King
“They’ve breached the walls, Your Highness. We must fall back!”
Valen slashed through the air, his sword finding another flying target. Although they’d achieved a lull in the fighting, the numbers of Elyndra rose again in the last few hours, dozens of them flinging themselves at Ravencliff’s walls. He feared some had even managed to get through their barricade and now wreaked havoc on the streets below. He hoped soldiers and pedestrians alike had heeded his bugle call and were fortified inside their homes.
“If we retreat now, there is no turning back!” Valen gritted his teeth. Sweat and blood wet his tunic, and his arms and legs hurt like he’d been torn apart by racing stallions. But he was not yet ready to give up.
“Your Highness,” the man said, bowing in all humbleness, “the troops are dying. If we don’t fall back now, no one will be left.”
Valen stared the man down, his face inches away. “Do you want to live in a hole in the ground for the rest of your life? To never see the light of day?”
The man nodded. “I want to live.”
Just then, an Elyndra crashed into what was left of the sand bags stacked on the barricade. Grit spewed around them, raining on their heads. Then the wall of mist poured in.
Valen turned and shouted across the battlements, “Fall back!” Other soldiers echoed his cry, eager to be behind a stone wall and under a roof.
“Go on.” Valen looked at the man, wondering why he remained. “Get everyone inside.” Valen saw the man’s uniform, trying to determine his rank, and realized this was not a soldier from his army at all. Underneath the blue velvet overcoat was a white shirt and overalls. He was a villager who wore a lowly officer’s coat and had come to fight.
“What about you, Your Highness?”
Valen wondered if he should say anything about the man’s station and decided against it. If he wanted to fight, then so be it. They needed all the men they could get.
The man stood in front of him, awaiting his answer. Valen wiped sweat from his forehead. “I’m not going in until everyone out here is safely behind those walls.”
But the counterfeit soldier refused to leave. He stepped toward Valen, blocking his path. “Sir, you must be protected. You must be the first to go back.”
“That’s the damndest thing I’ve ever heard. I have to man these battlements.” Valen pushed forward but the man grabbed his arm.
“No, Your Highness. We need you alive. We need a leader.”
Valen froze in place with the man’s words. His father had died only a few moments ago and it hadn’t sunk in he was their new king. In fact, if something happened to him, the next in line would be Bellanina, and she wasn’t even old enough to lace her own slippers. He might as well put her bunnyfly in charge. Ducking under the overhang of the turret, Valen realized just how important his decisions and actions were.
“You’re right.” He stumbled back, his hurt arm falling to dangle limply at his side as the battle stress caught up to him and weariness set in.
The man supported his weight. “I’ll see to it all remaining soldiers get inside.”
Before Valen could react, two passing healers ushered him down the twirling stone staircase leading from the turret to the inner battlements. As he looked back, he saw the velvet-coated back of the fake soldier as he entered the cloud of mist.
* * * *
“What do we do? Run across the courtyard, out in the open?” The healer turned to Valen with eyes wild with fear. They’d reached the bottom of the turret. The mist had seeped over the fortress walls and was flooding the main square. A hundred meters separated them from the fortified training hall.
Valen peered out into the mist, seeing only vague shadows. “We have to. We can’t stay here. There isn’t any food or water, and we don’t know how long we’ll be trapped.”
The healer was reluctant to go. “Can’t we wait until help gets here?”
“We are the help.” Valen put a hand on her shoulder and surveyed the ragtag group following him. “What’s left of it, anyway.”
He wondered how many Elyndra had managed to get past the remaining soldiers on the walls. If any had made it through, the soldiers would be picked off like deer in an open field. He didn’t think the healers or the wounded would be able to outrun them.
Valen shouted to the crowd flooding the stairway, “Are there any archers left?”
“Yes, sir.” Valen recognized the young man as John Hall, barely graduated from the academy.
“Will you cover us as we run across?”
The young man nodded and pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back. “I’ll do the best I can.”
“Good.” Valen tried to summon a reassuring smile. “Once we’re out of sight, run like Hell’s on your heels, you hear me?”
John nodded, taking position in the doorway. “I will, Your Highness.”
“Come on.” Valen took the old healer’s arm. “Let’s go.”
Running through the mist was like a strange, ethereal dream, the courtyard turning into an otherworldly cloud city. It was eerie and calm, unlike the chaos raging behind them on the crumbling walls.
“Stay together,” Valen ordered between heaves of air. He dragged both old women forward as they huddled under their healers’ shawls, half-paralyzed by fear. Behind him, he could hear faint shifts of wind as John fired shafts of arrows through the air.
A man screamed to his right, and Valen whirled around in time to see him plucked from the flagstone, his legs dangling in the air, grasping for the ground. Another solider went to help, but Valen held him back. “It’s useless. We have to keep going.” The healer on his left arm sobbed, but Valen pulled her along.
The remaining survivors retreated in a cluster. Up above, they could still hear John’s arrows as they found their targets. Valen was thankful the archer had a good eye and aim.
When they reached the supply hall, it was empty. Valen ushered the soldiers in as fast as he could, watching the sky above. He waited for John, leaving the door open halfway and praying the young lad had managed to run behind them. In a few moments, the archer appeared out of nowhere, spooking Valen for a split second as he threw his body against the door.
“Well done, John.” Valen patted him gently on the back.
The archer shook his head, steadying himself and gasping for air. “That was close.”
“It’s because of you we are all here alive.”
John waved him away with his bow. “Nonsense. It’s because of you, Your Highness, that we’ve made it this far.”
Valen felt a pang of gratitude. His eyes brimmed with tears, but he held them back. There was no time for emotional exchanges.
After he secured the door behind him, Valen turned and surveyed the room. There were a dozen soldiers, all in varying conditions, and two healers—the remnants of Ravencliff’s great and illustrious army. He hoped the others had made it off the battlements and found an alternate hiding place.
He was glad to see Allyn there. Although he was uninjured, dark circles framed his eyes. Valen remembered with a sharp pang the young man’s father was also gone.
Suppressing a wave of grief, Valen looked at the men with the least serious wounds. “Help me board the windows. Put anything you can in their way, but leave a hole big enough for us to see out. John, keep watch outside. If anyone is alive out there, cover them as they find shelter.”
“Yes, sir.”
Valen saw the stronger of the two healers rummaging around. She counted the cans and bottles, making lists. “How many supplies do we have?” He eyed the small cupboards. This was a weapons depot. It was not used for the storage of food or water. What was left were the soldier’s packed lunches, a few bags of rice and a pitcher of ale.
The old woman’s lips quivered. “With fifteen people, two days, at most.”
“Ration the food.” Valen pointed toward a table at the far end. “Give priority to the weak and wounded.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The healer bowed her head and collected the supplies. Valen hoped his instructions gave her strength. He could use some strength himself. Their fate rested in his hands now.
Valen picked his way through the throng of wounded soldiers to gaze through the small hole in the boards. Mist drowned the courtyard and he felt as though his castle had been dropped into another land.
“What will we do, Your Highness?” John clutched his quiver. Less than a dozen arrows were left. He found a crude knife and began sharpening the end of a few scraps of wood for makeshift arrows.
“Wait.” Valen thought of Star, riding her midnight horse through the countryside, her white hair shining behind her like a celestial flag. “There is still hope left.”