The Song and the Serpent

Agonizing pain exploded in Adan’s left side. His head and body ached, and his vision blurred. He became aware that he was laying on his back, and that he was not dead yet. As he opened his eyes, he saw the smoke filled sky above and the edge of the deep pit he had fallen into. Arrows were flying through the sky above the pit.

He tried to roll over and gasped as more pain wracked his side.

Adan felt with his left hand, unable to sit up and see what had happened.

A short wooden spike protruded from his body, just above the left hip. Adan felt his own warm blood coating the sharpened stake. Adan’s hand moved toward his back and discovered that the spike had impaled his side, passing from back to front.

The stake had been driven into the ground, and every time Adan tried to move, rough wood rubbed inside his wound. He was anchored to the bottom of the pit.

Adan lay still for a moment as the pain washed over him.

“He’s getting away!” A shout from the parapet reached his ears.

He looked up and noticed that arrows were no longer flying above.

Kian!

Adan knew he couldn’t lift himself off of the stake. Even if he had the strength, he would soon lose too much blood.

Protect Kian!

Adan gathered his strength and reached back, feeling for where the stake stabbed into the earth beneath him. He began to scoop the loose dirt away with his hand, until he managed to have a firm hand hold of the stick.

Then he tried to sit up, all the while pulling on the stake impaling him, trying to dislodge it from the ground.

He gasped and winced as the sliver of wood moved in his wound. He growled at the pain and yanked on the stake, pushing himself up from the ground.

The wooden dagger broke free of the ground, and Adan rolled onto his knees. He sat for a moment, breathing hard and shivers wracked his body. He looked back to see the rest of the stake, caked in dirt, sticking two hands-breadths out of his back. Adan looked around to see the larger stakes that he had somehow missed peppering the floor of the pit.

On the north-east side, a ramp led up out of the hole, toward the fortress.

Get to Kian!

Adan gritted his teeth and tried to get to his feet, but the pain that shot through him brought him back to his knees.

With a sigh, Adan began to crawl slowly toward the ramp, pushing through the torment that every movement brought. By the time he reached the top of the ramp, his head had cleared a little, but his side felt as if daggers of freezing fire were raking through him.

Adan climbed out of the pit and turned around, still on all fours.

Hugo was gone. The opening in the barricade where they had come through was empty. Kian’s prone form lay in a heap on the edge of the pit, opposite Adan.

No! No, please, No!

“Kian!” Adan groaned, and crawled around the pit.

His friend didn’t respond.

Adan dragged himself around the large hole until he reached Kian, who lay on his left side, with his back facing Adan.

Adan reached out and grabbed Kian’s shoulder.

“Kian?” He said, gently moving his friend.

Kian didn’t respond.

Adan rolled Kian over, and the instant he saw Kian’s face, he knew he was too late.

Kian’s eyes were open, staring at nothing. His face was as pale as the white smoke above. Blood covered his chest, and he lay perfectly still.

“Kian…” Adan said, not believing his eyes.

His best friend, the one who had always been there for him, and the very person Adan had promised to alway protect…

He’s gone.

Gone without even a chance to say goodbye, without a chance to say he was sorry, without a chance to say thank you. Gone like Adan's mother, gone like his father, like Ryland, and Rocco, and Corthenu and everyone in Farel.

Adan’s breaths began to come in short gasps. He stared at the face of his dead friend, who only moments before had been alive and well.

“Kian,” Adan begged. “Don’t leave me alone…”

A memory flashed through Adan’s mind, the memory of himself, standing over his sick father, watching him die of smallpox. Now it was Kian who lay dead, Kian who had been there for Adan when there seemed no reason left to live.

The tears came to Adan’s eyes.

“Kian…” he sobbed before collapsing and weeping, still clinging to his dead friend’s arm.

I failed him, Adan thought as he wept. It was my duty to protect him and I failed.

For many moments, Adan lay prone on the ground beside Kian’s body. The pain in his side was nothing to the pain he felt in his heart, or the empty hopelessness that now overwhelmed him like a black cloud.

What do I do now? He asked himself.

What could be done? What point was there in doing anything now? He had failed. Being Kian’s bodyguard had given Adan’s life a purpose. Now, that purpose was gone. What was left to be done but lay down and die?

A horn blast snapped him back to the battle.

He looked out of the opening in the barricade, and caught sight of Commander Hugo, mounted again and riding up the line of Undelmans that were now marching down the hill toward the fortress.

“Adan!” A voice shouted from the parapet above.

Adan turned and saw the faces of the archers standing on the wall above, staring at him in stunned silence.

