Rise of the Valiant (6 page)

Duncan rode with
his army, the sound of hundreds of horses thundering in his ears as he led them
south, throughout the night, away from Argos. His trusted commanders rode
beside him, Anvin on one side and Arthfael on the other, only Vidar remaining
home to guard Volis, while several hundred men lined up beside them, all riding
together. Unlike other warlords, Duncan liked to ride side-by-side with his
men; he did not consider these men to be his subjects, but rather his
brothers-in-arms.

They rode
through the night, the cool wind in their hair, the snow beneath their feet,
and it felt good to be on the move, to be heading for battle, to no longer be
cowering behind the walls of Volis as Duncan had for half his life. Duncan
looked over and spotted his sons Brandon and Braxton riding alongside his men,
and while he was proud to have them with him, he did not worry for them as he
did for his daughter. Despite himself, as hour followed hour, even though he
told himself he would not worry, Duncan found his nighttime thoughts turning to
Kyra.

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.