“Like the Eirdkilrs are howling inside my skull.” Skathi grimaced, blinked hard. But instead of getting up, she closed her eyes and nestled deeper into the blankets. “’F’its all the same to you, Cap’n, I’ll just go back to…” Her sentence trailed off unfinished and her breathing grew deep, steady once more.
“At least we know the thump to her head didn’t mess with her sunny disposition.” Colborn gave Aravon a wry grin.
“Clear sign she’ll heal up just fine.” Aravon let out a relieved sigh and, taking a seat, leaned back against the tree trunk once more. Snarl padded from the darkness and curled up in Aravon’s lap. The Enfield’s presence was soothing, and Aravon ran a hand down Snarl’s furry head and back.
“She’s got the right idea, though.” Colborn yawned, his voice heavy with fatigue. “It’ll be time to get up and at it before too long. Best we take the opportunity to sleep while we can.”
“Aye.” The word was all Aravon could muster. Exhaustion dragged at his limbs, which had grown too heavy to move. His eyelids drooped and he felt sleep settling over him. With Snarl’s warm, heavy body pressing against his legs and stomach, Aravon allowed himself to drift off into the peaceful void of well-earned sleep.
* * *
“Fall back!” Aravon shouted in Fehlan, waving his spear to get the Fjall’s attention. “Back!”
The last of the Fjall broke off from the ambush, but not before leaving ten of their comrades lying on the ground amidst the Eirdkilr bodies littering the bloodstained, muddy ground. They had hit the enemy hard—after Colborn’s hastily dug spike pits and spear traps softened them up. The pile of felled trees had funneled the Eirdkilrs straight into their chokepoint, and the forty Fjall with them had taken down the first group of enemies before they knew what hit them.
But the Blood Queen had learned her lesson. Within half a minute of springing the trap, three more companies, each forty or fifty-strong, had appeared from the south.
Colborn raced up beside him, gasping. “The enemy’s too close, Captain!” Blood trickled from a shallow cut along his right cheek, staining his white-blond beard a deep crimson. “A fourth group’s circling west and they’ll hit us in seconds. The Blodsvarri’s throwing everything she can to push us back.”
“It means she’s doing what we want!” Aravon leapt toward an Eirdkilr that had managed to force his way through the fallen trees. He blocked the wild swing of the enormous axe, shattered the barbarian’s knee with the iron-shod butt of his spear, and drove the blade through the man’s throat. “She’s keeping us penned in, stopping us from breaking out. She’s got her sights set on trapping us in at Hangman’s Hill.”
Colborn threw himself into the gap beside Aravon, his shield clanging beneath the impact of an Eirdkilr club. “Think she’ll be kind enough to give us a night off…” Colborn grunted as another blow crashed against his shield. “…before she cuts us down?” He punctuated his words with a hard thrust of his longsword. The sharp Odarian steel blade punched through the Eirdkilr’s chain mail and deep into his chest.
“Let’s hope so!” Aravon kicked the dying Eirdkilr backward, sending his corpse flying into the barbarians pushing through the gap behind him. “She’s got a lot more men than we do, but they’ll be pretty exhausted by now, too. Even the Eirdkilrs can’t fight forever.”
For a moment, the Eirdkilr’s huge form blocked the gap, like a cork in a bottle keeping the barbarians behind him from getting through. Aravon spun toward the figure crouching in the shadows of a felled tree. “Do it!”
Zaharis moved quickly, lighting his alchemical firestriker and touching its burning end to a thick trail of sap that oozed from the pine tree. The highly flammable resin, mixed with a few drops of an oil Zaharis had extracted from the Fire Daisies, caught alight in an instant. Bright orange flames licked along the length of the felled trees and leapt toward the Eirdkilrs caught in the brambles.
The conflagration lacked the alchemical violence and ferocity of the fire wall outside Rivergate, but it served its purpose nonetheless. Aravon, Colborn, and Zaharis scrambled backward as the blistering heat washed over them. Screams, high-pitched and tinged with agony, echoed from within the inferno but quickly fell silent as the fire consumed the Eirdkilrs.
