Alfred 2: And The Underworld (Alfred the Boy King)

by Ron Smorynski

  Gorham slid off the beast, utterly exhausted. Alfred and Cory picked him up. He was much lighter without armour.

  “How did you get this beast?” Alfred asked.

  “They are mounts of the hobgoblins, servants to the ogres,” Verboden said. “I release this animal.” Verboden spoke softly to the beast as he removed its crude goblin harness. “Go free and eat naught but what was given to thee upon the first days of creation!”

  The hyena sniffed and nudged against Verboden, then turned and trotted away.

  “Why'd you let it go? We could use it!” Alfred struggled to keep Gorham up.

  “I must concentrate to keep it tame. It's heart is for the wild. It will return eastward of its own accord.” Verboden helped them with Gorham as they entered the Keep, nodding to Abedeyan who was grimacing. Finally, he was finally able to turn the wheel and close the gate.

  “Gorham is here“ cried Cory. “We can finally escape to the tunnels!”

  “Oh yes, I suppose so,” Alfred said.

  “Wait! I see a man... running!” Loranna yelled from the wall.

  “Keep the gate open!” Verboden shouted.

  Abedeyan gasped. He grabbed at the heavy wooden wheel, stopping its turn one way. He then began painstakingly to heave it back the other way.

  Alfred ran up the stairs and spied a lone figure running out of the distant forest. He was northward, coming at an angle to the Keep. Far off, he was limping terribly. Loranna and Alfred ran to the side wall and looked through the cluttered wooden battlements to get a better view. Verboden ushered others to help get Gorham to the inner Keep and ran up the stairs to the wall.

  Loranna and Alfred watched the figure approaching. Then, from the forest, two dark figures appeared. They were running after the first.

  “It's Dunther!” shouted Alfred. “They are chasing Dunther! We have to help him!”

  “I'm off!” Lord Tahnwhithe unsheathed his sword and with surprising agility leapt down the stairs and past Abedeyan, who was still struggling to hold the gate open.

  Loranna raised her bow. She waited. Dunther tried to wave but was too exhausted. He continued to limp as quickly as possible toward them. They could now see that two men following him were part of the soldiers he had led. It did not look like he was leading them now.

  Verboden reached Alfred and saw what was amiss. “Alfred come, let us reach him below!”

  “Shoot well, Loranna!” Alfred said quickly as he rushed off with Verboden.

  “Oh, I will,” said Loranna with confidence. She waited a bit longer.

  Alfred and Verboden hurried out of the gate. They saw that Abedeyan was shaking from exhaustion, grasping the large wheel's spoke handles.

  “Just hold the gate open!” Verboden commanded as they rushed passed. Abedeyan gritted his teeth and shook his head, holding the heavy levers of the wheel.

  Alfred and Verboden ran along the bottom of Grotham Keep's walls to the side. Lord Tahnwhithe was ahead of them, and the distance from him to Dunther was still great. Getting closer to safety lifted Dunther's spirit, but he was tired and slowing down. He was in dreadful pain. The two soldiers had nearly caught up to him and were ready to kill.

  Loranna fired. One soldier fell, and the other, being so close, hesitated. He chose death as he leapt at Dunther and got hit by her second arrow. He fell at Dunther's side just as Dunther had lost all will to put any more weight on his severely wounded leg.

  Though shot, the first soldier had enough strength to lunge forward as Dunther tottered. Lord Tahnwhithe ended the soldier’s maddened advance with a deft leap and swing. He tumbled with the soldier, but only Tahnwhithe rose.

  Verboden and Alfred arrived as Dunther collapsed in their arms. “Traitors! All of them! I'm sorry, Alfred! I'm sorry!”

  “It's alright, Dunther! It's alright. You didn't know. We didn't know!” Alfred gasped to say each word.

  Dunther grimaced. “I'm a fool! I'm a fool! Everything I do is utter failure!”

  Lord Tahnwhithe looked with despair at his lord.

  Verboden spoke and used his healing hands on Dunther’s leg. “Heal, strength, will of the light,” he intoned.

  Alfred heard Loranna yelling at them from the wall. He looked up at her. She was pointing past them. He turned to see the rest of the soldiers clearing the forest line and coming up the slope.

