“Sergeant! I spotted something.” A shout broke his reverie.
He strode towards the voice and shouldered his way through the ranks to stand beside the soldier. “What is it?”
The red-faced man struggled not to laugh. “Sarge, near that small bush over there.” He pointed at the smudge of green in question.
Graff squinted, but aside from a dog squatting and excreting, he saw nothing.
“Soldier,” Graff said, keeping his focus on the animal. “Do you want to be fucking whipped until the flesh of your back is hanging around your ankles?”
“No, Sergeant,” the humour was gone from his voice.
“Then I suggest you take this seriously, lad.” He turned to face the young man. “Is that understood?”
The red tinge of the soldier's face had been replaced with a white sheen. “Aye, Sarge. Sorry Sarge.”
Graff nodded and turned away. “Out the way!” he roared. Warriors stepped aside to make an immediate corridor, down which Graff strode.
Clamping hands behind his back, he progressed along the wall, nodding at or greeting soldiers. One tiny cluster of men stood to attention when he approached.
“Good morning, Sergeant,” one of them said, staring unblinking over Graff's shoulder.
Fresh from basic training. Always so easy to spot.
He smiled. “Mornin', lads, now bloody stand easy.” He held out his arms, palms facing them. “Relax. You're not in basic training anymore. This is the real world.”
“Aye, sir. Sorry, I meant to say sergeant!” The man's eyes bulged.
Graff chuckled. “It's alright, lad. Now eyes out to the east.” He pointed at the horizon behind the soldiers. “Don't worry about me. Get your eyeballs out there.”
“Aye, Sergeant.”
Graff walked on and sighed. If the reports are true, and the Huronian army is indeed on our doorstep, those young lads won't survive the first week of fighting.
His eyebrows rose. Or the experience may test their mettle, making them even better soldiers, I suppose. Don't be so negative, Graff, me old boy.
He enjoyed the walk, although his left knee was beginning to ache. Not as young as I once was. The throng of soldiers lining the wall thickened and Graff walked on the far-left edge of the rampart, aware of the long drop that awaited him if he misplaced a foot. As the thought broached his mind, a memory flickered from that fateful night facing the spiders. Five of his soldiers charged into the fray, hacking at a massive arachnid. They'd killed it, but even as he ran towards them, the momentum of the spider had carried the group over the rampart and into thin air. Graff watched helpless, the screams of his falling men rent the air, not to mention his soul. They'd been dashed upon the cobbled street far below. Their blood splattered upon the nearest King's Own warriors waiting in extended line ready to fight should the creatures break through the infantry lines.
Graff clenched his teeth together and willed the memory away. The vivid imagery faded and retreated to blackness. Relief washed over him. He stopped walking when he stood above the Eastern Gate. Shouldering his way through the thick throng of soldiers, he reached the wall. The eastern road stretched out into the far distance. Wagons, riders, and pedestrians were dotted along its length, travelling towards or away from the city in an endless stream.
His view reduced to a narrow horizontal band, his eyelids almost touching. Placing a foot on the battlements, he stepped up, keeping a firm grip of the stone to ensure he didn't tumble forward and to certain death. A dark smudge stained the road where the ground met the sky. My eyes aren't what they once were, but I'd bet money that's a cavalry unit. Shouting was taken up nearby, spreading across the ranks. Soldiers pointed. Good, it's not just my addled mind playing tricks on me then.
“Huronian cavalry!” one soldier shouted.
“Don't look Huronian. Wrong uniform,” another said.
“How can you tell? They're too far away,” a third chimed in.
Graff held a hand over his eyes to provide shade against the sun's assault. That young lad is right, they're not Huronian. They look like King's Own.
“They're ours!” the shout spread across the ranks. “They're ours.” Some cheered, others clapped and whooped.
Graff stepped down from the battlements and tapped the closest soldier on the arm. The young man turned to him. “Sergeant?”
