The Protector of Esparia (The Annals of Esparia Book 1) (42 page)

“What do you think, Ru?” John asked his advisor. 

Ru nodded his head.  “It’s a good plan.  With stealth and luck it could work.  Doran has shown us the stealth part, so we’re already halfway there.”

“It’s settled then,” John decided.  “Doran, our men will be ready, and thank you.”

Doran smiled broadly and this time a row of brilliant white teeth showed through his scraggly beard.  He slipped out without making a sound. 

“Lyrista,” John began, but before he could finish, she cut in.

“I know, I know.”  She sighed, raising a hand to her forehead and rubbing it.  “You need a thousand Guardians by midnight.  I’ll work on it.”  She walked out of the tent still rubbing her forehead.

“I’ll go too,” Reese announced.  “We’ll need to prepare to receive the hostages that come from the south.”

John shook the young man’s hand.  “If everything goes as planned, we’ll attack Demar in five days.”

“I’ll be ready.”

Ru stood beside John while they watched Reese and his men ride south.  “You were right, John.  I do like that boy.”  With a gleam in his eye he asked, “Do you think he’d be willing to meet my oldest daughter?”

* * *

The next three days were spent preparing for the hostages and neutralizing Demarian spies.  After a day John sent twenty groups of fifty soldiers westward to aid in bringing the hostages home.  He sent Ru north with a similar force to receive hostages there. 

By late afternoon on the third day, the advance scouts rode into camp with the report of thousands of worn out women and children trudging toward the Esparian lines.  John rushed his men forward.

The people were half starved, and John’s army reached them just in time, as many were ready to collapse.  The Ghost walker leading the rag-tag group held three children on his horse with him.  The Guardians and underground soldiers were also carrying as many children as they could.  It pleased John to see the compassion his men showed these poor souls and how quick they were to offer their own rations.  Lyrista directed the freed prisoners to shelters, set up behind the lines.

John went to the leader and held out his hand.  “I’m John Ernshaw, Protector of Esparia.”

The man took the offered hand in a firm grip.  “I’m Farin, leader of the Ghost Walkers.”

“How many men did we lose?” John asked.

“Not as many as I thought we would.  I have no knowledge of the other four groups, but in ours, we lost two Ghost Walkers and fifteen Guardians.  We were able to take the Demarians by surprise.  There were some Elitet among the guards and they were our worst foes.  We’ve been moving without break for nearly two days.  I don’t know if the enemy is in pursuit.  If they are, they’ll not be far behind.  I’m glad you advanced your men to meet us.  These people have made a super-human effort just to journey this far.”

John readied his men, but no pursuing troops materialized.  With positive reports coming in from the four other hostage centers, John knew the time had come for giving the order to advance, but first, he reminded the men about his no-exceptions rule of leaving the land and the inhabitants untouched. 

“This is a campaign of liberation, not revenge,” John told Farin.  “We’ll show the Demarians we’re here to help them, not destroy them.  Even though their armies ravaged Palium, they did it under orders and their leaders will be held responsible.  All enemy troops will be allowed to surrender and eventually go back to their homes, but only after taking a life-oath of peace.”

Farin looked pleased.  “Demar is my homeland.  I think many of the simpler people will surrender if given a chance to return to their homes without fear of retaliation.” 

“I hope so,” John sighed. 

“Your daughter told me you’d be here soon.  I’m amazed at how swiftly you liberated Palium and Snow Peak.”

John was stunned.  “Jessica?”  His heart skipped a beat.  “You’ve seen her?  Is she okay?”

“Yes.  She’s being held at Rendaira, Daenon’s private garden, but she’s well.  I have a man keeping an eye on things there.  She asked if I’d help free the slaves.”

John smiled in relief.  “Yes, that’s Jess.”  He looked at Farin and squared his shoulders.  “Let’s free them together.”

