Chapter 16: Wasted Lives Under a Shower of Rocks

  Emerging from his tent, Bardom raised his chin and let the morning sunlight warm him. The air was thinner here, where the beginnings of that famous Oulai Mountain range were visible to the east—lying deep inside was Renge’s Pass, which treacherously linked the West Midlands with the East by land route. If one were smart enough, they would find a ship and sail through the Kaya, the river that connects the two countries. There were no roads through the mountains, only narrow footpaths, so all trade went through the Kaya, which ran through the mountains, through the desert, all the way to the eastern ports of Naveh-Midani. Bardom knew that his mother’s kin, the Ma’tanis of Naveh-Midani, were many miles over those mountains, and the thought of family stirred his emotions. He wanted to run that way, but that would be cruel to the one family member relying on him now.

  Adella needs me to live, Bardom thought with a sigh. The letters from Sali had grown fewer since they made it this far north. Undoubtedly, Adella was being mistreated, but with Ralu and his legions conquering Leislay, there was no fear that the worst men that could approach her would. He hoped he was learning things that would help them when he returned. He wondered if he even would.

  Then someone vomited, pulling his mind back to the camp. Bardom spared a glance at Eris, who was making a disgusted face at his pair-mate.

  “He ate old meat,” Eris said. “I warned him not to.”

  “It’s just nerves,” Deckel grumbled. “Many get nervous on days like today.”

  Begrudgingly, Bardom turned his attention to the impending battle for Leislay. The siege lasted only three days, aided by the Divine Message, which had disrupted Leislay’s trade for several months prior, stoking the city’s fears. The Midlanders had been preparing for this fight for a long while, however, and were sure to put up a strong fight.

  I wonder if the Rasper will be here, Bardom thought. The old Midlander general was a legend in Leislay, but a shunned voice. He was the preeminent military leader before their last war with Katan-Bat. When the Rasper lost to Bardom’s father, Leislay soured on him. Now he was just another lord in the country, but he had no friends—they all felt he’d betrayed them in favor of a land conquest. He left that battle without personally having to give up much. Now the Rasper still had money, land, and an army, but no real influence.

  Bardom found that irrelevance to be quite insulting to the man’s legacy. He felt an eerie parallel between the Rasper’s failure for Leislay and his own. How could Katan-Bat ever look at Bardom the same way after he let his family die? He certainly couldn’t look at himself the same way anymore.

  On the walls in the valley below, he could see the Midlander scouts watching them on the hills. Bardom looked around the outpost to his left, seeing Ralu’s artillery pieces prepared, surrounding the city from the south. He thought of the fear behind those tall walls. 30 feet of stone could no longer keep out the Lekkians. Bardom lived among them long enough to understand just how much the Lekkians had changed. Their numbers were just too numerous, and their men were too obedient, no matter which lord they served.

  It was initially odd, but then Bardom heard the way they spoke. These men were certainly loyal to their lords first, but underneath all of it was a fundamental devotion to one man, who they treated as their savior. The slaves believed it was divine providence that brought them to Stet-Lek to wage war on behalf of the Great Leader. The free Lekkian soldiers believed that Rontisil was brought to them to free their lands from war as a demigod. Now, so many years after his coronation, both as king and god, the men still marched for him obediently, with never a question if what they were doing was right. As Ralu said, it was their way. There was no greater motivator than belief in a divine hand guiding your path. Rontisil was that hand.

  Despite his hatred for them, Bardom was impressed by how well the separate armies maintained loyalty to him. The Great Leader had his Mandate of Heaven, but maintained it through reputation, which the lords used to keep their men loyal, as well. Proving it through his deeds and now with military campaigns, only strengthened the image. Destroying the L’Ani’s had that particular rejuvenating effect, while also striking fear into the other kingdoms of the continent. No nation had any advantage against Rontisil now. The only way he would falter was if his regime collapsed from the inside.

