King (30 page)

Staring at the pit and the blade-guarded gate, Riddig said, “I’ll take my meal up to the wall. I agree with Lord Aeyrievale—I’m nervous.” He looked at Akabe now, forthright. “Majesty, if I die, I’ve left a note for my family in my chamber.”

Kien nodded agreement. “I’ve done the same. My notes are inside my knapsack. I carried them with me until I realized bloodied notes might be difficult to read—not to mention excessively upsetting to my wife and parents.”

They’d written farewell notes to their loved ones? Akabe quieted inside. They expected to die. As did he. But . . . “I didn’t consider notes. Even so, it’ll be short work. I have only Caitria. And Siphra.”

“Sir,” Kien murmured, “with the exception of the Ateans, your people love you—as the queen surely must.”

Polite of him to mention the queen. If only the sentiment were true. If she could love him after he’d endangered her life . . . Akabe shook his head. “Well-enough. I’ll write the notes after we eat. But this doesn’t mean I expect we’ll die. I’ve faced worse odds than these and survived. We’ll bury the Ateans and rebuild the temple. You’ll see.” If it pleased the Infinite.

Fighting emotion, Akabe hammered each of them with a fist before returning to work on their midday meal. They shoveled the heated soil away from the cooking pots, which they’d filled with venison, wild herbs, and old root vegetables culled from the old kitchen garden, then sat down to eat. Akabe chewed some meat and shrugged inwardly. He’d eaten worse. “Needs salt.”

Kien tasted his and grinned, some of his usual good humor returning. “I have just the thing to improve our meal. Wait here, both of you.”

He hurried into the tower and soon returned, unrolling a parchment-lined leather packet. “Taste this.”

Akabe studied the brown cubes. Oddly dried meat chunks. Were they edible?

Kien chose one and ate it quickly, as if enjoying the taste. Riddig added two to his wooden bowl of food, then hurried up to the wall. Akabe finally selected a cube, popped it in his mouth and chewed . . . solidified salty vomit. “Augh!” He spat out the filth, then backhanded Kien, who laughed. “You’re trying to kill me ahead of the Ateans! That’s Bannulk cheese!”

Kien—the show-off—ate two more cubes, then wrapped the remainder and tucked the packet behind his protective vest inside his belted overtunic. “Your venison tastes better now, doesn’t it?”

“By comparison, yes!” Akabe pretended a glare at Kien. “If we survive, I’ll repay you, my friend—you know I will.”

“I pray you will, Majesty.”

Seated on the wall walk above them, Riddig suddenly coughed and spat down into the yard. Akabe laughed. “He tried the cheese.”

“Both cubes at once, I’d say.”

They finished their meal and scoured the pans and dishes in cold well water. As Akabe and Kien were gathering utensils, Scythe huffed and circled them. Swift. Agitated.

Flattening his ears and snorting threats toward the gatehouse.

On the wall above, Riddig flung his empty dish into the yard, offered Akabe a frantic wave, then ducked out of sight.

Beyond the gates a horse whickered. And Akabe saw Riddig scuttle into the gatehouse as they’d planned, his bow and arrows readied. Akabe’s heart thudded as he and Kien ran for their curved hunting bows, arrows, and shields. Riddig’s warning whistle sounded from the gatehouse, also as agreed. Akabe shifted his hunting bow. “It seems our foes have arrived.”

To Akabe’s right, Kien adjusted his bow and grimaced. “Of course they’ve arrived! Our last meal included that wretched Bannulk cheese! Infinite, be with us . . . and with our wives!”

Scythe closed his swift-moving circle around Kien, trying to herd Akabe as well.

“Easy, good monster.” Setting an arrow in the bowstring, Akabe took a deep breath. So much for writing a note to Siphra. Or Caitria—his love. Infinite, please save my wife and, if You will it, Your temple!

Aloud, he added another prayer to Kien’s. “Infinite, there is none like You! Bless us, protect Riddig, and speed his arrows to the Ateans!”

 30 

K
ien concentrated on breathing steadily as he listened to men’s agonized screams and horse hooves thudding just beyond the gateway. Obviously, from his vantage point at the bow loops in the gatehouse’s tower, Riddig had landed arrows in more than one man. Kien set his arrow, pulled it back until the bowstring creaked, then kept his gaze fixed sternly upon the weakened side of the huge gate.

If only that gate had been left intact! Useless to wish for what could not be changed—or repaired. Yet he meant to survive. For Ela. And to protect Akabe and the temple. Already the Ateans were hammering on the gate’s damaged side. Kien watched the huge metal-protected door shudder, and he prayed with all his might. Let the trap work! Let fewer than ten men pass beyond the sabotaged gate. Those odds might give them success.

