Sword of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  * * *

  It was just past noon of the second day when the Last Hope came into view. Beverly dropped back to inform the princess that they were close. Anna rode forward to examine their destination before they made their appearance.

  “A fitting name, don’t you think?” asked Beverly. “This truly may be our last hope.”

  “More fitting than you might think,” said Anna, “it’s from a poem. It refers to the Elves last hope to live alongside mankind.”

  Beverly once again found herself looking in fascination at the princess. Was she making this up? This small girl appeared so intense that she must be telling the truth, she decided. How could one so young know so much? She immediately knew the answer, like her cousin, this girl read; a lot. Beverly had always thrown herself into fighting, horses, things with a military connection, but this girl threw all her energies into learning, and why not? She had lived a life of isolation, by all accounts, what else was she to do?

  “Let’s hope the Elves are familiar with the poem as well, Your Highness. Maybe it will help swing them to our cause.”

  They resumed their journey and were soon pulling up in front of the inn. The innkeeper, an older man with slightly greying hair, came out to greet them, alerted by the sounds of the hooves. Beverly recognized him immediately, for the ranger had escorted the king to Bodden on that fateful trip years ago.

  “We’re looking for a man named Falcon,” said the princess. “Is that you?”

  “There’s no one here by that name,” the man said simply, “but I’ve rooms available. You're welcome to rent one or two.”

  Anna stared at the man, “How many rooms do you have?”

  “Only two, I’m afraid we don’t get many visitors here.”

  “And yet you chose to build an inn here?”

  “What can I say? I’m not a very good innkeeper.” The man turned and re-entered the inn, leaving the party to fend for themselves.

  “It appears we have wasted our time,” said Revi.

  “No, we haven’t,” said Beverly, “that man is Falcon, and he’s lying.”

  Anna turned to her, “How do you know that?”

  “I met him, years ago. He was one of the rangers that brought the king to Bodden.”

  “Interesting,” Anna mused. “We should keep an eye on him. Gerald, go and pay for the rooms. Beverly, you and Arnim set up a schedule to keep an eye on our new friend. I suspect he’s up to something.”

  Beverly and Arnim walked the horses to the stables, while the rest entered the inn with Lily chattering excitedly and Anna answering back in a similar tone. Beverly didn’t remember Revi casting the spell of tongues today, and thought it strange, but decided not to say anything.

  Taking the horses into the stable, they removed their tack and harness. Beverly rubbed down the horses while Arnim filled the water trough from the well outside. They worked in silence while they saw to their mounts. Beverly watched him carefully, still not trusting him, wondering if he had a secret agenda from Marshal-General Valmar. Was she seeing too much? Was she trying to find conspiracies where none existed? She doubted it. She trusted her father implicitly and knew he had good reason to suspect Valmar was up to something. She must continue to be wary of Caster's loyalties until she knew more about him.

  They finished their chores and made their way to the inn. “I’ll take the night watch,” said Arnim, unexpectedly, “and you can watch him during the day.”

  “I think it would be better,” she said, “if we split the watch at midnight. That way we’ll both get some sleep and be alert for the morning.”

  Arnim looked at the ground as they walked. He waited a moment before he spoke, “All right, I’ll take over at midnight. I’ll turn in early to get some sleep.”

  Beverly was about to argue. She didn’t want Caster skulking around in the wee hours of the morning, but decided she could better protect the princess by being in the room with her.

  The others were sitting in the common room around a table, drinks in hand. Lily was staring into the mug, occasionally sniffing it but not drinking. Gerald took a mouthful and grimaced.

  “This has to be the worst ale I’ve ever had,” he complained

  “I’m surprised they’re still in business with grog like this,” said Revi.

  The common room was empty save for their little group. The innkeeper brought over a large platter of bread and cheese with some sort of sausage that gave off a strong smell. Gerald smiled and cut into the sausage with a knife, “Now, that’s more like it,” he said sliding the slice into his mouth. He chewed the meat, then chewed it some more. It went on for far too long, and then finally, with some effort he swallowed it.

