She looked over and was amazed to see that Marco, beside her, also stood unharmed, as if he too were protected by this invisible shield. She then saw the army of trolls look past her, at the tower, in fear. She turned, too, and was amazed at what she saw.
There, emerging from the rubble, came a man, stepping up to the highest boulder. He was encircled by an aura of white light, shining in every direction. As Dierdre examined him, she was stunned to see that he resembled Kyra, in male form. He looked as if he could be her father.
Dierdre looked at his glowing yellow eyes and realized at once what he was: a Watcher. He stood there with a staff held high, and as he did, light radiated down from it to the nation of trolls below. The light encircled her and Marco, creating a bubble around them, sparing them from attack. The light then ripped through the crowd and smashed hundreds of trolls, sending them flying to the ground. It was like a wave of fire passing through.
Dierdre, wondering who this mysterious man was, forever grateful to him for saving her life, watched as he leapt down off the rubble and landed beside her.
“Stand back,” he commanded, his voice ancient and firm.
She and Marco retreated as he stepped forward and fearlessly walked into the incoming mob of trolls. She watched in awe as he took on an army alone, swinging his staff, each blow sending sparks of light showering down as he smashed one troll in the ribs, jabbed another in the neck, slashed another in the chest. He swung his staff so fast it was a blur, around over his head, then behind his back, knocking out trolls in every direction in a shower of light.
A horrific shout cut through the air, and Dierdre turned to see thousands more trolls suddenly burst through the forest from all sides. The Watcher was soon surrounded on all sides. He swung his staff in a circle, smashing down the incoming trolls again and again, creating a wider and wider perimeter—and yet, too many trolls flooded the place. Dierdre saw him begin to tire.
The trolls pressed in on him from all sides, and clearly he had not expected such a flood—an entire nation. She saw him slipping, and she knew he could not last.
She could not let him die, and she knew Marco would not, either. At the same time, they each raised their sword and charged, running recklessly into the mob, swinging, fighting their way to save him. Protected by the bubble, they hacked down trolls on all sides of them, and soon, they found themselves at his side. All three of them were inside their shrinking bubble, surrounded, engulfed, the shields wearing off.
It was a valiant defense, but it was not enough.
In moments, she knew, they would be finished.
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
Aidan’s heart pounded as his horse galloped across the barren landscape, Anvin beside him, White running at his feet, and all around them, the hundreds of warriors of Leptus, led by Leifall. Aidan felt the thrill of riding into battle, felt for the first time that he was one of the men, truly a warrior. Here he was, riding up front, preparing to meet the enemy, to save his father. He had been successful in his mission; thanks to him, the men of Leptus were riding to rescue his father.
The thought of what lay waiting for him just beyond the horizon, his father, stranded, needing reinforcements, made Aidan forget his fear. He thought single-mindedly of saving him, of proving to his father that he was the son he had raised him to be. And that quelled all his fears. They had been riding for hours since Leptus, and as they neared the canyon, Aidan heard a rumble in the distance, sounding like thunder. It was, he knew with a jolt, the sound of battle. Of men killing each other.
It rumbled and echoed, bouncing off what could only be the walls of the canyon, reverberating even from here—and as it did, Aidan felt a sense of desperation. He tried to suppress a feeling of panic as he tried not to imagine the awful things that could be happening to his father. Were they killing his people? Was he arriving too late?
Father, he urged silently, wait for us. Hang in there, just a little bit longer.
Aidan thought of all his father’s men, trapped, thought of Cassandra, and even of Motley. He knew they were vastly outnumbered, and the idea of them all dying before he could reach them tore him up inside.
They crested a hill and the landscape opened before them and in the distance he could see the canyon. His fears compounded when he heard a crash and watched a huge ledge give away, saw the cloud of dust. He felt as if he were dying inside as he watched his father’s men falling into the canyon, shrieking, crushing each other.
It was an awful sight. He could hear the agony of men dying even from here, and he felt a feeling of dread as he saw his life flash before him. He had, it seemed, been just a few minutes too late.
