Seeker of the Four Winds: A Galatia Novel (41 page)

Dodging a flying spear, he realized he had
played right into that Wakeland fella’s crafty hands.

Damn.

(Larsen Drey Steelsun)

The members of the Red Squad plastered
themselves against the knoll to watch the battle unfold. A dozen or
so Commoner soldiers were running across the battlefield straight
at them. Maybe they were deserters, maybe they had spotted them,
but Lars knew with certainty the squad was in for a fight.

“If thirteen men come over this hill,” Dante
said. “Thirteen must die.”

“Ladies, take care of the ones that slip
past us men,” Dante said. “And no guns, Lindsey. The sound will
draw attention to our position.”

“Get ready,” Rolf warned. “Foes at eleven,
twelve and one o’clock.”

Most of them were Commoners around Lars’s
own age, with fresh faces that startled at the unexpected sight of
Lars, Dante and Rolf coming down the hill. About half of them ran
back the way they came, the other half rushed ahead.

A Hunterdon soldier jabbed at him with a
spear. Lars did a half-backbend and the spear went harmlessly past
his chin. Lars gripped the spear handle and yanked it out of the
soldier’s hand. With a horizontal arc of the spear, he swept the
soldier’s feet from beneath him. As he jumped over the soldier he’d
just dropped, Lars speared him in the gut.

The next soldier was a Bulwark swinging a
spiked metal ball on a chain at Lars’s head. He ducked and raised
the bloodied spear. The chain and ball wrapped around the spear.
Not wasting a moment, Lars rammed the spear butt into the Bulwark’s
closest knee. Even Lars winced when he saw the knee bend backwards.
Out of habit, he looked up to see if Mr. Bayloo would break the
stick. Not today. The decision of life and death had reverted into
Lars’s hands.

Twirling the hilt of his sword between his
fingers, he raised the blade high and then plunged it into the
Bulwark’s chest.

“Josie,” he heard Dante cry out in the
middle of his own sword battle, “Go help Lindsey!”

Lars jerked his head around to see Dante in
a wrestling match with a Bulwark, each fighting to impale the
other. Lindsey was on the ground, rolling from side to side as a
Deerma repeatedly tried to drive his antlers into her body.

Josie pulled her sword out of the gut of a
Bulwark. Leapt over a pile of dead soldiers to land behind the
Deerma.

“Hey, Rudolf!” she shouted, and pegged his
snout with a front kick as he turned around. The Deerma stumbled
back. After shaking off the pain, lowering his head, the Deerma
charged. Josie leapt over him, doing a round-off in midair, to land
facing his rear end, where she hamstrung the Deerma.

“That’s my little spitfire,” he said
admiringly.

Now, there were only two left; Rolf worked
on finishing off a third man in a Tectonian uniform, while Lars
faced another Tectonian his own age, who was fast, but
inexperienced. Killing was so second-nature to Lars now, he could
easily overcome him without charisma or even a sword.

“Please, don’t hurt me,”
the young man pleaded. “I just got married. We’re expecting a
baby--I’m begging you.” Lars pulled his sword upright against his
nose in a gesture that said y
ou may
pass
.

“Thank you, sir. Thank, you.” The young
soldier’s eyes were moist with gratitude. Then he fled down the
knoll. Rolf turned to see the young soldier coming toward him.
Unable to pull his sword free from the Deerma in time, the soldier
Lars had just released caught Rolf in the neck with his blade.

The soldier gave a victorious yell, turned
around to give Lars a sly grin, and continued to run. Rolf
collapsed to one knee, then the other, hands going to the wound in
a futile gesture while blood spurted between his fingers. Lars
rushed to his side, but Rolf was quickly bleeding out.

“We almost made it,” he said weakly,
collapsing forward into Lars’s arms, face already turning gray.
“Didn’t we?”

“What do you mean
almost
?” Lars said, his
voice breaking, pulling Rolf into his lap without concern for all
the blood dripping on him. “We’re already on Galatian soil, Rolf.
We’re home.”

“Home.” Rolf grimaced when he tried to sit
up. “The gates are opening up. I see a Christmas tree. My brothers
and sisters that died in the bunker are gathered around. Everybody
is so young.” He reached for some unseen thing in the distance.
“Oh, my god, there’s a sword tied with a red bow in a corner. And
my name is on it!” His voice was growing weaker, but a smile worked
its way to his trembling lips. “Tell Lindsey she’s the only girl I
ever loved. Even though she didn’t love me back, being with her
made my life sweeter.”