Aravon grimaced at the reek of burning flesh, the terrible crackling of the billowing flames. Yet he couldn’t help feeling relieved as well. The Eirdkilrs wouldn’t be using this gulch to circle around the Fjall’s eastern flank. This was the last place where the Blodsvarri could have cut off their retreat to Hangman’s Hill. With the Hardrfoss River guarding their eastern flank and the marshlands to their west, her only way to hit the main Fjall forces would be straight down the middle. By cutting the Eirdkilrs off here, they had bought Bjarni’s men a few hours—precious time to rest and recover from nearly three consecutive days of fighting.
As Aravon slipped back through the trees to where they’d left the horses tethered away from the battleground, he called to mind the crude map of the Fjall lands the Duke had shown him back at Storbjarg and did quick calculations. We’ve marched nearly a hundred and thirty miles northeast from Storbjarg. That puts us just ten miles from Hangman’s Hill.
The Fjall would have to cover that distance on foot—at least half a day’s march, given their exhaustion—but Aravon and his small company had horses that could make the journey in the space of two hours. As long as the Blood Queen doesn’t push her exhausted Eirdkilrs too hard, we’ll have time to recover. Maybe even send Zaharis and Belthar on a flower-picking mission. Keeper knows we could use some of his alchemical marvels tomorrow.
The Secret Keeper’s supplies had all but run out, and his marvelous wooden chest seemed to have reached its bottom. The latest ambush had only succeeded thanks to the resinous pine trees growing around the gulch and Zaharis’ search for painkilling Fire Daisies the previous evening.
But unless he somehow managed to re-stock tonight, he’d have nothing to use for their battle tomorrow. It would come down to the courage of the Fjall in the face of Eirdkilr savagery and strength. Throrsson’s preparations against the Blood Queen’s cunning.
We’ve done all we can, Aravon told himself as he climbed into the saddle and turned his horse back toward their camp. Now it’s up to Eirik Throrsson and his men to achieve the impossible.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
A nervous silence hung over their small camp. The coolness of the cave Belthar had managed to find seemed almost chilly, made even more tense by the occasional crack of their merrily burning fire and the harsh rasp of whetstones on steel. Aravon and Colborn worked at their weapons, and Belthar was hard at work turning his collection of birch branches into arrows. Zaharis tended to the bubbling pot that hung suspended from his portable iron cookframe over the fire. The stew smelled marvelous—they would all have eaten it then and there had the Secret Keeper not insisted that it needed a few more minutes.
Aravon’s eyes darted toward Skathi. The archer sat against the stone walls of the cave, bundled up in her bedroll. The bruise on her face had darkened since the previous night, spread from her forehead to purpling circles around her left eye and down to her ear. Even with Zaharis’ painkilling remedy—which, the Secret Keeper himself admitted would do little more than dull the discomfort, not heal it—she still winced every time she moved.
Her face pinched with discomfort as she shifted in her seat, trying not to disturb Snarl curled around her feet. When she reached for one of the birch branches she’d worked at earlier, she sagged, her eyes wobbling, and barely managed to catch herself before falling.
Belthar dropped his arrow and reached toward her. “Let me—”
“Don’t!” Skathi snapped. “I’m fine!”
Belthar froze, then quickly retreated. His expression darkened and his face grew hard. Yet not inscrutable. The big man had hidden secrets of his past, but he had never been good at concealing his emotions. Pain glimmered in the eyes he turned back toward the unfletched arrow shaft.
A
ravon exchanged glances with Colborn. “Flower-picking?” he signed.
Colborn raised an eyebrow. “Need a moment alone?”
Aravon nodded.
With a theatrical groan, Colborn stood. “Ahh!” he sighed. “Feels good to work the kinks out of my muscles.”
Zaharis ignored the Lieutenant, focused on stirring the stew. Skathi didn’t bother looking up, and Belthar was too busy being miserable to tear his gaze from the stick in his hands.
“You know, Zaharis,” Colborn pressed, “I could swear I spotted a little patch of white flowers on our way back today. Could they be the ice saffron you’re looking for?”
Zaharis shook his head without looking up. “Ice saffron have blue petals, not white. Probably nothing more than lilies.”
“They didn’t smell sweet,” Colborn said. “I’m no expert on plants, but maybe there’s a chance you can use them to cook up something unpleasant for the Eirdkilrs tomorrow?”
