The Shadow Throne (Ascendance 3)

So I pushed down the hillside. Mott was a little ahead of me, fighting with a small group riding toward us. I joined him and locked swords with a man I remembered from my time at Vargan’s camp. He was a fine swordsman, likely better than me, and certain of his win in our duel. Nevertheless, I laughed and told him that he fought like an old woman. A blind old woman with advanced dysentery, to be more specific.

“You have your spirit back,” the man replied. I grinned at that until he added, “Luckily, you recovered better than that girl I shot with the arrow. It should’ve been you.”

Every muscle in my body tensed, and time seemed to slow. As if every second of my life became focused into that one moment, I arced my sword away and then back again, piercing him exactly where he had shot Imogen. His entire face became a series of Os, and then his horse charged away from beneath him.

I moved on to battle with the next man and was engaged with him while, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mott riding into another group.

Mott was a skilled sword fighter, well trained and confident in his swings. But he rode directly into the center of a large group, hoping to draw their attention his way and allow my tired army to cut them down from behind. It was a grave error. No single man could fight off so many others.

I finally got in a jab at the nearest Avenian, felling him from his horse, and rode down to help Mott. So far, his strategy was working — Carthya was making good progress on this hill. But it couldn’t last long.

I charged my horse into the center of the group, but this mare wasn’t as strong as Mystic and wasn’t powerful enough to force the circle apart. So I fought my way in, hitting hard and swinging at every red symbol on the Avenian livery.

I was nearly to Mott when I spotted another man charging in from behind. I recognized him immediately as Fendon, the scarred thief I had wounded in the wild on the night I left for the pirates. He had vowed that we would fight the next time he saw me. I had told him he would not see me again.

Clearly, I was wrong.

His sword was ready and he was screaming at the others to get out of his way. I raised my own sword and started toward him, but my path was blocked. I hit at the Avenians and yelled at Mott to watch out. Mott turned and saw Fendon coming, but couldn’t get his sword at a proper angle.

Fendon’s sword stabbed Mott in his side, and it went in deep. Blood poured from him and he fell from his horse.

Almost blind with anger, I struck at the Avenians still surrounding me as I made my way toward Fendon. He saw me coming and backed up his horse, readying himself for whatever fight was still left in me. Once I left the crowd behind, I charged at him so fiercely that he barely had time to register the danger he was now in.

I struck only once and I struck hard. My sword pierced his chest and he fell, dead in an instant.

My own chest felt as if it were clutched in a vise as I leapt from my horse and made my way toward Mott, who had managed to crawl away from the crowd. His breaths were shallow and his face was losing its life. Mott was dying.

Blood was everywhere, so much that I couldn’t tell exactly where it was coming from now. Mott grimaced with pain, but I was already tearing off a length of his undershirt to create a bandage. Once I found the wound, I pressed the cloth against his side, but couldn’t make him roll over to tie the knot.

“If you were tired of fighting, there were easier ways to get out of this battle,” I said.

The sweat on his face mingled with his tears. “I wanted to be there when you finished this.”

“You will be there.” Now I felt the sting in my own eyes, but I refused to let him see my despair. “You’ll get better, and then you and I will fight again, side by side.”

Mott smiled. “You’re not as good a liar as you think you are.”

The nails of my fingers dug into my palm. “I don’t lie nearly as often as people think. And you are going to live. You must!”

“Promise me that you will find happiness in life, Jaron. Don’t give in to bitterness.”

Now the tears spilled from my eyes. “The crown has taken everything else from me. Not you too.”

He grabbed my arm, though his grip was weak and fading fast. “Your test has always been the same. Be stronger than whatever life brings at you. You will rise from this.”

“Not without you, Mott. You have to stay with me.”

He only smiled and closed his eyes.

I stood and searched for any Carthyans around me. “Help me!” I yelled. “This man needs help!”

There was no immediate response, but I kept yelling, desperate for help. I tried again to move Mott and successfully dragged him a little ways, but that was surely making his wounds worse. I’d never be able to do this alone.

I placed my hands under his arms to try pulling him again, but this time I felt a change in his weight. It took me a minute to recognize the person who was lifting his legs, but then I caught a glimpse of bright red hair beneath an Avenian helmet and remembered. It was Mavis, who had fallen into the hunter’s trap.

There were no words between us. All I cared about then was that Mott was dying before my eyes and my armies were falling around me. This was Avenia’s fault, and whether Mavis had chosen to fight or not, he was with them. He was hardly my friend. But I looked at him as we struggled to carry Mott to his horse. His mouth was turned in a grim smile and his eyes were full of sympathy. Mavis wasn’t my enemy either.

Finally, we managed to hoist Mott into his saddle. I gave Mavis a quick nod of thanks, then got onto my horse and steered Mott around the fighting to return to the camp. Tobias had probably left, but if there was still a wagon, Mott could be taken to wherever he was going.