Free The Hordes of Chanakra (Knights of Aerioch) by David L Burkhead Page A

This is a strange play of fate." Kaila retrieved her sword and returned it to its scabbard. "Can it truly be you?"
    "Aye, Child," Faron said. "But hurry. Hounds are being on your trail.  Worse than hounds."
    They reached the city wall to find the defenders had lowered a knotted rope over the side.  Kaila had many times climbed such ropes, in even heavier armor than she now wore, and was soon at the top.  Shillond, despite his age and weight, swarmed up just as easily.  Kreg, coming up behind them, followed more slowly.  Kaila held out her hand to assist him as he neared the battlement, but he made the final few feet on his own.  She hid a smile, pleased at his determination, although this, perhaps, was not the best time for it.
    "Aye, Kaila, it is you." Faron clapped her on the shoulders.
    Kaila remembered him fondly.  Long ago, before she had been born, he had been an ordinary soldier.  Yet such was his skill at arms, with any weapon he took to hand, that he had won great renown and earned a place on King Marek's council.  And yet still he was an outsider, as she was.  Perhaps, Kaila thought, that was why he had been willing to teach her when no others would.
    "And your father as well." Faron bowed to Shillond. "Your Grace.  But I am not knowing the third."
    "I’m Kreg." He bowed slightly.
    "Kreg is a man of much courage," Kaila said. "Without doubt, the briskest without arms that ever I have seen."
    Faron's eyebrows rose and he grinned, "You have seen none better?"
    Kaila grinned in return. "None.  I have sworn him to my service." She hoped Kreg would forgive her that presumption, but it would make his presence easier to explain.
    "Then I am glad to welcome him." He slapped Kreg on the back, and Kaila knew that he was testing Kreg as she had done before.  She trusted that Faron had not found Kreg wanting. "Fortunate you are to come into the service of the best knight in Aerioch."
    "Time is wasting," Shillond said quietly. "What is the news?  We come to find you besieged, but by whom and what are their forces."
    Faron frowned. "We are not knowing who our foes are.  They have presented no banner that I can identify.  Messenger from court came not, three days ago. Army came instead.  I am not knowing how they crossed the desert with such a host.  They nearly overran us at the first assault. Their numbers were the sands of the desert. They were being aided by strong magics.  Only the foresight of the King and his father before him was prevailing that day.  Much reason for our survival resides with you, Shillond."
    Kreg looked puzzled and Shillond explained. "Over many years, I have worked to make the walls of those towns that guard our borders proof against spellcraft."
    Faron nodded. "We were poured many casks of flaming pitch on their heads.  Many trays of heated sand.  The attack we were driving off. Now we are besieged."
    He sighed. "I am not knowing how long we can endure.  Yon army's catapults and ballistae continue to harass us.  They have not dammed the river yet. Soon, I am thinking, we will be thirsting.  We have not been able to send a message to the king."
    "Surely they'll notice that you haven't been in touch?" Kreg asked.
    "Your words are strange," Faron said. "But if I am understanding you, we are not due to be sending a messenger for yet two weeks."
    "And our difficulties in getting in have alerted the besiegers to the presence of a mage," Shillond said. "Escape may prove difficult."
    Kreg turned and leaned against the parapet, his eyes surveying the hills.  He rubbed his temples.  Kreg had complained about pains in his head, Kaila thought, perhaps they had returned to plague him again.
    Shillond touched Kreg on the shoulder. "What troubles you, my friend?"
    "Just thinking." Kreg shrugged.
    "On our present difficulties?"
    Kreg nodded.
    "Do you have any ideas?" Shillond said.
    "I’m not sure I want to say." Kreg turned to face him. "Considering the abysmal failure of my last