Ferral's Deathmarch Army

6

  Unexpected Allies

  Kristian felt the sun rise behind them as they plodded on through the open plains that separated central Erinia from the Merciless Mountains and the Great Forest. They rode westward slowly because they were unsure of what to do or where to go. The hills undulated for miles in all directions, the long, yellowed grass moving with the wind. Nothing else was visible.

  Kristian had scanned the distance ahead several times just hoping that something might appear that would force them into action. There was nothing. He looked at the hills again. Had they been riding hard and suddenly looked up, Kristian might have thought they were on some strange sea.

  It would have been beautiful, Kristian thought, now the endless slopes only reminded him that they had no real plan. One of the ceaseless, rolling hills loomed before him and threatened to wash over him.

  The mass of that one earthen wave would be enough to crush him and his comrades—it would smother him and remind him of his failings, of the mistakes that had cost the ones he loved so much. If Kristian did not find a way to get help for Allisia and his people soon there would be nothing worth saving.

  “Even the hills remind me of my mistakes,” Kristian muttered.

  Maurin’s brief words to Kristian the day they left about another kingdom, The Ten Holts, somewhere ahead of them, had sparked a small measure of hope in Kristian. Perhaps, those living beyond the Great Forest would help. It was a dim hope, but it kept Kristian going. He knew of no other place to go.

  “They must be powerful … to wage war against the Atlunam for centuries. The Atlunam are fierce and skilled, at least from what I know of them, and so their enemies would also have to be fearsome to be remembered out here on the plains. They must be a tribal people because they only band together to fight the Atlunam.” Kristian nodded thoughtfully at Maurin’s comment.

  According to their new companion, it would only take a few more days to reach the edge of the forest. After that, they would be in the land of the Holtsmen, the enemy of the Atlunam. “But hopefully our allies,” Kristian hoped silently.

  He turned over his shoulder to look at Maurin. The poor man was obviously not accustomed to riding long distances, if at all. “Maybe we should have taken the blacksmith’s advice,” Kristian tried to joke with Mikhal, “and tied him to the saddle.”

  Mikhal looked back, as well, and smiled before remembering images half-buried in his mind. He stared back down at the ground. Mikhal’s smile disappeared faster than it had come.

  Maurin had nearly fallen from the saddle twice, more because he had fallen asleep than because he was clumsy. Kristian knew Maurin was tired, but the healer was too proud to ask for a break. They still had a long way to go before they could think of stopping for the night.

  Ever since Maurin had found out Kristian’s true identity, Maurin had tried to prove that he could make the journey without complaining. It made Kristian smile to see their first recruit riding along, trying so hard.

  “He will make an excellent soldier,” Mikhal replied, still looking down, “if we can keep him from falling off his horse.”

  “What did Eroly mean when he called you a healer and a poet?” Kristian asked Maurin, waking the man before he fell again.

  Maurin shrugged and then tried to shake off the weariness. “I like to read and I’m curious about all of the roots and plants that are around us. Many of them have medicinal qualities. I’ve acquired some knowledge about how to use these herbs and roots to heal the more common illnesses among my neighbors.”

  “And what’s this about being a poet?” Mikhal pressed.

  Maurin sighed. “I like to read and write stories, but I’m not good at creating poems. Eroly likes to make fun of me for that.”

  “You could tell us one of your poems,” Kristian suggested. “We have the time.”

  “I don’t think you would like any of them. They’re stupid,” Maurin replied.

  Just then, Kristian noticed a small column of dust rising in the distance behind them. The dust came from the east, from the direction of Maurin’s village. Kristian took a minute to realize what he saw as he turned to look at Mikhal.

  “Mikhal, behind us,” Kristian said.

  Mikhal spotted the faint signs of pursuit. They spurred their horses on urging them to run. In moments they had outdistanced Maurin, who did not understand what was happening.

  “Maurin. Let’s go,” Mikhal said.

  “Hey, wait for me,” Maurin called out in desperation. He held on for dear life as his horse sensed the race and sprinted to catch the others. Maurin wailed in fear as he leaned dangerously to one side of the saddle and then the other.

  Hours later, the three took a brief rest on a small rise out in the open plains. Mikhal looked back toward the east for signs of the Belarnian patrol while the other two drank some water and let the horses catch their breath. They had ridden hard all day, but they still had not lost their pursuers.

  “They’re gaining on us,” Mikhal said, watching the dust column grow bigger.

  “We’ve got to rest. These horses will be no good when we really need them if we wear them out now,” Kristian said.

  Maurin rose to his feet, still shaky from the ride. “Actually, I think I am the one slowing us down the most. I’m sorry. I never really learned how to ride.”

