She shrugged her shoulders. “I’ll clobber them calmly like all of you, but if it’s a choice between my life and theirs, I think this world’s better off with me in it than dead.” She swiveled her head back to Gabrion. “What of you? Is this place better with you alive or not?”
He glowered at her but didn’t know how to respond. His emotions warred within him. How could he justify killing anyone else in this castle when his last visit had prompted him to kill Mira? It was bad enough he had broken his vow already; he needed to be strong and not slip any further.
“Enough,” Dariak said wearily. “Carrus, let’s begin with your plan and find a defensible room.”
“The king’s bedchamber?” Randler asked. “Kitalla knows of the hidden exit there.”
“As will the king,” Ruhk refuted. “No, he may even know how to open it from the outside and then we would be ambushed. What of the forward courtyard?”
“The one lying in shambles after the jade attack?” Verna asked in bewilderment. “Not a very stable place for a fight.”
“Of course it isn’t and that’s the point. If we spend the next couple of days fortifying it, we could hold our own there and if things go bad, we just slide down the rubble to regroup another day.”
“Perhaps this room is the best place after all,” Dariak commented dourly. “Three entrances and we could barricade two of them and force the king’s men to enter through the third.”
They debated the plan for some time until a guardsman came running into the room in a panic. “Regent Dariak, there you are at last!”
Resignedly, “Calm yourself, soldier. What news do you bring?”
“It’s Chancellor Ieran,” he huffed. “He—” The man coughed and sputtered, reaching for a goblet of water to steady himself. The others waited with anticipation. “The chancellor,” he started again. “A villager came up to meet him to give word of a disturbance in the town—”
“How surprising,” Verna muttered.
“—but when the chancellor was going to come to you with the news, the villager panicked that he wasn’t going to be taken seriously. So he leaped and tackled the chancellor to the ground. They wrangled around a bit on the floor and I was able to jump in and put an end to the bout.”
“Very good, soldier,” Dariak commended, clearly seeing the man wasn’t finished.
“But sir you don’t understand!”
“Let me guess,” Dariak interrupted. “Chancellor Ieran was hurt and needs my help.”
The man stammered for a moment and then shook his head. “Well, no, sir. I offered to get him help, but he said that the need of the people was of greater concern. He sent me to fetch you so that you may dispatch assistance.”
“Very well, soldier. Go on and do what you can to help.”
It wasn’t the response he had expected. “But—but…”
“Surely you are capable of the task?”
“Sir, I—no, sir, I cannot. You see I—well, that is, I—” He stopped and cleared his throat. “Well the truth is, sir, that with all the other men away, I’ve been on this shift for two days with hardly a break at all. I don’t have it in me to tend to this matter on my own, sir.”
Dariak scratched his chin. “Yes, that is quite the conundrum.”
“S—sir?”
“You’re too tired to do the job because we are short-handed, but sending others out at this time would leave us with even fewer hands, and therefore you would have to endure yet a longer duration at your post. However could I resolve such a paradox?”
The soldier wilted under the mage’s glare. “I can tend the wall a while longer, sir, but I wouldn’t do well at venturing into the town.”
“No, soldier, you are clearly too exhausted to continue work this evening. Carrus, on your way to the privy, would you kindly escort this poor fellow to a bedchamber for some rest?” He turned to the soldier who was making odd sounds of denial. “Now, now, don’t argue. You clearly aren’t up to your duties and so you’re of no use to me. You need to rest and be fresh. Off to bed with you now. If you don’t comply with these orders, I can force you.”
Swallowing hard, the man allowed himself to be ushered from the room by the burliest companion among them. Carrus tended to his duty well, understanding that the man was to be locked in a cell and that his attendance to the ‘privy’ meant the armory.
Once they were gone, Randler shook his head. “We don’t have much time, do we?” Immediately the team set about the frantic task of barricading the room. The dining tables were upended and propped against the doorways, blocking two entrances completely and the third halfway. They slid the chairs across the floor and used them to buttress the tables, but it was clear they wouldn’t hold for long. Even when they dragged over the sideboards for added support, the defenses were flimsy.
