Chapter 57
Ian’s boots hit the cobbled courtyard hard. His knees buckled from the impact, and he caught himself with one hand against the cold stone of the gatehouse.
Above him, the hatch was still open. Shouts echoed from inside the tower as soldiers forced their way past the barricaded door.
He only had seconds before they closed the gate again.
Pushing himself off the stone wall with one hand, he pulled his helmet off with the other. He was leading this charge as Ian Sirilian, and he needed every man in the courtyard to see his face.
As the cool air brushed across his sweat-soaked forehead, he took in the courtyard.
Sol’s army, small as they were, pressed forward around him. “Find a way to hold the gate open,” Ian yelled to Ulli and Liam, who were leading the charge. Aizel was right behind them.
The front line of Iseldan soldiers had recovered from their shock. Two of them were already engaging Robin.
She fought with only her dagger, her injured arm pressed tight against her body. She was holding her own, but barely. She ducked under one man’s swing and drove her elbow into his ribs, but the second soldier was already closing the distance, his sword raised.
Ian crossed the space in two strides and brought his sword up to catch the descending blade before it reached her. The impact of it rang through his arms and the soldier stumbled sideways, startled less by the blow than by the face behind it.
“My prince—” the soldier stammered.
“Stand down,” Ian commanded, his voice sounding like his father’s. “The gate is open by my order.”
Robin dispatched the second soldier with a swift kick to the back of his knee that sent him crumpling.
“Took you long enough,” she said, breathing hard.
“You are welcome,” Ian replied.
The castle guard took a few steps back into the courtyard, staring at Ian as he advanced toward them, Sol’s army behind him.
“He is a traitor!” Zimri called out from directly above Ian, on the wall over the gate. “Do not stand down.”
But these were not the same men who had been at the beach under Zimri; these were guardsmen who reported to Onric. They held their swords and shields at the ready, looking from Ian up to Zimri.
“Hold your attack!” Onric stepped out of the castle entrance across from Ian. His sword drawn, he looked out over the courtyard. His eyes found Ian instantly, and for a moment they stared at each other. Aden and Erich stepped out from behind him.
Ian gave his brother a single, brief nod.
Onric dropped his chin, breaking their eye contact. The pain on his face was evident. He knew what this could cost. He stepped forward quickly, dropping down the steps that led from the great hall into the courtyard. Both the Chendas soldiers and the castle guard parted for him and his brothers.
“The guard is under my command, Prince Onric,” Zimri said from above.
“But not this castle,” Ian said. He let those words hang in the air as Onric, Aden, and Erich reached him. The four brothers, standing together.
Onric turned around to face his men. They had fallen back into formation, but their faces betrayed their confusion. They were unsure whom they were defending the castle from.
Ian saw the way that Onric braced his shoulders as he looked out across the faces of his men before he started to speak.
He was about to ask a unified group to split into two. To ask his men—his friends—to step away from their fellow comrades, to choose their loyalty to the royal family, and to fight against the very men they had trained with.
“Now, Onric,” Ian said, his voice low. He knew what this moment was costing Onric, but they did not have time to deliberate.
Onric lifted his sword, throwing his head back. “Ian is my king!” He stepped backward, moving closer to Ian and Sol’s army while still facing his own men. “For Frederich! For Iseldis! For justice! All who are with me, join me!”
The strong formation of guards stood united for one more breath. Then chaos erupted. Several men raised their swords, echoing Onric’s cry of “For Frederich! For Iseldis!” as they ran forward to join Onric at the head of Sol’s army.
The remaining guard members looked back and forth in confusion. But, true to their training, they also instantly moved closer together to fill the open holes that their comrades had left.
“Archers!” Zimri cried from his vantage point above them all.
Ian did not have to look up to know that the line of archers along the wall had turned around, aiming their arrows inside the castle. At Onric.
Ian turned to Sol, looking for someone with a shield.
