Brave Men Die: Part 2 Page 16

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Baron Scythe stood on the walls of the barricade. The enemy sat in the distance, waiting. The advanced portion of the army had arrived, formed ranks, and waited for a command to attack. Heavily armoured, these were the experienced troops he had been waiting on. The remains of his forces lined the walls with repeater crossbows, waiting for them to move closer. Ammunition was running short. They had resorted to pulling them out of the dead.

  He watched his men. They looked grim, resolved. Most of them had never killed before the start of this, but they had managed to survive their first encounter and now were veterans. The last three weeks had been brutal, a real test of the men and their commanders. The wounded were patched up and returned to the walls, fear of letting their brothers down the strongest incentive. Cronos’ commanders had come and gone, newly raised sergeants saw a day or two before succumbing to a Kyzantine blade or arrow. Surprisingly the two constant commanders for the Fists managed to live through it by throwing themselves at the enemy, and they were the two youngest.

  He gave the orders to a messenger for the remains of the Fists to wait beyond the gate in preparation for its collapse. The Fangs and the Sentinels lined the walls of Black Claw. There was no point now having the cavalry waiting to charge: it had been clear for the last two weeks that the Kyzantine generals were planning on a long siege to whittle down his numbers and eventually take the walls.

  Cronos watched as tower shields were carried to the soldiers in the front line of those waiting below. Blades were drawn in preparation. Instinctively they started banging their blades against their shields. The rhythmic booming echoed out across the Fatelli Pass. Cronos let a slight grin appear. The haunting echo was designed to panic the enemy and scare them into thinking there were thousands behind the wall instead of hundreds. If only they knew just how few men he had left to give their lives.

  He needed to hold on until reinforcements arrived but had no idea where they would be coming from. Gravid’s Drift was the closest but the earl would be forced to supplement the guards at the Musea Pass. Reinforcements would come from Sarkridge but those would still be weeks away. The Kyzantines would be ready to charge before then. More kept arriving. Horsemen and infantry. It wouldn’t be long. It would be the infantry who would do all the work, the cavalry wouldn’t have a target to get at, not while they stood on the walls. If the gate fell however … that was something he didn’t want to think about until it happened.

  But they were tired. Exhausted from waiting. Paranoid from the night attacks.

  Cronos looked at Byrn. His old friend stood silently by his side scanning the massing army. He looked proud in his polished armour, regal with his beard trimmed short around his jaw line, and defiant with his steely blue eyes gazing at the enemy. As boys they had served together along the borders, fought all manner of men for all manner of reasons, and Cronos knew that his friend would always have his back. They had too many scars to know this wasn’t just playing.

  ‘What do you think about all this Byrn?’ Cronos asked.

  ‘They must have a bloody good reason for coming at us like this. Either that or they have just plain lost their minds.’

  ‘It’s like they've just marched every soldier straight to the mountains and herded every person they found along the way that can wield a sword and brought them to our doorstep. Those faces down there in the front line look like a bunch of farmers and those bastards behind them are going to send them up here like fodder just to whittle us down.’

  ‘Then when we’re tired, lost a few men to some lucky strokes, the real soldiers will come and swarm us and they’ve got the numbers, Cronos. There are thousands of them cramming into the pass and they probably fill up Cerebus Valley too. They are just going to whittle us away and there’s nothing we can do but stand here and take it.’

  ‘But that’s when us Buckthorne men are at our best, isn’t that right? Each one of them down there on the wall or standing behind the gate know that there isn’t going to be anyone else coming to help them. If they don’t stand and fight the Empire will just march on in here and take everything that they’ve sworn to protect.’

  ‘There is no doubt about that, I’m just worried that even if every man stands and dies, there aren't going to be enough bodies to keep them out.’

  ‘That’s why we need to take as many as we can before that happens. But hopefully it won’t come to that. I plan to keep as many of my men alive for as long as possible so that maybe some of them get to go home.’

