by C J Brown
Arthur nodded.
“For him, trust in time.”
“You know him better than I do,” Arthur said.
“I do,” Olivie chuckled.
“Thank you, my love.”
Arthur turned and saw Merlin staring at him.
He nodded, and the warlock nodded back.
Then they rode toward the wood-line, by the city guard posts that had been built since Bulanid had attacked.
Five thousand Highlander, Roman, and Demetian infantry stood before him, their spears pointed to the skies as pennons and banners streamed in the evening breeze.
The horns and trumpets ceased blaring as Magi Ro Hul sat before the cavalry of Demetia and Pittentrail.
Merlin waited before them, looking at Arthur.
His Demetian cloak flowing from his shoulders, he eyed the men before him.
“Soldiers!” He shouted, “Warriors of the isle! Today we march to save a people from the wave of darkness that washes over this green land. The city of Astavon has been overrun, its people driven off, its armies broken. For God, for good, for brothers, fathers, wives, and for the generations who shall rise after we are gone, we will save them, and we will defeat the Huns!”
“Yah!” The soldiers shouted, and the city resounded with cheers as every warrior and citizen within range of Arthur’s voice roared.
Arthur drew his sword.
“Follow not me!” he bellowed. “Only your hearts and honor!”
Again, they cheered, raising their spears to the sky.
Arthur eyed the honorable men who stood before him.
Merlin was smiling, his cloak glowing purple.
Arthur, his soul renewed, turned his horse around and trotted forward, followed by five thousand men who marched after him. Thundering through the enchanted wood as as Magi Ro Hul led the cavalry out of the city, they emerged from the trees.
19
Spirit of Rome
Tiberius and his men had utterly changed since they landed on the shores of Britannia.
“The stories of the Germanic tribes across the continent paled in comparison to the destruction the Huns had brought to the plains of Britannia.
His men reviled the Huns, as much as he did, but Tiberius wanted the throne. He had since he was first appointed commander of a century within leagues of the Rhine and battled the Huns, winning every time. Rising to the rank of general within five years, he had led several campaigns against the barbarians, and his name was known by every Hun. For them to now be aligned with a common goal was disgusting to both them and himself. But for Tiberius, anything was worth it for the throne of Rome.
Three days after they passed the ruins of Egolith, Tiberius now spotted the Hun camp, a tent city with fires burning before them, as far as the eye could see.
We will set up camp here, Tiberius ordered.
Within an hour, the legionnaires had set up their own tents and the Roman banner streamed in the wind, the air polluted with smoke and ash. A town burned within sight of the Hun camp, while the barbarians drank and ate, marveling at the gold and coin they’d looted.
“We will not meet with them,” Tiberius declared. “We will not deal with them. We march only with them.”
“Aye, my lord,” one of the centurions said, his eagle staff pointed to the sky. “They are vile.”
“Do not fret, my friend,” Tiberius said, “for we will defeat them once our goals are achieved.”
Sunset saw the Roman army watch the Huns with anger and hatred.
By dawn, the two armies, enemies since the beginning of time, marched north.
Tiberius did not deign to look at the Huns as they shouted insults at his legion. He knew none of his men were as undisciplined as the Huns to fly to arms at an insult, and so did not bother ordering them to keep their formation. The Romans did not care to be insulted by Huns and marched on without reply.
By mid-day, the Huns and Romans reached a town where the garrison stood ready for battle, Demetian banners streaming in the wind.
Without a word, without even thought, Tiberius thundered away from his legion, racing ahead of the Hun army.
“Soldiers of Demetia!” He bellowed. “I beseech you! Surrender your arms and the city, and your people will be kept safe. I have seen the destruction these Huns leave behind. I wish not the same fate for you!”
The Huns heard the Roman general with anger as he tried to make their capture of the city peaceful.
“Hah!” The cavalry captain shouted. “A Roman general marching with Huns! What could be any more reviling?”
The Demetian warriors shouted agreement, and Tiberius felt his anger rising.
“Please, do not fight. You have not seen what the Huns are capable of.”
The captain eyed him angrily.
“We will not trust any who stand with these barbarians, the dregs of the world.”
Tiberius looked at him with sorrow.
“Then I am sorry,” he said and galloped away.
“We will take no part in this!” He shouted to his men as he returned to his legion. “We will take no part in this.”
20
Treachery
A messenger ran toward the palace, weary with travel. The soles of his sandals striking the cobblestone path as he reached the palace of the Franks, he ran up the steps to the doors and burst through. He ran for Attila’s throne room.
“Running through the open doors, he dropped to his knee, thirty yards from his king.
“Sire,” he said, “Gerlach calls you to join him in Britannia. His armies have laid waste to the land, turning it befitting of a Hun king. They are four days from Demetia, the capital city of the first kingdom of Britannia. Bishkar has sent word. He acknowledges Gerlach as general and leads the men who landed at Dornoch from Le Havre against the tribes of Britannia. Gerlach also forwarded Bishkar’s message. He says he found out Lispania was planning to betray you, so he allied with the local Caledonians and slew him.”
