Zealot Page 9

  How is Tiberius always so infallibly fortunate?!

  Salinius spoke up with a fearful voice as Malcus stood unmoving, “What should we do? Shall we run to the manner, attempt to barricade ourselves inside?”

  Suddenly, as Salinius finished, the screams of two of the twenty soldiers who were left could be heard somewhere beyond the small circular clearing in which they stood. Then silence followed, before calls for help came from the southern side of the estate; again there was silence as the small group's calls for help were immediately put to death, leaving only the dying screams of the slaughtered to echo across the grounds, carried by the quickening breeze. After a few more moments passed, screams rose yet again from the darkness, this time much closer than before.

  According to Malcus' count, this left only Salinius and his many servants which were no doubt cowering inside the manner, along with his ten remaining soldiers who were now bravely encircling both him and the master of the estate.

  Malcus, turning to the soldier on his left, gave orders, “Unbar and open the gates,” then, turning to answer Salinius, he continued, “You may leave if you wish, but you will not make it. At this present moment to leave the lantern lit clearing is to join the dead who now surround us...”

  But Malcus was too late in answering the terrified, apprehensive man, as before even receiving a chance to finish, Salinius bolted toward the manner.

  “Let him go,” commanded Malcus to his soldiers who began to make movement in a reflexive attempt to catch up with and restrain Salinius.

  As his soldiers moved back in obedience, with the other two who left to open the nearby gates returning to join the group, Malcus watched Salinius charge out of the small clearing and into the dim moonlit night. A quick moment passed before Malcus saw a shadow spring up out of the darkness, severing Salinius' now barely visible head from his body.

  There he was, just staring at them in the shadow of the night, holding the once esteemed member of house Brasitus' head at his side as the man's now lifeless body fell to the ground, claiming its place among the others. The dark shadow which Malcus knew to be Eleven, still barely visible in the distance, made another movement before he simply again could not be seen.

  Thud! Malcus and the others turned to watch as Salinius' thrown head hit the ground, skipped once, then rolled before coming to rest at the legatus' feet. Carved into the man's forehead was as follows; 11 left.

  “Steady men,”commanded Malcus, as his soldiers noticeably began to become restless.

  Malcus in this moment, while preparing for retreat, simply could not at this point fail to kill Tiberius. But he also could not deny the simple rudimentary truth which remained, that is, living is better than dying. So, hating the idea of retreat, Malcus accepted the fact that regarding the prospect of failure, today he might not have a choice.

  Malcus' thoughts were abruptly cut off as a soldier directly to his right suddenly dropped dead with a large spear protruding out from where his face should be. Then another man was struck, spear protruding from his groin, followed by a second spear which came whistling through the air somewhere beyond the tree line to silence his screams. Then a third soldier dropped immediately after from a fourth consecutive spear which struck his chest.

  Watching his soldiers begin to panic, realizing he had already lost, Malcus was forced to make a decision he despised, “Retreat!”

  His soldiers immediately made way, sprinting quickly for the gate which appeared to be their only salvation. But Malcus, anticipating his hidden enemy's next move, ran in the other direction, heading for the small side gate which existed on the North side of the wall. Knowing a duel with Eleven in the darkness of night, would be suicide, Malcus retreated, considering the unknowing sacrifice of his men to be both necessary and acceptable.

  Eleven caught a glimpse of Malcus as he unexpectedly retreated in the other direction. The masked man then briefly considered leaving the rest in favor of catching the legatus, but it was too late, he was already committed to the slaughter of the seven men who were now charging for the gates which unbeknownst to them were just out of reach.

  Eleven, waiting in the shadows just outside of the clearing, against the long brick wall which surrounded the estate, made quick movement, bolting out of the darkness to intersect the soldiers as they attempted to flee. Before the men even realized they were being attacked, Eleven's sword moved to decapitate the soldier who was furthest ahead of the group. Holding onto the man's head, he then threw it mid-spin at the soldier to his right, putting him off balance as the retreat slowed to a halt. As Eleven continued, the second closest guard's throat split open, the masked man's blade carving through with perfect accuracy in completion of his improvised technique.

