Fate of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  Above them, someone yelled a warning, and then the portcullis started coming down.

  "What's happening?" called Fitz. "I thought you had the gate secured?"

  "I did," yelled Arnim as a clash of steel echoed down the stairwell. They both ran for the stairs, Arnim in the lead. He caught sight of an enemy knight above him and stabbed out with his sword. The fine blade easily penetrated the man's armour, and his foe staggered back. Arnim pushed forward, pressing the attack, but the knight parried his blows.

  Fitz tried to get around him, but the confined space was his enemy. "They must be coming from the battlements," he said, suddenly realizing the danger. "We have to stop them."

  Arnim lunged again, driving his foe back into the wall. With no place to go, the blade easily found him, and the king's knight fell to the floor, clutching his wound.

  "You raise the portcullis, I'll take the wall," yelled the baron.

  Arnim stepped into the room, only to find three enemy knights standing there while his people lay dead on the floor. The largest one paused before the chains that ran through the floor to the portcullis below. Before Arnim could move, the man's axe came down, severing the chain and releasing its burden with a great crash.

  With no time for thought, Arnim struck out at the two closest knights. The tip of his sword plunged forward, scraping across a breastplate to dig into a soft armpit. The enemy cried out in pain as he slid down the wall to lie on the floor, a pool of blood growing beneath him.

  With one down, Arnim shifted his focus to the second knight. This one, who had a large two-handed sword, stepped forward, his blade slicing menacingly left to right. Arnim dove to the side while the weapon passed harmlessly over him. He rolled over and swung at the man's legs, feeling the tip slice through boot leather.

  Looking up, Arnim determined that the knight's wild swing had left him vulnerable, and he struck again, this time a jab into the man's belly. The tip of the blade drove deep, and as he pulled back, his enemy fell, clutching his wound, trying to stem the flow of blood.

  The axeman, surprised by this chain of events, moved towards where another door lay, but sounds of footsteps beyond changed his mind. He turned to face Arnim, his axe and shield ready to do battle.

  The shouting beyond the other door told Arnim that the baron had been successful in his endeavours. Risking a glance at the two combatants on the floor to see neither presented a threat, he stepped forward with another jab, this time at his target's face. The remaining knight lifted his shield to fend off the blow even as he was driven back. Arnim used the enemy's momentary distraction to redirect his attack and stab down at the man's foot, driving the blade deep into the floor beneath.

  The axe-wielder gave a bellow of rage as he brought the battle axe thundering down towards Arnim, hitting his right arm with a glancing blow, scraping the armour and continuing its momentum until the axe bit into a wall brace. Arnim moved forward using his elbow to smash into the man's face, causing the knight to crumple to the floor.

  He rushed to the winch assembly, but it was plain to see there was nothing that could be done to repair it. The chain hung, limp and broken. The heavy iron portcullis below blocked anyone from entering or leaving the city.

  They were trapped!

  Baron Fitzwilliam swung out, driving his enemy back. His foe, now precariously perched on the edge of the battlements, had nowhere to go. Fitz pushed forward with his shield, causing the unfortunate knight to tumble over the edge. The man fell with a scream, the echo of his voice only stilled when he struck the ground, silencing him forever.

  His own men flooded out of the guardhouse behind him, along with Sir Rodney, who ran up beside him.

  "We have them on the run," said Fitz.

  "There's trouble below, Lord," reported Rodney. "The men that went north are returning; the enemy has set up barricades. They were waiting for us."

  "Take command here," ordered the baron. "I'll see what can be done." He made his way back down through the gate tower. Arnim was just coming out of the winch room when their eyes met.

  "The portcullis?" asked Fitz.

  Arnim shook his head, "There's nothing to be done, they've cut the chain. We're trapped."

  "Worse than that," added the baron, "it seems the attack was easy for a reason. They've set an ambush and are coming for us in strength."

  "What do you suggest we do?" asked the knight.

