Chapter 23
Lewis galloped south through the hot and barren plains of Thebus, the air stifling with every step, racing into the sun, Durge at his side and their dozens of men behind them as they headed for the Southern Gate. They rode on, the thundering of their horses’ hooves filling the air. Lewis’s heart raced; the next few hours would determine his destiny, and the destiny of Escalon. He had never ridden all the way to the gate, and as they went the land narrowed to a strip of desert, bordered on either side by the two seas. On either side of him the water sparkled, the glare blinding, heat coming off the ground in waves and not a breeze to be found. This strip of land was all that separated the two seas, the mainland of Escalon from Bandrania, and Lewis knew that whoever held it controlled the gateway to Escalon.
Durge rode up beside him, and Lewis looked over to see a maniacal smile on his face, as if he were getting ready for bloodshed. Durge looked as if he had been born for a day like this.
“Do you think it was wise, bringing only two dozen of your men?” Lewis called out, recalling the hundreds of men Thebus had left behind in his fort.
Thebus, covered in dust, looked straight ahead, studying the horizon with a deadly intent.
“Taking the Southern Gate is not hard,” he called back defensively. “Holding it is. The Bandranians know this—that is why they leave but a few dozen men to guard it. They don’t expect an attack from the north—after all, who would be foolish enough?”
Lewis studied the gate as they approached, wondering.
“What matters is holding it,” Durge continued, “and for that we need not a few hundred men, but a few thousand. We need your Oscar’s men, and all those reinforcements you vow will be coming.”
Lewis understood.
“They will come,” he reassured. “Oscar never breaks a vow.”
As they closed in on the gate, a half mile away, Lewis wondered about something.
“Tell me,” Lewis called out. “When Tarnis surrendered the Southern Gate and opened it for our enemies—why did you obey?”
Durge’s face reddened with anger as he continued to ride, locking his jaw, clearly bringing back bad memories.
“When your King commands,” he replied, “you obey. That is what loyal soldiers do.”
“And now?” Lewis asked.
They rode on in silence, until finally, Durge spoke.
“I shall not make the same mistake twice,” he replied. “If I am asked again to choose between my King and my honor—I will serve my honor first.”
They rode on, horses thundering across the plains, entering the long, narrow stretch of land that spanned the channel and leaving in their wake a cloud of dust. Lewis’s heartbeat quickened as they approached what could only be the Southern Gate. It gleamed from here, filling the skyline, a massive golden arch hundreds of feet high, the largest gate he had ever seen. It had huge iron spikes on its portcullis, which sat raised, keeping the gate open, allowing access to Escalon from all of Bandrania. Lewis would change that—or die trying. Whoever held that gate, Lewis knew, could keep the world at bay, could protect Escalon from any invasion. It was a natural bottleneck, and thousands of men of Escalon, properly positioned, could beat back millions.
Atop the gate, to Lewis’s disgrace, he saw the Bandranian banner, the insidious yellow and blue, flapping in the wind smugly, and at its base, he spotted a dozen Bandranian soldiers, standing lackadaisically on guard, their backs to them, facing south. Of course, they did not even bother to face Escalon. They never could possibly expect an attack.
“The worst job for a Bandranian!” Durge called out to Lewis. “To be stationed at the gate. They bask in the sun all day long, and they can expect no action.”
“Not until today,” Lewis corrected.
Durge drew his sword.
“Not until today,” he echoed.
Lewis lowered his head and kicked his horse and they all galloped, racing across the peninsula, a band of warriors charging together for their destiny. Lewis charged beside Thebus, leading his men as they raced down the barren stretch of land, the sun beating down, sweat stinging his eyes as he blinked into the sun. The light was blinding, bouncing off everything, the water now surrounding them on both sides, and but a few hundred yards ahead lay the Southern Gate, gleaming, reflecting more light than the two seas.
Lewis felt his heart slamming as they approached, knowing these next moments would determine everything, would be the sum of all he had ever fought for as a warrior. If they took the gate, they would, for the first time in years, shut off Escalon from the outside world, from invasion, would seal it off for its final step toward freedom. But if they failed—all of Bandrania would bear down on them with the weight of an ocean, and they would all be killed.
Lewis thought of Oscar, counting on him, and he gripped his sword, knowing he could not let his old friend down.
“Aim for the hornblowers first!” Durge cried.
Lewis looked at him, puzzled.
“See the ships?” Thebus cried, pointing to the sea.
Lewis looked and on the horizon saw hundreds of black ships, sailing the yellow and blue banners of Bandrania.
“That’s why there are so few men at the gate,” he added. “They need only sound the horns, and all the ships shall come to their rescue. They must not sound those horns!”
Lewis followed his finger and saw standing up high, on platforms raised on the gate, about twenty feet off the ground, a soldier on either side, each holding a horn several feet long. They faced south, their backs still to them.
“I’ll take the one on the right,” Lewis said, gripping his spear. He galloped faster, praying he could get close enough before his target turned around.
“And the other is mine,” Durge replied.
“And you, the crank turner,” Durge commanded one of his men, pointing with his sword.
Lewis followed his gaze and saw a soldier standing by a huge crank, hands at the ready, his back to them, too.
“If that gate is closed before we can reach it,” Durge added, “we are finished.”