Scythe moved in front of Kien then, blocking his view. And Akabe’s. The king snapped, “Destroyer, back away!”

“Scythe!” Kien glared at his formidable protector, holding the beast’s battle-hungry gaze. “Let us shoot down our enemies before they’re within reach! Come here!” He stomped the ground to his left and snarled, “Now!”

Rumbling ominous complaints, the destroyer turned aside, standing off to Kien’s left. But he aimed sullen looks and huffs toward the gate’s quaking weaker side. Two more men screamed
beyond the wall, prompting Kien to send up additional prayers for Riddig’s aim. Riddig had about twelve arrows, Kien knew. He and Akabe each had three—they’d used the others in hunting. Each arrow must hit a target—preferably Atean.

Beside Kien, Akabe adjusted his hunting bow, praying aloud, “Infinite, protect Your servants. . . .”

The gate’s weakened side groaned open. Two men charged inside and tumbled into the pit, onto the swords and pikes so laboriously spiked within. Screams shattered the air, just as a nobleman urged his steed through the gate—too swiftly to notice the trap. The horse fell inside the pit as the nobleman bellowed a futile, “Halt!”

Outside, his cohorts filled the air with harsh sibilant curses. Sweat filmed Kien’s skin. His fingers twitched with the longing to shoot, but—as Akabe commanded—they must use their few arrows efficiently, only as the Ateans entered the fortress. However, the Ateans had retreated. A shriek echoed from outside as Riddig apparently hit another target.

Beside Kien, Akabe hissed, “Steady! We alternate shots, remember? Wait.”

“I
am
waiting!”

At last, one Atean rebel crept inside the gate, wielding his sword and shield. Three others followed. Akabe unleashed an arrow, hitting the first man in the eye. Howling, he staggered and toppled into the pit.

Kien chose his target and caught one Atean’s shoulder over the edge of the man’s shield. The Atean reeled against the closed side of the gate, but didn’t drop into the pit. Kien slapped another arrow into his bowstring and aimed for a third assassin. Akabe’s arrow slammed into the Atean instead, felling him against the closed gate’s central metal-clad edge.

Fine. Kien focused on the fourth man, who maneuvered his shield astutely, guarding his way as he edged along the pit. It would take time for him to step across the wounded men sprawled against the gate, and then he must cross the central yard before
he became an immediate threat. Three more men rounded the gate—easier marks with their attentions fixated on the pit. Kien released his arrow, striking one in the side as Akabe struck his nearest comrade just below the ear with his last arrow. Both fell in the open gateway. The third stepped over them, adroitly shielding himself as he edged along the grave-like pit.

By now, the astute one had reached the broad central yard. Kien abandoned his last arrow and swiftly hefted Akabe’s shield, holding it as the king slid his hands through its straps. Some distance away, the attacker shifted his own shield and looked from Kien to Akabe, his eyes narrowed. Followed by his comrade, he moved toward Akabe, who waited, sword readied.

Depending on Scythe’s looming presence for protection, Kien crouched, gripped his own shield’s heavy straps, then stood and unsheathed the Azurnite blade. Its glistening blue-gray sheen drew attention from both rebel swordsmen, briefly stilling them. Akabe seized this advantage and lunged, snarling at his potential killer.

Infinite! Kien advanced on the second aggressor, aware of the man tracking the Azurnite blade. Right of the Atean to be wary, but the best sword meant nothing if its owner became overconfident.

Seeming to take courage, the Atean roared and brought his sword in a downward arc, targeting Kien’s head. Kien swung his shield up, received the blow, then retaliated, slashing the Azurnite blade at his foe. The man stepped back, curving his shield toward Kien. The Azurnite slammed against the shield’s surface and sent a layered chunk of the inferior metal and wood flying. The Atean’s eyes widened in obvious shock. Behind Kien, Scythe grunted.

Two more exchanges of metal ringing against metal and wood left the rebel’s shield dangling in pieces from his now-bleeding arm.

In apparent desperation, Kien’s opponent dropped the splintered shield and swung his weapon at Kien’s neck. Kien countered the blow with all his strength. The Azurnite snapped the Atean’s blade and sent its upper half flying.

At Akabe’s attacker.

The man yelped as the blade cut into his upraised arm, giving Akabe the chance to finish him. Kien’s foe stepped back again, blinked at his broken sword, then cast it aside and reached for his dagger. Fearing the man would throw it Akabe-style, Kien lunged and pierced the Atean’s chest. The rebel gasped thickly and fell beside his dead comrade in the trampled yard.

Feeble moans of the wounded lifted from the pit. Beyond that, silence reigned, heavy and blood-scented.

Akabe shook his head at Kien. “Surely there are more.”