“FORWARD!” Anvin shrieked, kicking his horse, spurring the other men into action.
The men of Leptus rode hard, keeping up with him, and Aidan joined, too, his legs chafed from the horse, his palms burning from gripping the reins. Breathing hard, he lowered his head and kicked even harder, determined not to let his father die.
They closed in on the canyon and finally reached its perimeter, all of them coming to a sudden stop at the edge, before falling over. Aidan looked down, and his heart broke. There, below, were hundreds of his father’s men, sprawled out in unnatural positions, crushed on the canyon floor.
Dead.
Yet Aidan’s heart leapt with hope as he saw a small contingent of his father’s men had survived the fall, were fighting for their lives, down far below on the canyon floor—and then his heart soared to see his father down there amongst them, fighting with a small group of warriors. They were injured, covered in dirt and dust, their back against a pile of rubble. Yet still, they were alive.
Aidan saw his father fighting furiously in all directions, surrounded. They were a crippled force, caught off guard by the collapse of the canyon shelf, and now surrounded by the enemy. They clearly had but moments until they were completely wiped out.
Anvin was already kicking his horse, galloping for the edge of the canyon, taking the steep slope heading down. Aidan followed with the others, and as he neared, he was shocked to see how steep it was. He looked straight down, and it seemed to be an impossible descent.
Yet he watched in awe as Anvin rode straight down the slope, somehow managing to hang on, somehow, amazingly, his horse keeping its footing. Eventually, near the bottom, Anvin straightened as the canyon leveled out.
Inspired, Aidan followed him, joining all the men of Leptus. His heart pounded in terror as he held his breath and tried not to look. He rode straight down and felt his stomach dropping in his throat at the plunge. He wrapped his arms tight around the mane and was sure he was going to die. He felt at any moment he would fall straight over the horse’s head and be crushed. The angle was too steep.
Yet he thought of his father down there and forced himself to hang on. He felt paralyzed with fear, and tried not to imagine his death, lost in a cloud of dust and men.
Around him, he heard shouts, and he watched as some of the horses lost their footing, the angle too steep. They stumbled and fell, tumbling head over heels straight down the mountain and for their deaths. More than a few of the men following them tripped over them, and died, too.
Aidan held on, feeling as if he were riding straight down, praying this hell would end, that he would not end up like those men. He squeezed his eyes shut and did not expect to reopen them.
Finally, Aidan felt his stomach correct, his breathing return to normal, and he opened his eyes and was amazed to see the terrain had leveled off. He looked out, and was stunned that he had made it to the canyon’s bottom. He felt overcome with joy, with victory. He had conquered his fear.
Aidan looked around and saw that most of the others had made it, too, and Leptus’ army, hundreds of men, shouted out in victory, all of them racing across the canyon floor, sounding horns, and heading for his father.
Bant’s men, fighting his father, all stopped at the sound and turned and watched them come, surprise and fear in their faces. For the first time, they had been caught off guard the
mselves, outflanked in their own territory.
Aidan spotted his father fighting off three men in the distance; he saw Kavos, Seavig and Bramthos swinging flails in circles to keep men at bay, and saw Motley holding a shield and Cassandra a staff and jabbing soldiers who got too close. They were just barely fending men off who, with every passing moment, pressed in closer all around them.
Aidan, inspired by the sight, charged, throwing himself into the fray, Anvin and White by his side, not even thinking of the consequences.
White reached them first. He leapt into the air and sank his teeth into the throat of a soldier who was about to stab Motley. The soldier fell to the ground, shrieking, and Motley lowered his shield in surprise and relief.
At the same time, Aidan raised his sword and did not even think twice as he charged for a soldier who was facing off against Cassandra. The man had just managed to knock the spear from her hand, and he was about to stab her. Aidan, realizing he wouldn’t reach him in time, raised his sword and threw it.
It tumbled end over end, and to his shock, actually lodged itself in the soldier’s back, killing him. The man collapsed to the ground, face-first, at Cassandra’s feet.