“Go down into the centre of the city,” he shouted over the noise. “Pass on the message that a King's Own unit is inbound.”
“Aye, Sergeant, right away.” The soldier forced his way out and ran.
He returned his attention to the closing unit. Individual riders and horses were visible. He leaned forward and squinted, staring at the centre of the formation. Gods, they are carrying many dead with them.
The cheering dissipated, the clapping stopped and aside from hushed voices, silence descended upon the wall above the Eastern Gate.
“Bloody hell,” a man muttered near him. “They've had a bloody hammering.”
“More `an half of `em are worm food by the looks,” someone said.
A soldier climbed up onto the battlements and turned to face his comrades. He held up a hand, two coins clenched between finger and thumb. “How many dead they got with them? My reckoning is forty-three! Place your bets! Winner takes all.”
Within moments, shouting, yelling, laughing, and clapping exploded along the rampart. Bets were taken, and money exchanged hands.
“There are fellow soldiers dead down there!” Graff roared. He felt his skin flush with anger. Those closest to him, stepped away from the sergeant and fell silent. But the noise caused by the others was too much for Graff's voice to quiet.
He pushed his way through the ranks and headed back the way he'd approached. I need to get back to my soldiers and prepare them. This may start sooner than we all thought. The Huronians may lay siege to us this afternoon.
* * *
“Ensure you have plenty of food. When the siege starts, lock the doors and don't let anyone in, no matter the reason.”
Dawn was breaking, a cool breeze touching his face.
Miriam nodded. “I shall. Hurry back, Vyder.”
He hugged her. “I'll be back before you know it.” He smiled, shouldered the sack of food, grabbed his weapons, and walked through the door, heading for the stable. Saddling Storm, he distributed the food amongst his saddle bags, handed the empty cotton sack to Miriam. “Take care of yourself, Miriam. Stay safe. This will all be over soon.”
“I have a blunderbuss and a kitchen knife, Vyder. Should they breach the city walls, I shall tear them apart.” She smiled, but the humour did not reach her eyes. Fear still resided there.
He chuckled, stepped up into the saddle, and stroked Storm. “It won't come to that.”
You can't promise that, little brother. It may well come to that. And it is my fault entirely.
“I truly hope not.” The smile faded from her lips. “If they breech the walls, we won't last a week.”
“The Wendurlund Army are more stoic than you think, Miriam.”
No, they are not, and you know it.
Vyder clenched his teeth and bit back a retort. “They shall see the enemy off.”
Miriam nodded, her lips stretching in a tight smile. “I shall see you soon.”
Laughter echoed in his mind.
I mean I hope you are right, my human brother, I truly do. But I have seen the Wendurlund army fight. Aside from the tiny group of Horse Warriors, they cannot stand against what is marching upon them.
Vyder ignored Gorgoroth. “You shall, Miriam. Stay safe. I will return as soon as I can.”
He turned Storm away and urged her into a trot. Casting one last glance over his shoulder, he waved. He pushed Storm into a canter. Miriam lifted her hand, then disappeared behind a building.
* * *
Sitting astride his new horse, Henry relaxed in the saddle, Ahitika mounted upon the King's Own destrier beside him.
“You don't have to do this, my so
n.”
Henry noticed the lines of worry etched around his father's eyes.
“I do, Father, and you know it as well as I. We cannot have an assassin ask a neighbouring kingdom on our behalf for aid in a coming war.”
King George stepped forward and held out his hands. “What if I were to send a royal diplomat in your stead?”
“Father, we've been through this. We are talking about the Shadolian Highlanders. You know better than most that they are a warrior race. They value courage and honour above all else.”
“Aye, so they do, son.” The king's arms dropped by his side.
“Surely then, it will look much better if Vyder, a highlander himself, and myself an immediate member of the royal family travel to the highlands seeking military aid.”
“Don't forget you escorted by Kalote warrior,” Ahitika said.
He flashed her a smile.
