Brave Men Die: Part 1 Page 7

  Derrick’s soldiers would have cared, would have been the only ones at the service to show any kind of emotional loss — but none of them had been invited, save those that had escorted his body back to Dagenham, and even then they would have been instructed to stay out of the cathedral.

  When they'd made camp that night, after Pyxis suspected he would have finally been buried, she'd raised a glass to her fallen brother and silently vowed to make those responsible pay before she saw him again. The bitter ale passed over her lips as her unspoken promise was witnessed before the One God.

  As the column pulled out further into the valley, she ordered a halt and it was relayed along the line. Staring at her destination, her mind raced at the possibilities that could take place in the next couple of hours. A quick successful strike would be a wonderful start to the invasion, knowing she must be decisive with what happened next. Pyxis turned her stallion around and nudged it forward with her thighs, riding back to the command group to speak with Cunx.

  Cunx was an older veteran, who had served with her father all his life. His hair had streaks of grey and wrinkles had started to form around his eyes. His broad frame filled his elegantly polished armour and his enormous smile lit up his face.

  Cunx was a man she had come to rely upon. He had been serving with Derrick to help train the Tarkinholm forces, forming a competent cavalry division. She had been a part of that training, and so had Derrick. It was their way of showing the citizens that they would do what they asked of them and illustrated how the Kyzantine military would protect the population.

  He had been the man to personally teach each of the Emperor’s children how to use the sword. In reality it was much more. He trained their bodies to be their deadliest weapon. Tactics and scouting were taught by others, but Cunx always said that knowing how to move men around the field was all well and good but when the fighting was in front of you, you had to be brave enough to step forward and experienced enough to use your weapon well.

  ‘So this is it?’ he asked, his eyes drawn to her from the picturesque valley, as the standard smacked around in the wind beside his ear.

  ‘Yes, as soon as we step out of the valley we have passed through no-man’s-land and into Murukia. That’s an open act of war.’

  Pyxis’ eyes scanned Cerebus Valley, the grass fresh and green, the plants flowering and the trees full of leaves. It would all be destroyed as they marched through, trampling the grass underfoot, chopping the trees for wood. It would take decades to grow back.

  ‘What are your orders, general?’ Cunx queried.

  Pyxis raised her hand and pointed to the various herds and shepherds throughout the valley.

  ‘Send messages. Order the shepherds to go through Iron Talon to the Empire or forfeit their lives. Death is the last resort. I don’t want to lose men because they are babysitting the flocks.’

  ‘Yes Pyxis. And?’ he questioned, recognising something in her eyes.

  ‘Have the bishop say some prayers quickly in front of the troops. Something inspirational and realistic, like have him bless our actions and prepare the souls for the journey into the One God’s hand. You should know it is always good to have the One God’s blessing for morale.’

  A knowing smile graced the older man’s lips and Pyxis thought that he would have done the same thing himself if he was in charge of this campaign. How many prayers had he listened to before going to fight, how many after to bless the souls of the fallen? It would be good if they all got to listen to many more.

  Cunx turned and spoke to the riders at the front of the column as Pyxis rode back to the forefront of her troops. She watched the riders break off as she kicked her heels into her horse's flanks and started on the road to war.

  Doric leaned his elbows on the fortifications along the top of Black Claw Gate. It was another boring day, but at least the sun was shining. He would scream if he had to spend another day on the wall with the rain pouring down. The entire week had been the same dull boringness, except the last couple of days had been raining — and only in the mountains. Reports had come that it was beautiful everywhere else. A grumbling cough came from his scratchy throat that had only started aggravating him at the end of his first shift in the rain.

  Phlegm sat in the back of his throat at the end of the unmelodic spluttering that he brought up and spat over the wall. Wiping the bile taste from his lips with the back of his hand he was grateful that in two days he would be on leave for a couple of weeks. Maybe he would see if that bargirl was still working at the Crossed Swords if he was feeling any better and could drag himself out of a warm, soft bed.