  ‘That’s a nice thought, but not one we should be concerned with right now. Home is something to hope for and mentioning it is just a slap in the face for these men, who probably realise they won’t ever see it again.’

  Cronos shifted his attention from Byrn’s truthful words to the Kyzantines spread across the pass. He sensed a shift in the air before he saw the movement. Flags dropped forward and the charge came. Cronos stood like a stone gargoyle on the tower, fierce and protective.

  ‘Positions!’ Cronos screamed. ‘Lock and load, this is what we have been waiting for.’

  ‘Get ready,’ Byrn screamed. ‘They are coming!’

  The Kyzantines marched forward, horns and drums played a steady rhythm as the formation came on. Units of archers got into firing range and let loose their barrage. Arrows flew around him, covering the movement of the infantry across the pass toward the barricade. A few Murukans died as the arrows rained down and slammed into their bodies but most of the barrage fell short. Cronos waited. Waited until the front runners took two more steps and he screamed, ‘Fire!’

  All crossbows launched their bolts. They hurtled through the air, puncturing armour and piercing flesh. The payload of bolts massacred the minions eager to die. Cronos watched as his men reloaded and the Kyzantines ran over the dead.

  ‘Fire at will’ he ordered, in an effort to litter the battlefield with corpses to make the cavalry ineffective if their time came.

  He needed enough men left alive to defend the walls in close combat. Another salvo was sporadically released. The dying screams deafened his ears. Cronos smiled. Let them come. They would taste his blade.

  On top of Black Claw’s tower, Daria and Ara stood with a group of archers unleashing spell after spell, devastating the enemy below. Each mage concerned herself with one side of the pass, as fire, lightning and ice helped to keep the attackers from reaching the wall.

  A line opened up in the centre of the pass as a squad of Kyzantines ran forward, the soldiers at the front lifting their shields to defend those running behind carrying a massive battering ram. Daria noticed and urged the archers to fire, watching as their payload bounced harmlessly off an emerging yellow shield of energy.

  The same shield countered Daria’s attack on the ram, the lightning reflecting off and burning unprotected soldiers. Cursing, Daria upped her attack and a group of meteors fell from the sky. They landed with accuracy only to bounce harmlessly off the enemy shield.

  ‘They have a mage,’ Daria screamed over the sounds of battle to Ara.

  ‘That’s impossible. It’s against their whole belief system.’

  ‘See for yourself. Strike at the battering ram,’ Daria ordered.

  Summoning a lightning strike that would have burnt a man from the inside out, it was absorbed by the yellow shield that flickered over the large oak wood.

  Screaming in frustration, Ara slapped her hands together and cast Shock Waves toward the squad of Kyzantines, aiming directly at the ground before them. The yellow shield flashed to life but did little to stop the men falling to the ground.

  ‘We need to find out who is casting and deal with them. There are thousands of women in the Kyzantine army, it could be anyone of them,’ Ara said.

  ‘Or a man,’ Daria sneered.

  The possibilities were endless. It could be one or many of the Kyzantine warriors in the pass. The battering ram team got back onto their feet, lifted the ram, and moved forward again. No matter what they threw at th
em they were going to make it to the gate.

  Ara searched the battlefield for any sign of a mage as Daria’s shield flared up and protected the right side of the barricade from a volley of arrows. Ara searched for what was different from before, different from all the other times that the Kyzantines had attacked and never before shown any sign of a magical defence. The baron had mentioned that they had more troops, maybe one of them was the mage.

  Outraged, Ara sent Lava Orbs into the masses, burned some Kyzantines as the ram team made it all the way to the gate and out of her sight. The first impact struck loud and booming, shaking the very foundation of Black Claw. With the main siege weapon safely escorted to the gate, more and more of the magi’s spells were countered by the sickening pale yellow shield.

