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

by Andy Peloquin

  “Then we need to get out of here before they reach us.” Koltun hurried to help load their haul of Widowmaker’s Caps—carefully. When he glanced back, Thog hadn’t dismounted—hadn’t so much as moved. The broad Praamian sat in his saddle, a numb look on his face. His gaze remained locked on Gladabar and Sadras.

  “Thog.” Koltun spoke in a quiet voice. When the big man seemed not to hear him, he tried again, louder. “Thog.”

  That got the man’s attention. Thog jerked in his saddle, startled, and his head snapped around to face Koltun.

  “I know what you’re feeling,” Koltun said, his tone gentle. He barely reached the horse’s belly, so he rested a hand on Thog’s booted foot and squeezed. “There’ll be time to beat yourself up over it later. Now, we need to get out of here.”

  “I…” Thog opened his mouth, but no more sounds came out. Long seconds passed before he could speak again. “I…didn’t want to. Leave him, that is. He…” He trailed off with a shake of his head.

  “I know.” Koltun squeezed the man’s foot again. “He knew what would happen if you didn’t leave. Both to you and to us when the Eirdkilrs caught up. You made the right choice. The hard one, and one that’ll haunt you for the rest of your life. But make no mistake, Thog, it was the right one.”

  “Yeah,” he said, seeming in a daze. “Yeah.”

  “Now get down and help load up!” Koltun barked, adopting his Drill Sergeant tone. “We need to get gone five minutes ago!”

  That snapped the big man back to his senses. He climbed down from his saddle and hurried to help load up their cargo.

  Koltun turned toward the climbers and found all three had descended. Connell and Wallis had coiled their ropes, but Lingram’s remained stuck. Try as the youth might to loosen the knot that secured it to the cliff wall, he could not.

  “Leave it, lad!” Koltun called. “Mount up and get ready to ride!”

  Lingram gave the rope one last tug, in vain, then turned and scrambled awkwardly onto Wallis’ horse, riding behind the youngest Screaming Howler. The rest of their small company mounted up as well. Mere minutes after Thog’s arrival, they turned their horses to the north and set off at a gallop down the Cliffpass.

  Koltun’s mind raced in time with his horse’s flying hooves. He ran some quick calculations, trying to estimate how far they’d have to ride to catch up to the fleeing column. If Lieutenant Vorris had kept them moving all the previous day and night long—using Enthrak and the other Lieutenants to convince Captain Hadrick of the necessity—they could have covered close to thirty miles downhill. That would leave them less than twenty miles short of the Cliffpass’ northern mouth.

  He had to hold out hope. Had to trust that Lieutenant Vorris would find a way to do what needed to be done. If he didn’t, if the fleeing column hadn’t covered enough ground, there was no hope of surviving this. Koltun’s plans—and Madden’s death—would buy only a few more hours to live.

  He’ll do it! Koltun clenched his jaw and gripped the reins tighter. If anyone can, it’s him.

  They rode hard, pushing their horses as fast as they dared. A few hours of sunlight had dried the top layer of mud into a dried crust, but the way was still treacherous, the stones slick and uneven, thick rivulets carved into the muck by melting water. Even with the Screaming Howlers and mounts mostly fresh after a night of rest, Koltun had no choice but to slow. With the enemy so close behind, they couldn’t risk losing any more soldiers. Madden’s inevitable death was already burden enough.

  An hour into their ride, they came across a corpse. Two corpses, in fact. The horse had fallen and shattered its forelegs, but it had died from exposure to the cold. Koltun slowed as he drew abreast of the rider’s corpse, sitting slumped against the cliff wall. Private Ardem’s arms were locked in place around his chest, his cloak wrapped tightly around his frame. He’d frozen to death alongside the horse that had thrown him from its back.

  Even Koltun couldn’t help feeling a stab of pity. That was no way for a soldier to die, even a craven bastard like Ardem.

  But Ardem’s was only the first body they passed on the road. The first of many—far, far too many.

