Rise of the Red Harbinger (8 page)

Where has he gone?
He heard someone coming near, almost next to him. “Aric, is that you? Aric?” Something thumped to the ground next to him. “Aric, is that you? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, Marshall. I was following your advice. The soldiers who attacked us are in a frenzy right now. They have halted their raid because of this blackness that fills the air, and know not what to do with themselves. Maqdhuum has not caught up to them yet. Because of their confusion, I thought it might help to take one soldier hostage and see if we could understand what is going on. Unfortunately, I smacked him too harshly with a broken piece of wood, so I doubt he will awake for some time.” Aric’s voice had descended and was now at the same level of Marshall.

“I still don’t understand how you can see. It doesn’t make any sense. Everything all around is blackness.”

“I don’t know either, Marshall, but it’s not worth complaining about. It got us out of a terrible situation. Let us not question it right now. Let us get to safety, then we can worry about it.”

“Indeed. But where do we go now? I cannot see or offer any help in making decisions. I shall trust your judgment.”

“I am not even sure of my own judgment at this point. What do you think our ancestors were even thinking, settling a village so far into the forest and away from civilization? The closest city to us is Alvadon, where the king resides. But even that is over a day’s ride, assuming we can even steal two horses. On foot we’ll never make it.”

“And you’re supposed to be the optimist,” Marshall joked.

“It’s one thing to be optimistic and another to be realistic. I’ve hunted that far to the east numerous times. Even if we managed to get to Alvadon, the Cerysian Wall would block our path. They say the soldiers atop that wall do not allow people through, especially not Taurani. The best we can do is head south. If this darkness lasts, there will be nothing to stop an escape. Maqdhuum knows we are alive. Eventually he’ll chase, but we can put a huge gap between us and him.”

“Aric, we have to help what people are left.” Marshall cringed at the notion of leaving his people to die.

“Marshall, you and I both know staying here means death. I know you think I’m a coward, I see it in your face every time you look at me. But this isn’t about bravery and cowardice. The two of us alone cannot help everyone…” Aric’s voice trailed off for a moment. “Stay quiet and do not move. He’s coming this way.”

“He can see?”

“Doesn’t look like it. He’s walking slow, trying to feel his way around.”

Marshall sat, staring into emptiness, too nervous to exhale. He dared not move even a finger, just as he had lain in the street earlier. In the quiet, he could hear the man’s footsteps scuff against the dirt, then crunch on the burnt grass.
Maqdhuum
. Even the man’s name twisted a knot in Marshall’s stomach. Marshall shuddered, and then shifted on the ground. Trying to turn, his right hand slipped and Marshall collapsed to the ground, shoulder first. Each shard of wood that impregnated his bones and muscles shifted inside him and ripped through the fibers of muscle. Marshall reached for his shoulder, his mouth wide open, as the scream formed in the base of his throat. Before it reached his mouth, a hand covered it.

“Hold it in. I know it hurts.” Aric’s hand pressed tightly over Marshall’s mouth. Marshall nodded and Aric let go.

As quickly as it had come, the darkness disappeared like it had been sucked away by the sky. Marshall blinked repeatedly, more from disbelief than from the morning sunlight in his eyes. Looking around, he saw Aric agape once again, his face petrified. Marshall turned his head. Maqdhuum stood in their line of sight. All the man had to do was continue walking and they would be seen. They scurried behind a hill of destroyed houses.

Aric barked at him, “Quickly, is your shoulder well enough that you can carry our captive?”

“If I had to, yes.” Marshall would suffer through the pain if he had to. Especially if it meant escaping.
But why would Aric make me carry the soldier when he himself hasn’t been hurt?

“Take his body and run to the forest. As fast as you can. You know how to use your surroundings better than I do. I will cover your escape, but you need to get out of here now.” Aric was not asking him.

“What are you talking about? Let’s go, Aric. We can get to the forest if we stay low. He hasn’t seen us yet; if we move now we might have a chance. Don’t be a martyr, thinking you have to sacrifice yourself.”

