From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [190]
Let the fear strengthen. Let it bolster your sword.
Fear. Was that his problem? Was he afraid?
As if there were any doubt.
At the top of the stairs, they ran through part of Castle Armonguard. Again Achan’s mind imagined scenes of a young boy and his parents walking together, talking. What part of the castle was this? Where would his bedchamber have been? Not likely on any ground floor.
They exited into a courtyard filled with the clamor of screams, clashing steel, and horses’ cries. From the number of red cloaks, Achan guessed the gates had been won and Sir Gavin had been let in. Achan followed Manu. The watchtower stood in the distance. A beacon calling him to arms. Green mage magic lit up the tower’s roof.
Achan ran past overturned carts, burned cottages, drooping tents, fighting men, dead men, and a few dead horses.
Gowzals circled overhead. Some swooped down and perched on the dead, feeding off the carnage. Achan kept his gaze fixed on the watchtower, until a great roar pulled his focus to the gate on his left.
Barthos, the beastly idol from Barth, swirled around the gatehouse. Achan could barely see Inko’s grey head as he stood before the beast, hands raised, no doubt chanting a rebuke.
Achan kept pace with his line as they ran around a charred structure and past a deserted blacksmith’s forge, snaking around dead men. They slowed down when they reached a grassy clearing. The whitestone watchtower loomed above, hundreds of men tangled in battle at its base. Esek would be up there. And Lord Nathak.
A chorus of “Lee-lee-lee-lee-lee!” and a line of Eben warriors charged, most waving long spears and shields, their pale foreheads marked with three black lines.
Achan crouched. He held his shield before him and set Ôwr’s flat against the edge, peeking over the pointed top. Cortland and Manu met the first two Ebens. Achan bounced on his toes, ready to meet the next one, but Toros darted in first and slashed at the Eben’s bare legs.
Four other Ebens circled to Achan’s right. Achan turned, watching them. Shung stood ready behind Achan, and Cole— covered in gleaming silver armor—clutched the Armonguard standard, his eyes peeled wide through the slot in his helm.
Stay back, Cole, Achan told him.
Three of the Ebens ran at Shung. Apparently, they found Shung the bigger threat. Achan couldn’t blame them. Shung expertly deflected each jab.
The last Eben clutched a club the size of Achan’s leg. He swung high. Achan kept his shield at middle guard, flinching as the wood arced toward his face. But as he hoped, the Eben reversed his swing and batted at his legs. Achan shifted his shield into low guard in time for the club to beat against it. Achan hacked over the top of his shield. His blade just missed the Eben’s elbow.
The giant swung for Achan’s legs again. Achan lifted his shield, expecting this to be a feint, but the blow stung his legs through his armor.
Achan stumbled and turned in time to block a spear thrust at his face. Another spear slid across the back of his neck. He rammed his shield against one spear, parried a jab from another, and raked his blade against the club on his backswing.
The Ebens were trying to separate them. Achan needed to get back with Shung. He lashed out and cleaved for his attacker’s legs. The Eben staggered, tripped over a fallen body, and fell onto his rear. He raised his shield over his head. Achan circled him, raining blows like an axe on a log. Splinters of wood and paint went flying. Three of Achan’s soldiers ran up and relieved him, so Achan sidestepped back to Shung and waved Cole to follow.
Sir Caleb’s voice boomed in Achan’s inner ear. Do not engage unless you must. We must get inside the watchtower, for that is where the wielders will be.
And Lord Nathak. His half-brother.
Go, Little Cham, now! Shung yelled as he finished the last of the three Ebens. To Manu.
Achan ran toward Manu’s dark hair and red cape. And the line was moving again. It lost form as they tried to pass through another melee. Manu stopped to deflect a blow. A man shrieked.