Wrath of the Usurper (The Eoriel Saga Book 2)

by Kal Spriggs

  Grel stepped on a loop of his intestines and then kicked the man over the side of the wall with his other foot. The man's scream as he fell was almost as entertaining as the long stream of his guts dangling from the rampart.

  Grel turned away and stalked down the wall, now and then he paused to kill a man as they came into reach. Most, though, had already fled or died. Here and there a handful rallied and tried to push his men off, but his men were in a frenzy and most of the time they cut them down before he could even get close enough to swing. I love this, he thought as he licked the blood from his lips.

  He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until Naran nodded, “I love this too, Captain. What do you say we get down there and do some burning and raping?”

  Grel smiled at the man and waved for him to lead the way.

  ***

  Captain Aerion Swordbreaker

  Aerion jogged along at the head of his company. He had seen the company of Lord Joris's go past a few hours earlier, and the signs of their work were along the sides of the road. Here and there he could see where they'd moved a wagon with more haste than care and it had toppled with goods and possessions scattered in the ditch, but he was more concerned with speed now himself.

  Along some of the stretches they had come across bodies of men, women, and even children, tumbled in death, some hacked down by blade and others pierced by arrows. Other areas they found dead soldiers and horses, some in Hector's colors and others in the black and white of Earl Joris. It was clear that some of Darkbit's forces had come south already, but Aerion didn't know if that meant the town had already fallen or if they were merely trying to prevent the escape of refugees or if they knew about Katarina's mission to save the town.

  They crested the last rise and in the valley ahead he finally saw the town. For just a moment, he thought they had made it in time, but then he saw columns of smoke that went up from the northern side. The enemy, it seemed, was already within the walls.

  “Alright men,” Aerion called out as his men jogged past, “The enemy is ahead and they don't know we're here yet. These are the same men who have burned your homes, killed your families, and taken what's yours.”

  He saw their faces harden as he said that. Every man in his company had lost someone to Hector's mercenaries and all of them had lost their homes and lands. “We are men who have lost everything in life worth taking, we are dead men walking!” Aerion shouted, “Hector has taken it all from us... but we're going to show him that we've something left to give. Who will help me stop those bastards?”

  His men gave a shout as he ran back up to the front, “Right, come on Ghost Company, follow me!” Their roar as he renamed them was all the answer he needed as he ran forward

  ***

  Captain Morse

  Captain Morse grimaced as he looked at what remained of his company. He'd led over a hundred men at the walls, but the damned militia had fought for their homes and their families, so that meant they fought long after a good mercenary would have given in.

  Still, his men had broken through, though he'd left behind Savino and Marini, both men's companies too savaged from the fighting to do more than “consolidate.” Morse knew that both men wanted to plunder what they could, which was why they hadn't advanced too far into the city.

  He looked up at the keep and he smiled. They're happy collecting trinkets when they could be getting rich, he thought, I know better though, there's got to be loads of treasure in there. The militia had mostly focused on defending the walls and the avenues that led to their homes. Morse and his men hadn't seen a single defender since his men broke off, headed through the side streets for the keep on the rise at the northwest end of the town.

  As they came out into the courtyard that faced the keep, Morse's smile grew broader. He saw the gates closed and what looked like a handful of servants on the walls. He could see they were armed with kitchen cutlery and pitchforks and he laughed as he saw how old some of them were. Defending their lord and their home, he thought, pathetic, they should have taken what they could and run.

  “See boys?” He grunted at his men. “I told you that Captain Morse keeps his mind on the money.” He patted the hand caster on his hip, a reminder to himself that he always knew where to find the best loot. He'd taken it off a Boir merchant during a stint of working as a bandit rather than a sellsword, but he still didn't know how many charges were left in the thing. Besides, it wasn't as if he had to use it much. Mostly he used it to break up cavalry if they looked to charge his boys, the flames always put horses in a panic.

