Aidan galloped across the barren landscape, Anvin beside him, White at their heels, sweating, the sun bearing down on them. He gasped for air, the dust in his face making it hard to breathe. Somewhere on the horizon, he knew, was Leptus, and as exhausted as he was, he forced himself to hang in there, to not show any weakness, especially in front of Anvin. They had been riding for hours, not even pausing to take a break since they had left his father and his men back outside Andros, and Aidan was determined not to let them down. He wanted Anvin to think of him as a man now.
As they rode, Aidan was filled with a sense of pride, and of urgency. This, he knew, was the most important mission of his life, and he was thrilled his father had allowed it. He knew the stakes could not be higher: If he and Anvin failed, if the men of Leptus refused to join in the battle against Baris, his father and his men would certainly die.
That gave him strength. Aidan ignored his pain, his exhaustion, his hunger, the heat of the sun, and rode on and on, taking strength from Anvin beside him, who, despite being wounded, despite his heavy armor, never slowed once. On the contrary, Anvin rode with an erect posture, the very embodiment of selflessness and valor.
They rode and rode, the sound of the horses thundering in Aidan’s ears, the sun arcing in the sky, the afternoon shadows growing stronger. Aidan was convinced that they would never reach Leptus.
And then, suddenly they crested a hill, and the landscape began to shift. The rock and desert, the endless rows of tumbleweed, began to give way to soil, to grass, to trees; the endless flat monotony gave way, on the horizon, to shapes, to structures. They soon passed an occasional clay dwelling, and then these became more and more frequent, packed more densely together. And soon, in the landscape, there appeared a road—and this road, Aidan saw with delight and relief, led to a stronghold.
Aidan was impressed to see a medium-size city perched at the edge of the desert, nestled along the shores of the Bay of Death. He held up a hand and squinted, the glare so strong off the glistening waters behind it.
Leptus. They had made it.
Leptus was a minor city, he knew, in the southern reaches of Escalon, the southernmost city on this side of Everfall. South of Baris but north of Thebus, Leptus was known as the last real city of the south. It was so out of the way, here in this arid landscape, so far from anywhere, it was known as a hard place, an outpost, a place of separatists. It lacked the lush, verdant rolling hills of most of Escalon, and being here in this hard place, sandwiched between the desert and Everfall and the Bay of Death, made Aidan glad that he had been raised in Volis.
Yet ironically, this small stronghold, so far from all the major trade routes and roads, so hard to get to, had become the last holdout for the free men of Escalon. Here resided the last free warriors, the only men left whom the Pandesian invasion had not yet reached. Of course, Aidan knew, it was only because of their geography, and soon enough, that would change. Yet for now, it made these men of Leptus the last people his father could turn to for help.
They continued down the road for the city, and soon Aidan found himself riding over a small, stone bridge, crossing an inlet of the Bay of Death, black waters swirling beneath them. They rode on, Aidan’s heart pounding with excitement, until they finally reached a large, arched stone gate, its iron portcullis lowered, and a dozen fierce warriors standing before it. They stood at perfect attention, wielding long halberds and looking straight ahead, wearing the same blue and white armor of their city’s banner flying overhead.
Finally, Aidan and Anvin came to a stop before them, White at their feet, all breathing hard. Aidan wiped the dust off his face from the long ride.
The lead soldier, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a scar running down his right cheek, stepped forward and peered out at them.
“State your name,” he demanded.
“Anvin,” Anvin replied breathlessly, “of Volis. Duncan’s commander. Here with me is Aidan, his son.”
The man nodded back, cold and hard.
“And I am Leifall,” he replied. “What business you have in Leptus?”
Anvin took a deep breath.
“We are men of Escalon,” Anvin called back, breathing hard, “and have come on urgent business. Open these gates at once and bring us to your commander.”
Leifall stared back, unmoved.
“What business?” he demanded.
“The fate of Escalon,” Anvin called back.
Yet still, Leifall did not step aside.
“Who sent you?” he demanded.
“Duncan of Volis,” Anvin replied.
Leifall, with his elongated face and the narrow eyes of the people of the south, slowly rubbed his brown beard.
“First I must know: what is your business here?” he asked, his voice still hard.
“Bring me to be your commander, and I will tell him myself,” Anvin called back, impatient.
Leifall stared back, hard, unmoving.
“I am the commander here,” he said.
They stared back in surprise.
“You?” Anvin said. “Why would a commander be guarding a gate?”
The commander stared back, hard and cold.
“He who leads must stand first in peril. That is our motto,” he replied. “Where else should a commander be?” he called back. “The people of Leptus are a democratic people. I ask nothing of them I would not do myself. I stand with my men, and they with me. That is what makes us who we are.”
He examined Anvin, while Aidan looked back at him with a whole new sense of respect.
“So I ask you again: what do you want of the men of Leptus?” Leifall called out.
Anvin dismounted, Aidan following his lead, relieved to be off the horse, and as they did, all the soldiers tensed, gripping their halberds as if to strike. The commander gestured to his men and they lowered their weapons, while White, snarling, came up beside Aidan, as if to defend him. Aidan stroked his head, putting him at ease.
Stopping a few feet away from the commander, Anvin spoke, his voice urgent.
“Our great country has been overrun,” he said. “Perhaps you have not noticed because you reside here, out of the way from the rest of us. Pandesia has invaded. Escalon has fallen—all of it except for your little corner. Soon enough, they will march on Leptus, too.”
Leifall looked back, skeptical, hardened, his eyes widening just a bit in surprise as he slowly rubbed his beard.
“Go on,” he finally replied.
“Duncan rides for Baris now,” Anvin continued. “He needs to destroy those who betrayed us, and to lure the Pandesians into the canyon. He needs your help.”
