Under other circumstances Michel would not have been reluctant to accept such a service. He realized part of his unwillingness to do so stemmed from the thought of Elena’s devastation when she heard the rumors of how the new king spent his first night as king, and with whom. Though such activities would normally not come to the ears of an innocent young maid, he comprehended it would be all but impossible to keep Elena from learning of such intimate details of his life when they would be sharing the same roof for the foreseeable future. There was always someone eager to gossip about such matters and he doubted the wagging tongues would be overly careful about Elena’s feelings on the subject.
But it was not only the thought of her disappointment in him that fueled his current celibate state. The fact was his manly passions had recently centered around a single subject. Elena. It came as a shock to him to discover he missed his shadow and her wide serious gaze fixed upon him. His musings engaged his attention until he was at the door to his chambers. He bid his accompanying guards a good night and then passed through the double doors into his large, elegantly appointed chambers.
His lips curved in amusement at the contrast between the luxurious bed in the accompanying room and the damp pallet he’d rested on for the past several months. The bed was large enough to accommodate any number of female companions if he was so inclined. He thought it might take a harem of women to fill the bed and wondered if any of his ancestors had availed themselves of just such an opportunity. He crossed the intricately inlaid floor into the adjoining chamber and crossed to the window to throw open the coverings allowing the cool night air to enter. Though most men would likely consider the warm chamber and the fire that burned in the hearth inviting, Michel spent the past several months in the elements and rather than find comfort in the warmth, he found it oppressive.
As he stripped out of his clothes and prepared for bed, he realized this chamber was very likely the same room his grandfather was murdered in. Murdered by a close friend. He wondered if his grandfather had awakened in time to see his attacker, or had the cowardly traitor who ended his life simply slit the sleeping king’s throat? Not exactly a restful mystery to contemplate as he sank down on the thick mattress, but he was exhausted enough from the events of the day and the pressures of the previous months leading up to it that he fell into a dreamless sleep almost before he was fully stretched out upon the luxurious bed.
Despite his exhaustion, Michel’s sleep was restless and burdened with violent, conflicting dreams where both a dead, bloodied Raulf played a starring role opposite the maid Rowena and the strange voice that spoke through her. In his dream state he engaged in earnest conversation with the voice and walked by the side of the young witch as the voice escorted him through scenes from the bloody past of the kingdom he now ruled. Bells could be heard in the distance, just as Gabriel described sounding the bells to alert Calei’s defenders on that pivotal night when his grandfather was murdered and his grandmother was forced to flee for her life into the wilderness. In the course of his dreams, the ringing bells tolled loudly and often as Michel wandered through his country’s misty past, a testament to the constant strife that assailed Calei over its long history.
Despite Michel’s fervent urging, his misty escort seemed disinclined to reveal the secret behind the inception of the ancient curse laid against his family’s blood. Michel stirred restively on the bed as the clanging of the bells became more insistent, distracting his attention away from his bodiless companion who shared his dreams.
An odd pounding sound now accompanied the ringing bells and even as Michel turned to demand an explanation from his misty escort, the significance of the noise assaulting his overtaxed senses suddenly forced its way through his foggy brain. He shot up in bed and was already on his feet getting dressed and reaching for his sword when Amele thrust the door open. The grave expression on the older man’s face told Michel everything he needed to know.
“The city is under attack. Fortunately, despite the celebratory mood prevailing throughout the streets, the guards in the watchtowers remained vigilant enough to spot the enemy swarming down the mountain passes. They sounded the alarm and the gatekeepers managed to shut the gates before the enemy forces were able to enter the city. Our men are engaged even now in a fierce struggle to defend the gates. If the gates fall we will soon find ourselves under siege.”
“Gather the commanders who are not actively engaging the enemy. How many of the nobles remain within the city?” Michel demanded as they left his chambers and strode quickly in the direction of the great hall. He could hear distant shouting and the echoes of frightened screams giving evidence to the chaos in the city. In the distance were the unmistakable sounds of men and horses engaged in armed combat.
He could find irony in the realization his unspoken dissatisfaction with the largely peaceful transition of power and the resulting wasted years of training for his men was about to be challenged. His premonition he would face a fight for his grandfather’s throne would come true after all. There were already a number of men gathered in the hall and they looked up expectantly at their entrance.
“Gabriel, along with several companies of our most experienced soldiers are engaging the enemy in front of the gates, always our most vulnerable point of defense. If they fail to force the enemy away from the gates and the attackers enter the city, we will not be able to protect everyone. Likely we will have a slaughter on our hands.”
Michel turned to address two of his own commanders who accompanied him to Calei. “Melos, Amister take your men and reinforce the defenses at the gate. My guess is whoever planned this heard of King Barnabas’ passing and thought to take advantage of the uncertainty of the transition to a new ruler. It is very possible they are unaware of our arrival or the fact that we brought with us an additional thousand fighting men, who are itching for just such a confrontation.”
“Yes, my king, I do not doubt your words. The enemy is in for a very great surprise and we are just the men to give it to them,” Melos replied grinning. Then with respectful bows in Michel’s direction, the two men hurried off to gather their men, their lighthearted expressions giving evidence of their great anticipation at the thought of the battle ahead as if they had just been handed an unexpected boon.
