Book 2: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Kallan rolled the name around on his tongue, testing it. “Commander Kallan Keeganson.” He said quietly, and then grinned. He liked the sound of that. His first officers, Blod the miner and Connor of Drenna, rode by his side. He was glad to have a horse at last, and looked back with a feeling of pride at his small unit of handpicked men.

He would have liked to have Owen by his side, but he knew why he had gone.  He did not like it, but he knew that Owen had to follow his own path. He sighed, and then turned forward to the road ahead, the shod hooves clipping the stones on the roadway. The day was warm, the sun rising. It’s about time… he thought. The days had been cold since the blizzard that had struck before the battle.

Kallan thought about that battle often. The feeling of bone and flesh giving way before his blade… he would never forget that. The layer of blood that had dried on his skin, making him unrecognizable… the faces of dying men… he shook himself trying to shake off the images. No matter how much death repulsed him, there was a strange sense of power and alertness that came with battle.

He was very quiet, causing Connor to ask if anything was wrong. He broke out of his thoughts and grinned.

“No, just thinking.”

“Really?!” Connor said sarcastically, “I find that very hard to believe…”

Kallan grinned, not irritated at all by the friendly banter. “No, really, I do it quite a lot.” The two friends laughed.

Kallan stretched, sitting back in the saddle as they rode the winding road through the hills. It was Kallan who had suggested they send out outriders to protect the main force from imperial raiding parties. He was glad, for at midday a scout came running out of the hills, saying he had sighted a large group of imperial cavalry coming toward the eastern flank of the rebel army.

The rebels were quick to respond, setting up a shield line. When the cavalry charged out of the hills, their surprise attack failed and were routed by a stout defense. But after that, the rebels were much more alert. Kallan continually scanned the bluffs on either side.

He knew soon they would reach the first imperial obstruction; a gate that obstructed one of the most narrow places on the great road. He knew the imperials would try to make them go around, making the large force easy to attack. But they had a weapon. Kallan and his men had trained for exactly such a circumstance, and the plans were drawn up. He glanced back at the cart that held a number of barrels, and grinned.

It was evening when the gate came into sight, in a straight, narrow part of the road. On the bluffs on either side were two towers. Kallan scanned the fortification, realizing that the two towers would be hard to take, and they would make taking the gate much more difficult. He trotted up to the head of the line, where General Corwin had caused a halt.

“General…”

“Commander. What do you have to report?”

“My men are ready.”

“Good.”

“And sir…”

“Yes, Kallan?”

“We need to take those towers. On my suggestion, I would send two groups of soldiers off to either side to loop around and take the towers from the far side. Otherwise they will have us penned in here like sheep for slaughter. I’ve seen it before. In the mountains we used to drive a herd of animals into a ravine, and then we would block the entrances and fire down on them. I think this could be the same sort of trap if we go about it the wrong way.”

Corwin looked thoughtful. “I appreciate your concern, Keeganson, but I do not think that will be necessary. The entire force will press on. It does not look much steeper on this side, and I am sure we will have no trouble taking it with our larger force.”

Kallan nodded, looking troubled. General Wesley spoke up. “I believe the boy is right, General. This could easily become a trap.”

Corwin turned. “I am your Commander, Wesley. Take care to remember that. I have made my decision.” He turned his horse. “Bring up your unit, Kallan.”

Kallan dropped back. Connor and Blod were waiting. “Bring up the cart. We’re leading the attack.” He turned to Blod. “I am putting you in control once we reach the gate. You have the experience we need.” The grizzled man nodded. Kallan turned to Connor. “The other men will guard the miners.” Connor nodded.

Kallan rode forward.

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Kallan didn’t swear often, but this was one of those rare circumstances. He desperately tried to light a torch with a flint and steel, but it was not cooperating. He glanced upward, to where the shields of his men protected him and the miners.  The miners in front of him were placing the charges of powder into cracks in the stone wall. Arrows flew down from above.

Finally the pitch soaked torch caught, and he held it up as the miners continued their steady work. A soldier fell next to him.

“We have to get out of here!” he yelled to the miners. Blod nodded.

“Just another minute…”

Kallan looked up to the ridge on his right.  The force had made almost no progress. The rebel army was split, one half attacking one tower and one the other, but the hills were steeper than they had first seemed, and they were falling to a hail of arrows. Kallan swore again.

“WE HAVE TO BLOW THE GATE!”

He looked back once more, and his hope sunk. The rear of the army was now engaged. They were trapped. He began cursing again. Now was definitely the time.

Blod dropped the barrel, realizing there was no more time, and started drawing out a fuse. The miners placed the three partially emptied barrels around the base of the thirty foot gate, and Kallan called the retreat. Blod backed out, letting out the fuse.

“CUT IT!” Kallan was getting slightly desperate now. The miner cut it, and Kallan lit the fuse. It was only a few feet from the wall, and so he immediately began to run. The soldiers beat a hasty retreat. Two of his men fell.  Kallan felt an arrow pierce his back, but he kept running, going on despite the pain.

The explosion racked the air. Kallan felt the back of his head singed, and rubble fell all around him. He heard a second crash as the gate collapsed. Dust filled the valley. There was a quick moment of silence, and then the battle resumed. The rebel army now was surrounded. Enemy archers appeared on the slopes, raining arrows down upon the trapped soldiers. Kallan grabbed a deserted shield and held it over his head, ducking to avoid arrows.

