Eirdkilrs should never appear this calm.
The giant barbarians swaggered toward the Legionnaires, never picking up speed into a furious charge but sauntering in time with their pounding weapons. Knots twisted in Koltun’s gut and tightened his shoulders, and his fingers closed harder around the wooden stock of his crossbow. The unhurried nature of their advance filled him with disquiet.
The soldiers around him seemed equally unnerved. Mutters ran through the ranks of Legionnaires and civilians. Men and women shuffled and shifted from foot to foot. Tension thickened through the three hundred and forty-nine Princelanders, palpable and nerve-wracking.
The Eirdkilrs stopped. A hundred yards from the Princelanders’ position, they simply ceased their advance. A wall of fur-clad, blue-faced giants stood clashing their shields, yet the absence of their war cries and shouts felt terribly eerie.
Then the ranks parted, a hole opening in the Eirdkilr shield wall. Something from the middle of the horde advanced, crawling forward like some hideous metallic slug, one slow step at a time.
Koltun’s heart hammered in his chest. He could barely make out the details from this distance, but instinct screamed at him. This felt wrong. So terribly wrong.
He recognized the metal battering ram the Eirdkilrs had used to attack Highcliff Motte’s front gate. Something moved atop the length of iron. Koltun squinted, shading his eyes against the brightness of the sunset light.
He saw it, then: a figure, bound with thick ropes to the battering ram. It was human, no doubt. A man. Bloodied and beaten, legs and arms shattered, but the man screamed in agony as the battering ram was slowly carried forward.
By the Swordsman, no!
All the blood drained from Koltun’s face as he finally recognized the bound figure. He’d know that face anywhere—he’d sat across from it far too many nights to count.
The Eirdkilrs had captured Madden.
Chapter Thirty
“Madden!” An enraged scream shattered the stunned silence that gripped the Princelander ranks.
Koltun spun to see Thog, Burgo, Caela, and Connell struggling to hold back Gladabar and Sadras. The two brothers were wild-eyed, faces both pale with horror and a dark, enraged red. Tears streamed down their cheeks and it took all four of the Screaming Howlers to wrestle them under control.
Acid rose in Koltun’s throat as he turned back to the Eirdkilrs’ battle line. Even from this distance, he could see how bad off Madden really was. His legs, shattered in the fall, had been bound to the battering ram at a terrible angle, sending pain through the broken limbs with every jolt. His arms, too, had been snapped in three places and his chest was a mess of shredded flesh, muscle and skin sliced away to reveal white bone.
Two figures emerged from the ranks of Eirdkilrs. A single glance at the first, and Koltun knew beyond a shadow of doubt that this was the leader of this enemy horde. The red-haired barbarian was a giant even among his own people, easily twice Koltun’s height and shoulders broader than the ice bear that had once worn the pelt that now covered this huge man’s back. A massive single-headed axe hung on his back, its blade larger than his head. He carried no shield, no dagger, nothing but that enormous axe, but Koltun had no doubt the brute could tear men apart with his bare hands.
At his side strode a woman, taller than most Eirdkilrs yet appearing dwarfed in the man’s shadow. Her long brown hair hung in seven long braids down her back and around her neck, and the skulls and bones that dangled from those braids rattled with her every step. Her heavy, blunt jaw, cheeks, and nose were covered by a thick layer of blood that gleamed bright crimson in the late afternoon light. The blood turned the intricate, swirling lines of blue dye that stained the left half of her face a horrible purple.
The man and woman strode toward the battering ram, which the Eirdkilrs had set down on the cleared stretch of ground near the front of their ranks. For long seconds, the two stared at the Princelanders, their expressions unreadable masks.
Then the giant Eirdkilr snapped his fingers. A vicious smile blossomed on the bloodstained woman’s face and, drawing daggers, set to work carving Madden’s flesh. The bound Screaming Howler had screamed before, but now his voice rose anew in fresh wails of anguish as the woman cut, peeled, and shredded his body with the delicate precision of a master carver working at a block of marble.
The red-haired commander never took his eyes off the Legion ranks. He held no weapons drawn, and his axe remained slung across his back. He stood with his legs planted solidly, chest out, head thrown back, as if issuing a challenge. The little smile twisting his lips mocked the Princelanders and dared them to come and get him.
