Floreskand_King

by Morton Faulkner

  An instant later, another tumbled over him.

  “Keep going!” Hallen shouted to the others.

  ***

  Quickly encircled with sentries wielding spears, the two Nemond men on the ground trembled with fear.

  “We’ll take them to the watchmen’s jail,” said the chief sentry.

  “No!” barked Bayuan Aco. “You have done well, sentries. These men must have come out through a secret access to the Nemond palace. Take them to the royal torturer. He has the tools that will loosen their tongues!”

  “They’re forming for an attack!” someone called from the gate. “All gates at once!”

  Gritting his teeth, Bayuan Aco snarled a string of imprecations. “Forming and attacking are two different things, by the gods! Sometimes, I warrant we have snowflakes for gate guardians!” He paused a moment and then decided. Still, I must survey the enemy without. He swung on the sentries. “Be gone with your prisoners! I have a rebellion to crush!” He liked the sound of that. The weakest point of access was the Old Drawbridge since it hadn’t been raised in living memory. He ran in that direction.

  ***

  Nemond palace, Old City, Lornwater

  Sergeant Hallen was the only one of the three men who escaped the clutches of the sentries who returned to Nemond palace. He didn’t blame the other two; they’d fled, gambling on finding succour elsewhere.

  He entered the secret passage with a heavy heart. Lady Tantian would not be pleased. He was honour bound to report to her, though.

  After he emerged, he hurried straight to her. Fortunately, she was alone.

  Her distress was undisguised. “Sergeant Hallen!” He probably looked dishevelled and sweat-streaked.

  “My lady, my apologies.”

  “You have returned sooner than I expected.”

  “We were unable to convince the sentries to open the gate. We were recognised by Captain Bayuan Aco and I regret that two of my men were captured.”

  Her face clouded. She was clearly furious. She raised a hand to her throat and seemed to calm herself. “The others, are they all right?”

  “Yes. I let them go their own way. They have families.”

  “I see.” She sat in her chair. Her hand trembled as she adjusted a stray strand of hair by her ear. The gold earring jingled. “You realise that it is only a matter of time before Saurosen’s sergeant obtains details about the secret passage?”

  “Yes, my lady. I advise you to leave with your husband now.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, and her brow creased. “He is suffering again and is not well enough to travel.”

  “My lady, I urge you to go, it is your only means of escape.”

  She shook her head. “He needs me by his bedside.”

  She stood, raised a hand, and rested it briefly on his shoulder. “You have risked much for us, Sergeant Hallen. I can ask no more of you. Take advantage of the secret passage if you wish. I know that you too have a family.”

  He bowed his head. “My place is here, protecting you and my lord. The others have promised to look out for my family.”

  Her eyes glistened. “Your loyalty will be repaid.”

  “My lady, I seek no coin for doing my duty.”

  “It is not of coin that I speak, but higher things. May Daqsekor guide you and your family.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Will you arrange for somebody to guard the access to the tunnel at all times until I decide what is to be done.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  And then she swirled away, to the bedchamber of her husband, leaving in her wake an intoxicating scent.

  ***

  The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater

  Chained against the wall in his cell, Aurelan watched as two men were dragged into the torture chamber.

  He recognised them both as Nemond soldiers. Did this mean that the king was against his cousin? If so, what had happened to Nemond Thand?

  The new prisoners were thrown into a cell next to his; they shuddered, but didn’t speak, fear-fuelled eyes staring all around. They seemed to look straight through Aurelan, as if they were in a different world. Any world was better than this, he thought in sympathy.

  He didn’t have to wait long to learn a little more.

  Presently, Che-man Car walked to his cell, unlocked and opened the door, which creaked on its hinges. He checked the dressing that Bem had contrived, peeling it back. “Yes, you heal sufficiently. You will be next, traitor.”

  “Your concern touches me greatly, torturer.”

  Raising his huge fist, Che-man Car growled, “You insolent…!” But he stopped, for he could see that Aurelan did not flinch or fear the intended blow. “Ha! You want me to injure you so I will have to wait till you are mended before I torture you, is that it?”

