Brave Men Die: Part 2 (17 page)

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 godforsaken 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.’

‘No, I’m saying you will be the death of me.’

‘Don’t hesitate. Just act. Fight. I will be fine on my own. I do not wish to cause so many young men to die because they are deemed to protect me.’

‘Just how many have you had?’

‘More than enough.’

‘What about when you cast?’

‘It’s not necessary. Daria knows so I don’t have to hide it. So if you are underfoot I’ll either have to get around you some how or take you out with them.’

‘Now who’s being funny and malevolent?’

‘Not funny, just malevolent. Now fight.’

Pollux hesitated for only a second before stepping forward to meet the next blow on his sword before whipping the blade around his head and down upon the man’s neck.

His face was set with grim determination as he slayed the next to come toward him. His blade danced around the enemies’, it cut and slashed at those who came his way. Soldiers around him killed and died in heartbeats. The battle was intense. Blood dripped down his brow and into his eyes. He blinked furiously to regain his vision. In seconds the first wave of Kyzantines had died, their bodies lying at his feet.

As the bodies of the Fists pressed in around him, Pollux felt the heat rise. He knew Ara’s breasts would be pressed hard against his back and he tried to think of something witty to say but could only imagine what they would feel like pressed against his chest. These new thoughts were slightly disturbing and not at all appropriate. He was the captain of the Fists and these men around him were looking for him to lead by example and ravishing the pretty mage was not what they had in mind. Although it might have crossed their minds.

The second wave charged in and Pollux took one step before his blade took off a Kyzantine head. These soldiers were different. Fully armoured, they carried heavier blades, large oblong shields, and wore enclosed helmets. The Kyzantine insignia was marked on their chests and they all wore the colours of the Empire. Pollux looked intent as the seasoned warriors came at him. He knew their job was to get through him to get to Ara. He couldn’t let that happen. A slender arm shot out over his shoulder, a ball of flame engulfing her fist. The palm opened and fired it into the right flank. Pollux was already hot and sweaty and Ara’s spell had just made things worse. The salty liquid ran down the side of his face and through the singed stubble on the right side of his face. He could smell his burning hair and realised that when this was done he would need to shave to make it look even. The smell of burnt flesh arose as soon as the flames hit the enemy. More men clambered over the fallen and burnt. They came in droves.

Cronos stepped back from the front line as members of the Fists swarmed to take his position. He drank deeply from a waterskin that was offered and rested his weary muscles for the moment. Cronos looked around. His men were falling, even though they were taking two of the enemy with them every time. Their valiant efforts were not enough.

‘What news from the rest of the compound?’ he asked the water bearer, a soldier with a bandage wrapped tightly around his head, blood pooling on the white cloth were his ear should have been.

‘The right side of the wall has been breached. They are steadily getting a strong hold in the middle of the wall and pushing our troops back to either side.’

‘What about the number of losses?’

‘We have lost many sir, but more have been wounded and dragged away from the conflict like myself than actually killed.’

The baron nodded and the man was off to give water to any other weary soul who needed it.

The Fists’ new leader was standing a few metres to his right. Like himself and a handful of others, he hadn’t left the front line since the gate came down hours ago. Soldiers had come and gone, wounded, exhausted, but he remained and fought on. The lad was covered in blood, Cronos couldn’t tell whose. He killed another, all while protecting the young mage and putting his body on the line when they came at her to silence the casting.

Cronos watched as more and more Kyzantines shifted the angle of their attack and made a straight line for the mage and the poor boy just stood in front of her and took everything they threw at him. Blade after blade crashed against his defence, his shield taking the brunt of the blows, the dents becoming obvious.

Cronos turned and saw Byrn stride across to him, gulping down mouthfuls of water from a waterskin. His old companion had a fresh bandage wrapped tight around his head covering one of his eyes, blood beginning to seep through. It looked like this fight had already cost him more than he was willing to give.

‘Did you lose it?’

‘The tip of the blade’s thrust ended there. I was lucky he was so far back or else the sword would have skewered me.’

‘Are you still up for this?’

‘You think a scratch is going to stop me?’

Cronos smiled. His friend had not lost any of his sense of humour over the years.

‘Help Pollux. They are coming for his mage and he could use the assistance. I’ll push further forward on the left and try to take some of the heat, but he needs another set of hands to defend her.’

‘Then who is going to watch your back?’

‘The gods and any one of these fine capable soldiers.’

