by Scott Baron
Charlie and his friend watched as the army marched closer. Hundreds upon hundreds of men, many on horseback, accompanied by pike men and foot soldiers as far as the eye could see, trailing off down the dusty road. They would be at the castle in no time.
“We have to prepare,” Charlie said, rushing from the balcony, Bawb close behind.
They raced down the stairs, heading for the courtyard, when Charlie paused.
“We should get our weapons.”
“We have our weapons.”
“No, Bob. Our weapons.”
“Ah, those.”
“Yes, those.”
“As a last resort only.”
“But we could––“
“Charlie, hidden in the woods in the dark of night, we can get away with it, but if the men see you or I using magic, there is a very real possibility that, given this invading force, they may choose to side with the newcomers. These are superstitious people, and many still view magic as a dark art. They may perceive you as a threat rather than their king.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“But I have a fucking dragon, for chrissakes. That’s okay, but a little magic isn’t?”
“She is a mythical beast. She is beyond their comprehension. You, however, they can relate to. You are a man, Charlie. And from what I’ve heard over our months here, you’re earning the trust and respect of the subjects. But all of that could turn if they don’t perceive your power in a positive light. And believe me, you do not want a mob of superstitious people rallying against you. That can be unpredictable, a trait that is often far more dangerous than the actions of a regimented army.”
“Fine,” Charlie sighed and continued his downward run, taking the stairs two-at-a-time as he went.
The staff was rushing to hide the weak, young, and old, while those of fighting age headed out into the courtyard to take up arms. Charlie and Bawb burst out of the door at speed, making a bee-line for the gate’s high wall. Captain Sheeran was already there, fully armored and directing his men.
“Reinforce that bit over there. No, the part where the hinge meets the stone. If they ram it, that’ll be the weakest point.”
He turned and saw his king approaching.
“Status?”
“Sire, battlements are armed, and the men are stoking fires to boil oil to repel invaders. We have archers atop the walls, and lookouts in the turrets. The other men are suiting up should the walls be breached.”
Charlie looked at the ranks on the walls and in the courtyard. Far too few were present.
“Where is everyone, Sheeran?”
“Most were sick, Sire. Remember? You said to send them home until they felt better so as to not spread the contagion among the rest of the men.”
“A valid strategy,” Bawb commented.
“Aye. Unless you happen to be invaded at precisely that time. Which we have.”
“We should have been able to recall the men long before any army reached us.”
“Again, you are correct. But somehow they snuck up on us, though I have to admit, I have no idea how. A force that large shouldn’t be able to move that quietly.”
Bawb nodded, reluctantly. “You’re right, Captain. There was nothing to be done for it. These are extremely unusual circumstances.” He looked at those locked inside with them. The forces seemed rather thin. “But your men still inside the walls, what are our numbers?”
“About a third of our men are here and able to fight.”
“It’s enough. We still have a––“
Trumpets blared from the other side of the wall and the sounds of marching abruptly stopped. The three men shared a look, then quickly made their way up to the top of the thick wall above the gate.
Hundreds of men stood ready just a few hundred meters away. From their ranks, a lone horse rode forward, carrying a white flag atop a pike, along with the colorful banner of his king.
“A herald, Sire. Shall we fire?” Sheeran asked.
“Now, Captain. You know the saying. Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“Is that from your homeland, Sire?”
“You could say so,” Charlie said as he watched the lone horseman ride closer. “Do you recognize the flag?”
“Aye. It’s King Horgund, all right, just as we’d feared,” the captain replied.
“What exactly do we know of his kingdom? Are they lacking resources? Why invade?”
“Honestly, Sire, it makes no sense. They are a fertile land, and we’ve never had reason to quarrel with them. But strange things are afoot, I fear.”
“I am inclined to agree with you,” Charlie said.
The herald stopped his horse forty meters from the wall and set his eyes on the king atop it.
“I come with a message from King Horgund. He wishes all the men here to know that he does not desire senseless bloodshed if it can be avoided.”
“Then he should not have invaded my kingdom,” Charlie called down to the man. “I am King Charlie, the Dragon King, and if he came here looking for trouble, I’m afraid he found it.”
“And yet there is no dragon,” the man replied. “My king says it seems the myths of your realm are just that. Myths. But even so, he wishes to spare both of our forces a bloody and lengthy battle.”
“So, he plans on leaving, then? A wise choice.”
“No. King Horgund will achieve victory, one way or another, but he offers a means to spare countless lives. An old tradition. King Horgund hereby challenges King Charlie to single combat, the winner of which shall be declared king of both realms. A merging of two kingdoms without a war.”
Charlie turned to his captain.
“Sheeran, what do we know of him?”
“Horgund’s a well above average fighter, definitely, though he’s a bit past his prime.”
“Your opinion, then?”
“If you’re asking if you can take him, I would think so, Sire.”
“All I needed to know,” Charlie said, turning back to the herald below. “Tell your king I accept.”
“I shall tell him.”
Captain Sheeran spoke up. “On neutral ground. The field by the river. Standard escort for each side. Thirty men and no more. Agreed?”