  Koltun recognized the corpses not by their features or clothing—he hadn’t been in Highcliff Motte long enough to know all the Legionnaires, miners, and civilians by sight, and the bodies had been stripped of armor, tunics, cloaks, trousers, and boots—but by the wounds they bore. A chest crushed by an Eirdkilr club, a gaping wound to the torso that could only have come from an enormous axe, festered puncture wounds from Eirdkilr spears and arrows. The bodies of the worst of the wounded, finally succumbed to the exhaustion, cold, fear, pain, and blood loss.

  Other corpses joined them in the grisly parade of death. Children, their ragged clothing untouched by blood or fire, but simply too weak to endure the harsh conditions of their march. One woman still clutched her silent babe in her arms—she’d had trouble giving birth mere days earlier, and she’d never recovered from the harsh ordeal before Highcliff Motte fell.

  The sight sent a shiver of horror down Koltun’s spine. He didn’t know who had given the order—he didn’t believe even Captain Hadrick was intentionally cruel, only arrogant and stupid—but someone had given it. Someone who understood that every corpse they carried or hauled in the wagons would slow down their flight.

  Koltun counted fully thirty bodies—the mortal remains of Princelanders who would never have the proper burial they deserved. But what good did it do to carry these bodies if the ones who hoped to bury them in honor died before they got the chance? No, whoever had given the orders, cruel as they may seem, had done the right thing. Like Thog’s choice to leave Madden, this had been the only way that those still living had a chance of escaping.

  That knowledge didn’t stop the acid from rising to Koltun’s throat. He was all too glad when, four hours into their ride, he caught sight of the marching column. At least he wouldn’t have to see any more bodies being discarded by the side of the trail.

  Shouts of alarm greeted their arrival. The ranks of the rear guard moved aside, opening a path for them to ride through, then closed behind them to re-form the shield wall. A new tension blossomed among the Legionnaires, miners, and civilians. All in the column knew what the Screaming Howlers’ presence meant.

  Bradon didn’t slow, but rode straight through the column toward the cart where his master lay convalescing.

  Koltun, however, turned to search the ranks for Lieutenant Vorris.

  “How long?” Vorris’ voice echoed from his place in the shield wall.

  Koltun’s gaze fell on the man, and he kicked his horse to move closer. “An hour, maybe two. Depends on how badly they want to reach us.”

  “Understood.” Lieutenant Vorris turned to his fellow Lieutenants and spoke in a quiet voice. A moment later, Lieutenants Cenye and Rearden began barking orders to the four platoons serving as the rear guard.

  Koltun trotted down the length of the column, keenly aware of the fearful whispers and horrified stares that followed him and his Screaming Howlers. The civilians, too, knew that the Screaming Howlers would only be here if the situation was dire. Panic and fear hung thick in the air.

  “Captain!” Koltun shouted to get Captain Hadrick’s attention.

  The Captain, riding at the front of the column, glanced over his shoulder, then reined in and turned his horse toward Koltun. “Sergeant?” He actually seemed surprised, as if he’d expected Koltun and the Screaming Howlers to desert them.

  “The enemy caught up to our position four hours ago.” Koltun reined in, struggling to control his breathing to speak clearly. “We’ve got little more than an hour before they catch up.”

  Captain Hadrick swore. His gaze went to the civilians behind him, and a look of utter bewilderment flashed across his face. He remained silent, clearly at a loss for what to do.

  “If I might make a suggestion, Captain?” Koltun put in.

  Captain Hadrick’s eyes snapped toward him, his face edged wit
h his growing panic. “What?” he snapped.

  “Give Lieutenant Enthrak command of every able-bodied fighter in the column, and let us hold the enemy back here while you lead the rest to safety. We’ll buy you as much time as we can.”

  Captain Hadrick’s eyes lit up. Koltun’s plan gave him another chance to escape, to flee the inevitable battle. And, like the coward he was, he made the choice that would save his own hide—as Koltun had expected.

  “Very well, Sergeant.” Captain Hadrick nodded, his jowls wobbling. “G-Good luck and all.”

  “And you, sir.” Koltun was all too glad to see him go. He moved his horse out of the way as Captain Hadrick began shouting orders. The Screaming Howlers’ arrival galvanized the bedraggled, exhausted civilians into action. Mothers chivvied their children to hurry down the trail, but those few childless women stayed behind to join the battle. The able-bodied wagon drivers gave over the reins of their carts to the elderly, or to the soldiers too wounded to fight yet determined to lend what aid they could.

