DAWN OF THE PHOENIX

by A. J. STRICKLER

  The king’s personal guard came running up. “It’s a full attack, Majesty, at least ten thousand strong, maybe more. The men had little time to make ready before they were on us.”

  “Get my armor and my horse.” He had to get his men organized or that bastard would rout the whole camp, how dare he attack against the Church edicts. The old king ignored the cold and stared out at the chaos in his camp. He was going to make someone pay for this outrage.

  Vandarus could not believe how deep they had driven into the Abberdonians' camp. The screams of the dying filled the night air. K’xarr’s plan was working. The Abberdonians kept trying to form up to repel the attack, but the Bandarans cut them down before they could get organized. He had killed at least three men himself, but the sun was getting ready to rise. It was time to get back behind the city walls.

  He saw Greyson up ahead, pulling his sword free from a man’s shoulder. The young Bandaran warrior rode over the commander.

  “The sun will rise soon, we should start back.” The Abberdonians' fires lit the battlefield enough to let Vandarus see the chaos all around. He hoped Rufio and the others were watching the sky. He didn’t want to see any of his friends get left behind.

  Greyson acted as if he hadn’t heard what he said. Vandarus turned his horse around and came alongside Greyson’s mount, pointing to the sky. “Look, Greyson, the sun is almost up. Time to pull back.”

  The Bandaran commander turned in his saddle and drove his sword into the pit of Vandarus’s arm. His rib stopped Greyson’s saber from going into his heart, but the unexpected thrust unhorsed him. Vandarus fell into the cold, wet snow. Greyson signaled, horns sounded, and the troops from Braxton Bluff turned their horses and thundered off to the north.

  “What the hell is that?” K’xarr yelled. The sun had just broken the horizon when he heard the blaring of the battle horns.

  “K’xarr, look,” Cromwell said. Pointing to the north, they could see the bulk of the Bandaran cavalry breaking through the back of the Abberdonians' camp, horses and men struggling through the snow as they fled the battle.

  K’xarr’s eyes narrowed. “Cromwell, we are betrayed, get the men headed back fast.” Both began to yell at their recruits, it seemed like forever before they had them turned and heading back to Turill. Havalon’s men were starting to mount their horses and arm themselves. They had their wits about them now; the attack was over. K’xarr could only hope to get what was left of his army back to the city alive before the Abberdonians mounted a counter attack.

  Endra’s sword exploded through her enemy’s chest. She had lost her helmet and her horse. The white snow had been replaced by a red slush and her feet were wet from it. She had fought well, but the grim work was as unfamiliar to her as it was grisly. Bodies lay all around her. It was hard to walk without stepping on a corpse. The dead were everywhere, and Kian continued to kill.

  He had jumped off his horse as soon as he was among the Abberdonians. At first there had been little resistance, but now the enemy soldiers came on in force, only to die in a torrent of whirling steel.

  Kian leaped and weaved through the enemy, dealing death to any who had the courage to brave his blade. Malice’s strange blade was masked from tip to hilt with thick Abberdonian blood. The sword and the man who wielded it seemed relentless in their pursuit of death.

  She blocked a cut and buried her sword in a young soldier’s neck. She had killed before, but never anything like this. The sky was beginning to shed its light on the bloody field when Endra saw Rufio ride up. He looked at the ground where she stood. She saw the astonishment on his face.

  “By all the gods, Endra, find a horse and get back to the city.”

  The Dragitan watched as Kian walked towards a group of soldiers. They were backing away in fear, screaming for archers. “Endra, he needs to fall back. See to it, please,” Rufio said.

  “Kian,” she shouted. He looked back at her, his eyes dilated by the feeble morning light. “We must go now.” He walked back through the huge circle of bloody mud. The swordsman had spilled so much hot blood, it had begun to thaw the frozen ground. He grabbed the reins of a stray horse and jumped astride it.

