Rise of the Valiant by Morgan Rice

that
once was. Or you can choose to rise up as free men, and help us begin the great
war for freedom!”
    There arose a
cheer of joy from the villagers as they unanimously rushed forward.
    “The Pandesians
are taking our girls now!” called out one man. “If this is freedom, then I
don’t know what liberty is!”
    The villagers
cheered.
    “We are with
you, Duncan!” shouted another. “We shall ride with you to our deaths!”
    There arose
another cheer, and the villagers rushed to mount their horses and join his men.
Duncan, satisfied at his growing ranks, kicked his horse and continued to ride
out from the village, starting to realize how long overdue Escalon was to
revolt.
    Soon they
reached another village, its men already out and waiting, their torches lit, as
they heard the horns, the shouts, saw the army growing and clearly knew what
was happening. Local villagers called out to each other, recognizing each
other’s faces, realized what was happening, and needed no more speeches. Duncan
swept through this village as he did the last, and it took no convincing for
the villagers, too eager for freedom, too eager to have their dignity restored,
to mount their horses, grab their weapons, and join Duncan’s ranks, wherever he
should take them.
    Duncan charged
through village after village, covering the countryside, all lighting up in the
night, despite the wind, despite the snow, despite the black of night. Their
desire for freedom was too strong, Duncan realized, to do anything but shine
even in the darkest night—and to take up arms to win back their lives.
    *
    Duncan rode all
through the night, leading his growing army south, his hands raw and numb from
the cold as he gripped the reins. The further south they went, the more the
terrain began to morph, the dry cold of Volis replaced with the wet cold of
Esephus, its air heavy, as Duncan remembered it to be, with the damp of the sea
and the smell of salt. The trees were shorter here, too, windswept, all
seemingly bent from the easterly gale that never ceased.
    They crested
hill after hill. The clouds parted, despite the snow, and the moon opened up in
the sky, shining down on them, lighting their way enough to see by. They rode,
warriors against the night, and it was a night Duncan would remember, he knew,
for the rest of his life. Assuming he survived. This would be the battle upon
which hinged everything. He thought of Kyra, his family, his home, and he did
not want to lose them. His life was on the line, and the lives of all he knew
and loved, and he would risk it all tonight.
    Duncan glanced
back over his shoulder and was elated to see he had picked up several hundred
more men, all riding together as one, with a single purpose. He knew that, even
with their numbers, they would be vastly outnumbered and would be facing a
professional army. Thousands of Pandesians were stationed in Esephus. Duncan
knew that Seavig still had hundreds of his own disbanded men at his disposal,
of course, but there was no knowing if he would risk it all to join Duncan.
Duncan had to assume he would not.
    They soon
crested yet another hill and as they did, they all came to a stop, needing no
prodding. For there, far below, sprawled the Sea of Tears, its waves crashing
to shore, the great harbor, and the ancient city of Espehus rising up beside
it. The city looked as if it had been built into the sea, the waves crashing
against its stone walls. The city was built with its back to land, as if facing
the sea, its gates and portcullises sinking into the water as if they cared
more about accommodating ships than horses.
    Duncan studied
the harbor, the endless ships packed in it, all, he was chagrined to see, flying
the banners of Pandesia, the yellow and blue that flew like an offense to his
heart. Flapping in the wind was the emblem of Pandesia—a skull in the mouth of
an eagle—making Duncan sick. Seeing such a great city held captive by Pandesia
was a source of shame for Duncan, and even