Eos preserve me, a hobgoblin! She had seen preserved corpses of the vile creatures and depictions too numerous to count in the barracks and procession halls of her home in Pelos. Until now, she had never seen a living specimen, much less had her life held in its vicious grip.
She reared back her free leg as her body was hauled into the air and kicked the heel of her boot at the hand that held her. The first blow glanced off the heavy gauntlet, but the second connected squarely with its scarred knuckles.
A howl of pain and rage erupted from the hobgoblin and he dropped Sacha to the ground.
She rolled to her hands and knees and scrambled under the stricken coach while the injured hobgoblin continued to shake its bruised hand.
Sacha drew up against the opposite wheel, where she hoped she would be out of immediate danger. She searched frantically at her waist and on the ground for some means to defend herself but found nothing. Even the small knife she typically carried had been lost in her ignominious extraction from the coach.
I’m doomed.
The hobgoblin had dropped to his hands and knees and attempted to crawl under the coach after her. The creature’s ill-fitting crude armor prevented it from bending well, so its bulk slammed against the undercarriage repeatedly. Gnarled and calloused fingers flexed inches away from her face, and the hobgoblin’s yellow eyes peered between the staves of the wagon wheel, blazing with malice.
Panic raced through her and she began to edge around the wheel at her back, angling for flight and freedom.
The beastly goblinoid stopped its struggling and opened its maw. A rocky, rough voice issued forth, “Ooman. Gorgnak no hurt little ooman. Only help ooman.” The words dripped with malcontent even though they offered peace. “You, come to Gorgnak.” With slow purpose, its monstrous hand reached out, palm up, and beckoned for her to come closer.
The lie that worked its way past Gorgnak’s twisted teeth and lips brought Sacha back to herself. Boundless anger surged through her, and tiny hairs all along her body stood up straight. She opened herself to the Shamonrae and drank in its power. Yes, deceiver, I will take your false generosity.
Her hand shot forward like a striking snake and she seized two of the hobgoblin’s thick fingers.
The hobgoblin flinched in surprise and reflexively attempted to pull his hand away, but it was already too late.
Sacha poured her fury and power through the conduit of her arm into the creature’s body. She felt, for just a moment, an eerie oneness with it.
A strangled howl escaped the hobgoblin’s slobbering maw before it started to spasm.
She squeezed harder on the calloused fingers, remembering the pain they had caused her. The surging energy of the Shamonrae flowed through the veins of the shuddering creature. Gorgnak’s blood boiled until the black fluid fountained from his eyes, nose, and ears. His struggle for life ended abruptly with a gasp filled with blood that spilled to the ground.
Sacha ceased pouring energy into the corpse and released the fingers of her victim. Her world spun suddenly as the Shamonrae turned on her, burning pathways in her mind and body. Nausea doubled her over and she retched in the dirt.
Too much power, her mind screamed as she convulsed. Teacher’s voice haunted her as she struggled to push down the rising bile in her stomach. Arcane power used with strong emotion can be crippling. You MUST have control of yourself before you attempt to enact an effect. His words and her own thoughts were lost as her body emptied itself of everything in a gut-wrenching spasm.
&n
bsp; Eventually the paroxysms passed, and small, self-mocking laughs escaped her. She scrubbed the back of one hand across her lips. Two years of study, and I remember nothing, until it’s too late. Her breathing slowed and the queasiness faded. She was left with an acidic taste in the back of her throat and the tingling paths where the energy had flowed.
The clamor of the battle around her rang clearer. Lifting her head, she could see many armored legs and feet dancing about in combat beyond the lifeless form of the hobgoblin. Oh, Eos, she thought, my sister, and the girls!
Sacha crawled toward her dead attacker and searched its body for a weapon she could use. Her stomach writhed at the thought of calling upon the Shamonrae, and she pushed it away.
The great maul Gorgnak had used to crush the carriage door was far too heavy for her to wield, but she found a long dagger that would serve. Hefting it, she realized that the dagger must have looked ridiculous in the hobgoblin’s paw, but the handle fit her hand nicely. Feeling more confident with steel in hand, she moved past the body and peered out at the scene before her.