  Kian rode over to Endra and pulled the woman up behind him. Endra saw a few men with bows running towards the frightened group of soldiers. “We should hurry, my love.”

  She wrapped her arms tight around his middle; he patted her leg to let her know he understood.

  Kian was a mess, slick with the blood and gore of his enemies. “Is that it then, Rufio?”

  “It is, my friend. Greyson and the troops from the Bluff broke through the lines and rode north. I think they had their own plan.”

  Kian kicked his horse and headed back toward the city. Rufio looked once more at the place the half-breed had chosen to fight and shook his head in disbelief. Turning his horse, he followed Kian back to the city.

  His cuirass was so full of blood, it was running out the bottom on to his thighs. Some of the Abberdonians had gotten to their mounts and were ready to chase the Bandarans back to the city.

  He needed a horse. There were several on the battlefield, he just had to catch one. His vision was blurry, but he managed to get a hold of one of the rider-less horses and pull himself up into the saddle. He almost passed out, but Vandarus kicked the horse’s flanks and rode. The horse churned through the snow, having to jump through some of the deeper drifts. That’s what caused him to fall.

  The snow cushioned his landing and Vandarus managed to grab a dangling stirrup before the horse got past him. The sound of the Abberdonian cavalry’s pursuit caused the horse to run, dragging the wounded man along with it. The snow was cold but felt good on his face, as it piled up in front of him. However the weight of it made Vandarus lose his grip on the stirrup.

  He struggled to his feet and tried to run on. He could see other men from the queen’s army running on both sides of him, he wasn’t the only one who had lost their horse and was lagging behind. Vandarus knew he had to hurry or the gates would be shut when he got to the wall. He put his head down and with his strength waning, he ran on, leaving a bloody trail in the snow.

  K’xarr rode through the gates, dismounted and ran up the stone steps to the top of the wall where a thousand archers crouched down behind the battlements, waiting for the signal to fire.

  He watched the stragglers speed towards the gate, some on horseback and some on foot. Havalon’s cavalry was right behind them, he couldn’t give them much more time. He couldn’t let the Abberdonians get inside the gate or the war would be finished here and now.

  Cromwell joined him on the wall with a look of resignation on his face. “They won’t all make it.”

  K’xarr didn’t even look at his friend. “I know. Have you seen any of the others?”

  Cromwell knew what others he meant. “No, but men were pouring through the gate, they could be down there anywhere. Rhys and the other healers are already working on the wounded, there is nothing to do but finish this the way you planned it. And when this is all over, I’m going find Greyson Kyle and cut out his treacherous heart.”

  “Not before I do,” K’xarr said, still watching his men’s flight from the battle.

  Vandarus stopped running. The gates had begun to close. He was less than a hundred yards away from the huge doors as he watched them shut. Now it was not about if he would live, but how he would die.

  He was weak and out of breath and hundreds of horsemen were roaring towards where he stood. The young Bandaran was afraid. He didn’t want to die, but it was inevitable now. If the Abberdonians didn’t kill him, he would most likely bleed to death. Vandarus knew he would not see another day. He began to shout at the others that had not made it back to the city in time. “To me, you bastards, let’s make Havalon wish he had never seen the walls of Turill.”

  Rufio climbed the stairs and joined K’xarr and Cromwell on the wall. “Everyone’s in that’s getting in, General.”

  “How many would you say we closed the do
ors on?” K’xarr asked.

  “Not many more than a hundred I would say, better than we thought. I thought for sure that damn snow would cost us a lot more.”

  The three men watched the stragglers as the Abberdonian cavalry surged towards them. One of the doomed soldiers had taken charge and had the others forming a rough line before the Abberdonian onslaught.

  Rufio looked closer. “It’s Vandarus, K’xarr, it’s Vandarus. We have to get out there.”

  Rufio turned to go down the steps of the battlements, but Cromwell grabbed him in a bear hug. It was all the bigger man could do to hold the stocky Dragitan back. The Toran whispered quietly to him. “Easy, Rufio, don’t worry, he will make us proud.”