  “I hadn’t given it a thought. That’s really very twisted logic.” Aurelan looked around. “Is that what this place does to you, working here day in, day out?”

  Lowering his arm, Che-man Car swore then added, “I look forward to breaking you, Aurelan Crossis!” He slammed the door shut noisily, making the new prisoners quail, and then locked it. “For now, I have more urgent matters.” He turned to the next cell, opened it, and entered. “Who wants to be first, eh?”

  Receiving no reply, he grabbed the nearest man, who immediately expelled his bladder. “Well, that’s a good start. I find that fear loosens the tongue quickly!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ASSAULT

  “A diamond is not polished without rubbing

  nor a man perfected without trials.”

  - The Book of Concealed Mystery

  (Ascribed to Lhoretsorel)

  Fourth Durin of Fornious

  Lornwater

  Throughout the previous night, the men bent on attack had mustered beyond the access gates to the Second City as, gradually, their numbers grew. Now, as dawn light spread a faint yellow glow on the tops of the buildings, everyone shook off the last vestiges of sleep, ready for the day’s onslaught.

  As planned, General Luascar was allocated the dunsaron section of the New City, for this side was the only part in the New City where the walls abutted directly into the Old City; on three other sides, there was the additional wall of the Second City.

  General Luascar led half the men that Haltese had brought, shouting encouragement from the van. His blood was up; this was what he lived for – bloody combat! In serried ranks of twenty men, on either side of him, they stormed the Old Drawbridge, their best prospect of penetrating into the Old City.

  But he knew that the royal guard was aware of the risk this access posed and lowered the portcullis and manned the walls well, with archers and pike-men.

  At the rear of his force Luascar had assembled crossbow-men on horseback. They accurately identified enemy archers on the walls and eliminated them, though it was slow work. Many defenders toppled from the parapets, a good number tumbling into the stagnant and evil-smelling moat.

  From battlements oil and tar rained down on the attackers who approached the arched entrance. Upheld shields deflected most of this deadly downpour, but it made the ground under them slick and treacherous. Within a short time arrows sprouted from the shields so that they resembled porcupines.

  Slowly, persistently, his men pressed towards the portcullis. Here, beneath the stone arch, they were not under attack from above, only from those within the courtyard ahead. As agreed, his men swiftly clamped specially adapted shields to the struts of the portcullis; these acted as an effective barrier. Unhurriedly, they fixed shield on top of shield, climbing towards the arch, assembing a wall of protection. Troops from inside attempted to dislodge the shield wall with spears, but had little luck; they held firm.

  Protected from archers and pike-men now, Luascar ordered six men, his most agile killers, to clamber up the shield wall. Once at the top, they squirmed into the gap between the stone arch, through which the portcullis was lowered.

  He waited anxiously, he
aring even above the shouts and noise of battle the clash of metal on metal within the winch room.

  Moments later, his men called down, “Get ready!”

  While he’d been waiting, men had passed fresh shields to the front. They stood poised and freshly arrived crossbow-men lay at their feet, quarrels aimed.

  Grating and groaning, the portcullis was being raised.

  A shocked roar erupted from the royal guard in the courtyard.

  As soon as the portcullis lifted a short distance, sufficient for the crossbow-men to see their enemy’s legs, they let loose their bolts. Shrieks of pain accompanied the toppling of several defenders.

  Arrows darted at Luascar and his men, but the majority hit only shields.

  “Attack!” Luascar commanded, leading his men into the fray before the enemy archers could let fly another arrow.

  As he smashed his great sword into a soldier’s skull, Luascar spotted towards the rear of the defenders Sergeant Bayuan Aco, wielding a whip; whether the lash was to encourage his own men or to deter attackers was not clear.

  Luascar was jubilant. Ye gods, we’re in the Old City already!

  ***

  Ranell led his ragbag assault group along the Long Causeway to attack the varteron gate. Here, though, the drawbridge was raised and they had to contend with the moat.

