Duncan charged south, leading his men through the narrow pass of the Devil’s Gulch, the wind in his hair, his heart racing as he knew this might be the final battle of his life. He let out a battle cry, inspiring his men behind him, all of them cheering with him as they tore through the narrow opening, cliffs on one side, the crashing sea on the other. Behind them came the thunderous rumble of a hundred thousand Pandesians pursuing, getting closer by the moment. It was like death charging for them. Duncan glanced back and saw they were now hardly a few hundred yards behind. They had taken the bait. As close as they were, one wrong move would mean his death.
As reckless as this maneuver was, Duncan had no choice. He had to lure the Pandesian army through the Gulch, to get them to ride to the southern side of the cliffs so that his men could seal and defend the Gulch. If he was lucky, he could circle back and slip through the tunnels and reunite with his men, join them in making a stand in the Gulch itself. If not, he would die here, on this side of the Gulch. Either way, the Pandesians would be lured from Escalon.
The Devil’s Gulch, the most famed place of Escalon, the proving ground of the greatest warriors who walked this land, would have to be put to the test. There was no other way he and his few hundred men could make a stand against a hundred thousand soldiers.
Horns sounded every few steps, Duncan pleased to hear his men following orders, helping to lure the Pandesians through. The Pandesians did not even pause—yet Duncan did not expect them to; there were few commanders, he knew, who were disciplined enough to call off a hot pursuit to what seemed a certain victory. In his experience, armies with greater numbers always fell prey to the trap of bloodlust.
As Duncan rode, he thought of the remainder of his army left behind on the far side of the Gulch, hundreds of great warriors hiding deep in the cliffs, waiting for the Pandesians to pass. They would seal the Pandesian army out of Escalon once and for all, trapping them on the other side of the impassable wall of mountains. Of course, in the process, they would seal Duncan out, as well. Duncan was willing to make that sacrifice, to take a chance and see if the hidden passages tunneling beneath the mountainside would lead him back to the other side and allow him to reunite with his men. His chance of survival was slim—and untested. Yet it was the chance he had to take. After all, it was the only way to save his homeland.
Duncan was relieved as he and his men finally burst out of the gulch, into the open field and sky, out of the narrow pass and onto the other side. It was great to be out in open daylight again, out from the claustrophobic confines of the Devil’s Gulch. He charged south, all his men shouting, blowing horns, raising clouds of dust. They were the liberated shouts of men who were riding to their deaths, and who had nothing left to lose.
Now that they’d cleared the other side, Duncan’s first impulse as a soldier was to turn around, to circle back for the hidden tunnels, and ride back to safety. Yet as a commander, he knew he could not. He had to lead the Pandesian army deeper, to make sure they all followed him south, through the gulch. He could not take a chance and turn back too soon, even though every passing second increased his chance of death.
“RIDE!” he shouted to his men, giving them inspiration, all of them knowing that each step increased their likelihood of death. Duncan led by example, riding faster, farther south, farther away from the cliffs, from their only salvation. And all of his men did, too.
Duncan began to hear the intense rumble behind him that could only mean one thing: the Pandesian army had broken through the Gulch. He glanced back and saw he was right. A hundred thousand warriors began bursting out, their ranks widening. It was awe-inspiring, like watching a river burst through a dam. Duncan had fought in epic battles, yet he had never seen so many soldiers amassed in one place in his life. It was like the might of the world bearing down on him.
“FASTER!” he shouted.
Duncan could feel the apprehension rising amongst his men as they rode farther from the gulch, from safety. He rode until his breathing grew heavy, feeling the shooting pains in his chest where he had been stabbed; he reached down and felt fresh blood, and knew the wound was not healing. Yet there was no turning back now. Not when his people needed him.
Duncan rode and rode until finally he glanced back and saw the Gulch was now distant on the horizon, and that the entire army of Pandesians had passed through. His mission had been achieved—now the time had come.
“TURN!” he shouted to his men.
