Soul Under the Mountain (Legend of Reason Series) (7 page)

"I don't understand it, Rommus. I was on duty at the Arena the day you fought those seven men. I was high up in the cheap seats, but I could see well enough to see what happened. I saw your wounds close themselves. Why has it not happened for this wound?"

"It wa
s sort of a temporary thing. It's
a power I no longer have."

"Be honest with me Rommus. Are you not the god of war? Is it all a lie?"

Rommus ran a hand through his hair. "I honestly don't know anymore. I at least held the powers of a god, but the powers have been stolen from me."

Herrus nodded as he thought. "You must not let the men know. The new Legion cannot know that you have lost that power."

"Why not? They deserve to know the truth if they want to hear it."

"They don't want to hear it, Rommus. They believe they are following a god—at least most of them do. If they knew you were just another human, they might not follow you."

"Then let them follow
someone else. I am not interested in tricking people into following me. I didn't ask them to form a new Legion and worship me. All I ask, of any Medoran, is to fight for freedom before it is snatched away from us. If they will not follow an ordinary man, then good riddance to them."

Herrus paused and weighed the words he had just heard before speaking. "Maybe I underestimate the motives and determination of this new fighting force. Freedom is enough to motivate me, and I will follow you whether you are a god or not. Forgive me if I have offended you."

"No need to ask for forgiveness, my friend. I underst
and your concern. The only thing
I—"

Before he could finish his sentence a loud voice called out, sending chills of terror down every spine.
"It's over, Medorans. Come out."

No one moved or dared to breathe. Weapons were already in hand, but no man raised them, fearing that giving away their location would be a mistake. It was possible that other members of their party had been spotted, and it was still safe in the bushes.

A sword parted the bushes right in front of Rommus's face. "I said come out of there, Medorans. You belong to us now."

Rommus had no choice but to do as commanded. He got up slowly, still holding his sword but holding it loosely as if willing to surrender it. Once out of the thick brush, he laid the sword on the ground. Five other Medorans followed his lead and did the same.

Chapter 7

Someone kicked Rommus behind his knee and put him on the ground. A violent jarring of his head was probably a sword pummel to the back of his helmet. The line of captured Medorans rang and clanged as all the men received similar blows to their armor. More and more Vindyri-actual Vindyri—showed up and surrounded them from all sides. Their
number
had swollen to about 30 men before two were sent away to inform the
rest of the
army about the Medorans they had captured.

Rommus knelt before a
huge
man wearing larger armor than the rest of them. His helmet bore a crest of horsehair, signifying his rank as an officer. His helmet hid most of his face, but a thick
gray
mustache could be seen inside
framing his mouth and ending below his chin
. Locks of
wavy
gray
hair
shot through with blonde streaks
escaped from the rear of the helmet, landing on his broad, armored shoulders.

"A black sword, I see," the office
r
said, looking into Rommus's eyes. "You're too young and stupid to be the true owner of that sword. Has the
previous owner
died?"

"I don't know what you mean," Rommus replied.

"Yes you do, boy. I know whose sword that is. I have seen it before. Take off your helmet—that is, take off
our
helmet."

Rommus raised his hands to his head slowly, removing the helmet. Wide eyes and proud chuckles came from the curious Vindyri soldiers when they saw his face. They definitely knew who he was, and they knew they had captured a very valuable person.
Rommus
sighed and put his hands behind his head.

"Tirinius," the officer said. "You look just like him. It's like staring into the past.
I have met your father many times on the battlefield.
Surely
Tannis
has told you stories about the great
Desmond Afornn."

Rommus leaned forward and spat at the ground. "Never heard of you."

The slight smile inside Desmond's helmet melted away. "No matter. He'll be reminded of my greatness soon enough.
How did you get into the city?"

"We've been here throughout the entire occupation," Rommus lied.
"
We even helped build those walls over there on the north side."

"Do not take me for a fool, boy. There is a reason your father could never kill me. Now let's get down to business. You will answer me
immediately after I ask
my questions."

Rommus couldn't help but remember saying nearly the same sentence to men he had captured earlier in the evening. Here he was, on his knees, in much the same predicament. He hoped that he would not me
et the same fate as those men, b
ut regardless of how similar the situations were, Rommus knew he was in the right. He did not invade Vindyrion and sack a city. He didn't stage troops inside a foreign country in order to organize an assault on the people of that nation. In fact, the only battle
he attended
in recent memory was out on the Vindyri plains, fighting
for
the Vindyri against the Bhoors. It was the Vindyri who never showed up to that battle; instead marching into Medora and destroying the capital Brinn and her sister city Taburdum.

"Well?"

Rommus had been lost in thought and hadn't heard whatever Desmond asked. "What's that? I wasn't paying attention."

Desmond punched him—hard. "Do I have your attention now, little Tirinius? How many of you are there in here with us?"

Rommus could taste the blood oozing between his teeth. "500."

Another powerful fist wrecked his jaw, this time knocking him off his knees, into the air and on his back. He had never been hit so hard in his life. The world seemed all wobbly, and the only thing keeping him from thinking it was a dream was the horrible pain across his face. What he had first thought of as a somewhat
portly
, older man had turned out to be some kind of battle-hardened super warrior.

