Knights End

by Brad Clark

  He huffed and puffed as he pushed his body as fast as it could go, but he was still at least a hundred yards away when the queen turned to walk back through the gate and into the castle. He knew that he was going to miss another chance, but that didn’t stop him from charging forward. Suddenly, he found himself flying through the air, and he let out a loud cry. His right foot had hit a slippery, muddy spot on the slope that led up to the base of the wall. Before he could catch himself, he was tumbling forward, and then he fell face-first into the mud and slid for several feet. His large belly kept his face from hitting the mud, but the rest of his body was covered in it.

  The force of his body hitting the ground reverberated through his bones and caused an excruciating amount of pain. He would have remained lying on the ground for several minutes if he hadn’t heard the laughter. With a grunt and groan, he pushed himself up enough to see the Elf and Conner trotting towards him.

  Conner had a broad smile on his face as he approached. While letting out a final laugh, Conner asked, “Are you all right?”

  With indignation, Lord Martin barked at them, “How dare you laugh at me! I am a Lord of this kingdom!”

  Conner had been raised to respect the kingdom’s nobles, which included the various lords that were landowners. He clamped his mouth shut, and his eyes went wide with a flash of fear that passed through him. He had not intended to insult Lord Martin, but apparently his laughter had done just that.

  Before Conner could sputter out an apology, Glaerion said, “There is not much that Humans do that make me laugh, but that was one of them. You just flopped down onto the mud and slid for almost ten feet! I have seen pigs more graceful than that!”

  “I do not need the insolence of your kind,” Lord Martin growled. “Now, help me up!”

  Glaerion’s smile quickly changed to a scowl. “Help yourself up.”

  Lord Martin’s eyes flashed over to Conner, who had stepped forward to help. It was clear that Lord Martin’s girth was going to make it hard for him to get up while partially embedded in the soft mud. Conner tried to lift Lord Martin from the armpits, but he wouldn’t budge. Conner didn’t want to pull too hard for fear of losing his balance and falling into the mud himself.

  “Leave the fat oaf be,” Glaerion said standing several feet away with arms crossed. “He’s not even trying to get up. No, seriously, let him be. He is not worth the effort. If he can’t get up on his own, or make himself useful, he is only eating up food that could be used to feed someone who actually adds value to the castle’s defenses. And based on his size, maybe he’s eating for two.”

  Lord Martin pushed with his arms so that his chest was off the ground. His face was beet red, and his eyes blazed with anger. With deliberate pauses between his words, Lord Martin growled, “How dare you. Do you not know who I am? I am Lord Martin. I own more lands in this realm than anyone, even the queen. The lands of the Thorndale’s extend only around South Karmon. I own ten times that.”

  Glaerion walked up to the lord and squatted in front of him so that he was looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t think you realize that this war has left your realm in tatters. Maybe someday you can return to your lands and your luxurious home and eat your fancy meals until you are so large that you can’t even get up from your bed. In the meantime, there is a war to fight, one that is not in our favor. If we lose, the world as we know it will end and so will any chance of you returning to your lifestyle. So, if you are so worthless of a Human that you can’t even get up from the ground when you fall down, I do not feel sorry for you. My people did not travel halfway around the world to help people like you. We traveled that far to help people like Conner and Queen Elissa. If you want our help, then start pulling your own weight, and that can start now by getting your fat self out of the mud!”

  “I have been pulling my own weight!” Lord Martin yelled out. He tried to push himself up to a sitting position, but his weak arms gave out and fell back onto the mud.

  Glaerion stood, looking down at him with disdain.

  From behind, Conner said, “Glaerion, he is still a lord. We should help him.”

  Glaerion shook his head. To Lord Martin, he said, “Pulling your own weight? What were you doing in the village?”

  “I was scavenging for supplies.”

  Glaerion let out a snort. “Hardly. We stripped anything useful out of all the homes days ago.”

  “Well, I didn’t know.”

  “You should have. What were you really doing? What were you looking for?”

  “I was just trying to be useful.”

  Glaerion shook his head again and started walking away, leaving Conner standing over Lord Martin.

  “Leave him, Conner. He is worthless.”

  “Glaerion! We cannot just leave him. If he can’t get up, he will die.”

  Glaerion spun around. “Then he will die! You know what he was doing hunting through those houses? I do because I’ve already been told about it. He is hunting through the homes looking for anything of value. Stealing from your people. Gold. Jewels. Whatever he can find, he pockets and keeps. He does not want to help us, he only wants to help himself.” He stared at Lord Martin for several seconds, waiting for the lord to defend himself, but Lord Martin just dropped his eyes to the ground and remained silent.

  “Is it true?” Conner asked.

  Tears started to stream down Lord Martin’s cheeks. His voice cracked as he said, “There was not much anyway. A couple trinkets. Nothing of value.”

  “Of course not,” Glaerion said. “Those are the homes of simple villagers. Why would they have anything of value when you lords hoard it all! Nothing has changed since the beginning of time. Those in power keep all the wealth while the people do all the work and get little benefit.”