His men turned with him, as one, following his lead as they all made a broad turn to the left. They turned in a wide arc heading back for the cliffs. He could not ride straight back, as he wanted to, or else he’d run right back into the Pandesian army. So instead he led his men in a broad arc, gradually back toward the cliffs. It was a risky move, exposing them to attack from the side, leaving one flank unprotected. Yet he had no choice if they were to make it back.
Sure enough, within moments, the first assault came. Pandesian horns sounded, and the sky suddenly filled with arrows raining down on his men.
“COME TOGETHER!” Duncan cried, expecting this. “SHIELDS!”
His men raised their shields and came in close that they formed a wall of iron, nearly touching shoulder to shoulder as the first volley of arrows hit. They came in so tight that there was nowhere for the arrows to penetrate—they merely bounced off the shields with a great clanging noise.
Duncan, sweating, lowered his shield with the others and continued riding in a broad circle back toward the cliffs, widening the arc, trying to get away from the forking Pandesian army. He had a head start on them but it was slim, barely a hundred yards, and narrowing.
Duncan saw the Pandesians raising their bows again.
“SHIELDS!” he cried.
Again, his men came together and raised their shields, and again they blocked the volley of arrows, bouncing off their shields as if it were raining down iron. Yet Duncan heard one of his men cry out, and he turned and saw Bathone, a proud young warrior who had volunteered, who had grown up with his sons, fall from his horse, an arrow in his side. An arrow had slipped through. As he fell, Duncan could tell he was still alive. He desperately wanted to stop for him, but he knew he could not. To do so would mean the death of all his other men. It was times like these that he wished he was not a commander, but a mere soldier once again.
Duncan saw the Pandesians closing in and realized the cliffs were still too far; he knew he had to do something desperate to increase their speed if they were to make it.
“DROP THE SHIELDS!” he shouted.
His men looked back at him, baffled, yet, disciplined as they were, they did not hesitate to follow his command. They threw down their heavy shields and as they did, they all kicked their horses, following Duncan’s lead, and increased their speed. They needed speed now, more than anything, Duncan knew, if they had any chance of beating these Pandesians back to the cliffs.
Duncan lowered his head, kicked his horse, and charged with all he had. With the imposing granite cliffs in sight, he rode faster and faster, faster than he had ever ridden in his life, ignoring his pain, his wound, he and his men fueled by adrenaline, by the knowledge that they could die at any moment. Duncan could hear the Pandesians firing arrows again behind him, and he braced himself, knowing that if they reached him, exposed as they were, they would be finished.
Duncan heard the sound of a thousand arrowheads skidding on hardened sand, just a few feet behind him, and he took a deep breath. Dropping the shields had given him the few extra feet he’d needed.
Duncan saw the great cliffs looming ahead of him, but a hundred yards away now, and he scanned the wall of rock, searching for signs of the small hidden passageways he knew were there. He searched frantically, his heart pounding, knowing that finding these passages would be their only hope of making it back. They had no time to make a mistake: if they pursued a false indent in the rock, they would not have time to search again. If they chose a passageway that was sealed up inside the mountain, they would lose their only chance.
Duncan’s heart soared as he spotted a hidden opening in the rock, one just large enough to accommodate him and his men, single file, on horseback—though they would have to duck. The passage led into blackness, and Duncan could only hope it had not collapsed, or would not lead to a dead end. The lives of all his men depended on him now.
Duncan lowered his head. His decision was made.
“SINGLE FILE! CHARGE!” he cried.
Duncan heard his men fall in behind him as he lowered his head and made for the tiny opening in the cliff. He lay with his stomach entirely flat on his horse, the only way of clearing it, and as the rock loomed, he prayed for dear life. He cared not for his own life, but for those of his men.
Please god, he prayed. Let this work. Give us one chance to battle the Pandesians face to face, man to man. Do not let us die here, in this rock.
A moment later, Duncan braced himself as he tore into the tiny passageway.
All was blackness. Duncan’s heart pounded in his throat as he found himself immersed in a tunnel so cramped that, if he did not duck down, his head would scrape the ceiling. He felt this was an advantage, as he knew it would confuse and slow the Pandesians behind him, too.
