Arcane Mercenaries: Insurrection, page 34
“Scum of the earth. Filth of the nations,” the leader growled and advanced on the group.
Church fanatics, definitely, Grant mused. He felt the initial energy wave stifling his abilities as the lead knight brandished his shield forward like a mystical talisman. The crimson star glimmered in the uncanny fire as though it possessed an inner life force.
Perhaps it did.
Rienne wouldn't perceive the difference, nor would Jakar's cavalry.
The Order of the Star was well-equipped and armored, and this was a proficient group. They hadn't noticed Grant's troops sneaking through the darkness, but the knights cautiously proceeded. Time favored them as they awaited backup.
Grant lunged forward first and grunted as their swords clashed. The initial exchanges were exploratory as the mercenaries squared off against the knights. Rienne's lighter weapon was a disadvantage against the knights' arms and armor, but she had to endure until Grant or Jakar overcame their adversaries.
She had proven her capability for that.
Swords clashed again, and individuals roused from nearby campfires at the disturbance. From the metallic crackles of Jafran's work to the melee at the circle's edge, the activity was too intense to be chalked up to nightly routines.
The knights fought defensively, avoiding reckless swings and never leaving the safety of their shields. They fought with finesse and expertise but shared the same vulnerabilities as their church comrades. Their maneuvers, perfected in training grounds against equal opponents, were textbook.
Grant and his friends didn’t fight in a textbook manner, and they outmatched the knights without using their StarTouched abilities. They worked to split them into individual fights, not giving them the advantage of their shield wall.
Grant and Jakar slashed and struck at shields, exploited every vulnerability, and relentlessly exerted pressure to disband the group. The knights were oblivious to the strategy until it was too late to reclaim their positions.
Grant feinted with his long blade and drew his dagger, almost catching a knight unawares as the light blade darted towards an exposed underarm. The knight managed to evade the sharp steel just in time. Normally, Grant could have utilized his gravitational pull at this moment, but the suppressive energy of the knight's shield prevented him from using his power.
So he tripped the man instead. An overhead swipe followed by a low kick was an unexpected combination that left the man sprawled on the ground, dazed and disoriented.
Grant pinned the man's shield with his foot to prevent its defensive use. The knight flailed with his sword, but his strikes were clumsy with his other hand trapped by the shield's straps. Grant parried the blow, and the man attempted to mimic Grant's earlier move with a desperate kick.
Jakar's cavalry came to Rienne's aid. She was holding her own, but the duel could drag on if left unresolved. Faced with overwhelming odds, her opponent surrendered.
Jakar fought with the precision and fluidity of an experienced cavalry officer. His opponent struggled to block the relentless, sweeping attacks. The knight’s mail armor yielded to Jakar's blade, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. The man finally conceded, opting to surrender rather than meet his end at Jakar's hand.
Grant's opponent, however, was a different matter. The man swiped, thrashed, swung, and struggled with one arm pinned to the ground. He screamed obscenities at Grant and pleaded for help from his companions. Grant had no choice but to run him through when the man reached for his dagger. The man's life ebbed away, his once vibrant eyes now glassy and lifeless.
The thunderous boom of Ez's musket reverberated through the night. An orange fireball briefly illuminated the surroundings before fading into the darkness. The sound of an armored man collapsing followed her shot. She immediately prepared her second weapon.
Grant saw more knights, accompanied by a dozen soldiers, darting around the campfires toward them. Every available soldier in the vicinity appeared to have been mobilized against them.
Ez fired again, landing a shot in a knight's throat. The man toppled over, taking two comrades with him in his fall.
“Get rid of the shields,” Grant ordered two of Jakar’s soldiers.
The soldiers grabbed the steel shields and retreated to toss them into Jafran’s flames. Magic flared around Grant and Jakar as the cavalry soldiers sprinted away with the prized shields.
The ground softened under Grant’s feet and nearly threw him off balance. Someone had Lamhas’ powers and was ready to use them as soon as the shields left the area. He had enough time with his restored powers to avoid the obvious ploy.
Which knight had a vial of StarTouched blood?
As Ez fired her pistol, a round ricocheted off a raised shield, thudding into the softened earth.
“You’ve got to get to the queen,” Ez shouted. “Before the whole camp gets here.”
Ez loved the heat of battle and thrived in the environment. Grant couldn’t remember the last time she sounded worried.
He turned to Rienne and shouted, “Follow me.”
62
PURSUIT
Gunfire, crashing blades, battle shouts, and terrified non-combatants spread confusion throughout the encampment. Curiosity and fear created an explosive mix of emotions heated by the concealing darkness, and Grant sprinted away from his friends’ battle to take advantage of their sacrifice.
“The order’s far stronger than we thought,” Grant said as he slid his sword away. People shouted questions and huddled by the fires, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. He didn’t want to attract attention with a drawn blade. “And gaining ability by the day.”
“What are you looking for?” Rienne said, scanning the flickering firelight for potential threats.
"A corral with horses. We need to reach the head of the column."
“Maybe we should have started there,” Rienne said without hiding her exasperation. While Grant's wounds healed seamlessly, Rienne grappled with the danger of their small group confronting the thousand-strong escort of the queen. “There are some horses by that camp.”
