The Last March: A Grimdark Epic Military Fantasy Novel (The Silent Champions Book 6)

by Andy Peloquin

  In times like this, with only their crossbows to keep the enemy at bay, mastery of their weapon was the only thing that would keep them alive.

  Sweat streamed down Koltun’s forehead, drops slithering beneath the rim of his helmet to sting his eyes. He wiped it away, rubbed his palm on his trousers to dry the moisture, and settled his heavy helm back into place. Gripping the crossbow tighter, he drew in slow, deep breaths, fighting to calm his racing heart.

  Seconds turned to minutes, and still no Eirdkilrs appeared. The howling fury within the stronghold never abated, and the fires within Highcliff Motte raged unchecked. Koltun hated the waiting, the calm before the storm of battle, but at the moment, he welcomed it. The longer the enemy took to give chase, the greater the chance the civilians would have to reach safety.

  Then an Eirdkilr appeared through the open gate.

  “Mine!” Caela’s voice echoed from her position, a heartbeat before her string twanged. A bolt screamed down the Cliffpass toward the barbarian and the Eirdkilr fell with the shaft in his throat.

  Another emerged from the smoke choking Highcliff Motte. “Mine!” Koltun called. His bolt took the Eirdkilr in the chest, punching through chain mail, undertunic, and flesh. The Eirdkilr fell but didn’t die; instead, he lay gurgling and wheezing, blood seeping out of the puncture wound to mingle with the boot-churned mud of the Cliffpass.

  Two more, taken down by Burgo and Thog. The triplets loosed at the three Eirdkilrs that came through the gate next, but only two fell. Wallis had to finish off the third.

  But the twos and threes soon turned to fives, tens, then dozens as the Eirdkilrs raced out the northern gate and up the Cliffpass. Hundreds of screaming, howling figures emerged from smoky haze and, with shouts of “Death to the half-men!” surged in an unstoppable tidal wave of steel, blood, and fury up the trail toward Koltun and the Screaming Howlers.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ice slithered down Koltun’s spine. Keeper’s teeth, that’s a bloody lot of them!

  For a heartbeat, the calls of the Screaming Howlers faltered. There were simply too many enemies to single out individual targets.

  The time had come to change tactics.

  “Staggered fire!” Koltun shouted. “Two and two.”

  He popped up, loosed his bolt, and ducked back down to reload. A piercing whistle echoed alongside the shrieking coming from his hurtling missile—Thog had fired in the same instant as he, as they’d practiced a hundred times before.

  One.

  Caela and Burgo loosed next, their bolts screaming down the trail in pursuit of Koltun and Thog’s.

  Two.

  Even as Koltun spanned his crossbow’s string, Gladabar and Connell sent their bolts downrange.

  Three.

  Sadras and Madden loosed next, their shots timed in near-perfect unison.

  Four.

  Koltun drew a bolt from its quiver and slammed it into the crossbow’s cradle. Twin shots whistled from Wallis and Dannick, finding Eirdkilr flesh.

  Five.

  Popping up from behind the rock, Koltun sighted on the enemy and pulled the trigger. His bolt howled down the hill alongside Thog’s. Two more Eirdkilrs fell shrieking. Their huge bodies and heavy shields tangled up the barbarians racing along behind them, bearing four of their comrades to the ground.

  The count began again. Each of the Screaming Howlers loosed their bolts in pairs, though the length between each pair of shots grew longer as the fatigue took its toll on the soldiers. Young Wallis and Dannick moved the slowest, forcing Koltun and Thog to compensate by loosing faster.

  Fire coursed through Koltun’s arms, shoulders, hands, and spine. His muscles shrieked in protest at the non-stop movement, the endless strain of hauling back on the string, reaching for a bolt, and bringing the heavy wooden crossbow up to his shoulder.

  He loosed, reloaded, and loosed until he could no longer feel his fingers and arms. The Screaming Howlers joined him, pouring bolts downhill as fast as they could.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The Eirdkilrs hid behind their huge shields, forcing the Screaming Howlers to aim with caution, to search for openings in the shield wall. Closer and closer the barbarians drew—fifty yards became forty, thirty, twenty. All the while, the screams and war cries of the Eirdkilrs echoed off the cliff walls, growing louder as the enemy drew nearer one step at a time.

