Beyond the Edge of Dawn by Christian Warren Freed Page B

attacking forces let us go unhindered.”
    Barum produced a set of traditional desert robes. “I brought these. They might not fit so well, but no one is going to be paying us much attention in all of this.”
    “Well done, my friend,” Pirneon said as he threw the robes on over his clothes.
    They stripped the dead guards of their weapons, such as they had, and entered the chaos of the night. Sights and sounds of carnage were on a grand scale. For the slightest of moments, Pirneon remembered the final night of the Fall. He gripped the rusted dagger tighter and shook the waking nightmares away. He didn’t know in which part of camp he was imprisoned and decided to let Barum lead their way.
    The squire moved with an enhanced sense of assuredness, stopping only once to rearm off of a pair of arrow-slain warriors. The flat blade of a scimitar felt good in Pirneon’s hands. He tossed aside the rusted dagger and kept moving. The body count rose the closer they got to the outer perimeter. Arrows jut up from the sand and bodies alike. Screaming grew louder.
    “This way,” Barum hissed, and he led them into an empty tent moments before a host of retreating soldiers rushed by. 
    “Flame the tents. I don’t want anyone attacking us from behind.”
    Barum’s head snapped up.
    Pirneon shook his head. “We only kill if it’s necessary. This isn’t our war anymore. Let them waste each other. Our only goal is to escape.”
    Barum took a dagger and sliced a jagged tear in the back of the tent. After scanning the immediate area, they made their way down an abandoned avenue between tents. The false security wouldn’t last long. Flames already turned the night sky a haunting red. Soon, the enemy army would sweep through the tents. Pirneon knew there was only way out of the camp.
    “Barum, we need to kill a pair of riders and take their mounts,” he whispered.
    Barum barely nodded, understanding fully what was expected. Nothing stirred. This part of the camp had been turned into a graveyard. Hundreds of bodies littered the sand in awkward angles. Blood ran so thick, the sand was hard pressed to absorb it. Pirneon stepped over several moaning figures. A quick glance showed their wounds to be mortal. He let them die.
    The sound of hooves beating suddenly came from everywhere. Pirneon threw Barum to the ground and dropped down after. They lay amongst the dead, unmoving and silent as riders stalked through the sea of bodies. More than one spear was jabbed into a back to ensure the dead were actually dead. The horses came closer. Pirneon clutched his sword but, with his eyes closed, couldn’t be sure where the enemy was. A nearby body cried out as the spear sank through his heart.
    “Come on. These are all dead.”
    Pirneon held his breath until the riders went off in search of new sport. Only then did he open his eyes and look around. Alone, the pair picked up and hurried off before another patrol arrived. Thick clouds of black smoke obscured their sight. Their eyes burned, and it became difficult to breathe without choking.
    Barum finally got his chance to act a short time later when he stumbled upon a pair of dismounted riders burning tents. He and Pirneon attacked while the riders were distracted. They closed the gap in seconds and cut the riders down from behind. Pirneon’s sword ripped a deep gash diagonally down the first’s spine, severing the spinal cord and killing him painfully. Barum stabbed with all of his strength and was rewarded with his sword plunging through the rider front and back.
    “Quickly, before others come,” Pirneon said, taking the time to wipe the blood on the dead man’s jerkin.
    Barum ripped his sword free and snatched the reins before the horses could bolt. The desert-bred stallions were smaller than the northern breeds, but they were bred for battle. Barum whispered softly to calm them. They snorted and stepped back. Gradually, both horses calmed to the point where it was safe to mount them.