“No,” Rolf, Lars said, picking up Rolf and
running with him toward the boulders. “When you’re better, you can
tell her yourself.”

Rolf’s body went limp in his arms. Lars saw
an orb of light form in Rolf’s chest, slip out to hover at eye
level as if Rolf’s soul had paused to say goodbye.

“Oh, god,” Lars said, knowing his friend had
died. “Oh, god.”

Gently, he set the body on the ground.

“Holy mother of mercy,” Dante shouted from
several yards away, unaware of what had happened. “More soldiers
coming this way!”

Tearfully, Lars had to abandon Rolf to go
help the others. Glancing to the battlefield, he was confused to
see the armies of the Alliance attacking each other. The chaotic
mob of infantry and cavalry, of Bulwarks, Commoners, Deermas,
Regalans and God knew what else, had turned upon itself. Woe to
anyone caught in the chaos. A Regalan archer who had managed to
break away from the violent ball, suddenly locked his eyes onto
Lars.

“Galatians dead ahead!” the Regalan
hollered.

The crazy mob of killing froze and quieted
as if remembering its original purpose. Suddenly reunited under the
banner of a common enemy, the Alliance armies let out a renewed
collective battle cry against the four hapless Galatians. The
strength drained out of Lars’s legs as any chance of survival
slipped away. No amount of charisma could help them outrun horses.
Or fight so many foes.

Dante, Lindsey, Lars and Josie stood
back-to-back, ready to fight the death.

“I don’t want to be
remembered as the girl who
almost
became a hero,” Josie said. “I have the map.
We’re so damn close! This is so unfair.”

“St. Michael, the archangel, defend us in
battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the
devil,” Lindsey prayed, her voice shaking, but her hands remained
steady as she aimed her gun. “May God rebuke him, we humbly pray,
and do thou, O prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God,
thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about
the world seeking the ruin of souls.”

Suddenly, the ground began to shake a second
time. But this time it was accompanied by the horrific sound of
cracking rock, a groaning of the Earth.

It looked as if a huge earthen snake rose
from the ground, three to four stories high in places, writhing
through the battlefield, tipping soldiers down its sides as it
advanced. Wider than a two-lane highway at the bottom, thinner than
a sidewalk at the top, composed of mud and rocks, it was coming
straight toward the squad. Lindsey screamed shrilly. Lars tensed,
scrunched his eyes, and braced for the inevitable impact.

And it stopped. So did the horrendous sound
of breaking earth. Lars opened one eye. A familiar voice carried
over the hillside.

“Ahoy, down there!” someone said in
English.

A big bald head peeked over the edge of the
formation. A rope came down the side of the earthen snake.

“Welcome home, son.”

“D-Dad?”

“It’s Dr. Steeslun!” Lindsey cried.

Up close, Lars saw that it wasn’t a snake at
all, but an earthen ridge similar to the wall surrounding Galatia.
It was barely climbable, but right now the enemy soldiers were too
freaked out to do anything except gawk.

“C’mon,” Dante was motioning for Lindsey and
Josie to hurry up. They were still staring, slack-jawed, at the top
of the earthen bridge. “Ladies first.”

Lindsey took the rope, but her climb was
slow going.

“You climb like a girl,” Josie razzed her
from the bottom of the rope.

“I am a girl!”

“Use the charisma and get your butt up
there!”

When Dante offered Josie the rope, she
complained, “I’m a better fighter than you. This is no time for
chivalry.”

“You’re wrong. Chivalry was made for moments
like these,” Dante said. “I will not abandon ship until all the
women and children are onboard.”

Not wanting to waste time arguing with her
stubborn brother-in-law, Josie grabbed hold of the rope and
scampered up it like a little monkey. When she was halfway up, Lars
began to climb up behind her.

“Rolf!” Dante was still at the bottom of the
ladder, yelling for their missing companion.

Lars glanced over at a dark lump on the
battlefield. His throat tightened at having to deliver the bad
news.

“Rolf didn’t make it,” Lars called down.

