Chapter 25
"The Deputy cancelled a visit he'd been planning since last fall. It might not mean anything, or it might mean we will soon be charged and arrested. Either way, at this stage, our fates are sealed."
- Troy Franklin, 3 Joolie, 1788 AC
As though summoned by the Deputy's imposter, the enemy heavy Cavalry suddenly turned from their butcher's work up the hill and descended toward them. Aidan noted grimly that they looked not at all fatigued or diminished by their combat with what remained of his army, and his helm still calculated around sixty of them. Their hooves shook the ground as the air rumbled with the thunderous sound. Aidan's Cavalry had routed the Musketeers, and now they were the only thing between his small band of Lieutenants and retainers. Strewn on the ground around them were the unconscious or dead bodies of the Guards they had fought.
Collectively, they opened their faceplates as though just to look upon one another one last time. Rodrig now had a permanent grimace from some unseen wound, Ygretta couldn't seem to catch her breath, Charlene looked as though she hadn't slept in a week. The other three retainers all looked grim and resigned. Connel's faceplate badly dented, and he spat a bloody wad from his mouth and smiled murderous red.
"Our work is nearly done," Aidan said, pointing to their horses, which had clustered about ten paces away. "Let's finish this."
Aidan whistled, and Midnight came trotting along while the others ran to mount and fight and die. He left his faceplate open for one last moment, closing his eyes and sighing as a slight breeze drifted over his face. Though the moment was brief, he felt his skin pucker slightly at the cool air, the last remnant of the restful winter giving way now to the cruelty of spring. As he closed his faceplate, the lining felt cool as well, and he spared one last prayer of thanks for his House gods.
The allied Cavalry were fighting hard and had completely halted the charge of their heavily-armored foes. Most carried pole-arms and were using them to push and pull the enemy from their saddles. Some struck straight at the plated horses, with mixed success. He spotted a gap where a few of the mounted bandits had fallen and charged for it, Connel and Rodrig on either side. Charlene rode with Ygretta and the Guards for a small flank, hoping against hope that they might generate some panic among their impetuous foes.
Midnight reared as he crashed into an enemy Cavalryman, and Aidan struck at the enemy warrior's exposed right knee, which was outfitted with common plate. The man's leg shattered, and the joint suddenly bent the other way, and he screamed like an animal until Midnight dropped back to the ground and Aidan swung hard at his head. He fell to the ground and was trampled.
Aidan felt a thump against his shoulder and turned to face the enemy who had jabbed at him with a short sword. He parried two wild swings and then hit him full force in the back. The Kannitick preserved the man's bones from breaking, but he grunted, and Aidan knew he felt the blow. Likely his energy reserves had depleted from all the punishment he took from those poor bastards who desperately held their ground on top of the hill. Aidan grabbed him by his gorget and threw him one-handed onto the man whom Connel had been engaging without success.
To his right, Rodrig screamed, and he saw too late that an enemy had stuck him with a long pike near the same webbing gap where Aidan had shoved a dagger into the Deputy's imposter. The plate on Rodrig's back jumped as though it were trying to remove itself, the point of the spear pushing against it from within. Rodrig pulled his hip dagger and swiped at the man's hands, but he was too far away to hit them, so Aidan whipped Midnight who bounded a few steps and then reared, his heavy-shoed feet kicking the offending Knight in the head and chest. He was stunned but stayed mounted, so Aidan drew his dagger, still wet with the imposter's blood, and jabbed up it through the tiny strip of thin webbing between the underside of the man's helm and gorget. The man convulsed for a heartbeat, then slumped, and Aidan pulled his dagger free just before he fell from the horse.
During his campaign in the War in the Heavens, Aidan often wondered what it was like to die. He came close more times than he cared to recount without a belly full of mead, and every time it puzzled him. There was no feeling of desperation, no sense of injustice or offense at his fate. Only peace. Only a sense that this was how his story would end, that he was merely succumbing to the scourge that would claim all people eventually. Even now as he hacked, stabbed, and swiped, he felt within him a stillness that balanced his adrenaline and helped him focus on each moment, each strike, each parry and riposte.
An allied Cavalryman's horse reared and fell to the side, striking Midnight as it went. Aidan's unfortunate mount stumbled sideways and crashed into Connel, who jumped off of his horse as it smashed to the ground, thrashing and screaming. Aidan's helmet blinked red with tactical warnings and odds that increased against him and his forces every moment. He didn't need it, though. Even a fool could tell that they were being enveloped and were rapidly losing any opportunity to survive or evade capture.
Somewhere in the din he heard Connel blowing his high-pitched narrow horn. But there were no grenadier monkeys in the trees, and even if there had been, they were much too far away to be any good to Aidan and his fellows who fought for their lives as the enemy closed in. He took it as an act of defiance, perhaps Connel's final act before being dispatched. He had lost sight of both him and Rodrig as he carved his way through the enemy center. Two Cavalrymen now faced him, both overloaded with weapons. He edged Midnight closer to one as they made their move.