When the nobles were gathered around him, Michel prepared to give his instructions for the defense of the city. At the same time, a single soldier rushed into the hall and hurried to where Michel stood in the center of the gathering. The soldier’s tunic was covered with blood and grime, but he appeared uninjured. He quickly knelt before Michel and rose at his command. “Your Highness, forgive my boldness, but Captain Gabriel sent me to report to you the news he has gathered of our enemy.”
“Then please do so,” Michel commanded, motioning a hovering servant to bring the man water and food.
“Captain Gabriel states there are three waves of attack. Forgive me Your Highness, but he indicated I should tell you the enemy’s strategy appears similar to the attack you planned to execute on the city.”
“What is your name soldier?”
“Hunter, Your Highness.”
“Take a moment to refresh yourself, Hunter, and then return to your captain with the order to hold the passes for an hour’s time, and then sound the retreat.”
“Retreat, Your Highness?” the veteran soldier appeared aghast at the idea.
“Yes, my friend,” Michel responded. “It will take us an hour to align our soldiers behind their rear flank. When you retreat, we will swarm down from the hills behind them.”
“And they will be caught in our vise and be crushed between us.”
“Exactly.”
The soldier’s eyes gleamed with excitement and he bowed before Michel then gratefully accepted the tray the servant held out to him. He quickly swallowed the fresh water and meal the servant provided and then hurried from the hall to deliver his welcome message to his captain.
“Amele, you and I will reinforce our soldiers at the ga
te. Barons Timothy and Paul, you and your men take the east passes, Barons James and Donnell, your men will lead the attack from the west. Wait for the bells to sound to signal all is in readiness, and then force the enemy down against the walls. We will prepare a suitable welcome for them.”
“But King Michel, surely it would be safer for you to lead one of the forces down the passes. The fighting will be fiercest along the wall. We have only just regained our true king. I am loath for you to take such a risk. Allow me and my men to reinforce the soldiers at the gates and you and your men to accompany Baron Paul along the east passes.”
Michel shook his head, denying Timothy’s request, even while he smiled over the evidence of the older man’s concern. “Thank you, my friend, but the defense of our homes is a king’s worry therefore it is a king’s duty. Let us not waste this opportunity provided us to send a message to our enemies that if they think to come and steal our treasure they will pay a high price indeed for their foolishness.”
A rousing cheer sounded from the gathered men and as one, they turned to see Michel’s commands carried out.
For the defenders at the gates, their reinforcement arrived not a moment too soon. Michel immediately grasped the enemy’s strategy, as it so closely mirrored his own. If the gates fell and the enemy was able to enter the city, chaos would erupt among the residents, hindering their own soldiers’ ability to protect them. He could see from the maturity and the skill with which they wielded their weapons that the enemy’s leaders had sent their most experienced men to breach the gates. He suspected some of the enemy’s forces were being held in reserve until the gates were opened, and the city’s defenders were in retreat. At that critical moment, another wave of enemy forces would overwhelm the depleted defenders in both force and spirit.
Concluding his reasoning was just Michel wasted no further time contemplating the enemy’s strategy or his own planned response. There came a time when strategy took a second place to a man’s willingness to stand in the face of an enemy assault and defend himself and all he held dear with the strength of his sword and his will. Michel rose in Arden’s stirrups and let out a fierce battle cry that was echoed in brutal unison by the soldiers riding behind him and forged his way into the center of where the enemy’s assault was at its most savage, hoping with their fresh reinforcements they could hold the gates for the hour it would take for the others to gain their places in the mountains.
Within moments of engaging the enemy, the clash of swords, the screams of dying men and the grunts of the combatants engaged in a life and death struggle for survival occupied all of his senses. Michel put every thought from his mind except that of his sword and his skill in wielding it. Rivers of blood, more blood than he had ever seen in a single place, even in his clashes with the northern enemy of his Saxon king, stained the white stones surrounding the artful gates announcing the entrance to the wealthy city. He wondered idly even as shifted in his saddle to defend the back of one of his men against an enemy sword, how those responsible for such menial tasks would ever manage to remove the deep red stain from the previously gleaming entrance.
The smell of death assaulted his senses and pervaded the air of the new dawn being birthed over the east mountains. Accompanying the unmistakable scent, he thought he detected the echo of a subtle whisper drifting through the ranks of fighting men, inciting their hatred of the enemy and prodding them to take greater risks, to shed even more blood. For a moment, Michel felt the familiar whisper resonate with some dark, deeply buried part of him before he quickly dismissed the notion. He’d spent the past day engulfed in the mysticism of his new kingdom, but this was not the time to allow himself to fall victim to it unless he wanted to join the dead and dying on the ground at his feet.