  More remained to fight than Koltun had expected. Elders who had seen seven or eight decades, their faces lined with age, yet eyes gleaming with determination to fight. Women who handed their infants to their older children and bid them farewell with tears and whispered words of love. Fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, wives and husbands, all stood side by side. Everyone who could take up arms in the fight did. It didn’t matter that there were nowhere near enough weapons to go around. Miners clutched shovels, picks, and hammers, while the civilians seized whatever was at hand—blacksmith’s tools, weapons taken from fallen Legionnaires or Eirdkilrs, walking staves, even rolling pins and wooden spoons. Anything that could be used to fight off the oncoming horde of barbarians would be put to use. For the sake of those marching off to safety—friends, families, comrades, or strangers. Every Princelander and Einari from across the Frozen Sea stood united in a common purpose.

  Forty-one of Ninth Company’s one hundred and eleven Legionnaires had fallen—most in battle, some succumbing to their wounds in the days since fleeing Highcliff Motte. Two hundred and sixty-eight civilians remained to join in the battle—the men and women that had worked East Silver Shaft or joined Arch-Guardian Dayn’s efforts to find flarequartz, or the last surviving civilians of Highcliff Motte. Men, women, youths, even a few silver-haired elders, all wielding crude weapons in defense of those fleeing to safety. Add to that number the Screaming Howlers, and their ragged army numbered just under three hundred and fifty.

  Far too few, Koltun thought as he watched the departing procession. But it’s all we’ve got.

  He pushed his horse forward as the cart bearing Arch-Guardian Dayn passed. The Secret Keeper looked even worse off than he had the previous day, his face paler, cheeks hollower, eyes more sunken and bright with fever. Bradon rode at his master’s side, the two of them speaking in their strange, silent hand language.

  One look at the Secret Keeper’s stubborn expression, and Koltun knew the Arch-Guardian hadn’t been convinced to change his mind. The time had come for him to intervene.

  He reined in his horse in front of the cart, forcing it to slow and pull to a stop. Growling at the driver to wait for him, Koltun rode toward the spot where Arch-Guardian Dayn lay.

  “Listen here, Priest,” he growled, “I know what your mission is, and I know why you’re so determined to do it. But look around you.” He gestured toward the men and women preparing for battle. “Look at these people. People fighting for their lives. For the lives of their families. Now, look at that and tell me that you believe your Mistress would rather sacrifice them all for a few stones. No matter how important the stones, or what they could bring, could your goddess really choose bloody rocks over these lives?”

  Arch-Guardian Dayn’s face grew steadily harder in the face of Koltun’s tirade, his jaw set and stubborn. Turning to Bradon, he signed furiously with his left hand.

  Koltun drove on, not willing to give the man time to argue. “I know what you said before, but now, in the face of what’s coming, can you look at these people—real, living breathing people—and tell me that they’re better off dead if these stones could shape the course of our future?” His voice rose to a shout. “By refusing to help, you’re stealing their future!”

  “I know what I said,” Bradon’s writing tablet read, transcribing his master’s words, “and I know that you do not understand. You are not a Secret Keeper. The ways of the Mistress are hard to comprehend and not for everyone.”

  “Rot that!” Koltun snarled. “If you truly feel that way, if you really believe that saving your rocks instead of these lives is the right choice, then you’re a coward!” He thrust a finger down the hill toward the retreating figures of Captain Hadrick and the others. “And this is no place for cowards. So go and take your precious stones back to your temple. We will fulfill our mission. We will stay here and buy you a chance to return them safely.”

  Arch-Guardian Dayn’s eyes went toward the soldiers and civilians forming up in the Cliffpass, then back down the hill toward the retreating women and children. For a moment, Koltun dared to hope he’d relent, that the truth of their situation would shatter his obstinacy.

  The moment passed, and Arch-Guardian Dayn shook his head. His expression hardened and he signed something to his apprentice.

  Koltun turned toward Bradon, and found a change had come over the young man. Until that moment, he’d stared at his master with the reverent devotion of an apprentice. Now, however, Bradon’s expression revealed a strange new contempt, tinged with anger. The lines of his hatchet face deepened as his jaw muscles worked. He wrote furiously on his tablet and held it up for Koltun to read.