  Koltun felt it in his bones. Time had run out.

  “Break off!” Koltun roared. Without hesitation, he spun away from the rocky outcropping and dashed toward his horse. “Thog!”

  The big man leapt past him, seized him by the collar of his armor, and physically lifted him into the saddle.

  “Ride!” He dug his heels into his horse’s ribs, and the beast leapt up the trail. He crouched as low in the saddle as he could, back hunched and shoulders knotted. His muscles tensed as if expecting to feel the sting of an enemy arrow at any second. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself not to look back, to trust the solid steel backplate of his armor and the neck guard of his helmet to shield him.

  Hooves thundered in the darkness as the Screaming Howlers galloped up the Cliffpass, racing away from the pursuing Eirdkilrs, desperate to escape the shrieking horde behind them. Koltun’s mind whirled as he rode. Did we hold them long enough? Had they given Lieutenant Vorris and his Legionnaires time to reach Arch-Guardian Dayn’s position?

  He got his answer moments later.

  The slowest-moving of the fleeing Legionnaires hadn’t yet reached the spot where the Secret Keeper and his apprentice had prepared to bring down the Cliffpass. Wounded soldiers, Menders, and exhausted civilians forced the rear guard to slow to a snail’s pace. Koltun’s gut twisted as he ran quick mental calculations.

  The Eirdkilrs would reach them before the bedraggled men and women got to safety.

  Rot that!

  “They’re coming!” Koltun roared. “The bastard barbarians will be on us in two minutes. Run, if you value your lives!”

  That lit a fire within the fleeing Princelanders. Legionnaires, Menders, and civilians alike summoned one last reserve of strength to flee, breaking into a run up the hill.

  Koltun reined in his horse and whirled toward Caela. “Go!” he ordered. “Take your half and set up at Dayn’s position. Get ready to cover us.”

  With a nod, Caela dug her heels into her horse’s ribs. “Black Squad, with me!”

  Gladabar, Madden, and Sadras raced off up the trail after her. Their small force of Screaming Howlers had a loose command structure, with Caela and Thog as the unofficial officers beneath Koltun. It never mattered off the battlefield, but in times like this, it could save precious seconds.

  Koltun turned to the men that remained—Thog, Burgo, Dannick, Wallis, and Connell. “Crimson Squad, we keep the enemy off the Legionnaires’ backs.”

  The Screaming Howlers dismounted and took up position behind sheltering rocks or in large cracks running through the cliffs—anything that provided cover from enemy arrows. Koltun alone remained in his saddle. He couldn’t waste precious seconds trying to mount up when the time came to flee.

  “They’ll be coming hard and fast,” Koltun growled. “Take down any who appear, but listen for my signal.” He risked a single glance over his shoulder before returning his attention to the Cliffpass. The fleeing Princelanders had just fifty more yards to reach Arch-Guardian Dayn’s position, but at the rate of the slow-moving wounded, it would take the better part of two minutes.

  Seconds dragged by at what seemed a glacial pace. The screams, shrieks, and war cries of the Eirdkilrs grew louder, carried on the wind alongside thick, choking clouds of smoke rising from the burning Highcliff Motte. Koltun’s heart hammered in his chest as he waited, mouth bone dry, watching for any sign of the enemy.

  Nothing. The pass below remained empty.

  Koltun glanced back. The Princelanders had almost reached Arch-Guardian Dayn. Almost, with the slower being carried by the Legionnaires of the rear guard.

 
“Time to move!” he roared, sawing at his reins. Not a moment too soon. Even as he brought his horse’s head around, the first of the Eirdkilrs appeared down the Cliffpass. “Now!”

  The Screaming Howlers needed no encouragement. They galloped up the trail seconds behind him, racing toward the spot where Arch-Guardian Dayn and Bradon waved frantically for them to hurry. Hope rose in Koltun’s chest as the last of the fleeing civilians passed the two Secret Keepers. All that remained was for the six of them to get—

  Something slammed into the back of Koltun’s head with the force of a kicking donkey. The world spun around him and he reeled. Somehow, he managed to cling to his saddle and stay upright in the long, nauseating seconds before the whirling slowed.