He turned frantically, looking for somewhere to rally, but all he saw was chaos. To the north, a cloud of dust obscured what had once been the gate. To the south, the imperial cavalry pushed the rearguard back. To the east and west, archers fired down on them from above. Kallan looked around for his unit. They were still around him, trying to avoid arrows.

Kallan felt a pang of fear, and then a feeling of pain in his back from the arrow. He resisted the urge to pull it out, knowing it would only make him bleed out more quickly. He could still feel the blood running down his back, and he felt light headed.  He stumbled to one knee. He felt his heart pounding, and tried to rise, but the blood rushed to his head and he collapsed.

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Kallan woke up with an ache in his back. His head hurt and he felt awful. He was laying on his stomach, on the hard ground. He tried to roll over, but firm hands held him from moving. He heard a voice.

“Hold still.”

Kallan started to struggle, but then he felt relief as something was spread on the wound on his back.  Numbness extended over the wound, and he relaxed a bit.  The pressure was taken off, and he sat up slowly.

He was surrounded by several people. The survivors from his unit all stood in a circle around him.  Blod had been holding him down, and a thin healer was packing a bag. Kallan’s chainmail and shirt were on the ground next to him. He shivered suddenly, grabbing the shirt and sliding it on. He looked around.

“Well? What happened?”

Blod cleared his throat. 

                “After you collapsed, the battle went badly.” He paused for emphasis, then continued. “We were sure that the day was lost. Then Elliot of Merten began to rally the troops. He rescued Corwin from the midst of the battle, and then his men started firing on the enemy cavalry. Once Corwin had rallied his men, he charged the archers on the hill. He sustained many casualties, but they finally took the hillsides, and then the towers.” The older man shook his head. “This whole attack was a mistake. Don’t know what Corwin was thinking.” Kallan shook his head, more angry than sad. He pulled himself to his feet.

                “Who did we lose?”

                “Three men and two of my miners. Everyone is injured in some way, some more seriously than others. You,” he motioned to the wound on his back. “You were not the worst. A few have been carried off the field. We’re camping on the high bluffs. We did not want to move you, though.”

                Kallan shook his head. “I’ll move myself now.” He slid the chainmail shirt over his head and buckled on his weapons. He stretched, grimacing. He turned to Connor, who had just run up.

                “Where’s Corwin?” He growled angrily. He was not in the best of mood anyway thanks to his injury, but his typically lighthearted mood was altered by the fact that so many men had died completely unnecessarily because of his commanders foolish pride.

                Connor pointed to the west. “I believe they set up the command tent on the western bluff.” Kallan nodded shortly and stomped off up the hill. It was a long walk, but he used the pain to fuel his anger. When he reached the top, he saw the command tent, and walked toward it. Men had begun to set up camp. Kallan was to angry to notice, but the bluffs offered a very good overlook of the entire area.

                He pushed past the guards outside and stomped into the pavilion, his face nearly red with anger now. Kallan Keeganson was hard to anger, but when he was it was a sight to behold.  Corwin sat, his arm in a sling, at the head of the table, and his officers stood or sat nearby. Elliot of Merten seemed to be arguing quietly with Corwin. General Wesley sat, stonefaced, staring at the wall. Overall, the mood of the tent was that of anger, defeat, and confusion.

                When Kallan stabbed his dagger into the table everything went completely silent. They all stared at this lad, a hero of the rebellion, a boy who stood for everything they believed in… utterly angry. Corwin was the first to speak.

                “Kallan… it is good to see you back…” Kallan cut him off. His forefinger pointed in accusation at the general who he had so long striven to please.

“You are a fool!”

The atmosphere in the tent now was of surprise and a tense expectation. Even Corwin seemed to be shocked.

“You are a fool!” Kallan repeated, his finger still pointing in accusation. “YOU brought us into a trap against the intelligence of all your officers. YOU let your foolish pride take over and propel us into defeat. YOU are a foolish old man who knows not of the people. Do you think if we have victory you will become ruler? Do you think we want another foolish, arrogant old man as our ruler?” Kallan was bright red now. Corwin’s eyebrows narrowed and he began to stand, his mouth open to reply, but Kallan cut him off again.

“No! We want someone strong, young, and understanding. We want a leader who will listen to advice, and who does not use his power for his own glory. You have made what should have been a simple victory into a destructive defeat.”

Corwin cut in. “We had victory, Keeganson.”

Kallan looked at him scornfully. “If a victory is counted by who lost more men, I would say we suffered a defeat. Yes, we destroyed the enemy, who we vastly outnumbered… but because of our foolish leader, we lost more men than I can count!” He paused for breath, a vein pumping in his forehead. Corwin shook with anger.

“If you were a soldier I would have you hanged. But you are not. You are the hero of Ildiv, and to kill you would hurt more than it would help… but I warn you. I may not be able to kill you… but I will break your spirit.”

Kallan stood firm. “I turn the warning upon you, Corwin.” He spoke the name with distaste, leaving off the title. “For a General without an army is nothing, and if you continue this arrogance, your men will leave you. This is no idle threat.” Kallan looked past Corwin to Elliot of Merten. The young archer gave an almost unnoticeable nod.  “Corwin, I fight for your cause, not you. Take care to remember that.”

He turned on a heel and stomped out. Silence fell over the tent.

 

Book 2: Chapter 1

Yup, that's right. Revisions are done on Book 1, and I NEED A FLIPPIN' TITLE. Anyway. Revisions are done. You can go back and reread it if you have time, but most of it is just changing the role of the old man a bit (his name changed, as well. He's Ewan now) and changing some stuff that was sloppy. Anyway, without further ado, Chapter 1!