“Have you ridden bareback?” Grant asked, eyeing the chances of grabbing saddles.
"It's been a while," Rienne admitted, gritting her teeth. "You'll have to go easy."
The echo of gunfire reverberated once again from behind them. Ez had managed to reload her weapons, ensuring the queen's forces paid a steep price. Grant hoped someone was brave enough to assist Ez with reloading. Jafran would be that person.
Grant had to believe it.
“What are you doing with my horses?” a voice shouted as Grant fashioned a makeshift stirrup with his hand to help Rienne mount the nearest horse. She struggled to find her balance and began to slide.
"Carrying a message for the queen. Step aside," Grant retorted.
Rienne managed to grab the reins and adjusted herself for a more comfortable position.
“Without saddles? Get off my horse.”
Grant guessed the soldier was an officer and wasn’t buying the story. Without a second thought, Grant drew his pistol and shot the officer in the chest before he could utter another word.
The pistol's loud report sent waves of panic rippling through the nearby tent. Thankfully, Rienne's horse remained calm despite the gunshot, suggesting it was a war-trained horse.
Grant led another horse to a nearby wall, using the stones as a step to leap onto the horse's back. He settled into position as if he was born to ride. Jakar would have been proud of this feat. Clicking his tongue, he spurred the horses away from the ensuing chaos.
Rienne caught up with him. They couldn't gallop away without saddles, and Grant could sense Rienne's discomfort on the horse's back. He maintained a steady pace at the road's edge, but they couldn't afford to slow down as they advanced up the line.
The camp was a scene of chaos. Some people were frantically attempting to extinguish campfires and pack up their tents. Others fled into the night, leaving all their possessions behind. Horses broke free from their tethers, hurdling over walls to escape the commotion.
Grant and Rienne maneuvered past toppled carriages and shattered wagons. As they rode by, some people took refuge in the shadows, while others cried out in desperate need of guidance. Grant responded with vague gestures and unintelligible shouts to fuel the night’s chaos further.
The distant reports of gunshots invigorated Grant. If Ez was still firing, then they were still holding their ground. The shots’ increasing distance and slowing rhythm lent further urgency to their mission.
The further they moved up the column, the fewer soldiers they encountered. No one dared to halt or question the riders who rode with purpose. The courtiers and nobles were more concerned about their safety, lacking the courage or skills to confront them.
A figure emerged from the disoriented crowd before they reached the head of the column. The person clutched at Grant's boots. A heavy cloak concealed their features, but their anguished cries were all too audible. Grant’s horse became uneasy as the crowd began to converge on them.
Without a saddle, fighting from horseback was not an option. Drawing his blade risked throwing off his balance, especially with someone attempting to pull him off his steed. He retaliated with a swift kick, feeling the sickening crunch of teeth under his boot.
The crowd erupted in more shouts, their numbers pressing in on Grant and Rienne.
Urging his horse onward, Grant used the animal's bulk to force a path through the crowd. He glanced back to ensure Rienne was still with him.
Grant didn't glimpse the person he had kicked as they pushed through the mob. Angry voices echoed around him, the words indecipherable amidst the chaos. He noticed courtiers still decked out in their finery, yet they wisely kept their distance. Grant scanned their faces, searching for any who might be officers in the queen's service. They would likely be armed and ask questions.
The scared voices haunted him, stirring memories of a different life. He imagined serving the queen, Irwin and their children by his side. He could have followed in the footsteps of his father and brother, becoming a respected naval officer. Would he have panicked at the sound of gunfire or the clash of steel?
Irwin wouldn't recognize him now. His dark cloak concealed his chainmail, and his belt was laden with various deadly weapons. He was no longer the teacher riding to the schoolhouse, the farmer tending his small flock, or the father reading to his children by the soft glow of candlelight.
He was a warrior who had kicked a man in the face to continue his mission, shot an officer to steal his horse, and run his sword through a cleric because the man's hatred for Grant had overshadowed his will to live.
The night's bloody toll was far from over.
Who was he now?
A mercenary captain serving a rebel contender for the throne of Ismore? That was an oversimplification. A noble cause could be used to rationalize any act. He was indifferent to who sat on the throne in Llynmond, whether it was a queen, an empress in Alenann, or a president in Nanteene.
Grant Gwydian was a man damned by StarFall. He was a widower, a drunkard, and a ruthless killer. He was a StarTouched assassin, selling his lethal skills to those who paid the highest price.
"Are you alright?" Rienne asked, her horse bending its neck to graze on some roadside grass. Lost in his thoughts, Grant had not noticed that he had allowed his mount to slow to a halt.
He took a moment to steady his breath and gather his thoughts.
"Yeah," he finally replied, "Even hardened mercenaries can get lost in the killing."
"That's a rare confession," Rienne said, not offering critique or assistance. She waited, allowing him to regain his composure.
"I believe we've ridden past most of the commotion,” Grant said. “It will spread quickly, and other riders will soon overtake us."
"Do you think the queen will fight or try to escape?" Rienne asked as they nudged their horses back into motion.
