Andrew Hartley - Act of Will

As these hopeful thoughts circulated vaguely in my head, three things struck me almost simultaneously, appearing raiderlike out of the mist and driving all optimism into a screaming retreat. First, the prices being quoted by the landlord were astronomical if there were only five or six of them looking for a few loaves and a joint of pork. Second, the strangers all had the sort of fluid, powerful bearing that comes from training, exercise, and discipline. And last (but worst of all) was the fact-revealed unmistakably as the newcomer turned from hanging up his dripping cloak-that they wore shortswords and steel grey armor over white linen tunics emblazoned with a blue diamond.

I moved as quickly as I could to the door and looked out beyond the courtyard to where a hundred Empire troops, bristling with spears, their horses steaming, were sheltering from the rain, hoping to grab some fresh provisions for their journey east. They had found me after all.

But of course, they hadn’t come for me. You didn’t send a hundred battle-hardened Empire troops (and who knew how many more right behind them) all the way from Stavis after a minor fugitive. So what were they doing?

It seemed obvious. They had heard of the escalating problems in Shale, Verneytha, and Greycoast, and were moving east to capitalize on the slaughter. They would wait for the crippled victors to emerge, broken and bleeding, and they would roll right over them before they could take a breath, conquering all three lands in a handful of minor skirmishes. And if Orgos, Renthrette, and the rest survived the raiders, they would be wiped out in the conquest that followed.

It was as if one of the soldiers-it no longer seemed to matter much whether they wore red or white-had pushed the tip of his spear into my bowels and leaned on it, so the cold hard truth passed through my body, bringing pain and horror and delirium. You hear of people having their lives pass before their eyes in moments of danger. I had thought the experience would be kind of interesting, if not, in my case, terribly impressive. But now-a moment as full of dread and danger as any I had experienced in the dreadful and dangerous weeks that had just passed-I saw not my life, but other people’s deaths. Suddenly I saw-as in a dream, but with absolute clarity-Orgos’s body cut down and bleeding in the thick of the fight. I saw Garnet unhorsed and lifeless. I heard Lisha scream for the first and last time. I saw Mithos outnumbered and weakening as he flailed and parried. I saw Renthrette facedown in the mud of battle, her hair stained with blood and filth as the victorious Empire tramped past.

God alone knew what I could do to stop such visions from becoming reality, but I had to try.

I rode as fast and as hard as I have ever done, and while that isn’t saying all that much, I covered a lot of ground and was well inside Shale territory by lunchtime. I had to assume that the Empire would march on the surviving armies as soon as they could be removed from each other’s throats. That meant they would head for the plains outside Ironwall, where Mithos was pushing the raiders towards Garnet and Orgos with whatever armies Greycoast and Verneytha could muster. It would take me several hours of steady riding just to get in sight of the citadel, and that was if I rode as the crow flies. But the crow flew straight through Adsine, under the very eaves of the keep that housed the raiders. I told myself that with the mystical transportation methods open to them, the raiders were unlikely to be trotting through the streets of Adsine, especially if the ordinary people of Shale didn’t know that the raiders were their neighbors and brothers, but it was impossible to be sure. I bent low in the saddle, pulled my cloak over my head to shelter me from rain and prying eyes, and spurred my horse towards Adsine.

I figured I had two choices as I entered Adsine and felt the keep watching blankly from the high ground in the center of the town: I could either charge through the streets as quickly as I could (fast but conspicuous); or I could walk my horse in a nonchalant fashion, blending in nicely and taking about a decade to cover four hundred yards. In the end, I followed both impulses, entering the city slowly and inconspicuously and then, when I glimpsed the first stray Shale trooper in his black-and-silver armor, bolting with panic and charging out of town as if the hosts of hell were at my heels. Remarkably, then, I managed to be both slow and conspicuous, once more demonstrating exactly why I wasn’t cut out for this kind of life at all.

I didn’t slow down till Adsine was a good half hour behind me, and I spent that half hour glancing backwards in search of pursuing horsemen. Knowing that those horsemen could be wearing black, red, or white and it would be equally bad news for Will the Hopeless Fugitive wasn’t encouraging, but I saw no traffic on the road at all until I reached the Proxintar Downs. There the road was clogged with bullock carts as a convoy of farmers and miners tried to get out of Ironwall before the approaching storm. Part of me wanted to warn them of the perils that awaited them as they headed west, but I doubted that my various enemies would bother with the likes of them, and I resented their abandoning of my friends. The fact that I had also abandoned my friends twenty-four hours ago was conveniently clouded by my sense of heroic purpose. I was a warrior returning to save the day, bringing crucial information and a keen eye with a crossbow, putting my life on the line for my friends. Well, kind of.

To be honest, my newfound heroism was due at least in part to a plan I had been forming in my head. If I could get to the party in time to explain the situation as I saw it, we would have the upper hand. We could hit the raiders hard and fast while our force still outnumbered theirs, then we could take the remains of our army into Ironwall and sit out the Empire’s assault. Those Diamond soldiers were looking for an easy victory, not a lengthy siege of the most secure citadel in the region. If we could get inside as soon as the first battle was over, they would probably just trek back to Stavis with their tails between their legs. People are fond of saying that knowledge is power. This time it might actually be true: knowing that the Empire was on its way might be all we would need to turn them back.

The sun was at my back and turning a deep red by the time the massive citadel came into view across the plains before me. I put my heels to my horse’s flanks and reached the guardhouse moments before they were due to lower that massive portcullis for the night. Indeed, they started its immeasurably slow and clanking descent as soon as I was in, and even though it took ten minutes to close completely, it was the most comforting sound I’ve ever heard in my life. I went up onto the walls before I sought out the party and gave a last look westwards to see if any of our enemies were coming.

The party greeted me pretty much as you would expect, Lisha with a small-but-genuine smile, Orgos with loud whoops and hugs and “I told you so”s to anyone who would listen, Garnet with a nod that said I had surprised him in a good way (for once) and a matey thump on the shoulder that nearly sent me sprawling. Renthrette just watched me in a sideways kind of manner, like someone keeping an eye on a dog that was likable enough but wasn’t to be trusted. Fair enough, I suppose.

I told them about the approaching Empire army and they exchanged thoughtful glances as they weighed my strategic advice and found it, somewhat surprisingly, to be sound. But as Lisha talked tactics, Orgos sharpened his swords, and Garnet muttered excitedly about having a go at the Empire once the raiders had been “eliminated,” Renthrette continued to watch me like I had just regurgitated an entire goat that had then wandered off bleating. In short, whatever trust she had placed in me between the Ugokan caves and our retreat from Adsine had evaporated with my running away, and my heroic return had only served to make her more suspicious. I opted, as is my wont, for a flirtatious playfulness designed to defuse the situation.