  He looked over at his men, “Bring up the axes, we'll chop their gate down. You lads, go put together a couple of ladders so we can climb their wall and chase them off.” He watched as his men rushed to obey and he grinned as he thought of the riches he would soon have.

  For that matter, he thought, as he stared at some of the female servants who defended the wall, some of them don't look too bad either.

  ***

  Captain Gwen Wallace

  Gwen ducked under a wild swing and swung her sword down into the mercenary's leg with a grunt. She knew it was a low blow, but she didn't care as the man toppled with a scream. She looked up and saw that the cluster of militia and what remained of her company had held the barricade against the latest rush, but they couldn't hold out much longer.

  Smoke had dropped the visibility and she saw another house flare up in flames as she watched. At this point she didn't know if it was Covle Darkbit's men who did the burning or if the fires had begun to spread on their own. For all she knew a spirit or elemental of fire had been drawn to the battle.

  She rubbed some of the sweat out of her eyes and absently pushed back a lock of her curly, red hair. She'd lost her helmet in the mad scramble off the wall and her braids had come loose, which meant her hair fell in a tumble. She fought back the temptation to borrow a knife and chop it off, just so it wouldn't be in her face.

  A look behind her showed that people had already cleared out of the town square. Zielona Gora was arranged much like a spoke, with the town square being the center. The main roads all came into the center of the town, which made evacuation relatively easy once the townsfolk reached the square. The problem, of course, was that if she couldn't hold the barricade, then Hector's mercenaries would flood throughout the town in minutes.

  One of the militia sergeants looked over at her, “For what it's worth, thank you, Captain.”

  She shook her head, but she didn't answer. She hadn't been thanked for fighting anyone for cycles. Campaigns had hardened her and she'd been proud of that... but apparently it hadn't hardened her enough for what Darkbit wanted her to do. And when it comes down to it, she thought, I wouldn't want to be the person that could do what he ordered... no matter how hard it made me.

  “Here they come!” a voice shouted.

  Gwen looked up as a wave of Hector's mercenaries came down the street, in many ways, little better than a mob. Arrows streaked out to meet them from those who still had bows. A handful of the enemy stumbled and fell, but then they were at the barrier.

  Gwen stepped forward with a cry and her sword flashed out to take another life.

  ***

  Lady Katarina Emberhill

  Katarina winced as she finally saw the city of Zielona Gora. Columns of smoke rose from the northern side of town and a flood of refugees came from the east and south gates. Yet there was still hope, she knew, for her companies had already started into the city, or so her messengers reported.

  She looked over at Jarek and saw tears fill his eyes. She reached out a hand, “We'll save the town, don't worry.” He just nodded, though she could see the anger and frustration in his eyes. “How can my army help,” she said.

  He looked at her then and he hesitated, “I think, I think if your escort secures the keep, while the others secure the town, that would be best.”

  She nodded and looked over at Bulmor. He began to bark out commands to her escort. The party rode down into the town. F
or a moment, they had to force their way through the flood of refugees, but then someone saw her banner.

  “It's Lady Katarina!” someone shouted, “Lady Katarina has come to rescue us!” The crowd began to part and the tear-filled faces, some smiling, but others simply too overwhelmed to do more than stare, tore at her heart. She heard a babble from the crowd and she waved her hands, “Get to safety,” she said, finally, “Let us past so that we can stop them, but get yourselves, your families, and your fellow townsfolk to safety. You can return when this is over.”

  The crowd parted still further and Katarina and her escort rode through. Jarek moved forward to lead the way and they got off the main boulevard and then onto a set of side streets that were almost empty. The horses let them move quickly, though Katarina saw that Nakkiki was falling behind. He will just have to catch up, she thought. “Not far, now,” Jarek said, just as they came out into a square in front of the keep.

