Rise of the Valiant by Morgan Rice Read Free Book Online Page B

once. They had ridden into
battle together as brothers-in-arms countless times, and Duncan had sailed out
to sea with him more than once. But since the invasion, they had lost touch.
Seavig, a once-proud warlord, was now a humbled soldier, unable to sail the
seas, unable to rule his city or visit other strongholds, like all warlords.
They might as well have detained him and labeled him what he truly was: a
prisoner, like all other warlords of Escalon.
    Duncan rode
through the night, the hills lit only by the torches of his men, hundreds of
sparks of light heading south. As they rode, more snow fell and the wind raged,
and the torches struggled to stay alight as the moon fought to break through
the clouds. Yet Duncan’s army pushed on, gaining ground, these men who would
ride anywhere on earth for him. It was unconventional, Duncan knew, to attack
at night, much less in the snow—yet Duncan had always been an unconventional
warrior. It was what had allowed him to rise through the ranks, to become the
old king’s commander, was what had led to his having a stronghold of his own.
And it was what made him one of the most respected of all dispersed warlords.
Duncan never did what other men did. There was a motto he tried to live by: do
what other men expected least .
    The Pandesians
would never expect an attack, since word of Duncan’s revolt could not have
spread this far south so soon—not if Duncan reached them in time. And they
would certainly never expect an attack at nighttime, much less in the snow.
They would know the risks of riding at night, of horses breaking legs, and of a
myriad other problems. Wars, Duncan knew, were often won more by surprise and
speed than by force.
    Duncan planned
to ride all night long until they reached Esephus, to try to conquer the vast
Pandesian force and take back this great city with his few hundred men. And if
they took Esephus, then maybe, just maybe, he could gain momentum and begin the
war to take back all of Escalon.
    “Down below!”
Anvin called out, pointing into the snow.
    Duncan looked
down at the valley below and spotted, amidst the snow and fog, several small
villages dotting the countryside. Those villages, Duncan knew, were inhabited
by brave warriors, loyal to Escalon. Each would have but a handful of men, but
it could add up. He could gain momentum and bolster his army’s ranks.
    Duncan shouted
above the wind and horses to be heard.
    “Sound the
horns!”
    His men sounded
a series of short horn blasts, the old rallying cry of Escalon, a sound which
warmed his heart, a sound which had not been heard in Escalon in years. It was
a sound that would be familiar to his fellow countrymen, a sound that would
tell them all that they needed to know. If there were any good men in those
villages, that sound would stir them.
    The horns
sounded again and again, and as they neared, slowly torches lit in the
villages. Villagers, alerted to their presence, began to fill the streets,
their torches flickering against the snow, men hastily getting dressed,
grabbing weapons and donning whatever crude armor they had. They all gazed up
the hill to see Duncan and his men approaching, gesturing as if filled with
wonder. Duncan could only imagine what a sight his men made, galloping in the
thick of night, in a snowstorm, down the hill, raising hundreds of torches like
a legion of fire fighting the snow.
    Duncan and his
men rode into the first village and came to a stop, their hundreds of torches
lighting the startled faces. Duncan looked down at the hopeful faces of his
countrymen, and he put on his fiercest battle face, preparing himself to
inspire his fellow men as never before.
    “Men of
Escalon!” he boomed, slowing his horse to a walk, turning and circling as he
tried to address them all as they pressed close around him.
    “We have
suffered under the oppression of Pandesia for far too long! You can choose to
stay here and live your lives in this village and remember the Escalon