Battle for Peace: An Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 2)

by Andy Peloquin

  “Used to save your life and those of every man, woman, and child in Rivergate?” Zaharis’ fingers formed the words with sharp, angry gestures. “That’s something the Arch-Guardian never could see. None of them could. The secrets we gather aren’t to be hidden away, not if they can make this miserable, wretched excuse of a world better.”

  “Aye, I remember this Zaharis.” Again, sadness darkened Darrak’s face. “The idealistic dreamer. Champion of lost causes.” He snorted. “Just like your fruitless search for ice saffron.”

  Zaharis stiffened, and anger radiated off him in waves. “Not fruitless!”

  Darrak cocked an eyebrow. “So you’ve found it, then?”

  From the corner of his eye, Aravon caught sight of Noll edging along the wall one slow, cautious step at a time. His hand hovered a few inches above the hilt of his belt dagger, and despite his casual stance, his muscles were coiled and ready to strike. Keeping his gaze fixed on Darrak and Zaharis, Aravon, too, began sliding left.

  Neither he nor Noll knew how this encounter with the Secret Keeper would end, but if it came to blows…

  “…just a matter of time,” Zaharis’ fingers were saying. “And I’ve found so many more species of flora. Plants no one in the Temple of Whispers could have dreamed of!” He took a step toward the man in the doorway. “My mission on Fehl is not over. The Council was too blind to see that, but please, Darrak, tell me you can think beyond what the Guardians tell you.”

  Darrak took a half-step back, raising his hands defensively. “My oaths are binding,” he signed, his face a mask of stone. “As were yours, until you broke them. But I will not turn my back on the Mistress or her secrets. I guard them with my life and my silence, until the end.”

  “Then, for the sake of what we once shared, Darrak, let me go.” Zaharis’ stance seemed pleading, almost desperate. “The world believes I am dead. Let that be the case. What we are doing—” His gesture included Aravon and Noll. “—is saving lives. Rivergate would have fallen if not for us. So let me remain dead to the world.” He reached out a hand, as if aching to touch the man. “Dead to you, as you swore the day we last spoke.”

  Pain flashed across Darrak’s face. For a moment, he actually seemed to soften, moved by Zaharis’ entreaty. His right hand moved toward Zaharis’, an unconscious, familiar gesture. But the moment passed. Darrak’s face hardened and he shook his head.

  “I cannot.”

  The two words, a simple hand gesture, seemed to shatter something within Zaharis. His shoulders sagged, a fraction of an inch, yet for the Secret Keeper, it was as if he’d collapsed.

  “Your display outside the gate was too visible,” Darrak signed. “Word of it will reach the Temple of Whispers, and when they hear I was here, in the city, they will demand to know why I revealed our Mistress’ secrets to the world.”

  Aravon glanced at Noll without moving his head. The little scout had almost closed to within striking distance. Just another step, a few inches closer, and he’d be in a position to blindside Darrak.

  “They will listen when you explain that it was to save Rivergate!” Zaharis’ fingers flashed so quickly Aravon struggled to keep up. “It is forbidden for us to share our knowledge, but not to use it for the good of mankind.”

  “But they will know it was not me.” Darrak shook his head sadly. “After all, such alchemical marvels are your specialty, while mine is—”

  Noll leapt, dagger flashing from its sheath and driving toward Darrak with the speed of a striking serpent. Aravon attacked at the same time. He swung the iron-capped butt end of his spear up and thrust it forward, a blow aimed at the Secret Keeper’s midsection.

  Darrak moved far faster than expected. He flowed out of the way of Aravon’s spear and inside of Noll’s outstretched arms. His left hand slapped Noll’s dagger wide while his right drove into the side of the little scout’s neck. Noll stumbled backward, reeling from the blow to the artery. A second lightning-fast strike knocked the wind from the scout’s lungs.

  The third punch never landed. Before Aravon could recover from his thrust, Zaharis caught Darrak’s driving fist an inch away from Noll’s throat. Darrak leaned into his blow, snapping an elbow into Zaharis’ face, but Zaharis was no longer there. He slithered around behind Darrak with impossible speed, wrapped an arm around the man’s throat, and twisted him around to throw him over his hip.

  The throw, which had brought Aravon crashing to the ground on numerous occasions, sent Darrak into the air, but the man threw his body into the spin and landed on his feet. His right hand drove into Zaharis’ chest with staggering force. Zaharis twisted his backward stumble into a spinning kick, his heel crashing into Darrak’s shoulder.