“Perhaps that was good. Lispania was always snake,” Attila sighed.
“I will prepare to leave at once and will depart for Britannia by sunset. Rogarth,” he said, turning to one of his main advisors, “you will govern the empire and lead our forces here while I am away. Begin preparations for the war with Rome. If things are proceeding as planned, we will be ready to strike soon. Send twenty thousand men to Ostia. Eventually, a greater army will augment them. Have them ready to march on Rome.”
Rogarth bowed as the messenger left by the great doors.
21
The Face of Honor
Arthur led five thousand men north as Magi Ro Hul charged ahead with Highlander and Demetian cavalry.
The Demetian and Highlander soldiers running behind Arthur kept pace as they thundered toward the city of Astavon that guarded the North River. Green fields and cities not yet attacked by the Huns flew by as they charged north.
Arthur found himself returning to his own. Anger and hate no longer powered his movements, only honor and the principles of loyalty, family, and peace.
The men behind him were greater than any legionary Arthur had ever known, except for the ones he had led for his last years fighting for Rome.
Now, with the Demetians and Highlanders, the thousand Romans who had made it to Inver Ridge marched to war against the Huns who threatened the freedom of the isle and the continent.
Sunset saw the Demetian, Highlander, and Roman army walk as they ate, then break into a run again, fueled by urgency and a call to duty.
By midnight, the fires that burned around Astavon could be seen from a league away.
Smoke spiraled up and drifted toward them as they advanced along the river, now walking towards the city.
The roar of the barbarians could be heard as Magi Ro Hul split his cavalry into two and they began charging far off. Arthur watched the
m halt, an army of blue, yellow, and red waiting as they eyed the muddy plains, shielding their noses from smoke and fumes that rose from the ground. The city of Astavon was crawling with Huns. Lord Galahad and his people were caged with wood and iron, while groups of a hundred at a time were trained as expendables.
Others were fashioning swords and axes by roaring furnaces, slashed with ropes.
Arthur felt his rage rising, but quickly displaced his emotion with thought.
He raised his hand, signaling for the men to amass as planned.
At once, the soldiers began forming a close mass and the front line was a row of a thousand shields.
Archers stood behind the shield wall, ready to send a sheet of arrows racing up into the night sky.
Behind them, rank upon rank of Romans, Demetians, and Highlanders stood ready to fight the Huns.
“Arthur strode forward. The Huns would be able to see them if only they looked.
He drew his sword, its blade glistening in the light of flames, stars, and the moon.
Pointed toward the heavens, he swung it down.
At once, the archers loosed their arrows and five hundred flew up.
Whistling through the air, they almost dimmed the light of the moon when commotion erupted across the Hun camp and the arrows fell on the enemy.
Arthur stood where he was as the Hun army quickly prepared to fight back.
“Archers!” A captain shouted.
Another shower of arrows rose up from the ground and streaked across the sky as Magi Ro Hul began leading the western cavalry toward the Hun riders struggling to organize. At once, the other cavalry set off, thundering toward the Huns.
Shouts sounded as the enemy formed up, facing the Britannian forces.
Another round of arrows raced up and fell on the Huns, cutting down a thousand as the rest charged toward the shield wall.
“Hold the line!” Arthur bellowed, keeping steady.
Merlin was beside him, his greatsword that did not slay drawn.
The thunder of five thousand true Huns racing toward them grew louder as the barbarians shrieked and howled.
Near the ruins of Astavon, catapults hurled balls of flame and stone toward Arthur’s men as Magi Ro Hul clashed with the Hun cavalry and cornered the expendables to keep them from attacking. Arthur had no plans to kill them. The only sin he had committed fighting the Huns being not freeing the expendables from their oppressors.
The line of Huns crashed into the shield wall, falling one by one as the Highlander infantry swung their blades.
Arthur slashed around him as Merlin incapacitated men attempting to break the line.
Where fireballs were streaking toward, the infantry cleared only that piece of land to avoid the projectiles.
Arthur, remaining where he had stopped a few minutes past, found the plains swarming with the enemy, more ruthless than they had ever been, viler than the slaves they sent to weaken the ranks of their opponents.
Shouts were sounding from his men as they struggled to maintain the shield wall.
Archers picked off Huns from behind, but the line was slowly breaking. Soldiers fell with their shields.
Fires set the grass amidst the formation to burning, and the soldiers not yet fighting tried to douse the flames with their cloaks.
Snow was not yet falling, but the cold was relentless, and soldiers without their cloaks found themselves pale.
Arthur’s arm burned as he cut down Huns all around him as they tried to slay him and his horse.
Merlin was fighting will all the strength of a Demetian prince and warlock, focused on the task before him.
Bodies piled before the line of Highlanders as the Huns continued to attack them.
Arthur was shaken out of his duel with a hulking Hun shrieking like a madman by shouts erupting from the western flank.
Hun infantry were plowing through the ranks, advancing with almost no difficulty.
Demetian, Roman, and Highlander banners fell to the ground as the Hun army broke the formation in two.