Once John felt satisfied that every soldier thoroughly understood his orders, he gave the command to press ahead.  The sun had just reached the eleventh hour in the sky when the men of Esparia, accompanied by giants mounted on their massive ox-horses, set their sights on Demar.  With the Ghost Walkers leading the way, a mighty host comprised of cavalry, foot soldiers, supply wagons, hospital coaches and healers moved forward.  An immense cloud of dust rolled up toward the sky as the thousands of marching feet displaced the dry earth beneath.  Deep in thought, John rode next to Farin.  The heartland of Demar lay before them and he knew the fighting would be the fiercest they had yet encountered.  

* * *

Daenon was in his lavish, five room headquarters when word came his hostages were gone and nearly one hundred of his Elitet dead.  He jumped from his leather chair and howled in frustration.  The poor messenger who had come with the news cowered in terror.  “I am surrounded by incompetents!” he screamed, his face red with rage.  “Can’t anyone follow through on one single order?”

He paced back and forth for several minutes.  The cape of his black satin uniform swished at every turn he made, the only sound in the deathly quiet room.  Many of his fifth, sixth and seventh bars were there, at strict attention.  They were meeting to determine how to distribute the captives when the news came.  Daenon finally stopped his pacing and spoke to his leaders.  “I will allow no man to surrender. No one.  Do you understand me?  We will stand as one and defend our deserts.  Let every man fight to the death.  If someone tries to surrender, kill him.”

Daenon pointed to one of the Elitet commanders, a muscular man of average height, with a droopy mustache and thin beard.  “You, Corter.”

The man quickly saluted.  “Yes sir?” His brown eyes gleamed.

“Take one hundred Elitet and capture John Ernshaw.  I want him dead or alive.  It doesn’t matter.  I just want him.”  Corter bowed low and left the room.

“Now go,” Daenon commanded his leaders, “and remember, if anyone even talks of surrender…kill him.”

Each of the officers saluted, then quickly left.  Daenon flopped onto a velvet couch.  “Addex!” he called.  Addex quickly appeared at the tent door, he was never far from Daenon’s side.  “Take twenty men with you and fetch Jessica.  It’s time I use my insurance.”  Addex saluted and left without a word.

* * *

Corter handpicked the best Elitet he could find.  They rode north and, under cover of night, slipped between Ru and John’s armies, stealthily riding behind the Esparian lines.  The Ghost Walkers were not the only Demarians to have mastered the silent skills.  Daenon’s orders were clear: dead or alive.  Corter secretly hoped the Protector would resist capture.  The thought of killing John made his palms itch.

* * *

Two days after the hostages were freed, the Esparians and Demarians clashed on the Palium-Demar border.  Never, in the known history of the people, had fighting been so vicious and brutal. Even the giants were hard pressed.

After the slaughter caused by flying arrows, stones, and javelins, the hand-to-hand combat began.  Already thousands of bodies littered the field and men tripped over them as the two sides came together.  The normally parched desert earth combined with the blood of the wounded, becoming a treacherous, slippery sea of red mud.  The howling of men combined with the screams of horses rent the air.  Metal scraped on metal, bones snapped, and flesh ripped.

Astride Fireguard, John spearheaded a group of four thousand horsemen at the center of the onslaught.  The rest of his cavalry pressed hard on the right flank and the giants were positioned to the far left.  Foot soldiers battled in between.  John cut through the enemy around him.  In the din of battle, words were useless, so he inspired his men with his actions, his courage and stamina.  For three days the fighting continued, with only a small respite at night for the men to sleep in their armor with swords by their sides. 

Anticipating the horrific battle, John asked Larone to send a plea throughout the country for more healers.  Volunteers had poured into Ramadine from all over the country, with a group of nearly four hundred young men and women from the province of Florio responding.  Larone was able to send over two thousand fresh medical personnel to the front.  Five hundred arrived at John’s camp the day before the hostages were freed, the other fifteen hundred were divided between Reese’s camp, Ru’s camp, and Cordon’s.  Countless more men would have died if these healers and assistants had not shown up when they did. 

At the end of each battle day, John rounded at the various hospitals.  When he visited the ones manned by the Florio healers, he was especially impressed with their skill.  Though young, they were well trained in surgical methods.  They stitched wounds and repaired arteries with remarkable skill.  These extraordinary specialists saved limbs that would normally have been amputated.