  Darrak rebounded off the wall, slapped Aravon’s attack wide, and drove an open-handed blow at Aravon’s face. Aravon managed to snap his head backward to avoid the nose-shattering strike, but Darrak’s follow-up blow to the groin would have landed had Zaharis not deflected the attack with a kick to Darrak’s shoulder.

  “Back!” Zaharis managed to sign in the heartbeat between blows. “Mine!”

  Aravon hesitated. He couldn’t let Zaharis fight alone, no matter who he faced. Yet, he’d battled against and beside the man long enough to know that in hand-to-hand combat, no one bested a Secret Keeper.

  No one but another Secret Keeper.

  Darrak launched himself at Zaharis, arms and legs flying with such speed and grace that Aravon could only watch, mesmerized by the two. It reminded Aravon of a dance, the twisting, spinning, whirling movements that never seemed to slow or stop. But this dance ended up with one of the two Secret Keepers dead.

  Aravon watched the two men, spinning, kicking, punching, and striking at each other. A flurry of blows, almost too fast for him to follow, sent the pair back and forth across the small room. Anger burned in Darrak’s face, but a grim resolve burned in Zaharis’ eyes.

  Darrak was the first to land a blow. His low kick slammed into Zaharis’ left knee, knocking the leg out from beneath him. Zaharis, off-balance, stumbled back, and Darrak pressed the advantage with a barrage of rapid-fire punches and strikes.

  But Darrak made the mistake of losing sight of Aravon. Reversing his grip on the spear, Aravon swung the iron-capped butt end across in a powerful sweeping strike. The ash shaft slammed into Darrak’s back knee just as he lifted his front foot in a kick aimed at Zaharis’ head. Cartilage crunched and his knee gave way. His collapsing bulk crashed atop his leg, shattering the bone with twin snaps. A horrible, piercing scream burst from Darrak’s tongueless mouth

  Zaharis recovered his balance and leapt forward, both hands coming around for an open-handed blow to the sides of Darrak’s neck. Instantly, the wordless screams fell silent and Darrak collapsed, unconscious.

  Aravon and Noll stared wide-eyed at Zaharis, who stood over the senseless form of the Secret Keeper. He gasped for breath, clutching at his left side where Darrak had landed a vicious kick. Yet, instead of anger, only sorrow burned in his eyes. And moisture, bright and sparkling, that disappeared beneath his leather mask.

  “Zaharis—” Aravon began.

  The Secret Keeper lifted his gaze to meet Aravon’s, and Aravon was struck by the depth of misery radiating off the man. This exchange had held a far greater meaning than Darrak’s silent words could ever convey. A look of utter betrayal and guilt darkened Zaharis’ eyes.

  “Please, Captain,” he signed. “Give me a moment with him.”

  Aravon hesitated. Everything he knew about Secret Keepers told him that a broken leg wouldn’t stop Darrak from coming after Zaharis. Their best hope was to get as far from Rivergate as possible before the unconscious priest awoke. It was only a matter of time before every Secret Keeper on Fehl—and on Einan—knew of Zaharis’ presence. The runaway priest would have few places to hide north of the Chain. Even the Fehlan wilds might not be large enough to conceal him from the silent, tongueless priests of the Mistress.

  Yet in that moment, he saw the look in Zaharis’ eyes.
Beneath the pain shone a love, deep and abiding, even after everything that had just transpired between the two men. Realization dawned on him. This isn’t just any ordinary Secret Keeper. He meant something to Zaharis.

  Though Darrak was a threat to their safety and the secrecy of their operation, Aravon had no doubt Zaharis would fight them if it meant keeping Darrak alive. Ordering the Secret Keeper’s death would turn Zaharis against his companions. He wasn’t willing to fight that battle.

  He gave a little nod. “A moment, no more.” Zaharis deserved a few seconds to tend to his fellow Secret Keeper, a man who’d clearly meant something to him in the life he’d left behind.

  Zaharis turned back to the pack, which he’d dropped in the scuffle. The pestle had slid out from beneath the flap, a glass bottle shattered, and a pile of the blue flowers scattered across the floor. Crouching, the Secret Keeper rummaged in his satchel and carefully extracted two pouches. He opened one, drew out a pinch of the dark red Sleeping Lily dust within, and dropped it into Darrak’s nostrils. “He will sleep until long after we are gone,” he signed without looking up.

