Noble Sacrifice (2 page)

"There'll be time for thanks later," came the reply. "And likely time for the rest as well. For now we have to move."

"And the horses?" Kal looked back over the gully, but could no longer see where they'd dismounted.

"Eaten."

With that, the grim figure and his grubby cohorts began to slink off into the dark. Kal and Tiberion followed across the sloping rocks, trailing their surefooted guides over the uneven ground. How these new men managed not to slip in the dark, Kal didn't know, but several times he found himself losing his balance and falling to his knees, only to be grabbed and pulled to his feet by one of their rescuers. They carried on silently for more than an hour, winding their way further up toward the mountain peaks as the night wind began to whip through the gullies, threatening to fling them into oblivion at any moment. It was to his great relief that Kal eventually spied a campfire in the distance, and as they climbed closer, the welcome smell of cooking food reached his nostrils.

The camp was small, and situated in a narrow gully. Within was packed a motley band of men, women and children huddled together for warmth and safety from the elements. The men that had guided them were greeted with warm embraces and heartfelt blessings, but as Tiberion strode into the firelight, the camp fell silent.

Kal felt the discomfort keenly, and as Tiberion's albeit unwilling companion, found himself obliged to make the introductions.

"A Hellknight's idea of freedom is a strange thing."

"I am Kal Berne of the Steel Falcons," he said, his stomach knotting as all eyes turned his way. "And this is Tiberion. We are part of an allied contingent, sent to root out the remaining invaders in these lands."

"We know what you are," said the bearded man who appeared to be their leader. "I am Ursul, and this," he indicated the camp with a grand sweep of his arm, "is all that remains of Isger's settlements for ten leagues of here."

There were pitifully few for all that, but Kal believed the man. "How did you come to be here?" he asked.

"This was the only place we could run to when the hordes came. Tribe after tribe of goblins swept across our lands, leaving nothing but cinders and corpses. Some fled north, but not quick enough to avoid the slaughter. We ran south, and hid here. And lucky for you we did." Ursul took a seat beside the fire as one of the women handed him a bowl and spooned him some thick broth from a bubbling pot. "You'd best sit, unless you're too good for the likes of us?"

"Of course not," Kal replied taking a seat. He gratefully accepted a bowl of the thick stew, and the smell of it made his stomach gurgle in anticipation.

Tiberion remained in the shadows, seemingly vigilant for any sign of attack. Kal was happy to let him remain aloof, if such was his inclination.

The ragtag band of refugees was keen for news of the world beyond the mountaintops, and Kal was happy to report the progress of the allied forces--how they had pushed back the goblin tribes to the Chitterwood, and how they were optimistic the conflict would be over by winter. This news was greeted with relief by Ursul and his band, and Kal surmised they had doubts as to whether they would survive winter snows up in the unforgiving slopes of the Aspodell Mountains.

As the night wore on, Kal began to feel comfortable among these refugees, and his sympathy for their plight began to grow. It must have been difficult for them, surviving for so long in such treacherous conditions, but their spirits seemed high. So caught up was he with their revels that he almost forgot his mission. It was when he glanced back and saw the stern figure of Tiberion gazing off into the distance that the gravity of his situation suddenly began to weigh on him.

He stood and walked to where Tiberion was perched, staring beyond the thick veil of darkness.

"Anything to report?" he asked.

Tiberion glanced at Kal without bothering to return the Andoren's smile. "Somewhere beyond those peaks stands Citadel Dinyar; fortress of the Order of the God Claw."

"Is that where you come from?" asked Kal, his interest piqued by Tiberion's uncharacteristic spark of conversation.

"No. I was raised in Citadel Vraid, near Korvosa."

That was more than five hundred miles northwest. "You're a long way from home."

"The Order of the Nail goes where it's needed."

"But not necessarily where it's wanted." It was a flippant comment, and one Kal instantly regretted, but Tiberion did not seem to take offense.

"The world is a dangerous place. The Hellknights enforce order and law, and put fallen men back on the path of righteousness. Even when those men are unwilling to walk it."

