Morgan Rice - Night of the Bold

Duncan was relieved as he and his men finally burst out of the gulch, into the open field and sky, out of the narrow pass and onto the other side. It was great to be out in open daylight again, out from the claustrophobic confines of the Devil’s Gulch. He charged south, all his men shouting, blowing horns, raising clouds of dust. They were the liberated shouts of men who were riding to their deaths, and who had nothing left to lose.

Now that they’d cleared the other side, Duncan’s first impulse as a soldier was to turn around, to circle back for the hidden tunnels, and ride back to safety. Yet as a commander, he knew he could not. He had to lead the Pandesian army deeper, to make sure they all followed him south, through the gulch. He could not take a chance and turn back too soon, even though every passing second increased his chance of death.

“RIDE!” he shouted to his men, giving them inspiration, all of them knowing that each step increased their likelihood of death. Duncan led by example, riding faster, farther south, farther away from the cliffs, from their only salvation. And all of his men did, too.

Duncan began to hear the intense rumble behind him that could only mean one thing: the Pandesian army had broken through the Gulch. He glanced back and saw he was right. A hundred thousand warriors began bursting out, their ranks widening. It was awe-inspiring, like watching a river burst through a dam. Duncan had fought in epic battles, yet he had never seen so many soldiers amassed in one place in his life. It was like the might of the world bearing down on him.

“FASTER!” he shouted.

Duncan could feel the apprehension rising amongst his men as they rode farther from the gulch, from safety. He rode until his breathing grew heavy, feeling the shooting pains in his chest where he had been stabbed; he reached down and felt fresh blood, and knew the wound was not healing. Yet there was no turning back now. Not when his people needed him.

Duncan rode and rode until finally he glanced back and saw the Gulch was now distant on the horizon, and that the entire army of Pandesians had passed through. His mission had been achieved – now the time had come.

“TURN!” he shouted to his men.

His men turned with him, as one, following his lead as they all made a broad turn to the left. They turned in a wide arc heading back for the cliffs. He could not ride straight back, as he wanted to, or else he’d run right back into the Pandesian army. So instead he led his men in a broad arc, gradually back toward the cliffs. It was a risky move, exposing them to attack from the side, leaving one flank unprotected. Yet he had no choice if they were to make it back.

Sure enough, within moments, the first assault came. Pandesian horns sounded, and the sky suddenly filled with arrows raining down on his men.

“COME TOGETHER!” Duncan cried, expecting this. “SHIELDS!”

His men raised their shields and came in close that they formed a wall of iron, nearly touching shoulder to shoulder as the first volley of arrows hit. They came in so tight that there was nowhere for the arrows to penetrate – they merely bounced off the shields with a great clanging noise.

Duncan, sweating, lowered his shield with the others and continued riding in a broad circle back toward the cliffs, widening the arc, trying to get away from the forking Pandesian army. He had a head start on them but it was slim, barely a hundred yards, and narrowing.

Duncan saw the Pandesians raising their bows again.

“SHIELDS!” he cried.

Again, his men came together and raised their shields, and again they blocked the volley of arrows, bouncing off their shields as if it were raining down iron. Yet Duncan heard one of his men cry out, and he turned and saw Bathone, a proud young warrior who had volunteered, who had grown up with his sons, fall from his horse, an arrow in his side. An arrow had slipped through. As he fell, Duncan could tell he was still alive. He desperately wanted to stop for him, but he knew he could not. To do so would mean the death of all his other men. It was times like these that he wished he was not a commander, but a mere soldier once again.

Duncan saw the Pandesians closing in and realized the cliffs were still too far; he knew he had to do something desperate to increase their speed if they were to make it.

“DROP THE SHIELDS!” he shouted.

His men looked back at him, baffled, yet, disciplined as they were, they did not hesitate to follow his command. They threw down their heavy shields and as they did, they all kicked their horses, following Duncan’s lead, and increased their speed. They needed speed now, more than anything, Duncan knew, if they had any chance of beating these Pandesians back to the cliffs.

Duncan lowered his head, kicked his horse, and charged with all he had. With the imposing granite cliffs in sight, he rode faster and faster, faster than he had ever ridden in his life, ignoring his pain, his wound, he and his men fueled by adrenaline, by the knowledge that they could die at any moment. Duncan could hear the Pandesians firing arrows again behind him, and he braced himself, knowing that if they reached him, exposed as they were, they would be finished.

Duncan heard the sound of a thousand arrowheads skidding on hardened sand, just a few feet behind him, and he took a deep breath. Dropping the shields had given him the few extra feet he’d needed.

Duncan saw the great cliffs looming ahead of him, but a hundred yards away now, and he scanned the wall of rock, searching for signs of the small hidden passageways he knew were there. He searched frantically, his heart pounding, knowing that finding these passages would be their only hope of making it back. They had no time to make a mistake: if they pursued a false indent in the rock, they would not have time to search again. If they chose a passageway that was sealed up inside the mountain, they would lose their only chance.

Duncan’s heart soared as he spotted a hidden opening in the rock, one just large enough to accommodate him and his men, single file, on horseback – though they would have to duck. The passage led into blackness, and Duncan could only hope it had not collapsed, or would not lead to a dead end. The lives of all his men depended on him now.

Duncan lowered his head. His decision was made.

“SINGLE FILE! CHARGE!” he cried.

Duncan heard his men fall in behind him as he lowered his head and made for the tiny opening in the cliff. He lay with his stomach entirely flat on his horse, the only way of clearing it, and as the rock loomed, he prayed for dear life. He cared not for his own life, but for those of his men.

Please god , he prayed. Let this work. Give us one chance to battle the Pandesians face to face, man to man. Do not let us die here, in this rock.

A moment later, Duncan braced himself as he tore into the tiny passageway.

All was blackness. Duncan’s heart pounded in his throat as he found himself immersed in a tunnel so cramped that, if he did not duck down, his head would scrape the ceiling. He felt this was an advantage, as he knew it would confuse and slow the Pandesians behind him, too.

Behind him, he heard all his men charging on his heels. He knew that if this tunnel led to a dead end, they would all stampede and crush each other to death. His throat went dry, his palms sweaty, as he clutched the reins and prayed for daylight.

Duncan galloped, his heart pounding, riding faster and faster, twisting and turning, feeling his way in the dark. With every bend he hoped and prayed he would see the way out, a burst of sunlight. Yet still, it did not come.

Finally, as he rounded a sharp bend, his arms and shoulders scraping against the wall, Duncan looked up ahead and his heart burst with joy to see his first glimpse of light. It was a bright shaft of sunlight, an opening up ahead, and it grew brighter with each step. He had never been so eager in his life to embrace it.