“My lord. Lady Florin is disguised as the queen, her resemblance could fool most. The queen is made to look like Florin, who I believe will be-“
“-charged with all the crimes along with my deceased cousin, and they will execute her to bring justice and therefore bolstering the king’s rule. Florin’s mask will last long enough for something tragic to happen, and frame another for that as well. He will use the pity of being betrayed, the glory of being in harms way, and the honor of doing justice to his own subordinates yet secretly disposing of any and all who have stood in his way. All the while, the people will begin to praise him. Brilliant. Wicked, evil, and brilliant.” the lord sighed, resigned to knowing his cousin was dead, the queen lost, and his very name and title waiting to be taken by blood. He thought of his wife and children far away in Caberra, and hoped it was far enough from here that they were safe. “Fabled Mooncrest and the haunted mines of Kakisteele are sounding much more hospitable than what I have in store here in Harlaheim, good priest.”
“How can we help, Cristoff?” Zen bowed his head, thinking that without his men and military experience, they would not have survived the attack on the mountain. The dwarf took debt and gratitude very seriously.
“I would love to charge into Harlaheim, to the capital, and demand justice and save Rosana. I do not have the men nor the luxury of time. I might not make it into my own city, let alone raise my army. There is little that can be done here.” Cristoff sat down next to the trunk of the tree, a host of pine needles crunching under his steel plate armor. He ran his fingers through his graying long hair and scratched his beard. His brow furrowed in defeat and despair, knowing he could not do anything to change what had happened or what was about to in the capital.
Shinayne knelt next to the lord, her hand placed on his shoulderplate. “You have enemies of your family and your kingdom inside your very city. A secret siege of a wicked ruler awaits. You have lost loved ones to corruption and betrayal. You have honor on your name and nobility in your veins. Stand up.”
“What did you say, elf?” Cristoff was shocked and insulted at the seeming order of the elven swordswoman.
“I told you to stand up, Lord Cristoff Bradswellen the Third. Your man has nearly died trying to find you before the enemy did. Stand up for him, and for Savanno.” Shinayne backed up, seeing the anger flare in the eyes of the man before her.
“I would watch my tone if I were you, Lady Shinayne. My men have died for you and your friends as well. I know when to stand and when not to!” his voice rose with the wind in late winter as he stood. His hand went to the hilt of his longsword and his teeth tightened as he spoke.
“Is that a threat, my lord?”
“It is far more than that should you disrespect me again!”
“Seems you do have the strength to stand and fight then, Lord Bradswellen. You may thank me later.” Shinayne turned and began to walk west down the small road toward Saint Erinsburg.
“Where are you going!?”
The elven noblewoman turned as she kept her pace, and smiled at Cristoff and the others who began to follow her. “To your city, to stand with you and put your enemies to justice. What could be more important to a lord than to protect his land and people?”
Cristoff sighed, smiled to the ground, and watched as Gwenneth, Zen, Saberrak, James, and even the soldier, Norrice, walked on. He looked to the sky, silently thanking God for the people he had sent in his darkest hours. The deep pain of his cousin’s death still vibrant in his chest, yet the sense of a lord’s duty came over him like a flood over the pastures of late spring. Cristoff marched ahead to make his stand. “Norrice.”
“Yes my lord?”
“Tell me everything, get some food, and clean yourself up. Prepare yourself, I will need every man for battle.”
Exodus II:XII
Bradswellen Castle, Saint Erinsburg, Harlaheim
The setting sun behind him in the east gave little comfort as he waited for Norrice’s return from Bradswellen Castle. It had been an hour and Cristoff stared at the hundreds of men of the army of Harlaheim that patrolled his city gates and castle walls. He had never had to war against his own country, let alone in his own domain or castle. The Lord of Saint Erinsburg was patient, knowing his defenses and layout better than anyone would give him the advantage, but he needed more than just his foreign allies to overcome two hundred trained soldiers.