They waited. Nothing moved in the big central yard except one of the wounded men stirring at the foot of the gate’s unbroken door. Akabe flicked a glance at the wounded Ateans. “Do we tend the fallen and risk being attacked? Or do we leave them in the pit?”

Remembering Fightmaster Lorteus, Kien quoted, “‘Even now, fatally wounded, they can kill.’”

“Well-enough. We leave them in the pit. If our reinforcements arrive in time, we’ll drag up the Ateans and tend them—unless they kill themselves first.”

Riddig crept onto the wall walk now, huddled over, as if hiding from someone. Kien motioned to Akabe, then pointed his sword at their guardsman. Riddig pantomimed his concern, prompting Kien to whisper, “One man remains outside beyond the gate. Do we go after him?”

“Might be a trap.”

“Can we afford survivors?”

As they spoke, a bird fluttered over the gatehouse, then sped high above the yard, gray and slightly plump, its crimson talons bound with . . .

Chilled, Kien hissed, “A message! They’re sending for reinforcements!”

“Infinite!” Akabe growled his frustrated plea. “Help us endure another onslaught!” To Kien, he said, “This leaves us with no choice.” Shifting his shield and sword, Akabe stalked toward the gate.

Kien followed, sword readied. He should have known the Ateans would plan some sort of counterattack. At least he hadn’t celebrated his survival prematurely. Seething, he helped Akabe lift the nearest wounded man—unconscious—from beneath the gate. At Akabe’s nod, they dropped the Atean into the pit, provoking an outcry and meager curses from below.

The second wounded insurgent glared up at them, ashen, Kien’s arrow in his side, his eyes cold with unrelenting hatred. He lurched to his knees and produced a sword. Kien thrust the Azurnite blade at him, delivering a final blow.

In silent agreement, Kien and Akabe tossed the man into the pit.

Riddig had descended from the wall and now emerged from the stairwell, his expression tightly composed. Lifting his third-to-last arrow from his quiver, he set its nock in his bowstring, then backed himself against the gate’s closed door, keeping the pit in view as he crept toward the open area where the two dead Ateans lay. At the gate’s edge, Riddig swung around, took aim at a target directly behind the gate, and released his arrow, just as his target’s arrow missed him.

Something thudded against the door. Riddig backed away, then sighed, penitent. “He was already wounded. I blame myself that he released the courier bird, Majesty. Forgive me.”

“Are any of us perfect?” Akabe demanded. “No. Riddig, you’ve done more than I required of you, so forgive yourself.”

They lifted the swords from beneath the gate and opened it. A man slumped over at their feet, lifeless. They dragged the body away from the gate and Kien released Scythe to inspect the castle’s perimeter.

Five bodies lay strewn amid the skulls outside. Two with two arrows each. Studying his comrades, Kien said, “We’ve three arrows remaining, the pit is filled, and there’s no way to know how many more Ateans will arrive—or when.”

Akabe grimaced. “You sound so cheerful.”

“I ought to be. We’ve lived longer than I expected.”

“Indeed we have. Blessed be the Infinite’s Name.” Akabe stared
down at the bodies. “After we drop these into the pit and Scythe returns, we’ll close the gate as best we can. Then I’ll go write my letters.”

Kien glanced around, heard Scythe’s distant huff, and allowed himself to relax a bit.

Riddig nodded toward the five bodies. “What about them, Majesty? They won’t all fit in the trap—not with that horse fallen inside.”

“With the exception of the two in the gate, we’ll leave them where they lie.”

While Akabe checked the bodies, Kien sheathed his sword and helped Riddig drag the bodies from the gate toward the pit. By the fallen horse’s stillness, Kien realized the poor beast was dead, like the Ateans around and beneath it.

Just as they dropped the second corpse into the near-brimming pit, fire stabbed into Kien’s calf where it wasn’t protected by his greave. Jolted, he looked down into the face of the Atean he’d wounded twice. Deathly pale, the man was standing on the bodies of his comrades, even now ready to kill.

The ground shook with the thunder of destroyer hooves as Kien whipped out the Azurnite blade. He landed it against the rebel’s exposed neck just as the man slashed a sword upward. Kien twisted away, but not quickly enough. Riddig yelled, “My lord!”

A thin burning pain tore along Kien’s lower abdomen just beneath his boiled leather vest.

Scythe’s agonized groan rumbled through Kien as the Atean slumped back into the pit. Kien sat, holding his bloodied lower right side. Afraid to look. Something had given way, and it was
him
.

Looming over Kien now, Scythe exhaled into his hair and groaned again. Not good.

This, then, was how he, Kien Lantec, would die. Rotting in a broken fortress, digesting stinking Bannulk cheese while a destroyer mourned over him, breathing down his neck.

Infinite, let me die quickly!