“Stay close!” Arthur bellowed as he cut down the shrieking Hun.
Near the city, the fighting between the Hun cavalry and Magi Ro Hul’s forces was raging. The citizens of Astavon and Lord Galahad had been freed from their prison and armed themselves with the Huns’ weapons. Fighting beside the cavalry, they cut down the Huns.
But the infantry was failing, and Arthur could do nothing, overwhelmed himself by hundreds of Huns attacking the shield wall.
Almost a thousand of his men had fallen before Arthur turned to see Magi Ro Hul leading his cavalry to defeat the enemy.
Magi Ro Hul slashed at the first Hun soldier as his men collided with the ranks of Huns plowing through Arthur’s men.
They cheered, and Arthur shouted in relief as he cut down another Hun.
Within an hour, four thousand Huns lay dead, but only a thousand of Arthur’s men still lived. Magi Ro Hul’s cavalry had been reduced to two thousand, and the remaining thousand Huns were retreating, abandoning Astavon.
Arthur watched the barbarians flee.
Tired, battle-weary, his arm afire, Arthur dropped from his horse.
Merlin stood beside him, physically unfazed.
Magi Ro Hul was in the distance, looking at the people of Astavon, the children, the old, the sick, all wielding swords. He hated that people as old as grandfathers and as pure as children, had had to see the terrors of war.
“Are you all right?” Merlin asked Arthur.
“Yes,” Arthur nodded.
Rising back up, he walked to where he saw Lord Galahad standing amongst his people and the remaining soldiers of his army who had tried to break the first Hun attack that morning.
His helmet by his side, Arthur walked past the fallen banners and the soldiers roaming the field. The expendables had surrendered and were being led away, not shackled or tortured. He could hear their voices as the Highlanders, Romans, and Demetians shared their food and drink with them.
“Lord Galahad,” Arthur said, walking up to him, his tunic stained with dirt and blood, his hair tousled and his eyes alert.
He turned to see Arthur.
Surprise seized him.
“You rescued us,” he said, “even though I would not join you.”
“I am not a tyrant,” Arthur responded. “I may be heir to the throne of Rome, but I am not like any emperor of the past. In fact, I wish not even to be. Your people are good. You are just. I understand why you would want to strike a deal or flee.”
“Perhaps I am of a different mind now,” he said.
Arthur looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“You have shown me that there is hope against the Huns. Triumph is achieved with great cost, but none of these people died in vain. Because of them, our enemy is weakened. I thereby pledge allegiance to you. Astavon will see the day when Britannia is united and rid of these barbarians. If you shall plan that we one day march to liberate the continent from the Huns, we shall march with you.”
Arthur did not know how to respond, except to nod.
“Thank you, Lord Galahad. Britannia owes much to you for your unity alone.”
Galahad bowed.
“Those expendables,” Arthur said, looking to they who were once slaves of the Huns, “they are not true Huns. They are Franks, Romans, Britannians, Illyrians, free peoples. They are not our enemy, but our allies. We have freed them, and should they choose, they will march with us against the Huns.”
Galahad nodded. “Very good,” he said.
Magi Ro Hul arrived by their side. “Arthur, he said, the men are ready to return, and the freedmen will follow.”
“Lord Galahad,” he turned to the guardian of Astavon, “your people fought bravely today. Fifty years ago, my people and yours once fought against each
other. I hope that is left behind us, and we can unite at the dawn of a new age.”
“Aye,” Galahad said.
Magi Ro Hul nodded.
Arthur was about to say something when he fell to the ground, his eyes white and glowing.
“I was wrong,” Merlin said, his voice grim for the first time. “The Huns have reached Demetia.”
Arthur’s eyes darted back and forth as he saw Hun armies setting the enchanted wood ablaze. Trebuchets hurled fire and stone at the city as King Megolin and General Clyde fought to hold back the barbarians.
Arthur’s eyes closed and he sat there, his face distant and disturbed.
“The Huns are attacking Demetia,” he said, and Magi Ro Hul’s face turned pale.
“Charge!” Arthur shouted, turning and running for his horse.
Magi Ro Hul’s voice boomed across the plains as Galahad led his people, now armored and armed, to the horses left behind by the Huns.
The freedmen, though still dressed as they had been, had torn off the Hun insignia and began charging after the cavalry as Magi Ro Hul led them back the way they arrived.
Arthur vaulted up onto his horse and charged, not even worrying about the army as twenty-three thousand souls thundered after him, leaving the burning plains of Astavon behind, guarded by a thousand Astavonians who swore to never let the Huns pass there again.
Charging faster than they ever had, the armies of a united people spotted the fires that burned around Demetia two hours before dawn.
The Hun army was surrounding the city. Fifty thousand barbarians charged the ranks of the Demetian defenders as catapults sent fire and stone hurling through the air. Showers of arrows rose up from the wood and the city as tar and fire lit up the ranks of Huns who fought to fell every last Demetian warrior.
Arthur, enraged, led his twenty-three thousand men across the plain.