Rise Of The Valiant (Book 2) Read online

  He wondered where she was now. He thought of her crossing Escalon alone, with only Dierdre, Andor, and Leo to join her, and his heart tugged at him. He knew the journey he had sent her on was one that could imperil even some hardened warriors. If she survived it, she would return a greater warrior than any of the men who rode with him here today. If she did not, he would never be able to live with himself. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and he needed her to complete her quest more than ever.

  They crested a hill and descended another, and as the wind picked up, Duncan looked out at the rolling plains, spread out before him beneath the moonlight, and he thought of their destination: Esephus. The stronghold of the sea, the city built on the harbor, the crossroads of the northeast and the first major port for all shipping. It was a city bordered by the Sea of Tears on one side and a harbor on the other, and it was said whoever controlled Esephus controlled the better half of Escalon. The next closest fort to Argos and a vital stronghold, Esephus had to be his first stop, Duncan knew, if he were to have any chance of rallying a revolution. The once-great city would have to be liberated. Its harbor, once so proudly filled with ships waving the banners of Escalon, was now, Duncan knew, filled with Pandesian ships, a humbled reminder of what it once was.

  Duncan and Seavig, the warlord of Esephus, had been close once. They had ridden into battle together as brothers-in-arms countless times, and Duncan had sailed out to sea with him more than once. But since the invasion, they had lost touch. Seavig, a once-proud warlord, was now a humbled soldier, unable to sail the seas, unable to rule his city or visit other strongholds, like all warlords. They might as well have detained him and labeled him what he truly was: a prisoner, like all other warlords of Escalon.

  Duncan rode through the night, the hills lit only by the torches of his men, hundreds of sparks of light heading south. As they rode, more snow fell and the wind raged, and the torches struggled to stay alight as the moon fought to break through the clouds. Yet Duncan’s army pushed on, gaining ground, these men who would ride anywhere on earth for him. It was unconventional, Duncan knew, to attack at night, much less in the snow—yet Duncan had always been an unconventional warrior. It was what had allowed him to rise through the ranks, to become the old king’s commander, was what had led to his having a stronghold of his own. And it was what made him one of the most respected of all dispersed warlords. Duncan never did what other men did. There was a motto he tried to live by: do what other men expected least.

  The Pandesians would never expect an attack, since word of Duncan’s revolt could not have spread this far south so soon—not if Duncan reached them in time. And they would certainly never expect an attack at nighttime, much less in the snow. They would know the risks of riding at night, of horses breaking legs, and of a myriad other problems. Wars, Duncan knew, were often won more by surprise and speed than by force.

  Duncan planned to ride all night long until they reached Esephus, to try to conquer the vast Pandesian force and take back this great city with his few hundred men. And if they took Esephus, then maybe, just maybe, he could gain momentum and begin the war to take back all of Escalon.

  “Down below!” Anvin called out, pointing into the snow.

  Duncan looked down at the valley below and spotted, amidst the snow and fog, several small villages dotting the countryside. Those villages, Duncan knew, were inhabited by brave warriors, loyal to Escalon. Each would have but a handful of men, but it could add up. He could gain momentum and bolster his army’s ranks.

  Duncan shouted above the wind and horses to be heard.

  “Sound the horns!”

  His men sounded a series of short horn blasts, the old rallying cry of Escalon, a sound which warmed his heart, a sound which had not been heard in Escalon in years. It was a sound that would be familiar to his fellow countrymen, a sound that would tell them all that they needed to know. If there were any good men in those villages, that sound would stir them.

  The horns sounded again and again, and as they neared, slowly torches lit in the villages. Villagers, alerted to their presence, began to fill the streets, their torches flickering against the snow, men hastily getting dressed, grabbing weapons and donning whatever crude armor they had. They all gazed up the hill to see Duncan and his men approaching, gesturing as if filled with wonder. Duncan could only imagine what a sight his men made, galloping in the thick of night, in a snowstorm, down the hill, raising hundreds of torches like a legion of fire fighting the snow.

