It was near nightfall and the battle at the rebel encampment had been raging for two hours now. Arturo found it odd not being in the thick of the action. He always led the assault, pushing himself and his men to their limits. Standing back here, just listening to the fighting, made him feel like a coward.
The fourteen men coming with him were sitting casually, waiting for the signal to move. A few were resting their eyes, and were far too relaxed to his liking. Arturo had too much energy to sleep. The soldiers coming with him didn’t seem anything special. Corvin said he wanted to bring fifteen skilled soldiers to rescue the captives, but neither the Azzellian troops nor the Crystal Syndicate looked like exceptional fighters.
Would Veldahar have sent him if Corvin hadn’t told him to? Was this a suicide mission? Arturo realized that these men might be good soldiers, but where nowhere near as skilled as he was. I shouldn’t think that way; it’ll get me killed. With a sigh, he turned those thoughts away and waited. It shouldn’t be much longer before the signal came.
“Oi, can you really swing that sword there?” an Azzellian soldier asked.
“Oh, he can swing it. It’s an art form,” Dardash, a fellow Crystal Syndicate, said. “Seeing Arturo kill Ribalt was something special. I doubt I’ll ever see such a good fight again.”
“Looks heavy,” someone else commented.
“How can he swing it?”
“Why isn’t he saying anything?”
“Arturo is focused on the mission. Leave him be,” Dardash said.
It was true. Any moment now the signal to attack would come, and Arturo wanted to get this mission over with. His hands itched to swing his blade. Battle was all he looked forward to nowadays. What would life be without it? He couldn’t imagine not fighting, not after Arindall.
A large fire erupted in the distance. “That’s the signal,” Arturo said, pointing at the thick smoke bellowing into the sky. He unsheathed his sword and waited for the others to gather around him.
Dardash was grinning like a fool. Arturo had fought with him a few times and he was a reasonable fighter. The man did follow orders. Once the others were gathered, Arturo led the way toward the encampment. Night made it easy to sneak up to the camp. As he expected, there were around ten guards keeping watch.
Arturo stepped aside to let the others take out the guards with their bows. Once the last guard collapsed, Arturo led the way into the camp. The guards were slumped over where they’d been shot. Perhaps the others weren’t as weak as he’d thought. Each had fired their arrows accurately, piercing the heart of each guard.
There were five cages, each containing at least three people. Some of them looked as though they’d been beaten. “Find the keys,” Pisken whispered to each of them individually. Though he was in charge, Pisken wanted Arturo to enter the camp first.
Several minutes of searching for the keys yielded no results. Why did none of the guards have keys? Some of the prisoners asked them to hurry up and they were getting too loud. Frustrated, Arturo decided there was another way around this problem.
Raising his sword, Arturo smashed the lock of a cage, shattering it and allowing the prisoners inside to escape.
Pisken rushed over to him, his face taut with anger. “What are you doing? Someone will hear you!”
“If they didn’t hear the others speaking, they didn’t hear that,” one of the prisoners said. He was a middle-aged man with a mustache and had a scar running down his left hand. He picked up a nearby sword and took a deep breath. “I’m Norman Astero.”
Pisken’s face went white and he bowed quickly. “Apologies, my lord. I didn’t recognize you.”
Norman waved his hand dismissively. “There’s no time for that. A lot of my men are inside this camp.”
“We didn’t come here to rescue them all,” Arturo said, ignoring Pisken’s glare. “Once we get you out, we’ll see about the rest of your men.”
Norman looked Arturo up and down, clearly annoyed. “I have a feeling you won’t budge on this, will you?”
Arturo shook his head, prompting the lord to sigh. “Fine. At least release the other prisoners here.”
Relieved that Norman didn’t argue, Arturo broke the other four locks. Around fifteen Azzellian troops were added to their numbers. So far, the rebels hadn’t noticed them. The sooner they left, the sooner this mission would be over. Part of him was disappointed. He wanted to fight, not listen to the entire battle.
One of the prisoners that had been let out was a mage, and he didn’t look good. His face was pale and there was dry blood on his blue robe.
“How did you get captured?” Arturo asked.
“Hey—”
Arturo raised his hand to shut Pisken up and waited.
“These rebels have a strange blowgun artifact that I couldn’t stop with the power. When the dart hit me, it injected a liquid into my skin. I haven’t been able to use the power since,” the mage said and his hands moved to his stomach as if in pain. “Get me out of here and I swear I’ll help you with whatever task you want.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Arturo said.
“Ask your questions later,” Pisken seethed. “We need to get out of here.”
Suddenly, footsteps sounded all around them. There were at least sixty rebels, and from behind came another fifty. They were armed mainly with swords, axes, and spears. There were some that carried bows.
Pisken and Norman lowered their weapons. Dardash and the mercenaries raised theirs defiantly. Arturo wanted to rage. Of course this was a trap. Things had been too easy and he’d let them fall into it like a bunch of idiots.
The entrance that Arturo and the others had entered was now closed, with a wooden gate blocking the way. From a glance, the gate was held up by some rope. If he could reach those ropes, he should be able to get out of here, assuming the rebels didn’t kill them first.
