Darius Chapter 35

Darius could see the masses of soldiers crawling over each other from a kilometer and a half away. The battlefield was like a squirming mess of worms – some dressed in black, the others in brown – all wriggling over each other in a desperate attempt for superiority.

The fight had degraded into a series of one-on-one duels, the formation and tactics being employed earlier having been completely forgotten about in the harsh battle. Mitrev had disappeared once again, a small retinue of Erinian soldiers escorting him into the forest with something sitting across his knees. Marth fought in a haze of red, unable to slice his way through to Falsith’s fallen form. The warrior had devastated his former compatriots until his last breath, turning that section of the Great Road into a series of craters.

The remaining combatants had mostly abandoned or fallen from their horses, so when the two platoons of Barringvale fighters crashed onto the scene like a band of silent executioners, the battle finally swayed in Barringvale’s direction.

But it was too little, too late. Marth’s men had taken serious losses, and their unarmored bodies lay strewn across the Road, mere kilometers from the safety they had pursued for weeks. The Erinian casualties were roughly equal. Padrol and his lieutenant swept through the field, weaving around the Barringvale men and crashing into the Erinians.

Mitrev appeared back from the forest, no longer holding the object that had sat across his knees prior. He yelled an order across the din of the battle.

“ERINIANS! FULL RETREAT!”

Those who could afford to break away from the flashing swords of their adversaries darted away, grappling onto any of the horses standing panicked on the fringes of the Road and forest. The Barringvale platoons chased them down, but amongst the brawling crowd, it was hard to get a clear gallop at the escapees. Mitrev thundered down the Road, over the crest and out of sight in no more than two minutes. Almost two platoons of mounted Erinians made it back with him.

The battle died down as the remaining Erinians were quickly engaged in three-on-one skirmishes, having no chance against their enraged enemies. In other circumstances, taking prisoners may have been more prudent, or expected.

Not today.

The Barringvale army was ruthless as it dispatched the Erinians. Not one was allowed to flee into the forest.

Marth collapsed to the dirt and sat his arms on his knees, casting away his sword and holding his head in his hands. He didn’t cry or yell or give orders, he just grieved. He had led his army to their destruction after making it so near their destination. He felt like leaving the rest of his men and hiding in some far-off land, subsisting on potatoes and his misery. Grenfell sat next to him and placed a hand on his back.

“We did all we could, Marth. You led your men well and they all fought admirably.”

Marth could barely hear him over the blood in his ears. He didn’t know what to say.

“I failed them, Gren. I should’ve kept going past the forest and just turned in near the gates.”

Gren hated to see his young master in this state. Marth had always been a capable Prince, well-liked and lauded as the next ruler. It was rare for a son to fill the shoes of a father like his, but he seemed destined to do it.

“You did as well as anyone could. We’d traveled for weeks, even a cartographer would’ve been lost. Your father will be proud.”

Marth shook his head and stood back up, helping Grenfell to his feet.

“Will he?”

Darius walked his horse over and dismounted, hugging Marth.

“Marth, gods you’re alive. Where’s Falsith? I heard the axe.”

Marth said nothing, only lowering his eyes and shaking his head. He stepped back, revealing Falsith lying flat on the ground with one hand on his chest. He looked peaceful, like he was resting.

“Oh, Falsith.”

Darius ran to the man and fell to his knees, looking over the bleeding body.

“Where’s the axe?”

Grenfell spoke up.

“Mitrev, the Purple Plume, took it. He’s under Lady Silfor’s influence – a lackey of sorts.”

Darius recalled the conversation he’d overheard between Lady Silfor and Mitrev. If only he’d done something back when he knew Silfor had ulterior motives. He hadn’t realized at that point the magnitude of her plans; he’d thought she was just looking to get out of an arranged marriage.

Losing the axe was a blow – at least sentimentally – but recoverable. Marth and Grenfell were alive, and they would be able to install him at a smithery in Barringvale. He would make magic weapons until every Barringvale soldier was equipped with an axe equal to Falsith’s, or he could try out the new spells he’d found in Krevalitz’s book. He just needed time.

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The soldiers looted the Erinians, leaving their comrades to be buried in their current state, unless their families chose otherwise. They dug a series of shallow pits for the Erinians just inside the forest.

At least they would give back nutrients to the trees and plants in Barringvale’s domain.

The craters were left as they were – the dirt that belonged to them was sprayed so far around the battlefield and the treetops that they’d have to just bring in fresh clay and bricks to repair the unrecognizable Great Road. Darius looked around at the scene but had nothing to offer, so he waited until Marth stepped forward and gave an order.

“Podral! Rezimir! Can you please take your platoons back to Barringvale and get stretchers for the injured and dead – as many as you can carry. I want King Ranvost notified of my return, and tell him we have been attacked by Erinian soldiers.”

The captains gave crisp salutes and garnered their soldiers back into tight formation for the ride back. Marth turned to Grenfell and issued a second order.