  Kristian placed a reassuring hand on his new friend. “It’s not your fault, Maurin. You’re doing a great job keeping up.”

  “I am?”

  “Yes. Why, in no time, you will be an accomplished rider and as good as any Royal Cavalier.”

  Mikhal climbed up onto his horse in a way that made Kristian think he had said something wrong. “Mikhal, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” Kristian thought he might have accidentally mocked the cavaliers and their recent sacrifice to save him.

  Mikhal shook his head. “It’s not that.” He pointed behind his companions. “They’re much closer than I thought. Only a few miles back. We have to go.” The other two jumped into their saddles. Maurin cursed as his sore muscles settled back into the all too familiar curves of the leather saddle.

  Mikhal smiled and said, “After all of this riding, you may indeed become a cavalier.”

  “What’s a cavalier, anyway?” Maurin said as he rubbed his neck and arched his back. Mikhal’s mouth opened wide in shock.

  “It saddens me that you don’t know of the world’s best cavalry and their heroic deeds.” Looking back over his shoulder one last time he added, “However, I shall have to tell their story to you later. We’ll have to ride even faster if we want to outrun them.”

  “Maybe I could write a poem about them?” Maurin offered.

  “It would have to be the best poem ever written … to do them justice for all of their sacrifices,” Mikhal responded.

  Maurin could only nod, wondering what had really happened the night of the battle.

  As they spurred their horses down the small hill Kristian said, “It must be a small patrol. Shuffling their file, sending the more rested riders and horses forward, to keep contact with us.”

  Mikhal agreed. “But five are more than a match for us.” Mikhal grimaced as he bent forward urging his horse to go even faster. Only their speed kept them out of direct sight of the Belarnian patrol.

  The Belarnian scouts spotted them an hour later, Kristian could just make out the edge of the forest as the sun started setting in the west. The Erandians spat and cursed as horns blared in the distance, calling even more Belarnians to the chase. Kristian and his companions could have made it past the boundaries of the Atlunam, but it would have made little difference. They would not be able to outrun their pursuers much longer. Kristian needed to find the tribal people Maurin had mentioned, whoever those people might be or wherever they might be found.

  Then Maurin fell from his horse, the wind knocked out of him. Terrified by the echoing sound of the horns, he gritted his teeth and sprang back up into the saddle.

 
“We’re spent,” Kristian admitted.

  Mikhal grunted. He stood in his saddle looking at the relatively flat terrain ahead. After a moment, he pointed off toward the forest. “There! Just at the edge of the woods, a stony hill. It’s a good place to hold off ten times our number.”

  “I hope there aren’t that many,” Maurin moaned. The Erandians looked at him and shook their heads.

  The three again pushed their mounts on, racing for the rocky outcropping. They did not waste time looking back again. They knew the Belarnian scouts saw them, calling to the rest of the patrol.

  “If we can hold them off until its dark, we might be able to escape them again,” Mikhal said.

  They reached the rocks with little time to spare. Mikhal helped Maurin up onto the boulders and then grabbed their belongings from the horses.

  “I’m not going to risk losing our provisions again,” Mikhal exclaimed. “The last time I let you lead us we ended up in an icy river and almost froze to death. Then we almost starved to death.”

  “It’s nice to see you’ve regained a sense of humor. Too bad we might not get to enjoy more of it,” Kristian retorted.

  Mikhal finished getting their gear and then scared the horses off.

  “Whoever said I had a sense of humor?” Mikhal scrambled up onto the rocks with Kristian’s help. The three looked out to the east and saw a lone rider in black armor standing atop a small rise. Soon, another rider joined him. Then two more appeared. Within a few minutes, there was a small band of Belarnians not more than half-mile from their rocky position.

  “Twenty. I count twenty,” Mikhal said.

  Kristian said nothing as he looked in dismay at the patrol taking its time to prepare for a charge. He counted them again and sighed.

  The Erandians nodded to each other, putting aside their differences for the moment. They pulled out their swords, knowing they would have to trust each other to survive.

  Maurin cursed.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Kristian asked.

  “I just realized that I don’t have a weapon. How am I supposed to fight without a weapon?” The two Erandians laughed at the absurdity of their situation.

  “I suppose you’ll have to throw rocks,” Mikhal said.

  Maurin almost said something in reply, but the blaring horns of the Belarnian patrol cut him short.

  “Here they come!” The black riders spread out in a single line riding hard toward the companions. Their shouts of hatred and bloodlust preceded them across the plains.