A long moment passed, then Zaharis sighed. “Sure, why not?” He stood slowly—even though he slept no more than a few hours a night, the last few days had taken an equally heavy toll on him. “Stew needs another ten minutes to cook, so we’ve got time.”
“Give us a hand, Belthar,” Colborn said, turning to the big man. “If they are useful, the more we’ve got, the better.”
Belthar said nothing but, after a darting glance at Skathi, stood and followed Colborn and Zaharis into the darkness beyond the cave mouth.
Aravon watched the three men go, waited until they were well and truly gone before—
“Spit it out, Captain.”
Skathi’s steel-edged words took Aravon by surprise. “What?”
“Oh, please!” Skathi rolled her eyes. “Colborn’s a damned good tracker, but I’ve seen alley cats give more convincing performances.” She gave a little snort. “And remember, I speak the hand language as well as you.”
Aravon gave her a wry grin. “At least your eyes are still as sharp as ever, head wound or no.”
“That’s what this is about?” Skathi’s jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around the stick she’d been working on so tight it creaked in her grip. “You think because I’m a woman, a bump like that’s going to suddenly make me useless?” Anger burning bright and hot in her eyes as she leaned forward and thrust the sharpened stick at Aravon. “Belthar collects wounds like a miser with gold coins, but when I get hit, you—”
“Enough, Skathi!” Aravon’s voice cracked like a whip.
The archer fell silent, yet her fury remained undiminished. Aravon could sense it simmering beneath the surface, as it always had since the moment she joined their company. The time had come to put that to rest. Or, at least, put it behind them.
“Yes, I’m worried about your head wound.” Aravon nodded. “Same way I’m worried about this damned bruise on my chest every time it hurts to breathe. But no, that’s not what this is about.”
“Then, like I said,” Skathi growled, “spit it out.”
Aravon bit back an angry retort. It would do no good to lash out in frustration. He drew in a deep breath, filling his lungs with the cool air to regain his calm.
“Since Bjornstadt, I’ve had a chance to talk to everyone, except you.” He chose his words carefully. “For that, I owe you an apology.”
His words had an instant effect. Skathi’s anger cracked, replaced by a flash of surprise. “A-Apology?”
“Yes,” Aravon said. He drew in a deep breath. “Since the first day you joined our company, it’s been clear how you feel about a few of us.” His brow furrowed. “I know that Noll’s gotten on your nerves, and Belthar…well, that’s a different snarl of yarn.”
Snarl perked up at the sound of his name, but when no offer of food or order to fly was forthcoming from his two packmates, he settled down around Skathi’s feet once more.
Skathi snorted. “Understatement of the decade.”
“I’d offer to talk to them about it—” Aravon began.
“I can handle my own business,” Skathi snapped.
“And that’s what this is about.” Aravon leaned forward. “You seem to think that just because you can handle your business alone somehow means you have to.”
Skathi’s eyes narrowed and she leaned back, strong arms crossed in front of her defensively.
“You’re a part of our company, Skathi.” Aravon gestured around. “You’ve earned your place here as much as any one of us.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Hells, probably more than most. Your skill and courage has saved all our arses as many times as Zaharis’ magic or Colborn’s woodcraft.”
The tightness in the archer’s broad shoulders diminished slightly. Just a fraction, yet enough that Aravon held out hope that his words would reach her.
“But it’s up to you to actually become a part of the company,” he continued in a quiet voice. “Not to watch from a safe distance.”
The tension returned. Stone walls went up in Skathi’s eyes, the lines of her face growing tight.
Aravon drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know what history you have with people like Noll, or Belthar, or even me.” He shrugged. “And I’m not going to push. I want you to feel comfortable enough that you can talk about what’s going on. What’s bothering you, what you want or need, even if it’s not mission-critical. Maybe not with everyone, but with me, at least. My job as your commanding officer isn’t just to give orders and expect you to follow them. It’s also on me to make sure you’re in the right state, heart and mind, to do what needs to be done.”
Skathi stiffened and clenched her jaw. Aravon could see her mind working, her lips forming a sharp retort.