  “Glaerion, you speak of Queen Elissa too?” Conner asked.

  Glaerion took a deep breath, realizing that he had said too much. He looked from Conner to Lord Martin while he collected his thoughts and controlled his anger. “I forget myself sometimes. Our cultures are different, and maybe I should just keep my thoughts to myself.”

  “No, it’s okay. It doesn’t make it right, but it is how our kingdom works, and it’s worked well for generations.”

  “You’re okay with all the wealth of your kingdom held by a few?”

  “We are the ones who are educated,” Lord Martin explained. “We have been placed in our position because we know how to rule the people. Not everyone can be rulers. Some must be leaders, and some must be followers. It is the way of the world.”

  Glaerion pointed a finger at Lord Martin. “You were born into your lordship, were you not? Did you earn it? Did you put in years of hard work and effort to attain it? Did you study or have any training for it? No? I didn’t think so. You were lucky. Luck should not determine wealth. It should be earned and shared.”

  “Divine providence,” Lord Martin replied softly.

  “What?” Glaerion exclaimed with a short laugh.

  “The One God placed those of us in leadership. I was given my lordship not through luck, but because the One God saw fit to place me there.”

  Glaerion let his short laugh extend to prolonged, forced laughter. “I cannot listen to your prattle. Lie there in the mud, and hopefully, when the goblins come to attack, your end will be swift and merciful. Until then, you can hope that the One God will come to save you just as he has given you your lands.”

  With a shake of his head, Glaerion turned and began walking back towards the main gate.

  As Glaerion passed by, Conner asked, “You’re just going to leave him?”

  “Let him die. He is of no use to us, as he’s proven over and over again. We need brave and courageous men who can take up arms. Not fat weasels who steal from their own people.”

  Glaerion stalked off, shaking his head. Conner turned to look at Lord Martin who remained helplessly stuck on the ground. Despite his feelings towards Lord Martin, he could not just let him sit in the mud. He knew that he woul
dn’t die, as someone would eventually come and help him up.

  With a long sigh, Conner decided he should probably continue to help. He stood over Lord Martin for a moment trying to come up with a solution.

  “Well?” Lord Martin cried out.

  “Try this,” Conner said. “Roll onto your side.”

  “What?”

  “Do you want to get up, or not?” Conner snapped. His patience would only last so long before he would lose it all and just walk away like Glaerion did.

  “Just roll onto your side,” Conner repeated.

  With a grunt, Lord Martin dropped his chest back to the ground and rolled onto his side, getting even more mud on his clothes.

  “Now tuck your legs under you and roll back onto your chest and knees.”

  With more grunting and groans, Lord Martin did as he was asked. Soon, he was sitting up on his knees and then he was able to lift a leg and put it back down out in front of him. Now that he was on only one knee, he was able to push himself up into a standing position. His face was still red, and his chest heaved from the effort.

  “I thank you,” Lord Martin said with an air of arrogance, ignoring that he was covered from head to toe in mud. “Your kindness will not go unrewarded.”

  Conner shook his head and said, “I don’t want any of your rewards. Glaerion is right about you, so don’t think my kindness is for any other reason than there’s been enough death this winter. I’d suggest you figure out a way to make yourself useful or you'll find yourself standing on the wall with a bow in hand to defend against the Deceiver’s first attacks.”

  Through clenched teeth, Lord Martin said, “Don’t you dare speak to me in such a manner. I am a Lord!”

  Conner narrowed his eyes, and coolly said, “Don’t make me regret saving your life.”

  Without letting Lord Martin respond, Conner turned and returned to the castle.

  Chapter Two

  The rain had been falling steadily for several days, which dampened Princess Nikki’s mood to the point where she didn’t want to talk to anyone, nor did she want anyone to talk to her. Even though the rain had stopped falling, the skies were still a dreary, dark gray and showed no signs of opening up for the sun. The ground was soaked and muddy, making travel across the open field treacherous. Beside and behind her marched her small force of Sak’Hurai. They were the elite warriors of the nation of Hurai trained since childhood in the art of battle and swordplay. Even they trod carefully across the slippery ground, lest they fall face-first into the mud.

  Nikki had not meant to lead her warriors this far north, but when her advance scouts had reported a large army moving ahead of them, she hoped it was the Deceiver’s army heading west, and she would not miss out on an opportunity to engage and kill the enemy. She did not even know what they looked like. Conner and Glaerion had described the Deceiver’s soldiers as long-limbed gangly creatures that were easily killed but were ruthless and dangerous when fighting in packs. They would sweep down upon their victims in a single mass using their superior numbers and tenacious ferocity rather than skill. Attacking first would be the key to defeating those creatures that Conner had called goblins.