  That put pressure on Bardom’s mission. He was the player no one was watching, since they thought he was merely a meddlesome spectator.

  Picking up his rations, Bardom reflected on that fundamental truth. He knew the politics between the warlords was a game of who could rise highest without getting themselves killed, but how long could he truly go unnoticed in this game? Ralu, as dumb as he appeared, was likely cunning enough to suspect his imminent power play. Even if he did, no matter how long it took, Bardom would indeed make it.

  Rontisil’s knights rode by as he ate his boiled egg. It was bland and a chore to eat. As he swallowed, he noticed each of their masks. Some were made from shining metal, others were made of ceramic with colorful patterns and shapes. Each design resembled an animal or human face, with the eye holes wide for adequate vision. One was a wolf, another a snake. He saw an eagle riding beside a lion, and a bear beside a rhinoceros. He noticed three distinct men leading the group, their masks made with the same human face, their eyes painted black underneath the mask to appear monstrous and intimidating. The mouths were small slits, with carved lips. Each mask had its own color: one gold, one bronze, and the last one silver. The silver mask led the troop, the gallant Sir Ordan, Knight Commander to the Knights of the Peace.

  Bardom found it interesting. He was Ordan’s counterpart in Katan-Bat, and they both knew of each other by reputation. Ordan was older, but he was one of the finest knights in the world.

  I must be cautious if I am to join these men. They may be the most mysterious Lekkians I’ve come across yet.

  “The Knights of the Peace,” Yashin said, taking a seat. “Quite the order to be joining, tolo.”

  “Wearing a mask instead of a helmet does not make one a knight,” Bardom said, returning to his miserable meal.

  Yashin shrugged, using his own helmet as a table. He popped a berry into his mouth. “If I die out there, promise me you’ll kill Ralu.”

  Bardom raised an eyebrow as he glanced up at Yashin. “I promise,” he said, “but you won’t be dying today.”

  “No one knows those things,” Yashin swallowed. “Least of all you.”

  “I’ll do my part,” Bardom muttered. “You do yours.”

  Yashin nodded slowly. “Have you ever been in a battle like this before?”

  Bardom shook his head. “No. Not like this.”

  “Frontal assault is not our usual method,” Yashin said. “Once the Divine Message tilled the soil south of Leislay, it was the only option.”

  “We could have just stayed in Stet-Lek,” Bardom mumbled.

  Yashin laughed, eyes distant. “If only we had that option.”

  Bardom drank water, watching the knights on horseback disappear down the path. “Ralu is not trustworthy. Make sure Kagarani knows that.”

  “He does.”

  “Good,” Bardom said, “then I bless you and wish you good fortune today.”

  “And you, tolo.”

  Bardom inhaled deeply as he watched Kagarani’s men advance into their ranks. There were many sour reactions to Na’Vanad’s sudden absence from his post, but Deckel was quick to ensure the men knew the reason was that he was keeping them safe from Ralu’s treachery. It still made Bardom’s stomach turn to abandon the fellow slaves he’d come to call his brothers.

  Saying goodbye to the giant and Yashin was painful. The feeling of their inevitable demise haunted him like a ghost, despite his confident words. He turned from them as they set up their ranks, feeling the eerie calm that came before the battle would start.

  In the open air, Ralu studied a drawn map laid out on a table, stroking his chin as he thought. Layos let Bardom into the area, drawing the brief glances of the other lieutenants under Ralu. None were Shavuim, so they glared at him bitterly.

  “Causing trouble, Na’Vanad?” Anders asked jokingly, trying to defuse the tension.

  Bardom shook his hand. “Not today, I hope. Are we ready to strike?”

  Ralu nodded silently. “The Great Leader will be surveying our artillery fire. This is the first time we’ll be using it in a battle of this scale.”

  Bardom folded his hands. “He will watch the walls of Lieslay crumble.”

  Ralu glanced at him, a telling moment of mistrust. Bardom sensed his willingness to betray Kagarani like a hawk senses prey.