  Verboden and Alfred helped Dunther stand and then aided him in walking as quickly as possible toward the castle. Lord Tahnwhithe followed from behind with sword drawn, watching the pursuers.

  “After Gorham departed, we searched for the goblins. I knew in my heart it was wrong, a ruse to keep me away. When I ordered that we return, their sergeant tried to kill me! I killed him instead. We fought on horseback. After I felled him, the others attacked. My dear pony got me a distance before it fell from its wounds.”

  “All right, Dunther, all right. We're almost there,” Verboden spoke softly.

  Dunther exhaled a hot gasp of air. Tears rolled down his dirty, battle-worn face.

  “Go on! I will hold them off!” Lord Tahnwhithe faced the soldiers clearing the forest.

  “You must come with us! We need you at the walls!” Alfred commanded.

  Lord Tahnwhithe turned and hurried after them.

  Alfred was wearing out under the weight of Dunther's stumbles. Tahnwhithe took over. Alfred, not yet as strong as a grown man, relented. They finally reached the gate and entered. As they passed through, Verboden eyed Abedeyan, who seemed in a state of strain with a frozen grimace.

  “Lower the gate!” Verboden commanded with a strong voice.

  Abedeyan loosened his painful posture, merely letting go of the wheel. The gate came crashing down to its closed position. The three holding Dunther looked back, wondering if the gate had broken. Abedeyan stepped back and leaned against the wall, breathing hard. A cook came up to him and said, “You know, there's a lock to hold it in place?”

  Abedeyan glanced down at the catch lever and back at the cook with an annoyed snarl.

  Loranna rushed to the wall above the gate and yelled down, “Those vile soldiers are heading to the gate!”

  Verboden and Alfred flinched as the soldiers reached the gate and banged on it. It was quite solid yet those within felt an immediate danger.

  “Open the gate, or we will attack the castle and kill everyone inside!” one soldier yelled gruffly.

  Loranna aimed her bow and looked to Alfred for permission to fire.

  “What do we do, Verboden? Dunther?” Alfred gritted his teeth, seeing Dunther's battered body.

  “Where is Sir Gorham?” Dunther looked up, fearing the worst.

  “He is alive but weak, resting in the Hall,” Verboden said.

  A weight lifted from Dunther. He sighed and began to close his eyes.

  “No, Dunther, do not give up! You must serve your King!” Verboden shook him.

  “Open the gate, or we will ram it open!” the soldier yelled again.

  “Men, to the walls!” shouted Lord Tahnwhithe, encouraging all, rushing up to give them moral support.

  Loranna aimed her bow down. Several cooks and cleaners came up to stand by her. They rattled in their armour.

  The vile soldiers kept their shields up. The gruff soldier angrily pushed through the soldiers and pointed to the empty village. “Come!” he ordered, and the large group of dangerous men hurried down the slope to the abandoned village.

  There were almost forty of them, and all were well armed and armoured with shields that Loranna could not penetrate. She did not fire on them. She hoped they would not be vengeful and just leave. She had helped kill two to save Dunther, so that may have ruined that chance.

  Dunther limped to the Hall, oblivious to the soldiers outside and what was to happen next. Verboden looked at Alfred. “I will pray over and heal the knights. You must thwart the soldiers, King Alfred.”

  Alfred nodded as Verboden left. Then he hurried up the wall to see what was happening. Lord Tahnwhithe stood watching th
e soldiers, who were far off now. “They're making something to besiege the castle. It is likely a battering ram.”

  The soldiers in the village had gathered lumber and begun to hammer together a ram. Abedeyan, who had come up to stand beside Alfred and Tahnwithe, remarked, “That is the hardest I've seen those soldiers work all summer.”

  “What wickedness, to work for someone, knowing all the while you would betray them,” Tahnwhithe said.

  Alfred made sure every cook and cleaner had a bow or weapon of some kind. He had his spear and shield. He was reminded several times that since Gorham and Dunther had returned, they could now retreat.

  “We aren't giving up the castle to a bunch of ruffians!” Alfred responded harshly, jolting the frail cooks and cleaners.

  Loranna winked at him. She was ready.

  “Here they come!” Loranna shouted. Abedeyan gave a thumbs up. He was slowly stirring an iron cauldron of hot oil set over a fire pit positioned above the gate. He gave a devious smile. Alfred had never seen Abedeyan with such a mischievous leer.

