A Charge of Valor

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Godfrey marched quickly through the night, traversing the back streets of Silesia, Akorth and Fulton beside him. As he looked over at his compatriots, he had to do a double-take to realize that they were his friends: the Empire uniforms they wore were so convincing, especially with the face plates down, that they fooled even he, their life-long friend.

As they marched into the unknown, Godfrey was proud of himself, and also a bit shocked: he’d had no idea that his plan, which was improvising and evolving as it went along, would get half as far as it did. He and Akorth and Fulton, he thought, made the most unlikely of heroes, the only members of the Silesian army still standing, slipping through the night, just the three of them, dressed in these ridiculous uniforms, left to oppose Andronicus’ million-man army. It was so absurd that if Godfrey were watching it from a distance, he would laugh.

But this was real, and he was in it, and life and death were at stake—and Godfrey was not laughing. Nor were his friends. They all marched stiffly, terrified as they passed through camps of Empire soldiers patrolling everywhere, huddled around bonfires, their backs against the wind, trying to get warm. The three of them walked with their chests out, trying to strut with purpose, trying to act as if they belonged and were on a mission of great import.

With each new step Godfrey’s heart pounded for fear of being discovered. He was terrified that someone would notice the mismatched size of his uniform or his crooked stripes or the direction they were marching, or stop to wonder where the three of them might be going this time of night. He increased his pace, as did his friends, and he could sense that they were as nervous as he.

Akorth and Fulton also reeked of ale, and it made him nervous; he wondered if a typical Empire soldier would drink as much as these two, and if it might give them away. He was sure that the ale they’d drank was helping to calm their nerves, but Godfrey didn’t have any ale inside him himself, and it made him jealous. Still, he was happy to have the company, and he knew he would need them if he had any chance of pulling off what he was about to attempt.

Godfrey weaved in and out of the streets, determined to save his brother Kendrick. He had spotted him and the others on the crosses earlier in the day, and it had broke his heart. Godfrey had always had a soft spot for Kendrick, one of the only knights who had not been condescending to him, who had not made him feel like he was less than them. After spotting him, Godfrey had formulated a plan, and had bided his time, waiting with Akorth and Fulton until night fell, until they could make their move. Finally, the time had come.

“This will never work, you know that?” Akorth said, burping up ale beside him, stumbling, a bit off balance.

“It is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” Fulton said. “Although I do admit I feel almost like a hero. It feels pretty good, I have to say,” he said, smiling, revealing missing teeth.

“Almost is the key word,” said Akorth. “You’re just a bumbling drunk idiot in an enemy uniform, just like me. That doesn’t make you a hero. It just makes you brave. Which also means stupid. We should all be back in the tavern, huddled up to a fire and some warm ale. Instead, here we are here, freezing our arses off for nothing.”

“Shut up, both you!” Godfrey hissed.

They slowed to a walk, as a group of Empire soldiers passed them. The soldiers looked them up and down warily, and Godfrey prayed that they didn’t notice anything out of order—or see him trembling.

They rounded a corner, and before they did, Godfrey saw the soldiers turn back and look over their shoulders, hesitating. But then, finally they kept walking. Godfrey breathed a sigh of relief. It was a close call. Perhaps they had bigger fish to fry; perhaps they were unsure; or perhaps they were just too damn cold.

“Listen you two,” Godfrey whispered harshly. “Stop your bickering. You’re right: it’s reckless. And I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. But I know how to survive. And so do you. So stop talking and follow me and do as I tell you. If not, then turn back and go home now. You might live today. But do you really think you’ll make it here a month?”

The two of them looked at each other, then fell silent and continued to walk by Godfrey’s side.

They crossed through a square of rubble and it tore Godfrey up to see the destruction all around him, to see all of his people bound together, enslaved, to see all the corpses. He realized how lucky he was that he wasn’t lying there with the others.

They entered the courtyard and Godfrey’s anxiety increased. There were more soldiers here, spread out in small groups, huddle around fires. But there, at the far end, in the shadows, he spotted what he had come for: a row of crosses, on which were bound the most important soldiers—including Godfrey.

“Keep your heads low as we march, but not too low,” Godfrey whispered to the others as they marched across the courtyard, past rows of soldiers. “Act natural, like you belong here. Follow my lead.”

They nodded back nervously.

Godfrey doubled his pace, trying to keep himself not from marching too quickly, too conspicuously, as they headed right up to the row of crosses and to Kendrick.

Kendrick hung there, hunched over on his cross, moaning, eyes closed. He appeared more dead than alive.

Godfrey hissed at him.

“Kendrick!”

Godfrey hissed several times, wondering if he was dead, when finally, Kendrick lifted his chin and opened his eyes slightly. His eyes fluttered several times.

Kendrick stared back at him in confusion, and then Godfrey realized: given his uniform, Kendrick thought he was an Empire soldier.

Godfrey lifted his face plate, revealing himself.

Kendrick’s eyes opened wide in surprise.

“We’ve come to cut you down,” Godfrey said. “Do you understand?”

Kendrick nodded quickly, and Godfrey climbed the cross, pulled his dagger out, reached behind him and cut the ropes binding his ankles, then his wrists.

“Set to work on the others!” Godfrey called out to Akorth and Fulton, and they broke into action, following his lead and cutting down the other soldiers.

As Godfrey cut the final rope, Kendrick suddenly collapsed off the cross, landing on Godfrey, knocking him down with him. Brom, Srog and Atme collapsed onto Akorth and Fulton, all of them stumbling down to the ground.

Godfrey had not anticipated that, nor had he anticipated Kendrick to be so heavy. Kendrick lay on top of him, moaning, like a ragdoll, and Godfrey got up, dragged him to his feet, and draped an arm over his shoulder, his heart pounding with excitement and fear that they escape before they were all discovered.

“Are you okay?” Godfrey asked.

Kendrick nodded.

“Don’t worry about me,” Kendrick said. “Save the others.”

Akorth and Fulton dragged up Brom, Srog and Atme, and as Godfrey prepared to cut down more men, suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Hey, you there!”

Godfrey turned and his heart dropped to see a group of Empire soldiers, on the far side of the courtyard, running for them.

“What is the meaning of this? Who ordered you to cut these prisoners down?” they called out.

“RUN!” Godfrey yelled.

Godfrey, Akorth and Fulton began running, dragging Kendrick, Brom, Srog and Atme.

“This way!” came a voice.

As Godfrey ran, he looked over and saw, kneeling beside the stone wall, a beautiful women with brown skin, of the Empire race. She gestured frantically for him to follow and to enter into a small secret passageway hidden in the stone. Godfrey hesitated, wondering if he should trust her—but then he heard the shouts of the soldiers behind him, and knew he had no choice.

Godfrey led the others towards the woman, all of them ducking into the secret passageway in the dark shadows of the stone wall. As they all darted inside, she quickly slammed the metal grate behind them.

They found themselves inside a small, dark room, hidden behind the wall, and Godfrey kneeled beside the woman and looked out and watched with bated breath as the group of soldiers ran past, charging across the courtyard, looking for them. They had not seen where they’d went. It had worked.

“Who are you?” Godfrey asked, more grateful than he’d ever been.

“Sandara,” she replied. “And you are very lucky to be alive.”