11.01 Death of a Hero Read Free Page A

his shattered forehead and dropping the sword as he did so. Instantly, the sergeant seized it, tossing the spear shaft aside. Now he struck left and right with blinding speed and opened great slashing wounds in two more Wargals. One fell where he stood, while the other spun away, blundering into his companions, knocking two of them over. The sergeant parried a short iron spear thrust coming from his right. Another stabbed out from the left and struck him in the thigh. More blood flowed. Yet still he fought on. He killed the Wargal behind the spear with almost contemptuous ease. Then he slashed and cut left and right with the sword, taking a dreadful toll on any enemy who came within its reach. A knife thrust cut him in the side. He ignored it and dispatched the knife wielder with a backhanded slash.
    Then Halt saw something he thought he’d never see.
    As the bloodstained figure drove forward, sword rising and falling, hacking and cutting and slashing and stabbing, a tide of fear swept over the Wargals.
    Morgarath’s handpicked shock troops, who up until now had feared nothing short of mounted, armored knights, fell back in terror before the bloodied, death-dealing figure with the sword.
    And as they did so, the men of the Araluen army found new heart and swept forward in the wake of the sergeant. He was badly wounded, but he continued fighting until his comrades surged past him, slamming into the demoralized Wargals and screaming in triumph.
    For a moment, the sergeant stood in an empty space on the battlefield. Then, as the second rank of Araluen fighters poured past him to reinforce the first, and the Wargal line broke and retreated in total confusion, their hoarse, wordless screams filling the air, his knees gave way and he sagged to the ground.
    The noise of the battle moved away from them, receding like a tide, and Halt finally managed to free his arm from the shield, still pinned to the ground by a Wargal’s dead body. He tried to rise to his feet, but the effort was beyond him. Instead, he crawled painfully to the fallen sergeant, dragging himself over the sprawled bodies of the Wargals the man had killed.
    In spite of his wounds, the sergeant was still breathing, and he turned his head painfully as the Ranger approached. He managed a weak smile.
    “We showed them, Ranger, didn’t we?”
    Halt could barely hear the voice, and his own was a croak as he answered. “That we did. What’s your name, sergeant?”
    “Daniel.”
    Halt gripped his forearm. “Hold on, Daniel. The healers will be here soon.”
    He tried to put as much encouragement into the words as possible. But the sergeant shook his head.
    “Too late for me.” Suddenly the man’s eyes were filled with urgency. He tried to rise but fell back.
    “Rest easy,” Halt told him, but Daniel raised his head wearily and leaned toward him.
    “My wife . . . ,” he managed to gasp. “My wife and the baby. Promise me you’ll . . .” He coughed and blood rolled down his chin.
    “I’ll look out for them,” Halt told him. “But don’t worry. You’ll be fine. You’ll see them soon.”
    Daniel nodded and let his head fall back. He took a long, shuddering breath. Then he seemed to relax, and his breathing became easier, as if Halt’s promise had lifted an enormous burden from his mind.
    Halt heard voices then, and footsteps nearby. Then gentle hands were rolling him over and he found himself looking up at the concerned faces of a pair of medical orderlies who were setting down a litter beside him. He gestured weakly toward Daniel.
    “I’m all right,” he said. “Take the sergeant first.”
    The nearest orderly glanced quickly at Daniel, and shook his head.
    “Nothing we can do for him,” he said. “He’s dead.”

4
     
    H ALT WOKE.
    For a few seconds, he wondered where he was. He was lying on his back, staring at the canvas roof of a large pavilion. He could hear people moving quietly nearby, speaking in lowered voices. Somewhere, farther