Walk Through Fire (8 page)

He was considering his options yet again when a large figure came into view, great sword in hand, shield strapped to his arm. Ronav was alone, yet none of Hezen’s men tried to stop the hulking figure gliding toward Jonrell.

Jonrell’s stomach lurched with dread. He was out of time. He had to confront his commander, a man he admired, amidst a hostile group eager to see them both die.

And there’s still the rest of the men to worry about. That’s what’s most important. Ronav would say the same. If Kroke gave me the benefit of the doubt, regardless of his reasons, then surely Ronav would do the same.

Jonrell whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “I need you to follow my lead.”

“Whatever you say,
Boss,
” said Kroke, voice thick with sarcasm.

Jonrell ignored the tone. “Whatever happens, remember this is all for show and eventually we’ll need to find a way out.”

“So you have a plan then?”

“Yeah. Stall.” Jonrell pulled his sword and set off in a sprint toward Ronav.

* * *

In the Hell Patrol’s camp, people tripped over each other at every turn. Everyone heard the commotion coming from the large crowd of Effren’s soldiers who shouted and cheered only a few hundred yards away.

Krytien knew those sounds all too well for he had heard them dozens of times over the years. He knew his commander fought at the crowd’s center.

Perhaps with Ahned?

Krytien tried to push those thoughts from his mind and focus on the safety of the men as he knew Ronav would want him to do. Krytien always helped cover Ronav’s mistakes and tonight was no different.

We should have left the money.

He allowed one more glance into the throng of soldiers visibly congregating between the tents and the maze of ruined buildings.

How is Ronav going to get out of that? Maybe he doesn’t intend on coming back. That was why he went into camp alone without telling me. It has to be Ahned he’s fighting. His pride was wounded after I helped him with Glacar. He wants to prove himself one last time. And I won’t be able to interfere.

An unconscious body flopped to the ground next to him with a thud. Glacar loomed over him. “Help me get him on a horse,” said Krytien.

“Find someone else. This is the last one. I’m going after Ronav,” said the warrior, inclining his head toward the frenzied crowd.

“He told us to get everyone to safety,”

“And now they’re safe with you. Ronav is the only man to best me. He will not stand alone against so many,” said Glacar. He unslung his ax and ran toward the crowd.

Krytien thought about calling after the man but stopped.

Ronav will likely need him.

* * *

Kroke stood at the edge of the crude circle of men, a heaving mass of shouting soldiers, and watched Jonrell and Ronav tear into each other. He still thought about Jonrell barrelling into their commander only a couple of minutes before. Ronav had worn a mask of confusion when Jonrell’s first blow struck and the commander lost his shield deflecting the unexpected attack. Ronav recovered quickly and the two had been going at it since.

Since that first strike Jonrell fought from a defensive standpoint, doing his best not to die under Ronav’s staggering press. Jonrell impressed Kroke with his skill against the more experienced warrior.

There is more there than I would have thought.

Kroke touched the grip of his own blades. With all the excitement, no one cared any longer how many knives he wore. Not that it mattered. He still wasn’t sure what Jonrell wanted him to do.

“Follow my lead.” What’s that supposed to mean?

It was obvious that Jonrell sought to buy time for the others back in camp, but at some point they would tire.

Then what
?

Kroke sighed.

I hope he thinks of something.

* * *

Jonrell stumbled backward only to be pushed forward by Hezen’s soldiers. He worked to keep his balance, ducking beneath Ronav’s sword and rolling to the ground. He raised his sword as he took a knee and caught another strike arcing for his face. A quick counter, aiming low at Ronav’s leg, bought him enough time to regain his feet. He took the chance to draw back. He and Ronav circled each other.

The shouts of roaring soldiers filled the air with curses and promises of death. Jonrell breathed deeply and tried to slow his pounding heart as he shuffled around the crude ring.

It happened so fast, from his decision to act, to the first blow, and then the dozens that followed. That look of shock in Ronav’s eyes had quickly turned to an emotionless mask after their initial impact. Jonrell had shouted out some nonsense about Ronav sleeping with his mother and that it was time for him to pay, figuring his commander would know he wasn’t really trying to kill him. Ronav’s response seemed like he understood, yet the man attacked him with such zeal, he found himself pulling out every trick he learned as a boy from his weapons master just to stay on his feet.