Carrus returned quickly with an armload of weapons. Randler took a bow and a quiver of arrows, then hobbled across the chamber, utilizing his special crutches for the task, waving off help as the others prepared. Verna grabbed a sword, then swapped it for another that was less balanced, preferring the way the slightly off-center weapon felt as she swung it. Gabrion debated the better sword, but took up a mace instead. Carrus equipped himself with a war hammer and handed over some daggers to Dariak, while Ruhk grabbed a pair of short swords. The leftover weapons were hidden around the room in various locations in case they needed them. Hopefully in the heat of the fight, none of the king’s men would notice that the carpet was lumpy in places.
By the time their meager preparations were complete, the sun was gone from the sky and only the wall sconces glimmered with hope. They looked around and realized that something terribly important was wrong. They hadn’t woken Kitalla.
Verna sprinted toward the half-open entryway, ready to find the thief, but a resounding crash shook the floors and knocked down one of the barricades. Ruhk and Gabrion hastily reassembled the barrier, shoving extra chairs against it, even knowing the futility.
Shouts echoed soon after and a low thunder groaned, drawing louder and closer to their location. They wouldn’t be hard to find. The seconds pounded by like an eternity as they awaited the onrush of doom. Verna and Carrus stood near the center of the room, poised to lead the defense. Ruhk and Gabrion each bolstered a barricaded door, as Randler and Dariak moved toward the back.
The cries grew louder as the forces drew near. Gabrion felt an attack against the upended table. “It begins!” he called needlessly. Only moments later, the first fighter rushed around to the central entrance, clambering over the barrier and meeting Carrus and Verna’s opening strikes.
The duo swept in and disarmed the man quickly, bashing against his head and knocking him out cold. Verna then hastily shoved the body up against the table for added support, which put the unfortunate soul in jeopardy of being trampled. There was no time for a debate, for a host of other fighters leaped through the opening and pressed their attack.
Verna brought her sword around, blocking a blow, then kicked her foot into the soldier’s gut, but it didn’t stop him. She turned and swept her arms toward him, cracking the flat of her blade into his shoulder. He was only stunned for a moment and Verna used that instant to spin back around and wallop him in the neck, dropping him.
Carrus dealt with his foes with more brute force, allowing his muscles to mow down the enemy. Each strike of his hammer battered the soldiers, rendering them inert at least long enough for him to take down someone else.
Between Carrus and Verna, arrows flew. Their tips were deadened with small scraps of Randler’s tunic, but the projectiles stung terribly as they hit. Randler nocked his arrows quickly and fired when his comrades were not in the way. He wished he had enough mobility to get himself into position instead, but he made do.
It took all of their resolve for Gabrion and Ruhk to leave the first wave to the others. Increased battering sounded against the barricades and it wouldn’t be long before the tables collapsed and the king’s men seeped through and surroun
ded them. They had to remain at their posts, but they were worried about the others.
Verna took a few cuts as three men surrounded her. She released a feral cry as she spun wildly around, swiping her blade out at random. She dipped low, then jumped high, remaining agile and erratic, but the soldiers would get further attacks past her defenses soon. Thus Dariak sprinted across the room and tackled the man nearest him, though he hadn’t judged his actions well and they toppled into Verna and knocked her down. Randler fired two quick shots and stunned the other two fighters.
The table near Gabrion cracked at last and a host of ten fighters burst through, overwhelming the warrior. He grabbed a chair in one hand and swung it around to get himself some space, then he threw it at one of his assailants and turned his body around, bringing down the mace and crushing the basic iron armor of the soldier in front of him. Pivoting back the other way, he leaped toward another soldier and knocked her down by pummeling her legs. He leaned forward from that attack and when his hands hit the floor he kicked his legs up and back, sending two others sprawling. He righted himself quickly and continued his frantic defenses, trying to stop the tide before they were all overwhelmed.