The commander stroked his beard for a long time as he stood there, seemingly deep in thought, studying Anvin.
“And why should we help you?” he finally asked.
“Why?” Anvin asked, surprised. “Is not our cause your cause? Do we not share a homeland? A common invader?”
Leifall shook his head.
“Since when have you come to Leptus?” he replied. “And since when have we ventured to Volis? We may live on the same land, but we are different people, from different corners of a land, who merely share a capital.”
Anvin narrowed his eyes.
“Is that the way of the men of Leptus then?” he asked. “To isolate themselves? To ignore their brothers in their time of need?”
Leifall reddened.
“You are no brother to me,” he replied, his jaw locked. “Why should I risk my men to save this Duncan, this commander whom I have never met? Who has never bothered to pay homage to us once?”
Anvin frowned.
“He would help you if you came to him,” he replied.
“Perhaps,” the commander replied. “And perhaps not.”
Anvin frowned, clearly frustrated.
“You would also be helping yourselves,” he replied, “if that is all that matters. Do not think you will be spared by Pandesia.”
Leifall shrugged, unimpressed.
“We have our own defenses,” he replied. “We can fight on our own terms, and last much longer than you think. No one has ever taken these walls. And we have an escape route on the Bay of Death. We are protected on both sides. This is why Leptus has never been taken.”
“Do not flatter yourselves,” Anvin countered, clearly upset. “Leptus has never been taken because you are so far out of the way, and because there is nothing of worth here.”
Leifall scowled, and Aidan could feel the exchange quickly deteriorating.
“Call it what you will,” the commander replied, “yet we are free and you are not.”
“For now,” Anvin replied.
Leifall breathed for a long time, seething, until finally he continued.
“Duncan’s taking Baris is a poor strategy,” he added. “No one takes the low ground. It is a death trap.”
Anvin was undeterred.
“It is the best place to take shelter from the capital,” he replied. “Andros is burning. The Pandesians are unfamiliar with Baris, and we can use the canyon to our advantage.”
Leifall looked out into the distance, and after a long time, he sighed.
“Perhaps,” he finally said. “Still, the men of Leptus would be better served fighting Pandesia here, on our own ground, with our own defenses, and with our backs to the Bay of Death. My job is to protect my people, not yours.”
Anvin scowled.
“Are we not the same people?” he asked.
Leifall did not respond.
Anvin’s face hardened.
“Our people need you,” Anvin pressed. “Not here, behind your gates. But in the open field, where the battle is being fought.”
Leifall shook his head.
“This is your war,” he replied. “Is this not the revolution I have heard so much of, the one sparked by Duncan’s daughter? The one who was playing with dragons?”
At the mention of his sister, Aidan felt a burning need to speak up, unable to quiet himself any longer.
“That is my sister you speak of,” he called out, indignant, defensive. “And she only sparked the war that the rest of you were afraid to—the war that would stop us all from living as slaves, that would finally give us freedom.”
Leifall scowled as he slowly turned to Aidan.
“Watch your tongue, boy. You’re not so young that I won’t put you in lashes.”
Aidan stood his ground, feeling that this was his only chance to fight for his father.
“I will not,” he said proudly, sticking out his chest. “I am Duncan’s son. And I will tolerate no such speech of you. My father may be dying out there, and you are standing here, wasting time and words. Are you a warrior or not?”
Leifall’s eyes widened in shock as he stared back at Aidan.
A long, tense silence followed, until finally, the commander took one step toward him.
“You are a fresh one, aren’t you?” He stared Aidan down, and Aidan stood there, feeling a rush of nervousness. Slowly, the commander rubbed his beard. “Yet you stand up for your father. I like that,” he said, surprising Aidan. “I wish my own sons were half as bold as you.”
Aidan felt a rush of relief as the commander studied him. He felt that this was his chance to make his case and influence the destiny of his people.
“I asked my father to send me on this mission,” Aidan replied, “because I thought you and your men would follow us, that you and your men were valorous. Does valor mean hiding behind a gate? Waiting for an enemy to come to you? Taking the safe route?”
Aidan took a deep breath, summoning all his courage, even though, deep inside, he was trembling.
“You can come and join my father in the greatest battle in history, in the greatest cause of your lives,” Aidan said, “or you can stay here, hiding behind your gates, doing what boys do. Not what men do. Whatever you choose, I will leave this place and turn back and defend my father alone.”
Leifall stared back for a long time, reddening, then finally shook his head.
“The better part of valor, boy, is knowing when to fight and where. Your father’s tactics are foolish.”
“My father freed all of Escalon before the Pandesians invaded.”
“And where is he now? Asking for our help!”
“He asks for no man’s help!” Aidan retorted indignantly. “He is offering you a gift.”
Leifall scoffed.
“A gift!”
His men laughed.
“And what gift is that?”
Aidan held his ground.
“The gift of valor,” he replied.
Leifall studied Aidan for a long time, and Aidan stood there, feeling his heart pounding, knowing his father’s destiny lay in these moments, trying to hold onto a brave face.
Finally, Leifall smiled.
“I like you, boy,” he said. “I don’t like your father, or his cause. But the blood in your veins runs true. You are right: we may be safer here. But safety is not what men were born for.”
Leifall turned and nodded to his men, and suddenly a series of horns blew. Aidan looked up and saw dozens of warriors on the battlements stepping forward, all sounding horns, echoing each other, until finally, the gates opened.
There came a rumble, and moments later, there emerged hundreds of horses, riding fearlessly out for battle. As Aidan watched them all come, he felt his heart leap in anticipation. In victory.
“Let us go to your father, boy,” Leifall said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “And let us show these Pandesians who the men of Escalon are.”