  The second pouch, he placed gently beside the man’s head. “For the pain.” He remained crouched beside Darrak a long moment, his shoulders slumped. Finally, he gathered the scattered items back into his pack and stood.

  “What the fiery hell, Zaharis?” The words burst from Noll’s lips, curiosity burning in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell us there was a Secret Keeper in Rivergate?”

  “I didn’t know.” Zaharis’ face was dark, shadowed by pain and anguish. “And I never expected…him.”

  “We need to kill him and be—”

  “No!” Zaharis cut him off with a slashing gesture. “His life is not ours to take.”

  The scout rounded on Aravon. “Captain, if these Secret Keepers really are as dangerous as he says…”

  “Enough, Noll. Go find the others and get them across the Standelfr,” Aravon ordered. “Meet us at the first mile marker north of Rivergate Bridge.”

  Noll’s eyes fixed on Zaharis, and he made no move to leave.

  “Now, Noll!” Aravon’s voice cracked like a whip.

  Now Noll turned to Aravon, his posture stubborn, defiance blazing in his eyes. “All due respect to our Secret Keeper here, but—”

  “The time for explanations will come later, Noll.” Aravon held the man’s gaze firmly, his tone brooking no argument. “Now, we’ve got to move quickly. Get. The. Others.”

  A long moment passed before Noll nodded. “Aye, Captain.” He gave the fallen Secret Keeper a wide berth as he left. His leather mask obscured whatever he muttered, but the tension in the little scout’s posture told Aravon that Noll would not let this lie any longer than necessary.

  Once Noll had gone, Aravon turned to Zaharis. “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill him. The Secret Keepers already want you dead. If they find out you’re alive, it puts our mission in jeopardy. Puts you at serious risk. The smart play is to put an end to him n—”

  “We cannot, Captain!” Zaharis’ eyes blazed, a fire of mingled defiance, fury, and sorrow. “The death of a Secret Keeper will draw too much attention from the Temple of Whispers. They will demand reprisals and hunt us through every corner of Fehl.”

  Aravon cocked his head. “Didn’t you say they already wanted you dead?”

  Zaharis nodded. “It’s…complicated.”

  Aravon’s jaw muscles worked. A part of him wanted to demand an answer now, but he held the questions in check. Pain was etched into every line visible behind Zaharis’ mask—the sight of his fellow Secret Keeper had brought up memories best left in the past. At that moment, getting the bloody hell away from Rivergate was their best way forward.

  “I do expect an explanation later, Zaharis,” Aravon said, “as will the others.” After the Secret Keeper had time to process the emotions roiling through him. If Zaharis was willing to risk everything to keep Darrak alive, they would all need to know the reason.

  “Of course, Captain.” Zaharis gave a little nod. “I never…” His fingers fell silent as he turned to look at the unconscious Darrak. “I knew he was on Fehl, sent to search out creatures of legend. Like Snarl.” When he turned back to Aravon, moisture glimmered in his eyes. “Every time I see Snarl, I’m reminded of him. Of what we once had, until I ruined it. All for the sake of Keeper-damned ice saffron!”

  Zaharis’ fist punched out, striking a wooden wall hard enough to splinter the roof beam and shatter the boards. The explosion of emotions surprised Aravon; he’d never seen Zaharis lose control before.

  “Tell me, Zaharis.” Aravon spoke in a quiet tone. “Do you believe ice saffron is real?”

  Zaharis hesitated a long moment before turning back to Aravon. “I do.” Despite the slump in his shoulders, confidence gleamed in his tear-rimmed eyes.

  “And do you believe that with it, with the Elixir of Creation, you could end the fighting and make our world a better place?”

  Zaharis nodded.

  “Then trust that it will be worth the sacrifice.” Aravon placed a hand on the Secret Keeper’s shoulder. “No matter what anyone else says, if you listen to your heart, it will never lead you astray. You fight for something bigger than yourself, even than this company or this war. You have found your guiding star. Let it guide you unerringly to your destiny, wherever that may lie.” He tightened his grip, a reassuring squeeze. “And know that we, your friends and family, march at your side.”

  Again, tears sparkled in Zaharis’ eyes, but a glimmer of gratitude pierced the darkness. “Thank you, Captain.”