Dariak and Verna disentangled and entered the fray again, this time a bit more cautiously. Verna sported a number of wounds now, as did Dariak, but they ignored the pain and pressed onward. The half-barricade had broken apart and the king’s men entered unchecked. Moments later, the sound of splintering wood racked the hall again and Ruhk’s barrier collapsed. They had hoped that leaving one entrance partly open would entice them to concentrate their efforts there, but clearly the king knew better than to allow the enemy to control his attack.
Ruhk cut high and low with his swords, sending sparks flying as he parried various strikes. Five men pressed him back and he couldn’t hold them all off. Two split away and turned for Randler, but the bard struck them down with his arrows. His attacks were highly effective, but his quiver was already nearly empty.
Slowly, the team was pressed closer and closer to the back of the room where Randler was poised. Each faced off against half a dozen fighters and there was no way they could overcome the odds; based on the power behind the incoming strikes, there would be no option for surrender, either.
Gabrion took a nasty cut to his arm and he shouted in pain, sweeping his mace frantically and blindly about. Until the wave of pain passed, he couldn’t control his actions well, so he hoped for a few lucky hits but mostly to have his foes step back a pace. Then, as his vision cleared, he saw something both marvelous and unnerving.
Over the heads of the foes, he could see Kitalla running down the hallway, daggers in hand, her deft movements shoving aside one soldier after another as she raced toward Gabrion in the dining hall. She cut the men who did not heed her warning and she clobbered the rest with the hilts of her daggers. To Gabrion, she looked like a bolt of lightning striking down an old tree, parting it in the center and leaving it dead and immobile on the ground.
Her running steps met little resistance as she sprinted ahead, but Gabrion was not safe to watch for long. He saw only glimpses of her pace, hope lighting in his heart at her arrival. He kept his own body moving, felling as many men as possible, even though his vision was blurred from the damage he had taken. He risked a glance over his shoulder to see Kitalla’s progress and he nearly vomited.
Her mouth was opened in agony. Blood spurted out from various wounds and in a loud, harrowing thud, her body fell lifelessly to the ground.
Terror gripped Gabrion’s heart and his body moved of its own volition. He lost himself in what he saw, and he knew he had to reach her, to drag her away from the battle and to heal whatever wounds had been inflicted. But he knew instinctively that she was already dead, that he could do nothing for her.
It was Mira all over again. He hadn’t protected her. He had let her die.
Gabrion’s mace bashed in the face of one soldier as his left hand caught another by the neck, snapping it and crashing the body to the ground. He roared in wretched pain as he brought his weapon about, decimating anyone within reach. The whole world was falling apart around him and he couldn’t control himself any longer. It didn’t matter who died anymore. Losing Mira, he had lost his will to fight. Watching Kitalla fall, he lost his will to live, but he wouldn’t just hand over his life until he had taken Kitalla’s body away and buried her properly. He had to reach her and prevent the soldiers from desecrating her any further than they already had.
As he pressed into the relentless crowd of fighters, he kept watching for signs of her, but she did not rise up to fight. No soldiers near her made any movements that suggested she was attacking from below. She had simply fallen and was gone.
A fleeting thought swept through his head, that she was merely lying in wait, to surprise the enemy and to attack them from behind, but he knew he was being foolish. That wasn’t Kitalla’s way in a fight. She was brash and forceful and she was omnipresent. Her listless body on the cold stone floor filled Gabrion with a wrenching emptiness and he clung onto it and used its power.
No less than thirty soldiers fell during his advance toward Kitalla. His mace flew about unchecked. He felt as if his enemies collapsed before he even reached them, he was swinging his arms about so rapidly. His body was lacerated in many places, but none of it mattered. He felt nothing, nothing at all as he approached Kitalla. He registered the deep wounds in her sides and the billowing pools of blood that was her life-force seeping away. If he could only scoop it up and push it back into her, he could save her. Somehow, maybe. But he knew it was ridiculous.
It was just ridiculous. He touched her neck and it was cold. No pulse. Her eyes were open, staring, but they did not see. Kitalla was truly gone.