“My king expected such terms, and agrees,” he replied. “At first light, then,” he said, then rode back to his king.
The army turned and marched away to make camp for the night, leaving the castle unscathed.
“Well, that went better than expected,” Charlie said as they descended from the wall.
“Do not take him lightly, Sire. Tomorrow will be a great challenge.”
“Yeah, but I can take this guy, right?”
Bawb put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “The Captain is right, though. A lot rides on the outcome, and you must prepare as you would for any other contest. Eat well, sleep soundly, build your strength. Tomorrow you save your kingdom.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Charlie rose before the sun, slowly centering himself as he went through his lengthy series of katas and stretches in the solitude of his chambers. It had been odd, sleeping in that space without the sound of Leila’s breathing. He hadn’t realized just how comforting her presence had become until it was absent.
He took a deep breath and pushed those thoughts from his mind and went through the motions once more. She was safe at some farmhouse far from the conflict, and once he defeated King Horgund, she would be free to return home to his waiting arms.
Warm and limber, the Dragon King finally dressed in his preferred attire for fighting––that is, for fighting while wearing armor. Normally he would have eschewed it entirely, opting for the gusseted crotch pants with reinforced knees and the tunic and short coat that contained myriad little pockets and sheathes in which to hide weapons. But today had to look right. Traditional. It had to be the sort of fight people expected it to be.
That meant Charlie had to wear his suit of armor and go at it the old-fashioned way
. Fortunately, he had modified the metal attire to allow for a far-greater range of motion, and that, along with both his pirate and gladiatorial experience, gave him something of an edge.
But armor would wait. He threw a warm cloak over his clothes and padded down to the dining hall to fuel up for the contest. Thomas was rushing about, clearly nervous at the thought of possibly having a new king that very same day. Several of his regular staff were out sick as well, which meant he had to show their last-minute replacements where things were, what they needed to do, how to prepare portable nourishment to be taken along to the contest.
“Thomas, relax. I’ll be fine,” Charlie said, hoping to sooth the poor man.
“Yes, of course, Sire. My apologies. I’ll send out your meal straightaway.”
“Thanks. And a cup of tea, if you don’t mind. It’s a little chilly this morning.”
“Immediately, Sire,” he said, then rushed back to the kitchen.
Oh, what I would give for a hot cup of coffee right about now. If I knew this kind of thing was going to happen, I would have saved an emergency stash, Charlie silently lamented. Those tsokin shrubs can’t bloom soon enough.
Bawb was waiting for him in the courtyard when he stepped out, well-fed, fully-armored, and ready to face whatever was coming. Captain Sheeran stood ready with thirty men. Charlie looked them over. Good men, for the most part, though a few of them had been less-than thrilled when he had first arrived. But now those same men would have his back. Amazing how far things had come in a few short months.
“All right. Let’s do this,” Charlie said, mounting his horse, his men following close behind.
The road was clear––scouts had ensured King Horgund had honored his agreement––and Charlie made good time riding to the clearing agreed upon for the contest. They were the first to arrive, but not by much. King Horgund and his men rode in shortly thereafter, dismounting and setting up their preparation area across the field.
“Not a terribly intimidating looking, is he?” Charlie said, eyeing the man he was about to fight.
“But as we well know, looks can be deceiving,” Bawb noted.
“Well put,” Sheeran agreed. “It would do his Majesty well to remember that while Horgund is no longer in his prime, he has fought many battles and knows many tricks. I believe you will win, Sire, but do not underestimate the man.”
King Horgund pushed aside his attendant and strode toward the field of battle.
“Are you ready to face your death, Dragon King?” he said with great sarcasm dripping from his tongue.
Okay, then. I guess we’re getting started.
Charlie rose from his stool, took a final swig from his water skin, and took a few paces forward as well in what he hoped was the traditional way this sort of thing played out.
“I think you are mistaken who’s death it will be today,” he called back. “You know, it’s still not too late for you to turn and go home. You don’t need to die today.”
“Oh, it will not be I who perishes,” Horgund taunted. “I only wish my mistress were here to witness your humiliating defeat at my hands.”
“What, your lady off having a roll with one of the servants, is it?” Charlie said.
“What are you doing?” Sheeran hissed.
“Taunting him. An angry fighter is a sloppy fighter,” Charlie quietly replied.
Horgund didn’t take the bait, however.
“My mistress is with child, soon to bring me a son to carry on my line. But where is your queen? Perhaps it is your woman who is with another.”
“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you,” Captain Sheeran said.
“Yes, Sheeran, I know. Now let me do my thing.” He began slowly walking toward the center of the field. “My queen has no need to see your blood cover the ground, Horgund. She’s sipping tea and eating biscuits as we speak.”
“Are you sure of that?” his adversary replied with a knowing grin.
Something about the way he said it made Charlie’s stomach feel queasy.
“You know, it can be treacherous, visiting farms so far from the castle. You never know what sort of trouble you might find,” he said, pulling a hanky from his armor and dabbing his forehead.
It was not a hanky. The material was familiar, a square cut from the hem of Leila’s dress.
