Trial and Glory (21 page)

Raker had no sympathy for them.

Another hapless warrior got trampled by the man behind him.

Apparently neither do their own men.

His attention shifted as flames took life on the killing ground. Among the other hazards, Kaz had soaked the ground in pitch. The one trap Kaz had ordered not to be sprung before today.

He knew we needed to save that for when they came at us in force.
He smiled.
The man knows war.

Warriors caught in the rising flames either rushed forward, chancing survival against the defenders’ blades, or dropped ladders to retreat to the outer wall. Regardless of the strategy, most failed. Fire engulfed them, turning their forms into globs of charred armor and melted flesh.

Water arced up from the outer wall, originating from where Raker knew the cisterns had been located. The water fell over the flames, quenching the fire. Steam rose, the heat choking men on both sides.

He cursed.
Blasted sorcery. Your turn Krytien.

As if on cue, tendrils of blue light shot out from the middle wall over to a central location on the outer wall.

“Senald!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Continue releasing mangonels on the field, but move one crew to the ballista. Wherever you see sorcery strike, follow it with a missile, especially if it comes from Krytien.”

“Do we use the special ones you and Drake came up with?”

“No. Not until I give the order.”

Those are for you, Nareash.

* * *

Krytien had to give credit to the mage responsible for using cisterns. The sorcery might have seemed insignificant to most, but the way it arced over the invaders without touching them, only to disburse evenly over the worst of the flames took skill that many would not be able to appreciate.

Since the siege began, he felt touches of someone on the other side with considerable skill. He knew the mage did not wield the power Nareash possessed, however that person could think quickly and had been creative in combating him and the mages Krytien oversaw.

Krytien tried to single the mage out before, but something always seemed to stand in his way. Even now, as he tried to isolate the mage, others swooped in to take the brunt of his assaults.

Like the unknown mage, the rest of the enemy’s lesser mages had grown steadily in skill. One-to-one, they could not match up against the mages fighting for Cadonia, but when they fought in groups it didn’t matter.

Flashes of blue light, balls of orange fire, and stones from the Cataric Mountains, joined the already crowded sky of arrows, ballista missiles, and catapult shot. Even the occasional white streak of lightning descended from the few scattered clouds.

Krytien had never seen so much sorcery called upon in so small an area. His body pulsed not only from his spells, but from the reverberations of the spells around him. Like the other mages, he did his best to ignore the hand-to-hand fighting, and tried to shield the ranks from sorcery. He attacked when he could, but with so much effort required for defense, he could not focus on eliminating the biggest risks.

Namely the unknown power I keep feeling. One Above, if I can’t stop him, how can I ever expect to defeat Nareash.

He sensed a mage across the way preparing his next assault. He sent a marking spell toward him, strong enough to make the mage glow. A breath later, two ballista missiles slammed into the target from either side.

That’s four.

He, Lufflin, Janik, Raker, and Drake had worked on the modifications to the equipment. Each missile released honed in on Krytien’s marker. Their efforts helped, but it was not fast enough.

He strengthened the barrier protecting a company of spearman led by Jeldor. A line of flame raced toward them, but dissipated to nothing more than smoke and warm air by the time it struck the middle wall.

Krytien took a deep breath to calm himself as he worked the next spell.

* * *

From a shielded position at the top of the outer wall’s gatehouse, Guwan watched the battle unfold, frustrated by the results so far. Hezen stood to his right. Nareash hid behind them.

“What’s going on Guwan? I should be seeing better results.”

Guwan scowled at the High Mage. “I am only part of this assault. Despite the free reign you gave Colan, he is doing little to penetrate their defenses.”

“It’s hard for him to do so when he’s not getting adequate support from the army.”

“That and Krytien continues to be resourceful,” Hezen chimed in.

Nareash threw the would-be emperor a look and pointed out the ramp. “Our men are getting slaughtered trying to gain access to the middle wall.”

“Reports say they have most of their best fighters concentrated in that one position. You can see the Ghal is there for sure,” added Hezen.