"Some might call that tyranny." Kal felt himself beginning to flush at the Hellknight's easy arrogance. It was an outlook the Chelaxians were famous for: the sense that they should impose their will on the world, even if that meant enslaving those nations that resisted their ideologies.

"Are you so different in Andoran? Do you not punish the wicked and protect the innocent?"

"Of course we do. But our country has its independence. Its people are free."

"What use is freedom without peace? When the wicked are free to prey upon the innocent?" Tiberion shook his head. "No, only strict application of law can bring true peace. Your freedoms only hinder that."

"At least we're not slaves."

"You are all slaves. You just don't know it."

Kal gritted his teeth against a scathing retort. "So the Order of the Nail only wants peace--is that right? And what then? When you've made your peace, destroyed the last vestige of chaos--or freedom--where does that leave you?"

Tiberion stared at Kal as though searching for something. Locked in that gaze, Kal suddenly felt naked, vulnerable.

"If I live to see that day," Tiberion said solemnly, "I will gladly lay down my arms and live the life of a peaceful man."

"And until then you'll continue to kill. For peace."

"Yes."

"Even it means giving your own life?" But Kal already knew the answer.

"Mine, yours, and the those of every one of these people, if necessary." The corners of Tiberion's lips twitched upward slightly. "It is a small enough price to pay."

Kal had heard enough. With a shake of his head, he left the brooding Hellknight and returned to the warmth of the campfire.

Before sleep finally claimed him, he spent the rest of the night among the refugees, much preferring their stubborn optimism to Tiberion's uncompromising edge, but still he couldn't get their conversation out of his head. He knew there was no arguing with such belief, but part of him couldn't help but admire the steel of the Hellknight's conviction.

As the light of the morning sun gradually crept over the encroaching mountain peaks, Kal was awakened by a sudden commotion within the camp. Ursul was on his feet, talking in hushed tones to a younger member of his contingent. When the youth had finished his report, Ursul approached Kal, also beckoning Tiberion forward.

"There's something you should see," he said, and led them off toward one of the mountain trails that wound up from the camp, higher into the peaks. They eventually reached a high plateau, and Kal could see it looked out onto miles of open country, its vista including the vast Chitterwood and the blue-white serpent of the River Keld.

"There." Ursul pointed downward toward the foot of the Aspodells.

Kal craned forward, at first not seeing anything. Then, as he strained his eyes in the waxing light, he saw them--hundreds of them--moving like an army of insects in the distance and making their way northeast from the Chitterwood.

Tiberion gazed gravely toward the goblinoid warhost. "The horde is on the move."

"And it's headed straight for the reserve garrison at Wolfpoint," said Kal. "The fort's been behind the front lines for a month--they can't be expecting them to swing back down this side. They'll be totally unprepared!"

"Not if we warn them," Tiberion replied. The Hellknight was already moving back toward the camp.

Kal was quick to follow, with Ursul on his heels. They swiftly gathered their equipment, sharing a solemn glance as they realized the gravity of the task ahead. Wolfpoint was miles distant, and they no longer had horses.

"Take the north path," said Ursul, pointing the way from the camp. "It's narrow, but it'll take you straight to the foot of the range, shorter than the goblins' route, and the garrison's only a mile further on. May Old Deadeye speed your flight."

Kal gave a nod of thanks, and Tiberion led the way. Within minutes they had left the camp far behind them as they navigated the perilous track downward in their race to Wolfpoint.

Kal said a silent prayer. He'd seen goblins move before, and he knew Tiberion had as well. Even if their path was shorter, as Ursul claimed, it would still be a close thing. And if they didn't manage to beat the horde, it was likely there would be no one left at Wolfpoint to warn...

The narrow mountain trail was treacherous, more of a goat trail than a discernible pathway, but Tiberion moved with all haste, seemingly heedless of the danger. Kal was hard pressed to keep up with the hulking warrior as he almost sprinted down the face of the cliff. They had long since lost sight of the goblinoid army, but that did nothing to diminish the pressing urgency of their mission. Unless Wolfpoint were warned, the garrison would never have a chance. The goblins would use the cover of darkness to attack, descending on the garrison in the dead of night, moving silently to overwhelm the meager defense before they had a chance to raise the alarm. It was a tactic they had used all across Isger, and Kal was determined not to let it happen at Wolfpoint.