  In general, life at the outpost was rather dull; the morning drills, the standing and the watching. Occasionally, like last week, a group of travellers that didn’t look like the usual type came through. All guards were on alert as the captain personally questioned them, until he was certain of their intentions in the Kingdom and they were let through.

  Doric broke from his thoughts as Mack walked past along the rampart. His boots made a dull thudding sound as he moved to his station twenty metres down. He was dressed similarly, hardened leather vest and dark pants. Mack carried the shield on his left arm; Doric’s was carelessly laid resting against the fortification. He looked at it, thought about picking it up, but the sense of duty deserted him. Doric flashed a glance at Mack, standing tall, shield tight against his chest, spare hand resting on his hilt. A perfect soldier in all standings, he didn’t seem to mind the endless, repetitive days. A pang of guilt hit Doric and he pushed himself off the wall and upright, stretched a little, looked around at the other sentries and then leaned back down.

  It was warm even in the shadows of the Callisto Mountains in the height of summer. The dark greens of the grass and trees and the colours of the wild flowers brightened up the Fatelli Pass in contrast to the browns and greys of the mountains. Nothing moved bar the leaves swaying in the gentle breeze.

  The peace ended as a flock of birds rose from the valley in the distance and took flight into the blue, cloudless sky. Predators often challenged the birds if they couldn’t get to the herds, but it was the excitement Doric was looking for and he jumped at the opportunity to change the routine, moving along the wall to talk to Mack.

  ‘Did you see that?’

  ‘It was just some birds. Happens all the time. Not getting scared are you?’ Mack chuckled, yet remained at attention.

  ‘No,’ Doric snapped, annoyed that Mack didn’t see it for what it could be. ‘I just thought it might be something to brighten up our day.’

  Mack turned his head to look at Doric as an arrow hit him in the chest, piercing through his leather vest. Blood sprayed across the rampart as he stumbled backwards. Clutching at his friend’s collapsing body, Doric frantically lowered the dead weight down. He stared at the protruding arrow shaft then at the vacant look on Mack’s face. His eyes had already rolled into the back of his head. How on earth could this happen?

  Doric’s fingers grasped the stone wall and he pulled himself up slowly. His head popped up between a gap in the fortifications and his eyes frantically leapt side to side looking for any movement. Where could the archer be? Was there more than one? His range of vision was limited and he needed to know. He slowly popped his head up and looked. Nothing. Not a thing. Then all of a sudden his vision was filled with arrows aimed along the wall.

  ‘Archers!’ he screamed croakily as he bobbed down, a sense of regret for failing to see their position.

  Screams filled the air as the arrows struck their targets. The sentries fell in bloodied confusion as Doric watched on in horror. Several other arrows flew out, silencing the guards as they ran around in confusion, some peering over the wall for targets, others trying to help the dead men. Doric panicked as bodies fell around him. Crouching down he realised he was the last alive on the walls.

  ‘What to do, what to do,’ he muttered to himself as his breathing sped up. His heart beat faster as his eyes went from body to body, sweat forming o
n his brow. Finally he realised — the signal fire in the tower.

  He crouched over, keeping as low as possible as he made his way to the tower above the gates. An arrow thudded into the wall behind him. Gods, they were still firing and he was the only target. A body was lying before him, dead, lifeless, with an arrow in his chest. Doric realised he would have to jump over him to keep the pace up. He hoped the archers weren’t as good as he thought. He bounded off his left foot, springing high into the air as he leapt forward, diving over the body. Arrows flew overhead and into the air space he was just in. He rolled as he landed, springing back up and resuming his hectic pace.

  Slipping on the bloody stone, he stumbled as he ran for the gate’s tower. Arrows flew past as he ran along the wall. Nearing the enclosed area Doric slipped in a bloody puddle. He collided with the wall, his head crunching against the stone. He fell backwards, his legs flipping into the air.