  Arrows zipped all around the Screaming Howlers, loosed from Eirdkilr bows, accompanied by hurled curses in their guttural tongue and their shrieking war chant. Distance alone saved Koltun and his crossbowyers from being skewered—even the Eirdkilrs’ incredibly powerful longbows couldn’t effectively shoot so far up the steeply rising Cliffpass.

  Koltun raced past the two Secret Keepers. “Do it now!” he shouted, reining in his horse ten yards up the trail.

  Arch-Guardian Dayn touched a burning firestriker to a cord hanging from a crack in the cliff walls, and a tiny spark sprang to life at the tip, consuming it in the space of seconds. Koltun held his breath as the little wisp of flame disappeared into the fissure.

  Nothing. No sudden blossoming of bright fire as he’d seen in the mine, no deafening BOOM as the flarequartz caught alight. Nothing but darkness and the shrieking of the Eirdkilrs surging up the Cliffpass toward them.

  Arch-Guardian Dayn seemed to realize that something was amiss, too. Before Koltun could shout, the Secret Keeper broke away from his position and raced five long steps down the trail. Lighting a firestriker, he touched it to another cord dangling from the cliff wall, then turned and sprinted back up the Cliffpass as fast as his feet could carry him.

  A second later, the world exploded in an inferno of brilliant light.

  Chapter Eighteen

  One moment, the Cliffpass was dark and echoing with the howling cries of the Eirdkilrs; the next, Koltun was nearly blinded by the sudden flare of dozens of fires springing to life along the stone walls. A brilliant ball of fire burst outward from the Cliffpass. The concussive blast sent his horse staggering backward, jostling the still-mounted Thog. The big Praamian, too, was knocked off-balance by the wave of heat, sound, and pressure and would have fallen from his saddle if Koltun hadn’t caught him. Their horses screamed and shrieked beneath them—all the horses in the Cliffpass did—terrified by the sudden explosion. The very ground beneath their feet seemed to writhe and heave like a bucking stallion, and a spray of rock shards, heat, and dust showered them.

  “Look out!” Caela’s voice was all but drowned beneath the deafening thunderclap of the exploding flarequartz. Koltun barely registered the sound before he caught sight of her leaping from her saddle and racing the two steps to where Lieutenant Vorris stood. She seized the collar of the Legionnaire’s armor and, with a mighty yank, heaved him backward.

  Just in time to avoid a boulder falling from high on the cliff walls. Again, his horse danced and skittered beneath Koltun as both cliff walls, destroyed by the blast, began to collapse. A billowing cloud of dust and the growling rumble of crumbling stone filled the Cliffpass, swallowing every man and woman present in an earth-shattering roar that took long seconds to subside.

  The ringing in Koltun’s ears made the screaming of the Eirdkilrs suddenly seem fainter, and he blinked hard to clear the sparks from his vision. Long seconds passed before he could see.

  “Bloody hell!” His breath caught in his lungs. Through the motes of light dancing in his eyes, he got his first glimpse of the Cliffpass. Or, more accurately, the mound of crushed stone that blocked the path through the mountains. A pile of rubble thrice the height of an Eirdkilr obstructed the Cliffpass completely.

  Horses skittered, whinnied, and shrilled their panic, and all eyes around Koltun were wide in pale, dust-covered faces. Even the stoic Lieutenant Vorris was shaken. “W-What in the Swordsman’s holy name was that?” His voice was faint, shaky. He hardly seemed to notice that Caela still had a grip on his armor—a grip that had saved his life seconds earlier.

  “Flarequartz, the Secret Keeper called it,” Koltun replied. His words sounded far too dull, muted in his ringing ears. “What they came here to find.”

  Mention of the Secret Keeper brought Koltun whipping around. He scanned the Cliffpass, searching the people present to find Arch-Guardian Dayn and his apprentice. The two Secret Keepers had been farther down the trail. Had they been buried in the collapse, trapped beneath a mountain’s worth of stone?

  He was about to leap from his saddle when he caught sight of Bradon. The young apprentice knelt over the unmoving form of his master, pressing two fingers to the man’s neck. Even from this distance, Koltun could see the crimson gleam of blood staining Dayn’s robes.

  “Mender!” he roared, whirling toward the men and women clustered around the now sealed-off pass. His eyes fell on the nearest Mender—priest of the Swordsman, skilled in the arts of healing and caring for wounds. “Mender, help the Arch-Guardian!”