Behind him, he heard all his men charging on his heels. He knew that if this tunnel led to a dead end, they would all stampede and crush each other to death. His throat went dry, his palms sweaty, as he clutched the reins and prayed for daylight.
Duncan galloped, his heart pounding, riding faster and faster, twisting and turning, feeling his way in the dark. With every bend he hoped and prayed he would see the way out, a burst of sunlight. Yet still, it did not come.
Finally, as he rounded a sharp bend, his arms and shoulders scraping against the wall, Duncan looked up ahead and his heart burst with joy to see his first glimpse of light. It was a bright shaft of sunlight, an opening up ahead, and it grew brighter with each step. He had never been so eager in his life to embrace it.
A few moments later Duncan fund himself bursting out of the tunnel, into the other side of the cliffs, back to the northern side of the Gulch. He was overjoyed to see dozens of his men eagerly awaiting him, to hear their shouts of triumph, to be reunited with them all. He kept riding, and behind him, all his men burst through, too, one at a time. He could hear their shouts of joy and relief as he did.
When his last man rode through, Duncan immediately dismounted and rushed for the opening. He knew the Pandesians would be on their heels, and there was little time. He was joined by his men as he put his shoulder into a boulder, and they shoved the huge rock with all they had. Duncan, sweating, grunting with the other men, finally managed to roll the ton of rock, sealing off the tunnel’s opening.
As soon as it fell into place, there came a boom from the other side; it was the sound, Duncan knew, of the first Pandesian riding into it. Duncan listened as dozens more came, all the Pandesians who had followed them inside, trampling each other to death.
The passageway sealed, Duncan took his first deep breath. He and his men had done it. They had lured the Pandesians to the other side and had returned. His men let out a great cheer as they all realized, and reunited with the men, they all embraced them.
Duncan, as thrilled as he was, knew they had little time. The Pandesians were surely turning back even now, trying to make it back through the Gulch. They had but minutes to seal it off completely before all they had accomplished was undone.
Duncan immediately jumped into action, ignoring the pain and leading his men as he climbed the ropes alongside the cliffs. Each step took them higher and higher, until they finally reached the very heights of the Gulch.
They all stood on the broad plateau up top, Duncan knocked off balance by the driving gale up here, coming off the ocean on the far side of the Gulch. The view from up here was commanding. He looked out and saw the limitless ocean, then he looked down and saw, to the South, Ra’s one hundred thousand men, all slowly turning around and heading back for the Gulch. Duncan could see Ra and his golden chariot from here, in the center of it all, gleaming, racing back and realizing finally he had been duped. Duncan saw the gaping passageway of the Gulch, still wide open, and he knew that if he didn’t seal it, within minutes the Pandesian army would return to this side of Escalon.
“POSITIONS!” Duncan yelled.
His men all lined up at the edge of the cliff, awaiting his command, and he finally raised one fist and gave the signal. Duncan rushed forward and put his shoulder into the first of the dozens of huge boulders lined up along the cliff’s edge, while all around him his men did the same.
Duncan pushed the first huge boulder off the edge, and beside him, dozens more rained down. There followed a tremendous crashing noise, as a great avalanche was set in motion below.
Duncan leaned over the edge and watched. Explosion followed explosion, so strong that the ground shook even up here. The narrow pass of the Devil’s Gulch became clogged, one at a time, with massive boulders, all smashing down in a huge cloud of dust and rock. One at a time, higher and higher, they landed atop each other, filling up the Gulch. Soon, it was a wall of rock from here to the sea.
Impassable.
The first vanguard of the Pandesian army, riding too fast to slow down, charged right into the wall of rock. They smashed into it, and with the Gulch sealed up and nowhere to go, they were stampeded from behind, and crushed to death in a great pile of men and horses.
Duncan’s men, all watching, let out a great cheer all around him. They had finally sealed the gulch, had finally shut out the great invader.