Koltun’s fingers twitched and he reached for the stock of his crossbow. Yet it would be pointless, he knew. He’d waste a bolt trying to hit the commander—or the woman torturing Madden. The Eirdkilrs nearest the red-haired giant held their shields firm, ready to interpose them the moment he loosed. Koltun could empty his quiver and it would do little more than feed the Eirdkilr’s smug triumph.
Behind him, shouts and wails echoed from his Screaming Howlers. Gladabar and Sadras struggled to tear free of their comrades once again, and even Thog’s prodigious strength failed in the face of their fury. It took all of the Screaming Howlers—even young Lingram, who received an elbow in the gut for his trouble—to drag the two brothers back, away from the front lines.
The effect on the rest of the Princelanders was immediately visible. Faces turned pale with horror and disgust, and soldiers and civilians alike shifted in their ranks, muttering darkly amongst each other. A few lost the contents of their stomachs or fainted at the sight of so much blood, such terrible suffering.
Time seemed to stand still as the woman worked her torments on Madden. Yet as seconds turned to long, agonizing minutes, the screaming did not stop.
* * *
“Please, Sarge!” Gladabar, eyes red and puffy from crying, could barely speak, his voice hoarse. “It’s been hours!”
Darkness had settled over the Cliffpass, but the Eirdkilrs’ torment of Madden hadn’t ended. The barbarians had actually set fires to illuminate the prisoner bound to their battering ram and the woman working her terrible craft on his broken, mangled body. Madden’s screams had grown weaker but the Eirdkilr torturer seemed determined to keep him alive and prolong his suffering as long as possible. Not just out of sheer delight, but to instill terror into the minds and hearts every man and woman arrayed against them.
The bastards didn’t just want to kill the Princelanders—they wanted to break them first.
“We have to do something,” Sadras, equally despairing, begged.
“What can we do?” Disgust twisted in Koltun’s gut. He’d never felt so helpless or horrified, not in all his decades of battle. “No way we can get to him, not with so many Eirdkilrs in the way. We try anything, they’ll capture us and bind us right next to him.”
“No.” Gladabar gave a grim shake of his head. “We can’t free him of his bonds, but we can take away his pain.”
Koltun sucked in a breath. Though his mind recoiled from the suggestion, he knew Gladabar was right.
He stood. “I’ll see it gets done.”
“But Sarge—” Gladabar began to rise.
“No buts.” Koltun’s tone was firm, his hand on Glad’s shoulder unyielding as he pressed the man back down. “I am in command. This is my burden to bear.”
He shot a meaningful look to Thog and Burgo. The two biggest Screaming Howlers hadn’t left the brothers’ sides; now, they nodded understanding. They would make sure Gladabar and Sadras didn’t do anything desperate while he was gone.
Caela followed him up the Cliffpass without a word. She joined Koltun in climbing a nearby outcropping of rocks to get a better view of the Eirdkilr lines. The boulders were just tall enough that Koltun could see over the heads of the three ranks of Legionnaires and civilians holding the shield wall overnight while their comrades rested for the battle tomorrow. Given Madden’s shrieking, Koltun d
oubted anyone would sleep.
Koltun gauged the distance to Madden. A hundred and fifty yards at least, a range his crossbow could handle with ease. However, a ring of shield-carrying Eirdkilrs surrounded their screaming prisoner—doubtless to protect their leader, who stood watching the bloodstained woman do her work. And, perhaps, they’d learned how accurate the Screaming Howlers could be. They stood guard to ensure no Princelander did precisely as Koltun intended to do.
Keeper’s teeth! Koltun growled a silent curse. He had to find a way to put Madden out of his misery—to steal this weapon from the hands of the Eirdkilrs, and to bring peace to Gladabar and Sadras. But how?
“Sarge.” Caela’s voice echoed quietly at his side. “I’ve got an idea.”
Koltun turned a questioning glance on her, but she was already moving, scrambling back down the outcropping and descending the Cliffpass toward the spot where the Screaming Howlers sat in a grim circle. She paused only long enough to scoop up a long coil of rope and crook a finger for Wallis to come. The young Screaming Howler followed her toward the nearest cliff.
