Final Kingdom (15 page)

“You'd better get back on that rise with the other archers, Abbey. They're going to hit us soon,” Dave said.

Abbey had taken off her helmet, and he reached over suddenly and touched her blonde hair. “I love you, Abbey,” he said simply, then impulsively leaned over and kissed her.

“I love you too, Dave,” she said, then she walked off to take her place with the line of bowmen.

Abbey found Sarah with the archers. They strung their bows silently, and even as they did so, a trumpet sounded.

A horseman dressed in black armor and a black cloak came galloping out of the enemy host that had stopped two hundred yards away. The hooves of his mighty war horse kicked dust into the air.

He pulled up halfway to Goél's troops. “I am Maulk, champion of the army of the Dark Lord!” The warrior's visor was down, and his voice was muffled. He lifted his spear—its tip gleamed—and said, “The Dark Lord offers you mercy. If you will surrender, you will be well treated. If you will not, then you will all die. What is your answer?”

“You well know our answer.”

The voice came from somewhere behind Abbey and Sarah. They looked quickly and saw Goél standing again upon the great flat rock that rose from the surface of the Plains of Dothan. He was wearing his gray cloak as usual, but around his waist was a plain belt that bore the weight of a heavy sword. It was not unsheathed, but Abbey could see the jewels in the handle, glittering in the sunlight.

Goél thrust back his hood. “The hour has struck for the Dark Lord to be answered. Return this answer then. Surrender yourselves to the mercy of Goél before death has his harvest.”

The commander laughed hoarsely. “We heed not your words, Goél. Look at yon mighty host—then look at the pitiful line of weaklings that you have! Is this your final answer?” He waited for a moment. When Goél said nothing more, he wheeled and rode back to the enemy position. He then shouted commands, and the orders were echoed by his officers up and down the mighty battle formation.

A mighty shout arose from the Dark Lord's warriors, and Josh watched them surge ahead like a great
wave of the sea, rolling forward as though nothing could stop it.

“Here they come!” Reb muttered. “For what we are about to receive may we be truly grateful!”

Beorn, who had positioned himself beside him, looked at the boy and smiled. “Let us stand together, my brother,” he said, hefting his battle-ax. “We will see whether this Dark Lord can do as he boasts.”

Then suddenly the air was filled with a flight of feathered darts tipped with steel. They struck the first line of the Dark Lord's army, and men and beasts were cut down as if by a mighty scythe. The wolves that had been loosed went down biting and snapping at the keen arrows that dug at their vitals.

“Look at that!” Josh cried. “It's like they ran into a wall!”

“It's a good thing our archers were there,” Jake said. He waved briefly back at Abbey and Sarah, hollering, “Good shooting, girls!” Then he turned around toward the advancing enemy line. “They've got plenty of troops to lose.” He pulled down his battle helmet and gripped his sword.

On and on came the dark and terrible battalions, rank on rank. The arrows took a mighty toll, but when one beast or one man fell, another was there to step into his place. Soon the first of their number closed the distance between the forces.

Reb leaped forward eagerly. Josh, Dave, and Beorn were close beside him. A swarthy giant of a soldier, his eyes glittering, cried out and swung his sword. Reb simply ducked under it and with almost a graceful movement reached out and struck with his own blade.

Both sides hacked and slashed, and the cries of the wounded and the dying soon filled the air.

Then the mighty centaurs led by Moonwise suddenly
appeared and struck the enemy's flank, sending them reeling. Many fled in terror as the arrows of the centaurs wrought death and destruction.

The Aluks hit the soldiers of the Dark Lord on their other flank, many of them casting harpoons. These deadly weapons struck among the battle elephants, causing them to rear and panic. They trampled many of the enemy in their frantic efforts to flee.

Still, there was no stopping the mighty wave of warriors and beasts. Slowly Goél's ranks were forced to give way. And as the Sleepers moved back, they saw they were leaving the bodies of many brave friends who had paid with their blood for their resistance.