  “Steady men!” Lord Tahnwhithe shouted. “You are all soldiers of Grotham Keep, and your leader is King Alfred! You are conquerors of ratkin swarms and goblin hordes!”

  The evil soldiers marched up the slope to the gate. They had built a roughshod ram with handles. Others held up wall shields to protect them from arrows. The gruff soldier led them on.

  Verboden came up to the wall. “Do not worry, King Alfred. I am here to save us all!” He gave Alfred a strong pat on the back.

  “How's Gorham and Dunther?” Alfred asked.

  “They will recover. Both are weak but strong of heart and spirit.”

  “Whoa! What is that??” Abedeyan peered beyond the soldiers to the edge of the forest.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: When Ogres Attack

  As the soldiers neared the gate with their ram, they looked up at their adversaries along the walls. Something was odd. They were not looking down at them or shooting arrows. Instead, the defenders were looking over them. The soldiers turned to look back, past the ramshackle village, southeast, along the forest edge.

  There, bursting forth from shaking trees and bushes, stood dozens of giant ogres. They held humongous iron weapons, with blades and clubs that had extra spikes and studs.

  If anyone looked ready for battle, it may have been the cooks and cleaners on the castle walls or the soldiers below with their ram and wall shields. But if one were to look for who was ready for complete brutality and destruction, for barbaric mayhem and savagery... it would be these ogres! Big gruesome ogres!

  As the soldiers and defenders of the Keep stared in frightened awe, a huge wagon surged forth, cracking tree limbs and flattening bushes. It had thick metal bands that reinforced its black oily wood. Its beasts of burden were enormous multi-horned triceratops dragons. Goblins raced atop the wagon, grouping to pull out thick iron pins – this unlocked and lowered one of its iron sides. Within were large black cylinders of some sort. Suddenly ogres gathered in front of the wagon's opening.

  Beyond them, hobgoblins on hyenas raced around the castle perimeter. The soldiers watched in dismay as they realized the hobgoblins were flanking them and staring at them with malignancy and hatred. They realized they were stuck between a hard castle gate and brutal vicious ogres.

  The ogres pulled out a variety of cannons from the massive wagon. These had been taken from various destroyed castles, palaces and fortresses of men. Once they were set on heavy wooden bases or stone slabs in places far away. Now they were the ogres’ siege weapons. With their bulky arms, they leveled the cannons at the castle, emitting the loudest roars and bellowing growls ever heard. The sounds shook the trees. The village quivered. The soldiers at the gate trembled in fear. They were crowded against the closed gate, shivering like a school of fish to avoid the fully armed ogres about to fire cannons at them.

  “Alfred, we could use a powerful wizard about now!” Verboden wailed.

  “Oh yes, yes...” Alfred shook uncontrollably. He looked at Loranna, who stared back at him with wide eyes.

  “Let us in!” the gruff soldier suddenly yelled up at the gate. “Please, let us in!” The soldiers all turned, dropping the ram and their weapons. They banged on the gate desperately.

  Alfred stopped shaking and yelled at everyone, “It is time to retreat! To the tunnels!”

  “That sounds like a good idea!” Lord Tahnwhithe said, ushering the cooks away from the walls.

  Verboden helped, ushering the shaking cooks and cleaners down the stairs. They shook so much it was difficult to get them down the steep stone stairs. Verboden waited till he was the last on the wall. He gave a final look at the forest and the giant beings in front of it.

  The ogres held their cannons close as smaller goblins climbed onto the ogres and then ran to the muzzle ends. Many were missing limbs and had to limp along with only one leg or a missing arm. All seemed crazed as they hurriedly pulled out small sacks and poured black powder into the muzzle openings. They retreated just as quickly along the cannon barrels. The ogres pulled out iron balls from large leather sacks and dropped them down the barrels, leveling them at the Keep. More goblins hurried along with small oil lamps with flames to light the cannons’ wicks.

  The ogres aimed their veritable arsenal of squat-barreled artillery. Verboden stared wide-eyed from the wall and yelled as loud as he could, “HURRY!!”

  Lord Tahnwhithe was down the steps with his unit of would-be soldiers. He looked up to meet Verboden's horrific stare.