“How many soldiers will your man be able to retrieve safely?” Zen asked with a bit of nervousness, knowing that with Shinayne, Saberrak and James far ahead near the castle, they would have to be well guarded to make a stand until the gates were opened.
“He will get enough, do not worry. When the men arrive, we will march in. Gwenne, I will need you to handle the archers. While they are distracted with us, the others will enter over the north wall and open the gates from the inside. Then we move in and retake the castle with the men from the inside in assist.” the Lord of Saint Erinsburg felt confident in the plan, as long as they timed it correctly.
“I will handle more than the archers Cristoff, far more.” Gwenneth felt the power growing in her staff, having tapped into several of the arcane glyphs over the past few days of travel. The prodigal wizard felt ages old magic and energies seeping from the ancient item, and felt herself in tune with part of it at least.
Azenairk knelt down and faced west to pray. He laid his warhammer and enchanted helmet down before him and clutched his hammer and moons amulet. He whispered prayers to Vundren, God of his people and the mountains, for the blessings of strength in battle and mercy for those that may perish this day. Zen asked, in his thick dwarven dialect, for guidance in the hours to come and that God honor and watch over his friends. Feeling at complete peace and ease after a few minutes of silence, the dwarven priest rose and put his helmet atop his head and picked up his heavy hammer from the cold ground. His mind was clear, his body relaxed, and his spirit felt as though he had just reawakened from a restful sleep in a warm bed.
“They are coming, Norrice and the men. Prepare yourselves.” Cristoff drew his engraved and jeweled holy longsword and admired his enchanted armor of the deceased King Herrimus that the dragon had given him. He hoped that with dwarven blessings, enchanted arms, and a mighty wizard at his side that they would have a chance to lure out most of the occupation and give Shinayne and the others a good chance to get the gate open and let the cavalry out.
Gwenneth, Zen, and Lord Cristoff watched as a group of men snuck through the sparse forest on the north side of Bradswellen Castle. Norrice led them in a line through shadows of the setting sun and cover of the rural merchants. He crept low behind the small hill where his lord was positioned to avoid notice of the archers on the walls. He caught his breath and the weary veteran soldier knelt before Cristoff.
“My lord, I could get but sixty-two men plus myself out safely.” as Norrice and the men surrounded the small encampment, each man bowed to his lord in amazement that he still lived.
“Well done Norrice, well done. Gather round men, for shortly we will be marching against our own castle which, as you know, is occupied by royal guard courtesy of King Richmond the Second. We will be thanking our king in our own way, and showing him the hospitality of our swords in but a few moments.” Cristoff waited for the cheers and low roars of laughter to cease before continuing from his shelter of the trees. He could not help but smile at seeing his men ready to fight, especially against their own king. He fought the frown that dug at him at the thought of having but sixty two men.
“My lord? How will we get past the cavalry, archers, and then through the two gates with a force one third their size?” one of his sergeants asked nervously as he checked his shield strap.
“You see that they have the positioning and superior numbers, do you?” Cristoff smiled again. He waited for the nods and “ay’s” to quiet so that he may bolster his men’s confidence. “What you do not see is a brave knight of Chazzrynn who I have fought beside recently against overwhelm
ing odds. Sir James Andellis will rally our cavalry once inside. You do not see a lady swordsman from the elven nation of Kilikala who is far deadlier with her blades than ten men. Shinayne T’Sarrin is ready to open the north doors upon our signal. And you do not see the minotaur warrior, Saberrak the gray. He is with them as they prepare to take the gates, once we draw out the army from behind the walls. They are in position now, waiting for us to move.”
“But how will we survive against that many?” another soldier spoke up.
