Morgan Rice - Night of the Bold

Duncan led his thousand warriors on horseback, galloping west across the plains of Baris, heading for the Devil’s Gulch, and as he rode, he felt like a changed man. Still recovering from his wounds, he felt weaker now than he had ever been – in fact, Lorna had urged him to stay back and rest until he was fully recovered. Of course, he could not. He had an army to lead and a war to wage, and he knew that time would not wait for him.

Duncan rode in his weakened state, one hand on the reins, the other clutching his chest, blood still seeping where Kyra had stabbed him. Of course, he had to remind himself, it was not Kyra who had stabbed him, as much as she had looked like her – it was Ra, with his sorcery. Yet still the vision haunted him, his own daughter stabbing him, the idea of its being her hurting him more than the actual event. He could not shake the image from his head, and that, after all, was the real damage that Ra had done.

Duncan also could not shake from his mind another vision he’d had – that of his dying. He had felt his body getting lighter, crossing to the other side, and he could remember the moment of his leaving, his body so light, his ancestors awaiting him on the other side. He recalled an intense sense of peace and comfort he could not shake. He had been leaving, he felt certain of it, when King Tarnis’s daughter had brought him back.

Returning had been painful. He remembered blinking, looking up into Lorna’s face, the awful pain in his chest. The experience haunted him. He did not know what was scarier – leaving this world or returning to it.

It was all the more scarier when he had been told by Lorna, upon returning, that he had but a short lease on life left. He was defying his destiny, being given one final opportunity for battle and glory, one final chance to resolve the loose ends of his life. He was riding now on the final stretch of life, he knew, whatever little of it was left, and he was determined not to squander it.

Duncan rode and rode, the galloping of horses filling his ears, along with the sound of armor and weaponry clanging from his hundreds of men behind him. Anvin rode at his side, Aidan, Motley, and Cassandra behind them, White at their feet, and as Duncan reflected on his men, he took pride in knowing that he had dispatched them to the corners of Escalon to end this war, Seavig to the western shore to liberate Ur, and Kavos to the north to battle the legions near Kos. With everyone doing their part, they would have a chance, even if remote, to liberate Escalon once and for all. Duncan’s forthcoming battle in the Devil’s Gulch, he knew, would be the riskiest of all.

Duncan shouted and kicked his horse, gaining speed, determined to stay out in front of his men despite his pain, determined to lead by example and show his men that he was strong. He coughed up blood as he rode and wiped it away furtively with the back of his hand, not wanting any of them to see how sick he truly was.

Duncan gazed out at the horizon, taking stock. He knew that Ra’s army would be heading south now, coming to find him, and indeed, as he looked back over his shoulder, he could already see, on the distant horizon, an endless line of black forming, Pandesian banners blowing in the wind. This time they would not come at him with ten thousand men, but a hundred thousand, all of Ra’s forces, a vast and terrible army all bent on Duncan’s destruction.

Duncan rode and rode, increasing his speed, knowing they didn’t have much time if they were to make it in time to prepare a defense. In the distance he could see the shape of the Devil’s Gulch beginning to form, the towering cliffs rising a hundred feet high, jagged. The gulch they formed was wide enough only to accommodate a few men at a time, the greatest bottleneck in all of Escalon. It was his only hope, he knew.

If Duncan could lure Ra through the narrow passageway comprising the Devil’s Gulch, with its steep cliffs on one side and its raging sea on the other, he could stand a chance. He had to find a way to get Ra’s entire army to pass south through the gulch, then seal it up. Duncan hoped they would take the bait, and sensed that they would. Indeed, their rumbling only grew louder behind him, and he knew an army that big, with bait before it, pumped up with bloodlust, would never stop for anything. Their hubris, if he was right, would lead to their downfall.

As the sun fell lower in the sky, each step of the horse hurting Duncan so much that he clenched his jaw at the pain, he and his men finally reached the Gulch. They all came to a stop, and as they did Duncan turned and searched the horizon: the Pandesian army had not, to his relief, called off the pursuit. Indeed, they were closer now.

Duncan’s men, stopped amidst a cloud of dust, breathing hard with their horses, turned and looked at their leader, and he could feel all their eyes on him. He turned and surveyed his men, hiding his pain, knowing they needed strong leadership now more than ever.

“Volen!” he commanded.

Volen, one of his trusted commanders and one of the oldest of the bunch, stepped forward, at attention.

“You will remain on this side of the Gulch and lead the bulk of our men. You will take cover beneath the caves and wait for the Pandesians to pass through. You shall then seal the Gulch and bar them from reentering Escalon.”

“And you, my lord?” Volen asked, concern in his eyes.

“I shall lure the Pandesians through the Gulch, so you can close it off behind us.”

Duncan could see all of his men looking back at him, concern in their eyes. A thick, somber silence fell.

“But then how shall you return, Commander?” Volen finally asked.

Duncan shook his head slowly.

“I may not,” he replied. “I will lead them far enough, then circle back and attempt to pass back through the caves in these cliffs, if I do not find them sealed. If I can, I shall reunite with you here. If not, you shall seal up the Gulch either way.”

They all stared back, grim-faced, the silence so thick, nobody stirred.

“Father,” came a voice.

Duncan looked over to see Aidan, standing close, looking back up at him, tears and pride in his eyes, White at his feet.

“I shall come with you,” Aidan said.

Duncan was touched by his son’s courage. Yet he shook his head firmly.

“You shall stay with the bulk of the army here.” He then turned to the others. “I shall not ask any of you to join me, given the risk of this mission. Whoever wishes to volunteer, can.”

With that, Duncan kicked his horse, turned, and rode off toward the Gulch, having no time to lose, and expecting to ride alone.

Yet to his surprise, there soon arose a thundering of horses behind him. He turned and saw Anvin, joined by dozens of his men, all riding with them. He was touched by their loyalty.

“HORNS!” Duncan cried, issuing the first command.

No sooner had he uttered the words when his men sounded dozens of horns. Glancing back over his shoulder, Duncan was pleased to see the Pandesian army following, closing in, like a snake to a flute, all thundering for the Gulch.

The greatest battle of his life, he knew, lay but moments away.

Aidan stood with the bulk of his father’s soldiers beneath the towering cliffs of the Gulch, Motley and Cassandra at his side and White at his feet, all hiding in the recesses of the caves as the thunderous Pandesian army roared by. Aidan’s heart sank as he watched them, as he thought of his father riding through the Gulch. He knew it was a heroic mission, one from which he might never return. He watched the tens of thousands of men roar past, like a river without end, and his foreboding only deepened. Was this the time in which his father was destined to die?