Cronos pushed his way to the front, squeezing between men who stood firm against the pressure of the attacking Kyzantines.

‘With me!’ he screamed, breaking through to the front line and skewering a woman in the abdomen.

Those around him pushed forward and suddenly the Murukans made something from nothing, attacking the centre of the Kyzantine line and pushing it back all because of the baron’s presence. Within moments the baron was the tip of a spear of Fists smashing their way into the enemy line. He battered away wild swings with his shield and struck mightily with his sword, felling any within its reach.

He saw that a now-helmeted Byrn had made his way to Pollux’s side and begun to relieve the pressure the boy faced. Between them they dealt with the heavily armoured warriors trying to get through to the mage. Although Ara was handling herself, ice blasting from her hands. Cronos caught a blade’s movement out of the corner of his eye and ducked as it went sailing over his head. The Kyzantines had bunched around him and were slowly driving him and his assault team back toward the gate.

The baron lashed out, driving his sword through the abdomen of a Kyzantine. He turned to withdraw his sword in a fluid motion, watching the man fighting on his side succumb to the taste of bitter steel. Cronos pulled his blade out and turned to face the Kyzantine soldier responsible as the man’s blade drove into his chest. Cronos' eyes opened in surprise. Another blade sunk through his beard and into his throat as he watched five others eagerly swarm him.

Cronos could hear the screams of his men as he went down, crying to rally to his position.

‘Form up and push!’ Pollux screamed. ‘Get to his body!’

As his eyes finally came to close, Cronos watched his men come to fill the gap he had left. They killed those standing around him, pushed forward to seek vengeance. His last thoughts were that the men were following orders and that was something to be proud of.

Pollux witnessed the second blade sink into Cronos' throat. He screamed and charged toward those who intended to mutilate the body of his leader, a man who took the time to treat him like another son. The Fists around him followed his lead. Pollux’s swing cleaved through two bodies, another slashed downwards from the neck and ripped open someone’s chest. Rage consumed him, fuelled his strength and ferocity. More Kyzantines came at him and they fell just as quickly. Pollux reached down and grabbed the baron’s forearm and dragged him back, yelling at the others to fill the gap and hold the line. A blade dragged across his exposed inner forearm. Men surged around him forming a solid wall of muscle and steel. He dragged the baron back out of the front line, digging in his heels and straining under the dead weight. Another hand reached down and grabbed the other arm. Pollux looked to see Byrn all bloodied and barely conscious. A bloody gaping wound covered his face where his left eye should have been that he hadn’t noticed before when he stood by his side. Between them they dragged the baron back behind the Fists who continued to press forward.

Pollux could hear Octans yelling at the others to hold the line and keep those bastards out. He looked down at the body. The baron’s armour was dented and bloody. His hand still gripped tightly to the hilt of his sword. His eyes had closed with his final breaths.

Pollux looked up at Byrn. The man could barely stand, let alone lead the last of the remaining men. His eye socket was a bloody mess. At the sight of the master of arms, Pollux’s decision was made.

‘Byrn, take his body back to the barracks. Take some men, keep it safe to the last.’

Byrn looked at him. He realised what he was doing: giving him an out. A reason to stop fighting and have a breather, look after himself a little.

‘I can’t do that. Someone needs to maintain the men, keep them in order.’

‘I’m the captain of the Fists. They are the ones holding the gate. They are my men and obey my orders.’ Pollux took a breath. Did he really want to do this? Did he have a choice? His eyes ran over Byrn’s face, the sweat, dirt and blood said much, but the tears forming in the corner of his remaining eye told him what he needed to do. ‘I’m taking command of the forces. You, Byrn, will escort the baron’s body and defend it with your life.’

He’d tried to sound authoritative, had made it a command and now he was holding his breath waiting for this to play out.

‘Yes Pollux,’ Byrn replied, surrendering. Byrn clearly knew he was a mess and was grateful for what he was doing. In his condition he couldn’t lead the men and another high-ranking casualty would break the morale of the men. ‘You’re more than just the captain now, Pollux. You’re General Fallon of the Buckthorne forces.’

Pollux stood there speechless, his mouth open but no words were coming out. He hadn’t wanted that. He began to shake his head but Byrn thought better of it and interrupted him.

‘Just don’t let them through, he wouldn’t want that.’

Pollux put one hand on Byrn's shoulder but remained silent, the look in his eyes communicating the loss both men felt. He took one last look at the baron’s still body and turned to the gate.