“With help. This is Azenairk Thalanaxe, last of his family from Boraduum and a priest and fearless soldier of Vundren. He has already blessed the battle and has the strength of his God in his every swing of that warhammer, I assure you. And this is Gwenneth Lazlette, the most powerful wizard in Chazzrynn and former student of Kalzarius of Harlaheim. We could not have stronger allies men, and we will take back our castle. I cannot tell you what will happen when the king hears of his losses, or when his knights and army will come. But I can tell you that we have been beseeched by a corruption that I cannot abide. I tell you that the men that have been ordered to come are not just here to take me, but to put to the sword anyone who does not follow the wickedness of our king. We stand for more than that, we serve Saint Erinsburg and Harlaheim. Today, we fight against disloyalty and dishonor!” Cristoff raised his sword and pointed toward his own castle, passed down through his family for generation after generation. He heard his voice captivating even himself through the enchanted armor of the first king of Harlaheim. The Lord of Saint Erinsburg felt no fear, only victory and righteousness in the battle ahead. He took a knee, followed by his men, and thought deeply of his cousin Savanno Lisario. He hoped no more would die in vain for this king or his manipulations. Cristoff whispered a silent prayer to Alden the merciful for his family and his men. He had never seen his men so inspired. He looked to the armor he wore, its shining steel like mirrors from the Gods.
“I feel like he put us up on a bit of a pedestal there, for the men to have faith and all that. Great words, and inspiring, but we don’t deserve all that glory and praise.” Zen whispered to Gwenneth so the men could not hear while they prayed.
The prodigal wizard smiled at the dwarf. “Speak for yourself.”
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Shinayne slinked through the shadows of the oak tree branches that hovered over the north wall of Bradswellen Castle. She crouched on a small branch only a few feet from the catwalk on the top of the outer wall, watching guards pass by every few minutes. The elven noble kept her eyes on the door below, the one she would open for Saberrak and James once the men focused their eyes on Lord Cristoff and his advance. The sun had set, leaving a beautiful purple and orange sky in the east. Shinayne drew her matched set of swords, Carice and Elicras, and readied herself for the jump to the wall and whoever she may face there. The men began yelling orders and questions at one another, and it only grew and spread more as they realized there were men missing. The archers yelled to their sergeants who yelled to the capitan in charge of the occupation of Bradswellen Castle and Saint Erinsburg. All eyes, blades, and bows went to the eastern battlements and walls as the advance of the returning Lord Cristoff was spotted. Shinayne knew her moment was now.
The highborne elven noble leapt from the branch to the outer wall and crouched low into the shadows. She crept to the ledge of the inner wall, looked down over and saw two armored royal guard standing on either side of the door she needed to open, the door that James and Saberrak were on the other side of. The elven swordswoman leaned over the edge, feet first, then dropped over ten feet to the ground below. Her stance was perfect a half second later as her light form hit the ground and she maintained her footing. “Evening gentlemen.”
The shocked looks upon their faces was to be their last expression as the white stone pommeled longblade and shortblade of ancient elven craftsmanship and fey enchantments cut clean through their plate armor with simultaneous slashes to the chest. The cutting of steel by something stronger and sharp beyond manmade quality echoed throughout the courtyard matched with screams of pain and the clamoring of dead men in armor. Shinayne heard the loosing of arrows away from her, and knew they had begun to fire upon Cristoff and the others. She sheathed her curved shortblade and pulled the heavy iron bar aside and opened the door.
“What took so long elf?” Saberrak roared as he entered, greataxe in one hand and curved shamshir in the other. James followed the horned warrior inside, broadsword drawn and shield up.
“No time, the archers have begun. James, get the cavalry and soldiers from inside, Saberrak you take the south side, I will take the north and we meet at the gate!” Shinayne saw the men pointing from the courtyard, dozens of soldiers had noticed them, and dozens would have to perish so that they could get those gates open. She drew her off hand shortblade as Saberrak roared ahead toward the charging men.
James ran with sword in hand toward the western keep where he knew the soldiers of Saint Erinsburg would be. Arrows fired out from the castle walls and inward toward him. The whistling projectiles went past his head, into the ground at his feet, and not once did he look or slow his pace. Two armored guards appeared from the barrack doors he was running toward, yet he still kept his momentum. As the sweat ran down his brow and the sides of his face, the knight of Chazzrynn dove sideways between their raising bladed polearms, crashing into their shoulders and knocking the three of them tumbling to the stone floor inside.