  Recovering from the shock of having his comrade's detached head impact him with no warning, the third man charged ahead of the fourth who was following hot on his heels. Eleven smiled behind his mask as he reached for one of ten daggers that he kept on his person; six small ones on his lower back and four slightly larger ones on his chest, eleven blades in all. His dagger was placed in the air flying toward the closest soldier. Upon impact, as Eleven's third mark fell to the ground with his dagger lodged firmly into the unfortunate man's eye socket, the fourth soldier doubled down, making two repetitive attacks which hit nothing but air. Frustrated, the large man again incompetently struck, missing his target. Eleven took easy advantage by evading left, slicing the man's thick right leg. As the monstrous man followed by swinging his sword to the right in desperate anger, Eleven ducked below, pushing forward and through the hulking soldier, dragging his sword to the left, slipping the blade underneath the man's armor, severing the flesh which held the man's internals inside of his body. The large man dropped his weapon, trying to coddle his innards as they seeped out of his gaping wound, crying out in horror before his screams quickly faded due to the Faceless warrior's final blow which came from behind as his sword plunged into the man's back, through his heart. The remaining three stepped back, dropping their lanterns to free their hands while they watched Eleven turn to face them as he slowly pulled his sword out of the falling, soon to be lifeless body of the man who, not long ago, had clearly been their champion.

  Taunting them, Eleven spoke with a sinister laugh, “All men fail, but the largest have further to fall.”

  Terrified, the final three once brave soldiers turned, believing without reason that fleeing further into the darkness would somehow help them escape a master of shadows. As the men sprinted away from the masked man in a panic, he closed his eyes seeing instead with sound, his other sight.

  It was a closely guarded secret, still hidden from most, that the Faceless were bred from one human and one Ungassii, a race which he had never seen aside from those who were apart of the now extinct Order; nor did he know where they came from as it was another hidden knowledge which he was never privy to. The result of such breeding allowed him to see with the eyes of a man, but when those eyes were closed he could see the world in a different way, a way which the Order taught him was due to something they called the vibrations of sound; something he saw with his ears, and not his eyes.

  Eleven watched with his second sight as the sound which the three soldiers made as they retreated, illuminated not just themselves but also the neatly trimmed bushes, the many patches and piles of snow which littered the estate, and the leafless barren trees which surrounded them. Removing just three of the large daggers from the sheathes which were pressed tightly up against his chest, Eleven exhaled as he sent each one gracefully into the air; each one toward a precise target and a vicious outcome. The small short battle was immediately finished, as each consecutive blade hit its exact anticipated target, leaving the soldier's bodies to fall, dramatically bouncing and tumbling forward after hitting the ground, before lifelessly coming to a complete stop.

  I never miss.

  Eleven then ran quickly toward the manner where Tiberius would be kept. He did not take his time as the masked man knew Malcus
would return soon with a small army, no doubt heading straight for the docks to prevent any chance of the praetor's escape.

  Hours had passed since the old book which Zackarius had seen Jaimus carrying upon their parting, had flown out onto the docks, tumbling to a stop not far from where he had been standing while he patrolled the perimeter. After picking up the book, which seemed oddly important for some reason unknown to him, he boarded the Andromeda to place it below deck in a safe location.

  There had been no sign of Jaimus since they had parted ways, which caused Zackarius to fear the worst. Jaimus should have arrived by now and Tiberius' messenger knew full well that if he didn't appear soon they would have no choice but to leave the old man behind, an unfortunate but soon-to-be inevitable outcome.

  Come on Jaimus where are you?

  As Zackarius sat on board the Andromeda sharpening his hand ax with a whetstone, he stopped to glance over at the round shield which Kanii had handed to him earlier saying, “Today you are a soldier, remember our lessons; stay strong.”