  They strode toward the row of artillery. Too many, Bardom thought as he looked over the machines. It’s overkill.

  Bardom stood among the dozen lieutenants as they each made their way to their command posts. Ralu and Layos mounted their horses, beckoning Na’Vanad to follow on foot. It was an obnoxious humiliation. Bardom took a deep breath and followed. Below this outcropping where the artillery stood, a thick wood stood on the hillside, where Kagarani was waiting with his advisors, ordering his men.

  “Take a look at that,” Ralu pointed at the city. A mustered force of a dozen thousand protected the city before the walls. Infantry troops were the expected response to such a provocation, but that was what Ralu wanted. Ground fighting would be decimated by the artillery. “Their shields won’t help them,” he laughed. “But look how beautiful this city is. It’s a shame it must burn.”

  “Be gentle with her, my lord,” Layos grinned. “She isn’t used to a man as rough as you.”

  Ralu laughed while Bardom fought the urge to groan in disgust.

  “Make way!” a man yelled behind them. On horseback came the Knights of the Peace, followed by Rontisil himself. Bardom took another deep breath. There were about 20 knights with him. They followed him whenever he left Stet-Lek.

  Ralu turned his horse to face him, prompting the other men to turn.

  Rontisil approached, backed by his knights. Bardom noted Laila among them, wrapped in her black cloth mask, eyes fixed on him.

  “A glorious day in the making, Sire,” Ralu said. “Kagarani’s men are nearly in position.”

  Rontisil nodded. “We should have attacked before the sun rose.”

  “Kagarani had advised it, but visibility was a concern,” Ralu answered.

  “Poor marksmanship would be quite the embarrassment,” Layos mumbled.

  Rontisil glanced at Na’Vanad. “What is the Shavu doing here?”

  Ralu cleared his throat. “A useful liaison as requested by Kagarani.”

  “I explicitly ordered him to lead the vanguard,” Rontisil’s voice came with the slightest growl.

  Ralu bowed his head. “He has been instrumental in the construction of the vanguard forces,” he said. “With skill, he negotiated the loyalty of the Divine Message.”

  “Loyalty?” Rontisil raised an eyebrow. “To whom? To me? Or Kagarani?”

  Bardom stepped forward. “Sire, I am not one to disregard an order from your supreme excellency. My instructions were to assist in the bombardment. I have some familiarity with commanding volleys.”

  “Catapults are not archers, boy.” Rontisil looked at Ralu once more. “This is a slight I would not expect from you, Aya.”

  “Forgive me, sire,” Ralu bowed again from his horse. “I have only your interests in mind.”

  “Hm,” Rontisil ignored the groveling and looked at the city. “What is the signal?”

  “Three smoke pillars,” Ralu responded, bringing his horse next to Rontisil’s. “We will strike the foundation of the walls at the four protruding columns. According to the Divine Message, bombardments there should bring the wall down, neutralizing their archers and traps.”

  Rontisil observed them. “And then?”

  Ralu turned his head carefully. “Kagarani’s forces will charge.”

  “Your army is here?”

  “Aye.”

  “Then waste the Shavuim and decimate the enemy’s forces. It is a ridiculous opportunity to squander.”

  Ralu bit his tongue. “Sire, there is still a great deal of this country left to capture. This is not Katan-Bat. We need the numbers.”

  Rontisil jerked his head toward him. “Never did I expect you to defend Loran’s men.”

  “Weakening him weakens our hold,” Ralu said. “Let his forces continue to deplete on this campaign. I will need my own men to occupy the city. Kagarani’s will be ideal for pushing north.”

  “North,” Rontisil snorted. “Hungry, hungry. Don’t forget, this is my land, not simply yours.”

  “I would never forget,” Ralu said.

  Bardom held his expression, but was shocked by Ralu standing up to him.

  Meanwhile, smoke started to emerge from the bottom of the hills. Bardom glanced at Ralu, who began to raise his arm, his fist balled.

