Fate of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  They watched as another rock sailed overhead toward the distant city. It cracked into the top of the wall, breaking off a section of crenellations.

  "Good shot," said Alric.

  "Indeed, Your Highness," agreed Jack, "though I rather suspect it was more luck than skill."

  "We'll take it," said Anna. "Luck or skill makes no difference providing the wall breaks."

  "Something’s happening at the west gate," announced Jack.

  They all swivelled their gaze to the west gate of Wincaster. As the great doors swung open, a nearby group of cavalry mounted up to repel the expected sortie.

  "So," mused Alric, "they've decided to attempt another counter-attack."

  "It'll be just like the last," said Anna, "and they tried two times the week before. Do they not realize we stand ready to fight? What do they hope to achieve?"

  "I rather suspect they're striving to build up morale," suggested Jack.

  "I'd agree," offered Alric.

  They watched as the gate opened, but instead of horsemen riding out, a gaggle of people on foot exited.

  "Hello, what's this?" asked Alric. "They don't look like soldiers."

  Sure enough, with the doors wide open, a group of grubby looking commoners left the city. It started as a trickle but soon grew until the archway that made up the gate tower was jam-packed with them.

  "By Malin's hand," said Alric in astonishment, "there must be hundreds of them."

  "But why are they leaving?" asked Anna.

  The answer soon became obvious, for among the poor folk rode horsemen, driving the crowd forward with the flats of their blades.

  "What are they doing?" asked Jack.

  A grim look settled over Anna, "They're pushing them out of the city, so they don't have to feed them. They're of no military significance. I'd wager they've been plucked from the slums."

  "Why aren't our archers firing?" asked Jack. "The enemy horsemen are drawing nearer."

  "They can't fire without hitting innocents," explained Anna, "and the crowd is getting in the way of our horsemen."

  "They've planned this carefully," offered Alric. "They must have been watching our troops during their last sorties. See how the refugees are heading for our lines?"

  The mass of refugees advanced, panicking as horsemen from the city drove them on. "Run!" commanded a voice and the throng surged forward. Sam tried to keep his bearings, but the press of humanity carried him like a current. He had thrown off his threadbare soldier's tunic, hoping to blend in with the crowd, but now all semblance of order was thrown to the wind as people stampeded in their haste to escape.

  He spotted rebel horsemen ahead. The crowd parted, fearful of being cut down, yet still seeking safety. Someone fell in front of him, to be trampled mercilessly by those coming after. Sam stopped, helping the battered woman to her feet as the city folk pushed their way past.

  A horseman rode by, striking out with the flat of his blade, raising a welt across Sam's back as the Uxley native was knocked to the ground. The woman ran off, leaving him rolling on the ground, desperate to avoid the fate he had just saved her from.

  The saddle maker managed to get to his feet and run. There was no east or west, no friend or foe as fear drove him onward. A ditch appeared in front of him, and he jumped over, only to find soldiers there, swamped by the sudden press of people.

  Sam stumbled forward, his feet finding purchase on the far side and he rushed onward, his lungs burning, his throat parched and dry. Finally, he halted, bending over to try to catch his breath while riders streamed past him. He looked up, not sure whose side they were on, but no longer caring if they ran him down.

  A nearby horseman halted, reaching into a satchel strung over his neck. Sam watched as the man pulled forth a clay pot, no bigger than a tankard of ale. Mesmerized, the saddle maker stared as the rider threw this strange object through the air. He jumped back in surprise as it struck a siege engine and burst into flames.

  Sam tried to get his bearings, but before he had even a moment to determine what was happening, he heard screaming to his left and turned to see a mass of refugees tearing into wagons and sacks. Joining the starving crowd ransacking stocks of food, he dropped to his knees and grabbed a loaf of bread, biting into it; his first food in days.

  All around him soldiers yelled, trying to chase back the looters, but these people were desperate and starving. The soldiers backed up, forming into a line with their weapons drawn. Sam staggered towards them, his hands in the air. He tried to call out, but his parched throat let no sound pass.