  They concealed themselves on their approach by sheltering in doorways of buildings on either side of the wide road, archers sniping at the battlements as they went.

  Across the roadway and behind him were his men and a few women – citizens with swords, knives, cudgels, pikes, and hunting bows and arrows. Not the most effective army against the king’s soldiery. But what they lacked in weaponry they made up for in bravery, and faithful Aeleg was among them. His aide saw him and waved briefly, grinning. Ranell wondered when Aeleg had last been in a battle.

  Ranell moved stealthily to the last building that overlooked the moat and the gate entrance. It seemed an impossible task to break into the Second City from here.

  He glanced over his shoulder, surprised to see Aeleg leading a group of four men; they were carrying a pair of ladders strapped together with leather belts and rope. A couple of men hefted shields, attempting to protect them all from arrows.

  His mouth dry, he watched in despair as they reached the edge of the moat to the right of where the lip of the drawbridge would normally land. Here, they stopped and lowered the ladders across the moat, the far end resting precariously on a narrow path that ran along the base of the city wall. There, too, was a narrow wooden door.

  Arrows rained on them. One of the shield-bearers let out a cry as an arrow pierced his calf. He dropped his shield.

  Ranell’s heart lurched. “Get back!” he called, gesticulating urgently.

  Aeleg and the others helped the wounded fellow, while the remaining shield-bearer attempted to cover them – in vain, Ranell realised as Aeleg stumbled and fell, unconscious. But no arrow protruded from his faithful aide. Another man was hit in the arm, but kept retreating.

  Grabbing a shield from the nearest man, Ranell ran from cover, passing those struggling with the wounded man. “Quickly, get back!” he ordered and raced towards Aeleg.

  At every stride an arrow thudded into his shield with surprising force. Others hit into the earth at his feet. He trod on a couple, breaking their shafts. And then he was at Aeleg’s side. Incredibly, his aide wasn’t hit by any arrow – yet. Ranell didn’t stop, but hauled the man over his shoulder and contrived to hold the shield to cover Aeleg’s back.

  Crouched under his aide’s weight, he controlled his breathing and scurried to the shelter of the house he’d left a short while before.

  Men shouted and cheered as he strove towards his goal, legs pumping.

  Finally, entering an alcove with an overhang, he felt safe.

  Breathing with ease, he lowered Aeleg to the ground. The shield was riddled with arrows.

  He knelt and quickly examined Aeleg; there was only a graze and bruise on his forehead. He’d been lucky; it was only a glancing blow from an arrow, sufficient to knock him out.

  Straightening up, he watched as one of the farmers on the other side of the road aimed his arrow and let loose; it was an excellent shot, piercing the eye of an officer of the royal guard. The dead man nosedived over the parapet, but instead of falling into the moat, the body hit against protruding stoneworks, a flying buttress, and spun and tumbled to the ground on the edge of the moat.

  Perhaps encouraged by Aeleg’s example, a couple of youths raced out under protection from two shield-carriers, clearly intent on retrieving the soldier’s weapon belt. “Hey, he’s got a bunch of keys!”

  “Quickly, bring them here!” Ranell called.

  The two youths and their shield-men hurried over, arriving breathless. An arrow thudded into the wooden door-frame above Ranell’s head.

  He peered over his shoulder, spotted two doorways along a locksmith who frequented the inn. “Here, Jegen, can you tell me what these keys open?” he asked, holding up the bunch.

  Pin Jegen dodged from doorway to doorway and rushed to Ranell’s side, where he studied the keys. “This third one, medium size, I’d recognise it anywhere; it’s standard for opening a tripdoor.” He pointed to the right of the raised drawbridge. “See, that small door there.” A narrow path ran round the base of the city wall; the small door provided access to this, Ranell supposed, possibly for maintenance. Aeleg’s makeshift ladder bridge rested there.

  Patting the man on his back, Ranell laughed. “That’s very interesting!” But of no use until night fell, for he wouldn’t risk any daylight attack across those exposed ladders.