Arden shifted his weight, alerting his attention to the deadly threat from his right. Michel turned in instinctive response and raised his shield to deflect the blow aimed to split his head open. At the same instant he swung his sword with all of his considerable strength in a downward sweep that cut through the helmet of his attacker and sank deep into the bone and softer flesh it protected. He didn’t waste time watching the man slide off his horse and crumple to the ground, already dead before his blood joined the river of his comrades’ as another enemy soldier boldly took his fallen comrade’s place, his sword brandished in a confident swagger and bloodlust in his eyes.
The enemy soldier’s confidence was dealt a crushing blow when Michel parried the thrust of his heavy blade. Too late the man realized he faced an opponent whose skill with a blade exceeded his own. He was still raising his shield to deflect the blow even as Michel’s sword found purchase in the man’s soft middle. He died in the company of his fallen comrades, his astonishment frozen into a wide-eyed death mask as he lay unseeing, staring up at the lightening early morning sky.
As the battle raged on, Michel lost count of the number of men he’d slain and pushed to the back of his mind his grief at the number of friends and comrades who fell beside him. Despite their own lives sacrificed in this contest, he knew that greater still were the number of enemy soldiers littering the ground around him, but as soon as one of their attackers fell it seemed as if two rushed to take his place. Michel began to doubt his initial conclusion this assault was launched in order to take advantage of the confusion surrounding the succession of the kingship. The fierceness of the battle and the numbers engaged against them, as well as the staggering losses the enemy was willing to sustain, made him think whoever was behind this had another end in mind.
They weren’t just after carrying off gold and wealth a quick raid would afford them. He thought whoever was behind this assault was after Calei itself. Why settle for what they could claim in a single night’s raid, when if they could defeat the city’s defenders they could take advantage of the inner turmoil they concluded would result from the competition for the throne and claim not only the rule and wealth of the city but the rich treasure to be found in the surrounding mines?
He understood his faceless enemy’s strategy…to crush…to annihilate the defenders of the city so they could not rise against them and their rule. Michel realized if he and his men had not arrived to reinforce the city’s defenders, that is exactly what would have happened. The thousand men who rode with him evened their numbers. Without them, the city’s brave defenders would have been overcome.
Rage filled him. He understood such was the ways of men and the evil of their hearts. Hadn’t Barnabas told him there was no bottom to the well of evil in men’s hearts? But the viciousness of the merciless assault they defended against struck him as the Norman invasion of Saxony failed to do and stirred in him a stake in the outcome he’d never truly felt before. All of a sudden the contest they waged was personal. He took the assault against his grandfather’s homeland personally. He suddenly realized Calei was no longer simply his grandfather’s home. It was his. These men who fought by his side were his. He’d be damned if he’d lose his destiny before he’d spent a single night as its ruler.
With fresh resolve he cleaved a bloody trail with his sword through the line of enemy soldiers. The clash of his blade rang out swift and sure causing the enemy to fall back before his righteous fury. As if in response to his new ferocity, the long awaited signal for their remaining forces to attack sounded menacingly in the misty air of the unfolding dawn. The majestic bells sounded in the air followed swiftly by the horns and shouts of their fellow Caleinians swarming down upon the enemy from the surrounding peaks.
Dismayed, the enemy forces were now forced to do battle on two fronts, defending both their front and rear flanks from attack. The city’s tired, disheartened defenders emboldened by new men to fight by their sides and by the sight of their new king, careless of his own safety in his fury to defend their beloved homeland, wielded their swords with renewed vigor and might.
With the enemy cinched between them, it was only a matter of time before the Caleinian forces came together through the breech they cleaved in the ranks of t
he enemy lines. Still there was no break in the opposing soldiers’ discipline, no hint that they were on the brink of being crushed between the city’s defenders. They held their ground, drawing together in tight circles until the attackers became the defenders, like islands in a stormy sea threatened by a fierce storm. Michel was impressed by their courage even though on another level he could bemoan the useless waste of lives. With no pleas for mercy from their enemy, the Caleinians began cutting down the remaining enemy forces in a precise businesslike manner that was almost artistic in its display of savagery.
The victors all wore wide smiles as the last of the enemy’s forces finally took off for the hills. Michel motioned for his eager soldiers not to pursue them. “They won’t be back and their retreat will perform a valuable service for those they sought to conquer and deliver our response to whoever sent them.”
“Be careful my young king, not all of your enemies reside outside the boundaries of your fair kingdom.”
He was back. Michel could be amused now by the mysterious voice’s dire warning, thinking he would really have to be careful about succumbing to the mystical nature of his new kingdom. Another voice sounded in his ear, this one was also familiar but was spoken through the lips of a living man, though the chill his warning sent up Michel’s spine was more ominous than the amusement he felt at his imaginary companion’s warning.
“You’ve had a busy first day, Your Highness and an effective one, soundly defeating both your strongest challengers from within and without Calei’s boundaries. Ironically, I find myself deeply in your debt. Allow me to repay you in a manner befitting your royal status.”
Too late, Michel realized he would pay a deadly price for his recklessness and the excessive assurance only a man in his prime possessed of his own immortality. Only now in the split second before the assassin’s blade penetrated his yielding flesh did he comprehend how cunningly he’d been separated from his own men until he was surrounded solely by those of another contender for Calei’s ancient throne.
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