  Katarina reined in as she saw a boil of Hector's mercenaries clustered around the entrance to the keep. They turned as they saw her group and one of them drew something from his belt. Katarina recognized the Boir hand caster as he fired it. Horses screamed and men shouted and beat at the flames that licked at their clothing. Their charge at the mercenaries came to a halt as horses panicked and bolted. Katarina spun her horse away and winced at the heat. Dammit, she thought, where is Cederic when I need him. Her hands went to her belt and her wands, yet the range was long, she knew, and she worried she might hit some of her men in the way or even some of the people defending the wall from the mercenaries.

  Then behind her there came bellow of happy laughter as Nakkiki finally caught up. He jogged past and his laughter bellowed again as the mercenary took aim at him..

  “No!” Katarina shouted, but she knew she was too late.

  The flame caster fired and fire enveloped the big man, covering every inch of his skin and licking along his skirt. Katarina wanted to look away, but horror kept her eyes locked on the big man.

  Nakkiki didn't slow or even falter. In fact, the fire didn't seem to burn him. Katarina's eyes went wide as the big man continued to burn as he charged, long after the flames should have vanished. The mercenary fired at him again and then a third time, but the flames simply burned brighter and Nakkiki's loud, bellowing laughter grew louder.

  And then the big man struck the mercenaries. Men flew back from the impact as he plowed into them, like a ship's bow striking a wave. Nakkiki swung his club and men flew back, smashed into ruin. The mercenary with the hand caster fired again, but this time as the flames licked over him, Nakkiki aimed his hand at his attacker, and in a rush, the flames that covered his body sped forward, across his outstretched arm and then in a stream that enveloped the man.

  The remaining mercenaries broke. They fled in terror from the flaming giant that had appeared among them. Nakkiki gave one last bellowing laugh as they ran and then he ran after them.

  Katarina shook her head, her mouth wide in amazement. “What was that?”

  “Well, my Lady,” Quinn said apologetically, “he's not exactly predictable, but he is handy to have around.”

  ***

  Captain Grel, the Duke's Hound

  Grel swatted at the backs of his men with the flat of his sword and bellowed at them to move forward. Too many of them had become caught up in the mayhem, so it had taken him longer than he'd liked to get this far. Still, it was important sometimes to stop and enjoy the little things in life.

  Ahead, someone fired arrows from a pathetic barricade. One of the mercenaries in front of him turned away, fear making his eyes wide. Grel grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him back to face the enemy and gave him a shove.

  That mercenary stumbled to his knees only a moment later, an arrow buried in his neck. Another arrow found a chink in Grel's armor and buried itself in his shoulder. Grel stepped over the man's body without a second thought as he broke the arrow off. “Forward! Get them!”

  His men struck the barricade and while spears and swords stabbed out, the mass of his men toppled furniture and barrels and sent the rebels tumbling as well. Ahead of him, he saw a red-headed woman slice down one of his men and he smiled eagerly. I remember her, he thought, she was Darkbit's guard captain... cowardly bitch must have switched sides after I embarrassed her and her weakling men.

  Naran was ahead of him and he grinned as he saw his second in command leap forward to attack her. Naran's heavy ax smashed her shield to splinters and sent her stumbling back. Grel absently swatted a militiaman as the man tried to run past and then thrust down into the back of a wounded man as he tried to crawl away.

  When he looked up, Naran and Captain Wallace were still going at it, but then she leapt forward to plunge her sword into Naran's throat. Grel swore as he saw his second in command topple, blood gushing from the wound. “Damn you!” Grel snarled and ran forward.

  She looked up and spotted him and he saw her snarl something in return. She swung at him as he came in, but he blocked the strike and then punched her in the side of the head with all his weight behind the strike.

  The traitor went down, loose-limbed, either unconscious or dead. Grel looked around and saw that his men had finished off the last of the rebels and he smiled. He didn't know if the woman was dead or not, but he'd still make use of her. He grabbed Captain Wallace by her red hair and dragged her by it as he strode forward into the square. “Forward, boys! More loot and women to be had!”

  He paused though, as orderly ranks of spearmen appeared at a jog from across the square. At their head, Grel saw an armored man with a shield and sword. They wore colors of red and white and he grinned as he saw that. “Some more of the rebels!” he called out. He let go of the woman's hair and smiled a bit as he heard her head thunk upon the cobblestones. Grel stepped forward, arms wide, “Who of you will face me!”

