The Chronicles of Lumineia: Book 02 - The Gathering by Ben Hale Page A

condition.”
    “Will they
survive?” Aroet asked.
    Fisk shrugged,
and the silence hung in the still air. After a moment, Aroet accepted the
likelihood of more losses and glanced at Fisk to continue.
    “We have
rations for about a week, but are running low on water. We will need to restock
before we reach the northern fortresses.”
    “How far are
we?” Aroet asked. Even though he knew the answer, he hoped it would be less.
    “Eight days
ride,” Fisk replied, “Unless we run into enemy patrols.”
    A horse
nickered somewhere to their left, and they both looked to ensure all was well.
They weren’t the only ones to do so. Since they had left the battle at Terros,
they had crossed paths with two of the black patrols. The sole reason they had
survived at all was due to incredible grit his men had displayed. Each battle
had cost them over a hundred lives.
    So many
dead .
    “Has our
runner come back from the northern forts?”
    “Just arrived
a few minutes ago,” Fisk said, causing Aroet to swivel his head and fix him with
a glare.
    “Why didn’t
you say so first?” he demanded.
    The usually
dour Fisk grinned. “You always ask about the men first anyway.”
Aroet’s lips tightened in disapproval, but he couldn’t deny the statement.
Choosing to ignore the breach, he asked, “What did the messenger say?”
    The grin
broadened. “The northern forts haven’t been attacked, and they still have nearly
ten thousand men.”
    Aroet allowed
a small smile, his mind buzzing at the first good news in weeks. If they could
make it to the north edge of the kingdom and the untouched battalion, they just
might have a chance to survive. Unbidden, the question over who the invaders
were came to mind again, cooling his sudden rush of elation. Since they
appeared, the question had been unanswerable, and it had caused no end of
speculation in the days leading to the destruction of Terros. Someday he might
find the answer, but for now he shoved it aside as he had before, making room
for the glimmerings of a plan.
    Escape to the
northern battalion. Identify their attackers. Find a way to destroy them.
    Although only
the first step was clear, it was the first time that Aroet had any idea of what
to do—even though he would never have admitted that, even to himself. He smiled
savagely. Soon he could take the fight to them.
    “How is
morale?” Aroet asked.
    Fisk opened
his mouth to respond, but a cry of agony rent the air, freezing every man in
his saddle. An instant later, snarling rippled through the forest from the east
and the sounds of battle burst out.
    “By Skorn’s
blade,” Fisk breathed, “another patrol. What do you want us to do Captain?”
    Aroet wheeled
his horse to face his lieutenant, speaking fast. “Get five of our fastest
riders to me. We will lead them west before heading north. You call a retreat
and take everyone else north. We both know they fight the strongest first, so
make sure the men know not to fight, just run! This won’t work unless they
focus on us!”
    Fisk frowned,
“I don’t think sacrificing yourself will do any good, Captain. The men need
you.”
    “I don’t plan
on dying, lieutenant,” he growled, patting his horse. “Zel still has enough in
him to get me out of here. Now stick to your orders!”
    Fisk nodded,
still frowning, but began calling out names and issuing commands. In moments,
horsemen took their places and the men of the east fell back towards their
position.
    “I hope you
know what you are doing Captain . . .,” Fisk murmured from beside him.
    “Trust me,” Aroet
replied with a confidence he didn’t feel.
    The eastern
flank came into view as riders collapsed towards the center. Behind them, the
shadowy figures darted after them, howling for blood. So far all he could see
were the dogs, but he knew the others would be right behind them.
    “Send a few
arrows into them to get their attention,” Aroet said to the five around him,
drawing his own bow as well.
    At