Chapter 186

Martyr’s Pass

Sylas lounged about freely at the walls of a small town called Verrak. It was a town stationed some eighty miles down past the forest beyond the village, and was home largely to farming families and retired conscripts. Their group had arrived two days ago to a rather warm welcome, as the news of the band of heroes under the banner of Prince Valen had spread during their travels.

The stories were aplenty, some more benevolent than the others. They spoke of the brutal horde who slaughtered wantonly, and yet also of merciful Prince who fed the poor and battered. While those with thick purses fled further south, those decadent remained behind, welcoming the Prince with open arms.

This was one of the more successful avenues, Sylas learned. He’d tried plenty of ways in many of the lifetimes--in one of them, he led the charge as the brutal hellhound, slaughtering everything and everyone. Eerily, before they even reached this village, Valen killed himself. The young Prince was unable to hold the weight of so many lives on his tender shoulders.

As such, Sylas tried different paths--most still required some slaughter, however. Even this village showed some resistance, especially after the fact. Fires erupted in the warehouses where the food was stored. Their horses were found poisoned and beheaded. Many other petty and not-so-petty things occurred as the shadowed cowards showed their defiance.

Sylas was unbothered by them. All of these were trial runs, and he wasn’t in the business of ironing out the details. Rather, he was focused on the broad framework of their journey, and this was definitely one of the more successful attempts. By siccing Av and M at those few strong who dared oppose, the spirits of rebellion were usually snuffed out rather swiftly. He’d only ever move ahead of others when he sensed energy far greater than average. That was how he came across two more former soldiers who were ‘recommended’ they retire this far out by the Queen: Mav and Xelt.

Both were women in their late fifties, though their appearances would suggest otherwise. Just like M, they put on the initial resistance before giving up and following along. With them, the number of those who could fight armies on their own grew to 4--and would likely continue to grow further the closer to the capital they went.

Av remained the strongest of the bunch, though it was too early to discern any kind of a pattern as M was the weakest. These thoughts were, however, pointless. In the end, Sylas hadn’t yet decided on the course he’d take, not even broadly.

“Sir,” one of the two newcomers suddenly appeared by his side, Mav. She was quite stealthy, so much so that even Sylas struggled to find her when she put all her focus into hiding. “There are reports of a mounting army to the southeast, forty thousand strong. It seems to be made up of two baronies and a duchy. It is likely that they will aim to intercept us at Marty’s Pass.”

“... that’s the natural bridge, right?” Sylas asked.

“Yes. They’ll flank the position with archers and hold steady the vanguard. It will be impossible to break through, even if Av, Xelt, M and I all rushed. That is, unless you--”

“No,” Sylas shook his head. “I won’t be interfering. What are the alternatives?”

“The only one is the to cross the shallows of the Pyth River,” she said. “But we would have to march off course for nearly thirty miles west. It would extend our journey by months, at least.”

“Would it have made any difference if a vanguard force was sent out a couple of weeks back?” Sylas asked. “So that they can interfere with their preparations.”

“Perhaps? Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” Sylas said. “What are your suggestions? Besides kicking me in the ass and forcing me to fix the situation.”

“Uh... one is for a small vanguard force led by Av to pretend to occupy the Pass,” she said. “While I sneak below the bridge to the other side and hopefully successfully assassinate their Commander.”

“Even Av would last, at best, ten minutes under the barrage of arrows,” Sylas said. “That pass is at least six miles long. There’s no way you can cross even half that distance in ten minutes, even if you weren’t desperate to stay hidden. Next.”

“Next is to fortify,” she said. “We have amassed a force of twenty thousand, but most if it scattered. We can fortify our position at the Pass’ entrance and slowly take full control of all the northern areas. We estimate that we can grow our force by at least an additional twenty thousand before the winter’s end.”

“That would just allow them to gain even more men,” Sylas said. “If we double our numbers, so would they. And we’d be nowhere closer to being able to march through the pass. I’m guessing M suggested to splinter?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “The Pass is fairly easy to guard, especially from this side. Even if they try to take it over by force, they’d need a force of at least a hundred thousand to break through a ten thousand of us. As such, we can spread out to cover the shallows of the river, slowly stabilizing.”

“... not good enough,” Sylas shook his head after a brief thought. “Our plans can’t have any long-term stops. We have to march to the capital singularly. If we give them too much time to get together, the only way through would be if I step in. And that would be pointless. Why’d I take you lot in if I have to do everything anyway?”

“...” Mav bit her lips with uncertainty. It was true--if Sir wanted, he could easily get through the Martyr’s Pass on his own and likely open up a path for the Prince all the way to the capital. As such, there would be no reason to keep them around--but he did. “Forgive us, Sir. We’ll think of something better.”

“It’s too late, anyway,” Sylas sighed. “The moment we allowed them to coalesce near a choke point we lost our advantage. Next time... yeah, if we’re speedier by two weeks or so, we’ll be able to make it to the other side unhinged.”

“Uh... next... time?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sylas waved her off. “You can go back now. I’ll go ahead and see if there are more imps set aside by our beloved Queen.”

Without waiting for her reply, he jumped off the fifteen-feet tall wall and landed squarely and leisurely before sprinting forward, leaving behind only a trail of wind.

It didn’t take him long to reach the so-called Marty’s Pass; according to the legends, an unknown hero stood with his back to the pass for a hundred days and hundred nights, sacrificing himself so that the Kingdom could raise large enough of an army to defeat the invading forces of the dead. Sylas suspected, however, that the whole story was made up, but he didn’t care.

The pass was a strange blend of a bridge and a tunnel, with a slab of stone protruding from one cliff to another, some hundred yards wide on average. At the same time, extending, natural cliffs loomed at both its sides, taller and sharper, only accessible from the other end. He could already feel the faint trace of the people plunked on both of those cliffs, likely archers in charge of raining down hell should anyone try to cross the path.

As soon as he stepped onto the Pass, he felt a thousand eyes pierce toward him. Only a couple had discerning energy, however, but they were slightly weaker than even M. It looked like there was no one who would come with him, but it was still worth seeing.

It wasn’t long into his journey along the pass that the first array of arrows fell. He ignored them, as they would simply deflect off his body. After first came the second, and then the third, and soon the rain never seemed to end. He could hear the shouts growing in panic and horror the closer he drew to the other side and the more arrows fell off the pass and into the chasm below.

On the other end of the pass was a vanguard force awaiting him, their shields raised. They lacked courage, though; he could see fear and dread in their eyes as they looked at him.

“Don’t falter!” a rather childish voice cried out suddenly. “Change to 3rd Formation! Open up a center! Probe and prod only!”

“...” Sylas tilted his head slightly and peered past the wall. The orders were likely most optimal, and the purpose of the sudden change in formation was to allow spearmen to attack through the formation. The goal wasn’t to wound him so much as it was to try and toss him off the pass. A child’s dream, but they could hardly know that.

The source of the voice wasn’t just a man with a childish voice--it was a boy who looked no older than sixteen, fair-skinned, black-haired, with eyes glazed in more conviction than everyone else combined. Oh?

Sylas mused for a moment--somebody like that didn’t belong here, that much was evident. Was it another pawn set up by the Queen? Possibly. The wars were not just won with brute force, and though they had thinkers, strictly speaking, nobody in his army was experienced in leading an actual army and fighting an actual war.

“Interesting,” he mumbled, stroking his beard. “I really was an idiot, huh? If I had just headed south as early as possible... I had all these people waiting for me. Ah well. It is what it is.”