  “Mistress forgive me for my weakness, I cannot,” his message tablet read. “I will help you, if my master will not.”

  Arch-Guardian Dayn’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes going wide in his pale face. He signed something to the young man, and Bradon shot back a series of short, sharp hand gestures that seemed to surprise the Secret Keeper even more. That silent war of wills and hand signals continued for a full half-minute before Bradon gave a vehement shake of his head and turned away from his master. Arch-Guardian Dayn hissed and gave a wordless shout, but his apprentice ignored him. Instead, Bradon turned to the pack horse carrying the flarequartz and untied one of the two barrels.

  Arch-Guardian Dayn’s eyes blazed and he tried to struggle upright, but his wound and weakness kept him from rising. He could do nothing but stare, furious and helpless, as his apprentice took the half-full barrel of flarequartz and marched up the hill toward the place where the soldiers and civilians prepared to do battle.

  Koltun watched the young man go, then turned back to Dayn. He gave a sad shake of his head. “And here I thought you priests were supposed to be wise and holy men. At least one of you isn’t too blinded by belief to see the truth.”

  Arch-Guardian Dayn’s face twisted into an enraged snarl and he struggled to pull the writing tablet from his robes.

  “You’ve got a long journey ahead, Secret Keeper,” Koltun said, not giving the man time to respond. “Perhaps time enough for your goddess to speak to you along the way, give you the chance to change your mind and heart. If you do, know that it’s not too late to do the right thing. There’s a section ahead where the path narrows, the perfect spot to bring down the Cliffpass and keep the Eirdkilrs from flooding Fehl. When they get past us, you’ll be the only thing to stop them. I can only hope you make the right choice, as your apprentice did. Farewell, Arch-Guardian.”

  Turning his back on the furious Secret Keeper, he rode up the hill without looking back.

  Anger simmered in Koltun’s gut—Arch-Guardian Dayn was as bad as Captain Hadrick, though in a different way and for entirely different reasons. Yet there was a hint of relief, too, when he laid his eyes on Bradon. The young apprentice had set to work with the Screaming Howlers, preparing the surprise they’d planned for the Eirdkilrs. It wouldn’t be enough to stop the enemy, but perhaps slow the
m down enough to buy the fleeing women and children a chance to reach safety. At that moment, given what faced them, it was the best they could hope for.

  Koltun’s brow furrowed as he caught sight of the knot of men and women ahead. His eyebrows rose as he recognized Lieutenant Vorris standing in the middle of that press. Every other Lieutenant and Sergeant of Ninth Company surrounded him.

  As he drew closer, he heard Rearden’s voice ringing out loud and clear. “…no one better to take charge here, Lieutenant. You’re our best chance of surviving this.”

  Lieutenant Vorris shook his head. “I cannot lead. I have no rank.”

  “Of course you do!” Cenye snorted. “Unless you’ve suddenly forgotten what the word ‘Lieutenant’ means. One too many blows to the head, eh?”

  Vorris shot his fellow officer a bland look. “You all know that Captain Hadrick stripped me of my rank.” He gestured to his shoulders, bare of the insignia that once adorned his armor. “I can’t—”

  “Captain did what now?” Rearden cut him off.

  Lieutenant Vorris scowled.

  “Funny thing about that. I didn’t see him doing anything. Did you, Cenye?”

  “No.” Cenye shook his head. “Too busy marching.”

  “What about you, Lerron?”

  Lieutenant Lerron shrugged. “I might have been taking a nap. Tiring work, fighting.”

  “Enthrak?” Lieutenant Rearden turned to the man Captain Hadrick had appointed as his second-in-command after demoting Vorris.

  Koltun’s gut tensed. Enthrak was a true soldier, a professional, which meant he’d dedicated his life to following the chain of command and obeying his superior’s orders. Vorris’ fall from grace had meant his ascension in Ninth Company.

  But Lieutenant Enthrak only shook his head. “Funny thing about that blasted explosion.” He dug a finger into his right ear. “Damned noise set my ears ringing, made it hard to hear anything at all. Definitely not anything our good Captain said.”