Sons of Evil: Book 1 Book of Dread (21 page)

It was difficult to tell who
was winning, but the giants had the initiative and were pressing forward,
driving toward the camp. Whether that was their goal or not was impossible to
tell, but they were making steady progress in that direction.

The companions joined the
battle, not to aid the Dalusians as such, but because these beasts from the
north were a common threat. The main battle itself was chaos, no lines or
flanks or group maneuvers, simply a deadly brawl. Even though the five waded in
together they soon, like the Dalusians, were tossed about randomly by the ebb
and flow of the fighting, and each had to look to their own safety rather than
looking after one another. This was hardest on Darius, who called to Luke as a
press of bodies separated them, and who nearly took a club to the head while
trying to find his younger brother in the mob. He respected Luke’s courage, but
with his wounded shoulder and lack of experience in such a large battle, Darius
was naturally fearful for him. The near miss with the giant’s club did not
lessen his concern over Luke, but it did force him to focus on matters more
close at hand.

Luke was well aware of his
unhealed injury as well, not that it would keep him from the fight. His arm had
been out of the sling since the giant roared into the camp, and even though the
shoulder was stiff and sore, he was able to block out the pain due to the
adrenaline coursing through him. Even so, he found himself wincing whenever his
left hand joined his right on the hilt of his sword, and without realizing it
he often fought with one hand. Luckily the giants required hit and run tactics
rather than thrust and parry, so Luke was able to make due. The quickness of
his young legs helped him more than the shoulder injury hindered him, and he
found he contributed as well as the next man against the powerful but slow
giants.

Barlow had no youthful legs to
help him, only his training and Gabriel. It was enough. Such was the damage he
could mete out that the Dalusians nearest him rallied to him, and followed any
order he might give without question.

Silas’ staff could do little
direct damage to a standing giant, but he employed it again and again as he had
against their first foe, finding leverage points to send enemies tumbling to
the ground, where they were far more vulnerable to the weapons of the smaller
humans.

Like the mounted riders,
Adrianna worked at the fringes of the battle, substituting her magic for the
cavalry charge of a single rider. Like Silas, she looked for opportunities to
knock the giants off balance, and at other times shielded groups of soldiers
from an incoming rock or flailing club. Her one attempt to actually kill a
giant she regretted. She launched a massive fireball, which set one of the hill
giants ablaze. But rather than collapsing the giant raced about in a mad fury,
laying waste to all in his path. Whether the flames eventually brought him down
Adrianna never knew. She was so mortified by the number of soldiers that had
fallen before the crazed beast that she lost track of the monster as he fled
into the further reaches of the battle.

The sun neared its zenith in
the sky, the day’s heat adding to the suffering of the living and the wounded,
the latter’s pitiful cries for water often going unheeded. The dead were
scattered everywhere, both human and giant, and the bodies were already giving
the battlefield a foul reek.

Of the five companions the
tumult of battle had moved Darius the furthest west. He and a dozen soldiers
had just finished off a frost giant—but not before the frost giant’s axe had
felled more than thirty soldiers—when he noted he was not the only non-Dalusian
in the fight. The man next to him wore the red-and-green of Westphalia. He
blinked a few times, surprised to find him here, then looked west and noticed
the banners of Westphalia. The two armies that had gathered to fight one
another had joined together to fight a common foe. A pit formed in Darius’
stomach as he considered how even the battle appeared to be, and therefore what
the end result would have certainly been had the giants been facing the
Dalusians alone.

His mind started to wrap
around what might happen if the two armies were successful against the giants. Would
they then turn on one another? Would they make peace, and perhaps fight
together against Longvale? A boulder flew overhead, reminding him there was
work to do before such questions could be addressed.

As the afternoon hours dragged
on the battle slowed, the dead littering the field and the living weary beyond
description but willing themselves to fight on. From the western edge of the
field a group of horns blared, another call to action. Luke turned at the
sound, hope filling his heart. The horns were those of humankind. As soon as
they ceased a shout went up, then a great thundering noise echoed across the
plains.

Reinforcements from Westphalia
had arrived, a large force of cavalry. Their red-and-green flags rippled as
they charged, their numbers more than enough to tip the scales of what had been
an even contest. At the sight of these mounted soldiers the men of Westphalia
already engaged in battle roared and fought on with renewed vigor, and even the
Dalusians voiced their approval.

At first, the giants tried to
hold out, to absorb the shock of the initial charge and then see if victory
might yet be theirs, but as the first groups of giants were overwhelmed by the
sheer force of the mounted charge, some of those further back turned and fled
north. What began as a trickle was soon a steady flow and then a flood—the
giants were routed.

Even in retreat the giants
were a grave danger, their growing panic added to their size and strength meant
anything in their path was liable to be harmed or killed, and many soldiers met
their end even as they could see that victory was inevitably theirs. One of
those caught in the path of the fleeing monsters was Luke, who, slashing at one
of the running giants, did not have time to react to another coming up behind
him. He was hit by a sweeping forearm and thrown head over heels through the
air, coming to rest against a dead horse and its equally deceased rider. He
tried to rise, was surprised at the pain it caused, then was forced to hug the
ground as another giant fled past him. He decided others were better suited to
pursue the vanquished foe, and that he had better remain where he was until
things settled down.

Once the giants were clear of
the battle proper, only those on horseback could keep pace. The riders hoped to
keep hacking away, to bring a few more giants down, weakening them further so
that they’d think twice about resuming their assault on some other day. But
even for the newcomers from Westphalia there was not much spirit in the
pursuit, and when a few stone giants rallied and started hurling rocks at the
riders, the chase was called off. The combined human forces had won the day,
but victory came at a terrible cost to both armies.