  "We do what we must," declared Fitz. "If that means dying to the last man, then so be it."

  The fighting on the wall grew more intense. All around Albreda was the din of battle as wolves and soldiers fought within the close confines of the battlements.

  A streak of flame shot out, and she instinctively ducked while it struck the ash to send splinters of wood flying while enveloping the top branches in flames. Thick black smoke began billowing out, filling the sky.

  Albreda looked back to where the enemy caster was preparing another spell, but she was quicker. With a deft flick of her wrist, along with a word of power she pointed her finger at him. Small specks flew forth, each growing into a stone the size of a walnut, striking the mage full in the chest, propelling him backwards. He lost his balance, flailing his arms about as he tumbled down the stairs. Albreda ran forward to spot him lying at the bottom of the steps, a large pool of blood forming beneath his head.

  A shout pulled her attention back from the stairs, and off to her right, two men approached, swords in hand. She called on nature once more, this time kneeling to strike the walkway beneath her feet. A ripple appeared in the stone, travelling away from her, creating a shockwave which sent the enemy soldiers tumbling.

  A yell behind caused her to turn again. This time, she saw the group of Elves defending that section fall to the blades of the enemy. Fresh royal soldiers flooded onto the battlements.

  The Earth Mage raised her hands, but a fiery pain lanced through her shoulder before she could call upon her magic once more. She scanned the area, trying to locate her attacker, finally spotting a dark-haired woman at the base of the stairs.

  Albreda acted quickly, conjuring more stones and sending them flying towards her target, but watched in horror as they bounced off the woman, falling harmlessly to the ground.

  A smile creased the woman's face as she uttered the words of power. Dark specks flew across the intervening space, expanding into a black cloud. The air around the Earth Mage grew dark and noxious. Albreda fell to the floor, gasping for breath as the woman ascended the stairs.

  "Foolish mortal," the woman said, staring down at her, "no person in this world can kill me."

  At that moment, Albreda knew who she faced. "Penelope," she managed to spit out through gritted teeth.

  "Yes, I am Penelope," said the Necromancer, "or the Dark Queen, if you prefer. I've tolerated your interference for the last time, Witch. Prepare to die!"

  Penelope raised her hands to cast a spell, but Albreda desperately lunged toward the battlements, diving over the wall and plunging silently into the darkness.

  A soldier ran up to the Dark Queen, his sword covered in blood. "The wall is secure," he reported.

  "Good," she replied. "Now, it is time to finish off those at the south gate. Release the rest of the knights."

  Thirty-Four

  The Fall of Wincaster

  Summer 962 MC

  Tog watched as the Bodden foot swarmed about in front of the south gate. "Something is wrong."

  "The gate must be down," said Aubrey. "There's an iron gate, called a portcullis, that keeps people out."

  "How does it work?" asked the Troll.

  "There'll be a room above, in the gatehouse, with a winch; a sort of drum that has a chain curled around it."

  "Can it be raised?" he asked.

  "It's likely very heavy," she answered, "and only the winch would work."

  "Not too heavy for Trolls," he said, then turned to his people, issuing commands in their own tongue.

  Aubrey watched as they began moving north. "Wait, I'
m coming with you!” she hollered. "You may need me." She ran to catch up.

  Across the field they went, their long legs carrying them swiftly. Crossbow bolts started flying at them from the walls, but the range was great and most bounced off harmlessly. Aubrey knew their luck wouldn't hold, and as the range dropped, the bolts began to take their toll. She saw Tog in front, two quarrels sticking out of his shoulder. He jogged now, his laboured breath steaming in the chill morning air.

  They finally reached the gate, and the Bodden footmen quickly moved aside. Tog placed his hands between the iron bars of the portcullis, gripping as hard as he could and tried to bend them to no avail.

  "Lift," yelled Aubrey.

  Tog reached down to grasp the iron crossbar firmly in his hands and then straightened his legs. The gate groaned with the effort, moving only a handbreadth above the ground. Other Trolls, seeing the effect, leaped to his assistance, and soon there were six of the massive race, lifting the gate. Slowly it rose, and the men of Bodden began crawling beneath it.