“Adan!” The voice belonged to Arfon. Adan saw the old warrior standing among the archers and waving down at him. “The Lord Kian,” Arfon asked, “is he alive?”

Adan opened his mouth, but the words couldn’t pass his lips. He shook his head, and turned back to his friend.

“Your Lord is dead!” Commander’s Hugo’s voice echoed off the walls of the city.

Adan looked back through the gap in the barricade. He could see Kian’s murderer, holding a bloody sword in the air.

“His blood has been spilled to atone for his desecration. You need only surrender, and your lives will be spared. It is pointless to resist.”

As Hugo spoke, a wooden structure came rolling out of the tree line behind him. The unmistakable shape of a catapult, hastily built, appeared in the smoke. The Undelman warriors made a path to allow the newly made device to approach the city.

Adan looked at the ground beside Kian, where the sword Kellessed had forged for Kian lay in the dirt. He reached the blood-covered blade and grasped the handle.

“You only stole a fraction of our fire,” Hugo continued. “If you do not surrender, we will destroy what is left of your miserable city.”

Adan gritted his teeth, and stood up, ignoring the agony in his side.

Seeing Hugo and hearing him speak gave Adan another purpose for his short life: One last task that he must attempt, or perish in the attempt.

He took a step. He took another, embracing the torcherous pain wracking his body.

He plodded slowly out of the opening in the barricade, grasping Kian’s sword as he staggered forward. If he was going to fight Hugo again, it would be with an Estan blade, not the curved Undelman scimitar that Adan had left behind in the pit.

As Adan stepped out into the open, he took a deep breath, preparing to shout his rage at Hugo and bring the commander’s fury riding down on him one last time.

But the sound of thundering hooves to his left gave him pause. He looked toward the sound and saw a cart, drawn by four horses, all of which were galloping toward him. Six mounted warriors rode along with the cart, two in front, two alongside, and two behind.

Adan’s brow furrowed when he saw this strange sight, until he noticed the contents of the carriage. Over a dozen barrels stood side by side in the back of the cart, identical to the barrels that had contained the explosive liquid used against the Undelmans.

The driver flicked the reins, steering the cart toward the Undelmans who waited on the hill, while keeping the wagon out of reach of the Estan archers.

Why aren’t those barrels with the rest of the Undelman army? He wondered, but there was no time to contemplate.

An idea took hold of Adan’s mind.

He withdrew into the recess he had stepped out of, hiding from the oncoming riders and cart driver. He dropped Kian’s sword, and found a burning branch that lay a few paces inside the opening.

Then he walked carefully back to the gap and peeped out at the oncoming cart.

Their path would lead them within twenty paces of the opening where Adan hid.

Adan took a deep breath, preparing himself for the pain he was about to inflict on himself. He squeezed the handle of Kain’s blade and waited for the cart and riders to approach.

When the moment was right, Adan launched from his hiding place, running to intercept the cart. Never had Adan felt pain like the pounding agony in his side as he ran.

The nearest Undelman warrior spotted him. He drew his scimitar and flicked the reins to urge his mount toward Adan.

Adan kept running toward the cart.

As the rider moved to intercept Adan from the side, Adan stopped dead in his tracks and pivoted, allowing the rider to pass in front of him and blocking the warrior's strike.

The horse's momentum carried the warrior past Adan and he ran behind the Undelman, continuing toward the cart.

The warrior riding beside the cart sped up in an attempt to catch Adan before he could grab hold of the cart, but he was too slow.

Adan jumped onto the passing cart just in time, shouting in pain as his body hit one of the barrels. He found his footing and launched himself at the wagon driver, who had drawn his scimitar too late.

Adan caught the driver’s sword arm as he swung and wrenched the blade away from the man. Then kicked the man in his chest with all his might, throwing him backwards. The warrior toppled and rolled off the opposite side of the cart. The wagon lurched as the wheels ran over him.

Adan tossed the Undelman’s scimitar in the air and caught it by the handle just as two of the mounted warriors attacked him from either side.

But they were no match for Adan son of Callan, bodyguard of Lord Kian and the greatest swordsman in Farel.

Adan killed the first two warriors easily. Before another two could attack, Adan glanced at the barrels and found the long fuse that ran out of the nearest cask of liquid. He looked at Hugo.

Hugo stood less than three-hundred paces away, pointing at the cart.

“Kill him!” He shouted. “Shoot him. Stop that cart!”

Adan could hear the desperation in Hugo’s voice and it gave him strength, overcoming the pain in his side.