  The snow had started to fall again as the Abberdonians crashed into the ragged line of men. Knee-deep in snow, the stragglers did what they could, but on foot with many of them exhausted and wounded, most died quickly.

  Vandarus side-stepped a horse that was coming towards him and cut the leg off its rider, only to be knocked down by a horse passing behind.

  He thought he would just lay there, it wasn’t so bad and he was very tired. The white snow started turning red around him. He raised his head and looked at his back. It wasn’t a horse that had hit him but a lance. It had gone through him and broken off in his back. He felt his mouth filling with warm, salty blood. He struggled to his feet, weaving back and forth. His knees started to buckle and he couldn’t keep his feet. He looked up in time to see a second line of Abberdonian cavalry bearing down on him. He grinned at his bad luck. Blood seeped through his teeth and dribbled down his chin. “You were right, Rufio. I should have been a farmer.”

  Rufio had watched the rider bury his lance in Vandarus’s back and his friend fall into the snow. He thought it was over, but he saw the young man stand back up and raise his sword in defiance of the second wave of horsemen, only to have another lance driven through his chest.

  He fell and lay still. One tear dropped from Rufio’s eye and fell on the cold stone of the battlements. It had been a long time since anyone’s death had hurt him so much. The last time had been when he was just a boy in Dragita. His young sister had drowned and it had been his fault.

  Rufio saw K’xarr bring his fist down on the parapet. “Fire,” he yelled. The Bandaran archers rose up and let loose, and the Abberdonian cavalry was covered in a blanket of arrows.

  They fired three more times before what was left of the horsemen hobbled back to the Abberdonian camp.

  Cromwell clamped his big hand on Rufio’s shoulder. “He died well. Tonight he will dine with the gods of battle in Vinteytium.” Rufio didn’t believe in the gods, but if there was a place for good men, Vandarus would be there.

  The Dragitan watched as Cromwell slowly pulled his Voltakar from its sheath. The Toran drew the blade across his forearm. Rufio gaped as black blood oozed from the wound. “What the hell are you doing, Cromwell?”

  The Toran quickly ripped a piece of cloth from his cloak to hide the oddity of his blood from the men on the wall. “I honor Vandarus with my blood. When the wound heals, the scar will always remind me of his courage. It is the way of my people.”

  Rufio could only stare at the Toran in wonder. Then he drew his shortsword and cut his own forearm. “I too will never forget,” he whispered.

  Rhys was working as fast as he could. K’xarr had commandeered the homes and buildings closest to the northern gate and made them in to makeshift hospitals for the wounded.

  Rhys was astonished at the horrible wounds men could inflict on each other. It would be well into the afternoon before he could even slow down. Many men would owe their lives to him before the day was out, and the Bandarans would hail him the greatest healer ever to grace their city. By nightfall, he would not care.

  K’xarr spent most of the rest of the day trying to figure out how many men he had left. As near as he could tell, about seven thousand could still fight, while a thousand lay dead outside the walls. With the loss of the troops from Braxton Bluff, that left him only the men he had conscripted from the city. They had almost no training and after today’s events, their morale was low. He could never hold the city with so few.

  “Rufio, how many do you think Havalon lost?” The Dragitan had said little since the death of his friend. “Rufio, did you hear me?”

  “Maybe four or five thousand, we hit them hard.”

  K’xarr took his helmet off and rubbed the sweat from his head. “Not enough. We would have evened the odds if Greyson hadn’t been a turncoat, damn him to Hell. Get Cromwell and start assigning the men to shifts on the wall, pick some of the men who show promise and make them officers and divide what we have left into companies. If what I have heard about this Abberdonian King is true, he won’t wait long to attack.”

  Rufio raised his fist to his chest in salute and walked off to find Cromwell.

  The sun was starting to set and no one had told her anything about what had happened. All she knew was that it was over and her army was back inside the walls.