  Duncan and his men rode into the first village and came to a stop, their hundreds of torches lighting the startled faces. Duncan looked down at the hopeful faces of his countrymen, and he put on his fiercest battle face, preparing himself to inspire his fellow men as never before.

  “Men of Escalon!” he boomed, slowing his horse to a walk, turning and circling as he tried to address them all as they pressed close around him.

  “We have suffered under the oppression of Pandesia for far too long! You can choose to stay here and live your lives in this village and remember the Escalon that once was. Or you can choose to rise up as free men, and help us begin the great war for freedom!”

  There arose a cheer of joy from the villagers as they unanimously rushed forward.

  “The Pandesians are taking our girls now!” called out one man. “If this is freedom, then I don’t know what liberty is!”

  The villagers cheered.

  “We are with you, Duncan!” shouted another. “We shall ride with you to our deaths!”

  There arose another cheer, and the villagers rushed to mount their horses and join his men. Duncan, satisfied at his growing ranks, kicked his horse and continued to ride out from the village, starting to realize how long overdue Escalon was to revolt.

  Soon they reached another village, its men already out and waiting, their torches lit, as they heard the horns, the shouts, saw the army growing and clearly knew what was happening. Local villagers called out to each other, recognizing each other’s faces, realized what was happening, and needed no more speeches. Duncan swept through this village as he did the last, and it took no convincing for the villagers, too eager for freedom, too eager to have their dignity restored, to mount their horses, grab their weapons, and join Duncan’s ranks, wherever he should take them.

  Duncan charged through village after village, covering the countryside, all lighting up in the night, despite the wind, despite the snow, despite the black of night. Their desire for freedom was too strong, Duncan realized, to do anything but shine even in the darkest night—and to take up arms to win back their lives.

  *

  Duncan rode all through the night, leading his growing army south, his hands raw and numb from the cold as he gripped the reins. The further south they went, the more the terrain began to morph, the dry cold of Volis replaced with the wet cold of Esephus, its air heavy, as Duncan remembered it to be, with the damp of the sea and the smell of salt. The trees were shorter here, too, windswept, all seemingly bent from the easterly gale that never ceased.

  They crested hill after hill. The clouds parted, despite the snow, and the moon opened up in the sky, shining down on them, lighting their way enough to see by. They rode, warriors against the night, and it was a night Duncan would remember, he knew, for the rest of his life. Assuming he survived. This would be the battle upon which hinged everything. He thought of Kyra, his family, his home, and he did not want to lose them. His life was on the line, and the lives of all he knew and loved, and he would risk it all tonight.

  Duncan glanced back over his shoulder and was elated to see he had picked up several hundred more men, all riding together as one, with a single purpose. He knew that, even with their numbers, they would be vastly outnumbered and would be facing a professional army. Thousands of Pandesians were stationed in Esephus. Duncan knew that Seavig still had hundreds of his own disbanded men at his disposal, of course, but there was no knowing if he would risk it all to join Duncan. Duncan had to assume he
would not.

  They soon crested yet another hill and as they did, they all came to a stop, needing no prodding. For there, far below, sprawled the Sea of Tears, its waves crashing to shore, the great harbor, and the ancient city of Espehus rising up beside it. The city looked as if it had been built into the sea, the waves crashing against its stone walls. The city was built with its back to land, as if facing the sea, its gates and portcullises sinking into the water as if they cared more about accommodating ships than horses.

  Duncan studied the harbor, the endless ships packed in it, all, he was chagrined to see, flying the banners of Pandesia, the yellow and blue that flew like an offense to his heart. Flapping in the wind was the emblem of Pandesia—a skull in the mouth of an eagle—making Duncan sick. Seeing such a great city held captive by Pandesia was a source of shame for Duncan, and even in the black night his cheeks blushed red. The ships sat there smugly, anchored safely, none expecting an attack. Of course. Who would dare attack them? Especially in the black of night, and in a snowstorm?