Aidan felt numb. It was the first time he had ever killed a man, a real, living human being, and while he was thrilled to save Cassandra, he felt nauseated. It was a surreal feeling to take another’s life, one of both victory and sadness.
Cassandra looked back at him, love and admiration in her eyes, a look he had never seen before. It was a look that made all of this worth it. It emboldened him. Cassandra, seeing him defenseless, reached down, grabbed a flail from the ground, and threw it to him, and he snatched it happily in mid-air by the hilt.
With White running to Cassandra and Motley’s side to help keep them safe, Aidan felt free to ride off into the crowd, spotting his father. He found him across the canyon, fighting off three men at once, alternately raising his shield and slashing with his sword, the clanging ringing out as swords slashed down on his shield and armor. His father looked injured, weakened, and losing strength by the moment.
Hang on, Father, Aidan urged.
Anvin rode up beside him, clearly having the same idea, and the two of them rode, bursting through the crowd of soldiers, ignoring the fighting all around them and determined only to reach Duncan in time. Aidan swung his flail furiously, blindly. It clanged as he rode, smashing into the armor, shields, knocking swords from soldiers’ hands. He did not know how many men he had injured or disarmed, and he did not stop to check.
Beside him, Anvin expertly slashed soldiers left and right, parrying blows and dropping them. They hacked their way through the mob, while all around them the crowd of Bant’s soldiers began to thin, fighting off attacks from Leptus’ men on all sides, the fighting now bloody and hand-to-hand. Aidan, thinking of his father, forced his way through the thick crowd, narrowly dodging the blow of a hatchet, seeing his father trapped behind a pile of rubble from where the cliff had collapsed and knowing he had to get to him soon.
Aidan was finally able to peer through the dust, and his heart quickened to see his father facing off with Bant, the two of them surrounded by Bant’s men. Clearly, the pivotal fight of the war was taking place.
Duncan fought valiantly, he and Bant slashing and parrying, swords clanging off of shields, driving each other back and forth, neither he nor Bant able to gain an inch—yet Aidan could see Bant’s other men closing in, tightening the circle, and he knew his father could be betrayed and die at any moment. He kicked his horse with all he had, and with one last sprint across the canyon, he closed the gap. He swung his flail with blind passion with one hand, barely hanging onto the reins with the other, closing in—when he found himself abruptly blocked by a dozen of Bant’s men.
Aidan’s horse slowed when suddenly Anvin came charging beside him, taking on the group. Aidan found an opening, saw his chance, and burst through the narrow gap, breaking through the circle to reach his father.
Aidan rode all the way, bracing himself for a deadly blow as soldiers swung at him and barely missed, until finally, to his own surprise, he managed to reach the circle of Bant’s men surrounding his father. He did not know what he would do when he got there—he just wanted to create a distraction and give his father a chance.
Aidan burst into the stunned group, his horse trampling men as he charged them from behind. A few fell, while others turned to see what the commotion was. Aidan raised the flail and swung and threw it blindly into the group of men, realizing he had to create a distraction, and men raised their hands to their faces, distracted, while the long chain and spiked ball knocked the weapons from several of their hands.
But Aidan suddenly felt a horrible pain in his side, heard a loud clang in his ears, and realized he had been smashed by a club and a shield. He fell from his horse down to the ground, the pain of hitting the ground worse than the blow. On the ground, weaponless, the other men closed in on him.
There suddenly came a shout, and Aidan looked up through the group to see his father get a second wind, clearly energized by the sight of his son. Having the distraction he needed, his father charged mercilessly into the group of soldiers, hacking three of them down without even slowing. As he did, his father’s men rallied around him, all pouncing on the soldiers, who, caught off guard, panicked and tried to flee.
Aidan turned to see a soldier raise a hatchet for him, and he knew he would not have time to react. He braced himself for death.
Suddenly, the man gasped, and Aidan saw his father standing behind him, his sword run through the man’s back, while the man dropped down, dead.