Time and time again, the warriors of Goél stopped and dug in their heels and fought for their lives. But then came the strongest attack of all! The Dark Lord brought his own archers into play along with machines that hurled huge stones. The stones and the arrows took their toll, and the Sleepers saw more dear friends fall lifeless to the earth.

As they withdrew, Jake yelled a warning to Josh— two soldiers were about to attack him from behind! Josh whirled just in time to see Jake throw himself at the warriors. Jake managed to deflect the blade of one. But while his attention was taken, the other leaped at him, swinging a huge sword.

Josh knew that his friend was in danger of being felled. He took a step to help, but just then their section of the line came under violent attack. Josh fought like a madman, as did the others, to drive off the assault. As soon as he could, he ran back to where he'd left Jake.

Jake was on the ground, trying to sit up.

“Jake . . .” Josh dropped his sword and knelt beside him. “I'll get you back with the wounded.”

“No,” Jake whispered, “they've—done it for me this time, Josh.”

“Don't say that!”

Jake lay back and reached out a hand, and Josh took it. “You've been the best,” he whispered. His eyelids fluttered, but he managed a smile. “Think about me sometimes . . .” Then his eyes closed.

Josh heard Dave and Reb speaking to him, but he could not tell what they were saying. At last he stood and brushed his tears away. “Jake's gone.”

The three young men stood silent, filled with grief, and finally they carried Jake's body back behind the lines where he was borne away.

“He was a good soldier,” Reb said softly. His eyes were gentle, then thoughtful. “I'll miss him. We all will.”

Then Dave cried, “The Dark Lord's troops—here they come again!”

The soldiers of the Dark Lord seemed to be inexhaustible. No matter how many were slain, there were always more!

Slowly the thin line of defenders was forced to yield again. By late afternoon, their backs were against the wall of the mountain that rose on the eastern side of the plain. Here defense was somewhat easier because they had the high ground and the attackers had to dodge around gullies, which made them easier prey for the archers.

On and on the battle raged until the sun was ready to go down. It dipped at last behind the ridge of mountains, and the air grew cooler.

In the quiet that followed, Dave wiped his brow with a trembling hand. He gasped, “I guess . . . that's all for today.”

“They'll be back in the morning,” Reb said grimly. “We better get what rest we can.”

And then Goél stood before them. He looked at them with compassion in his eyes.

“You have done well. Valiant warriors all,” he said quietly.

Josh shook his head. “Jake is dead,” he said simply.

“Yes, I know.”

“That's hard, sire,” Dave said, almost in a whisper. “First Wash and now Jake. Two out of the seven of us gone.”

Goél rested his gray eyes on Dave and said, “Not two. Three, my son.”

Dave stopped breathing. He whispered, “Not . . . Abbey?”

“Yes, she died like a warrior. Bravely, fighting for me and for the House of Goél.”

Dave looked faint, almost unable to stand.

Goél made no attempt to say more. He simply stood with them, his face weary with strain. When he did speak again, he said only, “Your two companions have paid the ultimate price. Are you still willing to fight for Goél?”

Dave nodded, despite the visible agony of grief that was in him. Reb and Josh did the same.

Goél's eyes suddenly seemed to burn, and he cried, “I knew I could count on your love and loyalty. The struggle will not be for long.” Then he turned away and vanished into the growing darkness. Josh could hear him going down the line, encouraging others of his troops.

The three boys sat down and were soon joined by Sarah and Beorn. No one could speak for grief and did not try to for some time. Dave finally rose to his feet and walked off into the darkness.

“He was in love with Abbey,” Sarah said, “and she with him.”

“Yes,” Josh said awkwardly. He looked over at Sarah. “It may be me tomorrow. Or you—I couldn't stand that, Sarah!”

“We will stand whatever we have to,” Sarah said, her head thrown back. She dashed away her tears. “For as long as we live, what Wash, and Jake, and Abbey have died for will live. Their lives aren't lost.”

Josh nodded slowly, and then they too walked away, hand in hand.

Reb and Beorn watched them go.

Beorn said, “I had a love like that once.”