  Aside from the nearly overwhelming apprehension, Zackarius felt more than ready, and he took this time to review Kanii's teaching.

  Zackarius had tried countless times to get Justinian to train him in combat, but the legatus under Tiberius' command had always refused, telling him to simply accept his place as a messenger. Luckily he had much more success with the Andromeda's captain, and in consequence she had spent many hours teaching Zackarius how to use sword and ax since he had successfully coaxed the ex-pirate into teaching him well over a year ago. And today, all the time which he had spent training was about to pay off.

  Immediately, Zackarius rose, dropping his whetstone, and equipping his shield as one of the lookouts shouted while emerging from the shadow of the buildings in full sprint, “They're coming! They're coming!”

  Zackarius, no longer bitten by the night's freezing windchill, bolted forward, exiting Tiberius' flagship to join the shield wall which was already beginning to form. He could hear Kanii, followed by the other captains, shouting, “Shield wall! Shield wall!”

  His adrenaline surged with anxiety at the prospect of what was soon to emerge from the city to assault the small band of soldiers who were about to prove their loyalty; who were about to earn the right to be called servants of the great Lord Tiberius.

  Kanii continued on to take position at the front line, standing shoulder to shoulder with Zackarius who was immediately to her left. Other captains took position up front as they hastily gave their men final orders in preparation for the approaching battle.

  If Zackarius strained to hear, he could make out the short hushed conversation which Kanii and the soldier who had been the lookout, were having about what he had seen.

  Zackarius' heart began to beat more intensely as time seemed to slow to a halt; this was it, this was the moment he had been anxiously dreading for the past few hours.

  Kanii then called out, “You all know the plan; as soon as Tiberius launches from the dock on his ship, a retreat will be sounded.

  “I know that many of you are having second thoughts right now due to a belief that this plan is perhaps a little too ambitious for success; and those who share this belief might very well be right. However, I also know that recently many of you bled for Tiberius on Gahnen's northern glaciers in the Battle of Shards. Tell me, when you were boxed in and outnumbered did the Praetor listen to wise counsel and abandon you to slaughter for easy strategic advantage?!”

  The soldiers looked around nodding or grunting their affirmation of her point; one or two spoke out, “No!”

  Then continuing, Kanii shouted, “No, he gathered together his remaining Imperial forces and personally ran into the fray not for his own gain... No, he did it for you! So this is your chance to prove to him that you are worthy of his loyalty; to prove to your enemies, in life or death, that you are not their equals! No! You are above them, you are better than them! So join me for your Lord Tiberius, make them shake in their boots because only you, not they, are worthy to walk upon the same field of battle which he walks!”

  Shouts of agreement and affirmation rang out among the men, before, as Kanii finished, they could see Eleven and Tiberius charging around the corner, their existence illuminated by the torches which were carried by the small army who followed behind only feet away, sprinting to catch the two men before they reached the ships. The approaching enemy looked to be at least four times their number.

  Zackarius tightened his grip around the hilt of his ax as he stuck his shield out with the others, preparing for the impact which was now a mere few seconds away. He glanced quickly to his left to see the soldiers in the middle positioning themselves to let the two important men, who were speedily approaching, through the shield wall before closing the gap behind them. His attention turned forward again as one of the captains shouted, “For the praetor!”

  The soldiers followed in suit as they began to pound their shields, chanting. Zackarius joined in the chant with Kanii, “Praetor! Praetor! Praetor!”

  Upon his third chant, Eleven and Tiberius reached them, going through their ranks toward the ships which were immediately behind; ready to go with a few men already on board who were prepared to set sail at the drop of a coin.