“Stop lying to yourself, Marshall, you know this is the only way. You may be older than I am, but I am ordering you to go now. Esha is dead. I have nothing now. Allow me to do at least this much. I couldn’t save her, but at least I can save you. Stay low and run south. You can make it!” With that, Aric arose and revealed his presence. There would be no way to convince him now.

Marshall heaved the captured soldier onto his back, hunched over, and ran through the piles of broken houses. Behind him he could hear Aric yelling to Maqdhuum. He tried his best to clear his mind and run without listening. The weight of the soldier proved a greater burden than he anticipated.
How long can I keep this up?

Marshall ran through piles and piles of destruction and could see no end to it. He was not going to make it out of the village. He knew that now. The soldier’s weight deadened his shoulder, and the guilt of leaving Aric behind increased that burden one hundredfold. Something grasped his ankle from the ground, making him stumble. The man on his back crashed down on him, leaving Marshall vulnerable on the ground.

Marshall rolled the soldier’s body from his back, but his movement was limited. He could no longer move his right arm or shoulder. Marshall scanned the area around where he landed; trying to discern what had caused his fall. He lay next to an enormous heap that had once been a house. At his feet, a flap opened up from the grass and two eyes peered through the darkness between the flap of grass and the ground.
What is this?
From the darkness in the ground, a hand beckoned and waved Marshall toward it.

A voice whispered, “Marshall…Marshall down here!”

They know my name.
He whispered back, as softly as the wind, “Who is that?” Marshall knew it had to be a friend, but he was still cautious.

“It’s Myron! I’m with a few others down here beneath the house. Come inside and I’ll explain; it is not safe out there!” Myron Taurean, two years Marshall’s junior, waved and beckoned furiously for Marshall to follow him.

Aric! If Myron has found refuge, I can go back for him! He does not have to sacrifice himself!
“Myron! Aric and I have a prisoner, take him first. He will not rouse for some time. But keep watch on him. If he awakens, do not kill him, we need him for questioning. I have to go back to get Aric. Do you have any weapons down there?” Marshall used all of his strength to shove the soldier over to the open flap of grass with his left arm. Myron, although younger, was nearly a foot taller than Marshall and heftier as well. He pulled in the captive with ease, relayed the orders to the others in the hideout, and then turned back to Marshall.

“We only managed to arm ourselves with swords, nothing else. They are not even our best blades.”

“It will have to do. Aric is out there alone fighting the general of this army. I must go back for him. Give me the best blade you have.”

Myron slid a blade from beneath the grass toward Marshall. Gingerly hoisting himself to his knees, Marshall grasped the sword and stood up. He would have to fight using his left hand, putting him at a disadvantage. He’d sparred with both hands numerous times, but his skill with his left paled in comparison to his right. It would have to do. Marshall scampered away toward where Aric had run off.

“I’m coming with you. Who knows what you may face out here, and three to one stands a better chance than two to one.” Myron had already equipped himself with a new blade and followed Marshall closely.

“You do not have to defend your actions, my friend. Your help will be needed. We can only hope that Aric is still fighting him.” They ran, hunched over to hide from the army that still lingered in the distance. The soldiers stormed the remaining homes and buildings, including the southeastern tower and armory.

Marshall saw some of his people fighting back. Perhaps they’d gathered in large groups to counteract the overwhelming numbers of the enemy. The small Taurani uprising averted any focus on Marshall’s direction. He and Myron rushed on. Two figures appeared at the edge of the destruction, beyond the collapsed houses. However, one lay on the ground while the other stood over him. Marshall only needed one guess to determine who was standing.

They slowed upon getting close. Maqdhuum stood over Aric, a foot on his chest, but he was speaking to Aric and his sword was not in a ready position. Marshall remembered that Maqdhuum had no plans of killing them, which was why Aric still lived. Aric’s sword lay a dozen feet away from him and his arm clutched his side.

