Descendants of the Kings (Book 2)

Ch 66: A pyrrhic victory

Atop the stony battlement of a castle, two men observed the blackened horizon.

The wind whipped against them, snowy, so cold it nearly blinded them. Gidden turned to the older man beside him, raising his voice to be heard over the howling wind.

"How long till they come?"

"Any moment now, I reckon," he answered, squinting at the sky, almost white from its heavy, snow-laden clouds.

"They'll want to attack before dawn breaks. The way this storms brewing, they're sure to do it before it gets worse."

Gidden grunted and turned to face the inside of the wall, to the eerily silent city that lay within, once home to well over a thousand citizens.

A lone, upturned farmer's cart lay by the gates, smashed fruits and vegetables still lying on the ground, trampled by the hundreds of feet in their haste to flee.

They had made quick work of evacuating the townspeople. Not knowing how much time they had before the enemy forces attacked, the elven troops had forced them out, not giving them time to so much as pack a bag.

The note tipping them off about the attack had been vague, but Gidden had known immediately where it would be—Dianthe.

It was easy to see why it was the chosen target. The walled city was the capital of Elestren, one of the largest and most affluent lands in Cereas, with the richest, most fertile soil.

If the humans managed to win it over, they would have had a prime location to attack. A place where they could hole up and survive for a long time to come without going thirsty or hungry.

With the vassal lord of the lands and most of his men gone to aid the war efforts, the safety of Dianthe now banked on just over eighty men—the handful of soldiers left behind, Commander Biorn's small army, and the few men Gidden had managed to scrape together.

"So you truly haven't any idea of how many there will be?" Commander Biorn asked Gidden.

Gidden shook his head, and the man scoffed, leaning his elbows against the rough edge of the tower's window.

"I hope you know what is at stake here. I refused to join the armed forces to be here. I'm risking my honour and my men on this little rumour you heard about an attack." He shook his head as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"No logistics whatsoever. Can't tell me anything other than the location, and even that may be a guess. I must be mad to listen to you."

"And I cannot express how much I appreciate it," Gidden said quietly, dipping his head. "Rest assured, the trust you have in me will be repaid."

The man grunted. "I'll hold you to it, Blackthorn. After tonight, the least I'm expecting is—"

Both men went still, heads whipping towards the forest. The sound of pounding hooves broke the silence of the night, carrying in the wind.

"You said they were coming from the borders," the Commander accused, cursing under his breath, nocking his crossbow with an arrow.

"I was sure of it," Gidden hissed. He squinted, just about seeing the blurry outline of horsemen.

He turned to sound the alarm, to ready the soldiers and order them to their places. Before he could, a loud voice carried over. A lone rider, coming ahead of the group.

"Do not shoot! We come in peace," the man yelled, stopping just a few paces away.

Biorn looked at Gidden. "Who the hell is that?"

Gidden frowned, holding his hand out to stop him. "I don't know, but let him come closer. It is only one man."

Biorn looked unconvinced, but kept still, his bow held in place.