  Aubrey moved closer. The bottom of the gate had spikes of iron that recessed into the ground. She pointed at one on the left side and told a watching Troll to bend it, using a stick as an example. The Troll mimicked her action, then grabbed the leftmost spike and pushed until the metal began to twist slightly. A few others lent their strength, and soon it jutted sideways at an angle. They repeated the action on the right, and then Tog and the others slowly released the gate. It scraped down the stone a ways, digging into the archway until it seized up, caught on either side.

  The Trolls rushed in, leaving Aubrey to follow. Walking through the gate, she saw the way lined with wounded and immediately began casting her spells, healing the most critical first.

  Arnim swore as he crouched behind a makeshift barricade that they had hastily assembled. Enemy knights stood waiting at the far end of the street simply watching. While his men pulled together what defences they could, he wondered why the knights hadn't charged right away. When arrows started raining down on the men of Bodden, he understood. The king's archers had been making their way across the rooftops, and now they were letting loose with everything they had.

  The man beside him gave a yell, then fell back, an arrow through his shoulder. Arnim was getting desperate as he saw soldier after soldier go down.

  "The pig," said Nikki.

  He looked at her in confusion.

  She pointed "The tavern, the pig; we can reach the rooftops from there."

  He cast his eyes in the direction she indicated. The Boar, as it was called, was a large tavern, popular among the lower classes. He saw the wooden sign, swinging in the breeze, its boar head mocking him with a slight grin. "Follow me," he yelled, then rushed for the doorway.

  Arrows fell all about him, but he ignored them, crashing through the door into the common room. The place was deserted, emptied, no doubt, by the same people that had created this death trap of an ambush.

  Nikki was right behind him. "To your right!” she called out.

  He ran up the stairs, two by two, Nikki close behind, along with a few others following their lead. He reached the top of the stairs to see another set, heading upward.

  "Keep going," said Nikki. "At the end of the hallway is a door that leads to the roof of the building."

  "How do you know all this?" he yelled.

  "This is my part of the city, remember? I know all the alleys and shortcuts."

  He reached the top, the doorway clearly visible before him. Throwing his weight into it, he forced the timber from its hinges. As luck would have it, he fell, the door beneath him; it was an act that saved his life for an arrow sailed over his head and into the hallway.

  Arnim rose, running for all he was worth. The startled archer grabbed another arrow and was nocking it when Arnim struck. Rather than hitting with his sword, he clotheslined the man, causing his unfortunate victim to lose his balance. The archer slipped, grasping in vain at the clay tiles, but they ripped from the roof as he fell, dropping to the ground and shattering, along with his body.

  The lone knight tore across the rooftops towards the next archer. Nikki paused long enough to take in the scene below. The baron's soldiers were still pinned down, but the archery fire would soon lessen as they struggled to deal with the new rooftop threat.

  Arnim reached the end of the building and jumped. Nikki held her breath until she heard his feet hit the next rooftop, a jump of some distance. He was yelling now, his sword flashing as he ran. Another archer went down while a third, holding his fire to avoid hitting his companion, suddenly turned and ran.

  Nikki followed suit and leaped, clearing the gap to land safely. She plucked a bow from a dead man and began firing across the road at archers on the other rooftops.

  The men following her took their cue from Nikki and began hurling tiles across the street. It wasn't accurate fire, but it was enough to convince them to take cover. In the street below, Nikki spotted Baron Fitzwilliam rallying the troops, and now they rushed forward, abandoning their barricades.

  The king's knights, on their horses to the north, were shifting nervously and looked like they were about to charge, but something changed their minds, and they withdrew, turning the corner and disappearing from sight.

  Beverly, seeing the tree erupt in flames, knew the assault was in jeopardy. The fighting on the battlements looked to be thinning out, the defenders gaining the advantage. Suddenly, she spotted Albreda, unmistakable given her lack of armour. Beverly watched in horror as the mage tumbled from the wall, disappearing into the shadows below.