One of the rebels walked up a small set of stone steps and looked down on his foes. “Thank you for coming,” the rebel said with a broad smile. There was no hiding his glee at having more prisoners. “I suspected a trick like this. If you want to live, drop your weapons!”
“Do as he says,” Pisken said and dropped his weapon. The other Azzellian troops followed, with Norman glaring at the rebels before lowering his weapon.
Dardash and the other mercenaries kept theirs and watched Arturo. “What are you doing? Drop your weapons!” Pisken commanded.
“No,” Arturo said. He wouldn’t surrender. Corvin said the rebels would kill the prisoners if they were going to lose the battle. He refused to die via execution. If he was going to die today, it would be in a real fight.
The rebel leader got angry. “Drop your weapons or I’ll kill you!”
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Arturo raised his sword and pointed the tip at the leader. “Try to bring me down. We will not become pawns for your foolish rebellion,” he said coldly.
“Don’t listen to this man,” Pisken said desperately. “We surrender. If he refuses, kill him!”
“Belay that,” Norman said and picked up his sword. “I would rather fight than be a prisoner again. Do as you wish, but I will fight, even if it means certain death.”
“So be it. Loose!” the rebel commander yelled.
Arrows released from their bows. Arturo blocked any that would hit him and was able to keep Norman safe. Most of the others weren’t so lucky. Pisken took an arrow to the throat and rolled on the ground, clutching his throat as blood seeped through his fingers.
Dardash and most of the Crystal Syndicate were hit. Dardash had three arrows in him, two in the stomach and one in his left ankle. He was on the ground, groaning. The other half weren’t so lucky and were lying still on the ground.
Arturo wanted to rush the archers, but he couldn’t leave Norman on his own. I can’t stay here either or I’ll exhaust myself. Arturo prepared himself as another volley of arrows came raining down. He deflected all the ones that came near him. One got through his guard and pierced Norman’s shoulder.
The rebel leader sneered. “There’s only three left. Finish them off!”
Arturo moved before the archers could fire another volley. He swiftly cut through two soldiers; one rebel’s eyes widened as the blade crashed through his skull.
All the archers focused on Arturo and fired. He was too close to block them all and a couple of arrows bounced harmlessly off his armor. Arturo had never been so grateful for the Verian armor. Three spears came at him and three men were split apart. Warm liquid gushed over him and then an arrow grazed his left bicep.
The other soldiers who hadn’t been taken down by arrows were rushed by other rebels and slaughtered. They had taken out a few rebels but were too overwhelmed to fight more than that. Arturo wouldn’t allow himself to regret his decision to fight. They were surrounded and staying put wasn’t an option. The odds of him living through this fight weren’t high. There were so many enemies, yet he refused to give up.
Someone chucked a spear and Arturo sent it back by hitting the tip with his sword; it then struck the rebel in the chest. More arrows came at him. One hit his left arm and another pierced his right leg. He roared as he swung his mighty sword through three rebels at once.
“By t—” a rebel exclaimed before the sword cleaved him in half.
The enemy kept coming. The battle was becoming a rhythm. Block, attack, dodge. The motions were continuous. Each strike took down a rebel and Arturo focused only on killing each person who came at him. Arturo wasn’t sure he would be able to distinguish friend from foe.
A spear snuck through Arturo’s defense and grazed his left cheek. A sword cut deep into his left armpit. Ignoring the pain, Arturo struck both men down and slew five more. The archers were thinning, making it easier to block or dodge the arrows.
“No!” an archer yelled before the blade tore into his stomach, lifting him off his feet. Arturo swung the body into a group of four rebels who were trying to attack him from behind.
This wasn’t a fight; it was a bloody massacre. Another arrow struck Arturo next to his right elbow, forcing him back a few steps. He cut down six more rebels and then the fighting stopped.
Arturo was finding it difficult to breathe. He was gasping for air and there wasn’t enough air to breathe in. His body was wracked with pain and he didn’t understand why the rebels had stopped fighting. There were so many left. He could fight for hours and not kill them all.
“He’s unstoppable!”
“This must be a legend.”
“How can we fight a man like this?”
“What are you doing? Don’t let him regain his strength!” the rebel leader yelled.
The others still didn’t move. Arturo shook his head to clear his blurry vision. What was he doing? Why was he fighting these rebels? It would be so easy to lay down his weapon and accept his fate. There was no way he could survive this otherwise. As if agreeing with his thoughts, the rebels renewed their attack.
How can I get revenge if I die here? Arturo dodged a couple of spears and skewered a rebel. Six more attacked and six more died. The archers must have run out as no more arrows were fired. Attacks started slipping through his guard. A sword collided with his ribs but the man wasn’t strong enough to pierce the armor. A spear slid across his throat, leaving a thin cut that almost ended his life. At this point, he didn’t know what part of his body wasn’t cut to some degree.
Arturo found himself lying on the ground next to Norman. The lord was conscious and watching the fight. There was a way to get him out at least, even if he were the only survivor. Where they’d entered was now blocked off, but all he had to do was cut the rope, which would remove the barrier and allow Norman to run free. At least one of them should survive this catastrophe.