  “How was the meat?” asked Revi.

  Anna was about to pop a slice into her mouth, and he gently touched her hand, indicating she should put it down. “It’s wonderful, Master Revi, try some.”

  The mage took the bait and tossed a slice into his mouth. He only bit into it once or twice, and then a terrible look came over his face as he got the full taste of it. He sat there, his mouth half open, looking for somewhere to spit the food out. Finally, he turned to the side and spat toward the roaring fireplace. The slightly chewed meat landed just short of the fire and Revi turned to Gerald.

  Everyone laughed, while Revi blushed slightly. “Not funny, trying to poison me like that!”

  “Come on,” said Gerald, “I’ve had worse. You should see what the army gives you.”

  “Hey, now,” said Beverly, “my father always provided the best food he could.”

  “That’s true,” he replied, “but when we were sieged back in ‘32 we were reduced to eating rats and let me tell you, they are not a taste you can get used to.”

  Revi grimaced, “I’d open a gate to the Underworld for some decent food.”

  Everybody stopped and looked at him. He flushed a little then spoke. “I’m kidding, I can’t really open a gate, that would be necromancy. I’m a healer, remember?”

  He surveyed the group, hoping the see them all smiling at his little jest. Beverly was delighted to see him starting to sweat at the hairline.

  “Seriously though," declared Revi, "isn’t anyone else hungry?”

  “Well this cheese isn’t so bad,” offered Gerald, “though the bread could be fresher.”

  Beverly reached for a piece of cheese, grabbing a knife to cut some off.

  “It reminds me of Hawksburg Gold, you ever had that?” he said, grinning, looking at Arnim.

  Beverly immediately stopped what she was doing; it would just be bread and ale for her tonight.

  * * *

  Beverly, Lily and the princess were sharing a room, the men in another. Arnim, as planned, had gone to bed early and Beverly had remained in the common area to keep an eye on Falcon. For the most part, he was puttering around the inn, with no one else present. He had no staff and no customers as far as she could tell. She had plenty of time to think, and she put her mind to work. She kept returning to the problem of the enemy invasion. No matter how she looked at it, she couldn’t imagine defeating an army of a thousand or so and still having enough men left to march to Bodden. Her mind went in circles, and she soon found herself getting drowsy. Rising from the table she stepped outside, the fresh night air would sharpen her mind. She decided to walk around the inn and was just turning the corner when she saw movement. She flattened herself against the side of the inn, making out light off in the distance. Someone was using a covered lantern to flash a signal from the edge of the trees. She looked toward the back of the house and saw a man standing there. Edging around the corner, trying to be as quiet as possible, she unexpectedly stepped on a piece of bark making a noise. She had looked down when she stepped on it, and when she looked up, Arnim Caster was advancing on her with a drawn blade. She stepped out from beside the inn to free up space and pulled her sword. Now she would settle this problem once and for all.

  Arnim ran up to her and placed a finger to his lips, pointing ahead of
her. She shook her head in disbelieve as he moved past. Turning, she saw what he was referring to; a man, presumably Falcon, had left the inn and was walking toward the light. She swallowed her questions for now and followed.

  Falcon cut across the field, no doubt thinking that he was alone. He carried no light but made his way sure-footed across the open area. Soon, he was at the tree line and then they heard the low murmur of conversation.

  They moved closer to listen, remaining silent. Beverly fought to control her breath, to slow her heartbeat, this was not the kind of fight she was used to. She concentrated on the voices and finally began to hear distinct words.

  “I don’t know how long they’re going to stay, they said they were looking for Falcon,” said the innkeeper.

  The other man had a slightly higher voice, which had almost a melodic quality to it. “What of it, it’s no concern of ours. Who are these people? What do you know of them?”