 

Chapter 1:

 

                Owen felt the track of the studded boot, his rough hand brushing the edge of the neatly imprinted mark in the dry mud. He swore to himself. It had been several days since rain, and the barbarians tracks would have taken time to dry. He stood, turning to the two horses, one of them ridden by an old man.

                Owen turned and threw a leg over the small mare, Willow, and kicked her into a trot, following the heavily beaten trail of the barbarian raiders.  He was tired, and sore. His wounds from the battle three days before ached painfully. He continued to scan the area ahead.

                He was not sure where they were, exactly, except that they were farther north than he had ever been.  He looked across the rugged terrain, covered in brush and rocks, and wondered if he would ever catch up to the raiders that had struck such a blow to both the rebellion and his heart. He turned, and began trotting up one of the tall, steep hills that filled this part of the empire.

                It was rough and rocky going, but he finally made it to the top, and looked across the expansive foothills.  Ahead, the foothills continued, but he could see something only a few miles ahead. A silver stream of water broke the rugged terrain, and sitting on top of it was a city. He brought out the map from his satchel.

                The city was Lengbridge, the military stronghold protecting Drenna from the south. The best crossing of the Leng River was protected by stone walls and a massive garrison, combined probably larger than the army that had attacked the rebellion.  Owen knew that going through it would be their best chance of keeping up with the barbarians, and people would know if the horde had passed through.

                He glanced back. To the south lay miles of rough terrain. Somewhere, he knew, was the town of Moransford, and further south, the rebel camp. His friend, practically brother, Kallan, was there. Owen looked north again, then steeled himself and trotted down the steep slope. 

The old man, Ewan, had not spoken since they broke camp early in the morning. Owen glanced back at him. The old man had followed him quietly for the past few days, not saying much, and not questioning Owen’s course.  Now the old man trotted up next to him.

“What do you plan to do when you find her?”

Owen was silent for a moment, slowing his horse to a walk. “I will have to see the situation before I do anything.”

The old man nodded. “Of course.” He thought for a moment, his tanned, wrinkled face utterly serious.  Owen thought silently for several minutes. The old man broke the silence.

“What happened to the other girl? Nai, was her name, correct?”

Owen nodded silently. “We weren’t… suited.” He said shortly. The old man seemed to be waiting. “It took me too long to realize that. I was always so shy… I always wished I could have gotten up the courage to talk to her… now I wish I had, just so I could have realized when things were simpler.” He sighed. The old man nodded slowly.

“Lessons are learned through mistakes. Remember it as a lesson, and don’t break yourself down over it.” The old man smiled. “The only way to learn is the hard way, through mistakes, or by listening to someone wise…” he smiled mischievously, “Like me, for example.” Owen smiled, and kicked his horse into a trot, signaling that the conversation was over for the time being.

His body ached from hard riding, but he knew he must continue on. He winced as his blisters scraped against the saddle through his trousers. He sat up, trying to relieve some of the pressure by placing all of the weight in the stirrups, but he was so tired that his legs soon grew sore. He finally resigned himself to the pain.

Ewan hummed quietly while they rode, and Owen was silent. He had much to think of and plenty of time.  Finally he looked up.

“Why has this all happened?”

Ewan looked a bit surprised. “All of what?”

“Everything… why? Why must so many die? And why must fate lead me through such a winding path of terror?”

Ewan frowned. “I cannot answer that, as I do not have the power to sit on the banks of the river of time and see all that has and will happen. All that I know is that for all things there is a purpose. For every evil deed there is a happy ending. You may never have peace.” He sighed.

                Owen sat, wondering, his thoughts went from place to place, travelling in a disjointed circle until they came to rest on one subject: his father. Martin, the soldier, the scout, a father for only a short time… suddenly, something clicked in his head. Cardowac… Martin… He experienced a mixed reaction of fear, hEwan, and anger as something seemed to fall into place.  No… it can’t be…

A dream… two boys, raised together in a small village. One joined the army; another joined the rebels destined to form the empire. One was betrayed; another was the betrayer. One was a father; the other killed him.  Owen tried to comprehend what he knew to be true, but he had no proof…  Owen turned and looked at the old man, desperate for someone to confirm this terrible thought.

“Did you know my father?”

Ewan seemed caught off guard. “Martin?”

Owen looked up in surprise. “You did know him!”

Ewan shook his head. “No, only briefly.”

Owen pulled up, stopping his horse. “Yet you know he was my father?”

Ewan seemed to stiffen, as if he had said more than he wanted to already. He was silent. Owen’s eyebrows narrowed.

“You know him more than you care to tell… who are you? What do you want? Why are you following me? What are you not telling me?”

The old man sat silently for a moment, appearing trapped. “I am just an old man who has seen some potential in a certain lad, and thinks that his quest is just. I only want to be an aid to the boy.”

Owen frowned. “What of Cardowac? Do you know of him?”

The old man nodded slowly. “Yes, I knew him.”

Owen looked at him. “Did he kill my father?”

Ewan stiffened again. “If the note pinned with an arrow to your fathers back was truly his, yes.”

Owen looked at the old man carefully. “How do you know this?”

“I was told.”

Owen scowled at the old man’s evasiveness. “By whom?”

“Someone who was very close to your father.”

“Who?”

The old man remained quiet. “I will answer no more prying questions, Owen. My own life is my own business.”