  The footmen began moving forward at a steady pace, their weapons extended. Slowly, the underfed crowd began to take notice, pausing their feeding frenzy. Sam dropped to the ground, feigning dead. Lying motionless, he listened to the soldier's footsteps as they advanced, even felt a foot briefly step on him as they moved past, ignoring him. Waiting for but a moment more, he stood up, his hands above his head in surrender.

  He was grabbed roughly by the arms and turned around to come face to face with a grim looking soldier.

  "Take me to Gerald," he managed to croak out. "Gerald Matheson, I have important news."

  Heward struggled to move his riders forward, even the bulk of the horses was not enough to force their way through the press of people. He spotted the enemy horsemen clustering near the edge of the crowd, but he could do nothing when they spurred forward.

  The great knight cursed as the enemy rode past, his men still hopelessly engulfed by the throng of commoners. When he drew his weapon, the action brought terrified looks from those nearby. Expecting a slaughter, they began to flee, creating an opening. Spurring his horse, he moved forward, finally clearing the refugees with a small trickle of his original force.

  The enemy horsemen were in full gallop now, and Heward swore again. They were in among the catapults, and he watched, helplessly, as flames leaped onto the wooden frames. Finally, the enemy turned, intent on making their way back to Wincaster and Heward knew he had them.

  A few more of his men had cleared the crowd, and now they formed a small, but disciplined line of heavily armoured horsemen. He gave the order, and they began moving forward at the trot. The enemy, tired from their exertions, wished only to return to the safety of the city gate. Breaking into small groups they each tried to make their own way back; this proved to be their undoing.

  The Guard Cavalry rode forth, smashing into them like a tidal wave. Heward swung his axe, meeting little resistance as he sliced into a man's chest. The weapon sunk in, wrenching it from the knight's hand, and he cursed as his victim fell, taking the axe to the ground with him.

  Heward had no time to find another weapon as an enemy horseman swung a mace at him. He deflected the blow with his shield and then lunged out with his hand. The knight was a giant of a man, more than six feet tall, with a reach that exceeded that of most others. He gripped the man's weapon arm and pulled him from the saddle. The unfortunate victim fell, his arms flailing about until he landed and then was promptly trampled by a multitude of hooves.

  The line of Guard Cavalry passed through the enemy, thinning their ranks considerably. Now, only a scattered few remained, speeding desperately for the safety of the walls of the capital.

  * * *

  Alric watched as the princess's Guard Cavalry decimated the enemy horsemen; fewer than a quarter of the king's riders returned to the gate.

  "A valiant effort by the enemy," offered Jack, "but a wasted one. They have taken heavy losses and only lightly diminished us."

  "Warfare isn't valiant, Jack," admonished Anna, ”it’s a game of life or death."

  "And yet it requires courage and honour, does it not?" Jack persisted.

  "Bravery, certainly," agreed Anna, "but honour? It certainly wasn't honour that put me into the dungeons of Wincaster, nor was it honour that resulted in the invasion of your kingdom."

  "I concede the point, Your Highness," said Jack.

  A commotion behind the lines grabbed Anna's attent
ion, and she cast her eyes westward toward their supply wagons. "They've broken into the food stocks!"

  "That can't be good," said Alric, spurring his horse forward.

  They galloped toward the disturbance to see soldiers advancing with weapons drawn.

  "Stop!" yelled Anna.

  "They're destroying the food," yelled a captain. “We have to stop them."

  "They're starving," she replied.

  "Then what do we do, Highness?" asked the man. "Let them have free rein?"

  "Secure the wagons," said Alric, "and then hand out the food. Make them form lines. It will lessen their panic." He turned to Jack, but words were unnecessary.

  "I know what is required, Highness," said the cavalier, and then looked to Anna for permission.

  "Take command," she said, turning her attention to the footmen. "You take your orders from Lord Marlowe now, he knows what to do."

  * * *

  It was a grim night as they met around the table. Everyone had heard of the terrible tragedy that had befallen them, and now they all knew what the inevitable outcome would be.

