Read Online River of Spears (Kingdom's Forge Book 0) by Kade Derricks - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kade Derricks
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ration now, along with the water.”
“Won’t that remove the water from your body?” Tindall asked.
“No, the salt will trap fluids in your stomach.”
“But what about—”
“He’s right,” Nico interrupted in that strange voice of his. “The salt is good for you.” It was the first time he’d spoken since the meeting with Balerion. The Pyre Rider had stayed to himself, well away from the others, as they’d waited to start out. He too rubbed at his small feet now.
“Everything alright here?” Balerion asked as he approached, maneuvering his horse among them.
“All good here,” Dain said. “Any idea how close we are?”
“No. There’s open burn ahead, though. On the far horizon, a patch of black and gray. The shamen haven’t started regrowing it yet. We might be able to outrun them and break into the clear.”
“Will it be so easy?” Tindall asked, a note of hope in his voice.
Balerion leveled his eyes at Dain. The look said much. If it seems easy, it’s a trap. And one we have no choice but to step into.
Without another word, the big merc moved to the next group of men.
That night, the killing began. Tyberon spears flew from all around the camp. Not every spear hit a man but, compacted as the camp was, one in three did.
There could be neither rest nor mercy. For any of them to survive they had to travel fast, and the wounded would only slow them down. In the morning, a hundred men were left behind, and when the army was but a mile away they heard their screams as the Tyberons swept in and took them.
By midday they arrived at Balerion’s black patch only to find a fine green mat covering it. Step by step it grew taller until it reached knee height when they finally camped.
The sun set and the culling began anew. For three days it continued, the losses greater each day as more spears rained down.
Less than two hundred mercenaries remained when the Tyberons overwhelmed them. The hate-filled larks and cranes outnumbered the remnants of the Esterian army five to one. Like a great, rolling wave of spears and fury they swept over the broken expedition. Exhausted after days without sleep and miles of marching on low rations, many of the soldiers simply dropped their weapons in despair and collapsed.
Several mercs placed their swords down, hilt first, and then fell on their own blades. They did it without screams, without ceremony. One such man stood near Dain, his lips moving in a muted prayer. Little could be heard over the charging Tyberons’ war cries. The merc’s eyes closed. The blade slid into his body and out through his back. He smiled and, among the chaos, seemed to find peace in his last moments.
Balerion fell off to Dain’s left. Fighting like a man possessed and refusing to yield, a half-dozen Tyberons perished on his sweeping halberd before he died.
For his own part, Dain knew when he was beaten. He placed his own sword, blade first, into the ground and knelt before it.
He wasn’t sure what to expect. The Tyberons were a fierce people and the expedition had burned one of their cities and ravaged its people.
We will all be put to death .
There had been too much death already. He’d seen the Tyberon children piled up like cordwood behind one of their adobes, their silken hair plastered to their skulls by dried blood, their faces a mask of flies. His comrades had done that. That and worse.
He too was covered in the blood of the innocent. He had led the charge that broke the enemy. He studied his empty palms and waited for death.
It is good that it will end this way, he thought. At least the nightmares will be over.
Dain began praying to the Creator. Not for salvation—he didn’t deserve it, he couldn’t expect it—instead he asked for the Light’s forgiveness.
In life, he’d largely been a failure. His honor was gone. His ancestors would disown him in the next world as surely as his father and mother had disowned him in this one. But for that act, the sin he had
“Won’t that remove the water from your body?” Tindall asked.
“No, the salt will trap fluids in your stomach.”
“But what about—”
“He’s right,” Nico interrupted in that strange voice of his. “The salt is good for you.” It was the first time he’d spoken since the meeting with Balerion. The Pyre Rider had stayed to himself, well away from the others, as they’d waited to start out. He too rubbed at his small feet now.
“Everything alright here?” Balerion asked as he approached, maneuvering his horse among them.
“All good here,” Dain said. “Any idea how close we are?”
“No. There’s open burn ahead, though. On the far horizon, a patch of black and gray. The shamen haven’t started regrowing it yet. We might be able to outrun them and break into the clear.”
“Will it be so easy?” Tindall asked, a note of hope in his voice.
Balerion leveled his eyes at Dain. The look said much. If it seems easy, it’s a trap. And one we have no choice but to step into.
Without another word, the big merc moved to the next group of men.
That night, the killing began. Tyberon spears flew from all around the camp. Not every spear hit a man but, compacted as the camp was, one in three did.
There could be neither rest nor mercy. For any of them to survive they had to travel fast, and the wounded would only slow them down. In the morning, a hundred men were left behind, and when the army was but a mile away they heard their screams as the Tyberons swept in and took them.
By midday they arrived at Balerion’s black patch only to find a fine green mat covering it. Step by step it grew taller until it reached knee height when they finally camped.
The sun set and the culling began anew. For three days it continued, the losses greater each day as more spears rained down.
Less than two hundred mercenaries remained when the Tyberons overwhelmed them. The hate-filled larks and cranes outnumbered the remnants of the Esterian army five to one. Like a great, rolling wave of spears and fury they swept over the broken expedition. Exhausted after days without sleep and miles of marching on low rations, many of the soldiers simply dropped their weapons in despair and collapsed.
Several mercs placed their swords down, hilt first, and then fell on their own blades. They did it without screams, without ceremony. One such man stood near Dain, his lips moving in a muted prayer. Little could be heard over the charging Tyberons’ war cries. The merc’s eyes closed. The blade slid into his body and out through his back. He smiled and, among the chaos, seemed to find peace in his last moments.
Balerion fell off to Dain’s left. Fighting like a man possessed and refusing to yield, a half-dozen Tyberons perished on his sweeping halberd before he died.
For his own part, Dain knew when he was beaten. He placed his own sword, blade first, into the ground and knelt before it.
He wasn’t sure what to expect. The Tyberons were a fierce people and the expedition had burned one of their cities and ravaged its people.
We will all be put to death .
There had been too much death already. He’d seen the Tyberon children piled up like cordwood behind one of their adobes, their silken hair plastered to their skulls by dried blood, their faces a mask of flies. His comrades had done that. That and worse.
He too was covered in the blood of the innocent. He had led the charge that broke the enemy. He studied his empty palms and waited for death.
It is good that it will end this way, he thought. At least the nightmares will be over.
Dain began praying to the Creator. Not for salvation—he didn’t deserve it, he couldn’t expect it—instead he asked for the Light’s forgiveness.
In life, he’d largely been a failure. His honor was gone. His ancestors would disown him in the next world as surely as his father and mother had disowned him in this one. But for that act, the sin he had
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