“Very well then.” King George shrugged. “I wish you well. Return as soon as you can with reinforcements at your back.”
The lines of worry encroaching upon his father's eyes competed with a flush of pride. The king smiled. “You always were a single-minded boy.”
“Aye, Father. Mark my words, I shall bring down upon the Huronians a highland army that will send them fleeing for their homeland.”
“With any luck, we will have already done that by ourselves.”
Henry nodded. “I hope so.”
A clatter of hooves grew in volume, distracting Henry from saying any more. Vyder reined in beside him and Ahitika. The assassin's eyes, one a piercing blue, and the other the dark brooding glint attributed to the highland clans bored into him.
“Are we ready, young prince?”
He caught Ahitika's eyes, the woman watching him with a slight smile. He winked at her, then turned his attention to his father. He reached down and clasped his hand. “See you soon, Father.” Straightening, he returned his focus to Vyder. “Aye, Vyder, we are ready. Take us into Shadolia.”
Part II
Vengeance
V
Vyder led the trio north along the streets of Lisfort. He guided Storm off the cobbled street, casting a glance over his shoulder to ensure the others had followed suit. The massive wagon, taking up almost three quarters of the street rumbled by. On the wagon's tray rested a mighty water barrel, able to contain at least several thousand gallons of fresh water. Three times they'd been forced off the road to allow the behemoths to pass. The water wagons were on their way south to the Therondale River to fill up prior to their slow journey back to Lisfort. If it were to be a protracted siege, then water would be vitally important for everyday life to continue.
He nudged Storm out onto the street and pushed her into a fast walk. Checking, the prince and the Kalote woman were still following, although their horses walked beside one another, the pair talking quietly amongst themselves. Occasionally, they laughed at some jest one or the other made. Vyder turned away from them and smiled.
Oh, they're in love! Gorgoroth's voice echoed in his mind. How cute.
“Leave them alone, Gorgoroth,” he muttered.
A distant horn echoed across the city, faded to silence, then resounded again. It must have truly been a mighty horn to create such noise. On several occasions in the past had he heard it used. He'd discovered later on each of those occasions it'd been a King's Own training exercise, testing the speed at which the warriors of the unit could assemble at a central point from any area of the city, including their own homes were they on days off. A cold chill swept along the skin of his arms leaving goose bumps in its wake. The clop of a cantering horse approached and Henry reined in beside him.
“I doubt that's a training exercise.”
Vyder nodded. “Somehow, I think you're correct, young prince. I only hope it's Baras and his unit approaching, rather than the Huronian army.”
We might not be able to leave if the city is laid to siege. Gorgoroth sounded pleased.
The assassin grunted.
Well, I suppose we could sneak out of one of the gates and kill some Huronian soldiers. That'd be fun! We'd have them surrounded in minutes, little brother.
Gorgoroth's chuckle reverberated in his mind.
What say you, my little human brother?
Vyder sniffed and focused on the cobbled road in front of him.
Afraid that little human beside you will hear you talking to yourself?
“Will you shut your trap, Gorgoroth?”
Henry snapped a look at the assassin, cleared his throat, and looked away. “What's he saying?” Henry asked.
Allow me to speak for myself, brother.
Numbness spread across Vyder, his throat tightening and tingling. “I said,” Gorgoroth's voice burst from Vyder's lips, “if the city is laid to siege, we may not be able to leave.” A grin split Vyder's beard. “And we may be forced to ride straight into the Huronian army and kill them all.”
Henry's eyes grew wide, his mouth dropping open. “You're deranged!”
“Why, thank you, human.”
“They'd kill us before we even drew close to them.”
“You little monkeys are overcautious, sometimes. You bore me.”
Vyder leaned forward in the saddle and coughed. He clamped a hold of his throat and groaned. “Sorry about that, Henry,” the highlander said.
The prince offered a tight smile.
“Make way!” a shouted voice boomed from behind them.