He could see Dante’s head bow. It stayed
down a long moment before he took a deep breath and started up the
rope.

When Lars got to the top, his father
embraced him and then held up at arm’s length.

“Great Caesar’s ghost, what have you been
eating, you’re huge!” his father cried, looking at his son’s
gladiator garb and well-muscled body. Then he glanced at Josie. Her
cloak was half open, revealing her skimpy golden armor and toned
form. His father’s eyebrows raised in question.

“It’s a long story,” Lars explained.

He glanced uneasily at Barrett, in
handcuffs. After learning what he had done to Mayor Wakeland, to
the entire city, Lars couldn’t help but send him a glare of
contempt. That’s when Lars noticed the glass sword hanging at his
father’s side. The silver hilt gleamed in the rising sun. Several
of the men and women were carrying similar weapons.

“Your swords!” he heard Josie exclaim.
“They’re just like the ones from my dream! The ones forged by the
Angel of Galatia! How did you get them?”

“Another very long story,” his father
said.

“Why do you have two of them, Michael?”
Josie inquired.

“One is Barrett’s.”

“Oh.”

Barrett glanced nervously over the ridge at
the ground forty feet below. “Uh, the allied troops are regrouping,
and this bridge could collapse any second; it’s not as strong as
the wall.”

“Then I’ll get straight to business,” Lars’s
father spoke rapidly. “Who has the map?”

“I do,” Josie said, eagerly fumbling for it
in her cloak. Her hands were shaking so hard that she could barely
grasp it. The men and women who had just come from the city
exchanged hopeful glances. Lars felt the mood go from doom to hope
in one beat of the heart, but there was no time for
celebrating.

“Hold on to it until we’re inside the city,”
his father commanded. With a wave of his hand, he led the group
over the bridge back toward the city. A couple of men fell in
behind his father, with Lars in step behind them. A few more men
and women sandwiched Barrett. Next came Josie, followed by Lindsey,
then Michael, four more Galatians, while Dante took the rear
position.

The bridge wasn’t entirely flat, it rambled
up and down, and was as wide as five feet in some places, six
inches elsewhere. The trick was not to look down the steep sides
where soldiers were clamoring to kill them.

“How did you know we were out here?” Dante
asked breathlessly.

“I ran into Elizabeth’s spirit during a Mind
Wander. Imagine my surprise when she informed me that she had just
spoken with my long-lost son.”

They were about a hundred yards from the
wire fence, with the bulk of the city buildings looming large up
ahead, when the smell of roasting ham and singed hair reached his
nostrils. He spotted Bulwark bodies stacked up against the a wire
fence. By the stack of charred and smoldering bodies, Lars assumed
it was electrified.

“Pee-yoo!” he heard Josie yell from behind.
“That’s disgusting!”

“Smells like bacon,” Lindsey commented.
“Which reminds me how we skipped breakfast.”

The enemy reorganized their efforts, ropes
were brought out, and soldiers were throwing grappling hooks at the
wall, and were beginning to swarm up the side. Lindsey shot at the
soldiers as they approached the ridge.

Meanwhile, at the front the allied troops
continued to pile up behind the fence, pushing and crushing each
other, while the electrical current continued to buzz. The fence
finally gave way with a loud snap. The current was broken. The
Bulwark troops surged forward. Their renewed battle cry, like
thousands of bears growling simultaneously, was intimidating enough
to make Lars’s knees weaken.

One of the Galatian woman running along with
them lost her balance and fell. It happened so fast, and the bridge
was so narrow, nobody was in position to help her. With a scream,
she fell into the army below. Soldiers descended on her like a pack
of hyenas. Lars didn’t see the spear flying over the land bridge
until the tip of one embedded itself deep into Lindsey’s thigh. She
stumbled, grunting in pain, and would also have toppled over the
side if Josie hadn’t grabbed hold of her wrist, Dante wrapping a
thick arm around Josie’s waist in turn.

Lindsey holstered her gun and tried to pull
the spear out of her leg, but Lars’s dad screamed at her. “Don’t do
that!” Her hand jerked away—the spear was the only thing plugging
the wound. Pull it out now, and she could bleed to death in
moments.

Dante snapped off most of the spear, leaving
the rest in her leg, while Michael scooped Lindsey up into his
arms. When they reached the wall, they saw it had already begun to
crumble.