With the civilians now across, next would be the wounded. Some of Arnim's guards, almost a fifth, had been injured in the initial attack on their quarters. Most were mobile, of course, but walking was easy compared to crossing a swaying bridge. To add to the difficulty were the three who had suffered severe wounds, who had to be carried. They likely wouldn't survive the trip to Merceria, but he refused to abandon them to the enemy.
Off in the distance, more swordplay echoed. Beverly was in her element now, of that he had no doubt. He tried to picture the fight, but the darkness hid all from him.
He watched as the wounded neared the far end of the bridge. "Your men next, Arnim," he ordered.
Lord Caster gave the command, and his men started crossing in single file. "I'll go last," he declared.
"As you wish," said Gerald.
The distant clash of steel ceased, and Gerald waited, anxiously listening for any sign of what had transpired. Shapes loomed out of the darkness to be lit by the abandoned campfires, and Gerald gave a sigh of relief as he recognized the Guard Cavalry returning.
"They're right behind us," called out Beverly.
"Dismount and get your horses across," ordered Gerald.
Beverly leaped from the saddle, leading Lightning to the bridge where she calmed the beast by stroking his forehead. Gerald watched as they crossed the bridge. Lighting was a large horse, a Mercerian Charger, but even this great creature looked nervous as it stepped onto the wooden planks.
"We're running out of time," said Arnim.
"We can't wait for each one to cross," said Gerald, "we'll have to send them one right after the other."
"Will the bridge take the weight?" asked Arnim.
"You tell me," said Gerald. "I know nothing of such things."
"It will hold," said Arnim.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because it has to," replied Lord Caster. "And anyway, do you think Saxnor would bring us here just to have us all die?"
"I doubt Saxnor really cares one way or the other," said Gerald. "We make our own destiny, Arnim. We're not the playthings of the Gods."
"This is not the time to lose your faith, Gerald. Right now, we can use all the help that the Gods can give us."
Gerald frowned, then turned to the other cavalrymen. "Go," he ordered. "Cover your horse's eyes and lead them across."
Hoofbeats called his attention northward, where a rider appeared, slumped over in his saddle. It was the last of the pickets, and as his horse halted beside a fire, the man slid from his perch, falling to the ground, unmoving. Gerald glanced at his own cavalry. How much more time did they have, he wondered?
Arnim rushed forward, crouching by the rider, but shook his head, one less Mercerian was going to make it home. He jogged back, keeping to the side so as not to impede the horsemen who were streaming across the bridge.
Gerald heard the rope groan with the strain, and he held his breath. Beverly was now at the southern end of the bridge, a torch in hand, lighting the way. The last of the Guard Cavalry stepped onto the bridge, leaving only Gerald and Arnim.
Horseshoes clattered on the timbers as they made their way across. Gerald opened his mouth to give Arnim the order to retreat when enemy riders came into view. They halted some fifty paces away, and he watched as they dismounted and drew their swords, their weapons glinting in the light of the campfires.
"I guess this is it," said Arnim.
"So it is," said Gerald, drawing his own sword.
They both backed up to the edge of the bridge. Gerald considered a sprint, but then the Norlanders would be upon them in no time, leaving their companions at the mercy of the enemy. He looked at Arnim, but the former captain was staring at the loose ends of rope dangling from the handrails.
"I have an idea," Arnim said.
"Which is?" said Gerald.
"This," said Arnim. He stepped back, grasping a section of rope and wrapped it tightly about his right arm.
"Are you suggesting what I think you are?" said Gerald.
"I am."
Gerald, following Arnim's lead, reached out and pulled over a vertical rope on his side, then grabbed the excess at its top and wrapped it in his left arm.
"Stand back," he yelled at the enemy.
In answer, the enemy rushed forward. Gerald cursed, swinging his sword, trying to cut the top rope. As he struck, he felt a few threads give way, but it withstood his onslaught. Gerald hit it once more, and then the enemy was upon him. He quickly parried, blocking his opponent's attack.