  They’re holding, Bardom noticed. Good, good. Kagarani’s men could not be struck by the catapults from this point, but they were still in a dangerous spot.

  “First position!” Several officers barked orders around the artillery engineers as they cranked the machines.

  The smoke was high, in three distinct pillars. Bardom held his breath as the first catapults and trebuchets launched solid rock, hard and thick. The projectiles sailed through the air as Kagarani’s vanguard slowly inched forward, trailed by infantry on both sides. Bardom watched anxiously; the artillery smashed against the walls—the concentrated fire blasting the stone to puffs of dust.

  “Second position!” Ralu yelled as the Midlanders were still diving out of the way. Bardom was pleased so far, ignoring the scrambling Midlanders and their panic.

  The second volley was ready, launching at the same targets; these projectiles were made of smaller iron balls, hastily formed and not perfectly round. Their impact was so forceful that it knocked through the stone, sending chunks falling down onto the ground. When the dust settled, Bardom could see a significant hole at the base of a protruding pillar. Once it gave, that section of the wall would begin to fall. That would be the chance Kagarani needed to get through this battle without losing his men to the artillery barrages. For now, they simply held steady, firing arrows and using shield walls to repel enemy projectiles.

  “I can’t help but notice the wall is not collapsing,” Rontisil said to Ralu. Bardom eyed the two discreetly.

  “All in good time,” Ralu answered, trying not to display his impatience.

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  “It’s an entertaining sight, but your toys are no match for thick stone,” Rontisil said. “Use these things wisely and annihilate the enemy. Kagarani’s men are holding even, taking turns firing arrows. Turn the tide on this next volley.”

  “Patience, sire,” Ralu replied. “I have faith in my men.”

  Bardom bit on his tongue while he watched the battle unfold. The vanguard broke free of the others and began engaging the enemy in an attack. A melee broke out in the center as the Midlanders responded with more organized force, while Kagarani held his cavalry, fearing the artillery coming down on their heads. The Divine Message was on the front lines of this battle and seemed to be holding well despite steady losses. Bardom suspected that he might have been killed had he truly led the vanguard, which was perhaps Rontisil’s plan to deal with him all along.

  Although Leislay was a densely populated city, much of the army present was from further south, having retreated in the prior month. The fighting men were fierce, with their archers above them raining down arrows to make their task easier.

  Behind the vanguard, dozens fell with arrows in their necks. Kagarani was holding the cavalry until the archers were neutralized. “We must launch the next volley, my lord,” Bardom said involuntarily. “I recommend aiming higher to disrupt the—“

  “Yes, yes,” Ralu waved his hand dismissively. “Third position on ones, hold first position on twos!”

  The catapults cranked and loaded, the men heaving and grunting.

  “Ones are ready!”

  “Twos are ready!”

  “Launch!” Ralu shouted.

  Fire soared through the air, leaving the artillerymen to gawk in amazement.

  The projectiles hit towards the top of the wall, knocking a dozen archers to their deaths and scattering the others from the flames. The volley targeting the wall’s base did little else but punch a deeper hole. Kagarani’s position was growing dire as the Divine Message lost ground.

  “He’s not deploying his horsemen and secondary infantry,” Rontisil noted. “He’s waiting for something.”

  “For the wall to come down,” Ralu muttered. “Repeat attack!”

  “Ready ones!”

  “Ready twos!”

  “Launch!” Ralu ordered.

  The thrust of the catapults whirred and cranked as Bardom had to keep from ducking. The impacts started to crumble the wall. Slowly and still not enough. Even with the archers fleeing the unstable structure, enough of them were able to keep firing, keeping Kagarani’s men slow to advance with their shields raised.

  “The flanks are too exposed to the archers,” Rontisil said. “Act, Aya.”

  Ralu was unfazed, pointing to the commander of the first group. “Ones fire on the advancing enemies! Twos repeat attack!”

  “Yes, my lord!”

