The Farmer's War (Golden Guard Trilogy Book 3) Page 9

  “I’ll use the remnants of my shirt as tinder…” he thought aloud.

  “And what of fuel?”

  Daniel continued to look around. His instincts first led him to a dead and hollowing tree. Plenty of firewood there. But there was no way he could get it high enough to make a signal flame, not fast enough at least.

  Refusing to be thwarted, his eyes skimmed from the dead tree to where the treetops brushed against the building. Clumps of gray clung to the nooks and crannies in the stone, waving from their boughs.

  “I have an idea.” A very reckless, stupid idea.

  “On an insanity scale of lying to me about knowing where you were going to trying to tangle a noru cat in tree vines by using yourself as live bait… where does this fall?”

  “Closer to the latter.” Daniel started for the ruins. There wasn’t any more time to waste. “You go on ahead.”

  “Excuse me, soldier?”

  Daniel heard the lieutenant’s tone but wasn’t backing down this time. “Go, Craig. This is going to require some running and you can’t do that. Furthermore, if this doesn’t work, one of us should continue on to Soricium.”

  Craig looked for a moment as if he would protest. But in the end, he surprised Daniel and refrained. The man held up a single finger, like a mother scolding a child. What could’ve been interpreted as condescending, Daniel found oddly comforting.

  “Don’t get yourself killed. Remember, that’s an order.”

  “Heard, sir.” Daniel was about to start his climb when he thought of one final thing. “What direction is the Northern capital?”

  “That way, straight.” Craig pointed through the ruins and Daniel made a note that he needed to proceed with the dead tree at his back. It was an easy enough marker.

  “I’ll see you there.”

  Craig gave one final, affirmative nod, and departed.

  Daniel looked up at the ruins. It was much taller now that he stood flush at its base. He was reminded of the first time he’d stood at the foot of the great mountain the Southern capital had been built upon. He’d felt small then, too. A farm boy and his beloved hazarding the wide world to seek a better life.

  This was just another mountain, albeit of a different sort, and there was only one thing you did when faced with a mountain—climb it.

  One foot after the next, Daniel made his ascent. He never looked down and never spared a thought for where Craig was. He had to hope his friend would be far enough by the time the fire caught.

  He was halfway to the top when his hand slipped for the first time, the stone turning to gravel under his palm. Daniel felt his body pivot backward, the anchor his hand had been using ripped from his grip. He pushed his pelvis into the stone, locked his knees and braced himself with his other arm.

  He’d chosen this particular ascent because it was the only route in which the trees were not brushing against the ruins at their tops, which meant he was less likely to be thrown back down to earth by a rogue swaying branch. It was a clean path to the flatter, uppermost portions of the ruins that still stood strong above the tree line. Overall, it was easy to climb, but as a result it was completely clear of the fuel he needed.

  Over time, the pocked stone of the ruins had pulled bits and pieces of the swaying treetops free. Filling those gaps was creeping grey moss, spindly like an elderly man’s beard. It clung to the stone in clumps, and was one of the few things Daniel believed would be dry enough to burn. At least, he hoped it would be.

  Daniel pulled himself onto the lowest flattened portion of rubble. It could barely be called a landing, but the shape gave him the opportunity to use it as such. Holding out his hands in the air for invisible stability he stood, and waited for his balance to catch up with him.

  Moving as quickly as possible, while still being mindful that every footfall could send him toppling over the edge, Daniel collected moss by the fistful. He gathered it on the lowest tier until the pile was as tall as his arm and took up a large amount of space.

  Taking the ledges one at a time, he moved himself and his pile of moss upward until he finally breached the top ledge. For a breath, everything stopped.

  The sky was as magnificent as it had ever been, and looked down upon him as it had always done. Daniel tilted his head back, swallowing the free currents of air that danced on the treetops. Even when things were at their darkest, the world remained. The Father still tended to his realms beyond as the Mother slept, and all the children of men waited for her return.

  To the northeast, he could see the edge of Soricium. A wide ring of burnt earth encased a smaller ring of jungle, all surrounding an encampment that was a small city in its own right. He brought his eyes north, squinting at the odd peak of another ruin he’d never seen before, one located in the jungle perimeter of the siege.

  Daniel made a mental note to inspect it at a later date.

  He was pulled from his thoughts by movement to the northwest. Daniel saw the distinct swaying of treetops that told of enemy forces travelling on the ground beneath. The attack was close.

  From up here, it seemed foolish to think that an attack on a stronghold as well-guarded as Soricium could be effective at all. But any attack would weaken the Empire’s forces. From what Daniel had heard around camp, there weren’t many forces left to scrape together for the war. The North was persistent, and if the whispers were to be believed, the Empire was running thin.

  With renewed purpose, Daniel scooped up handfuls of moss, piling it high. The wind threatened to pull it away and Daniel scrambled for his sword and flint. Spearing his sword point through the center of the moss, he struck flint against steel. Sparks flew but failed to catch.

  Daniel struck again, cringing at the damage the stone was doing to his blade edge. His sword needed the attention of a master smith or Firebearer the moment he returned to Soricium.