Jonrell continued to circle, widening the area and creating more space to maneuver.
Or hide.

Ronav called out. “Of all people, I never thought you’d be the one to do this. And to think I came here intent on helping you.”

Ronav spoke in Thurum’s common tongue. Jonrell shrugged, doing his best to appear indifferent. “Hezen made an offer I couldn’t refuse. He wants the Hell Patrol, but not you.”

Ronav’s eyes widened. “So Effren is dead then?” He snorted. “My men will never follow you.”

Jonrell gestured to Kroke. “One has. I think I can persuade the others to do the same. But only after you’re dead.”

“You pompous little…”

Jonrell rushed Ronav, whirling his sword wildly in the air and yelling slurs while switching languages several times midsentence until Ronav put him back on the defensive. Ronav knocked the sword from Jonrell’s hand and he grabbed the dagger at his waist. He slipped around Ronav’s reach and closed the distance between them while thrusting upward. Ronav dropped his sword to catch Jonrell’s arm. The two fell to the ground, face to face, struggling for position, pushing and pulling at the serrated blade between them.

In such close quarters, Jonrell spoke in Cadonian so none could understand him. He masked his tone so it did not betray his words. “This is all a setup. I’m only doing this to buy time for the others to escape.”

Ronav spat in his face and followed it with a head butt that sent Jonrell’s head spinning. He replied in Cadonian, eyes empty of emotion. “I know.”

“You know?”

“Of course I know. I thought it was obvious. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a good fighter, but I could have killed you many times, beginning with that idiotic charge.”

One Above, I’ve been fighting for my life and he’s been playing with me.
“So, how are we going to get out of this?”

“I wasn’t expecting to. I came to give Krytien time to get the others out of here. And like I said, I was looking for you.”

“But you came in fully armed,” said Jonrell as a knee came up into his stomach, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

Do we really have to make it that real?

“I wanted to challenge Ahned and send him to the One Below before they did away with me. You ruined my plans.” Ronav winked and threw Jonrell off of him.

Jonrell landed near his sword and scooped it up as he regained his footing. He moved his dagger to his off hand. “So now what?” he asked, switching to a rare island language as he spat toward Ronav.

“Krytien’s had more than enough time. Time to start hacking away at these idiots while they’re engulfed in our fight. Maybe we can carve our way to some mounts.”

“And if not?”

“Then we die.” Ronav’s tone was so lacking in emotion it took Jonrell back.

Since when does he care so little about life?

An animalistic scream cut through the shouting crowd. A beast of a man with crazed eyes hurled himself through the soldiers with ax in hand, throwing men out of his way. Thinking they were under a full attack, many fled.

“Traitor.” Glacar roared as he barreled toward Jonrell.

One Above, he doesn’t know.

Ronav shouldered Glacar into the air. He skidded to the ground and looked up in confusion. The crowd grew silent.

Glacar stood up. “I don’t understand.”

“This is my fight,” shouted Ronav. “The traitor is mine.”

Someone yelled. “Something’s not right. Jonrell could have killed Ronav just then when he turned his back away.”

“No,” snarled Jonrell. “I want to do this my way.”

Cord stepped forward to the front of Hezen’s men and pointed. “He’s lying. Look how long they’ve fought and neither has a scratch. Glacar and Ronav were both worse than this in half the amount of time. They’re stalling.”

Jonrell’s heart sank as he felt the change in the crowd.
Of all people, it had to be Cord.

“So that means,” started Glacar as the light went on in his eyes.

Two daggers whizzed by either side of Jonrell’s head and sunk into the necks of approaching guardsmen. Kroke yelled out. “Quit standing around and kill something!”

Ronav turned toward a spot where the crowd thinned in the confusion. “This way.”

