Paul Kemp - Shadowstorm

"Line the men, Regg," Abelar said, and tightened the strap on his shield. Swiftdawn whinnied.

"Abelar?"

"Single rank. Tight spacing."

Regg looked away, back at Abelar, said softly, "Abelar…"

Abelar turned to look at his friend. "Line the men, Regg. Now. Tight spacing."

Regg stared at him for a moment and Abelar did not like the doubt he saw in his friend's eyes.

"We are forty men," Regg said, and nodded at Forrin's troops. "They are a thousand."

"You state the obvious."

"It seems I must. You will not see it."

Another clarion sounded from Forrin's force.

Anger gave Abelar's voice a hard edge. "I see it. But I also see Lathander's hand in it, just as clearly. It is as it was with the village and the plague. If we keep faith, he will deliver us. We will charge in, seize Elden, and ride out." He looked to Trewe. "Trewe, sound a blast."

Trewe dutifully put his trumpet to his lips.

"Hold, Trewe," Regg said, and held up a hand.

Swiftdawn snorted. Firstlight whinnied in answer.

Trewe hesitated.

Abelar stared at Regg, his anger building. "Are you countermanding my order?"

Below them, Forrin's forces sounded a trumpet blast. Regg did not look away from Abelar. Abelar did not look away from Regg.

"This is madness," Regg said. "Stop and think. You will kill us all. Endren, assist me."

Endren nodded, said, "Abelar, they are too many. For now. We can return to the muster at Lake Veladon. With an army-"

Abelar glared at his father. "They are not too many! There cannot be too many! My son is captive in there! My son!"

Endren's eyes softened. "I know. He is my grandson. I love him. But you are my son, Abelar, and they are too many."

Abelar could not believe his ears. First Regg, then his own father. Swiftdawn turned a circle, sensing his agitation.

"The men are with me. They will follow me."

"I know," Regg said softly. "That is why I cannot allow you to lead them down the rise."

"Then I will do it alone!"

Regg heeled Firstlight before Swiftdawn, blocking her. "You will not."

Abelar stared at his friend, a man who had saved his life, a man whose life he'd saved. His hand tightened on his sword hilt. Regg held his eyes, his jaw set.

"Move aside, Regg."

Below, two hundred of Forrin's cavalry started to trot toward them. The horses in Abelar's company, sensing battle, pawed the ground, snorted. The men drew their blades.

"They are with me," Abelar said. "Look."

Regg shook his head. "We go back to Lake Veladon, regroup."

Abelar stared at Regg and spoke in a low tone. "I will cut my way through you, Regg. For my son, I will do it."

Hurt flashed in Regg's eyes. He blinked but his jaw remained set. "You will regret those words when you reflect on them."

Abelar heeled Swiftdawn and she butted against Firstlight. The two horses, sisters, snapped at each other.

"Move aside, Regg." Abelar looked past his friend to Roen. "Roen, tight formation."

Forrin's forces started at a gallop.

Roen made no move to obey his order.

"You mean too much to the men," Regg said. "Too much to Sembia."

Abelar heard the truth of Regg's words but did not care. "Neither matters more to me than my son."

Regg nodded again. "I know that."

Abelar's eyes welled but he refused to let the tears fall. "Lathander did not bring me-us-all the way to this point only to turn back. He would not do that, Regg. He would not. Roen, ready the men, damn it!"

Tears in Regg's eyes answered those in Abelar's. "But he did, Abelar. I hope you will forgive him. And us."

He looked past Abelar and nodded.

Something hard slammed into the side of Abelar's head, just behind his ear. Pain and flashes of light exploded in his brain. He had a vague sense of falling, arms catching him. He thought he heard Elden crying, calling to him as everything went dark.

Forrin watched his cavalry under Enken ride after the small force of horsemen atop the rise.

Reht, Vors, and Norsim sat their horses near him. They had delivered the Corrinthal boy, who sat double on Norsim's horse. The boy's vacant gaze and slack mouth pronounced him as simple.

"Is that Corrinthal?" Reht asked, looking back to the rise. Something close to admiration colored his tone.

"We will know soon enough," Forrin said.

"Picked up our trail after we burned his estate," Norsim said.

Reht shook his head in disbelief. "Forty men hunting eighty and standing to face a thousand? It must be Abelar Corrinthal, from all I've heard."

"Come to get you, boy," Vors said, and smacked the Corrinthal boy in the side of the head.

The boy exclaimed in pain but made no response.

The horsemen atop the rise turned as one and rode out of sight.

"Not standing, after all," Forrin said, satisfied.

"There goes your father," Vors said to the Corrinthal boy. "Running away. He doesn't want you, boy."

Elden's eyes focused a bit. He looked up at the empty rise. "Papa?"

Vors laughed, showing his stained teeth. Reht's stare cut the war priest's mirth short and the glare each cast at the other told Forrin that something had passed between them.

"Sound the halt," Forrin said to one of the trumpeters near him. "Bring them back."

Forrin would not waste time chasing forty men. He wanted to get to Saerb and do what he had come to do. He had Corrinthal's boy, as the overmistress had instructed. If Corrinthal mustered an army to rescue his son, Forrin and his men would welcome it. Meanwhile, Saerb would burn.

"Are you sending the boy back to Ordulin?" Reht asked.

Forrin nodded. "Eventually."

Reht eyed Vors, then Forrin. "I will watch after him until then."

"No," Forrin answered. "You are going to lead the attack on Saerb."

Ordinarily, Forrin would have had Lorgan lead the assault, but Lorgan was holding with his force to the south of Saerb, with orders to clean up anyone trying to flee. Strangely, Forrin had received no word from Lorgan recently.

"I will watch him, then," Vors said, and smiled maliciously at the boy.

Reht opened his mouth as if to protest, then appeared to think better of it.

"Keep him alive unless I say otherwise," Forrin said to Vors.

The war priest nodded. "Alive, yes."

"You'll answer for his treatment," Reht said.

"Answer to whom?" Vors said with a sneer. The war priest grabbed the boy roughly by the arm and pulled him from Norsim's horse and onto his own. The boy cried out and tears fell from his dull eyes.

"I want Papa."

"Shut your mouth," Vors said.

The boy whimpered and did exactly that.

"Commander," Reht said. "I would ask-"

Forrin cut Reht off. "The boy is no longer your concern. We hit Saerb tomorrow. You lead the assault. Burn it and kill anyone left in the city."

Vors licked his lips and chuckled at Reht. Reht's face remained expressionless.

"The men may balk," Reht said.

Forrin knew. "Tell them it is vengeance for Yhaunn."

Reht nodded.

Forrin said, "I do not care if there is an army. I do not care if they fight or surrender. Save anything of value and kill or burn the rest. The overmistress wants an example made. Make it."

Vors howled at the sky and Elden Corrinthal sobbed, his small body shaking, his hands buried in the horse's mane.

Reht glared at Vors a final time, saluted Forrin, and rode away.

30 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms

Rivalen and Brennus drew Tamlin into the darkness and transported him to the top of the walls. Dawn lightened the eastern horizon, casting the sky in red and orange. Tamlin looked out onto Saerloon's massed forces. They looked even more imposing in the growing light. Hundreds of standards flapped in the breeze. Thousands of spear points glinted in the sun. The Saerloonians stood arranged in a thick line, twenty ranks deep, a rectangle of flesh and steel.