They moved almost as one, stabbing at both of his sides no doubt hoping to find the weak spot between his plates. He parried one and grabbed the other, pulling it just hard enough to force that opponent's horse to take another step toward him. This particular foe had a short sword sheathed on his right hip, and Aidan let go of the man's spear and snatched it out of its scabbard in one brisk motion.
The other mounted enemy swung his spear to knock him off Midnight's back, but Aidan swiped, parrying the blow up and over his head with his mace, then stabbed the man straight through the eye slit, pulling his sword free in time to parry the blow of the other Horseman, who was screaming in fury that Aidan stole his sword. Aidan smashed him in the side of the head, which stopped the screaming, then chopped at the man's gorget. The blow bruised him, but didn't cut through. It gave Aidan a second to place the point over his eye slit and push with all his might until the blade tapped against the back of the man's skull.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and swung to parry it with his mace out of instinct. He whirled around with his sword and smashed it against this new enemy's helm, hearing the man cursing and screaming as he did. I didn't hit him that hard. That was when he noticed that this new arrival was liveried in the tulip of House Franklin, his own family Crest.
"Bloody hell," the man said, "you need to work on your diplomacy."
Even distorted by the Kannitick's amplifier, he recognized the voice as easily as if it were his father or brother. Marke had returned, his promised Cavalry suddenly appearing all around, stabbing and pushing the enemy from their horses, unloading their muskets and elemental bolts into any Cavalryman who bore Meadows' Crest. Marke nodded, clapping Aidan on the shoulder with an empty hand while he balanced a small Knight's shield between his knees. Even through the faceplate, Aidan could feel him smiling.
"Shall we teach these bastards a lesson in tactics?" Marke asked, gesturing to the now besieged enemy Cavalry who were already panicking and confused.
"Brother," Aidan said, his heart overflowed at the word, "I would like nothing more."
Aidan and Marke charged the enemy together, and the battle ended with around twenty of them surrendering when the bandit Infantry charged from the crest of the hill arrived to support the reinforcements. The battle was over, and much to Aidan's surprise they had won.
"Gather the prisoners," he told Marke as he dismounted and ran to where he had seen Rodrig stabbed so gravely. The ground was filled with limp corpses of Soldiers enemy and allied, the dead bodies of ho
rses, and various weapons and shields. Rodrig was nowhere to be found.
"Aidan!" Charlene called, and he ran to where she was kneeling. On the ground, spear in his midsection standing straight up like a pole missing its banner, Rodrig lay breathing and staring into the sky as though fascinated by the swirling clouds.
"Hold still, Rodrig," Aidan said, as he knelt by his friend and caught his breath. He yanked off his helm as though it were suffocating him. "We'll get you a surgeon, perhaps the heretic-"
"Don't you dare," his breath came faster as he hissed through pain, "turn that tinkerer loose on me. I'm a man, not a clock."
Aidan's hand hovered near the spear, unsure of whether to try and remove it or let it be. He withdrew the hand and grabbed one of Rodrig's instead, frightened at how much blood was flowing from the wound in his side. The scraggly horse master scoffed and erupted in coughing, a little blood spraying from his mouth.
"Is there anything you'd like me to tell them?" he asked, smiling a little as his eyes suddenly appeared coated in shiny glaze.
"Who?"
"Your family."
Aidan held his hand over his mouth at the revelation. Rodrig was dying, and would soon reside in the realm that lay beyond this life, where his own family already waited for him. Tears fell from Aidan's eyes in large drops, falling on Rodrig's armor like rain.
"Tell them ..." he sniffed, trying to maintain his composure. Around them already a crowd was gathering, Soldiers removing their helmets in respect for their old friend. "Tell them I honored their memory."
Rodrig snickered grimly, and shook his head. "You really think they don't know that already?"
What did he want his family to know that they wouldn't have already surmised from his actions? His conscience was swift to fill in the blanks. Is their memory honored by bloodshed alone? What would they have me do?
Aidan clenched his teeth at the thought. They had come so far, and done the impossible. How could he treat this great accomplishment as though it were a mere stepping stone?
"You know what I ask," Rodrig said, his smile fading. He locked eyes with Aidan. "How will you honor their memory? Their sacrifice? My sacrifice?"
"Tell them I'll see it through. Tell them I won't rest until I accomplish what they did not."
Rodrig smiled, giggling once again as though he'd just heard the best news in the world. He nodded and breathed his last, his breath steaming and foggy in the cool of the evening that was falling upon them so suddenly. Aidan closed the old Mardoni horse master's open eyes, thankful at least that his friend was at peace.
"We take him with us," he said to Connel. "Make a litter."
Connel looked confused, as did the others gathered around. Aidan was quick to bring clarity. "We march on Barrowdown."