  "We are low on food, Highness," said Revi. "I've conducted an inventory on our remaining stocks, and it doesn't look good. We've lost more than half our food, and we now have many more mouths to feed."

  "Drive them off," suggested Lanaka, "and keep the food for ourselves."

  "We are not at war with the commoners," asserted Anna. "This war is fought on their behalf. I will not leave them to starve."

  "What say you, General?" asked the Kurathian.

  "I agree with the princess," he replied. "The whole reason we initially got involved with the rebellion, all those years ago, was to save the commoners. It is our duty to protect them, our obligation if you will."

  "Where have I heard that before?" asked Baron Fitzwilliam.

  "Your own words, Father," said Beverly. "You taught us well."

  "So we must assault after all," said Fitz. "I knew it would end that way, it was inevitable."

  "But not an ordinary siege," declared Gerald. "We still have a few surprises in store. I think it's time we accelerate our plans."

  He was just about to explain himself when a guard entered the room. "General," the man said, "we captured an enemy deserter. He claims to know you."

  "He knows me?" said Gerald. "I suppose it's possible, I did spend some time in Wincaster as a sergeant. Bring him in."

  The guard disappeared, leaving the others looking around in confusion.

  "A deserter?" said Arnim. "That sounds suspicious. I suspect a trap."

  "You may be right," said Gerald, "but let's hear the man out. He might slip up and give us some valuable information."

  "I would never take the word of someone who deserts," announced Jack. "They'll say anything to save their skin."

  "How do we know he's not here to kill you?" asked Arnim.

  "He'd have a tough time," said Beverly, "in a room full of armed soldiers, not to mention they would have searched him first."

  "It could be dark magic," warned Arnim.

  "He has a valid point," said Revi. "We know so little about the ways of Necromancers. Perhaps we should have weapons ready?"

  "Agreed," said Anna.

  Beverly pulled Nature's Fury from the loop on her belt and moved to stand at the princess's side.

  "Is all this quite necessary?" asked Anna.

  "Just a precaution, Highness," promised Beverly. "I'd hate to see all this work fail because we got complacent."

  The guard reappeared, "We have him here, General."

  "Bring him in," he commanded.

  The guard stood aside while two men hauled in the prisoner, each grasping an arm to prevent any action.

  "Sam?" said Gerald in disbelief.

  "Sam Collins?" added Anna. "Let him go, for Saxnor's sake."

  "Gods man, what happened to you? You look awful," said Gerald.

  "The marshal-general ordered the militia raised and marched us to Wincaster. We've been on the walls for more than two months."

  "I heard about that in Uxley," said Anna. "Tell me, Sam, what's it like in the city?"

  "It's dreadful," he replied. "There's little enough food, and the militia gets the scraps while the poor townsfolk are starving. This morning we were ordered to empty the slums. That's who rushed out the gate."

  "That's terrible," said Albreda.

  "Arlo suggested I try to get word to you," Sam continued. "The men of Uxley have been kept on the same section of wall for the whole time, save for the excursion to the slums."

  "Which section?" asked Gerald. "Can you show me?"

  Sam looked down at the crudely drawn map. "Roughly here, if I read this right."

  "Hmm," said Gerald, "north of the west gate, in a reasonably straight section of wall. Are you thinking what I am, Arnim?"

  "A chance to get in?" suggested the knight.

  "Precisely," confirmed the general.

  "You obviously have a plan," said Anna. "Care to share it?"

  "Remember Arnim's suggestion?" he replied. "Now we have a chance to use it, if you're still willing?" This last part he directed towards Arnim.

  "Of course," said Arnim, "I'll do whatever I can."

  "Me too," added Nikki.

  "Good," continued Gerald, "because once you're inside the walls, it'll be all up to you."

  "What can I do to help?" asked Prince Alric. "The men of Weldwyn stand ready to help their allies."

  "I'd prefer the assault not be conducted by your men," explained Gerald. "If the defenders see us as foreigners, they'll fight that much harder."