  "No!" she cried out, charging toward the debacle, her men following.

  The Elves were withdrawing, bringing their wounded and burned comrades back down the mighty redwood. Beverly galloped up, leaping from the saddle and pushing past them, her hammer firmly in hand. She started up the tree at the run, her feet firmly planted as she made her way along the incline.

  "For Bodden," she called out, her voice husky with emotion. Full of anger now, her hammer glowed with energy as she reached the top. There, she beheld a mage on the wall, his shoulder covered in blood and glowing light at his fingertips. He was about to let loose with a spell when an arrow took him in the eye.

  "Gotcha," yelled a familiar voice and she turned to see Hayley on the burning ash tree. She had paused to let loose her arrow, and now continued on her way, the Orc archers close behind.

  Beverly reached the end of the tree and dropped to the battlements. The air here was harsh, but the cool morning breeze wafted the fumes away. Someone loomed up before her, and she instinctively swung the hammer, driving into their shoulder and knocking them from the wall. She deftly blocked a sword that stabbed out at her, then used her shield to push back. Her foe fell to the side, to be finished off by another.

  The path ahead was blocked by the enemy. She smashed the hammer down, striking the stone, sending vines creeping along in front of her. Four men were quickly entangled in the spiny growth, but she ran past them, letting her soldiers dispatch them.

  She reached the stairs to find them deserted. Halting to catch her breath, she saw some of her men nearby. "Head south, along the wall," she said. "Secure the western gatehouse and open the gates."

  Her soldiers ran by, their swords dripping with blood.

  "They're on the run," called out Hayley.

  "Yes," Beverly replied, "but we must make haste, or Penelope will get away."

  "Where's Albreda?" asked the ranger.

  "I'm afraid we've lost her, I saw her fall from the wall. There's no way she could have survived that."

  Albreda felt herself falling. Her arm was on fire, the acid burning through skin, and it was all she could do to not scream from the agonizing pain. She lay back, looking upward, awaiting the sweet release of death, but instead of hitting the ground, she found herself landing in a thick bush, crashing through the branches. Finally coming to a halt, she lay still, her shoulder throbbing, her body feeling as if it had a thousand cuts.

/>   "Albreda, are you all right?" came a familiar voice.

  She turned her head as best she could to see a fuzzy shape approaching. "Aldus, is that you?"

  "It is," he said, coming closer. "I conjured a bush to break your fall, it's all I could think of in the moment."

  "It seems to have done the trick," she said, through gritted teeth.

  "Let's get you out of here," he said.

  "No!” she replied. "I can't move. I think I've broken something. More likely lots of things."

  "I'll get the healer."

  "Make it quick," she added, "I don't think I can last much longer."

  With the ambush broken and the gate now open, Baron Fitzwilliam led his men north. Still wary of the enemy, he advanced cautiously, his men spread out in a rough line.

  Arnim joined him, his task on the rooftops complete.

  "You need to get to the Palace," said Fitz. "Grab some horses and ride off. We'll clean up here."

  "We don't have any horses," protested Arnim.

  "Nonsense," said the baron, "we left them at the gates, remember? Head back and round up some men."

  "It will take too long. We can't afford the delay."

  Baron Fitzwilliam looked up the road. The knights had returned, this time intent on a charge. "It seems the Gods have provided."

  The king's knights broke into a trot, but the confines of the street and the short distance prevented them from reaching a full gallop.

  The first strike was at Arnim. He ducked to the side reaching up with his blade. The sword of King Dathen slashed through his opponent's arm, the blade glowing slightly. "It's magic," said Arnim, in disbelief.

  "So it would seem," yelled back Fitz as he pulled a man from the saddle. He stabbed down with a dagger, silencing his foe. Around them the men of Bodden struck out, taking out their vengeance on this haphazard group of knights.