Adan held the flaming stick to the fuse. The strand ignited and began to burn toward the barrels. Then Adan dropped the makeshift torch, and picked up the reins, which lay discarded by the driver on the cart floor.

The two approaching riders, seeing him light the fuse, pulled on the reins to stop their horses.

With Adan’s one free hand, he steered the cart straight at Hugo.

Arrows began to pelt the cart. Adan glanced at the Undelman army, some fifty paces behind Hugo. A line of archers were firing at him.

Adan rode on, ignoring the hail of darts, his eyes locked on Hugo.

An unexpected sound filtered past the thundering hooves and the shouts and cries of the Undelmans, a sound that was so out of place on the battlefield, that it broke Adan’s concentration: The sound of many men singing.

Western men, your fellows call you!

Up, lest worse than death befall you!

To arms! To arms! To arms, in Esta!

Drifting on the wind over the city walls, the song of the Estan defenders reached Adan’s ears.

Hear the Northern thunders mutter!

Eastern flags in West winds flutter!

To arms! To arms! To arms, in Esta!

Adan remembered singing this song in the Coralyd with Kian and Rocco while the drynth was killing their brothers in the arena. He remembered Rocco’s sacrifice, giving his life so that Adan and Kian could escape Undelma and warn their kingdom.

Would his death be like Rocco’s?

Adan glanced at the Undelman army again.

Then he looked back at the barrels lining the cart behind him, enough explosive liquid to kill a host of men. Then he looked back at the commander, and knew he had a choice to make.

If he reached Hugo as the barrels ignited, he would kill the commander and a good many Undelman warriors. But if he steered the cart toward the army and rode into their midst…

The fuse burned closer to the barrel.

An arrow struck Adan in his right shoulder. Adan cried out in pain and dropped the sword in his right hand, but he kept the reins in his left. He gritted his teeth as a new wave of agony washed over him.

He locked eyes with Hugo, who stood staring at him with wide eyes, less than fifty paces away. Then he decided.

With a tug on the reins, Adan turned the cart left, toward the line of Undelman warriors.

“Shoot the horses!” Hugo shouted, but it was too late.

At his motion, the archers on the front line panicked and turned to flee, as did the men behind them. An opening appeared in the line as the Undelmans frantically scrambled to get as far from the cart as possible. Adan could see a clear path from the cart to the catapult the Undelmans had built.

He steered directly at the device, as he approached the broken line of fleeing warriors.

The fuse burned closer to the barrel, with mere seconds left.

Twenty five paces away from fleeing men, Adan caught sight of something ahead of him.

A large tree on the outskirts of the forest had fallen to the ground, pulling a thick wall of roots up into the air at its base and leaving a divot in the earth where they had been.

He tugged the reins to steer the cart around the obstruction and then paused.

If he jumped from the cart before passing the tree and hid down in the divot, he might be protected from the blast. The horses needed no encouragement to run on.

One last choice lay before him.

If Adan stayed in the cart, the explosion would take away his pain, and not just the pain in his side and shoulder. He would go to see Kian, and his father. He would finally be able to meet his mother, and to thank Rocco, and see everyone he had lost in Farel.

If he jumped from the cart, he would live on.

But why? Why live on when it could end so easily? What was left for him here?

His mind wandered to Layla, beautiful, sweet Layla, who had waited for him for so long. How could he leave her?

But no, he would have to leave her one day, or she would leave him. Even if they survived today, and lived many years in bliss together, they would one day part, and that would be the greatest grief of all, for they would love each other all the more when that day came.

They could be spared that pain, if Adan simply stayed in the cart.

But that would mean giving up. That would mean allowing his despair to choke out any hope left in him. Had Rocco given up? Had Layla? Had Kian?

The fallen tree drew near. Adan had an instant to decide.

Then Adan remembered his fathers words: “You still have work to do. Don’t be so eager to join me here.”

At the memory of his father, Adan heard the Song.

The note that he had heard when his father played in his dream, the note that had emanated from the tree in the Morkill, now inhabited the song that Estans were singing behind him.

For a brief instant, Adan understood that they were not just singing a song; they were singing The Song, the Song of the Creation, the Song of his father. Those men behind him, with no reason to hope, singing a song of victory in the face of death, embodied the spirit of the Song, and it rang through Adan like a thousand bells, like horn blast that signaled the arrival of help at the last second, like the strum of a thousand harps, like a mighty chorus of hopeful voices, lifted in praise and thanks to the Creator.

Adan decided.

He dropped the reins and jumped from the cart.