  “Loading!”

  Bardom rushed to Ralu’s side. “My lord!”

  “Save it,” he crossed his arms. “Soon his cavalry won’t be able to hold them back, and he’ll lose his advantage, forced to be slaughtered or retreat uphill.”

  “Killing Lekkian men?” Bardom grimaced. “Really?”

  “Those are Midlanders who pledged themselves to this cause,” Ralu said coldly. “Or am I wrong?”

  “You promised,” Bardom hissed. “Those are our allies!”

  “Your allies,” Ralu corrected, flaring his nostrils in defiance. “Launch!”

  Bardom clenched his jaw and watched the projectiles sail overhead, descending on the unwitting soldiers. He held his breath as the stones smashed through the crowd of fighting soldiers down below, so small, but the red staining the ground so clearly.

  Simultaneously, the wall began to give, succumbing to the final bombardment of its foundations. As the wall crumbled, it rained stone, sending the Midlanders into a frenzy. Death surrounded them until the volley finally stopped. Ralu surveyed the wall as it left a shattered hole through its side.“Reload and concentrate fire on enemy forces!”

  Rontisil grinned. “And the dust hasn’t even settled.”

  “My lord,” Bardom said, "Lord Kagarani will withdraw his men!”

  Ralu pointed. Kagarani’s men had launched a counterattack, infantry only. “Is that so?”

  Bardom looked on in terror. “Abort the attack!”

  Ralu stood with a stone expression as he stared ahead. The two sides were now so close that no artillery fire could favor one over the other. Bardom’s fear rose.

  “No,” Ralu said softly.

  Bardom bared his teeth. “Damn you!”

  Layos scowled, pulling his horse around. “You will respect the general!”

  And then, as if the entire world vanished, Bardom let his thoughts melt into vapor, steaming his muscles into furious action. For the first time, he was content to let his anger take precedence over his careful plans—for without Kagarani’s might, there would be no plan to carry out. He still needed him.

  But he did not need Layos.

  The skinny man was a sorry excuse for a soldier and made his rank by telling Ralu what he wanted to hear. Ralu would not truly care, Bardom decided after he launched into motion, as long as I deliver the city he wants so badly.

  A look of desperate fear took over Layos's face as Bardom ripped him from his horse, throwing him to the ground. He thought better of stomping on his face, hearing him choke as the wind was knocked out of his fragile body. The crowd watched in surprise, no one stopping him.

  Na’Vanad was taking matters into his own hands, riding before the artillery crews.

  “Halt your fire if you care for your fellow Lekkians!” Bardom shouted to the artillery operators. He rounded the horse on Ralu, sparing a glare at Rontisil, who watched with an annoyed expression. “If you truly wish to honor me, General, do not begin by murdering my friends.”

  Ralu raised a scowling eyebrow.

  “‘Else I’d have to kill you too,” Bardom rounded the horse and set off down the hill.

  He could hear just faintly, “Is that slave mad?”

  Bardom felt his body shake as the horse’s hooves slammed against the ground, like the blowback from an arrow off a sharp bow a hundred times altogether. When he arrived at the base of the hill, the Midlanders were regrouping, launching a charge, while Kagarani and his men tried their best to hold their lines. The cavalry had been ineffective as the enemy infantry peppered the riders with arrows and smoke screens. Suddenly, Bardom heard several catapults launch, glancing upwards.

  It’s not a full barrage, Bardom noticed. One way or another, the artillery was not in full use. Who had the change of heart, Ralu or his men?

  Bardom found himself at the rear of Kagarani’s once steady charge, while the men had suddenly ducked for cover, boulders raining down before them. Bardom reared the horse.

  “Na’Vanad!” Deckel cried from behind a downed tree trunk, keeping his head low. “You’ve come!”

  “We must win!” Bardom shouted, rushing off the horse and sliding beside his friend.

  “Ralu’s trying to kill us!”

  “Aye,” Bardom agreed, “that’s why we must end the battle now.”