  Then not a moment after the praetor and his servant were let through; crash! Both forces collided instantly as battle cries still rang out among the front lines. Zackarius, not being exceptionally big, but also not small either, reeled back feeling the impact nearly shatter his left arm as he braced his shield with both hands. Then as the large man in front started hacking at Zackarius in a frenzy, he felt his arm again near the breaking point. Zackarius regaining his bearing, pushed back with all his might before reaching around with his own ax, hooking the man's shield and pulling it inward exposing his back to Kanii as she sent her ax to mercilessly sever the large soldier's spine. Then, immediately after the soldier fell, another one came in to fill the gap.

  Zackarius suddenly heard someone shout over the screams of the dying and the clash of combat, “Hold the line! Hold the line!”

  At the same time a sword came hurling in Zackarius' direction. He blocked the attack with his shield as he sent his ax toward the man's leg. Feeling the severing of flesh, and tasting the blood which splattered his face from the felled ally who had just been standing to his left, he continued forward, taking advantage of his enemy's wound by furiously battering the soldier's shield with his ax. Slam! Slam! Slam! Zackarius struck again and again like a wild animal. Then his enemy was quickly yanked back by one of the man's fellows before Zackarius had the chance to finish him off. As the soldier was hauled off to one of the back ranks another immediately took his place, swinging his ax viciously at Zackarius.

  Zackarius fought one after another holding his ground, unmovable against the will of his enemies, unmovable against the group of battle hardened soldiers who attempted to crush him underfoot. He heard horrifying screams as men on both sides fell to death's cold embrace. He heard men calling out for their mothers; others cried out like victims pleading desperately for their enemies to stop as they helplessly watched themselves being hacked to pieces. Everyone was drenched in the crimson blood of battle and Zackarius was no exception. In fact he found himself occasionally having to quickly wipe the splattered blood of fallen men from his eyes in order to regain clear vision. This was not how he had envisioned war to be.

  Again and again Zackarius struck, as the vicious enemy advanced, releasing the souls of his allies. But he stood his ground beside Kanii, until finally the commanders called out one after the other, “The praetor's away! Retreat! Retreat!”

  But the orderly retreat which was planned had become nearly impossible now, as the front line was already nearly obliterated. Their plight was now desperate as their number which was small to begin with had already been shrunk by nearly half.

  Kanii shouted, “Push!”

  The men, knowing what to do, pushed, gaining a few immediate inches of space before
turning to retreat.

  Zackarius felt Kanii yank him back just in time, as the tip of a sword swept through the air just a fingers length away from his face while he turned to run. Regaining his balance he bolted for one ship in particular which was starting to pull away from the docks. There was mass confusion as it turned into a free-for-all, every man for himself. He did not look around to see how many of his comrades were left, or how close the enemy was behind him; and Zackarius' fear of catching an ax or loose arrow in the back drove him faster still.

  Arriving at the end of the long wooden dock, Zackarius nearly panicked as he saw the boat which he was attempting to catch float away out of reach.

  Kanii screamed, shoving Zackarius into the water as she dived, “Jump!”

  Zackarius began to swim like Kanii had showed him, with big long scoops, kicking his feet, breathing to the side. He wasn't nearly as good as the captain but he was proficient. He swam as fast as he could, scooping right, left, breathing in and out, side to side, trying to put the freezing cold water out of his mind as it threatened to paralyze, before drowning him.

  Kanii charged ahead, causing it to become clear that if either of them reached the ship, she would reach it far before Zackarius. Moving forward, keeping his pace, he tried not to think about the occasional arrow which he heard whistling by, choosing determinedly to block everything else out in effort to simply focus on the task at hand. Steady moments passed before suddenly he caught the cold bite of an arrowhead across his cheek. But he was not deterred, Zackarius continued on, resolute, unwavering.

  In addition to the freezing temperatures, Zackarius' body was beginning to tire from exhaustion. Cuts and scratches which he had earned on the battlefield, some deeper than others, seeped small amounts of blood and now began to sting in conjunction with his movements, threatening to slow his progress.