Artemis and Caspian: The Spy

Chapter Thirty Three

The young soldier twirled his sword tightly in his hands as he watched dozens of guards burst from a line of shallow trees. He dug his heels into the ground, protectively shielding his Lord with a low stance. It was a good day as any to die. With adrenaline boiling in his chest, he waited for the onslaught as the screams of angry guards rang in his ears like bloodhounds after prey. The soldier let a primal holler burst from deep within him, rattling his bones, waiting eagerly for death to come. The man that led the Calatan charge was a beastly type with a long brown bread that twisted its way up his face. He scowled as he hiked a spear toward his body, ready to aim it. Dead or alive, the Guilamount Lord was coming with him. The young man, breathing heavily over the body of his Lord tried his best not to let fear overtake what little courage he had left after adrenaline abandoned him for mortal terror.

"Come on!" he screamed, tempting the brutish Calatan guard who closed in on him, winding his arm back to throw. The moon goddess was going to do well today. The young man closed his eyes as the Calatinian hurled the spear with a grunt. He could hear it whizzing through the air, cutting it like a knife, twirling, aimed for his head. He would die, but he would do it for his Lord, for his country, for glory. But death never came.

"Down!"

The young soilder instinctually ducked as a Guilamount soldier with an arm in a sling slid in front of him with a huge shield bared in his good arm. The spear bounced roughly against the scratched and beaten exterior, landing harmlessly on the ground. When he removed his shield to look around, the young soldier saw a dozen of his comrades, rushing the enemy, their swords raised at the ready, voices united as one, yelling for victory. He could hear their weapons strike against theirs, metal against metal as the Calatinians tried their best to push forward. The older soldier turned to face him.

"Are you hurt?"

The young soldier, suffering from shock, did his best to shake his head no.

"Good." The older soldier looked down and saw Lord Cerberus lying beneath the young boy, still, taking shallow breaths.

"My Lord, my Lord are you alright?" he asked with worry in his voice, trying to shake Cerberus awake. No response.

"Ah!" Another young man pushed off a Calatan guard, knocking him to the ground. "General Dagaric, they're too many of them! What's the strategy?"

The young soldier now kneeling down next to his Lord looked up in surprise. He'd never seen General Dagaric in person before. That pause was just long enough for him to lose focus. A nearby Calatan guard liking his chances unsheathed his sword bringing it down on the younger soldier. He didn't even have time to flinch before Dagaric reacted, groaning as he used his shielded arm to block the blow, yelling as he shoved the guard to the ground. The fallen enemy sputtered as the general used the sharp part of the shield to strike him across the jaw, knocking him out.

"It's too dangerous here!" he asserted, loudly, over the commotion of the battle. "Take the Lord back into camp, he needs medical attention."

The young soilder nodded more confidently this time, feeling a tad more grounded after the second near run-in with death he'd had that day. Hooking his arms through his Lord's, the young soldier attempted to drag him along the rough ground toward camp, groaning as he did. Their Lord wasn't a small man. Lord Cerberus, weak and dazed let gravity bounce his head along his body as it thrashed from side to side. His eyes, fluttering, rolled back in his head, showing white as they peeked out from his slightly parted lids. He was muttering something under his breath, incoherent statements the young soldier didn't recognize.

"Brother, don't go, father no. Kendra, Kendra!"

The young soldier frowned. His Lord was haunted. He looked up briefly to watch the battlefield. The Guilamontians were winning, thank the gods. He could see the brown bearded Calatinian yell in frustration as he watched the retreating silhouette of the young soldier drag his prize away. When they got closer to the camp's entrance the young soldier hollered loud enough for all of them to hear.