Arnim had also hacked at the railing on his side. Unfortunately, swords were not as sharp as daggers, and the rope resisted his efforts as well.
Gerald stabbed out, sinking the tip of his sword into a leg. The Norlander backed up, but another took his place, trying to drive the marshal backward. Gerald cursed his luck for his arm, wrapped as it was by the rope, was now putting him at a disadvantage. He ducked low, then head-butted his opponent. The Norlander staggered, and then his foot slipped on the planks that formed the bottom of the bridge. Gerald didn't hesitate, following up with a vicious stab to the throat.
The bridge swayed unexpectedly when Arnim cut through his top rope, and a loud snap echoed throughout the ravine. Gerald struggled to remain upright, crouching slightly to steady himself. A Norlander stepped forward in a crouch, trying to balance, and Gerald kicked out, hitting the man's kneecap, crumpling him to the ground. Using this opportunity to slash out with his sword, he chopped at the bottom rope that held the wooden planks in place.
Arnim was busy hacking away at the one rope remaining on his side. The bridge swayed again, throwing Gerald off balance, and he fell to his knees, his left hand still clutching the excess rope in a deathlike grip.
* * *
Across the bridge, Beverly called out, "The horses are all safe."
It was time for them to retreat. Arnim rose to a standing position and held his sword aloft.
"I'll see you in the Afterlife!" he shouted, then drove the blade deep into the rope.
It cut clean through the frayed fibres, and as Arnim's side of the bridge collapsed, he dropped out of sight.
Gerald felt his footing give way and then he was hanging on for dear life. The bridge shuddered as Arnim reached the end of his rope, swaying it yet further. It was now suspended by only two ropes, one frayed, the other partially cut through. Gerald heard a ripping sound as the individual strands worked themselves loose, and then he felt himself falling.
Air rushed past him as he plummeted. The rope tugged painfully at his shoulder as he swung across the ravine, then he struck some kind of bush growing from the rock wall. The impact forced the breath from his lungs and then everything went black.
* * *
Pain lanced through him as he opened his eyes to see Beverly looking down at him.
"What happened?" he asked. He tried to move, but pain shot up his arm.
"Lay still," she commanded, "you've dislocated your shoulder."
"I don't understand."
"You wrapped the rope around your arm," she said. "It saved you."
"Arnim?"
"He's alive," she said, "though in a similar condition to yourself." She held up a hand to forestall any comment. "Don't worry, we're safe. The Norlanders are on the other side of the ravine."
"Where are we?"
"I've moved us away from the bridge," she said. "Come daylight, we'll move on, but in the meantime, we need to see to your wounds."
"You mean I have more than a dislocated arm?"
"Yes," she said, "I'm afraid you hit the wall pretty hard. You may have some internal injuries."
"Where's a Life Mage when you need one?" said Gerald.
"We're doing all we can," said Beverly, "but this darkness won't shield us for much longer. What do you know of this region?"
"Not much," said Gerald, "but my understanding is that we'll pass through some woods, then its flat terrain to the border."
"Good," said Beverly, "then we've bought
ourselves some time. It'll likely take days before they find another way around this ravine. We should be long gone by the time they do." She fished around her armour, pulling forth a sealed letter. "You should carry this," she said. "In all the excitement, I forgot about it."
"What is it?" said Gerald.
"A letter, from Lord Creighton. It's for the queen."
"What does it say?"
"I don't know," she replied, "I haven't opened it. He asked me to give it to her when we return."
"Then why are you giving it to me?"
"You're out of the fight," she said, "whereas I might be called upon to battle our enemies. You have a much better chance of delivering it than I."
"Very well," Gerald said. He reached out for it, forgetting his injury. The pain that lanced up his arm duly reminded him of his condition.
"Here," said Beverly, "I'll tuck it into your belt."