As the sloping path began to level out into the bottom of a steep-walled cut, Tiberion slowed his descent. Kal stopped behind him, watching as Tiberion narrowed his eyes, glancing up at the rocky promontory that surrounded them.

The Hellknight reached for his sword, and something slashed the air, missing his head by inches.

Then the air was suddenly alive with black-shafted arrows.

Tiberion ducked low and moved ahead, with Kal close on his heels. Now they could hear the high-pitched shouts as the goblin attackers whipped themselves into a frenzy. Kal pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it to his bow, but the deluge of missiles that continued to rain down on them was such that he dared not lift his head to take aim.

Two grizzled hobgoblins leapt down from the rocks above, longswords gripped in clawed fists, eyes keen and wide with the prospect of murder. Where goblins cut your throat with bits of sharpened trash, hobgoblins were another story entirely. Here were the true soldiers behind the horde's rush. Tiberion turned to meet them, but Kal placed a firm hand on his back.

"There's no time!" he shouted, above the roar of enemy voices.

"Then go." Tiberion pushed Kal toward where the path continued downward out of the gully.

Kal thought about it for a second, considered leaving the Hellknight to his fate--damn him, if he wanted to stay and face certain death, let him! But something inside disagreed, and instead he raised his bow and fired back into the storm of arrows.

Tiberion awaited the hobgoblins, allowing them to charge as he calmly took up a defensive stance. These monsters didn't howl, but rather moved with a quiet economy not so different from the Hellknight's own. Their swords rose in unison, and then Tiberion was moving, ducking under the left one's blade and letting their combined momentum carry his own sword point-first through the hobgoblin's chest. Blood sprayed, and the Hellknight spun on his heel, hauling the black sword free with the rasp of steel on bone.

The second hobgoblin swung its own blade, but Tiberion was no longer in its path, moving to the creature's flank. The creature barely had time to register its mistake before the Hellknight countered, lopping the sword arm from its shoulder. The goblinoid staggered back with a piercing, strangled cry, only to have it immediately cut short by Tiberion's reverse stroke.

Kal loosed another arrow, doing his best to pin down the cowardly goblin archers beyond the ridge. "We need to go!" he cried. "Now!"

Tiberion didn't argue, leading the way once more down the rocky path.

They ran, almost bounding down the mountainside, but the sounds of pursuit dogged them at every step. The goblins whooped and screamed as they gave chase, loosing their arrows wildly. The missiles smashed against the rocks behind and to either side--the two humans were barely managing to keep just beyond the effective range of the goblins' patchwork bows--but for every second that passed, the goblins' aim seemed to improve.

Something suddenly bit Kal in the back of his left thigh, cutting the leg out from under him. He fell hard, grunting in pain as his forearms met the rocky ground, barely protecting his face. Behind him, the screaming of the enemy rose to a crescendo, trumpeting their victory.

Kal tried to stand, but the wound pinned him to the ground as though the weight of the mountain itself were holding him down.

Iron fists dragged him to his feet. Clenching his jaw against the pain, he put a hand to the gauntleted fist on his shoulder to steady himself and began to move. He would show the Hellknight that the grit of the Steel Falcons was in every way equal to that of the Chelish devil-callers.

Kal limped several yards down the path, half pulled along by Tiberion, before the Hellknight bundled him in behind a huge fallen rock. In its lee, Tiberion examined Kal's wound, both men assessing it with a practiced eye. The arrow had pierced full through the thigh, its red and dripping head now protruding from the front of his leg. Tiberion said nothing, but merely grasped the pointed steel and snapped it off.

Kal screamed in pain, and Tiberion slammed a gauntleted hand into his mouth before grasping the fletching at the back of Kal's leg and swiftly pulling out the arrow. Kal screamed again, feeling as though his whole leg were being sawed off, as Tiberion tore a strip from his black cloak and tightly bound the wound.

"Are you ready?" the Hellknight asked.

Kal wanted to say yes, to carry on their flight down the mountainside, but already he could feel his strength leaking out through that oozing bandage. Pain lanced through him as he attempted to flex the knee.