  Kristian and Mikhal separated, taking cover behind smaller boulders. Maurin, shaken by the sight of the charge, climbed higher, seeking refuge in the scrub trees that grew along the sides of the hill. He was frightened but picked up a hand sized rock, ready to hurl it at anyone who attempted to climb up after him.

  The Belarnians stopped directly below the rocks where Kristian crouched, stirring up dust by their abrupt halt, making it difficult for him to see. They cursed and jeered, making fun of the Erandian, as they jumped from their horses to the boulders.

  Two of the scouts held back from the rest of their group. They grabbed small crossbows from their saddles and drew back the thick cords.

  “Watch out for the bolts!” Kristian shouted to his friends.

  The first soldier to ascend the boulder barked a laugh at Kristian, but his toothy smile ceased as he clutched at the steel penetrating his stomach. Kristian stood before him, his broadsword jutting from the soldier’s midsection. The rider fell back off the rocks onto his comrades.

  Another soldier made his way up to the Erandian’s position, but a rock raced by Kristian’s ear and crashed into the soldier’s face. He fell unconscious to the ground. Kristian could hear Maurin higher up on the slope cheering. The Erandian king did not have time to congratulate him. Another Belarnian climbed up on the rocks off to his left. Kristian hopped from one boulder to another leaving a large gap between him and Mikhal. He sent the soldier back to the ground cringing in a pool of his own blood.

  Mikhal fared worse in holding off the invaders. They swarmed around his position forcing him back toward a rocky wall with their spears. The cavalier side-stepped one jabbing spear and smacked another away with his sword, but there were too many of them. He kicked one of the Belarnians hard in the thigh, forcing the attacker to fall away from the hill, and then swung down mightily with his sword at another.

  The man crumpled on the rocks at Mikhal’s feet, his skull shattered by the heavy blade. Still, more came at him.

  Kristian came back to help just as another Belarnian sprang from his horse onto the rocks. He was too late; six of them had ganged up on Mikhal and tried to push the cavalier back enough to get more of their comrades over onto the rocks.

  From his higher position, Maurin could see everything that happened. He watched Kristian push the soldiers back off the rocks around him. The Erandian king was a berserker, his movements and sword attacks overly violent. Maurin had not seen or expected this side of Kristian. He fought with an all consuming rage, cursing and shouting at his opponents. He ignored feints and jabs and rushed those nearest him. They fell or jumped from the rocks back to the ground. Some of them saw the fury raging in his eyes and decided to go after Mikhal.

  The scouts had found an easier way up on the cavalier’s side of the hill. They trapped him between their growing numbers and tried to take him down with spears, but Mikhal’s skill kept them at bay. He dodged or parried each spear thrust at him, but Maurin could see that it was only a matter of time before they cut him down. There were too many attackers for the three of them. Most of the Belarnians knocked off the rocks were only slightly injured by the fall. Cursing the Erandians, they started climbing back up.

  Maurin fumed. He could do nothing to help his friends. Then he saw one of those still mounted moving closer to the fighting. He raised his crossbow and aimed it at Mikhal.

  “Mikhal, watch out!” Maurin shouted. The scout pulled the trigger and let the bolt go. It raced toward the cavalier, but Mikhal had heard the warning and was ready. He stepped to the side at the last moment, pulling on the spear that a Belarnian jabbed at him. The scout, caught off balance, stumbled toward Mikhal right in the path of the bolt, which hit him in the side. The sharp barb penetrated his leather armor, and he cried out in pain.

  Maurin shouted in triumph then dropped to the rocky surface as the other crossbowman launched a missile at him.

  The bolt bounced off the rocks behind Maurin’s position. Maurin cursed and stood again, looking around him for something to throw in retaliation.

  As Maurin picked out another, larger rock and prepared to push it down on top of the horse and rider, he sensed someone behind him. He spun around feeling the rush of an arrow passing by, narrowly missing his throat, as it raced toward its target. He ducked, throwing his hands over his head. Maurin heard someone moan and looked out from behind a bush to see a Belarnian clutching at an arrow in his chest. Puzzled, Maurin spun around again. He did not see anyone, but more arrows came streaking down from the top of the outcropping.

  The missiles found their mark with deadly accuracy, knocking soldiers from their saddles or off the rock face. Those still mounted turned to flee, but too late. The last remaining Belarnians fell to the ground with several dark green arrows protruding from the gaps in their black armor.

  It was over in an instant. Maurin stood motionless unable to comprehend what had happened. A lone figure jumped down from rock to rock past him toward the Erandians. Maurin looked down at his friends trying to warn them, but shock kept his mouth closed.

  Kristian jumped across a gap that separated him from the cavalier. He grasped Mikhal’s shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

  Mikhal brushed himself off and checked for damage. “No, I’m fine.” Kristian and Mikhal surveyed the bodies below with caution, unaware of the newcomer descending upon them. A shadow fell over them, and they raised their swords in defense.