“Can you get up to the top, Wallis?” Caela asked.
Wallis’ forehead furrowed as he stared up the rocky wall. After a moment, he nodded. “Aye.”
“Good.” Caela handed him the length of rope. “Get your arse up to the top, anchor the rope, and I’ll climb up after you.”
“Caela—” Koltun began, but she cut him off.
“Once I’m up, we’ll haul the Sarge up together.” She turned to fix Koltun with a solemn gaze. “I know you’ve got to do the deed—no one can match your accuracy—but I’ll be damned if I sit by and do nothing when I’ve got a chance to help. This way, we do the work, get you where you can do what needs doing.”
Koltun pondered her words, but the stubborn look on her face told him he’d have a better chance squeezing a mouthful of water from the cliff walls than trying to change her mind. With a grunt, he inclined his head. “Do it.”
Wallis took off up the cliff wall without a word. The young man was all rangy, lean muscles, and he made quick work of the climb. He disappeared into the darkness of the night within a minute, and less than five minutes later, the end of the rope dropped to dangle next to Koltun and Caela.
Caela ascended next, her strong arms and shoulders like coiled steel springs as she hauled herself hand over hand up the rope. All too soon, her quiet whistle echoed from atop the cliff.
Grimacing, Koltun reached for the rope. His elbow and shoulder joints ached from the last days of battle and travel, and he felt every pain in his limbs more keenly than ever before. The cold, damp, and exhaustion weighed on him with a greater burden than he cared to admit. Try as he might, he could barely get a few steps up the rope before he felt his strength threatening to give out.
But Caela, clever as always, had foreseen precisely this. Koltun felt himself being hauled up the side of the cliff. All he had to do was cling to the rope and walk up the rocky face as Caela and Wallis did the hard work.
Still, his legs, back, arms, and hands ached as he scrambled onto the flat top of the cliff. Caela and Wallis huffed and groaned with the exertion, but neither said a word. They knew Koltun’s limitations and accepted them—they were simply part of what made him him. The gods hadn’t blessed him with long limbs like Wallis or Thog’s strength, but they’d given him a keen mind, a leader’s strength, and a sharp eye and steady hand with a crossbow. He was the only one skilled enough to take the shot to put Madden out of his misery; Caela knew that, so she had determined to do what she could to make it possible.
For that, Koltun loved her. That played a large part in why he’d chosen her to lead Black Squad. She was a leader who could follow as much as give commands—commands that her fellows would heed because they knew she looked out for them. All of them. Koltun had no daughters—his life in the Legion hadn’t given him much time to find a wife or start a family—but Caela would be the pride of any father.
Koltun gave them a few seconds to recover—and for his joints to stop aching—before moving off along the top of the cliff in silence. The ground was rough, rugged, and uneven, broken up by crevasses and steep, impassable slopes. Faint moonlight made it difficult to pick his way along the harsh terrain, and the three of them had to move slowly for fear of slipping. Yet every unsteady step brought them closer to the Eirdkilrs’ line.
Light-footed Wallis led the way, guiding them along the most direct route possible. Up high, the whistling of the wind slicing across the uneven clifftops muffled the sounds of their passage, but the three of them took care to be silent in their movements. They couldn’t afford to alert the Eirdkilrs to their presence up high.
Then Wallis stopped, so suddenly Koltun nearly ran into the young man’s back. Koltun raised a questioning eyebrow, and Wallis gestured to a sliver of darkness just in front of him. There, the cliffs separated, and the gap between the near and far edges was much too wide for Koltun to vault. Even Caela and Wallis would have a hard time getting across safely.
Nodding, Koltun crept toward the edge overlooking the Cliffpass. He went to his hands and knees, crawled the last few yards, and unslung his crossbow. Carefully, he peered into the mountain pass. Their journey across the cliffs had brought him within twenty yards of the Eirdkilrs’ lines. The battering ram that held Madden’s bound, bleeding, groaning body rested on the ground less than a hundred yards away.
He could see the Eirdkilr’s commander farther up the trail, sitting with the bloodstained woman and laughing at some joke told in their guttural language. No way Koltun could hit either of them from here—not that it would make much difference. There were simply too many Eirdkilrs, and too few Princelanders. Even if they cut the head off the serpent, the body would still crush them.