  Yet as the man at the front stepped forward, some part of him wondered, who will give me freedom? He shook that thought off, though. As his eyes settled on the man he noticed something was odd about his sword. For just a moment, he heard his voice speak, but the words were not his own and then his consciousness began to recede.

  ***

  Captain Aerion Swordbreaker

  Aerion waved his men forward as they finally came into the town square. He felt a chill wash over him as he returned to the place where he had nearly died, tormented and tortured by Hector's men... by Grel's men. And as he thought that, he saw the swarm of Hector's mercenaries who had just broken into the square.

  At their head, he saw Grel. The big, savage man lumbered forward, his bastard sword swung wide and Aerion saw he dragged a red-headed woman unconscious or dead, by the hair.

  “Who of you will face me!” the big man bellowed.

  Aerion strode forward, sword and shield ready. He could see his men form up, their ranks tight as they followed behind. This kind of thing was not what they had practiced, he knew. One on one fights between champions was the thing of stories, not of real fighting, yet as he strode froward, he saw Grel's mercenaries hold back.

  As he drew closer, he saw a change come over the bestial man. His hunched posture straightened and a baleful green glow came to his eyes. “Ah... the Bearer,” a sibilant voice hissed and it gave an odd weight to the title. “Do you think you can best me, even when I only have this tool of flesh to face you?”

  Aerion didn't know what had happened, but he snarled back, “You destroyed my home, murdered many of my people... you nearly killed me. I'll make certain you pay for what you've done.”

  Grel gave out a bellowing laugh, but it was almost as if another voice laughed with him, a higher, madder laugh. “Oh, no, you'll die here today.” He lumbered forward then and Aerion didn't pause or wait, he ran to meet him.

  As they ran together, the glow in Grel's eyes faded, though Aerion could still see it there. He didn't wonder at it, instead his attention was on Grel's swing, a swift, brutal strike. Aerion ducked under it though and sliced his blade across the othe
r man's side and felt the blade grate as it sliced to the bone. Aerion spun away. Grel spun too, though, quicker than Aerion thought possible and swung again. Aerion blocked the blow with his shield but the weight of the impact made him stumble back.

  Grel came at him again and again Aerion ducked under the attack and stabbed out, this time a cut through the big man's armor along his shoulder. As Aerion stepped back he saw the wound from his first strike and he felt his blood go cold.

  The slash across Grel's ribs had been solid, he knew. He had felt his sword rake across bone. Yet the wound was now little more than a puckered scar. Grel smiled at him, “You can't hurt me. I'm a better man, now. I'm invincible.”

  Aerion backed further as he saw the wound on Grel's shoulder heal, the flesh flowing together so that the blood stopped after only a few seconds. He could see Grel's flesh knit itself together in a fashion that simply looked wrong. Aerion shook his head, “What are you?”

  The cold voice that spoke from Grel's throat came from someone else, “He is my puppet, my tool. You cannot kill him, not even with the broken trinket you carry, Bearer.” Grel leapt forward to attack him, even as the cruel voice spoke. Aerion caught the blow on his shield and felt his arm go numb to the shoulder from the weight of the attack. How was Grel so strong and fast?

  Aerion backed again, but Grel's strikes seemed to come more quickly now, as if whatever force that drove him supplied him with more energy. Now and then, Aerion managed to slip past him and the Starblade had begun to glow with the energy it took from the man's blood. Aerion put that together quickly enough with what Aramer had told him of blood magic. Sorcery, Aerion thought darkly, some kind of dark blood magic.

  Yet how could he fight that? Grel's strength and skill were bad enough, but Aerion couldn't heal himself the way Grel did. Grel hacked down at Aerion and this time he was too slow. Grel's sword struck him across the chest and even with his reinforced armor, the impact sent Aerion stumbling away.