  The black-cloa
ked figure stood motionless and calm. “It’s good to see you again, Kristian, Mikhal.” The stranger pulled down his hood revealing a familiar, scarred face.

  “Cairn,” Kristian gasped. The swordsman nodded once as several men came out from behind rocks at the top of the hill. The Erandians did not know what to do. Cairn’s companions were armed with long bows and swords. They moved without a sound down the rocks to surround them. Kristian noticed that these men were different. They were slender and had long blonde hair tied back from their shoulders by cords. Many of them wore their hair tied back in a pony tail or bun, and each of them wore loose fitting grey and green trousers. Kristian was apprehensive, wondering what would happen next.

  Mikhal was the first to break the silence. “Cairn, what are you doing here?”

  “Saving the two of you again, apparently,” the swordsman said.

  “How did you find us?” Kristian asked astonished. He shook Cairn’s hand after the swordsman jumped down to the rocks where the Erandians stood. “I mean, I don’t know how you were able to get here or who your friends are, but I’m very grateful. You’ve saved us again. Thank you.” Cairn simply nodded in return. He waved his hand indicating those behind him.

  “They are the Atlunam. The people of the Great Woods, Spirit Folk, as you Northerners call them. They know me and decided to help you. At least, they agreed to help you this much.” He paused sensing more danger close by.

  The Atlunam also appeared to sense something wrong. They crouched, like wary tigers, preparing for the unexpected. A few started climbing back up the rocks toward the top of the hill. Others knocked arrows to their bows and moved to both sides of Kristian and his companions.

  “We can talk more of how I found you later. That was just a small patrol. There is an army approaching from the northeast that marches only at night. We don’t want to let them catch us. Follow me.” Cairn climbed back toward the top of the rocks.

  “But we have to get our horses back,” Kristian said.

  “We already have them. Now hurry, before more come.”

  Puzzled, the two Erandians scrambled up the rocks. They were not nearly as graceful as Cairn but reached the top. They grabbed the dumbfounded Maurin on the way.

  The Atlunam, dressed in their brown cloaks, hurried past them, still making little sound. The enigmatic hunters pushed through a few bushes and disappeared. Cairn beckoned for the three to follow him.

  He, too, disappeared just past the bushes. Kristian pushed the limbs and thorns aside to find a small hole in the ground between the rocks and roots of the bushes.

  “A cave,” Kristian shouted in surprise. Maurin and Mikhal came over to see. It was dark and the three could see nothing of what lay below, but they could hear the sounds of people inside and decided it was better to hide within the hill than stand outside and wait for more Belarnians to arrive.

  One by one, the three dropped down into the dark cave. They stumbled around waiting for someone to tell them what to do. The situation worsened as someone slipped past them and covered up the entrance to the hole with some sort of stop. The cave was pitch black; Kristian felt his head swim as he tried to keep his balance. Suddenly, a light flickered just ahead. Someone lit a torch and Kristian could see the small chamber clearly for the first time.

  The three of them looked around. All of the Atlunam were gone. They had vanished as quickly and silently as they had appeared. Only Cairn had stayed with Kristian and his companions. Kristian then saw where they had gone. A small hole in the cave floor opened up to them like a hungry mouth. A thick rope secured to the ceiling hung down in the hole.

  Cairn came closer, speaking almost in a whisper. “Other scouts are approaching. They probably won’t find the cave, but we should hurry just in case. I will have to put the torch out, so make sure you have a good grip on the rope as you go down. It’s a long way to fall.” The three nodded, understanding.

  Mikhal slid down first. Hand over hand, he lowered himself into the darkness. Maurin reluctantly went next. Kristian reassured Maurin, giving him the confidence he needed. Kristian waited until after Maurin was out of sight. As he hung onto the swaying rope, Kristian looked up at Cairn and whispered, “Thank you, Cairn.” The young man nodded in return, and then Kristian followed his friends down into the darkness.

  Cairn was left alone in the upper cavern. He extinguished the small torch and waited there for a few moments, listening for signs of movement above. Hearing nothing, he prepared to climb down but then stopped. Cairn was suddenly aware that he was smiling. He could not explain his good mood; it was rare that he ever felt this way. It was even rarer that he enjoyed himself. Cairn could not understand what made him feel such strong emotions, but he was sure that his sudden excitement was connected to finding the Erandians again. Maybe it just feels good to help someone else for a change.

  “Yes … help them, my love,” Julia whispered. The smile faded from his face, and Cairn started down the rope into the darkness.