  “How?”

  “Retreat!”

  “We cannot give that order!” Deckel exclaimed with veins bulging from his neck.

  Bardom pointed to a smoke bomb he saw on the ground. “What is that?”

  Deckel looked at it. “Artillery signal.”

  Bardom extended his hand. “Give it here.”

  Deckel obliged, looking at him uncertainly. The rocks stopped falling.

  “RETREAT!” Bardom bellowed. “The General has ordered our retreat!”

  The Kagarani soldiers looked up at him, shrugged, and began to crawl backward, some launching into a sprint. Legions of men slowly backed away from the field of battle as rocks rained down around them, some carrying wounded, others holding their own injuries in place. The Midlanders regrouped into units with their shields ready.

  Soon, Bardom stood before them all, with Deckel careful not to leave his side. The cavalry riders had taken heavy losses with their horses wandering on the smoky battlefield as the Midlanders readied their ranks.

  “Deck,” he said. “I’d run.”

  Deckel rose to his feet, looking to his friend for courage. “No, you wouldn’t.”

  Bardom smirked, then launched the signal at the enemy lines. It burst in green smoke, billowing in a pillar. Less than a minute passed until they began to charge. Bardom grabbed his sword from the sheath on his back, facing down an army.

  He couldn’t hear the cranks in the distance, but silently, stones fell in a shower over them as the enemy slowed to a halt, looking up as the boulders devoured all in their way. Bardom closed his eyes as the dust washed over him and the loud booms of impact rampaged before him. He and Deckel had to catch their breath as the barrage halted.

  Strange, he thought as he scanned the grounds. No more screaming. Are they all dead?

  Behind him, he could hear Kagarani’s men moaning and crying in pain—some pinned beneath rocks, others with smashed limbs. He turned around, noticing Lord Kagarani himself on horseback, watching him from a safe distance. The man looked grim. Bardom turned away.

  Before him, he saw only rocks, corpses, and debris, until the dust settled once more. As it did, the dust-covered men knelt down with their hands up and head bowed, swords on the ground.

  Cautiously, Bardom stepped forward, Deckel following closely. The men raised their eyes to him, looks of fear—fear that he never seen before. That was the fear of seeing hell on earth.

  Deckel eyed him curiously as they waded through the surrendering enemy lines, sidestepping smashed-in bodies and pools of blood.

  “What are you looking for?” he asked.

  “A commander,” Bardom said. “The highest rank surrendering will win us the day.”

  “Na’Vanad,” Deckel said grimly. “There is no day left to win.”

  Bardom turned to him, looked at his horrified eyes, then carried on. “Is that what you said when they murdered Atzulah L’Ani’s children? When you let those men parade around their bodies?”

  Deckel fell silent and did not protest. In the battle of wrongs, there were no warriors. Only sinners and devils.

  “I’ll have my victory,” Bardom said through bared teeth. He forced away the fear of another barrage coming down on top of them, keeping his eyes forward and head high.

  Quickly, Bardom was almost to the wall, a large U-shape where the support structure had collapsed. High on the wall, some men watched from the edge as Bardom made his way through, accepting that their battle was lost, fearing another shower of boulders. From such a vantage point, Bardom wondered if they thought to run or only admired the view of their defeat.

  “Who are we looking for?” Deckel asked more pointedly, waving for some of their other comrades to enter the city as well.

  Straight ahead, standing while his men started to drop to their knees, one man saw Bardom coming and stumbled away. He wore the pendant of a West Midlands officer on his shoulder.

  “Him,” Bardom said, pointing forward.

  The man gasped, then broke off in a run in the opposite direction. Without a word, Bardom started chasing after him.

  Deckel huffed as he followed. The chase didn’t last long, resulting in the man falling over his feet. Bardom grabbed the tripping man by the shoulders and shook him by the collar.

  “Please!” he cried.

  Bardom held his dagger to his neck, then studied the insignia on his chest plate. “Are you the commander here?”