The archers had hesitated, perhaps unsure if they should follow Zimri’s order to kill their own captain. Their moment of hesitation was enough time for Liam and Rigelt to rush forward, covering Onric’s head with their wooden shields.
Ian stepped forward, putting himself in front of Onric to speak to the splintered soldiers. Gareth had not yet shown his face. He had likely been caught off guard by the speed of their assault and needed time to don his armor. Ian planned to use every second of that time to prevent bloodshed.
“Soldiers of Iseldis,” Ian cried. “I am not here to fight you. I have trained beside you, bled beside you. I am not your enemy. Gareth has lied to us all. I am here for him and him alone.”
“Do not listen to him,” Zimri said. His voice carried along the wall, and Ian saw him descending the staircase. Several of the soldiers from Chendas and Iseldis moved to stand with him. “I am your commander. I speak for King Gareth.”
“Where is Gareth?” Ian asked, sweeping his arm across the courtyard.
“What kind of man sits inside a stolen castle while sending others out to protect? That is no king. That is a coward. I am here to lead you. I will not ask you to raise your swords against your own brothers. I am asking you to put them down.”
The Iseldan guardsmen looked at each other, confused. Several more of them stepped forward to join Onric behind Ian.
“Yet you call on them to fight for you?” Gareth’s voice bellowed out over the courtyard. “A man who has betrayed his father and his people.”
Ian looked up.
Gareth stood on a balcony that jutted out over the doors of the great hall.
“Come down from your place of safety,” Ian yelled, “and fight with your men.”
Gareth gestured toward the Majis gathered behind Sol.
“What fight?” he sneered. “You bring me an army of wastrels and peasants. You have chosen to come here and make a fool of yourself in front of the people you were born to lead. I shall not stoop to your level. May your death here today provide the blood for each of the five kingdoms to grow and prosper.”
Gareth lifted his arm. “Rid my castle of these usurpers!” He dropped his arm, pointing directly at Ian.
There was a single moment of silence as the gaze of every soldier in the courtyard turned from Gareth to Ian.
Then Zimri, gripping his sword, took the first step forward.
He stepped off the side staircase, his Iseldan soldiers falling in behind him as the Chendas soldiers in their purple livery surged around them.
The intricate armored plating that covered his leather shoes scraped loudly over the stone ground in the relative silence of the courtyard. His deep-set eyes were locked on Ian.
Then chaos erupted.
Ian lifted his sword, steeling his heart to meet Zimri’s forward charge.
Though he was prepared for the impact, Ian still slipped backward when Zimri’s sword clashed with his own.
Ian twisted his sword in a familiar motion to push Zimri off. Unlike his attacker, Ian was not wearing a full set of armor. He could not afford to let a single one of Zimri’s attacks land.
The muscled general deftly disengaged, only to turn the motion into another attack.
As the clashing of metal and cries of mettle sounded around him, Ian narrowed his focus to his own fight. He had spent his whole life sparring with this man, but this was no spar.
Zimri would fight him to the death.
They knew each other too well. This man had trained Ian, but he had also taught Ian everything he knew.
Ian fended off Zimri’s attacks, able to read his old teacher’s actions and anticipate his strategies.
Ian was not ready to shed first blood in this fight. But every attack that he let Zimri land without fighting back was a drain on his already-battered energy.
Zimri had made his choice, several times over.
And Ian had made his.
“Fight me, boy,” Zimri yelled as he swung his sword for the next attack.
While Ian had the disadvantage of not wearing armor, that also gave him a small edge of dexterity that Zimri did not have. And, Ian had learned from Robin how to use that to his advantage.
Ian leaned into Zimri’s next attack, spinning under the man’s sword arm while barely escaping the blow.
But for a brief moment, the side of Zimri’s neck was open to Ian.
Having no time to second-guess his actions, Ian drove his sword into that opening.
Zimri stopped, unable to finish his turn toward Ian. He grabbed at his neck with his free hand.