Only one thing he did now would make any real difference. For Madden and his brothers, if no one else.
Sorrow twisted a knife in Koltun’s chest as he stared down at the body of his friend, his comrade. Madden had been the largest of the brothers, a loud, boisterous man, a fierce warrior and proud soldier. Now, nothing remained but a shattered husk of flesh and bone. The man Koltun had known was already dead—he simply hadn’t yet passed into the Long Keeper’s arms.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Koltun spanned his crossbow and settled a bolt into the cradle. Tears blurred his vision for a moment, but he dashed them away, forced his eyes to focus on his friend. Slowly, he rose to one knee and brought the crossbow’s wooden stock to his cheek, pressed the butt into the crook of his arm. He drew in a deep breath, pushing aside all emotion. His mind filled with the cold calm of battle as he sighted on his target.
I’m sorry, Madden. A pause, one last inhalation, and he squeezed the trigger.
The string twanged loudly in the night, and the bolt screamed its way through the darkness. The shrieking of the steel head went silent as it thumped into Madden’s chest. The Screaming Howler’s cries cut off in a weak gasp, then silence.
“Let’s go!” Caela’s hand latched on to his shoulder as she hissed in his ear. “They’ll be looking for the sound of—”
Her words were drowned out by howls of rage from below. The Eirdkilrs recognized that sound all too well—it had preceded the deaths of hundreds of their comrades over the last few days. The barbarians surrounding Madden saw the crossbow bolt blossom in his chest, watched his pain-wracked body go suddenly limp as his soul passed to the Long Keeper’s arms. Shrieks, guttural curses, and enraged war cries filled the Cliffpass.
Koltun didn’t need to be told twice. He scrambled to his feet and raced after Wallis and Caela, who sprinted along the uneven ground, back toward the spot where their rope remained anchored to the clifftop. Koltun’s ears strained to hear the inevitable clash as the Eirdkilrs launched an attack on the Princelanders in retaliation for the death of their prisoner. Yet as they reached the rope and scrambled down, no attack came. It seemed even the barbarians needed rest after weathering such a fierce storm and their pursuit of the Pr
incelanders.
Still, the Eirdkilrs’ furious howls echoed through the Cliffpass, and Koltun knew no one in the Princelanders’ ranks would sleep well tonight.
It didn’t matter. Madden deserved a far better fate than he’d gotten, but it was the best any of them could ask for in their current circumstances. Koltun and the Screaming Howlers would breathe easier knowing one of their own had been spared further cruel torments.
Gladabar and Sadras were weeping anew when Koltun, Caela, and Wallis returned, but their tear-filled eyes shone with gratitude even as they mourned their brother. Koltun went to them, his tears and sorrow mingling with theirs, his strong hands gripping their shoulders. The rest of the Screaming Howlers joined in, forming a tight circle with the two brothers and Koltun in the middle.
Some wept. Others remained dry-eyed—Connell, the grizzled veteran simply clutched Gladabar’s shoulder tighter, while Rock simply had no more tears to shed after Nouth’s death. Yet all felt the loss keenly, and they shared the brothers’ pain.
“They don’t take us alive!” Koltun’s voice was harsh, hoarse with emotions. “Not one of us, y’hear?”
All in the circle nodded. None of them would share Madden’s fate.
Chapter Thirty-One
The Eirdkilrs attacked just before dawn, when the Legionnaires and miners on watch were most exhausted after a long day of battle and the ensuing restless night. The screaming, chanting, and roaring of the infuriated barbarians made sleep impossible.
They gave no signal to warn of their attack, no blaring war horns or pounding drums. The fires had been allowed to go out, plunging the Cliffpass into darkness—darkness that the barbarians used to prepare for their charge. With the moon hidden behind the cliffs and the pre-dawn haze just beginning to brighten the way, the white-clad figures appeared like ghostly specters.
But Lieutenant Vorris had spent the night preparing for just such an eventuality. Even as the Eirdkilrs raced headlong down the Cliffpass, the Legion battle horn sounded the command for the foremost ranks to retreat. The Legion shield wall collapsed before the oncoming barbarians struck and raced down the hill to where the rest of the Princelanders had pulled back.
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