  He nodded with a whimper.

  “Do you surrender?” his voice rumbled with harshness.

  “Please don’t hurt me!”

  “I asked you a question!” Bardom snarled, the words venomous with rage. The anger was misdirected. It was Rontisil who forced this suffering, which made him boil like this.

  “Yes!” the man sobbed. “Please, don’t—!”

  Bardom grunted and yanked him back toward the destroyed wall. “Come on!”

  Kagarani rode forward on his horse at the sound of his curious men. Astonishment overtook the crowd as he heard one word whispered clearly among them. “Na’Vanad.”

  The mysterious Shavu appeared before him, covered in dust and dirt, with his knife at the back of some injured Midlander. He and Yashin frowned as he arrived.

  “What’s he done?” Kagarani asked.

  “I dare say he’s saved us, lord,” Yashin said, looking rattled and covered in dust. The battle had been strenuous even before the reckless artillery forced their retreat.

  Na’Vanad approached breathing heavily. “This man has surrendered to me, my lord. I present him to you, representative of the enemy’s surrender.”

  Kagarani looked at the massive hole in the high wall before them. “If we set foot in there, will the rest of the army stand down?”

  Na’Vanad gripped the prisoner’s shoulder. “Answer the question!”

  “Y-yes!” he whimpered.

  Na’Vanad nodded to the general. “Then it is done.”

  Kagarani surveyed the ruined battlefield, seeing dozens and dozens of corpses and fatally wounded men. The boulders and debris likely hid even more underneath them. A thought of self-preservation came to him, then he realized he’d thought it over many times before. “Men, tend to the wounded. We will not be entering the city.” He turned his glance back to Na’Vanad, “Give his surrender to Ralu. But be sure this man surrenders to you formally. That arrogant bastard got hundreds of our own killed today—let us never forget that. Let him take his own city today, without any more help from us.”

  Na’Vanad frowned. “Why must he surrender to me?”

  “Because then you are the true victor,” Kagarani turned his horse around. “Not him. The truth will always be known. They find that important in this land.”

  Yashin, dust darkening his face, looked at his mentee and gave him an approving, thankful nod. Today might have ended differently had the young man not acted with such valor—such selfless valor.

  Na’Vanad took a breath and guided the prisoner through the crowd, finding a place to keep him as his fellow soldiers patted his shoulders and back in a thankful, congratulatory manner.

  Kagarani’s men were busy on the battlefield helping the wounded and beginning the process of enslaving the prisoners before Ralu could—he would not be as kind to them. Soon after, Ralu and Rontisil descended the hill to survey the damage and begin the formal occupation of the city. Leislay did not stand a chance against Ralu’s fresh, violent troops.

  Bardom offered the field commander’s surrender to Ralu, formally granting the city to the general. Notably, Kagarani was not present, already setting up camp on the southeast side of the city, in the direction of Katan-Bat, where he made it clear he intended to move his army to—feeling Ralu’s icy breath on his neck and fearing the same fate as Vakin.

  There was nothing for Rontisil to like about a slave offering a city to a general. Bardom was sure to observe all formalities before him and his knights, although it was legally a transaction between him and Ralu only. Lord Ralu was truly impressed with Na’Vanad’s actions that day and treated him with respect. Keeping his word, he immediately informed the king that he was publicly supporting him for knighthood in the royal order and for the status of a free man. Rontisil silently gave the formal declaration to Knight Commander Ordan, seeing Na’Vanad as the danger he was, but he did not reject it. He only nodded and said, “It shall be done.”

  Bardom held his disbelief to himself. He was shocked by the success, then felt nauseous at the suffering he’d helped inflict to earn it. He bowed low until they told him to rise.