Ian withdrew his sword as a wave of nausea swept over him.
As Zimri dropped to his knees, however, Ian felt something—or someone, more likely—slam against his back.
“On your left!” Onric yelled in his ear.
The body at Ian’s back stabilized into a familiar touch—the press of a shoulder blade he had stood against during countless drills. Onric had his back. Crouching into his defensive stance, Ian raised his sword to meet the next attack.
There would be time for mourning later. Maybe.
His next few attackers wore the purple livery of Chendas. Ian mechanically defended his way through their onslaught.
His goal was to disarm, and he did not have the time to register if there was more death.
Behind him, the army of Majis spread into the courtyard, keeping their backs to the castle wall. Most of the actual combat appeared to be taking place between the loyal castle guard and the equally loyal Chendas soldiers.
The undecided Iseldan guardsmen were only participating half-heartedly, unable to fully engage their own in battle.
From Ian’s limited view of the battle, it appeared that this indecision was costing Gareth greatly. By removing themselves from the battle, the indecisive soldiers had left a more balanced number of opponents for Ian and his mismatched army.
Ian stepped forward to meet his next attacker. The Chendas soldier stepped backward, ceding space to Ian.
The tide was turning.
Heartened, Ian gripped his sword and pressed forward. He would retake every step of ground until this castle was his again.
A desperate cry sounded up ahead, near the castle steps.
Ian looked up at the stairs to the great hall.
The doors to the hall—the main entrance into the castle—had been shut. The retreating Chendas soldiers standing on the steps pounded against the doors.
Ian looked up at the balcony overhead.
Gareth had disappeared.
Ian continued to press forward.
His family was still inside that castle.
The soldier in front of Ian turned and fled.
Though Ian had an easy shot at him—as there was nowhere for the man to flee, except into the dense group of his fellow soldiers—he let the man run.
This battle had been won.
Another desperate scream sounded, this time from behind Ian at the open gate of the castle itself.
He turned, movement in the air above his head catching his eye.
Purple chaos orbs soared through the sky toward the Majis who lined the wall.
Gareth’s remaining soldiers had turned to their final recourse.
“The Majis are attacking!” This cry also came from someone at the gate. Ian looked toward the gate, noticing for the first time that several of the townspeople had come into the entrance of the courtyard to watch the battle.
“The magic is coming from Gareth’s soldiers!” someone else shouted.
One of the magic orbs hit the masonry above the gate. It made a thunderous crashing sound, sending small pieces of stone flying off in every direction.
Another scream sounded.
Even the Iseldis guard stopped attacking, lifting their arms to cover their heads as they cowered amidst the chaos magic and its destruction.
But the Majis were prepared. As they lifted their hands in front of them, Ian saw their mouths begin to move. It was too loud to hear the hum of their song, but he could see a shimmering light spread out in the air around them to cover the Iseldan guardsmen and the villagers at the gate.
The chaos orbs that struck this shield fractured. Lightning crackled from the orbs as they dissipated, arcing across the surface of the shield in brilliant veins of red and purple before fading to nothing.
“The Majis are protecting us!” another shout sounded from below the gate.
Ian felt a wave of relief wash over him as the cry continued around the courtyard. “The Majis are saving us!”
Realizing that the Majis could protect them, the Iseldis guard continued to press forward, trapping their remaining opponents against the locked doors of the great hall.
The Chendas soldiers frantically cast chaos orbs for several more moments, but the Majis easily dispelled them.
Then, sounds of combat gradually faded into shouts of victory.
Ian dropped his sword, breathing hard. The courtyard around him was a ruin of scattered weapons and groaning men, but the fighting had all but stopped. The Chendas soldiers and the Iseldan soldiers who had fought for Gareth were surrendering their weapons to Onric’s men.
The first battle was over. And they had won.
Ian’s eyes, of course, scanned across the courtyard for Robin.