  With a nod, Aravon turned and strode from the small house, Zaharis on his heels.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  As Aravon and Zaharis hurried northwest, toward the crumbled remains of Rivergate Bridge, he couldn’t help noticing that life had begun to return to the stronghold.

  Men, women, and children moved among the broken remains of their lives, picking up the pieces of shattered furniture, fighting fires, collecting their scattered belongings. Many had eyes red-rimmed from crying—likely mourning their friends and family slain in battle—yet they moved with resolve. The battle had passed, their city had been recaptured, and their lives moved on. Surrounded by blood, carnage, and the memories of all they had lost. Yet the people of Rivergate would rebuild, one day at a time.

  As Aravon approached the destroyed Rivergate Bridge, the sound of shouted orders echoed loud in the brightening daylight. Two familiar figures stood on the southern riverbank, one calling instructions and coordinating the movements of the Bannockburners bringing supplies across the makeshift pontoon bridge. All along the hulking length of the wooden barge, carpenters set about strengthening the ropes holding the stone anchors and reinforcing the scaffolding-like structure. It would take long months to rebuild Rivergate Bridge, but until then, the Coracle would serve as Rivergate’s source of supplies.

  “Captain Lemaire?” he called out as he approached.

  The Nyslian Captain and his ever-present giant shadow, Balegar, turned toward him. “Ah, Capitaine Snarl.” A smile broadened his face. “I was hoping I would have a chance to speak to you before you disappeared into the mists.”

  “It’s a bright, sunny day.” Aravon gestured at the grassy riverbank, the white-churned ribbon of the Standelfr, and the lush green forest north of the river. “Not a lot of mists around.”

  Captain Lemaire chuckled. “You know what I mean. I had figured you might leave with about as much fanfare as you arrived. I believe I owe you my thanks in person. The Swordsman knows Commander Rheamus won’t make it a priority.”

  “Your thanks?” Aravon cocked his head.

  “Oui. You and yours are the only reason Rivergate still stands,” Captain Lemaire said. “Were it not for you, things would have turned out rather…differently.”

  Balegar snorted. “Understatement,” he rumbled.

  “Just doing our jobs, Captain.” Aravon shrugged. “And, if I recall correctly, it was your men of Secon
d and Third Companies that did the heavy lifting. We just hung around in the background looking pretty.”

  “Now that,” Captain Lemaire grinned up at Balegar, “was the real understatement.” He turned back to Aravon with a shake of his head. “Your modesty does you credit, Capitaine.”

  “As does your courage.” He thrust out a hand. “It was a privilege to fight by your side, Captain Lemaire. May the Swordsman strengthen your arm.”

  “And guide your steps.” Captain Lemaire finished the soldier’s incantation and shook Aravon’s hand.

  Aravon turned toward Balegar. “Seems I owe you my life. If I didn’t already have a big man of my own, I’d be tempted to steal you away from the Captain here.”

  Balegar shot a sidelong glance at Lemaire. “Make me an offer.”

  Aravon chuckled and gripped Balegar’s hand. “I might just.” His gloved fingers looked tiny enveloped in Balegar’s, which were as thick and long as sausages. “But that would deprive Second Company of their best soldier.”

  Balegar’s huge cheeks flushed under Aravon’s praise.

  “How soon do you think you’ll have the bridge restored?” Aravon asked Captain Lemaire. “The barge will only hold out for a few days, at most.”

  A frown creased Captain Lemaire’s face. “I could not say for certain, Capitaine.” He tugged at the tip of his moustache. “Weeks, certainly. Perhaps a month, depending on how quickly our carpenters and stonemasons work.”

  “Hopefully not too long,” Aravon said. “Duke Westhaven will likely be sending supplies as soon as he hears the battle is won. I’m certain everyone in Rivergate is looking forward to a proper meal once more.”

  “Indeed.” Captain Lemaire grinned. “Though if what I hear about the Duke is true, he will more likely be interested in getting his precious freight back to the safety of his lands.”

  “Freight?” Aravon cocked his head.

  Captain Lemaire jutted his chin toward a small, square wooden shed built up against the northeastern end of the wall. Within the shed stood three carts covered with thick canvas, though one corner of the canvas had been slashed and ripped free. Beneath, Aravon caught a glimpse of glittering black stone. It appeared as if the enemy had tried unsuccessfully to haul the two-wheeled carts away, then abandoned them in their assault on Rivergate.