  On the third strike, the moss caught.

  It burned hot and bright, quickly transforming from a curling ember to a proper fire. From there, it spread quickly. Daniel dropped to the ledge below and allowed his first signal to burn out.

  He counted three breaths, piled on another lump, and repeated the process. Daniel burned signal fires in short succession five times. Each fire was paced specifically after the first, and he could only hope at least one of them would be seen.

  Daniel squinted at the horizon, trying to see if he could discern notable movement at the camp. He waited until his patience withered and dried like the remaining moss that blew around his feet.

  There’s more than one way to get their attention.

  His sword made a loud clang as he dug it into the stone once more. Daniel took a breath, readying himself for the final sprint. This would be the last big push. One way or another, it was all about to end.

  Daniel watched as the rustling in the trees signaled the Northern force’s advancement to the threshold of the burned perimeter. He waited until he was nearly certain that Craig was far enough away, waited until the last possible moment to get the army alarmed and primed.

  He struck his sword with purpose, the moss catching on the first try. Daniel lifted it quickly, before the fire had much time to consume its fuel and burn the hand that held it. He turned to the deceased shell of what was once a mighty tree, its leaves already browning. If his signal fires hadn’t been noticed, surely the next blaze would garner some attention.

  He cast the flaming pile of moss into the tree below. Fire rained like the Mother’s dawn-colored tears. It tangled in the branches and hooked on the leaves. Daniel waited just long enough to see the tree begin to catch in earnest, moss and flame alike clinging to what would be the largest pyre any single person could hope to make.

  Then, in the wake of crackling flame already hot on the wind, he set to running.

  17. Craig

  Easterners were crazy. Certifiably so.

  Craig moved
with as much speed as he could through the forest. His leg burned, muscles straining against the bandages. He could feel the start of blood beginning to pool in the sole of his shoe.

  It didn’t take a cleric to figure out what would happen if he continued as he was. The tender tissue that had been steadily repairing with time was being ripped open anew. Now it was being torn in different ways—ways likely beyond mending.

  Craig placed a hand on his waist where the letter was, and picked up his pace to a run.

  The pain made him clench his teeth until his jaw ached. Everything or nothing—this was his test. He’d heard the older soldiers speak of defining moments, times when everything else had been scraped away and they discovered the mettle they were made of underneath it all.

  Jax had his tumultuous past and unprecedented redemption with Prince Baldair.

  Erion had been one of the few to ever best the boy prince in combat.

  Raylynn had saved the prince’s life in the Waste.

  This would be his moment. He would shine for the prince and prove his worth. This would be the day when everything changed for him, when the nothing and no one boy from a small Southern town would finally find his purpose.

  Behind him, the jungle was erupting in flames.

  From his left, he heard breaking branches and rustling leaves. Craig dug his good heel hard into the soft earth to spin in place. His sword rang out against the scabbard as he drew it, holding it at the ready to meet whatever enemy the fire had drawn forth.

  The moment Craig saw movement he lunged, sword point targeted to kill. But by the grace of the moon shifting in the trees and reflected flames, he saw a familiar set of eyes and shifted at the last moment.

  Daniel ducked as well, and the point of the sword stuck into the tree right by his shoulder. He straightened some distance away, sparing a glance for the weapon that had been aimed, mere seconds ago, at his face.

  “Hello to you too.”

  “I thought you were an enemy.” Craig wiggled the blade free. When it popped from the bark he had to take a step to catch his balance. Fire shot up from his calf, straight into his neck. It was easier if he kept moving. Moving brought numbness, and numbness was necessary to survive.

  “Last I saw from above, they were still slightly north.” Daniel turned in the wrong direction, to look at some unseen foe. Craig saw a long gash running across the man’s chin, but he looked overall unscathed.

  “Who knows where they’ll come from when you’re burning down half the jungle.” Craig’s voice was half a shout as he started to run again. The volume helped mask the pain, and there was really no point in being subtle any longer.

  “Just the one spot is burning.” Daniel had the audacity to sound amused.

  The banter was welcome, even if Craig couldn’t reply any longer; if he opened his mouth he’d be howling in agony. So he kept focused on the task at hand—getting himself to Soricium.

  As they ran, the sounds of battle began to rise over the noise of leaves and trees bending and snapping around them. Fire was behind them, and now fire was before them. The Imperial Firebearers were already acting in response to the attack.

  Though he knew it would look more like a grimace than a smile, Craig couldn’t stop his mouth from turning upward in relief. He’d never smiled running into battle before, but something about tonight was different. Pain numbed his body, leaving Craig to focus on only his mind, his training, and his instinct.

  They burst through the trees into the blackened, burned perimeter that surrounded Soricium—out of the darkness of the forest and into the flames of the Mother herself.

  Imperial steel clashed against Northern wavy blades. The Black Legion held a wall of flame that kept out the majority of the infantry, but the strongest Groundbreakers and Northerners, skin coated in a green repellant, barreled through. Craig’s eyes scanned the field, knowing he only had a split second to take in the state of things before—

  He dodged to the side, spinning his blade in his palm and using the momentum to twist and bring it behind him in a back-handed slash.