Myron jetted toward Maqdhuum and jumped toward his back. He positioned his sword to slice right through the back of Maqdhuum’s neck. However, while Myron hung in the air, mid-jump, Maqdhuum spun and slashed at Myron’s sword, knocking it away. The momentum of Maqdhuum’s blow caused Myron to stumble and trip as he landed, which left him on his hands and knees. Myron’s position allowed Maqdhuum to attack again as he stalked toward him. Marshall charged ahead, but was too far away to head off Maqdhuum’s attack. Maqdhuum’s blade swooped down at Myron, who managed to roll away, but not before Maqdhuum had sliced through the flesh of his calf. Marshall slowed, nearing Maqdhuum cautiously. He would have to be smart and patient, fighting injured and with his left hand.

Maqdhuum turned to face him, the arrogant smile still on his face. Despite being equipped with three swords, the man only fought with one. He knew he was better and he wanted them to know that as well. Behind Maqdhuum, Marshall noticed Aric rising to his feet and running to retrieve his sword. Myron also slowly stood and armed himself, limping noticeably. Patience would be the key.

Marshall knew all three of them would have to work together in this fight, he only hoped that Aric and Myron came to the same realization. They had Maqdhuum surrounded now, each of them in a ready stance, calculating, waiting for the ideal moment to attack. Despite the fact that he was outnumbered, the man remained unfazed. He hadn’t even turned to acknowledge the other two, still facing Marshall and staring him in the eyes.
Mother, Father, Esha, Gia. Even if he didn’t kill them all himself, he is responsible
. Inspecting Maqdhuum’s armor, Marshall realized that all the man wore was a dark leather breastplate, not metal, likely because of the number of scabbards attached to his back. But aside from that, he’d only protected himself with steel vambraces for his forearms and not even gauntlets.
He must be arrogant to ride into battle this way.

The sun had escalated; the day grew hotter. Maqdhuum was perhaps wise to forego full armor, as the day’s heat would sap any fully clad knight or soldier of all his energy. “Do not think for a moment that I will not kill you,” Maqdhuum said. “We did not come to take all of your people. Those of you too stubborn and strong-willed are not suited to our needs and are better off dead.”

Mother, Father, Esha, Gia…little innocent Gia, she had reached barely over seven years.
He will not kill me today.
“Then let our dance begin, craven.” Anger fueled his words, but Marshall remained wary about letting it guide his movements. Around him in the distance, he spotted scores of small fires emerging throughout the village
. They are burning everything, making sure no one survives.

“Craven? You would call me craven, yet three of you fight me at once?”

“You are craven for sacking our village in our sleep. For destroying a people who had committed no disservice to you. For that you are a coward. We fight in numbers because we take nothing for granted.”

“Very well then. If I am the coward, then come strike me down. Give me a coward’s death, skinshite.”

Skinshite
. Marshall had reached his threshold, and he noticed Aric and Myron equally as angry. Outsiders did not call Taurani “skinshite” to their faces. At least not in ages. It was an old insult from those who had spurned the Taurani generations ago for their inked skin and for their devotion to Taurean.

Marshall engaged him now, gauging his own reach as well as Maqdhuum’s. Aric and Myron maintained distance. Too many swordsmen in such a tight space would lead them to unintentionally harm each other. Aric wore full leather armor and an iron helmet. Hopefully it would not make him tire quickly.

Marshall studied Maqdhuum’s movements, but the man’s eyes were still fixated on his own. Marshall swung, aiming for the leg first, but the man quickly deflected the blow and spun his sword for an attack at Marshall’s head. Marshall dodged the counterattack, bending backwards. Marshall feigned another attack but provoked no reaction. He tried to signal Myron, who stood behind Maqdhuum to the right, with his eyes. Myron read the signal and gingerly stalked in. His calf was a slab of red flesh hanging from the leg. As Myron neared, Marshall spun his blade, hoping to distract his adversary. Maqdhuum twisted in a flash and sliced at Myron’s leather chestplate, cutting it down the middle and leaving Myron with a gash down his chest. Myron grunted loudly, trying his best to be a man, a warrior. All the while, the foe had drawn a second sword from his back and held it ready. Myron had fallen on his back from the blow, but Maqdhuum knew better than to turn away from the other attackers for a killing stroke on the wounded boy.