Trial And Glory (Book 3)

by Joshua P. Simon

  Raker leaned over the side of the tower, trying to get a feel of the best route to the nearest catwalk. He spat.

  None of it looked easy.

  He opened his mouth to yell for them to move out, when furious movement amid the enemy caught his attention. He squinted. Bodies lay in heaps around a lone figure fending off attackers from all sides.

  Kroke’s having one of his moments.

  Raker wheeled.

  “Quick Senald, load me up one more ballista, and swing it around this way!”

  “We just set the last one to flame.”

  He dropped his mace. “Load one up anyway. Quintuple time!”

  “Quintuple time?” one of the other engineers asked.

  “That means fast like your life depended on it, idiot. Move!”

  Men scrambled to obey. They shouted in anger while avoiding the growing flames. Raker aimed the ballista himself, despite the fire licking against his skin. He took sight with smoke watering his eyes.

  “He better appreciate this,” he mumbled as he pulled the release.

  Raker hurried back to the merlons, peered over the side, and smiled.

  I bet the kid couldn’t make that shot.

  He grabbed his mace, ignoring the blistering on his hand, and gestured to Kroke. They exchanged nods.

  Raker called out to his men. “Alright, let’s get our hands dirty.”

  They headed for the stairs.

  * * *

  Blood covered Kroke's hands, oozing down his arms and dripping off at his elbows to the stone beneath his feet. It joined the blood pouring from the bodies piled around him. Some bled from wounds in the side or gut, others from the chest or neck.

  Plenty bled at his feet, still alive, but incapacitated. Those had angered him and he chose not to finish them off, crippling them instead with severed tendons, stabs to the groin, or slices across the eyes. The wail of their screams became his battle cry for he refused to issue one himself.

  The eagle-hilted blade in his right hand came down, catching the shaft of a thrusting spear. It jammed the spear against the ground while his other knife sliced into the attacker’s arm. The spear fell.

  He stepped into the spearman while avoiding a sword stroke and finished the first man with a jab to the throat. Kroke’s arm swept out, blade biting into the side of the swordsman. He climbed up the man’s back, rammed his knife into the base of his skull, severing his spine. He lashed out at the next nearest man.

  Blood, flesh, bits of bone, and other human insides caked Kroke’s light armor, none of it his. He had lost himself in the moment. He knew it had already been hours since the attack began. Yet he could continue the dance until sundown.

  Others must have sensed his confidence as the enemy came at him with more hesitance, eyes wide with fear. Some men shuffled away, but Kroke pursued, leaving behind one pile of dead only to start another.

  A flaming shaft zipped by, inches from his face. It struck, piercing three men cowering to his right. The missile passed so close, he had felt the warmth of the fire against his sweat-soaked skin.

  He followed the path of its origin.

  Raker stood with flames at his back. He pointed at him with his mace then off to his right. Kroke followed the gesture to where Yanasi led a withdrawal across the nearest catwalk. Kroke saw Kaz doing the same on the opposite side of the outer wall.

  Kroke realized that he had been fighting as an island, though he couldn’t say for how long. He became aware of the fatigue in his limbs and the aches in his muscles. He couldn’t fight like this until dusk, regardless of his earlier thoughts.

  He nodded to Raker, and the engineer disappeared.

  Now I just have to clear a path to join the others.

  * * *

  Kaz stood at the center of the catwalk. A wall of five men to either side interlocked their shields with his. They stabbed with swords through small cracks underneath each shield, blades piercing the groins and thighs of the enemy. The men behind Kaz jabbed spears over the front row’s heads, points targeting faces and necks.

  Lacking quality armor, weapons, and even training, the enemy suffered greater casualties from the assault. Yet, their resolve could not be deterred. Kaz only assumed such resiliency had to do with the tribes of Thurum forever being at war with their neighbors.

  They don’t know when to quit.

  Sweat poured over Kaz’s brow. He smelled garlic on the breath of the man he fought. The warrior screamed violently at Kaz in an unfamiliar tongue. A spear point disappeared inside the man’s gaping mouth. It retracted, and the man fell dead. Another took his place.

  The enemy surged. They pushed Kaz and his men back. He glanced over to either side, noting the blank expressions on each of his soldier’s faces. They continued to kill, but each thrust seemed mechanical, out of an inability to do anything else rather than out of passion for their cause.

  They’re exhausted. Did Crusher make it over to the other catwalk? Or can we expect the enemy to come up from behind us at any moment? Where’s the signal?

  As if on cue, the sky darkened. A red mist trickled down on the enemy. Panic filled their eyes. They may have been willing to throw themselves at the bite of steel, but like all men not talented in the arts, sorcery played on their darkest fears.

  Especially, having seen that sorcery first hand.

  The enemy climbed over each other to get away from the strange effects in the air. They screamed hysterically. Kaz wished to push forward and reclaim the first wall, but saw the mistake in that.

  Even with the mist, our losses would be too heavy. And it isn’t a guarantee we’d succeed. This is our best chance to pull back.

  “Withdraw!” he yelled.

  His men retreated to the middle wall. A glance over his shoulder told him the enemy had begun to figure out their ruse. The mist did nothing but hang in the air. They turned furious and humiliated eyes on Kaz and his men when the catwalk erupted.