Owen frowned, trying to decipher this riddle, but thought it best to end the conversation for now. He turned and rode through the rugged and beautiful terrain toward Lengbridge

 

Another Update

Good news! I am almost done with revisions, and there were not as many as I thought... but it was a different person writing those first chapters, I swear... my writing style has changed quite a bit since then... and the way I look at the world is different... I've grown with the book. Anyway. Now it's time to start uploading updated versions, and then BOOK 2!

Update

Yeah, so I haven't really posted anything lately... but I assure you, I've been writing! The story continues, but I am not posting it for a while yet. For one thing, the version of the first book you see here is just the first draft. It still is undergoing a lot of revisions. When I'm done with it, there will be many things different. I'll let y'all know when it is all updated, but I won't be posting book two till then.

Cheers!

Aidan

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

               

                Suddenly the weight disappeared from his chest, and he opened his eyes in surprise. He sat up, and realized the pounding was the sound of hooves on the dry ground. He watched as the rebel horsemen knocked down and speared the barbarians as they looted the camp, beginning to drive them back.  Owen pulled himself clumsily to his feet, ignoring the numerous wounds and bruises he had acquired.

                Owen began to plod forward, looking through the ruined and broken landscape of tents and bodies.  The barbarians had not been prepared for the startling counterattack, and many had died, though a large group had retreated, running in long loping strides away into the forest as Corwin and his men pursued them.

                He turned, looking out on the battle, and saw that the imperial army had been driven back as well. He was overwhelmed by the sheer number of dead on the field.  He began to limp toward the front line, as the crows descended on the battle field.  So many dead…  He thought, looking across it. He stumbled on the body of an imperial soldier, almost falling, and his stomach filled with revulsion. Bile filled his mouth, and he spit it out, coughing. He felt sick.

                He continued to limp onward, until he reached the front line. The trench was heaped with bodies from both sides, though he saw that the imperial troops had not made as much progress as the barbarians on the unprotected flank.  The body count extended out into the field, where the rebels had launched their sortie on the slowly retreating empire.

                He looked across the groups of survivors, as they began to move through the field, looking for others who had survived the battle. Owen was staggered again as he reached the worst area of the battle. So many… at least we weakened them… but I think the cost for us might have been more highly paid… A hand touched his shoulder, and he instinctively brought up his mattock, his nerves still on edge. He whipped around, seeing Kallan. He was almost unrecognizable under a layer of blood.

                Kallan stepped back Owen brought up the mattock.

                “It’s me!”

                Owen lowered it, standing in shock for a moment, before dropping his weapons and embracing his friend. They hugged for a quick moment, then stepped back.

                “You survived, I see.”

                “Yes. And you as well.”

                Kallan looked him over. “I was worried after the barbarians destroyed our flank…”

                “It was close. I almost died multiple times.”

                “Same.”

                They stood silently for a moment, before looking across the field, as Corwin and his horsemen returned, riding through the battlefield. Kallan looked up.

                “It was really the General and our cavalry that saved us, along with the archers of Merten… they caused enough damage together that they were able to drive them back. We kept them occupied while the horsemen flanked them… used their own strategy against them.” He looked out on the field.

                “They began to retreat after several charges… the archer leveled many of them before they reached the barricade, and then we kept them back… they came in droves.”

                Owen nodded. “Same. We were driven back… I think our greatest losses were probably from the barbarians. They may not have the discipline of the empire, but they make up for it in sheer force… they piled right over the trench.” Kallan looked up as Corwin rode up nearby.

                “What news, General?”

                “We destroyed the stragglers, but many escaped into the foothills. The imperial army is in full retreat, regrouping in the hills. I think we have hurt them enough to keep them away for a time.” He turned his horse and galloped off to the east.

                Owen looked across the field once more.  Was this worth it?

 

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                Owen walked slowly toward the healers tents, careful to keep the weight off his injured leg.  He wondered if he looked as terrible as he felt. The ground was slush and mud, splashing up onto his boots. He trudged through the mud and squalor, stepping over bodies and the wounded. He stumbled, falling to one knee, sinking into the mud.

                He slowly pulled himself to his feet, using his mattock like a cane, and continued to walk. The wind blew through his shaggy hair, and he felt a sudden chill, even through the sweat of his armor and leather.  He finally reached the circle of tents that formed the healers tents, and to his horror, realized that they had been destroyed.

                He ran across the bloody, battle torn ground, to where the tent where Gwen had been. No longer.  As he stepped through the tent flap, he knew he would not find her in the wreckage. He dropped to his knees, a tear slipping from his eye, and trickling down his bloodstained face. He turned with a feeling of despair. The old man, Ewan, stood in front of him, holding a staff and a rucksack over his shoulder. In his right hand were the reins of two horses. Owen recognized one of them, Willow.

                “On your feet boy!”

                Owen looked up with an expression of confusion. 

                “They haven’t gone far! Climb aboard, and we can free her before they reach the empire.”

                Owen jolted to his feet. “You mean…”

                The old man looked at him gruffly, then handed him Willows reins. “She’s not dead, no. But she might be if you don’t hurry!” Owen pulled himself aboard the shaggy horse, and the man passed him the rucksack. Owen winced at his injuries, but kicked the horse into a gallop out of the camp. He glanced back once, to see the old man riding close behind him.

                He barely thought, his only thought to catch the barbarians before anything happened to Gwen. He made his way up the rocky ridge, through the trees, as his injuries burned with pain. He felt the branches clawing his face and hands, and his heart pumped so hard it seemed to want to escape his chest. He finally reached the top of the ridge, and looked out across the empire. The air was surprising clear, and Owen could see far across the wide, yellow plains. Far below was the small village of Moransford. Across the plain lay a great city.