* * *
"Where are we?" asked Gerald. He was being carried on a makeshift litter, his brow sweating with fever.
"I see you're awake," said Beverly. "You've missed a lot. We're out of the hills, and moving through a thick forest."
"We must be near Oaksvale," said Gerald.
"It lies to our west, as near as we can gather, but we're keeping our distance."
"How's Arnim?"
"Much better than you," said Beverly. "He's up and about with little more than a broken arm and some cuts and bruises. You, on the other hand, are in bad shape."
"You should leave me," said Gerald. "I'm only slowing you down."
"That's not the Mercerian way," she replied. "You know that as well as I do, so you can put such thoughts from your mind."
"How long until we reach the plains?"
Beverly thought before answering. The land north of Wickfield was relatively flat, with only the occasional hill to mark the terrain. It was also mostly devoid of trees, making it a prime area to be spotted by Norland troops.
"I expect we'll be at its edge later this afternoon," she replied.
"And then?"
"And then we rest. There's no sense in trying to cross it at night, we'd likely lose our bearing and end up wandering off into the middle of nowhere."
"You'll need to cross it in one day," warned Gerald.
"One day? That's a long march. I'd estimate it's more than thirty miles."
"More like forty," said Gerald, "but we have little choice." He was about to say more, but a lance of pain raced through him, causing him to double up.
His bearers halted, lowering him to the ground.
"Gerald? Are you still with me?" asked Beverly.
The old warrior lay back, closing his eyes. "I'll be fine," he said. "You've more important things to worry about."
"We'll get you home," she promised as she looked down at him, expecting a reply, but he had ceased moving. "Gerald?" she said, suddenly alarmed. She leaned over him, taking his pulse, then let out a breath of relief as she realized he had just fallen back into unconsciousness.
"We'll rest," she ordered, then moved her way up to the front of their column, where Arnim rode one of the captured horses.
He turned as she approached. "The edge of the woods is within sight," he said.
"You've seen it?"
"Our riders have, and it lies less than a mile off. I'd suggest we make camp here, out of the eyesight of anyone on the plains."
"Good idea," said Beverly. "It's likely the last time we'll be able to light a fire before we cross the river into Merceria."
"That's still a long way off," warned Arnim, "and chances are the Norlanders have invaded. We could be walking into an enemy army."
"I'm well aware of the risks," she replied, "but we have little choice."
"So we cross at Wickfield?"
"I've been giving that some thought," said Beverly. "If the Norlanders HAVE attacked, they're likely holding Wickfield. We'll have to move downriver and cross into the hills there."
"Are you sure that's wise?" asked Arnim. "That area of the country is quite dangerous."
"More dangerous than an army?"
"I suppose not," he replied.
"I understand there are many dangerous creatures in those hills, but I doubt they'd bother a group with this many people."
"And where do we go from there? Surely you're not expecting this lot to march all the way to Wincaster?"
"No," said Beverly, "but I'm hoping we can make it to the Saurian gate."
"We don't have a mage to activate it," said Arnim.
"True, but the last time I was in those hills, Gort lived there."
"Gort?"
"Yes, a Saurian. I'm hoping he can communicate using the gate. Once we get word to Erssa Saka'am, they can relay a message to Wincaster."
"Assuming Wincaster hasn't fallen," said Arnim.
"Not something I'm willing to entertain at this moment," said Beverly. "Our main concern right now is making it safely across the river."
"How's Gerald?"
"Not well," said Beverly. "His internal injuries are severe, but there's little we can do for him. He'd be fine if we had a healer with us, but without magic, I doubt he'll last much longer."
"That bad?" said Arnim.
Beverly nodded, too overcome with grief to speak.
"He's been a great friend to us," he said at last.
"He's still alive," she spat out, "and we'll endeavour to keep him that way as long as we can."
"I meant no offense. I merely meant the prognosis wasn't good, you even said so yourself."