  "Surely there must be something for us to do?"

  "Indeed there is," continued the general, "I'd like you to take your men to the eastern side of the city and start making preparations. You'll construct siege towers and ladders, all in full view of the city walls."

  "I thought you said you didn't want us to assault?" Alric said in surprise.

  "I don't, but the mere threat of your existence will be enough for them to send extra troops to the east wall, giving a western assault a higher chance of success."

  Alric smiled, "It will be our pleasure."

  "I can help too," added Sam.

  "I hoped you'd say that," added Gerald, "because we'll need you too. Here's what we're going to do..."

  It took all afternoon to work out the details.

  * * *

  "Are you ready?" asked Gerald.

  "We are," said Arnim, looking around. It was the middle of the night, and only the glow of the moon revealed their faces. Arnim, Nikki and Sam wore dark coloured clothing while Albreda and Baron Fitzwilliam stood by.

  "Good luck to you," the general said as they disappeared into the dark of the night.

  Arnim moved quickly, while the others struggled to keep up. As Wincaster drew closer, he saw the torchlight on the walls throwing up shadows. Crouching, he waited for the others to catch up.

  "Up here, Sam," he said.

  The saddle maker hunkered down beside him, his breath laboured in the chill evening air.

  "Can you see where Arlo should be?" asked the knight.

  Sam started counting the crenellations atop the wall. "Seventeen north of the tower," he said. "He has a rather distinctive helmet, an old one with a flat top."

  "I see him," whispered Nikki, pointing, "halfway along that section of wall.

  "Then that's our target," said Arnim. "Did you get that, Albreda?"

  "Of course," replied the mage. "Should be simple enough."

  "Won't your magic alert them to our presence?" asked Fitz. "The air does glow when you cast, does it not?"

  "It does," she said, "but I'm counting on you lot to tell me when no one is watching."

  "What of your incantation?" asked Arnim.

  "I can keep that quiet," she assured him. "Surely you're not worried about it now, of all times. These are things you should have mentioned earlier. Do you really think I'd agree to do this if I thought I'd be detected?"
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br />   "My dear," soothed Fitz quietly, "they're worried, that's all. You don't need to take it out on them."

  "Of course," she retorted, "my apologies. Now lead on, Sir Arnim, we have work to do."

  Arnim glanced at the top of the wall and waited. The guard walked back and forth, pausing as he reached the end of his circuit. The knight moved forward in a crouch, advancing toward the base of the wall with the others following, one by one.

  Soon, they stood with their backs against the walls of the city, all save for Albreda; she looked upward, at the steep incline before her. Taking a deep breath, she began moving her hands about in an intricate pattern. Small fireflies of light appeared before her. Fortunately, they were too close to the wall for the sentries to spot them before they sank into the ground. Suddenly, the earth shook slightly as small tendrils began to issue forth, winding their way up the wall like ivy.

  "Wait till it's anchored at the top," she whispered, "or it won't take your weight."

  Fitz watched in fascination as the stalks grew thicker at the base, while more vines crept their way upward until Albreda paused them near the top, waiting.

  Arnim moved out from the wall, and whispered, "Now," as he spotted the guard walk past.

  The vines gripped the battlement as she completed her spell.

  Arnim tapped Sam on the shoulder. "Go," he whispered.

  Sam began the climb, thankful for the dark that hid his exposed position. If the guards on the neighbouring tower had been alert, he would have been dead, but they were more concerned with their comfort than actually standing watch.

  Halfway up, he paused for breath, looking below to spot Arnim and Nikki following, ascending rapidly. Picking up his pace, he stopped again when the crenellations were just above him. He poked his head up above the wall.

  "Psst," he hissed.

  The guard looked in his direction.

  "Arlo," Sam called out, "is that you?"

  "Sam?" came back a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

  "Give me a hand," he called back, "my arms are tired."

  The tavern keeper ran forward, pulling him over the wall. "What in Saxnor’s name are you doing?" he asked.