It might have sounded ridiculous, an ugly, stumpy dwarf speaking of love, but somehow it did not. Reb knew what the dwarf meant. He moved over to sit beside Beorn and said, “Tomorrow I think we will all die.”

“All must someday die,” Beorn said calmly, “and we will join our friends in death. We will have died with honor and dignity, and nothing else is important at a time like this when the sky is falling!”

T
he Dark Lord himself advanced to watch the battle. For three days he had sent wave after wave of troops against the thin line of defenders who had their backs against the mountains of Dothan. Time and again he had seen the devoted followers of Goél withstand the charges of his powerful battalions. He had also attempted, through the use of his spiritual powers, to overcome the minds and bring fear into the hearts of his enemies. This effort had failed, however, for Deormi and her wise men were able to withstand this sort of attack.

He had lost three commanders in action, and now the newly appointed commander, a short, powerful, dwarflike creature named Lothag, stood before him. Lothag was bloodied, and he trembled from fatigue. He had just come back to the command position of the Dark Lord, who awaited his report.

“My liege lord,” Lothag said wearily, “we have done all that can be done.”

“You have
failed!”
the Dark Lord spat. He reached forth as if he would slay his commander with his own hand, but then changed his mind. “You're no better than the rest, but the next might be worse. Come,” he said, “and bring two battalions of our best troops.”

Lothag blinked with surprise. “And where shall I lead them?”

“Back to the Dread Tower.”

Lothag did not pretend to understand but went to
quickly assemble his weary troops. In truth, they had suffered terribly, and there was no time for burial. When he had gathered his forces together, they mounted swift horses and began the return journey. The Dark Lord rode on ahead, leaving a dire warning for them to hurry.

When they reached the Dread Tower, the gate opened, and the weary horses, barely able to stand, staggered through it. The soldiers, in little better shape than their horses, fell from their mounts and reeled to the well to slake their thirst. Lothag considered calling them, lashing out at them, telling them to act like soldiers, but he muttered, “They've done all men can do.”

He turned and straightened his shoulders. He had not chosen to be the commander of the Dark Lord's host, but it had fallen to his lot. Now he walked stiffly into the tower and went directly past all the guards to the Dark Lord's throne room. He knocked and heard a gruff, “Come in.”

“We are here, sire.”

“You took long enough about it, but no matter. We'll not speak of that now.” The Dark Lord was striding back and forth. His cowl was about his head, and his red eyes glittered as he paced the floor. “I would not have thought that ragtag army could have withstood all of our forces.”

“They are men and beasts determined to sell their lives dearly—and so they have,” Lothag muttered.

“Well, they will not last long.”

“We cannot take those rocks, sire. I must tell you that.”

“Perhaps not, but there is another way. Come with me.” The Dark Lord spoke to a lieutenant at the door. “Have every soldier, every man available, mounted on
a fresh horse. Empty the tower. We will all go back to fight in this battle.”

The lieutenant blinked. “Yes, my lord.”

“And we will have . . .
help . . .
on this foray.”

Lothag glanced at the Dark Lord. He had never before seen him hesitate, but there was something in his manner now that was different. “What is this help, if I may ask, sire?”

“Come, and you shall see.”

The Dark Lord led Lothag down a series of stone steps. Deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth they descended. The darkness was broken by torches fastened in iron holders driven into the wall. The light flickered over the cruel features of the Dark Lord.

Lothag—stout soldier though he was—had to force himself to follow. He had heard stories of the depths of the Dread Tower and of what lay here, but he had never believed them. He'd merely scoffed, “Old wives' tales! There's nothing there but maybe a wine cellar.” But now . . .

Finally they reached the lowest level, an arching room, its ceiling held up by gigantic braces of huge stone.

“This way,” the Dark Lord said. He took a large key from his pocket and unlocked a brass door that glowed dully in the guttering torchlight. “Come, and do not let your courage fail.”

“My courage has never failed, sire!”

“But you have never seen this,” the Dark Lord said. He himself drew his back straighter, and his features, even under the shadow of the cowl, looked tense.