                The enemy army retreated slowly, but far in the distance he could see the dust from the remaining barbarians. He gritted his teeth. Will they always be my greatest enemy?

                A bit of blood trickled down his forehead, but he ignored it. Ewan rode up beside him, white hair swept back. Owen glanced over at him, grim, and then with a kick to Willows ribs, he started forward, into the empire. His newest quest had begun.

 

So ends Book 1. Owen’s adventures will continue in Book 2

Chapter 32

Chapter 32

 

                Owen sat on a stool, watching Gwen sleep. His head was on his hands, his brow furrowed with thought. He glanced back at the sound of footsteps entering the sick tent where several people were laying. Kallan was entering.

                “Your meeting with the council went well?”

                Owen nodded. “Mmhmm.” He looked at the sleeping girl. She looked much more peaceful. The woman who had been taking care of her said she had even woken up earlier, but she was in and out of unconsciousness. Owen worried. He shook his head. Stop worrying, Owen… she’ll be fine… why am I so worried? He looked up at Kallan.

                “How goes it?”

                “Fairly well, and you?”

                “Decent.”

                Kallan nodded. “The army has done nothing since they appeared yesterday, but they seem to be readying themselves for battle. It won’t be long, I don’t think.”

                Owen nodded. “I wish they’d all catch plague. That would make this a bit more simple.”

                Kallan smiled grimly. “Heh. But unfortunately that seems quite unlikely.”

                “Can’t hurt to hope.”

                There was silence for a moment as Gwen stirred, then woke with a start. Her eyes shot open, squinting.

                “Where am I?” She said after a moment, her voice hoarse. Owen moved a bit closer. “You are with the rebels… it’s Owen… you are alright.”

                She looked up at him. “Owen! What… where… what happened?”

                “We got away.”

                She smiled. “Thank you.” Owen glanced back. “I should go…”

                She nodded. “Goodbye!” She smiled happily, albeit a bit weakly. “See you again soon?”

                Owen nodded, grinning despite himself. “Soon.”

                He turned and made his way out of the tent. Kallan didn’t follow him, but he paid it no mind, and made his way to the front line, where the soldiers were formed up. He saw a lone rider making his way down the hill. Owen dropped in behind where Corwin and several other council members stood on the embankment.

                The horseman grew close, until he came into bowshot, and drew yet closer. Owen realized he held a white flag on a spear. It was an ominous symbol. Finally the rider came into speaking distance, and he called out loudly.

                “I come from Lord Cardowac, representing the All-powerful Emperor!  We order you to surrender, else you be slaughtered! Our army is strong, well trained, and much larger than yours. You would do well to surrender now and spare yourselves death, along with all the women and children that are with you.”

                  A stir went through the line of soldiers. General Corwin stepped forward, a tall man in a green tunic that Owen did not recognize standing behind him. To Owen’s surprise, it was this man, and not Corwin, that spoke. His voice was loud and strikingly clear.

                “And what is your alternative? That we bow to the abuses of our ‘all-powerful emperor’? Or that we become slaves for those that have his favor? For I say no. I say no, I shall not bow to this emperor and his lords who seek to keep the lowly low, and hold the common man in a place of poverty and slavery. If I must give up my freedom, I will fall upon my sword gladly! But I would rather seek the honor of fighting with my last breath to destroy this foul scar on the earth.”

                He turned, as a profound silence fell over the soldiers. The enemy messenger sat silent for a moment, then turned his horse.

                “Very well. Should you change your mind, we will be waiting." He wheeled round and galloped back up the hill.  Corwin turned round, seeming perturbed.

                He turned with a flourish of his cloak and climbed back onto his horse, galloping back toward the center of the camp. The council members followed as the soldiers began to filter back to their tents. Owen looked up at the warm sun, beating down and turning the snow into mud.

                For the next few weeks, battle seemed on the horizon. Owen waited, and waited, but it never came. Owen spent time with Gwen and Kallan, savoring the last times of moderate peace before all hell broke loose. He learned that the girl was actually older than him, which surprised him greatly, but somehow did not deter the feeling growing in his chest.

               Finally, the horseman came over the hill again. This time the negotiations were short. The imperial messenger once again asked for surrender, and it was denied. He rode away, a scornful look over his shoulder.

              "Prepare to die in the way you see fit."

              Owen thought about going back to the healers tents to see Gwen, but he decided to instead go back to his unit. Kallan had told him he wished to bring him in to his own unit once he gained a position of command, but for now he was still with Commmander Redwill. He looked once again back up to the high position on the ridge where the camp of the enemy had been set.  He knew from what he had seen that it had to spread far over the other side.

                He pushed aside the tent flap and made his way past the beds of the other men, until he came to his own bed. A few soldiers rested in the dim tent, trying to get rest for the coming battle. There was an air of tense silence over the entire camp, but in the warm dim darkness of the tent, it seemed to close in. He laid out his armor, readying it for the battle, then grabbed what he had come for, and left the claustrophobic atmosphere of the tent.

                Outside of the tent, men sat, quietly playing a dice game with vertebrae of a rabbit. The passed around a flask of strong whiskey, trying to distract themselves from the quiet tenseness. Owen carried the sword under his arm and trotted through the camp to where Kallan was camped. He knocked on a tent post, and the strangely accented voice of a miner allowed him entrance.