  In the distance, just within eyesight, Ara noticed a standard wavering that she had not recognised before. A white hand on black and red represented the Hand of God, the religious men of the Kyzantine Empire. There was no way of telling how many were there, but that flag meant that at least one was. Masked under the presence of their One God, these men and their secret sect could have continued to learn the art unopposed.

  ‘The priests, Daria, the priests. They are the ones casting. We need to stop them,’ Ara screamed desperately.

  Daria turned a ghastly shade of white as she saw the Hand of God’s standard in the distance and looked like she was about to hurl. ‘They never possessed any real power, not before this.’

  ‘Not that we know of, but they’ve shown their hand now. A mage must have infiltrated their ranks and climbed to power, usurping the beliefs and telling them his was the power of their One God. It is the only explanation.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter now. We need to stop him. There is only the one, the energy signature doesn’t change.’

  ‘Tell me where he is and I’ll take care of him,’ Ara sneered.

  ‘There,’ Daria said pointing. ‘In the distance surrounded by all those men. He is impossible to reach.’

  ‘Leave it to me. Just keep casting and occupy him while I get into position.’

  Daria looked over at Ara but she was already gone, leaving a puff of sulphuric black smoke behind her. Casting like she said she would, Daria watched as her spells fizzled harmlessly over the shield. Catching the first sight of black smoke, Daria followed it as it criss-crossed across the battlefield.

  Ara didn’t stay in any position too long, she teleported herself in, saw her next spot and moved on instantly. It was taxing doing it so fast but she needed speed on her side. Startled Kyzantine expressions stared at her as she materialised, only to be confused when she was gone in the blink of an eye.

  Approaching closer and closer to the priest and his guards, Ara looked for a position to leap to. Inhaling a deep breath, she ported behind him and clamped her hands on either side of his head.

  ‘Die fucker,’ she screamed, turning her head as the man’s skull exploded under the pressure of the spell.

  The left side of her face was covered with the clergyman’s blood and brains as the guards around him turned. The priest’s body fell to the ground as Lava Orbs appeared in Ara’s hands and the guards prepared to charge. The balls of flame launched as the first man stepped forward, engulfing the detachment in flames.

  Ara glanced around to ensure she was safe for the moment and stooped over her adversary’s body and rummaged through the bag that he had beside his feet. Inside was a book and a few vials of liquid, things that warranted further investigation.

  Ara ported back to the tower top within the blink of an eye, dropped the bag on the ground as the ram battered into the doors again.

  ‘That was impressive Ara,’ Daria muttered as her spells finally did some damage.

  ‘I’ll have to teach you some time. But for now I’m going down to the gate. It will give sometime soon and they are going to need my help.’

  Daria nodded and watched as the young redhead went to the back of the tower and stepped off before returning her focus to burning the enemy.

  Baron Scythe moved along the rampart as the Kyzantines surged against the walls and gate. It would give soon. His men fought on, on top of the wall, repelled all who attempted to climb it. Byrn was right behind him, sword already in his hand, an eagerness in his blue eyes to get amongst it. As a Kyzantine climbed over the wall a scant metre behind, Cronos turned his head slightly to see that Byrn had leapt at the woman, his sword slicing her arm off and pushing her back below.

  Cronos stuck his head over the wall, taking the head off the first man to come near him, and peered down at the gate. The ram itself looked like it was made of solid oak with a metal lion’s head at its tip. Ten men on either side of the battering ram pulled it back and constantly slammed it into the gate. Dust fell from the mortar around the stone. Back and forth they ran, hurtling the ram into the wooden doors. With each impact the doors jarred, the rivets in the metal hinges popping.

  His blade dripping with blood, Cronos raised it above his head and slashed out across a man’s face before running to join his swordsmen behind the gate. He could still hear the rhythmic crunch of wood with each step. The younger mage waited below too, he had seen her leap from the top of the tower a moment ago. He would order her to strike first before he and his men surged forward to block the hole.

  He moved to the front of the Fists, his shield sitting high against his torso, his blade outstretched before him as he nodded to the girl.