Grant guided them away from the roadside tents and their accompanying fires. The camp was alert, the panic creeping closer with each passing moment. The individuals in this section of the caravan were not fighters; most were accustomed to the luxury of the court and the castle.
"What would you do?" Grant asked.
"If it were merely a band of brigands attacking my caravan, I'd command my soldiers to apprehend them, making an example of those who dare challenge the throne."
It made sense. The Icy Queen wouldn’t tolerate an attack on her personal train and would hang anyone who dared defy her.
"But if I knew it was Grant Gwydian and the Arcane Mercenaries... I would flee and hide."
"You've been with us too long," Grant teased as they rode past groups of people gesturing towards the chaos behind them. The smell of smoke was now discernible, and the sounds of panic were catching up.
"I've seen you when you've lost touch with your humanity, Grant," Rienne confessed, not daring to say more. "I wonder if you remember all the people you've killed."
Grant's gaze remained fixed on the wagon tracks that marked their path. He knew all the faces because they visited him every night in his dreams. He relived the memories of friends fallen in the Mage Wars, and his nightmares were filled with the thousands he had slain in the bloody frenzy of battle. He remembered far too much.
"The queen will flee," Grant asserted, urging his horse to quicken its pace, a rhythm Rienne could manage without gripping her horse in terror. She was a skilled rider with sufficient experience to pull off this venture, but they couldn't afford a mounted battle or a full gallop in their current state.
"You sound certain," Rienne commented, clinging to her horse.
"The Order of the Star is rushing towards the rear of the column. They know the StarTouched are here," Grant explained.
"Then we better catch her," Rienne declared with a half-smile, leaning forward over her horse's neck.
63
SCORE
The queen was ready to flee the carnage and chaos around her entourage. Unlike the rest of the procession, she took up quarters at a small inn and surrounded herself with her immediate staff and bodyguards.
Her servants scurried around her carriage, fastening harnesses and offloading extraneous equipment. Boxes and trunks cluttered the inn's courtyard; several had been knocked open, their contents—a wealth of clothing and footwear—strewn across the mud.
The inn was an ordinary establishment, a haven for locals celebrating the changing seasons, and a resting place for weary travelers. It was a modest two-story building showing its age with slats missing from shutters and shingles gone from the roof.
Under normal circumstances, it might have been a charming place to stay, but tonight it was a hurricane of activity. News of the attack on the column had reached the queen, and guards formed a protective ring around the inn. Grant couldn’t count the number of soldiers bedecked in the queen's colors.
"You're not planning to take that on yourself,” Rienne stated. She didn't need to borrow Grant's spyglass; the fires lighting the inn's courtyard and stables provided ample illumination for her to spot the jittery guards. She stopped counting after thirty.
"Absolutely not," Grant agreed. "I need you to grab Ez, Jafran, and Jakar."
Rienne met his gaze. While she lacked Ez's ability to read him like an open book, she was getting close. He didn't bother trying to hide anything from her—they needed the assistance.
"That sounds like a pretext for a suicidal charge on the queen's compound. A blaze of glory for the cause of Dominick's reign."
Grant offered her a smile. "The plan is to hold this position until reinforcements arrive. Even I can't handle fifty soldiers alone, and I'd bet there are additional bodyguards we haven't spotted."
"I don’t know if I believe you," Rienne said, glancing between the compound and Grant, trying to gauge his true intent.
"You don't need to believe me, but you know we can't accomplish this alone. Our chances of success will increase exponentially if you bring the others. It's simple arithmetic. I need everyone, just like we planned.”
"Promise me you'll wait," Rienne said, her expression softening as she awaited Grant's answer.
“Bring the mercenaries, Rienne. That’ll keep me from doing something stupid."
"Don't do anything reckless, Grant."
Grant returned with Rienne, assisting her back onto her horse. Looking down at him, she tightened her grip on the reins. "I'm serious."
Grant offered her a salute and a wink. He watched as she rode off down the road, moving faster than she had when they were advancing up the column.
Rienne was an adept horsewoman, blessed with the advantages of a privileged upbringing. She had a knack for irritating them all, but Grant acknowledged that her knowledge and skills had saved them numerous times over the past few months. Her familiarity with the aristocracy and the court’s inner workings was invaluable.
Now, he could only observe and bide his time—neither of which was his strong suit.
Grant made himself comfortable outside the illuminated areas of the inn's compound, his eyes trained on the flurry of activity around the wagons. Soldiers came and went, and many were involved in the exchange of orders. He wondered which general accompanied the queen on this venture outside Dominick's encirclement.
Members of the Knights of the Star joined the defensive ring. Their white tunics contrasted with the darker uniforms of the other soldiers. Someone must have delivered the news about the StarTouched and ordered the knights to join her bodyguard.
Grant wished Jakar was there to provide insight on the StarTouched and any potential powers the Order of the Star might wield. He attempted to channel a stream of energy toward the soldiers near the inn's entrance. The distance was too great to bridge, and he couldn't determine whether the Order could suppress his abilities from this range.
Two knights and a priest exited the inn, escorting an individual. Grant quickly brought out his spyglass. He recognized that posture, that gait. A glance was all he needed to confirm his suspicions.