                He ducked inside. “Is Kallan here?” A few of the miners were inside, also restlessly fidgeting. One of them, who he recognized as their leader, looked up at him. “Think ‘e went to the healers tents again with that boy, Collin. Think a girl has caught his eye.” He chuckled and winked, and all of the miners laughed heartily. Owen thought it was a bit forced, and they found it a bit too funny. He nodded and headed back out to the healers tents.

                He found Kallan and Collin where he expected, chatting with Gwen. Her eyes lit up as he walked in, sitting on the foot of her bed, the only free seat.

                “I knew Collin in Ocih!” Owen raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Really?”

                She nodded happily. “He was a good friend, before he was taken.”

                Collin nodded, grinning. Owen smiled. “How’re you feeling?"

               "Much better! I just want to be let out of this silly bed..."

                “You look much better.” Gwen had been steadily recovering over the past few weeks. She now looked healthy, and happy, and Owen couldn't help smiling when he was around her. Her bubbling joy was contagious.

                 He looked at Kallan. “I brought something for you.” Kallan raised an eyebrow. Owen pulled the cloth off of the sheathed sword. “I know you lost yours in Ildiv… I won’t use it, but It’s better than your old sword.” He held it out. Kallan drew it slowly out, looking over the flawless blade. He stood, a gleam in his eye, and held it out at arm’s length.

                He spun, and slashed, then spun the blade and jumped a few feet to his right, then let it whistle through the air, sticking in the ground. He grinned. “Much better.” He looked at Owen. “Many thanks. It’s balance is much closer to what I’m used to.” He slid the sheath onto his belt and sheathed the sword, sitting back down.

                The friends resumed their conversation, Owen sitting at Gwen’s feet, mostly just listening, but speaking up occasionally.  He felt an odd pang of jealousy from Kallan and Collins automatic friendship with Gwen, but he just pushed it off on Kallan’s automatic friendliness. It was odd… the feeling in his heart had begun to grow to a hope, and he was not sure what would come of it. It was too unclear. And today, on the eve of battle, he was not going to allow any feelings grow. He finally excused himself, and set off to walk alone, leaving his friends to talk without him.

                He walked at a leisurely pace through the camp, in the general direction of the training area and the armory. Men restlessly paced through the camp, seeming to have the same idea as Owen. The still and quiet unnerved him. He finally reached the armory, where the head armorer of the rebels, a short, busy, man, outfitted soldiers to best fight in the battle to come. He seemed to be excited, invigorated by the challenge of outfitting each man. Owen waited his turn behind several others, watching as the little man tested each man with axes, spears, and flails.

                After a wait of a bit less than an hour, it was his turn, and the armorer began to ask him questions.

                “Do you use a shield? What training do you have? What is your primary role?”

                He had Owen spar him several times, testing his use of each weapon. The flail felt wrong in his hand, and he felt as if he was going to knock his own head off. One of the axes was much too heavy, and he knew he would barely be able to lift it, much less make any use of it in battle. There was nothing wrong with the sword, but he felt that he was not a strong enough sword fighter to make good use of it. He began to grow frustrated, until he saw an odd implement, one he had not yet tested. It had a handle about as long as his leg, fairly thin, but strong enough. One side of the head was square and flat, like a hammer. The other side tapered into a sharp spike. Owen pointed to it.

                “What is that?”

                The armorer picked it up.

                “This is a mattock, used for mining and digging in the mines of Ildiv. You can brain a man with this, or spike him with the rear end… a fine weapon, though quite unusual.”

                Owen took it from him and spun it with one hand. It felt natural, so he flipped it between his hands, before standing in a fighting position. He swung it down, smashing it on a nearby table, breaking a board, and then lifted it with two hands and drove the spike into the ground. He spun it around his head, and then grabbed a round shield, wielding the mattock with one hand. He moved around a bit, practicing a bit, before the armorer came at him with a sword. He gave the blade a rap with the flat side of the mattock and then used it like a hook to flip the sword out of his hand. He grinned, his heart pumping.

                “I’ll take it.”

                The armorer smiled widely, looking pleased with himself. “You’ll need a shield, and a spear, of course…”  He turned and began to look through the racks of weapons, finally bringing out a spear several feet longer than Owen was tall. Owen slipped the mattock into his belt, and then took the spear, spinning it between his fingers, and testing its weight. He took up the same shield he had practiced with, nodding to the armorer.

                “Thank you.”

                The strange little man grinned broadly, waving him on as another soldier took his place. Owen made his way back across the camp, toward his own tent. After leaving his spear and shield with his mail and helm, he trotted back toward the healers tents, his leg throbbing. He ignored the pain, finally reaching the tent where Gwen was camped. She was alone now, dozing lightly. He sat down, not wanting to wake her.

                He sat patiently for a few moments, until an old man appeared through the tent flap, his wild hair frizzing about and his beard hanging down to his chest.  Owen recognized him as Orror, the first healer he had met when he first arrived in the mountain. The man recognized him as well, it seemed, for he grinned broadly.

                “How goes it, Owen?”

                Owen smiled. “As well as I can get in such a situation…”

                The old man sat down on another stool, pulling himself up. “Aye, I see…” He suddenly grew solemn. “Our first battles have been easy, but it will be more difficult from here… They have time to indoctrinate their people against us, defeating the public support we have had so far… and the more cities we take, the more our forces will be spread thin.”

                Owen nodded, listening, as the old man suddenly grew jovial again. “But we have good and right on our side! So it’ll all come out alright… just at a cost.”

                Owen looked back at Gwen, and saw she was now awake. The old man stood. “Owen, I am sure I will see more of you. Do me a favor, and don’t die tomorrow, eh?”