Pelosian soldiers clashed with Wildmen along the full length of the caravan. The attacking force was a motley group comprised of men, goblins, and the occasional hulking hobgoblin. They outnumbered the soldiers two to one, possibly even three. Despite their disadvantage, the Pelosians held their ground and returned the fight tenfold.
Pride surged in her breast. Everywhere she looked along the line, the tide of Wildmen was breaking against the teams of soldiers who fought as a single unit. Each man guarded the flank of the man next to him while dealing savage blows to the less-disciplined men and monsters of the wild tribes. Even the hobgoblins were prevented from bringing their strength and savagery to the fore by the skillful use of pikes and archers.
An armored steed galloped through the line of protectors and came to a dancing halt beside the royal carriage. Clouds of rolling dust floated across the roadway. “Sacha! Princess Sacha!” A pair of crimson, armored feet dropped to the ground next to where she crouched.
“Bale!” She ducked out from her shelter and stood. Her confidence surged as she laid eyes on her Captain.
“Thank Eos.” His arm steadied her as she rose and he searched her for wounds. “Are you injured?”
“Bale.” Sacha took his armored hand and squeezed it hurriedly. “I’m fine.” Suddenly, she thought of the nobleman that had been riding with her. “I don’t know about the chancellor, though.” She moved toward the carriage doorway.
“To the pit with the chancellor,” Bale shouted, grabbing her as she turned. “We must get to your sister!” He started to pull her away, back toward his waiting horse. In the tumult of combat surrounding them, a burly, human Wildman broke free of the defensive line and charged, waving an ancient example of a battle axe.
Sacha wrenched her arm away from Bale and pointed. “Watch out!”
Without looking, Bale dove forward and rolled. The head of the axe bit into the armored chest of the dead hobgoblin just behind where Bale had been standing. The raging Wildman yelled at the pair, then yanked on the buried axe, but it was trapped within the rough iron chestplate. His bloodshot eyes darted between her and the rising form of Bale, desperation growing as he tried once again to free his entangled weapon.
Cold purpose filled Sacha. She lunged forward to ram the point of her dagger up beneath the Wildman’s jaw. The sharp steel easily slid through soft neck tissue and pierced solid bone. The Wildman’s body went rigid and his hands fell away from the axe as he collapsed.
Bale came to his feet even as the Wildman sank to the earth. He leapt over the body to snatch up the reins of his horse. With a calloused hand, he gestured to Sacha. “Quickly!”
Sacha reached out to him expectantly with her blood-covered hand palm up. “Your second sword.”
Bale did not hesitate as he pulled the sword from its place at his hip. The Pelosian steel glinted in the sun. Unlike his primary weapon, which was a hand-and-a-half sword, this blade was slighter and curved. For a man of Bale’s size, it would be nimble and easily used for parrying enemy weapons. He offered the sword to her pommel first. “We must go, Princess.”
She took the sword. It weighed slightly more than those she had trained with. Even so, the heavy blade was infinitely preferable to being unarmed. With the weapon in her hands, she felt a true daughter of Pelos. A sense of purpose washed through her body and notes of command crept into her voice. “Find my sister and my cousins.” She looked back to the carriage. “I will not leave our new brothers undefended.”
He stared at her, not moving.
“I command it, Bale!”
The veins on his forehead bulged and his mouth opened several times, but no words came out. For the barest of moments, Sacha thought he might attempt to haul her over his shoulder and take her to safety by force. Instead he turned abruptly and stomped to his waiting horse. He climbed into his saddle with harsh, jerky movements. “I will return for you once the others are safe.” His heels dug into the flanks of the large black stallion and they were off, galloping toward the front of the caravan.
Sacha stepped quickly to the battered carriage and peered inside.
The chancellor lay at an awkward angle with his legs on the cushioned seats and his head and shoulders resting on the floor. Tiny shards of wood protruded from his richly crafted vest and face. Droplets of blood had welled up at each point where wooden shard entered soft flesh.