Aidan felt his father’s beefy palm grabbing his chest, quickly dragging him to his feet. His father embraced him tight, as all around his men fought back, dropping Bant’s men, the momentum now in their favor. Aidan’s father held Aidan’s head to his chest, clearly brimming with pride.
And Aidan, too, for the first time felt himself relax, fill with pride. He had done it. He had saved his father.
Now the tides were turning, as all around them the battle raged on. Aidan felt himself shoved and he turned to see his father push him out of harm’s way, as a soldier stepped out of the crowd and faced off with him.
Bant.
Duncan drew his sword and stepped forward, while a circle of soldiers from both armies formed around the men as they faced off man-to-man in its last, pivotal battle.
“You should’ve stayed in Andros,” Bant snarled to Duncan. “It would have been a quicker death.”
“For you, maybe,” Duncan replied.
The circle grew thicker as more and more men stopped to watch the decisive battle, the two men circling each other warily, each waiting for his chance to strike.
“I will kill you as I did your sons!” Bant cried.
“And I will avenge the cowardly way you killed them,” Duncan retorted.
They let out a battle cry and each charged like two old rams, neither slowing, each clearly unwilling to stop until they killed the other.
Duncan raised his sword, Bant his hatchet, and there came a terrible clang as their weapons locked. They stood there, each grunting, neither able to get the best of the other.
Finally, Duncan kicked Bant in the chest, sending him stumbling back and down to his back in the dirt. He then rushed forward and kicked, knocking the hatchet from his hand.
Bant rolled and tried to recover it, but Duncan stepped on his hand, then kicked him again, knocking him back.
Duncan leaned over to pick him up, but Bant sneakily grabbed a handful of dirt and spun and threw it at Duncan’s eyes.
Aidan’s heart leapt as he saw his father blinded. Duncan stumbled back, and Bant, taking advantage, jumped to his feet and kicked him, sending him stumbling to the ground, dropping his sword.
Duncan lay there, defenseless, and Aidan went instinctively to rush forward, to help his father—but suddenly a strong hand on his chest held him back. He looked up to see Anvin standing there, shaking his head,
warning him not to interfere between the solo combat.
Bant rushed forward, about to stomp Duncan in the face, but Duncan rolled out of the way at the final moment. In the same motion, Aidan was proud to see, Duncan raised his foot and swept it around and kicked Bant behind the knee, dropping him.
Duncan then grabbed his sword, wiped the sand from his eyes, and smashed Bant in the back of the neck with the hilt, sending him down face first in the dirt.
Duncan stood, breathing hard, wiping blood from his mouth, and looked down at Bant in disgust. He reached down, grabbed the limp Bant, and held him from behind, a dagger to his throat.
Silence fell amongst both armies, all the soldiers crowded around, all eyes to them.
“Tell your men to lay down their arms,” Duncan growled to Bant.
Bant shook his head, spitting up blood.
“Never,” Bant replied. “You can kill us all, but it won’t help you. You will soon die with us. The Pandesians will kill you all anyway.”
Duncan sneered.
“For my sons,” he said with contempt, and in that same motion, he sliced Bant’s throat.
Aidan watched, shocked, as the leader of Baris slumped down to the ground, dead.
All of Bant’s men seemed to have the life taken out of them as they watched their leader die, and as one, they all dropped their weapons and raised their hands.
There arose a loud cheer, and Aidan finally breathed easy, as the men crowded around his father, victorious. The canyon was theirs.
*
Duncan stood in the canyon, surrounded by Leifall, Anvin, Kavos, Bramthos, Arthfael, Seavig, Aidan and his hundreds of men, all survivors of the brutal battle. All around them the canyon floor was littered, amidst the rubble, with the corpses of hundreds of soldiers, some Duncan’s men and others Bant’s. There was a sense of victory in the air, yet it was also a somber one.
Duncan embraced Anvin, who embraced him back, overflowing with gratitude for his men’s loyalty and bravery. One at a time, he clasped men’s shoulders, finally reaching Leptus and his men, so grateful and proud of each of them.