You could let him die and kill more of the rebels. What does it matter? The thought slid through Arturo’s mind but he forced it away. He would do what was needed to save Norman.
“Why are you stopping? Attack!” Spit flew out of the leader’s mouth as he urged his men forward. “The man can barely stand!”
“It’s suicide. I don’t want to die!” one of the rebels protested.
There was further agreement and the rebels started to break off. But not all of them. At least a few dozen rebels remained and the leader offered one gold piece to whoever killed Arturo.
Arturo was shaking from the pain. He glanced over at Norman. “Follow me,” he said, surprised at how smooth his voice was. Norman nodded and stumbled up, clutching his right shoulder.
I can’t die here. I won’t die here. Arturo was determined to survive. He felt a second wave of energy come into him. It was what he needed to move toward the entrance. If he could keep this energy, perhaps he could escape with Norman. All he had to do was cut the rope to find out.
Make it to the rope and cut it down. Make it to the rope and cut it down. He repeated that thought as the rebels engaged him. There were so many bodies on the ground that he almost tripped over them. A few of the enemy did trip, making them easy pickings for Arturo, who spared no one in his way.
Five more rebels came at him and three ran away after he killed two of them. Norman fought someone trying to attack him from behind and killed the rebel. Arturo spit out blood and kept moving. His body was urging him to stop but he ignored it. The wounds were most likely fatal. He’d lost so much blood.
Arturo didn’t know how long he had been fighting. Somehow, he made it to the rope and leaned on his sword heavily when he noticed the rebels were being more cautious. It was hard to breathe and his vision was cloudy. Norman was moving toward him when two arrows pierced him in the back, sending him sprawling to the ground.
No. No! Let me save this man before I die, Arturo thought desperately. Why he wanted this, he couldn’t say. Was it for Tarmella? No, that wasn’t who he begged. She did nothing but watch. His exhaustion seeped away as rage took over. More rebels must have arrived, for those archers hadn’t been there a moment ago. A volley of arrows came at him, but none hit flesh. He cut the rope and the barrier crashed down with a loud bang.
He turned to see Norman was still alive. There was still a chance to save him, but how? Arturo couldn’t escape by himself. Any chance of living had slipped away and he started to accept his fate.
More rebels entered the fray and the rebel leader had a nasty smirk on his face. “It’s the end for you. Finish him!”
If Arturo had been a legend, he would have been able to kill all these rebels by himself. Much like Mujarin, the whirlwind knight had done so long ago. He gripped the handle of his sword, feeling the leather on the handle and braced himself.
The rest of the rebels charged. An odd peace came over Arturo. His previous thoughts of dying vanished as he thought about how he could make it out alive. He had to. He met their charge and the screams of rebels filled the night.
Darkness was all he knew. Where am I? He couldn’t feel his body. He felt no pain. There was nothing to see. Was he dead? Is this what happened when you died?
Light was breaking through the darkness. Shapes began moving, and he swore there was yelling somewhere nearby. Slowly, he started to feel something and the area around him brightened. The whole world was moving. Someone was speaking but he couldn’t hear the words.
A mouth. That was all he could see now, a mouth moving up and down and a blurry face. Blinking, Arturo realized his entire body was on fire! Now he understood why he felt the earth was shaking. His body was trembling as he was in unbelievable pain.
“By Tarmella’s grace! He’s still alive!” Tarmon exclaimed and shook Arturo’s body.
“S…stop,” Arturo said so weakly that Tarmon didn’t hear. “That doesn’t… feel… good.”
Tarmon stopped moving his body as relief swept over his face. “We need a healer!” he called.
Arturo gripped Tarmon’s’ forearm. “Did…Norman… make it?” he gasped. It hurt to move, let alone talk. No matter what he did, his entire body was in pain. He forced himself not to grimace when his arm flopped back to the ground.
“He is,” Corvin’s commanding voice said as he stood over him. “Thanks to you. Healers are on the way.”
“Did Arturo kill these men by himself?” someone said in the distance.
“No, he couldn’t have,” another said.
“Yes, he did,” Gosford said in awe. “There are so many bodies.”
I didn’t kill them all, Arturo wanted to say but couldn’t. Images of what happened were coming back to him. The rebels charging him. How long he fought, he couldn’t say, but he recalled collapsing to the ground as more soldiers entered the camp after he cut down the barrier. He had assumed they were rebels, but it had been the Crystal Syndicate, saving him.
“He didn’t kill them all,” Norman said. He was leaning against a soldier. “But he killed at least fifty by himself. Probably more.”
“The fifty-man slayer!” Kellan roared, which prompted the rest of the Crystal Syndicate to join in. “Fifty-man slayer! Fifty-man slayer! Fifty-man slayer!”
“I need to heal you or you might not make it,” Tarmon whispered to him. “Stay awake now.”
Arturo tried to nod and couldn’t move his head. “I’ll be… fine,” he muttered, then he passed out once again.