  “One of them’s a lady knight, I’ve seen her before, but I don’t think she recognized me. The young girl is someone important, the rest look like guards. I think one of them’s a Holy Father, they keep calling him Revi, strange name I thought. Oh, and there’s a strange lizard creature.”

  “A lizard creature? Tell me more.”

  "Like a person, but looks more like a lizard, you know, long snout, beady eyes, that sort of thing, and a tail, of course,” Falcon responded.

  The stranger turned suddenly in Beverly’s direction. “It appears we have company,” he said calmly as he made a hand signal.

  Beverly’s eyes went wild, they’d been discovered! She rose from her crouch and stopped; three shadowy figures were pointing bows at them. Arnim rose beside her, and the stranger moved into the moonlight to reveal his pointed ears and elongated face.

  “What do we have here?” he said, advancing toward them.

  She spotted Arnim beside her, out of the corner of her eye. He was gripping his sword's hilt tightly and looked ready to spring into action.

  “I am Dame Beverly Fitzwilliam, daughter of the Baron of Bodden, and I serve the Crown,” she announced, trying to distract them.

  The Elf waved at his men absently, and they lowered their bows. “Greetings, Dame Beverly, I am Lord Arandil Greycloak, and I am Ruler of the Darkwood. What, may I ask, is the reason for your visit to the Last Hope, and why do you seek the man named Falcon?”

  “We came seeking Falcon here,” she said, looking directly at Falcon, “to find you, Your Grace. We have come seeking the help of the Elves.”

  “And who,” Lord Greycloak continued, “is 'we'?”

  She looked at Arnim, who nodded. “Princess Anna of Merceria, Your Grace, along with her advisors.”

  “Ah,” he said, nodding in understanding, “you are her protectors. The man in the robes, is that Revi Bloom by chance?”

  It was Beverly’s turn to be surprised, “Yes, how did you know?”

  “I keep an ear out in Merceria. I like to keep tabs on mages, you never know when it might come in useful to meet a fellow Arcanus. But perhaps now that we’ve met, it might be better to step inside. I’m sure your mistress would like to be informed of my arrival? We shall join you directly; I just have to inform my archers that they won’t be needed.”

  The archers disappeared into the woods. Falcon looked to Beverly and Arnim, “This way then,” he said, “his lordship will be along shortly.”

  They made their way back to the inn, and Beverly quickly informed Anna and the rest of the developments. Shortly, they were sitting at a table with Lord Greycloak. An Elf woman accompanied him, but stood behind, her swords crossed on her back. She looked alert and likely was his bodyguard, for she scanned the group constantly, always looking at their eyes.

  “Now, Princess,” said Lord Greycloak, “I understand you’ve been looking for me?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” she said. “Merceria has been invaded, and we need your help.”

  “I see, and why would this be of interest to the Elves?”

  Anna looked back at him for a moment before replying, “Merceria has left the Elves alone for hundreds of years, and during that time there has been no trouble between our two peoples. If there was unexpectedly a new ruler, that could change in a moment.”

  “True,” said the Elven Lord, “but kings die all the time. I have lived through dozens of Mercerian Kings, why would it bother us now?”

  Beverly was surprised to see Anna biting her lip, “There must be something you want, Your Grace, something that would better the lives of your people?”

  Lord Arandil smiled, “I see you’ve become an expert negotiator for someone so young. Yes, there is something. I want a trade agreement with Merceria, to have a Royal Charter to be able to sell Elven goods in your land.”

  Anna nodded slowly and glanced around the room, everyone looked confused. “Elven goods are highly taxed,” she explained. “What Lord Greycloak is asking for is for the import tax to be removed, or reduced. Tell me Lord Greycloak, what would you offer in return?”

  “I will send you two hundred Elven archers and a hundred Dwarven arbalesters. That should suffice to keep your precious capital safe.”

  Anna was taken aback, “Dwarves?”

  “Yes, we have allies to the east, the Dwarves of Stonecastle. I’m sure the Lord of the Stone would like a similar deal, I can assure you I can speak on his behalf.”