"I did," she said, wiping away a tear. "I'm sorry, Arnim, his condition has hit me hard."
"Understandable," he said, "he was your mentor, after all."
"More than that," said Beverly, "he's family."
"I didn't know you were related?"
"We're not," she replied. "What I meant to say is that he's like family. I cannot bear to think what life would be like without him in it."
"He served your father, didn't he?" asked Arnim. "He doesn't talk much about that period in his life."
"He suffered the loss of his family," said Beverly, "though that was years before I knew him."
"And yet, through all that, he survived."
"He did," she agreed.
"Well then, it's settled," said Arnim. "Gerald Matheson is too stubborn to die. It seems he'll make it home after all. He must be Saxnor's chosen one."
Beverly smiled. "Perhaps he is," she agreed, "though he's not one to believe in the blessings of the Gods."
Arnim chuckled, "I'd have to agree with you there. In any event, we should all get some rest. It will be a difficult day tomorrow."
"Yes, about that. I want you to gather the men, we'll need sticks."
"Sticks? For a fire?"
"No," said Beverly, "for makeshift spears."
"That won't do much damage to the enemy," Arnim warned.
"No," she replied, "but it just may serve to keep their horses from closing."
Twenty-Eight
Wincaster
Fall 964 MC
* * *
Lord Stanton stood there, shaking. Baron Fitzwilliam had informed the other nobles of their dire circumstances, but the Earl of Tewsbury's reaction had been immediate and all-encompassing, one of absolute fear.
"What can we do?" he lamented. "Surely, we must flee!"
"Mercerians do not flee from battle," said Fitz. "Better to die fighting than to run away like a coward."
"I'm with the baron," said Lord Spencer, "though it pains me to say it."
"Have we any word from Colbridge or Kingsford?" asked Stanton.
"A fast rider from Kingsford arrived late this evening," said Fitz. "Sommerset will support whatever decision the queen makes."
"And what decision is that?" asked Stanton.
In answer, Queen Anna turned to Sophie, who was standing by the door.
"Admit them, please," said the queen.
Sophie opened the door, then stood to the side as a procession of
people, all of them non-Humans, entered the room.
"Gentlemen, ladies," began the queen, "allow me to introduce you to our allies." She waited until they had all filed in, then stood and moved to the end of the line.
"This is, as some of you might know, Lord Herdwin Steelarm, representing King Khazad, Ruler of Stonecastle."
The Dwarf bowed. "It is an honour to meet such distinguished lords and ladies."
"And this," the queen continued, "is Lady Telethial, daughter to Lord Arandil Greycloak, leader of the Elves of the Darkwood. She is here today representing her father."
The Elf nodded her head in greeting.
The queen couldn't help but smile as she introduced the next visitor. "This is Lily, an old friend of mine. She also represents the rulers of Erssa-Saka'am."
"Never heard of the place," said Stanton.
"It lies in the Great Swamp," noted the queen, "and is home to the ancient race of Saurians."
Lily chirped.
"What did she say?" asked Stanton.
"She said she is pleased to meet you," said the queen.
"You speak their language?" said Lord Spencer.
"Of course she does," said Aubrey, "how else would she translate."
"May I finish, my lord?" asked the queen.
"Sorry, Your Majesty," said Lord Spencer, "please continue."
"Last, but certainly not least, we welcome the chieftain of the Black Arrow Orcs, Urgon."
The great Orc stood still, a defiant look on his face.
"They have all come to help us in our time of need," said the queen, "but there is a price. They want seats on our council."
Stanton's eyes lit up, his fear now forgotten. "But that would dilute the power of our existing nobles," he said. "Couldn't we pay them instead?"
Herdwin stepped forward, his fists balled. "We have discussed this at great length," he said, "and are united in our resolve. There shall be no hope of aid from any of us until we are permitted seats on this council."
Defender Of The Crown: Heir to the Crown: Book Seven Page 32