  Thousands of bits of granite and limestone blew skyward. Descending like hail, it pelted both sides, clinking off armor and shield. Clouds of smoke and dust replaced the red and black mist. As the air settled, a forty-foot gap in the catwalk separated the two armies. The other catwalk suffered a similar fate.

  Surprisingly, the enemy didn’t bother trying their luck at the stairs leading to the killing ground between the outer and middle walls. They retreated, confused by the explosion and lack of death from the red mist.

  A lone figure dressed in blue and gray appeared on top of one siege tower. Guwan barked orders and jumped down afterward, losing himself among the masses.

  The enemy began dismantling their towers while others protected them with raised shields against arrow fire ordered by Yanasi. They managed to kill a few warriors here and there, but not as many as Kaz had hoped. Slowly, the enemy erected an interior wall of wood to protect them from Kaz’s men stationed along the middle wall.

  Yanasi saw the futility in continuing to waste arrows and called for her men to stand down.

  All the while, Kaz continued to the think about the lone figure issuing orders. It still surprised him that Guwan led Nareash’s army.

  I always assumed someone like Durahn would be the one to betray our people.

  It all made him think more about what had happened in Hesh since he left.

  And why hasn’t Guwan used the Kifzo more? I hate to admit it, but they would have taken the outer wall long ago.

  He shook away his thoughts. Satisfied that Guwan would dig in before mounting another offensive, he turned his attention to his men.

  His captains had the army working frantically to prepare for the next assault, bringing in fresh barrels of arrows, racks of javelins, and wood for braziers. Nora, one of the younger mages, led several crews of healers, each carrying stretchers, as they moved the wounded to safety.

  Yanasi stood in the middle of the activity, directing as needed. He went to her.

  “Everything under control, captain?”

  She saluted
. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping myself, but Crusher wouldn’t let anyone near you.”

  “You’re doing fine.” He looked her up and down. “You look exhausted. Why don’t you get a rest?”

  “Plenty of men are tired. I’ll find time to rest later. Rygar’s bringing up some food for me. I’ll be alright.”

  Kaz grunted. “You can stay for now. Next bell, I want you off the wall and in a bunk. No excuses. Leave Captain Samhan in charge. It was his wall before we got here anyway.” Kaz started to turn away.

  “Sir?”

  He stopped.

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t hold. It was—”

  “You did exactly what should have been done, and I don’t want to hear more about it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Kaz left her.

  Just like a commander. Always wanting to do more. Always questioning every decision made, even if it was the right one.

  His stomach growled as Rygar passed carrying bread for Yanasi. He realized he could use some food and water as well.

  But first, I need to see Wiqua. The wounded deserve my thanks.

  * * *

  Soldiers gave Kroke a wide berth as he walked the middle wall. Given his appearance, he couldn’t blame them. With blood and guts coating him, he didn’t doubt he looked as though he just delivered a newborn calf.

  He spotted Rygar and headed in that direction. The scout waited next to Yanasi as she oversaw preparations for the next assault. Both gnawed on pieces of bread.

  “Hey!” he called out.

  Rygar’s eyes widened. “One Above, Kroke. Were you on the wall fighting or were you in the galley slaughtering a pig for dinner.”

  Kroke opened his mouth, then closed it.

  Yanasi inclined her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look, I ain’t good at this kind of stuff so I’m going to just come out and say it. You’re both taking too many chances. I don’t like it. If Jonrell was here, he’d say as much.” He eyed Yanasi. “Cassus would too. I know I ain’t really raised you like they did, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to speak up in their place.”

  She frowned. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes. I know what I have to say might not hold as much weight considering the way I look right now, but I mean it. I saw you fighting near the front during the retreat. That was unnecessary.”

  “Those were my men. I needed to be there for them. Kaz does the same all the time.”

  “You ain’t Kaz,” said Kroke. “You can fight. There’s no denying that. But you don’t have the cold fury that he has. Few do. Lead from the back. Jonrell did it and was more than effective.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Do that.”

  He and Yanasi stared at each other, neither knowing how to break off the conversation.

  This didn’t go how I expected it to. I only meant to express my concern, not lecture her.

  “I’m going to get cleaned up,” Kroke muttered, and then walked off.

  One Above Jonrell. How did you do it?

  * * *

  Elyse sat on the edge of the injured soldier’s bed. He had lost his leg at the knee, but Wiqua managed to save his life. She listened patiently while the man blabbered about his family back home.

  It’s the least I can do.

  “I can’t wait to tell my daughter that I met you. She’ll never believe me.”

  Elyse removed a small ribbon from her dress embroidered with her initials. She took his hand, and tied it around his wrist. “Perhaps that will add some weight to your story.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”

  The soldier smiled before closing his eyes, exhausted from the short conversation. The last in line of that row of cots, she turned to leave, nearly running into Wiqua.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. Are you on your way out?”

  “Yes. I just wanted to quickly offer my thanks.”

  “You know, Kaz will be by soon in case you needed to see him.”

  “Thank you, but this isn’t exactly the place to hammer out strategy.”