                Owen nodded. “I’ll do my best.” The old man bobbed off to his business, as Owen turned to Gwen. “How goes it?”

                She smiled. “Good… I got some sleep.” She looked out the door. “I feel much better, but I do wish that they would let me out. I’ve been growing restless…” She looked at him. “What about you?”

                He smiled. “Feeling well… been preparing for battle… the whole camp is.” He looked back in the direction of the ridge. “The enemy just sits there, and we know they are ready to crush us in a single blow.” He leaned back on the stool. “I don’t have much reason to fight now. Just my own preservation and for revenge for my family…” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t burden you with my own troubles.”

                She looked at him. “Oh, I don’t mind…”

                He just sighed. She watched him for a moment, before the sound of yells and thuds sounded outside. Owen quickly jumped to his feet, pulling the mattock from his belt, and running out the entrance of the tent. He looked up to the crest of the hill, and realized that trebuchets had been erected on the very top, and they were firing down into the camp. Owen swore as scraps of rock and wood landed among them.

                There were pebbles that caused very little trouble, but there were also chunks the size of Owens head or larger that caused considerable damage. Owen watched as tents were flattened, and several men killed or injured as the massive rocks landed in the camp. Chaos and fear. That is what they seek to use against us… he thought, looking with dismay upon the siege machines. After a few moments, they ceased. Owen went back into the tent, where Gwen sat with frightened eyes.

                “They’re raining rocks down upon us.” He looked grim. She pulled the blanket up around her shoulders.

                “Did they stop?”

                “Aye, for now at least.”

                He sat down again, and they sat silently. She looked at him. “How is Willow?”

                “Safe with my horse….” He paused. “Back at our camp.”

                She nodded, looking relieved. “What is your horse’s name?”

                “Pardon?”

                “His name! He has to have a name…”

                Owen paused for a moment. “Well… he doesn’t have one, if I recall…”

                She looked at him askance for a few seconds. “What?! You have to name him! Now!” She looked down, thinking quickly. “You must think of something! You can’t have him without a name…”

                So they went on for several hours, just talking, wasting time, and trying to name his horse. Owen told her more stories from the mountains, and of his childhood, and she in turn told him of the very different life she lived on the open plains. He enjoyed having someone to talk to besides Kallan, and it distracted him from the coming storm. It was evening when he finally decided to go. He stood, and turned to leave.

                “Owen…” He turned.

                She took his hand, and held it tight for a moment. “Don’t die?”

                He nodded solemnly. “I will do my best.”

                She smiled, and then lay back on her cot. He turned swiftly as a tear came to the corner of his eye and bolted from the tent. He ran through the camp, looking up towards the ridge, where the flames of campfires stood out against the darkness.  He ducked into his tent and pulled himself under the covering of his cloak.

                He began to count the days and weeks on his fingers, realizing it had been months since the destruction of the village. It had been weeks  in the mountains, then coming down the pass, red rocks, the rebels… he lay back, realizing how much he had changed just since joining the rebellion. He continued to count down to the exact day, and then had a realization. He let out a quiet, grim chuckle as he realized that his sixteenth birthday was tomorrow. He would come of age in blood and war. For so long he had dreamed of the day he would come of age, but it did not seem that it would be as he had ever expected.

 

                He rolled over, realizing the grim irony of it all. He had to become a warrior, or he would not survive.  But he did not want to turn into a man of steel and blood… he wanted to keep an identity through it all. He wondered if it was possible to not lose a part of yourself in this war. He sighed, rolled over, and fell asleep into dreams of gore-crows and flashing steel.

               

************************************************************************************

 

                Owen woke to the sound of screams and crashing. A bit of faint light came through the tent flap, and the men were on their feet, quickly arming themselves. He slipped his mail shirt over his head, tying the leather straps on the front, and then quickly pulled on his brown infantry tunic. 

                He strapped on his thick belt, making sure his dagger and mattock were firmly attached, then slid his knife into his boot sheath and pulled his bow and quiver onto his back. He left his cloak, knowing in battle it would only be a hindrance, and threw his shield over his shoulder. The other men were moving out the door as he grabbed his spear and moved outside.

                It was early, but it was not hard to see what was happening. The enemy trebuchets had begun to fire again, raining havoc into the rebel camp. Owen followed Commander Redwill through the camp as they headed for the trench. Every able bodied man in the camp was armed and ready, moving toward the front line. Owen glanced back toward the healers tents, hoping no damage had been taken by the massive stones.

                They stood in position directly behind the mound of dirt, looking over it and up the ridge. All was silent and unmoving save for the men busy around the five catapults. Owen instinctively winced as a stone whistled over their heads, headed for somewhere not far behind them. And then the imperial army came into view.

                In strict rank and file, shoulder to shoulder, they began to seep down the ridge, covering it red and silver, as if the ridge was bleeding. Owen gripped his spear, and his body grew tense as the enemy continued to advance. He began to sweat with fear, though it was still cold. He reached up and wiped it with the back of his gauntleted hand, as Redwill turned to face his men.

                “Men, some of us will die today. I will not seek to hide that from you. And yes, fear will be in your hearts. But let that fear drive you forward, using it as fuel against your enemies. For courage, men, is acting against odds that no one can fight, acting with fear in your hearts, not letting it stop you.” He looked each man in the eyes, as he slid his round helm over his head.

                “So fight for your families, and fight for your homes that will be when this brutal war is over.”  He turned, drawing his massive pole axe, with its mighty spike, from his back, and braced it, turning to face the enemy. The men all stepped forward and braced their spears as the enemy continued to move like a creeping flow. Then they stopped.