  The horses that carried them for the past two weeks of their journey had been left several miles back to graze on what grass they could find. A small contingent of her warriors remained behind to tend to the horses, but most of them marched at her side, swords drawn and ready to be used. Sak’Hurai were not horse soldiers. They preferred to fight from the ground using long and thin swords that could easily slice a body in two. On foot, they moved forward in an organized, but loose formation. Each Sak’Hurai warrior was a highly trained and finely tuned instrument of war capable of defeating many times their number. For many of them, this was to be their first time in open combat, yet there was not one of them that felt any fear or apprehension. To a man and woman, the Sak’Hurai were prepared to kill and be killed. It was their purpose in life, and it would be an honorable end to their lives if they were to fall on the battlefield.

  Nikki glanced to the left and then to the right to be sure that her warriors were not moving too quickly. She was at the center of the line, setting the pace, and they needed to stay in formation. They would engage as one solid mass, which meant coordinating their speed. Their engagement of the enemy needed to happen from one end of their line to the other, and at the same time. If one side of the line was too slow, the enemy could shift reserves around them to defend weak spots. However, if they were to all attack simultaneously across the entire front of their opposing army, they would be able to keep any enemy reserves from counter-attacking.

  Ahead, she could see the ground was matted and trampled from a previous battle. The army that her scouts had seen was gone, having left devastation in its wake. There would be no battle today, so she relaxed her tense muscles and lowered her swords, so they swung back and forth as she walked forward. She expected to see the creatures that Conner had described, but she only saw bodies of men, many with missing body parts. Faces were contorted with the last vestige of death twisted into them. Two distinct armies were apparent from the dead. Some of them were hairy and clad in only thick furs and hides. Others were clothed in bright red tunics and armored with chest plates, greaves, and elaborate bronze helms. Whatever transpired had been a fierce and deadly battle, but it had not been between Humans and the army of the Deceiver. It had been between two Human armies.

  Although fear was not something she embraced, it was not unknown to her, so she recognized it when it fell on her like steady spring rainfall. She had been wrong to assume that the army her scouts had seen in front of them was an army of goblins. It was also not a single army, but two armies and she was leading her people onto the battlefield between them. Her desire to put her warriors to the test on the battlefield could have caused their doom. She now realized she should have sent out a smaller contingent to scout the battlefield first, rather than lead her entire force onto it. Fortunately, her miscalculation had not yet caused them harm, but she would have to be wary of being attacked by either army.

  As she continued to march forward, the dead bodies were closer together, many bunched together in piles of death. Blood mixed in with the wet mud made for a slick mess. Body parts were strewn about, stuck halfway into the thick mud. If it were warmer and in the middle of summer, flies would be buzzing around, and the stench of the corpses would be overwhelming. The cold rain had turned the battlefield into a mess, but it also kept the smell down. It was hard to tell how long ago the battle had occurred, but she knew it wasn’t too recent, likely at daybreak. There were too many dead bodies and no moans or cries for mercy. She knew from first-hand experience that death did not always come quickly in the open battlefield. However, if she did come across a soldier who was still alive, there would be no fight in them. The adrenaline of the battle would have passed, and they would be begging for mercy and quick death.

  She knew the armored soldiers were Taran Centurions as their reputation stretched across the continent. They were not individually great soldiers, but they were disciplined and fearless. Their ability to fight in formation was legendary. She had little respect for their style of fighting, using long-range weapons such as crossbows to fight from a distance. She would much rather see the eyes of her enemy as she sliced them up.

  The fur-clad warriors looked unfamiliar. There were many tribes and small kingdoms in the northern parts of the continent that were unknown to her and her people. Mostly the Hurai stayed to the south, away from the desolate lands of the north. Clearly, she found herself in the middle of a conflict between two warring nations, and the last thing she wanted to do was to get pulled into a fight that would distract her from getting to Conner’s kingdom. If they moved fast enough, they should get out of harm's way by dusk, and then they could find a safe, isolated place to set up camp. In the meantime, her warriors needed to appear as unthreatening as possible.

  With a shrill whistle, she signaled for her warriors to sheath the
ir weapons. Even if they were attacked, they would see it coming with enough time to draw their weapons and defend themselves. She let out another whistle, and her Sak’Hurai adjusted their path to close ranks. As her warriors came closer, the sound of boots slapping across wet mud filled her ears.

  “Princess, these are not the creatures you spoke of,” one of her commanders named Kile said.

  “No,” she replied. “Taran Centurions and another army.”

  “Bargoroth,” Kile replied.

  Nikki turned her head towards him, wondering what word he just said.

  “The hairy men in fur are called the Bargoroth. They live here in the cold north, far away from other people.”

  “It is dark and dreary up here,” another commander named Tys said from behind Nikki. “What a miserable existence they must live.”

  “Do not be so quick to judge,” Kile said. “They know of nothing other than what they know. They are happy and content with their lives.”

  “What do you know of them?” Nikki asked.

  “Your father opened a trade route with them some years ago, and I drew duty to safeguard the caravan’s passage. They were friendly enough to us, letting us sleep in their homes and feeding us before we returned south. They had little to offer us in trade, but there are large white bears that live farther to the north, and your father took a liking to their soft fur coats. The bears stand almost twice the height of a man and are very hard to kill, but they are not dangerous unless you come upon a mother with her cubs. That was one mistake I will never make again.”