  “I didn’t necessarily mean that. I just thought a simple hello might suffice. Or is that not possible?”

  Elyse’s mouth formed a tense smile. “It’s possible. I’m just afraid that nothing is simple between us any longer.”

  He frowned. “Must it be that way?”

  “I don’t see how it could be any other way.”

  Wiqua started to speak again, but she cut him off.

  “I’m sorry, but I must be going.”

  She hurried off, quickly burying any rising thoughts.

  * * *

  Guwan walked among the activity, boots treading over the sticky sludge of blood, dirt, and other bodily fluids covering the wall. Smoke from the burning siege equipment situated on the towers behind him drifted over the bustling activity with each gust of wind. Soldiers dragged away thousands of bodies littering the outer wall. They cared little for what side they once belonged to, only that those corpses stood in the way of reinforcing their position.

  Guwan peaked through the cracks in the wooden logs used in the new wall. The defenders moved with great urgency.

  Why are we making it so easy on them?

  Despite the destruction of the catwalks, Guwan had wanted to press and storm the killing ground in an attempt to scale the middle wall. He knew that Kaz would have the space filled with traps. However, he also knew that he had a large supply of fresh men to throw at the defenders while Kaz’s men looked dead on their feet.

  He had already begun calling up reserves for the next phase of the assault when Nareash had materialized. The High Mage teleported just before Guwan had a chance to step on the siege tower. He still felt the effects of Nareash’s pressure on him. The man had been angry at Guwan’s change in strategy, though his success at taking the outer wall had earned him a respite from the High Mage’s full wrath.

  Guwan tried to argue his desire to press, but Nareash made it clear that if he did so, Guwan would not live to see another day. As before, Nareash seemed confused, hesitant on how to proceed. He teleported away before he would explain his concerns. Even still, he knew that if he wished to live, he had no choice but to obey.

  Guwan’s eyes tracked Kaz, his red and blue armor shimmering with each step. Even the back of the man’s plate held one’s gaze. Guwan hated to admit it, but the former warleader appeared more intimidating than he ever had in Hesh. Reports assured him Kaz had not lost any skill in combat either. He wondered if he would get the chance to test himself against the man once again.

  There is no practice circle here.

  * * *

  Nareash materialized in the valley. He grit his teeth at the nausea from teleporting twice in such a short amount of time. He walked toward Colan, trying to calm his anger from his conversation with Guwan.

  The shaman dismissed the two he spoke with when he saw Nareash. He bowed. “Master.” Straightening, he continued, “Are you alright?”

  “Let me hear your report,” Nareash snapped, ignoring Colan’s question.

  “Attacking Krytien from various angles as you wanted seemed to confuse him at first. Then something happened. He lashed out with that giant fireball. Afterward, our attacks bothered him less, and he took the offensive with more authority. Still, he never showed the power we expected.”

  “Why do you think he held back?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps to conserve energy. At least that’s what I thought when I saw the red mist form over the outer wall again. But nothing happened this time. Did the spell fail?”

  “No. It didn’t fail,” said Nareash. “It was an illusion. A ruse to give his men time to retreat back to the middle wall.”

  Why not use the real thing? It might have turned the battle as it had once before. Then again, why hasn’t he used it or something as strong since that first attack? Nareash clenched his fists. The man is an enigma. And he’s standing in my way of taking Cadonia.<
br />
  “Was he conserving energy to blow the catwalks?”

  Nareash shook his head. “No. He did little there. That was a variation of a rare compound called Nitroglycas. It did not include all of the normal ingredients, but you still saw its effects. The effort and skill comes from creating the substance, not setting it off. A novice could have set it off.”

  Nitroglycas. One more thing to worry about.

  Nareash continued to drill Colan, asking more specific questions about his battle with Krytien. He had watched the battle unfold from a high cliff to better gauge the nuances of how Krytien handled the arts of sorcery. He changed subjects when he felt like he gained little from Colan’s report.

  “What about their other mages?”

  “They are talented, some more than others. We did as you instructed and targeted those wearing black robes first. We killed two of them as well as two others of lesser rank. However, they also eliminated many of the weaker ones we redistributed.”

  Nareash clenched his jaw, angry Guwan had changed his orders, even if he found success. “Our losses are at least trivial compared to theirs.”

  Colan nodded. “What would you have me do next, Master?”

  “Organize those mages still under your control. Have them ready for the next assault.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. We need time to regroup, and I have something to look into.” He narrowed his eyes. “I want you to stay with Guwan. See that he doesn’t take any more liberties with my orders.”

  “He did take the wall today.”

  Nareash scowled. “Yes, and that alone is why he lives. He may command this army, but he still answers to me. If he does anything contradictory to what I tell you myself, kill him. Is that understood?”

  Colan bowed. “Yes, Master.”

  Chapter 8

  Tobin passed through Juanoq’s Old District each day as he traveled to the army’s training ground. Rarely did he deviate from his normal path.

  He checked the message in his hand and then turned right at the next corner. Captain Teznak had provided him with the address of the next name on his list, Belin. He managed to get Tobin the information within the three-day period allotted to him. However, the last name on the list was another story.