The warrior shed all trace of humanity as he tossed his mace aside and picked up a sword. With it, he stalked back to the dining room with a fierce light in his eye, determined to put an end to the fight once and for all.
The rest of the team was in dire straits. Blood splattered everywhere, but they did not give up their defenses. Randler’s quiver ran dry and he started swinging his bow around like a sword until a sword became available. He could barely stand, and so he defended himself the best he could from his chair, reaching and hacking madly until one soldier stepped in and upended him. Sprawling on the floor in pain, the bard turned over and flashed the blade around in a crazy panic, knowing he was done for.
Ruhk stepped in and slashed at Randler’s attackers, leaving himself open to damage. He took major wounds on his back and legs, but he never slowed down. If this was his time to die, then he would do it defending his new friends and his new way of life. He would die with a dignity that he had never felt before. Sure, he had served the king diligently, but it was always in duty. Now, having sided with Gabrion and his plans for a peaceful future, he felt an inner fire guiding him onward. Defending that hope was a worthy cause. Breath after breath, he kept his swords moving, parrying more than attacking because it was all he could manage to do.
Verna and Carrus ended up back to back, their weapons singing out in an embittered war song. The ringing clashes against their foes established a certain erratic staccato that filled them with a powerful energy that kept them pushing harder to get through this battle. Dariak was already down, though they had no idea if he was unconscious or dead. It didn’t matter either way. The king apparently had supplemented his forces with fighters from the town, and the flood kept coming.
They heard an inhuman rage in the room and they turned to see Gabrion thrashing madly about, slashing with a sword and cutting down anyone in his path. So insane was the expression on his face that the king’s men fled his assault and did everything they could to get out of his way, tripping errantly over the weapons tucked under the carpet.
Their wonder cost them as they took some blows and nearly lost their weapons in the process. Verna added to Gabrion’s wild screams and started thrusting with abandon, no longer caring if she killed her prey or not. The foes
needed to be stopped. Carrus, meanwhile, took a nasty gash to his left leg and he could barely stand any longer. After a few more swings, he went down, and though he tried to defend himself from there, he was terribly ineffective.
Verna heard a cheering cry from the hallway. A sound of victory. But she wouldn’t have it. Not here, not today. No, she was going to keep them from killing Carrus and herself, whatever the cost. She crouched down and grabbed a second sword, which changed her balance greatly, but she didn’t care. Raging, she spun and sliced around and around, taking care not to move too far from Carrus. The cheering in the hallway sounded again, and she fought the urge to succumb to the inevitable defeat. She had felt that feeling before and she had pushed through it. But she had never faced such a relentless horde of soldiers. When the shouts echoed a third time, her will almost escaped her completely.
And as the shouting drew near, she heard panic. At first she thought she was screaming and that Ruhk and Randler were also yelling, though Randler was out of the fight now anyway. No, and it wasn’t Gabrion either, although he was tirelessly hacking away at his opposition, his face still locked in a mask of insanity. No, the panic was coming from elsewhere.
It took her a moment to realize that the fighting was becoming less intense. The king’s men were no longer concentrating on her so much. Sure, she was still swinging her swords and ducking and rolling about, but she wasn’t up against five men at once, or even three. Their attention was turned. Drawn away.
One last time the cheering sounded and then she realized that she knew that sound. It was a rallying cry. And she had taught it to the men who were using it now. She risked a glance toward the door and she almost wept in shock and denial. The king’s men were falling. They were all crashing to the ground, and the cause of it was the missing army members.
Verna strained to hold on to consciousness despite the emotions raging through her and despite all the injuries she had endured, including, apparently, a broken wrist. She raised her voice, echoing the rallying cry and the men and women of the army responded in kind as they rushed into the room, spreading out and relieving Ruhk of his burden and Verna of hers. Even Gabrion finally stopped sprinting around the room, his body succumbing to its injuries and dropping him to the floor.
The Forgotten Tribe Page 6