Duncan scrambled his way up the canyon wall, the ascent so steep he was nearly vertical, clawing his way up the canyon face. Dry rock and dirt gave way and Duncan slipped again and again before regaining his footing, as did his men around him, hundreds of men in their armor clanging their way up to freedom.
It was a desperate scramble. Duncan tried to control his panic as he looked back over his shoulder and saw the tens of thousands of Pandesians closing in, pursuing them across the canyon floor and now beginning to ascend the canyon face behind them. Worse, many of them stopped, lined up, and began to fire arrows.
Duncan braced himself as there came the ping all around him of metal arrowheads hitting stone, chipping away at small pieces of rock. Cries and shrieks rang out and he looked over and was pained to see too many of his men with arrows piercing their backs. As he watched, they lost their grip and fell backwards to their deaths.
Duncan reached out and grabbed for his friend, one of his oldest, most trusted soldiers, just feet away from him, who had an arrow plunged into his back. His eyes opened wide as he began to fall, and as Duncan swiped for him, he felt an awful pit in his stomach as he just missed him, unable to reach him in time.
“No!” Duncan shrieked.
Watching him die enraged Duncan. It made him want to turn around and charge the Pandesians below.
Yet he knew that would be shortsighted. He knew the key to victory lay just twenty feet above, at the very top of the canyon ridge. He knew what his men needed most was not to stand and fight, but to get out of there before the great flood came. If it ever came.
“CLIMB!” Duncan boomed to his men, trying to encourage them.
As he climbed, arrows and spears hitting the wall all around him, Duncan flinched, realizing how close they were coming. He realized what a vulnerable position he had put his men in, how reckless and desperate this whole strategy was. If for some reason Leifall did not come through, was unable to divert the waters of Everfall, the Pandesians would catch up to them as soon as they surfaced and slaughter him and all his men for good. Yet if the waters did come before Duncan’s men could ascend and get out of their way, then he and his men would be drowned, washed away by the tidal wave, killed together with all the Pandesians below.
The chances of this mission succeeding were dire; yet the alternative, facing a much greater army in the open field, was not great, either.
Duncan’s heart slammed as he looked up and saw the edge of the canyon looming. He groaned as he took his last step on a ledge and threw himself to the desert floor.
He lay there, gasping, and immediately spun around, reached down and grabbed as many of his men’s hands as he could, yanking them up out of the canyon, dodging arrows as they sailed by. Every muscle in his body ached and burned, yet he would not stop until his men were all safe.
As the last of his men reached the desert floor, Duncan immediately stood and checked the horizon, hopeful.
Yet his heart fell. There came no river, no flood. And that could only mean one thing: Leptus had failed.
Yet Duncan knew that he could not give up hope, and that if the surging waters did come, there would be no time to lose. He turned to his men.
“PART WAYS!” he commanded.
He sprinted, and his men ran, too, forking, dividing their forces, half led by him and half by one of his commanders. Parting ways would also make it harder for the Pandesians to hunt them down.
Duncan sprinted, even though no water was in sight, hoping and praying. With every step, he also at least distanced himself from the Pandesians. Although, looking out ahead to the wasteland, Duncan knew there was nowhere left to run.
Duncan checked back over his shoulder, and his heart dropped to see the first Pandesian surface from the canyon. Behind him followed another.
Then another.
Hundreds of them followed, crawling over the edge like ants, out of the canyon, soon on their feet and rushing his way.
Duncan knew, in that moment, that all was lost. His plan had failed.
And then it came.
It began as a rumble, sounding like distant thunder. Duncan looked up before him, and he was breathless.
It appeared an entire ocean was gushing right for him, rumbling, its waves rolling, huge and white across the dry, dusty plains. It moved faster than anything he had ever seen, more powerful, more violent.
The Pandesians behind him were clearly shocked, too. They stopped in their tracks, gaping, as the waters raced right for them. Duncan and his men had parted ways, had made room for the river. But the Pandesians, having just emerged, still stood right in its path.
All the Pandesians scrambled to turn back around, to get out of the way of the water, stampeding each other. It was chaos as a logjam ensued, all of them trapped, all staring death in the face.
Duncan stood there and watched as the roaring waters gushed by him and then, a moment later, crashed down, smashing all the Pandesians like ants.
The waters continued, raging down into the canyon, landing at its bottom with a tremendous crash and spray, and filling it foot by foot. Duncan heard, just for a moment, the horrible shrieks from tens of thousands of soldiers still in the canyon, all crushed by the waters.
Soon, though, the shrieking stopped. The water stopped. The canyon was filled. Pandesian corpses floated over its edge, onto the dirt.
And finally, all was still.
Duncan stood there, and he and all his men slowly turned to each other and looked at each other in shock. And then, as one, they let out a great shout of victory.
Finally, they had won.