  The burst of fire and smoke from each cannon caused the ogres to bend backwards or falter. They had such thick sinewy legs, like beasts of burden, that they recovered quickly. The smoke blasted out in huge plumes birthed by crude black powder. The bombardment on the Keep, its walls and the roof of the Hall was instantaneously devastating. Cooks and cleaners fell or were thrown as castle rock exploded everywhere. Iron balls came in bouncing at horrific speeds, obliterating everything in their path. Thankfully, no cook or cleaner – nor Loranna, Cory or Verboden or Tahnwhithe or Abedeyan – was in the way of these smashing forces of iron. The soldiers banging at the gate in droves suddenly disappeared. The gate was blown open by several concentrated cannonball eruptions.

  The gruff soldier, who was in charge, blinked in utter terror, blown back against the stone wall, wood splinters tearing his skin, the thunder of destruction shocking his senses. The remaining soldiers fell or were thrown, many screaming in a deafening chorus. Stone and wood showered in bits and pieces, adding to the scene of complete chaos.

  Verboden, stunned, came to and realized he was hanging off the walkway of the wall. His head was dripping with blood. He struggled to get up and then straggled along, unsure of where he was going. Smoke, dust and particles of rubble filled the air.

  Loranna hurried along to the Hall, unaware of how close the screaming iron balls were zipping past her. She ran past everyone. Fallen cooks and cleaners reached up from the rubble. She was singularly focused as everything exploded around her. Dust mushroomed from the doorway. Wooden boards and stone could be heard falling from the blasted holes in the roof. Loranna, fully covered in dust, sweat, tears, and scrapes, in an emotional panic with her bravery completely gone, ran in full retreat.

  Within the Great Hall, there were rivulets of dust trails dropping like misty columns. What was once a well swept stone floor and clean tables was in an instant like dust-covered ruins of old. The falling rubble made it sound like a torrential thunderstorm, complete with raining particles, thunderous roars and continued cannonballs of fierce lightning.

  Loranna coughed, cried and spat. She saw to her right that Gorham and Gunther were hobbling out of the King's side room. They looked at her as they aided each other. They were trying to escape. An able man might easily be able to traverse a ground strewn with rubble, but two knights, so wounded and weak, could not.

  They waved her away. In utter shame and sheer terror, Loranna leapt away as more rubble showered between her and
the injured knights. “Run Loranna, get away! Warn the others!” Dunther yelled, as if in a storm and unable to reach her. She cried but was not heard amidst the cracking of stone and exploding of wood. In painful leaps, bounds and falls, she hurried down the corridor to the tunnels below.

  The ogres held up their cannons for the next apocalyptic round. Goblins raced with their pouches of black powder. They poured them in and ran off. The ogres tossed in their cannonballs. Other goblins, sitting on the ogres’ shoulders with the oil lamps, set fire to the wicks and leaped off. The ogres aimed, grunting and barking in joy at the utter destruction they were creating.

  As if the first was not enough, a second bombardment commenced. The explosive artillery threw screaming balls of iron into walls and towers, exploding the wooden battlements and the Hall's rickety roof. Wherever the balls impacted, explosions of stone, dirt and wood fired outward, like a thousand smaller bullets. Then a ball would ricochet and explode barrels and beams of wood or pound along a stone wall, splitting and cracking the surface with each impact.

  Lord Tahnwhithe fell down. The cooks and servants lay strewn about in the open. Lord Tahnwhithe quickly got up and picked them up by twos and pushed them against the wall, avoiding the open courtyard. He risked his own life to push the panicked few into some area of cover. It cost him his life as a cannon ball shattered rocks nearby that scoured his body with bits of sharp stone. He fell as he tossed two more into cover. They cowered in utter fear, seeing their only source of courage and hope end.

  Verboden reached the ground, somewhat unknowingly, toppling and stumbling down the stone stairs. In a delirium, he tried to go to Tahnwhithe's aid as the second wave of cannonballs blasted everywhere. If a cannonball had crossed his path, he would have exploded to nothingness. But the impacts nearby were enough to throw them all violently to the ground. The thunderous explosions all around them turned the fleeing group into a fallen heap of surrendered souls. Anything, even the curse of being in slavery to the most brutal of beasts, would be better than the torrential hellfire that was happening at that moment.