Catching one surgeon between operations, he asked, “Where did you learn your art?  Who trained you?”

The young man smiled with pride.  “I was taught by Orin, the great healer of Florio.”

It was nearly midnight on the evening of the third battle day when Lyrista found John exiting the surgical center of the hospital tent closest to his command hub.  She firmly took hold of his arm.  “Come on John.”  She pulled him from the medical tent.  “You’ve got to catch some sleep.  You cannot fight throughout the day, then operate throughout the night.  Daenon will attack early again tomorrow and you need a clear head.”

“I know, I’ve got competent healers, but I hate the night and this makes it go faster.”

They wound their way through tents of resting soldiers and circles of waning campfires towards John’s own sleeping quarters.  “I think you’re so exhausted, you won’t dream.”

“Well, that was never the problem.”

“So tell me.”

“Things are so critical right now, that I’m afraid if I stop and rest, something might happen that I can’t react to fast enough.”

“Your reflexes won’t be any good to you if you’re half asleep on your feet.”

When they neared John’s small, one-man tent, the hair on the back of Lyrista’s neck prickled and stood on end.  She searched his face, but he seemed not to register any danger.  “Do you trust me, John?”

“With my life,” he smiled at her.  They had reached his quarters.  Lyrista pulled the flap aside and helped John down, onto a thin cushion.  When his head hit a small pillow he began to lightly snore. 

Kneeling beside him, she ran her hand over his dirty, matted hair.  It had grown quite a bit since she first met him.  She touched the three day beard growth on his cheek, then leaned down and softly kissed his lips. 

As soon as Lyrista stepped from John’s doorway, the sense of danger tugged at her again.  Being a warrior and having generations of warrior breeding in her, she had learned long ago to trust her instincts.  She pulled both her daggers.  The camp lay dark and quiet.  Only the crackle of embers and the snoring of men sleeping came to her ears, yet her uneasiness grew. 

Spotting a lone soldier kneeling two fires away, Lyrista raced to gain his aid.  “You must help me,” she addressed him.

“Commander Lyrista!”  The startled man jumped at her sudden appearance. 

“I have a unit of Guardians over there,” she motioned to a tight grouping of tents circled around a blazing campfire, the only fire to flame so brightly at this late hour.  “Alert them in my name, the Protector’s in danger.  Tell them to make a sweep of the camp.  Something’s not right.”

Without a word the man flew from his fire and ran for the Guardians.  Lyrista circled John’s tent, every muscle in her body tense, her nerves on edge.

Her Guardians silently spread out, fifty men in all.  The lone soldier, a sword in his hand, returned to join Lyrista at her vigil.  Neither spoke, but she was grateful to have him.  After several tense moments, Lyrista heard a dull thud, then several dull thuds.  Suddenly, the nearly imperceptible sound of a footfall directly behind, caused her to whirl around. 

With her dagger, she barely deflected the deadly thrust of an Elitet’s short blade.  The assassin lunged again, but she nimbly sprang to one side, cutting upwards with her own weapon and slicing the man’s arm.  A second Elitet sprang toward her, but the soldier who stood guard with her threw a well-aimed knife. 

Three more black clothed invaders appeared from the dark and Lyrista, along with her companion, fought them down.  While Lyrista side kicked one man, she sliced at another.  Her razor sharp knives drew blood with each twist of her hands.  Two more Elitet flew at her from an angle.  One managed to slash her forearm, hitting her bone with his blade, the other cut into the side of John’s tent.  In a flash, Lyrista realized John would be dead in two breaths and she could not save him.  Another Elitet was on her and she rotated away from him, still jabbing with both weapons.

The lone soldier roared at the killer entering John’s tent.  He threw his sword, javelin style, felling the man where he stood.  Seeing her new friend unarmed, Lyrista tossed a dagger to him.  He caught it in a rolling leap which brought him in front of the gaping hole at the side of John’s tent.  An Elitet charged him, but the soldier parried the sword with Lyrista’s knife, then wrapped his arm around the attacker’s neck and twisted.  It was over.