“I don’t care who’s down there,” said Nareash. He faced Guwan. “You said that with Kaz dead you’d be able to take the middle wall easily. Look, the men are starting to ignore the ramp all together and concentrate on the wall itself.”

Guwan shrugged. “Well, they’re focusing on where they think they’ll gain a foothold.”

“I don’t care about a foothold,” snapped Nareash. “I want the middle wall overrun. We need to increase the pressure. We can’t let up, otherwise Colan and his mages will continue to be ineffective.”

“I wanted to lead with the Kifzo . . .” Guwan trailed off. Though Nareash had given him full control of the military, at the last minute the High Mage told him to hold off on sending in his best. No explanation was given.

Even above the clamor of battle, Guwan swore he heard the High Mage grind his teeth.

“He’s right,” whispered Hezen.

“Send them in,” said Nareash.

“I’ll lead them myself,” Guwan said.

“No. I want you here. I’m moving closer to Colan. I need to better focus my efforts on what he’s doing.”

“But—” Guwan started to argue, but Nareash walked away.

He swore, hating the condescending tone Nareash used when speaking to him. He also noted a sidelong glance from Hezen.

Hezen leaned in, lowering his voice so others would not hear. “Remember what I said earlier.”

“About what?”

“Choosing the right time to take a bite.”

“Now?”

Hezen shrugged. “Kaz is dead and Colan cannot penetrate their sorcerous defenses. Nareash is blaming you for his failure. Take control now or possibly lose it forever.”

Guwan eyed the man, but said nothing. He had orders to give and knew from experience his Kifzo would be eager to receive them. He turned and left.

Take control for your benefit? No. I’ll take control of this battle, this army, and this whole backward land. You think I’d trade Nareash for you? I’ll carve out my own kingdom.

He smiled.

I’ll lead the Kifzo, but not because you told me to or to defy Nareash, but because it will garner me greater respect among the men. Then when we’ve wiped this army out, we’ll see who the men would rather follow, the self-proclaimed emperor or the proven warrior.

* * *

It had been so long since Kaz fought in anything other than the armor Cisod had designed for him that he had forgotten what it was like to wear standard gear. He felt each nick and bruise more than he had in some time—not much more, but enough to notice the difference. The sight of plain mail and plate did not strike fear in the hearts of those he faced like the life-like creatures crawling across the blue and red metal of his other armor.

However, they’re learning.

Each man he faced seemed to show the whites of his eyes more.

His sword slid down the blade of the man in front of him with such force it snapped the blade at the shoulder, severing the warrior’s fingers. The man wailed while Kaz’s backstroke bit into his opponent’s visor, ripping it and part of the man’s face off.

The next warrior, a large man, led with his shield. Kaz met him, leaning forward and driving his own shield upward, metal scraping against metal. The edge of the disc slipped under the man’s chin and into his throat. The force bent his gorget, and he dropped his shield to claw at the crumpled piece of metal cutting off his air. Kaz ended him quickly with a thrust under the armpit.

He braced for the next attack, but saw many began to ignore the ramp in favor of trying their hands at scaling the walls. He swore. Yanasi and Jeldor’s men had received more abuse than he thought they would by this point.

He quickly scanned the outer wall’s activity where glimpses of blue and gray began grouping together.

I can’t leave now. I have to be here when the Kifzo come.

“Kroke!”

The assassin’s opponent fell with multiple stab wounds. He turned to Kaz’s voice.

“I need you on the wall. Grab a couple of squads from the back and go.”

Kroke just stared, and Kaz wondered if the man heard anything.

“Move!” he yelled. “Yanasi needs help.”

The captain’s name seemed to snap Kroke out of his trance. One minute he stood facing Kaz, the next he climbed over their back ranks, singling out those to take with him.

Kaz never saw anyone move so fast in his life.

* * *

“Yanasi needs help.”

Most everyone needed help in war, but those three words did something to Kroke. They shook him from his crazed stupor of killing and wrapped tightly around his chest.