As he lay there on his back,
staring at the bushes,
he could just barely make out the shape of the lone Medoran soldier hiding inside them. Next to him
was the captured Zeke. B
oth men were completely still, and t
he soldier was waiting for a command
from Rommus
."

Desmond approached and stood over Rommus. "One last time, boy. How many of you are in here?"

Rommus exaggerated his daze, flipping his head back and forth in mock confusion. "One—two—"

When the men heard a loud, firm "three" they sprang into action. Rommus whipped his legs up in the air as he lay on his back. He hooked them around Desmond and threw him to the ground with all the force he could muster. The soldier hiding in the bushes rushed out and stabbed the Vindyri closest to the pile of collected weapons. The other Medorans fought their way over to the pile and grabbed whatever they could.

Rommus was on his feet, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his wrist. He was calm and still except for his slow, hea
ving breaths. H
e didn't eve
n bother running for a weapon; h
e just locked eyes with Desmond, who was still struggling to get up off the ground. His heavy frame made him a powerful man, but it also was a hindrance. He was fast with a punch and probably with a sword as well, but slow when moving his entire bulk.

Rommus didn't move. He didn't try to attack Desmond before he could get up. He didn't check his surroundings for other
Vindyri who might slice off an
arm or even his hea
d. He just stood there, heaving
tufts of steam from his lungs out into the frigid night air.

Desmond never broke eye contact as he stood up, but once he was upright, he rolled them. "
Your father wasn't even a match for me, boy. You're half the man he was."

Rommus zigzagged
over to Desmond to mask his intent. When he reached him, he didn't strike him or grapple with him. Instead, he twisted his helmet around his head, blinding him and breaking his nose in the struggle. Rommus floated passed him and rolled as silently as he could over to his father's sword.

Pain stung his face. Desmond had removed his hel
met
in a blink
and
had
used it to hammer Rommus in the face when he wasn't expecting it. Before he even knew what hit him, Desmond's heavy fis
t smashed into his face again. It didn't make a lot of sense, but s
omehow the fist seemed to hurt worse tha
n the metal helmet did
.

His vision had gone blurry with watery eyes. His whole face hurt. His senses had all been dulled by pain. He stumbled away from the direction he thought Desmond was in, doing anything he could to avoid getting punched again.

All around him swords clanged. Men screamed as they hacked and stabbed. Even though the Medorans were in a bad position, the fact that they were still on their feet and fighting against such terrible odds was a good sign. Rommus had lost track of how long the battle had been going on, but getting pummeled in the face over and over could turn a few seconds of fighting into an eternity.

The objective was now to escape alive. It wouldn't be long before the rest of the army knew about their inf
iltration of the city, and hordes of men would soon pour into the area. Rommus and several of his men were injured, and they needed to get out of the city before injuries turned into deaths.

Desmond stomped ever closer.
Rommus
was willing to retreat from the battle and call it a loss, as long as he could get his men to safety. But Desmond was determined not to
let that happen. Rommus wasn't
sure if Desmond even cared to capture him; it seemed like all he cared about was inflicting pain on the son of his former rival.

Desmond swung again, but Rommus was able to duck this time. While closer to the ground, he stepped in and grabbed Desmond's leg and lifted with all his might. He was able to knock him off balance again, and he stumbled and tripped backwards over a fallen soldier.

Rommus wasted no time. "Retreat!"

It wasn't the best circumstances to call for a retreat, but he feared there would be no other option for it.  The sun had already touched the sky far off to the east, and was beginning to usher in
the
soft light
of dawn
.
In the distance, at the clumps of large buildings at the city center, a dark, undulating mass of men could be seen coming towards them. They had to escape
soon
or death was certain.

The men did their best to obey the retreat command, but some found it difficult with all the swords and shields blocking their way. Eventually they all clustered off to the side and could finally run with Rommus toward the western gate.

The Medorans stripped off whatever armor they could to lighten their load and gain speed. Rommus suddenly panicked, realizing that he
had
left his father's sword back at the battle. His heart sank, knowing that that sword was very important to his father. Even when Rommus had offered to craft him a superior sword, Tannis refused, saying that it had served him well and he would keep it in this world and even take it to the next one. He had made it clear that he wanted the sword
to be
buried with him. Rommus hoped that one of the other Medorans picked it up during the skirmish.

On they ran. Only a handful of Vindyri still chased them, most being killed or injured back at the battle. It wasn't surprising that the Medorans took far fewer casualties, being that the Medorans were generally better trained and disciplined fighters. The Vindyri were a looser bunch, but made up for their lack of rigid training by being as brutal as they could be. But some Vindyri were extraordinary warriors. This Desmond
Afornn was one of those men.

One of the men had grabbed Zeke and shoved him along in front of him. Zeke could have easily just run off in another direction, but he did as he was prodded to do. It was possible that he feared that
there was a sword at his back—
but there wasn't. There was
only
a fleeing Medoran at his back
running for his life
.

As they passed the graveyard one of the Vindyri pulled out a horn and began sounding an alarm. There was no doubt that many other soldiers waited at the
western
gate, and the soldiers pursuing the Medorans were going to want their help. They were attempting to crush the Medorans in a vice.