  ‘As soon as the gates fall cast something that is going to make them wish they’d never left their fucking Empire.’

  Ara nodded in understanding.

  Time seemed to slow as the Fists stood waiting for the gate to collapse. With each resounding boom they teetered on the balls of their feet, ready to jump into the breach. Dust fell and the heavy wood creaked. Again the Kyzantines battered away but the gate remained in place. They all held their breath. Finally the gate gave way with a sickening crunch of splinters. The doors caved inwards under the pressure of the Kyzantine bodies pressed against the gate and thudded against the stone. The Kyzantines leapt forward as the ram was dragged back.

  A wave of fire erupted from Ara’s hands, engulfing dozens of the first through. It was their eyes that changed first from sheer bloodlust to blind panic as the fire hurtled toward them. The heat was intense. The inferno raged around Ara. There was a halt in their step, trepidation to continue, as the mage stood before them, eyes blackened over, chanting the incantation. They all screamed as they burned. Their skin was charred black and dry, crackling to the touch. Where the flesh was completely burned away, bits of exposed bone, bleached white, protruded and made the scene more ghastly. The flames died quickly and the bodies slowly crumbled to ash. The second wave of Kyzantines faltered for a moment, until an officer screamed and they found their courage. They charged through the gate, leaping over the remains of their fallen companions, scrambling to be the first to take Black Claw.

  The baron screamed as he charged forward, leading the Fists to butcher the enemy. His blade struck before any of his men's. It tore through a metal chest plate, slicing the man into two bloody pieces. Blood sprayed into the air as the sound of clashing steel reverberated around him. The Murukans pushed forward to hold the open gate.

  Ara moved up with the line and cast over the soldiers’ shoulders, ice tearing into the enemy’s right flank. Cronos sidestepped and struck, his blade biting into the flesh of another man. The body crumpled to the ground as others surged forward only to meet the same fate. He could hold them all day with his men by his side.

  Cronos remembered their faces, bold and brave when they'd marshalled for war back in Buckthorne. There was not a man there who was not swept away by his words and the courage of his companions. Having looked at their faces only moments ago, there was something different. There was no audacity, no blatant display of courage in their eyes, but rather a grim determination. War had begun and had taken the lives of their friends. This was not some petty little squabble but a godfors
aken mighty conflict.

  Tactically they were in a position to hold until the reinforcements arrived. As long as it was soon and they managed to keep the enemy there at the gate. The earl would be there by nightfall, if he was coming. He prayed to the gods between heavy breaths, met a wild blow on his shield and slashed out killing another.

  Pollux ran out in front of Ara after she cast her spell and the inferno dissipated. Instinctively he shifted his feet to a fighting stance and propped his shield to block the first blow. The baron had already dashed forward on his left, taken the first of the enemy through the chest and split him in two. Byrn was a step behind, his blade impaling another through the stomach as Pollux shifted his attention to the man racing toward him.

  ‘With the baron,’ he screamed, holding his sword aloft momentarily before driving it into the man’s skull. The body fell into a heap almost instantly as Pollux moved forward to meet another.

  Every chance he got, his turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder to see Ara standing exactly where she had been moments ago. His constant concern for her pretty face and her safety was going to be the death of him. A blade thrust out inches from his face: if it had been a better aim he would have been choking on his own blood now. He punched the crossguard into the woman’s face and kicked her backwards. He saw the attack on Ara coming out of the corner of his eye, glimpsed the glint of the blade before he parried the blow with his own, opening himself to a thrust that he swore was aimed for his groin. He closed the opening as quickly as possible, bringing his shield across and barely managing to avoid his own death, knocking the blade away to scratch his upper thigh.

  ‘Protecting you will get me killed,’ he shouted at Ara. ‘I’m constantly checking if you are about to be killed and then recklessly throwing myself in the way to make sure you stay alive.’

  ‘Are you trying to tell me you like me? Your timing isn’t great.’