In the crystal, Fletcher could see the goblins gathering for the attack. The orcs were in no rush, waiting as more and more goblins streamed through the jungles, hyenas snapping at their heels. He counted the seconds, knowing that every moment was another few steps ahead of the oncoming horde. Would they make it? The wagon was a blessing and a curse, able to transport those unable to walk, but likely slower than they could run. It would be a mad, two-hour sprint to Watford Bridge, if they stuck to the roads.
As he considered their predicament, their transport arrived, Logan snapping the reigns at the two boars at its head. Fletcher allowed Genevieve to take Rory’s body to the wagon, unable to refuse her grief-stricken gaze as she held out her arms for it.
“You’ve done more than anyone could ask,” Sir Caulder said, wrapping his good arm around Fletcher’s shoulders. “Your parents would be proud of the man you’ve become.”
Fletcher watched as the last of Rotherham’s men made their way down from the platform. It was time.
“It won’t make a blind bit of difference,” Fletcher said, kicking at the dirt with his feet. “We’ll be lucky if they don’t catch up with us. You’d better get on the wagon. With your leg…”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Sir Caulder said, giving Fletcher a grim smile. “I’m not going.”
“What do you mean?” Fletcher asked, half listening as he watched the wounded and the gremlins clamber into the back of the wagon.
“I’ve got a score to settle,” Sir Caulder said, hefting his blade.
“Sir Caul—”
“No,” the old soldier said, cutting him off. “This is where I belong. I failed Raleighshire once. Never again. I’ll hold them off, give my lads a chance to escape.”
“You’ll never hold them off alone, you silly bag o’ bones,” came Rotherham’s voice from behind him. “There’s two ways in past that corpse.”
Sir Caulder growled.
“Listen, Rotter, this isn’t the time for—”
“So I guess I’d better stay with you,” the grizzled sergeant interrupted, drawing his sword. He looked at it and smiled fondly.
“You sold me this sword, Fletcher. Funny that, eh? How things change.”
“Listen, there’s no time for this madness,” Fletcher snapped.
“Then you’d better get goin’,” Rotherham said, “because we won’t be changin’ our minds. Go on, or it’ll all be for nought.”
Fletcher opened his mouth to yell at them, but then he saw the stubborn look in the old men’s eyes. It was useless arguing with them.
“I … don’t know what to say,” he managed.
Sir Caulder stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug. His body felt so frail beneath the cloth of his uniform.
“Look after the place when I’m gone, eh, lad?” he said, rubbing a knuckle against Fletcher’s cheek. “You’re your father’s son. It’s been an honor.”
Then he stomped away, his sword thrumming the air.
“See you on the other side, kid,” Rotherham said. “One last battle for me and that grumpy bugger. We’ll make it one for the books.”
“I won’t let anyone forget it,” Fletcher said, smiling through his tears.
“See that you don’t,” Rotherham growled, giving him an encouraging wink.
Then he too was gone, whistling a jaunty tune.
Fletcher watched the pair for a moment, striding resolutely toward their final stand. Then he turned away.
“Right, Foxes,” Fletcher said, wiping his face dry. “Let’s get out of here!”
CHAPTER
58
THEY RAN. THEY RAN until their chests burned with the dry air of the savannah, stumbling over the uneven ground toward Raleightown, the rattle of the wagon’s wheels ringing in their ears.
Fletcher had left Athena in the rocks above the Cleft, to let them know just how far the goblins were behind. He did his best not to look at the two forlorn figures waiting with their swords drawn below. Yet still the orcs waited, allowing their ranks to swell with the reinforcements that continued to emerge from the jungles. Soon there were so many that they had expanded beyond the first row of stakes in the ground and were well on their way to the second. As many as three thousand goblins could be gathered there—an army that could raze Corcillum to the ground if given the chance.
Half an hour had passed when Fletcher and his soldiers stumbled through the empty, cobbled streets of Raleightown and onto the dirt path on the other side. But just as Fletcher felt a surge of relief that the settlement had been deserted, it happened. The goblins began their attack.
They had learned their lesson. The orcs sent a scouting party first, twenty-odd goblins that walked with fearful steps into the corpse-laden Crest.
“Come on, you ugly runts!” Athena heard Rotherham yell faintly, and Fletcher smiled bitterly.
He could not watch, but heard the goblins shriek as they discovered the two lone swordsmen waiting for them.
“Got the blighter,” Sir Caulder barked as a hard fight began in the narrow confines of the Cleft.
Fletcher let his eyes stray from the crystal. The sun was ending its long journey down toward the horizon. Had that much time really gone by? Perhaps the battle had been lost, and thousands of orcs were streaming across Hominum. And where were Berdon and the rest of his colonists? Had they made it safely back to Corcillum—or had they left too late and were only a few miles ahead of them?
Even as the cries of the goblins reverberated in his head, Fletcher’s heart dropped. Just behind a copse of trees, a great convoy of wagons could be seen. And it wasn’t moving.
“What the hell are you still doing here!” Fletcher yelled hoarsely, running ahead of his soldiers.
He could see Berdon there, his red hair flaming in the dusk light. The big man was crouched behind the back of the rearmost wagon, surrounded by a dozen colonists.
Fletcher’s father’s eyes widened as he took in Fletcher’s bloodied, soot-stained clothes. Then Fletcher was wrapped in a great bear hug, so tight that his ribs felt they would crack under the strain. He patted Berdon’s back frantically, until the affectionate bear of a man allowed his feet to return to the ground once more.
“You’re alive,” Berdon said, wiping a tear from his eye.
“Not for long if we don’t get a move on,” Fletcher said, resisting the urge to cry himself. “You should be in Corcillum by now.”
The colonists around them muttered darkly under their breaths.
“It’s the wagons,” Berdon said, kicking the nearby carriage with a grunt of frustration. “Somebody came by last night and sawed most of the way through the axles. We were lucky to get this far at all before they started breaking. Yours is the only one unharmed, because we were loading it up that evening.”
“Didric,” Fletcher breathed. “He sabotaged us, to cripple our trade.”
“Aye,” Berdon said, leaning closer to Fletcher. “The spiteful little git. And now these fools won’t leave. Not without their belongings.”