James rolled on his shield and sprung to his feet first, turning to face his opponents as they struggled to draw their rapiers and stand up in their heavy plate armor. He saluted the soldiers with his broadsword, allowed them to stand, and stepped forward with purpose. The first yell of the soldiers was followed by diving plunges of their now drawn rapiers, one was deflected by James’ shield, the other he dodged with a small step to his left. He returned their attacks with crosscuts and wide slashes to back them up near the doors they had just fallen through. As the steel rang on steel, the veteran knight lowered his head and shoulder behind his shield and changed his attacks to sharp quick stabs and plunges of his blade to the soldier on his right, piercing through his armor twice before he dropped to the ground. The remaining soldier grabbed the shield with his free hand and tried to pin James against the wall and force his blade into James’ stomach. The broadsword met the rapier, crossguard to crossguard, and the two men were locked together in a struggle of strength and ferocity.
The knight of Chazzrynn pushed with all of his muscle to get the soldier back away from his pinned position against the wall. He gave one more shove, then turned to his left as the man leaned forward. The soldier lunged face first into the wall, then felt the cold steel of a blade penetrate his ribs from the side. He turned to face James Andellis, but another sting of steel swept through his armor and chest. The warm blood poured out inside his armor, as did his strength to stand. As James turned from the falling man, he let out a yell, a cry to battle, from a deep inner voice that even Saberrak would have noticed.
“Hhaaaa!!!” he faced the long torchlit halls that led to the barracks and stables of Bradswellen Castle.
“Men of Saint Erinsburg! Your Lord fights in the eastern fields of the castle, and he fights with but sixty men against hundreds! I am Sir James Andellis, knight of Chazzrynn, and I call you to battle for Cristoff Bradswellen the Third! By horse, by shield, and by the sword, we go to war! Defend Saint Erinsburg!” James yelled then turned toward the wooden stable doors as dozens upon dozens of men emerged from many halls and quarters to see who it was that was calling them. They had been kept here by the royal guard, shocked looks upon their faces. Not waiting for questions or a count of who was with him and who was not, the veteran knight of the south mounted a brown painted stallion and charged the courtyard. He heard many horses behind him being mounted, and knew that his blade was not the only flash of steel thirsting for the charge of battle in Saint Erinsburg.
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Gwenne spoke the words of arcane protections as the archers let their arrows loose from the walls of Bradswellen Castle. Transparent energy shadowed the forefront of the advancing soldiers of Lord Cristoff, and the prodigal wizard felt the arcane flowing through her and the staff of Imoch almost effortlessly. The ancient runes on the white wood staff glowed a rich red in places, green in others, and Gwenneth barely concentrated as the arrows ricochet off of the invisible moving barrier that surrounded them. Her thoughts went to how easily it would be to make the barrier solid and hard as stone in but a few arcane words through the staff. “Vianna ver hethuum!” the barrier parted high above the marching soldiers, Azenairk, and Lord Cristoff. Gwenneth squeezed her free hand into a fist while the gemstone atop the staff glowed with a fire orange swirling heat. She opened her green eyes as she walked, opened her hand, and set loose a stream of flame that arced through the opening in the protective arcane shield and impacted into the upper wall of the castle. The eruption lit the eastern wall aglow with flames and blasting rays of light as half a dozen archers ignited and were hurled to their demise on the courtyard floor. Smiling at the ease of the arcane incantations and flow of magic the ancient staff had empowered her with, Gwenne began to chant more words and close her fist again.
“Azenairk, take thirty men to the left when they charge, I will take to the right and we meet at the gate when it is open!” Cristoff kept his march steady as arrows aimed for him and his men bounced off of the mystical barrier above them and streaking blasts of magical fire were returned to his own castle walls by the potent prodigal wizard behind him. The gates were still closed as the outer soldiers and cavalry formed up by the hundreds to charge the mere sixty men at his command.
The Exodus Sagas: Book II - Of Dragons And Crowns Page 32