Duncan felt elated, a great sense of joy. Yet as he looked down, something troubled him. He spotted a small opening in the wall of rock, a spot where one of the boulders had gotten lodged too high above the other. It allowed for a ten-foot tunnel through which Pandesians could slip through the Gulch. Indeed, he saw the Pandesians spot it, too, and make for it. Duncan knew there was no time: the Gulch had to be sealed off completely or else the entire dam would break.
As Duncan studied it, he could tell there was no way to fix it not from up here, not with the rock lodged the way it was. The only way, he knew, was to get down there himself and do it by hand.
Duncan’s heart pounded as he felt a sudden thrill. It was the thrill of destiny. The thrill of battle. The thrill of the bold. He knew what he had to do, and he knew there would be no way out. It would mean his death—and yet also the salvation of his nation.
“Commander. Lead these men in my absence,” Duncan commanded.
Volen, standing beside him, stared back at Duncan with fear, realizing what he intended to do. He gripped his arm.
“You must not go. It will mean your death.”
Duncan could see his old friend had read his mind. And Duncan knew he was right. There would be no way back.
“If I do not,” Duncan replied, “then what am I? What is Escalon?”
Duncan gently shook Volen’s hand off, turned to the cliffs, and immediately climbed down the rock face, his palms sweaty, his heart pounding in his chest, knowing this would be his final descent.
As he climbed down, faster and faster, scraping elbows and knees and not caring, Duncan felt a great sense of destiny, of clarity, rise up within him. His vision became blurry as he thought of nothing else but that rock below, of sealing off the Gulch for good. Of saving his people. This was what he had been born to do. He was not afraid. He was only grateful that he had been given such a moment, such an opportunity, to die with honor.
Suddenly, Duncan spotted motion out of the corner of his eye and he turned, halfway down the cliff, to see, with horror, a massive boulder sailing through the air. He realized, too late, that the Pandesians were firing catapults, the boulders sailing like weapons toward his men, high up on the plateau, unsuspecting.
There came an awful crash high above as the cliffs shook—and Duncan’s heart dropped to hear his men, high above, shrieking. Several of them suddenly fell right past him, their bodies whooshing down toward the Gulch. He looked down and, heart breaking, watched them land, dead.
Duncan saw more catapults being rolled forward, and he did not hesitate. He climbed all the way down the cliffs, right into the center of the gulch. He jumped down to the ground and found, waiting for him, a dozen Pandesian soldiers. Before he could reach the lodged boulder, he had to fight his way past these men.
Rising above his pain, Duncan took a deep breath and threw himself into battle, raising his sword, slashing a charging soldier across the chest, then sidestepping, ducking a blow, and stabbing another in the gut. Duncan ducked a swing of a mace, then spun, raising his sword and blocking a soldier’s halberd. He stepped up and elbowed him in the nose, dropping him to the ground.
Duncan fought like a man possessed, cutting through these soldiers like a whirlwind, needing to fight his way across the Gulch. He was completely immersed in the enemy, and he fought like it. He fought like a man who knew he was going to die and had nothing to lose. It brought back the old days, the days when he was but a soldier, free to be reckless, to fight as he wished.
By the time he was done, Duncan, in a mad blur, had felled a dozen soldiers single-handedly. He managed to fight his way all the way to the lodged boulder, then leapt up onto it and climbed his way to the top. A soldier lunged for his leg, and he turned and raised his boot and kicked him in the face right before the soldier could slash it.
Duncan reached down, grabbed a long spear from the hand of a dead Pandesian soldier, raised it high, and plunged it into the crack beside the rock, wedging it deeper and deeper, groaning, with all his might. If he could just pry it enough, this boulder would collapse, would plug the hole and seal the Gulch. He cried out to the heavens, his face turning red from effort, every vein in his body about to pop. It moved, but would not roll.
Suddenly, Duncan heard a commotion and he turned to see another catapult rolled forward, aimed right for him. He watched the soldiers raise their swords, preparing to hack the rope, and he knew it was too late. He had nowhere to run, no way to escape the missile that would come his way.
The Pandesians, after all, would kill him.