Jonrell followed his commander as he sliced through men like a farmer reaping wheat. He led them deeper into the enemy camp and away from the Hell Patrol as fast as their feet could move. Glacar roared past Jonrell, pushing him out of the way to share in the carnage. Kroke ran at Jonrell’s side, throwing knives and stabbing any who got close. He smiled at Jonrell with a look of elation.

* * *

“C’mon. We have to go now.”

Krytien felt a tug at his robes, but he ignored it. His eyes bounced over the bodies they had yet to load on horseback. They were all near death and he didn’t have the knowledge or even the strength to save them. He swore. There was another tug at his robes followed by a slap in the face. His cheeks flushed and he turned.

“Bout time I got your attention.” Hag scolded. “I said let’s go. I think that confusion spell you put around our camp is starting to wear off. We’re running out of time.”

“There are still men left.”

“They’re too far gone. You’ve done all you can. If you try to bring them with us, they’ll only slow us down and put the rest at risk.”

There was a strange lull in the shouting and yelling from Effren’s camp that brought Krytien to his feet. Cassus rode up. “Everyone is on the road. Are you coming?”

The noise from the camp erupted yet again though the excited sounds had changed to chaos. It sounded as if the cries were moving further into the Effren’s camp, but then Krytien noticed a surge of soldiers coming their way.

Krytien took one last look at the men he had to leave behind and fought back tears. He waddled to his horse and climbed into the saddle. Hag was a half-step behind him. “Did you set that last potion up like I asked you to?” he asked.

“Aye, it’s where you wanted it,” said Hag. “What is it?”

“Something I was saving for the right occasion.” He calmed himself, closed his eyes and began an incantation, focusing on the contents of the container near the small half-wall that acted as a border between the Hell Patrol’s camp and Effren’s. After a moment he opened his eyes. “It’s done. Let’s go,” he said, pointing to the approaching mob.

“What’s done? Nothing happened,” Hag called out as the three set off on horseback.

“Just keep moving, you old bag of bones.”

Krytien kicked his mount, doing his best to steer the beast clear of broken rock and holes barely visible by the light of the night sky.

Booming thunder that shook Krytien’s insides erupted from behind followed by a sudden rush of air that nearly pitched him to the ground. Flames shot up engulfing their old camp while debris rained to the earth.

“Was that Nitroglycas?” Cassus croaked.

Krytien cleared his throat. “It was.”

“What is Nitroglycas?” asked Hag, her voice too was filled with awe.

“Something that does a lot of damage,” said Cassus, sarcastically.

Krytien expected a smart comment from Hag, but for once she held her tongue. Wagons and tents burned as bright as the sun. Balls of fire played havoc around the camp. Men screamed. Terrible, drawn-out screams, before dying in agony.

Finally, Cassus whispered. “One Above, how will Jonrell make it out of that?”

Ronav never expected to get out.
Krytien shook his head and turned his mount. “C’mon. Let’s go.”

Chapter 7

If not for the fear of being overtaken by Effren’s army, Krytien knew he would have collapsed long ago.

The Hell Patrol was less than a day’s ride from Asantia. Riding hard that first night and distancing themselves from Effren’s army, Krytien forced the outfit to maintain a steady pace with little rest. They lost several mounts to exhaustion and took turns walking the animals while the worst of the men rode atop the beasts or in back of the sole wagon they took with them.

Krytien looked over his shoulder through lids heavy with fatigue and raised a hand to shield the sun. Heads hung low throughout the column of men and chins rested on many a chest as some caught a few winks in the saddle. They would have to stop tonight and rest. Not knowing what to expect when they reached Asantia tomorrow, he figured any strength they could muster from now until then would be advantageous.

He pulled on the reigns of his mount, but the beast ignored him, too caught up in the steady, monotonous press. Krytien pulled harder, nearly wrenching the animal’s head back before it stopped. Others behind him did the same. Sighs of relief and gasps of breath were interspersed between curses against anything and everything. Krytien eased himself from the saddle, legs shaking from weariness upon touching the ground. He patted the horse on the neck and tied the animal to a nearby tree. He knew he should rub the animal down, but he just didn’t have the energy.

Cassus came up beside Krytien. The soldier’s thick black hair had matted against his skull. “Are we stopping for the night?