She crawled into the royal coach and placed a hand on Kesh’s neck. Thank Eos. His skin was warm to the touch. Now that she was so close to him, the rise and fall of his chest could easily be seen. “Poor chancellor. I suppose this was more than you bargained for.” She crawled away from the unconscious man and stepped from the coach.
Planting her feet firmly on the ground, she opened herself to the Shamonrae, ignoring the remaining queasiness. She used the freshly drawn energy to wash away the last of her nausea and shaken nerves.
Raising her borrowed weapon, she shouted into the chaos, “Pelos! To me!”
Erik cursed as he rode.
He had been a fool. The goblin rider he had chased around the very grove his companions now struggled in had purposefully led him away from its hidden companions. Somehow the ambushers had spotted Erik without being seen in turn and had sent the vile warg rider to lead him on a merry chase over the next few hills.
Unfortunately, his little adventure had ended as he and the warg rider had practically trampled the leading forces of a veritable sea of Wildmen upon cresting the last hill of his pursuit. Erik had turned tail and ridden as fast as he could back to the escort, not realizing the warg rider’s trap had already been sprung.
He doubted that the large force he and his quarry had stumbled upon was part of the same group his companions now battled, but it didn’t matter. The larger force would mean certain doom for his friends if he didn’t warn them.
He spurred Camelyard to greater speed and thanked Eos that there were at least two miles between this smaller force and the many hundreds now certainly heading this way.
Ahead, he could see Kinsey and the princess he assumed to be Sloane. He watched as her horse bolted away from the chaos. She looked about to lose her saddle under the sudden leap of her mount, but she leaned in expertly and regained control. She angled her horse to intercept him. Standing in her stirrups, she leaned forward to call above the thunder of their horses’ hooves. “Weapon!”
Switching the reins to the hand already holding his bow, Erik unsheathed one of his short swords. Still riding with all speed, he flipped the weapon so that he held it by its blade and offered the pommel out to the approaching princess.
Princess Sloane leaned farther forward, snatched the short sword from Erik’s grasp with a grace that defied her human heritage, and blurred past him.
Erik was impressed. Humans rarely possessed such dexterity. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she hadn’t tumbled from her horse and found the princess was quite stable on her mount
. In fact, she was mid-turn, heading back toward the caravan.
Turning his attention to the battle with a fierce smile, Erik dropped the reins and gripped Camelyard’s saddle with his knees. His hands free, he pulled an arrow from his quiver, knocking its wooden shaft to the horn bow.
Erik breathed deeply and allowed his eye to scan for targets. He found his first in a hobgoblin that was charging toward Kinsey, axe raised.
Erik released and watched as the arrow flew low and drove into the hobgoblin’s thigh. The force of the blow knocked the beast off its feet, causing it to crash jaw-first into the hard-packed ground.
Not a killing blow, but I’ll take it, Erik thought, while nocking another arrow to finish the job.
Before he could loose the shaft, Kinsey wheeled Dak about. The horse put a savage hoof into the face of the wounded hobgoblin, crushing its head further into the ground.
Erik grinned. Well, so much for that.
He took aim again, this time on a human Wildman who stood above the lead wagon driver, weapon high above his head. Erik caught sight of poor Hadley’s face and it looked as if he’d been beaten senseless. The gruff man’s head wagged loosely on his neck, and blood ran down his mouth and chin from his shattered nose.
Erik let fly.
The arrow sailed through the air and struck the Wildman square in the back. He tumbled over Hadley and the bench into the wagon bed. His arms and legs twitched violently for a moment, then all went still.
Better. Erik slowed Camelyard to a stop and drew another arrow. He had come to a halt just short of the head of the caravan to get a better look at the situation.
Kinsey appeared to be faring well, even with several arrows protruding from his chest and back. Wildmen were notorious for using short bows, which proved ineffective against the heavy chain and leather armor his stepson wore in combat.
Dark Fate: The Gathering (The Dark Fate Chronicles Book 1) Page 15