  Anna paused then spoke, “I cannot guarantee what the king will do when he returns, but I will promise to do all I can to make this happen. I will sign a charter as soon as I return to the capital, and I will send a copy here, to the Last Hope.”

  Lord Arandil smiled, “Then it is agreed, I shall await the charter and march the troops to Wincaster as soon as I can muster them. The Dwarves will take a little longer. I suggest you leave them to defend the city walls. As for my own troops, a hundred will remain in Wincaster while the rest will march with your army. That is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  “Your Grace is correct,” said the princess. “I agree to the terms.”

  “Excellent, then I bid you a good night, Your Highness, and wish you well on your journey. I shall see you soon.”

  “You’ll see me?” she asked, somewhat bewildered.

  “Oh yes, I will command the Elves that accompany your army. You don’t speak Elvish do you?”

  “No,” said the princess, but Beverly saw something in her stance that made her think that was just a temporary problem for the young royal.

  “So I’ll have to issue their orders; my troops don’t speak your language,” he smiled and left, his bodyguard following behind.

  Beverly looked at the others; they had accomplished their objective, but nobody knew if it would be enough. The future of the kingdom was now in the hands of this small band of people who sat before her. Only time would tell if they were up to the task.

  Thirty-One

  The Battle of Kingsford

  Spring 960 MC

  The princess created and stamped the charter the moment they returned to Wincaster. Not knowing if the king would support it, the princess was hopeful that saving the kingdom would convince him of the wisdom of her decision. Three days later, Lord Greycloak, true to his word, brought two hundred Elven archers into the city. He left half of them in Wincaster, along with the heavy foot from the city garrison; all the other troops marched that day for Kingsford. Gerald had organized a supply system that almost doubled the army in size with its complement of carts, wagons and camp followers.

  Lord Greycloak was an intriguing enigma. He talked little but received the unconditional loyalty of his troops. They took the lead, just behind the light cavalry, marching quickly, never seeming to tire nor complain. Each Elf carried their own food, and when it was time to set up camp, they always chose a spot some distance away from the rest.

  They needed to travel over two weeks to meet the enemy in battle, and every evening the princess insisted the cavalry practise their special manoeuvre. It would only work once, she
had said, and Beverly hadn’t questioned the need for training. Each night her troops collapsed, exhausted, into their billets.

  * * *

  The cavalry scouts finally came upon the invaders stretched out across the king's road late on the fifteenth day. Everyone knew the morning would bring the battle of a lifetime.

  The princess called together her war council that evening before the battle. It was the same group that had travelled from Uxley; Revi, Arnim, Gerald, Beverly, even Lily was present. Lord Greycloak was unexpectedly there as well, to advise them how best to utilize the Elves.

  “What is the plan, Your Highness,” Beverly asked. “How are we to fight an enemy that outnumbers us?”

  “We must do the unexpected,” she replied. “Gerald, you will form a line across the road, place your shortbows between the foot and be ready to form a shield wall if needed. No matter what happens they must hold the line, understand?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” he replied, “my men will hold the line at all costs.”

  It was a bold statement, but Beverly knew that if they didn’t hold, an absolute slaughter would occur

  “We are outnumbered, Your Highness,” Arnim said, “They have twice our cavalry, and it’s armoured.”

  “True,” the princess replied, “but only half is armoured; the other half is much like ours, in fact, if you put theirs and ours side by side you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

  “That’s why we have standards, Your Highness,” Arnim said defensively, “to tell them apart.”

  Anna, ignoring the comment, continued, “Lord Greycloak will be placing the Elves in the woods to our left. That’s the way the enemy will attack with their cavalry.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Arnim asked.

  “The Elves sent some scouts forward just after dusk; the enemy cavalry is picketed on their right flank. I doubt they would move them by morning. When the sun comes up, all they will see is the pitifully small group of infantry strung out across the road; they won’t be able to resist the target.”