                The two sides faced off for several minutes. They were now directly ahead, spreading back up the ridge. Owen somehow felt that something was not right, and that the enemy was waiting for something. The feeling of unease spread over all the rebels, a murmur of apprehension from man to man.  Then all hell broke loose.

                Owen looked to his left, into the foothills, and saw the chaotic mass of barbarians swarming from the trees toward their flank. The wide looping trench covered most of the ground, but it was also the least defended part of the camp.  They reached the defenses almost before the rebels had a chance to comprehend what was happening. But Owen knew.

                He looked to his right, and locked eyes with Kallan, further down the line. They both realized what was happening. The rest of the wild tribes had been brought into play. Owen stepped to his Commanders side.

                “Commander Redwill, these are the Men of the Mountains. The empire has made an alliance with them. They destroyed our village. They know no mercy, and are extremely dangerous.” Redwill turned, as Corwin galloped up on his charger.

                “Commander, it seems we have another force to deal with.” He looked grim. Redwill turned. 

                “The Men of the Mountains, Owen says.”

                Corwin looked down on him. “You have seen them before?”

                “They are the ones who destroyed our village.”

                Corwin nodded. “The left flank needs reinforcements, if we are to prevent the barbarians from swarming into the camp. Move, commander. I hold in good faith that you will hold them back.”

                Redwill nodded, yelling for his men to form up. They began to trot quickly down the trench, behind the rest of the rebel forces. Owen looked to his right, and heard the twanging of bow strings as the two sides began to exchange fire, and the enemy began to march forward. He did not have much time to watch the fight, though, for soon they had reached the flank, and saw the devastation that the barbarians had already wreaked on the camp.

                 Men lay dead in the trench from both sides, and the defenders were locked in desperate combat on top of the mound, holding back the massive wave of enemy berserkers. Owen recognized them. He wondered if any were here who had destroyed his village. Owen took a deep breath, and then plunged into the battle with a war cry, the yells of his comrades all around him.

                Owen stabbed forward, spitting a bare chested man with a bone helmet. He blocked the blow from a club with his shield, jarring his arm, then stabbed again, sticking in the gut of the large man who had attacked him. The man fell, almost pulling the spear from Owen’s hand as he blocked several more blows. He wrenched the spear from the corpse, and stabbed again, this time missing a vital area and slicing open a barbarian’s leg. It howled in anger, then grabbed the spear, and whipped it out of Owen’s hand. He spun it expertly and stabbed at Owen. Owen caught the blow on his shield, trying to get his mattock out from his belt. The man pulled it from the shield and brought it back for another blow, but Owen kicked him in the chest, knocking him off balance. The man fell back onto a spike in the trench.

                Owen pulled his mattock from his belt, cursing. Another man came up to take the last ones place, climbing over the bodies of dead men. Owen swung downwards, letting gravity and the forward motion do most of the work as the hammer head collided with his chest, smashing it inward. Owen took the slight break to glance back toward the rest of the camp, and saw that the imperial army had almost reached the trench. The Merten archers were doing their job well, cutting large gaps in the soldiers.

                Owen had little time to contemplate the rest of the battle, for a massive berserker jumped over the spikes, right in front of Owen. He swung his claws at Owen, who blocked with his shield, feeling the wood crack with the force of the blow. He swung the mattock with all his strength. The massive barbarian, seeming more animal than human, blocked with his hand, but Owen heard the hand break as the mattock smashed it.

                He glanced back, realizing that the barbarians were pushing them back. He braced his foot on the mound and slammed his shield into the man’s head, then swung the spike side of the mattock up into the man. He fell backwards, knocking down several more, but they continued to swarm over the mound, until Owen and his fellows fought among the tents.

                The battle seemed to drag on like a nightmare as the sun rose higher. Men fell all around him, and the ground was full of bodies. He was surprised he was still alive, but he didn’t have much time to think. He would knock one barbarian down with his mattock, and then another would take its place, as they were slowly pushed back into the camp. Commander Redwill still stood, killing the enemy with mighty swings of his massive pole axe, sometimes more than one at once. Owen made his way slowly closer to Redwill, partly out of a desire to stand beside the mighty warrior, and aid him, but also at the small idea that maybe, maybe, he would be able to survive longer with Redwill nearby.

                Owen looked back again once more, and noticed that the actual imperial troops had made little progress. Corwin had flanked them with the small rebel cavalry, causing confusion, and the archers of Merten as well had caused much damage to the advancing ranks of soldiers. Owen looked around, realizing he was surrounded, the barbarians swarming into the camp.

                A sudden explosion of energy and adrenaline came to his limbs as he realized that they were causing havoc among the tents. Given long enough, they would reach the healers tents. Owen smashed in the rough helm of the nearest barbarian, and then began to sprint, running through the battle. He heard Redwill call something after him, and he glanced back, but he heeded it not, continuing to run. The left flank had been eradicated, destroyed, and torn apart by the furious barbarian assault.

                Owen wasted no time, though he was exhausted. He ran through the camp, avoiding the barbarians as they pillaged the tents. They were spread out, knocking things down, destroying tents, and stealing anything they could lay their hands on.

                A pounding filled his ears, and he tripped, sprawling on the ground. He rolled onto his back in time to see a warrior above him, ready to bash his head in with a vicious looking club.  The pounding grew louder as he accepted his death. He closed his eyes as he felt the weight of the man on his chest, holding him down. The pounding grew almost unbearable, and he gave himself over to death.