The trio barely had time to move to the left of the road. A small formation of King's Own thundered past them, followed the road towards the east, and disappeared behind a group of buildings. Several more King's Own groups ripped past them, following the same route taken by the first unit.
Ahitika reined in on the other side of Vyder. The Kalote warrior stared at the assassin. “Time to leave city. We make highlands? Then we leave now.”
“Aye, Ahitika. Agreed, lass.”
“Let's make the Northern Gate before it closes!” Vyder pushed Storm into a gallop.
Ahitika let out a loud shriek and kicked her destrier into action, the powerful animal falling in behind the assassin, Henry not far behind.
They progressed across the main intersection, the road spearing to the east thick with King's Own warriors. The trio pushed on to the north. Watchmen galloped past in ragged groups, no doubt on their way to various areas of the city. Vyder cast a glance over a shoulder and noticed another group of watchmen keeping pace behind them, although they were not indicating for the three of them to slow down.
“I think they're on their way to the Northern Gate!” Henry had noticed them, too.
Vyder nodded and returned his attention to the front, steering Storm around a slow merchant cart, and then bringing her to the far-left side of the road to give the huge water wagon room to rumble past in the opposite direction. The crew of the gigantic wagon yelled something at the trio as they thundered by, but Vyder couldn't make out the words.
They followed the gentle curve of the north road, passing slower traffic, dodging oblivious pedestrians and ignoring their shouts of abuse. The Northern Gate came into view. The mighty doors were still open, but the Watch were thronged everywhere inside and outside the city walls. They were allowing people, carts, and wagons to leave in a steady stream, but the thick convoy wanting to enter the city were halted by a veritable army of watchmen and turned away one by one.
“Mind yourselves!” Vyder roared, steering Storm around a group of wagons three abreast.
The trio managed to weave around the outside and closed on the Northern Gate. A panicked merchant barged his way through the line of watchmen and galloped towards the gate and the safety of the city. He was surrounded before he'd travelled fifty paces, a watchman leaping onto his wagon, wrestling the reins from the merchant and turning the wagon around.
A fight broke out when a man tried to usher his family through the lines of the Watch towards the Northern Gate. The city was their only safety from the approaching menace. The man
managed to knock one watchman to the ground but was clubbed for his efforts, his wife screaming and lying on top of him to stop the onslaught. He was dragged to his feet and pushed back the way he'd approached, his family, and he denied access to Lisfort.
The massive gates loomed, dwarfing the fast-moving trio. They dodged around slower moving traffic and thundered beneath the Northern Gate.
“Gods, please allow us in!” a woman shrieked.
“Step back!” shouted a watchmen.
Vyder glanced at the static line of traffic attempting to gain entry to the city. The woman at the front of the pack, a babe cradled in her arms, was pushed away. She yelled something else, but Vyder was too far away to hear.
Soon Lisfort was a diminishing blob behind them and only then did they allow their horses to slow to a trot and then a walk. They were free of the city, but they'd never be allowed back in, not as long as the Huronian army threatened.
“Only two options now,” Ahitika's voice broke the gentle clop of horses' hooves.
Vyder swung in the saddle and held the gaze of the Kalote woman.
She grinned. “Victory or death.”
* * *
Tork led the King's Own through the open East Gate at a gallop in a column three abreast. Once clear of the city's walls, they broke out into an arrowhead formation.
He caught Roland's eye, who was galloping alongside him. He nodded at Roland. The man brought the bugle to his lips. Encircle!
The entirety of the King's Own wheeled around Baras's beleaguered force, providing all round protection for them. One King's Own sub-unit broke clear of the circle and provided a rear guard in case a Huronian advance party had illusions of finishing off Baras and his soldiers.
Tork cantered along Baras's sub unit, taking in the dead soldiers slung across their horses. Gods! They've had a hard time of it. He reached the front and reined in alongside Baras. “Well met, Baras.”
Baras smiled. “Sir, nice to see you all.”
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