  He wondered how the others fared.

  ***

  Prince Haltese led the attack on the ranmeron gate to the Second City. His problems were similar to Ranell’s – a moat with the drawbridge raised.

  Sheltering behind ranks of shields, his men sent arrows and bolts into the defenders on the city walls. But it seemed a waste of time. Indeed, there were not too many defenders in evidence; they were complacent enough to appreciate that the moat protected them.

  His soldiers were unaccustomed to siegework, though. Haltese berated himself. I never thought we’d need siege-machines!

  “We need to form a bridge!” a commander bemoaned.

  “If we’re not careful,” Haltese replied sourly, “we’ll have one all right – made from the bodies of our men!” He gestured at the corpses scattered along the edge of the moat. Brave soldiers had attempted throwing grappling-irons, and erecting makeshift bridges made from pieces of looted furniture, all to no avail.

  “Call a halt,” Haltese ordered. “We need to revise our strategy!”

  ***

  Leading his men, many of them gildsmen, Baron Laan charged the manderon portal, and his problems were as great as the others. Arrows fell like angry gnats, stinging and also killing.

  A couple of stonemason gildsmen suggested a novel way to bridge the moat, and the baron grasped it at once.

  The stonemasons employed twenty men, who chipped away at a wall from the inside of a two-storey house. This wall faced the moat. A narrow street passed the house and went along the side of the moat. Separating this wall from the roof joists and its two side walls, they finally pushed it out towards the moat. As it was held together with timber and wattle and daub, it stayed intact while toppling.

  With an almighty crash, the top section of the wall slammed hard into the narrow path at the base of the city wall. A cheer rose as dust clouds mushroomed.

  “Attack!” the baron urged, leading men under cover of shield-bearers.

  Men with long scaling ladders joined them.

  The ladders were erected against the city wall, and men clambered up, but the covering fire from the baron’s archers was inadequate. Before they reached the top of the ladders, the attackers were slain by archers or pike-men. Then the ladders were shoved away, topling into the moat.

  The plaster wall bridge co
uld not survive the tread of so many soldiers’ feet and soon began to crumble. By the time it gave way in several places, the moat was rank with dead bodies, the majority from Baron Laan’s force.

  ***

  While barging through a phalanx of royal guards, trying to get to the sergeant wielding a whip, General Luascar faltered, an arrow piercing his shoulder. Before he could object, he was hurriedly carried from danger to the rear of his men.

  His last glimpse told him that too many defenders fired down into the courtyard; it had become a killing ground.

  Earlier elation transformed into despair as the bodies piled up. This was not soldiering, but butchery!

  Wincing with pain, Luascar growled, “We’re losing too many men. Make the call for retreat!”

  ***

  The royal palace, Old City, Lornwater

  Queen Jikkos stood apart from her husband on the paved court of the Eyrie, the tallest tower in the palace complex. Standing near the parapet beside her was Fio, her lady-in-waiting.

  Deep in her heart, she knew that Aurelan Crossis spoke the truth. Sauri had raped the man’s sister and killed her. She doubted that it had been an isolated occurrence. How many others had he ravished and ravaged? She cast a sideways glance at Fio. She had never suspected.

  She raised a hand to her chest. Beneath her palm, her heart continued to beat, and yet it was as if it had turned to stone.

  Cheers rang out.

  “What is happening?” Sauri demanded.

  “Reports are spreading, your highness,” explained Fio, respectfully. “I heard that it was a close thing at the dunsaron gate, but the attackers have been beaten back!”

  Jikkos moved to Sauri’s side, tentatively held his arm with her left hand. He trembled under her touch, excitement flowing through his frame.

  The tower commanded a panoramic view. Sauri watched with a widening smile as the failed attackers fled away from the gates of the Second city. “They cannot prevail, my dear,” he said, turning to face her. “I feel quite safe here, in the Old City.”

  She bridled at those words. Was he safe from her, though? She fondled the handle of the poniard at her waist. If Fio hadn’t been here, she might have been tempted to sink the blade into his chest.