“Gren, would you mind looking after the burials and organizing this lot to come back when you’re done? Bring them to the castle for a feast tonight – they’ve earned it. And don’t let them disrespect the Erinian bodies, just get the job done and get them moving.”

“Yes, Marth. May I ask where you will be?”

“I’m going back to the castle, with Darius. That axe was the most powerful weapon I’ve ever seen – if he can make more, we’ll be able to tear Erinstone down to the very last brick.”

Gren didn’t like the sound of malice in Marth’s voice, but the wound was fresh. He’d recover with some time to process.

Marth whistled his horse over and walked to Darius, who was sitting on the ground next to Falsith. He reached down and helped the grieving blacksmith to his feet.

“It’s alright mate. You shoulda seen him, died doing the thing he loved, no doubt about it. When the battle started, I swear he ran forward without a shield, slammed that thing down and took out at least eight of them. It was phenomenal.”

Darius had seen Falsith’s destructive power when he swung that axe. He had no doubt that ‘eight of them’ was an understatement.

“Not a bad travelling partner, either. Ate a lot, and snored like the thunder, but he was good.”

They turned away as three soldiers heaved him onto the grass in preparation for the stretchers. They mounted their horses and rode at a canter to Barringvale. The contrast between the vicious battle and the birdsong returning to the forest was jarring, and both fell silent while they got lost in their own minds. Darius thought of Karringlock, and the weeks it had been since he’d swung a hammer at something that wasn’t human, and Marth thought of his father, and what might happen on his return to Barringvale. Darius piped up, coming back to a conversation they’d had when they first met.

“So, Marth. Now that you’re not indebted to Lady Silfor, is there anyone for you back here in Barringvale? Perhaps a childhood sweetheart you were forced to leave behind? A damsel you saved in your long line of heroic deeds?”

Marth made a ‘pshhh’ sound with his lips and steered his horse in front of Darius, causing the timid mare to almost shake him off. He let Darius catch up and then answered him.

“I’ll admit it. There is one. Not a damsel – you're the only damsel I’ve saved – but a girl I met when my mother enrolled me in singing lessons. I thought all my life I’d marry her, until I was told about my ‘arrangement’ in Erinstone. I’d been in the meetings, but I thought we’d send across a Duke or a Count to marry one of Erinstone’s equally eligible bachelors or bachelorettes – not me.”

Darius smiled and would’ve poked Marth in the ribs if he didn’t think he’d fall off his horse and land flat on his face.

“Woooooow, what’s her name? I can’t wait to see the lady that’s enraptured you. Must be a real beauty, or a fine voice.”

Marth laughed at the thought.

“Ha! She actually has an awful voice – tone deaf like a boulder. You’re right though, she’s gorgeous. Shame you won’t see her now that I’ll be locking you up in the forges.”

Darius gave Marth a funny look before realizing that Marth wasn’t privy to the treatment he’d received at the King’s Forge. He relayed the story of his meeting with King Draythar and the subsequent discoveries he and Bart had made under the duress of the Red Plumes. Marth just rode in silence, his mouth agape with shock at the family he almost married into. Barringvale and Erinstone were two different worlds.

At least he hoped they were.

“So, do you think you can make these weapons reliably now? I assume that would give us a huge advantage over Erinstone if they came back. You might want to hide the fact from the general public though, the kingdom would just as soon have us go on a rampage to Erinstone, just through hurt pride.

Darth patted his breast pocket where he kept his copy of Rath’s Ruminations. The pronunciation of the two new spells was fresh in his mind.

“Aye, I can do the explosive ones well enough. There’re two new ones I found in a book at Karringlock – they sound like they could be pretty damn powerful. Care to test them out?”

Marth thought about it for a moment before concluding it might be best left to some more expendable people – he knew it was a terrible and arrogant thought to have, but it was the truth. Grenfell would lock him inside for weeks if he knew Marth was going to be the pioneer for dangerous magic.

“I would love to wield one after you can be sure it’s not going to rip my arm off. After seeing Falsith with that axe, I feel like it might be wise to only make a few of them. Imagine a platoon of soldiers swinging those around, tearing up the earth left and right – we'd do more damage to each other than the enemy.”

Darius hadn’t taken the thought experiment too far – he'd planned on leaving that to the tacticians like Marth. He pondered for a moment, wondering if he could someone turn the weapons on or off. It didn’t seem likely.

“Aye, I agree. There’s one spell in this book that sounds a bit more direct, called the slash spell. I’d hammer it into your spear, but I find it a lot easier to imbue into something I’ve created myself. The only times it worked on other people’s gear was the axe and a chest plate of one of the Red Plumes. I was in a real tussle each time.”

“That’s fine then! We’ll lock you up in a cell and beat you around a bit. Is that too soon?”

“Aye, too soon. I hadn’t had an ass whoopin’ like what those Red Plumes gave me since I broke my Ma’s vase when I was eight. She used to give a damn awful wallopin’!”

Marth laughed and waved to Marlo as they crossed back into the confines of Barringvale.

“Agh, you turned out alright – probably did you good. Now let’s get you to a smithy, can’t we?”

The war effort had begun.