  Dazed, his hand immediately went to the gaping wound on his forehead. The blood dripped down his arm. Giddy, he got to his feet before swooning to his knees. Walking was not an option right now. Desperate, Doric decided to crawl up the stairs to the signal fire and hoped by the time he got there he'd have the strength to stand up and light it. Perspiration dripped down his brow, the blood smeared down the left side of his face. His lungs burned as the coughing started back up again. He had no idea where the archers were or how close they were to taking the gate. He just hoped some of the others from below were making their way to the walls to give him a hand.

  The stairs were excruciating. He felt like he was going to vomit as he climbed the circular staircase. He needed to stop, feel better, before he could go on. He put his back to the wall and took a few deep breaths. He felt sure he was the only one left now; the others were surely dead by the abrupt end of their screams or had deserted. He needed to light the fire and then get out of there. Not much he could do on his own but he could come back with a bigger force. Surely they couldn’t have breeched the walls yet, but better to keep moving than to not make it at all.

  Finally crawling to the top of the stairs he got to his feet, grabbed a torch from the rack, and took out his box of matches. He could hear footsteps thudding on the rampart but wouldn’t risk looking down in case they saw him up there. He could never do this in time, not light the bloody fire and get out of there in one piece. Sinking to the floor he repeatedly tried striking the matches. Each time they snapped without lighting and he had to get more.

  ‘Fucking hell.’

  He struck them again and again until he finally lit the torch. Doric held onto the wall as he got to his feet. Moving slowly he stumbled over to the pile of sticks and raised the torch. He whirled around at the sound of armour jingling as someone ran up the stairs. Doric froze, staring at the spot where the enemy would emerge.

  From the stairs a man appeared in leather armour branded with the insignia of the Kyzantine Empire. He was tall and looked cold and hard. He had purpose. Doric met his eyes and both men stood perfectly still. The intruder clasped a short sword in his hand, a bow slung over his shoulder. The Kyzantine made to circle around, move closer to his target. Doric realised his sword was still in his sheath — not going to do much good there. Going for it would end his life but what else could he do. His head still hurt, his body ached but the adrenalin had kicked in. He lurched sideways, flinging the torch toward the pile of sticks and clasped for the hilt of his sword.

  Doric ripped it out at speed and blindly blocked the first strike to his abdomen. He stepped back avoiding a slash toward his face then lashed out in retaliation. His blade was turned away and the two proceeded to circle each other.

  The torch had landed in the pile of wood and the flame licked at the dried sticks. It took a moment to catch but the flames soon engulfed the pile and a heavy black smoke poured into the room and up the funnelled chimney to the roof. The signal had been lit and the Kingdom had been notified.

  Doric started to cough as the tower room filled with smoke. His assailant didn’t seem to notice the smoke hindering his vision. Doric thrust forward at the shadows, hitting one of the wooden supports, and the blade bounced off. He cursed to himself and looked around, the shadows growing in number and size. Doric brought his blade close to his body and directly in front hoping that with luck he would manage to save his own life.

  His eyes watered and stung as the smoke took hold. He stepped back and his leg stumbled into a bench seat. He flailed wildly for a moment before regaining his composure and balance. Doric looked around warily.

  Pain shot through his body as the enemy’s blade pierced his abdomen. His mouth opened and his breath escaped. Doric dropped to his knees as the Kyzantine pulled the sword out. Looking up at his opponent with his bloodshot blue eyes, Doric saw the man materialise out of the smoke before the blade sliced across his jugular.

  Pyxis sat in her saddle staring at the black smoke billowing from the top of the tower. She spat at the ground, cursing the strike force for their incompetence. How hard was it to keep a light away from a bunch of dried twigs?

  If that smoke hadn’t come pouring into the sky they could have kept marching through the Fatelli Pass and right into the Murukan Kingdom without having to worry about a thing. They would control the supply line and could usher more and more troops in to maintain the breach and flood over the Kingdom. Buckthorne would have been hers in less than a month.

  Pyxis turned to see Cunx staring at the walls with an eye scope pressed hard against his left eye.