  It rang out against a Northern sword. The woman was wrapped tightly underneath armor made of nearly impenetrable tree bark, the same that coated the giants of the forest. She snarled at the parry and went for another attack.

  Her breaths were notes, her footsteps beats, and the sword swings kept tempo to a song Craig tried his best to hear. Raylynn had told him of the song of the sword, the melody of battle. She’d spoken of it as though it were some spiritual experience, and not practical combat methodology. Craig had hung on her every word. And even if he may not have fully understood it… he trusted her.

  He slid his sword from the woman’s gut and she collapsed before him. His eyes scanned the area immediately surrounding him, looking for an Easterner with a pommel of gold and a tunic with ripped-off arms. He found gold, but not in the way he’d been expecting.

  She was unmistakable, appearing like a vision from the Mother. Raylynn’s hair caught the shifting firelight, her signature battle-coiffed braids shining like golden ropes. She was surrounded, ten on her at once, but fought with the same ease as if she were in the dueling ring.

  The woman was like water, fluid, effortless, and apparently immune to the swings of a sword as the steel almost magically ducked and dipped around her.

  It was time for Craig to prove himself to the guard. And to his teacher.

  Craig sprinted in Raylynn’s direction, engaging two Northerners along the way. They were quick to dispose of, but the third man who crossed Craig’s path posed the greatest threat. Craig’s sword clipped the warrior’s exposed neck, but drew no blood, and the man carried on with the same determined brutality. Groundbreaker. Craig cursed his luck.

  The man attacked with a short sword, aiming for the open spot under Craig’s arm as he swung into his own attack. In attempts to dodge, Craig did a clumsy bit of footwork, his leg almost failing him. He was not properly outfitted for a fight. Light leather armor was designed to offer minimal protection, just enough to flee as he made his ride through the forest to deliver the letter. He had dressed for speed, not combat. Now he was wishing he’d known better.

  By the time Craig’s sword point found its way into the man’s eye, he was sporting a new gash on his arm. It was a small price to pay. Craig looked back to Raylynn, but caught only the briefest glimpse before a new wall of fire sparked in front of him.

  Instinctually, he raised his hands to cover his face, but it did little to shield him from the wave of heat that nearly knocked him off his feet.

  “Let me through!” he shouted hopelessly, for any Black Legion sorcerers who might be around to hear. “I must get through!”

  “She needs you,” a voice said, close enough that Craig almost jumped from his skin and gouged out the speaker’s gut.

  The young woman was all hard, defined angles, with eyes sharp enough to slice a man’s skin and soul in a single glance. She looked as resolute as the trees that pillared the landscape behind her, but as alive as the fire that burned before her. She had the dark hair and tanned skin of a Westerner, but this close to the fire, she seemed to glow with magic itself.

  “Who—”

  “Raylynn Westwind, I’m here to help you get to her.” The woman was swathed in black, but didn’t bear the usual broken moon sigil of a Black Legion sorcerer. She also wore an odd formation of leather armor, lacquered with a material unfamiliar to Craig.

  “Are you Imperial?” Her garb was utterly foreign and didn’t seem to belong to either group.

  There was a slight pause. The fire before him seemed to waver, and Craig wondered if he imagined the decrease in heat.

  “I am not,” she whispered. “I am of Yargen.”

  All at once he was en guard again, his sword poised to run her through.

  “I am not your enemy, Craig Youngly. And even if I was, you
cannot kill me. It would all begin anew…” There was a kind of sorrow in her words. “I will only die when my task is complete.”

  “Who are you?” He wanted to shout but could only whisper; he had no idea how she’d heard him over the sounds of the battle raging around them.

  “I’ve had many names.” The woman brought her eyes back to the fire, focusing intently on it. “Now… Go.”

  She held up her hand and the flames parted and arched, creating a tunnel through the conflagration. Craig stared at the strange woman for one more long moment before turning to run. His leg was beginning to fail him, and if it was going to give out and turn him into meat for someone’s blade, he would spend the last of his strength defending his teacher and working toward the one thing in his meager life he’d ever wanted.

  The flames closed behind him, and the woman vanished from his sight as mysteriously as she’d appeared.

  Craig’s eyes landed on Raylynn. She was struggling, jumping over bodies she’d no doubt cut down. Where were Jax and the rest of the batallion? Why was she alone? Questions rose, though their answers didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was jumping into the fray.

  “Raylynn!” Craig shouted, announcing his presence.

  She slowed enough to acknowledge his presence, and with it the clashing of swords quieted briefly. Her eyebrows knitted and Raylynn transformed into ire incarnate.

  “Where have you been?” Anger made her even more deadly, and she stormed over to him, cutting down three on the way.

  “Trying to—why are you here?” Questions jumbled together and fell clumsily from his lips.

  “In part, looking for you!” She wasn’t too busy protecting herself to clock him upside the head, it would seem.

  Raylynn Westwind, sword major, Golden Guard member, one of the best fighters in the entire world, had gone off looking for him? It made no sense, and his puzzlement must have shown on his face.