He spoke before she could. “It’s never me doubting you.” He fixed her with a piercing gaze. “It’s concern for you, one of my soldiers. Just like I’m concerned for Colborn, Belthar, Rangvaldr, or any of the others. That’s what this is about. Me doing my damnedest to prove that you’re as important to this company as everyone you march with.”
For a moment, it seemed his words had fallen on stony ears. Skathi remained motionless, her posture defensive and the angry light burning in her eyes. But as the seconds grew long, she seemed to relax, the stiffness draining from her spine and shoulders, her face softening a fraction. “Understood, sir.”
“So, again, I’m going to ask, you up for this?” Aravon said in a quiet voice. “Tomorrow’s battle is going to be a bloodbath. That head wound would have me questioning if I should fight or not, and the way you’re wincing every time you move your right arm, I’m not sure you should be drawing a bow. But if you say you’re solid, I’ll take you at your word. You’ve more than earned my respect and trust.”
Skathi remained silent a long moment. Something akin to gratitude and pride flashed in her eyes. Only for an instant, so fast Aravon almost thought he’d imagined it. But the ghost of a smile on her lips spoke volumes. “I’ll be there, Captain,” she said. “Might be a bit shaky thanks to this.” With her left hand, she gestured to her forehead. “But when the time comes that you need my arrows, you’ll have what’s left of them.”
Aravon shot a glance at her quiver. Fewer than twenty of Polus’ arrows remained, with another dozen of the scores she’d fashioned along the journey south. Yet in her hands, those few could affect the tide of battle.
“Good.” He nodded. “Then I’ll find a place where you can do the most damage. Maybe even get a shot at the Blood Queen herself.”
“Damn right!” Skathi growled and sat up, wincing slightly. “I’ll bloody her nose good and well, Captain.”
“I know you will,” Aravon said, a smile tugging at his lips. “And Skathi, if there’s ever anything going on, I need you to know that I won’t think any less of you for it.”
Skathi frowned, yet she nodded.
“We all carry around the weight of our pasts.” Aravon leaned forward. “But as my father always told me, shared burdens grow lighter.”
“Yes, Captain.” Something dark and ugly flashed across Skathi’s face, as
if at a painful memory. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not like most Legion officers I’ve had the misfortune to work with.”
“Oh?” Aravon’s eyebrows rose. “How so?”
Her eyes reflected the depth of meaning ringing in her words, but she gave him a little smile. “You care. I think that’s what has kept us all going, even when things go to shite. What’s kept us alive this long, impossibility be damned.”
Aravon chuckled. “I just wish we had a barrel of good ale. I could drink to that!”
Skathi laughed. “Next time we find ourselves in the Princelands, Captain, the first drink’s on me.”
“You know I’ll be collecting on that offer.” Aravon grinned. It felt good to smile after what seemed like days of endless fighting and worrying. And to see Skathi smile, to know she could feel comfortable around him.
With a sigh, Aravon leaned back against the cave wall and stretched out his legs. The tension in the enclosed space seemed to have fled, and now the crackling of the fire and the rich, herb-heavy smell of stew filled him with a sense of peace, an all-consuming calm. For a few precious minutes, the chaos of the previous days and concerns for the future faded and Aravon felt truly relaxed.
Then Snarl started growling. The little Enfield leapt upright, his posture stiff and his ears twitching, amber eyes locked on the entrance to the cave.
Instantly, Aravon was on full alert. He scrambled to his feet and scooped up his spear, all fatigue and pain forgotten. Wood clattered as Skathi nocked an arrow to her bow, but didn’t pull.
Aravon wanted to call out to Colborn, Belthar, and Zaharis, but dared not. The nearby enemies might not have seen or heard them yet, but drawing attention to them eliminated any hope that they had evaded detection and could come to their aid.
“Eyes sharp,” he signed to Skathi. “Watch my back.”
Nodding, Skathi sat straighter and twisted to aim her bow at the darkness beyond the cave entrance.
Aravon padded closer to Snarl. “Go!” Aravon spoke the command word. He had no idea what Snarl had sensed, but the alertness in the Enfield’s posture, the sudden tension in his little body couldn’t be good.
Battle for Peace: An Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 2) Page 57