Charlie no longer cared for norms and formality, drawing his sword and rushing the man, fury surging in his veins. Metal clashed as the two met in a fierce collision, their blades locking from the impact.
Charlie wasted no time trying to dislodge his sword, instead letting go entirely, wailing on Horgund with his steel-clad fists, viciously pounding dents into the man’s armor. He rained down his fury upon him, kicking the invading king square in the chest, sending him flying backward in a rough tumble.
Horgund, to his credit, kept his cool in the face of such a furious assault, carefully freeing Charlie’s sword from his as he got to his feet, dropping it on the ground and lunging straight into an attack of his own.
His sword gone, Charlie quickly drew his long dagger from his side, deflecting the powerful swings of the much longer weapon flying toward his head. They exchanged blows, the heavier sword unable to land a blow on the faster, stronger Dragon King.
Charlie fought unconventionally, throwing armor-covered elbows and knees into Horgund, targeting his head and thighs. A few shots to the chin staggered the man, and a well-placed knee caused his leg to spasm in a painful contraction. He was chipping away at the better-armed man, not even trying to recover his own sword. And that was fine.
This was visceral. It was violent. Much as he hated to admit it, it felt good.
Without warning, Charlie’s feet felt unsteady on the ground, and he found himself unexpectedly dropping to a knee, and just as king Horgund’s sword blurred past where his head had just been.
What the hell?
Charlie shook it off and drove upward, his shoulder catching Horgund in the chest, his powerful legs lifting the armored man clear off the ground, flying backward and sending him crashing to the dirt once again. He was down, and Charlie had a clear shot at his exposed flank. All he had to do was one quick little lunge with his dagger and it would be over.
Charlie faltered. Waves of nausea hit him, his legs turning to rubber. Something was very wrong. Bawb took a step forward, but Captain Sheeran placed a hand across his chest.
“No, he must do it himself.”
“Something is not right,” he replied, but refrained from rushing onto the field of battle. At least for the moment.
Horgund regained his feet, obviously dazed by the pummeling he had taken. His eyes locked on to his opponent, clearly in distress, and he wasted no time, rushing at him, beating on Charlie’s helmet with his gauntlets. The Dragon King seemed unable to defend himself properly. Most of the blows, though weaker now as Horgund himself was dazed and quite fatigued, were landing, driving Charlie to his knees, his arms blindly flailing as he tried to defend himself.
“No! He must do this!” Captain Sheeran said, again restraining Bawb as he moved to step in for his friend.
King Horgund kicked Charlie to the ground, then turned to retrieve the long dagger from the soil. It was as good as over. The blade would find a new sheath in Charlie’s chest, and the fight would be over.
Dennis, a young guard who had spoken particularly ill of Charlie when he first arrived, charged onto the field, knocking King Horgund over with his shoulder.
“Dennis, no! What are you doing?” Sheeran bellowed. “Stop!”
But it was too late. The guards from both sides leapt into action, an all-out melee breaking out all around the downed king. Dennis was the first to fall, quickly run through, a sword piercing his heart. He was dead before he hit the dirt.
“Stop this fighting!” Sheeran yelled while swinging his own sword in defense.
Charlie tried to focus on the battle raging around him, but all he could do was lay there, his limbs unwilling to move. A pale face appeared
above him, looking worriedly in his eyes. Charlie would have commented that he’d never seen Bawb that concerned before, but slid into unconsciousness before the quip reached his lips.
Chapter Thirty-Five
It was dark. Dark, but strange little pinpoints of light seemed to break up the darkness. Charlie slowly pried his eyes wider, the lids heavy and his senses dull. He looked around, confused.
I was on a field, he recalled. Not in some hovel, sprawled out on a dirt floor. How did I get here?
A figure moved in the shadows, a shaft of light bouncing across his pale features.
“What happened?” Charlie managed to croak.
“Here. Drink,” Bawb said, holding up a small cup to his lips.
The water was fresh and cool, and the sensation as it slid into his belly was amazing, the inner fire churning his guts temporarily quashed. His limbs were still heavy, and his joints ached, along with a fierce pounding that had taken up residence in his head. But he was alive, and still in possession of all of his limbs, so at least there was that.
“I was fighting,” he said, pushing up to one elbow.
“Yes. And you were winning.”
“And then I wasn’t,” he said, the memories coming back. “Something happened.”
Bawb held up Charlie’s royal water skin. “You were poisoned.”
“But how?”
“Someone in the castle is a turncoat. They must have spiked your water skin just before we rode out. Had they done it any sooner, you’d have fallen ill before the contest started and they would have been found out.”
“So they wanted me weak for the fight.”
“No, Charlie. They wanted you dead.” He gestured to the far side of the little room where a goat lay motionless and unbreathing. “That was from just a sip,” Bawb noted. “And in less than a minute.”
“You killed a goat?”
“I had to know. And whatever they used, it would have easily killed any other man. If not for the power of the healing Balamar waters still flowing through your body, and quite possibly the Wise One’s blood that is bonded in your veins, you’d have met that same fate. Even so, it managed to take you out of the fight, and at the most inopportune of moments.”