  Raygan had not eaten lunch, her stomach had been too upset. This baby was not making it easy on her. She was hungry now and decided she was going to try and eat something.

  She opened the door of her quarters to tell the guards to summon her servants and found no one there. Curious, she stepped into the hall and looked around. She saw nothing. “I’m ready for my supper now,” she called out. No one answered.

  The queen stepped back into her room, shaking her head. She would have to mention this to K’xarr. He had told her that the men guarding her were two of the best he had. Raygan closed the door and looked up. She saw a man sitting on her bed, his face covered with a black leather mask. “Good evening, Your Majesty.”

  She screamed.

  Kian and Endra sat in one of the large marble baths in the west wing of the palace; no one had tried to stop the blood-soaked pair when they walked in.

  Endra thought Kian might want to talk to K’xarr after the battle, but he had stayed with the common troops. She thought he was trying to find some camaraderie among them, a bond of men who had been in battle together. All he found was fear and apprehension. When he walked through their ranks, they stepped aside, many turning their backs. They were afraid of him now. Many had seen what he had done to the Abberdonian soldiers. To his credit, he had said nothing. He merely took her by the hand and went to the palace.

  They had bathed and washed the blood from their hair, turning the bath water a gruesome pink color. They had the servants draw another bath of clean warm water. He had made love to her then, and now they sat soaking their weary bodies. He had said nothing of Vandarus’s death but she knew it troubled him. Endra would miss the Bandaran’s infectious smile and crude jokes.

  “I will find us some clothing. Do you need anything else?” He shook his head. Endra gathered up their bloody clothing and armor, so it could be cleaned later, and headed to her room.

  She went to her quarters and changed into a simple shirt and a pair of soft doeskin pants, strapping her sword around her waist. She opened a shutter and looked out. Night had fallen. The day had passed quickly after the battle. She could see snow falling gently through the moonlight. The city had turned white while she and Kian had sat in the bath. It was beautiful, reminding the young woman of her home.

  Endra gathered up Kian’s spare clothing and started back down to the baths. She met Rhys coming up the stairs, and he looked bone tired. “You look ready for sleep,” she said.

  Rhys grinned at her. “I am, it’s been a long day. I have never seen anything like it. I take it you and Kian fared well?”

  “We did. My arm is a bit sore, though.”

  Rhys yawned. “See me tomorrow. I will take a look at it. Have you spoken to Kian about your last visit?”

  Endra shook her head. “No, not yet, I’m waiting for the right time. I will tell him soon.”

  Rhys touched her arm. “Please do, he should know sooner rather than later.” Rhys gave her a solemn loo
k. “I hated to hear about poor Vandarus, he was a good man. I will miss him a great deal.” Endra nodded her agreement.

  “If you will excuse me, I’m ready for my bed. Remember, talk to Kian.” Rhys gave her a sad smile and continued on up the stairs.

  Rhys was right. She thought Kian should know about the baby. She would tell him first thing tomorrow.

  “Cromwell, are you drunk?” K’xarr stared at the Toran dumbfounded. He had gone to the throne room to see if the queen was there, so he could tell her about the battle and Greyson’s treachery. He was stunned to find the big Toran sitting on the Phoenix Throne, drinking from a large bottle of wine.

  “That I am, your generalship.”

  K’xarr went up the steps of the dais and slapped the bottle out of Cromwell’s hand. “Get off that throne, you stupid oaf.”

  Cromwell surged up and grabbed K’xarr by the throat, lifting him off the ground. “You should never waste good wine, General.” He tossed K’xarr down the stairs. The Camiran tumbled down to lay sprawled out on the floor. Cromwell walked slowly down the steps toward him.

  K’xarr got to his feet. “You drunk bastard, what the hell are you doing?”

  “What you should be doing. Why aren’t you drunk too, General? We fought, we won, and we lived, is there a better reason to be drunk? Tell me, General, did you see my friend Vandarus die today? Will you not have a drink to his courage?”