  The bald-headed man sprang to action without hesitation, racing toward Bradon and the unconscious Dayn. By the time Koltun climbed down from his saddle and reached the trio, the Mender had completed a quick examination.

  “Took a shard of flying stone to the lower back,” the Mender explained. “It sliced him open good.”

  “Can you stop the bleeding?” Koltun stared at the puddle of blood forming beneath Dayn.

  The Mender nodded. “Aye, but it’ll take a few minutes to make sure no organs are damaged too badly.”

  “Do it,” Koltun barked. “Do whatever you can to help get him moving. We need to be out of here as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.” The Mender called to two of his companions, who hurried over to help care for the fallen Arch-Guardian.

  Koltun tugged Bradon away, and the young apprentice stumbled after him, half-dazed, a worried look twisting his hatchet face.

  “Bradon, lad, can you hear me?” Koltun pulled the young man’s face toward him.

  Bradon nodded.

  “You hurt anywhere?” Koltun saw no blood on Bradon’s head or staining his robes, but he had to be sure.

  This time, Bradon shook his head.

  “Good.” Koltun clapped the young man gently on the shoulder. “The Menders will take care of your master, get him stitched up and back on his feet.”

  Bradon tried to pull free of Koltun’s grip.

  “Easy, lad. You’ve got to give them space to…” He trailed off as Bradon tugged a writing tablet from within his robes and began scribbling furiously. Once done, he held up the tablet.

  “I’ve got to see to the flarequartz,” the apprentice’s words read. “I have to make certain they are safe and prepared to transport.” He thrust a finger toward a pair of pack horses that stood twenty yards up the trail. One bore the Secret Keeper’s chest—filled with his alchemical supplies, guarded so fiercely that none of them had managed to sneak a glimpse at its contents in the weeks they’d traveled with Dayn—and upon the other’s back rested one full-sized wine barrel and a smaller cask, like those used for ale. Both were lidded and sealed with wax, but the thick layers of dust covering the wooden exteriors left no doubt as to their contents.

  When Koltun turned back, Bradon was writing once more. “It is that stone—and the power it promises—that has brought us here,” he said through the tablet. “That used up nearly a full barrel of what we have mined. We must ensure the rest reaches safety.”

  Koltun nodded. “So be it.” He released his grip on the young man, and Bradon hurried toward the skittish, still-nervous horses. Though Arch-Guardian Dayn had sacrificed some of the marvelous mineral to cover their retreat, he had more than enough to conduct his experiments upon his retu
rn to the Princelands. The Screaming Howlers hadn’t yet failed their mission. They still had a chance to get both the Secret Keeper and the survivors of Highcliff Motte to safety. And, thanks to the miraculous explosive properties of the flarequartz, they had cut off the enemy’s advance.

  But for how long? The question nagged at the back of Koltun’s mind as he stared at the mound of rubble blocking off the Cliffpass. The Eirdkilrs had proven themselves adept climbers, but it would take far too long to send their entire army scrambling up the cliffs and trying to find a way around the blockage. Their best course of action would be to work on clearing the rubble and freeing up the Cliffpass. How long will it take two thousand giants to open the way again?

  No matter the answer, it wasn’t time enough. Not to get three hundred Legionnaires and civilians the better part of a hundred miles through the Cliffpass across to the northern side of the Sawtooth Mountains. Even if they could manage to stay ahead of the Eirdkilr horde, there would be little chance of safety even once they reached the Myrr lands. Only a few hundred Legionnaires were stationed in the fortress at Kaldrborg. According to Captain Hadrick, the next closest fighting force was bloody far away.

  Koltun swallowed hard, fighting back against the surge of fear that twisted in his gut. He couldn’t give up hope, not yet. They had to find a way out of this. A way to get all the civilians—men, women, and defenseless children—to safety. The Legionnaires, too. Or at least somewhere, anywhere, they stood a fighting chance against the Eirdkilr horde.

  “Mount up,” he told Bradon. “We’re moving out now.”

  As the Secret Keeper apprentice hurried toward his two pack horses, Koltun turned to Connell and Wallis. “You two, I need you keeping an eye on the enemy. The moment you see any signs they’re giving chase—either scaling the cliffs or clearing the rubble—you ride hard and give us warning. Got it?”