An image of him burying another of his friends came to mind. He thought of her and Rygar’s plans to leave the Hell Patrol and the life they both wanted.

She has too much to live for. They both do.

He followed Kaz’s line of sight. Yanasi’s position had grown drastically worse since he last looked in that direction. He couldn’t see her any longer, and had no way of knowing her location.

Or whether she still lives.

He spun, pushing his boot off the thigh of the man to his right. He sheathed his blades as he climbed above the lines of his men, running atop the shoulders, helms, and raised shields of the ranks behind him until he made his way to the outer battlements.

He called out names during his maneuvering, barking orders for them to follow and aid Yanasi’s unit. They shoved their ways toward him, unable to follow his example.

He skirted along the crenellated merlons lining the ramp until it ended and merged with the wall. Kroke jumped to cover the distance between the top of the ramp to the wall’s battlements. Soldiers from both sides paused at his sudden appearance. He took advantage of the moment, pulling his blades free again, and carving a path toward Yanasi. He did not have the strength or the time to throw back the men clamoring over the ladders and onto the stone, but he did have the skill to slow them down. He made sure that each man he stabbed or sliced, fell backward, slowing the ascent of the enemy behind them.

Kroke thought he heard a shift in the fighting, and hoped those he singled out had not drifted too far to his rear.

Strides away from the center of the middle wall, the enemy had managed to divide Yanasi’s forces from Jeldor’s. The two units fought to reunite their lines without success.

The glint of a sword and a flash of blonde hair rose above the crowd. Both fell, lost again in the tangled mass of fighting.

Rygar. Yanasi must be nearby.

Kroke leapt off the battlements toward a small gap in the fighting. He killed two men as he landed. Two more followed. And then he lost count. His limbs moved without thinking, his body shifted and dodged before he realized it needed to.

Despite his state, he remembered his goal. He would not allow himself to forget that. His body glided toward Rygar’s earlier position.

I need to go faster.

His body responded. Sprays of blood clouded his vision as he moved. A whipping red ponytail managed to pierce through the crimson haze. Rygar stood next to her.

They’re alive.

Two throwing knives flew from his hands, killing enemy soldiers his friends did not see attacking. He pushed toward Yanasi and Rygar, killing half a dozen men in the process, only to realize he had barely closed the distance separating them. Blade after blade sailed from one hand, killing the enemy spearman targeting his friends. The other hand he used to fend off those attacking him.

His hand reached for another throwing knife and found the sheath empty. Only his two favorite blades remained, the one Jonrell had given him and the other he won off a sailor on Estul Island. Neither was good for throwing, but he was still too far away to handle Yanasi and Rygar’s immediate threats.

He grit his teeth and fell into a trance, moving faster than he ever had before. Each stab and slice sent gouts of blood and screams of death into the air. Kroke struggled to see or hear anything else. Bodies fell by the score in his wake as he glided in a blur toward his friends.

He was so close to reaching them when time slowed to a level Kroke had never experienced before. At first he thought he might be dreaming. A warrior from Thurum attacked Yanasi with a mace. Another of the enemy swept the air with his sword toward Rygar. Both of his friends reacted. He knew each would successfully fend off the attacks, but neither saw the two spearmen coming up from behind.

A flash of the life he imagined for Rygar and Yanasi passed before his eyes. He saw Rygar teaching his children to ride a horse and Yanasi showing them how to hunt. It wasn’t what most might consider a traditional family.

But it would be a happy one. Something I never had.

Calculating his options, he determined only one would ensure his friends’ survival.

Kroke slid on his feet across the blood slick stone, just as Yanasi and Rygar finished their opponents. He stepped into the charging path of the spearmen, throwing his arms forward. His blades might not be ideal for throwing, but at such a short distance, even a boy could find the marks. Both blades struck the closing enemy. However, momentum carried the attackers forward.

Spear points entered his belly.

Kroke’s eyes bulged at impact. His body bent in half at the force of the dual thrusts. The spearmen fell, but their weight on the spear shafts dragged Kroke down with them.