  Duncan felt all his men’s eyes on him, and he knew his moment of truth had come. They all awaited his fateful command, the one that would change the fate of Escalon, and he sat there on his horse, wind howling, and he felt his destiny welling up within him. He knew this was one of those moments that would define his life—and the lives of all these men.

  “FORWARD!” he boomed.

  His men cheered, and as one they all charged down the hillside, racing for the harbor, several hundred yards away. They raised their torches high, and Duncan felt his heart slamming in his chest as the wind brushed his face. He knew this mission was suicide—yet he also knew it was crazy enough that it just might work.

  They tore down the countryside, their horses galloping so fast that the cold air nearly took his breath away, and as they neared the harbor, its stone walls hardly a hundred yards before them, Duncan prepared for battle.

  “ARCHERS!” he called out.

  His archers, riding in neat rows behind him, set their arrows aflame, torching their tips, awaiting his command. They rode and rode, their horses thundering, the Pandesians below still not aware of the attack to come.

  Duncan waited until they got closer—forty yards out, then thirty, then twenty—and finally he knew the time was right.

  “FIRE!”

  The black night was suddenly lit up with thousands of flaming arrows, sailing in high arcs through the air, cutting through the snow, making their way for the dozens of Pandesian ships anchored in the harbor. One by one, like fireflies, they found their targets, landing on the long, flapping canvas of Pandesian sails.

  It took but moments for the ships to be lit up, the sails and then the ships all aflame, as the fire spread rapidly in the windy harbor.

  “AGAIN!” Duncan yelled.

  Volley followed volley, as fire-tipped arrows fell like raindrops all over the Pandesian fleet.

  The fleet was, at first, quiet in the dead of night, the soldiers all fast asleep, all so unsuspecting. The Pandesians had become, Duncan realized, too arrogant, too complacent, never possibly suspecting an attack like this.

  Duncan did not give them time to rally; emboldened, he galloped forward, closing in on the harbor. He led the way right up to the stone wall bordering the harbor.

  “TORCHES!” he cried.

  His men charged right up to the shoreline, raised their torches high, and with a great shout, they followed Duncan’s example and hurled their torches onto the ships closest to them. Their heavy torches landed like clubs on the deck, the thumping of wood filling the air, as dozens more ships were set aflame.

  The few Pandesian soldiers on duty noticed too late what was happening, finding themselves caught in a wave of flame, and shrieking and jumping overboard.

  Duncan knew it was only a matter of time until the rest of the Pandesians woke.

  “HORNS!” he shouted.

  Horns were sounded up and down the ranks, the old rallying cry of Escalon, the short bursts that he knew Seavig would recognize. He hoped it would rouse him.

  Duncan dismounted, drew his sword, and rushed for the harbor wall. Without hesitating, he jumped over the low stone wall and onto the flaming ship, leading the way as he charged forward. He had to finish the Pandesians off before they could rally.

  Anvin and Arthfael charged at his side and his men joined in, all letting out a great battle cry as they threw their lives to the wind. After so many years of submission, their day of vengeance had come.

  The Pandesians, finally, were roused. Soldiers began to emerge from the decks below, streaming forth like ants, coughing against the smoke, dazed and confused. They caught sight of Duncan and his men, and they drew swords and charged. Duncan found himself being confronted by streams of men—yet he did not flinch; on the contrary, he attacked.

  Duncan charged forward and ducked as the first man slashed for his head, then came up and stabbed the man in the gut. A soldier slashed at his back, and Duncan spun and blocked it—then spun the soldier’s sword around and stabbed him in the chest.

  Duncan fought back heroically as he was attacked from all sides, recalling days of old as he found himself immersed in battle, parrying on all sides. When men got too close to reach with his sword, he leaned back and kicked them, creating space for himself to swing; in other instances, he spun and elbowed, fighting hand to hand in the close quarters when he needed to. Men dropped all around him, and none could get close.