In the direct aftermath of
such a battle, there is a brief time before any organized attempts to treat the
wounded and bury the dead, a time when friends seek out one another, to be
reassured that those one has grown to love are well, or if the worst has come
to pass, a time to grieve a personal loss. So it was that the companions,
separated by the fight, looked for each other across the gruesome battlefield.

Silas found Luke first, and
after Luke admitted he had been injured, the cleric looked under his shirt. The
side of his chest was already turning an ugly shade of purple. “This is from a
forearm?” Silas asked.

Luke nodded, gently so as to
not jostle his aching ribs.

“Lucky it wasn’t a club, or we
wouldn’t be talking to one another.” He went about his work, praying for
healing and wrapping Luke’s chest to add some small amount of physical support
for the injury. “If I can find the right things later I’ll apply a salve
that’ll help with the pain.”

“Better already,” Luke said,
although Silas could see in the youngster’s eyes that the pain was still
intense.

Adrianna found them next, then
Barlow, and finally Darius, who had a momentary scare seeing the others
gathered around his brother, who at that moment was resting with his eyes
closed. Seeing this and the blood—none of which was Luke’s—made Darius go pale.
Adrianna quickly assured him that Luke would be all right, to which Luke added,
without bothering to open his eyes, “They’ll have to hit me a lot harder than
that for you to get rid of me, big brother.”

Darius saw the hint of a smile
on the corner of Luke’s lips and relaxed. “Don’t tempt fate,” he replied.

“And try to be still,” Silas
added. “Rest while you can.”

“Rest for his body he might
allow,” Darius put in, “but rest his mouth? Never.”

“Ha, ha,” Luke said.

“See what I mean?”

Luke moved as if to reply but
Silas stilled him. “Let your brother win one.”

“Okay. Not like he gets many
chances to have the last word.”

Darius laughed. “And I still
haven’t.”

“True,” Luke said, to which
both brothers smiled.

*

They took Luke back to one of
the larger tents and got him settled, after which Silas was able to find the
ingredients to make a brew that put him deeply asleep, as well as a salve that
would help with healing. Once this was done he joined Barlow and Adrianna in
lending a hand where they could, while Darius stood vigil over his brother. Late
that evening they were together again, each exhausted, but before they tried to
sleep Captain Faine paid them a visit.

“Mind if I come in?” he asked.
His head was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage, but otherwise he seemed to have
come through the battle in relatively good health.

“Please,” Adrianna said with a
welcoming wave of her hand.

The Captain entered, then
motioned at Luke. “I had heard one of your group was injured. How does he
fare?”

“He will be fine, with time
and rest,” Silas answered.

“Good,” said Faine. “I’m told
you all fought with us today, and fought well. You have my gratitude.”

“We did what we could,” Silas
said. “Those giants would have killed soldier and farmer alike. We owe our
lives to the troops you command as well.”

“Well spoken. The same can be
said of the Westphalians, at least for today. Alone we would not have been able
to stand against the giants.”

“Why do you say ‘for today’?”
Darius asked.

Captain Faine wore a wan
smile. “The Westphalians saw a danger in the giants, so they fought with us. But
their army is far into our lands, and they are not here to fight the behemoths
from the north. If the giants had struck tomorrow, they likely would have found
our two armies engaged with one another. If they had enough sense, they could
have simply waited while we did most of their work, then attacked the victor. Today
we were lucky, tomorrow…”

“You think the Westphalians
will attack?” Darius asked, taken aback.

“With the dawn, no. We’ve
fought together, and both armies have been hurt. We’ll see to our dead and
wounded, and perhaps hold for a few days to see if the giants try again. But
this truce is informal and uneasy. I cannot allow the Westphalians free passage
in our lands, and I doubt they would leave if asked. I believe they have the
advantage over us in numbers, but they must be concerned that delays will allow
more of our troops to reinforce us.”

“The look on your face tells
me no reinforcements are coming,” said Barlow.

The Captain smiled again, and
shook his head. “This brings me to my dilemma. If I truly believed you were
Dalusian farmers, I might be willing to share that information with you. But it
was clear to me earlier that your story was not true, although I don’t take you
for spies. You could have slipped away easily enough during the battle if you
were Westphalians, or run off once the fight was joined if you were Longvalers.
So I expect the truth lies somewhere else. I also suspect you’ll be no more
inclined to tell me what you’re about than you were earlier today.”

Captain Faine’s words were too
close to the mark for any to try to gainsay him. Each simply remained silent.

“You are going north, I
assume? That much is true?”

“Yes,” Silas answered.

“To the Far North?”

“If we can.”

“Then you likely go to your
doom. You would be following those giants into their own lands.”

“We will do what we must.”

Faine shook his head again. “I
would like to know what would drive someone to such a step. There seems to be
enough death and suffering in the south to go around.” Faine’s own words struck
a chord within him. “Surely you do not flee the war by going north? You fought
bravely today.”

“No,” said Silas. “But perhaps
we might understand better what’s behind it, and maybe someday such knowledge
could help end it.”

“A great hope, and one
difficult to see realized. Our world seems to grow darker each year. The land
dies and now much of the fighting is only to gain or hold enough resources to
survive. Was that why the giants came, I wonder? Did they seek food or
healthier land, so they might simply go on living? I doubt we’ll ever know.”