They bore down, horses thundering, fifty yards away, then forty, then thirty, Lewis’s throat so dry he could barely breathe. He studied the hornblower on the right, counting the steps until he was close enough to throw his spear. He knew it would have to be a perfect throw, or else risk losing it all.
He was just a few more yards from throwing when one of the Bandranian soldiers suddenly turned, hearing them. His eyes opened wide in panic. He reached out and shoved the soldiers beside him, and as one they all turned and looked.
“NOW!” Durge shouted.
Lewis knew he needed a few more yards to ensure an accurate throw—yet he had no choice. He took a deep breath, steadied his shoulder as best as he could, and raised the heavy spear, praying—and then let it fly.
Lewis held his breath as he watched his spear fly; his palms were sweaty as he released, and he had no idea if his throw was true. He also watched Durge’s sword, flying at the same time, turning end over end as it neared its target.
The hornblower on the left, Durge’s target, turned and raised the horn to his mouth, and as he did, Durge’s sword impaled him in the chest. He dropped the horn and fell off the platform, dead.
At the same time, Lewis’s hornblower turned, at just the moment when the spear was set to impale his body. Lewis was appalled to see that that lucky turn had saved him, to see his spear sail by his target, merely grazing his arm and knocking him off balance.
Lewis was relieved to see that, at least, the hornblower cried and fell from the platform. And yet somehow the steep fall, which should have killed him, did not. He crawled on the ground, alive, inching his way toward his horn, which had fallen but a few feet away.
Lewis was flooded with panic, knowing there was no time. He was still ten yards away when the hornblower reached out and grabbed his horn. He raised it to his mouth with shaking hands, took a deep breath, and, with puffed cheeks, was about to blow.
Lewis allowed his blind instincts to take over. He leapt from his horse while still at a full gallop, the world rushing by him, raised his sword, and swung for the hornblower. He felt his blade slashing flesh, and he looked over to see the soldier slump to the ground, decapitated, the horn still on his lips, his cheeks still puffed—thankfully, silent.
Lewis hit the ground hard, rolled and rolled, and gained his feet, never slowing. He charged the other soldier holding the crank, knowing time was short, and as he ran, he saw the other crank turner, dead on the ground, in a pool of blood, killed by a spear in the back.
Lewis tackled the soldier to the ground just as he began to turn the crank and lower the massive portcullis. He landed on top of him and tried to choke him, but as soon as he did, he was kicked hard in the back by a Bandranian soldier—then clubbed by another. He turned to see a third Bandranian pouncing, a sword coming down for him before he could gather himself. He had left himself too vulnerable, he realized, by rushing out ahead of the pack.
As he braced himself for the blow, his men arrived, their horses galloping through, and Lewis watched with relief as one decapitated the soldier above him, sparing his life. Another killed the Bandranian beside him with a spear through his chest. Lewis spotted another Bandranian run for the crank, and saw a hatchet turn end over end as it flew through the air and lodged itself in his back.
Durge and his men overtook the gate, horses galloping, slashing and killing Bandranians on all sides, who had no time to put up a defense. They swept through like a desert storm and slaughtered them all in a blur. A few Bandranians had time enough to just grab for swords and shields, yet barely had they lifted them when they were hacked down. And with the hornblowers dead and the cranks out of their control, there was little they could do to alert the others. They were quickly surrounded and killed.
Soon, all the Bandranian soldiers lay in heaps, their blood staining the sand, while all fell silent.
“He’s getting away!” someone yelled.
Lewis turned to see a lone Bandranian had escaped. The soldier mounted his horse and took off, galloping south at lightning speed toward Bandrania. Lewis knew if he got away, all would be lost.
Lewis didn’t hesitate. Without thinking he mounted his horse and rode after him. He bore down him, as fast as he ever rode, air cutting into his lungs, hardly able to breathe. They rode, just the two of them out there alone, and the terrain shifted as they went farther from the gate, left the peninsula, and entered the mainland of Bandrania, the ground morphing to hard rock. Their horses’ hooves clattered, and Lewis knew they were riding in Fields of Ore. A stretch of black stone, it was no terrain for riding.
Lewis’s horse was slipping and sliding on the slick stone, and soon, it stumbled and fell—while the Bandranians did, too. He hit the ground hard, bruised from the hard landing, feeling pain in every corner of his body. His only solace was that the Bandranian up ahead was in the same position as he.
Lewis rolled and summoned all his effort to regain his feet. The Bandranian was slower to get up, and Lewis, forcing himself to his feet, charged for the man, about twenty yards ahead, beneath the blistering heat of the sun. The Bandranian stumbled, and he bore down on him.
Lewis was but yards away, preparing to tackle the soldier, when suddenly the soldier did something Lewis could not expect: he turned, raised a small hidden spear, and threw it at him.
At the last second Lewis’s reflexes kicked in, and he dodged as it grazed his shoulder.
The soldier looked up and, fear in his eyes, turned to run, weaponless. Lewis, knowing that a slippery chase on the slick rock could end poorly for them both, instead drew his sword, planted his feet, reached back, and threw it.
He watched the blade tumble end over end until it finally found a spot in the soldier’s back. He grunted and fell face-first on the rock. Dead.
Lewis walked over, breathing hard, stood over the soldier and grabbed his sword. He then turned and looked back at the shining gate in the distance. He saw all of his men, triumphant, the gate in their control. It was the most beautiful sight of his life.
All them cheered in the distance, and Lewis knew they had done it.
The gate was theirs.