“Tell me what you fear,” he said.
Roland took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He owed his friend that much.
“I just don’t understand,” he said.
“Understand what?”
“Why we’re here. Why we’re building this wall. It won’t stop Karak from burning this place to the ground. You’re smart. You know that. Yet no one else seems to understand!” He shook his head and lowered his voice. “And neither do I. When we first came here, I was still in shock from what happened to Brienna, and then what we saw in Haven. But now I see two futures ahead of me: one where I’m happy and free, and another where everyone’s dead, and that one seems far more likely.” He looked up at his friend once more, and he knew from the tears he felt dripping down his cheeks what he must look like. “Please tell me, why are we here? Why are we choosing such a horrible fate?”
Azariah stooped down. He looked to the overcast sky for a moment, his lips moving as if in prayer, and then his eyes found Roland’s once more.
“We are here to be a barrier,” he said.
Roland brought up his hands. “What kind of a barrier can we be?”
“A weak one, true enough,” Azariah admitted. “But one that is necessary. Ashhur knows he cannot allow Karak to march into this land unimpeded. There must be obstacles in his way. There must be people left behind to fight the initial fight, to slow down his forces and allow the rest to reach safety.”
“That’s the reason?” Roland asked, not wishing to believe it. “But…he never told anyone that! All he said was that those who wished to stay could, and the rest could join him. Why didn’t he tell everyone the risks? Why didn’t he tell them their purpose?”
“But he did, Roland. Did he not warn them of what was to come? However, the people of Paradise are too inexperienced to truly understand. After Karak’s Army starts to attack townships, word will spread. Perhaps it will finally awake our people to the danger that comes like a lion in the night. Ashhur would have taken everyone if he could, but forcing them would have slowed him down, making Karak’s mission all the easier. Those who choose to stay might die, but they could be saving thousands of others’ lives. Ashhur let them make that decision, but trust me, he did so with a heavy heart.”
Roland shook his head.
“So the purpose…our purpose, is to die here?”
Azariah solemnly nodded. “In a way, yes. Unfortunately.”
Roland collapsed against the slipshod wall. Pointed branches dug into his back as he slid down until his rump hit the wet ground, but he cared not. He felt lost and betrayed. Perhaps the First Man had had it right. Perhaps Karak was the more righteous deity.…
“I want to live,” he whispered. “I want to live.”
“Roland,” the Warden said, taking a seat beside him, “you can live. It is not the death warrant you think it. We here in Lerder must fight as hard as we can, but do not think we are fools. When the walls are breached, the Wardens will spirit away as many as we can. Horses are tethered in the forest not far from here. Only we will remain to occupy the troops. Only we shall stay until the bitter end.” He sighed and glanced skyward again. “In many ways, it is a desire. I have lived a long time, my friend, much longer than I should have. My family died long ago, and on another world no less. It might be time for me to join them; it might be time for all of us to join them.”
Roland stared at the faraway look in Azariah’s green-gold eyes.
“You’re giving up,” he said.
“No,” said the Warden, a smile spreading on his face. “I am simply accepting my fate.”
They sat for a time in silence, and then Azariah asked Roland to help him chop a few trees. Roland did just that, although his friend’s revelation had torn him up inside. A part of him wanted nothing more than to grab Kaya, take a couple of those hidden steeds, and run far, far away. I still have time, he tried to convince himself.
They worked straight through midday, pausing only to eat a lunch of salted trout and almond-encrusted oatcakes, until at last dusk began to cast an ominous pallor over the land. They had felled nine more trees, leaving only five standing. It was after the ninth tree fell, when the Wardens were about to section it, that a scream arose from behind them.
“What was that?” shouted one of the Wardens.
Roland spun around to see that the Wardens were racing down the hill, heading for the side of the wall that faced west. Azariah grabbed his arm, urging him along. Roland saw a flurry of movement in front of the shortest section of wall, where people had been loading grains and meats into Lerder’s giant stone granary. It looked as if a fight had broken out, and shouting filled the air.
The closer Roland got, the clearer his view. There were eight-no, nine-men wearing all black, brandishing blades similar to the ones Karak’s soldiers had used in Haven. They had hopped the short wall and were attacking a pack of Lerder natives, hacking and slashing with their swords. A man fell, his chest split open. A woman was speared through the eye with a sword. A young boy stared up at the attackers, not moving, and was cut down where he stood. A roar filled Roland’s throat as he pushed his feet faster.
The Wardens, much more fleet of foot with their long legs, arrived at the scene first. Most still held the stone axes they’d used to chop down the pines, and they swung them in looping arcs. A few of the ax heads found purchase in flesh, mashing bone and splitting flesh, while others clanked off the heavily oiled chain armor worn by the attackers. It was chaos, all blood-curdling screams and blood-leaking wounds, a flurry of bodies and movement that sickened Roland.
Azariah entered the fray, swinging his ax with reckless abandon, and Roland followed suit. He had no weapon-he had dropped his ax when he first heard the screams-and it struck him too late that he had nothing with which to defend himself. An armored man came at him, blood running from beneath his half helm, his eyes wild with murderous rage. His blood-coated sword lifted above his head, and when he swung it, Roland dropped to the ground and rolled. Mud splattered his face, momentarily blinding him, and the tip of the blade struck inches from his ear. In a blind panic he scooted to his feet, driving his shoulder into the first dark shape that appeared before him. He pumped his powerful legs, forcing his opponent to the ground. A gust of breath caught him square in the face, scented with mint and brandy.
“Get off me, you fool!” came a shout from beneath him.
Roland wiped the muck from his brow and looked down into the furious face of the Warden Wendel, one of those who had been chopping trees on the hill. Roland’s heart pounded in his ears, blotting out the sound of his apology as he slid off the Warden. Wendel glared at him before lifting himself up and rejoining the battle.
Soon all was silent but for a chorus of sobs and whimpers. Roland took to his feet, glancing this way and that. There were eighteen bodies bleeding out on the already drenched grass, nine invaders and nine commoners. All twelve Wardens who had rushed down the hill had survived, and he stumbled over to where Azariah stood panting, a wicked-looking gash running down his right side. His friend held his ax up high, his body shaking as he peered at the wall.
It was then that a horn sounded, shaking the very air. Even the ever-present raindrops seemed to quake as they fell. Roland looked at Azariah, then at Wendel and Mularch and the others, not understanding the significance. Then the horn sounded again, holding its ominous note for longer this time.
“Oh, no,” said Wendel, and then he and the Wardens were off again, leaving the distraught and horrified citizens of Lerder to deal with the corpses.