  As he left their presence, he joined Kagarani’s Shavium as they tended to the wounded, as their lord ordered. Bardom expected his news to be met with disappointment by his fellow Shavuim, but instead, they were inspired with awe. He forgot that these men did not know him as his old comrades did. Every heroic thing he did seemed… divinely inspired. The man who saved them then had a legendary story already. Now that he would be a Knight of the Peace, he was becoming all the more mythical. Despite his lofty reputation, they still saw him differently from the other gallant knights. It was because he appeared to be one of them—living proof that a Shavu could be a hero. Naturally, they felt such great things could happen to them, too, now.

  The irony of a renowned knight receiving a knighthood as an honor did not fade in Bardom’s mind. These men elevating him had no earthly idea just how skilled a knight he was, and not solely with the sword.

  They may have this victory today, Bardom thought as he watched Ralu’s men descend through the wreckage of the crumbled wall, but when I reach my goal, their achievements will turn to dust, their joy to anguish. Even the coldest among them will weep, for I arrived as their comeuppance.

  Falling in with the others, Bardom set to scouring the ground for survivors, unfortunately finding very few. Nonetheless, it was part of his mythic image to be a good man among his fellow soldiers. Besides, his own honor code said that saving any lives he could was worth more than diamonds or gold. Ralu could not have cared less about Kagarani’s wounded men, instead taking glee in sacking this illustrious city with his savages. The slaves were the riches he desired, and he seized them with swift command.

  The man will pay for the suffering he caused, Bardom thought.

  As he checked for signs of life among the bodies, Bardom ignored the sounds of fighting and struggle beyond the city walls. The legions of Aya Ralu let loose on a helpless population whose protectors surrendered, then were slaughtered when surrender was evidently not an option—making Bardom suddenly glad that Kagarani took several thousand prisoners into his ranks as Shavuim. It was not the Lekkian way to let losing men leave the war free. At least not anymore.

  He heard Yashin call a group over to help him pry a wounded man from beneath a boulder, requiring a dozen to help him heave it. With a solemn sigh, Bardom continued patrolling, checking the dead for a pulse. Absently, he considered that he was searching for his own pulse, wondering if he had lost it in all this misery.

  “Na’Va,” he heard a stifled groan.

  Swiftly, he jerked his head around. Before him, trapped beneath a boulder, was Eris, the Lekkian man Bardom had humiliated on the training grounds. His lips separated in regret as he recognized the state he was in. His leg is crushed. The arm might be salvageable, but he will die from blood loss before anything can be done.

  Realizing someone was about to die was like a wave washing over you while you lay motionless on the sand. Apathetic, cold, helpless. He knelt beside and took the man’s free hand. “You’re alright,” he said. “We’ll get you out of here.”

  Eris coughed and winced. “Don’t. It hurts to laugh.”

  Bardom pressed his lips tightly together. “Once we get this boulder—“ he looked around for some help, “—we just need to—“

  “Na’Va,” he croaked. “Take my knife and spear my heart.”

  Bardom went silent, swallowing grief. “You can survive this.”

  “Look at me,” Eris said, glancing at his bloody state with difficulty. “Oh, my… At best, I’m a cripple. I’ll lose the leg, maybe my arm too. Even then, it’s a long shot. I’d rather go out on my own terms.”

  “Suicide?”

  He scoffed, wincing. “No… believing you might actually be a good man.”

  Bardom’s jaw hung as he looked into the poor man’s eyes.

  “Make the pain go away,” Eris pleaded.

  “Rest now,” Bardom shed a tear.

  He lay his head back on the ground. “Tell my father I died bravely.”

  Bardom nodded, taking the knife swiftly and plunging it between the plates of his armor. “You did, Eris.”

  A look of pain, then gratitude, washed over Eris’s dirty face. Bardom heaved a shaky sigh and lowered his head with closed eyes. He let out one sob, then took the knife back. He cleaned it off and returned it to Eris’s belt.

  “Blessed is the man who dies with courage,” Bardom quoted his father. “They live the lives of a thousand ordinary men.” He’d said it at funerals of great warriors. Eris, he felt, deserved that respect.