  ‘Something wrong with your eyes, captain? That black smoke is pretty bloody obvious, I really don’t think you need any help seeing it.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m looking for general,’ Cunx replied calmly, maintaining his vigil.

  ‘Oh, of course, the signal. How careless of me to forget,’ Pyxis commented dryly, the disgust apparent in her tone.

  He shot her a look of disdain, that Pyxis saw but ignored, before resuming his task. Cunx had earned the right to question her many times over and she wouldn’t be able to replace him from the lot that marched with her now.

  In the distance a man atop the wall waved a small white flag to and fro. Cunx saw the man and his fellows walking along the wall behind him, and others disappeared from view to take positions on the other side of the fortification.

  ‘It has been taken and there are no survivors. Black Claw is ours, general.’ He compressed the eye scope and put it into one of his saddlebags.

  ‘Ride with me Cunx, let’s find out the damage.’

  Pyxis kicked in her heels and rode down the pass, the captain in hot pursuit. The gate opened and a scout rode out to meet them on a stolen Murukan mount. They pulled up in the middle of the pass and let him ride the rest of the way to them.

  ‘Report,’ she commanded.

  ‘All the Murukans are dead, none escaped. We did not lose a man.’

  ‘You hear that Cunx, none of them escaped to warn the Kingdom, aren’t we lucky.’

  ‘General …’ he murmured, before she cut him off.

  ‘It’s a shame about all that fucking smoke, scout. You don’t think that might tip them off that something is amiss?’

  ‘General—’

  ‘No, no excuses, I wanted to be ferrying our forces into the Kingdom straight to Buckthorne, without them being the wiser about our plans. We will now have resistance every step of the way.’

  ‘Orders, general?’ Cunx interrupted.

  ‘Buckthorne is the closest. Perhaps a couple of days ride. Infantry could be here in a week. We can’t build sufficient temporary fortifications in time to repel them from retaking Black Claw. Trying to defend from the other side is ridiculous and impossible. What we will need to do is lure them into attacking us rather than holding the gate and waiting for reinforcements.’

  She looked over the battlements as her mind raced. Then she swivelled in the saddle, looking back over shoulder.

  ‘Captain, assemble a force of archers, a decent size that makes it look like a
n occupying force, but no one who isn’t expendable. I want them on the walls to pepper any attempt to retake the gate. When they are overrun they are to fall back to the valley. That is where we will strike.’

  ‘Yes, general. You don’t think they might try to consolidate their position before trying to chase?’

  ‘We will have to offer them a target that makes it seem worth it. Organise a second force of men, all riders mind you, to camp just beyond that curve in the pass where we were waiting earlier. When the scouts see another Kyzantine force within their grasp they will want to get rid of them very quickly. They should charge down the pass after them and when they run, the Murukans will continue to follow and we will have them in our trap.’

  ‘That is a marvellous plan,’ muttered the reporting scout.

  Cunx just shook his head, disappointed that the man didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.

  Pyxis turned, almost sneering at the scout leader, backhanding the man across his jaw.

  ‘Scout, order your men back into the valley. They are not expendable, but you are to remain and oversee that the archers do not leave at the first sign of attack.’

  He looked blankly at her.

  ‘Do you understand your task?’

  ‘Yes, general.’

  ‘Good, do not disappoint me again. Go.’

  Pyxis remained in the middle of the pass as both men went in different directions. Her gaze went to the billowing smoke and she cursed the One God once again. Her eyes tracked the ridges of the mountains on either side, wondering whether an assault would come from them. Time would tell.

  The sun drifted lower into the afternoon sky as the archers presented themselves for duty. Pyxis looked down upon them, men and women alike.

  ‘You have been chosen because of your talent with the bow, your courage under fire, and your loyalty to the Empire. You will not falter or retreat but stand atop Black Claw Gate and defiantly repel the Murukan forces that come. You will be the first heroes of the Empire. The first of many.’