  Duncan soon found himself joined by Anvin and Arthfael as dozens of his men rushed forward to help. As Anvin joined him, he blocked the blow of a solider charging Duncan from behind, sparing him a wound—while Arthfael stepped forward, raised his sword, and blocked a hatchet coming down for Duncan’s face. As he did, Duncan simultaneously stepped forward and stabbed the solider in the gut, he and Arthfael working together to fell him.

  They all fought as one, a well-oiled machine from all their years together, all guarding each other’s backs as the clang of swords and armor pierced the night.

  All around him, Duncan saw his men boarding ships up and down the harbor, attacking the fleet as one. Pandesian soldiers streamed forth, all fully roused, some of them on fire, and the warriors of Escalon all fought bravely amidst the flames, none backing down even as fires raged all around them. Duncan himself fought until he could lift his arms no more, sweating, smoke stinging his eyes, swords clanging all around him, dropping one soldier after the next that tried to escape to shore.

  Finally, the fires grew too hot; Pandesian soldiers, in full armor, trapped by the flames, leapt from their ships into the waters below—and Duncan led his men off the ship and over the stone wall, back to the harbor side. Duncan heard a shout and he turned and noticed hundreds of Pandesian soldiers trying to follow, to pursue them off the ship.

  As he stepped down onto dry land, the last of his men to leave, he turned, raised his sword high, and hacked at the great ropes binding the ships to shore.

  “THE ROPES!” Duncan yelled.

  Up and down the harbor his men followed his lead and severed the ropes anchoring the fleet to shore. As the great rope before him finally snapped, Duncan placed his boot on the deck and with a great kick, shoved the ship away from shore. He groaned from the effort, and Anvin, Arthfael and dozens of others rushed forward, joining him. As one, they all shoved the burning hull away from shore.

  The flaming ship, filled with shrieking soldiers, drifted inevitably toward the other ships in the harbor—and as it reached them, it set them aflame, too. Men leapt from ships by the hundreds, shrieking, sinking into the black waters.

  Duncan stood there, breathing hard and watching, his eyes aglow, as the whole harbor soon lit in a great conflagration. Thousands of Pandesians, fully roused now, emerged from the lower decks of other ships—but it was too late. They surfaced to a wall of flame, and left with the choice of being burned alive or jumping into a death by drowning in the freezing waters, they all chose the latter. Duncan watched as the harbor so
on filled with hundreds of bodies, bobbing in the waters, crying out as they tried to swim for shore.

  “ARCHERS!” Duncan yelled.

  His archers took aim and fired volley after volley, aiming for the flailing soldiers. One by one they found their marks, and the Pandesians sank.

  The waters became slick with blood, and soon there came snapping noises and the sound of shrieking, as the waters were filled with glowing yellow sharks, feasting in the blood-filled harbor.

  Duncan looked out and it slowly dawned on him what he had done: the entire Pandesian fleet, but hours ago sitting so defiantly in the harbor, a sign of Pandesian conquest, was no more. Its hundreds of ships were destroyed, all burning together in Duncan’s victory. His speed and surprise had worked.

  There came a great shout amongst his men, and Duncan turned to see all of his men cheering as they watched the ships burn, their faces black with soot, exhaustion from having ridden through the night—yet all of them drunk with victory. It was a cry of relief. A cry of freedom. A cry they had been waiting years to release.

  Yet no sooner had it sounded when another shout filled the air—this one much more ominous—followed by a sound which made the hair rise on Duncan’s neck. He turned and his heart dropped to see the great gates to the stone barracks slowly opening. As they did, there appeared a frightening sight: thousands of Pandesian soldiers, fully armed, in perfect ranks; a professional army, outnumbering his men ten to one, was preparing. And as the gates opened, they let out a cry and charged right for them.

  The beast had been roused. Now, the real war would begin.

  CHAPTER SIX