by MJ Blehart
They were in position again, and this time had a special set of weapons ready. Quickly igniting rags soaked in oil, flaming arrows were fired into the city.
Andim once more counted himself and his forces fortunate the normal patrols along the river were not here. The operation would have been far more complicated, if not impossible, had they been.
Soldiers of the Medaelian Palace Guard were coming from the main gate, looking for the position of their assailants. Andim was surprised to find Palace Guards on the city walls.
The Falcon Raiders were spread out quite a bit, striking from different positions, shifting, attacking again. They were making noise. They just needed to do it a while longer.
To Andim’s astonishment, few guards remained on the walls, and were now roaming near the main gate, awaiting a forward assault. It was painfully obvious this was not their regular duty post.
The veteran made a snap decision. “Bormann, change of plans. Take these men. The Medaelians want a fight...so go give it to them,” Andim ordered.
Bormann grinned wickedly, as he took his people, and charged.
Andim watched with satisfaction as his diversion continued to confuse the guards.
*****
King Aldo Wilnar-Medira was in his study, examining his maps, when an out-of-breath guard entered the room.
“Majesty!” he cried.
Wilnar-Medira turned to him, slowly. He was contemplating the attack that should have begun this morning. “What is it?”
“Sire, the guards at the outer walls are under attack!”
“Under attack?” replied Wilnar-Medira with a laugh. “That is preposterous. By whom?”
“They haven’t seen their attackers yet,” replied the guard, still somewhat out of breath. “I was dispatched by the Captain after the second volley. Arrows. Some flaming. From the river bank.”
“And no forces are visible?” questioned Wilnar-Medira with some concern. Aside from his Palace Guard, and the Penkira Police forces, he was less well defended than would be the norm.
“No, sire,” responded the guard.
The King scratched at his chin. “Who could be attacking us? This must be a ploy on the part of Varlock-Sharron. He’s trying to scare me out of Penkira, perhaps. Or else one of my allies is contemplating betrayal.” He gave that a moment’s consideration. Both armies were too deeply committed to this action, neither the Lirdarrans nor Cordianlotts would have anyone to spare to challenge Penkira.
A possibility did come to him, though. “Perhaps a band of marauders, having noted the Army’s departure, are being overly bold.” There was no place safer than this palace. “No matter. Dispatch re-enforcements to the walls, and put the rest on high alert.”
“Sire, these are palace guards! They’re not familiar with defending the city itself.”
Wilnar-Medira glared angrily, causing the man to wither before him. He was not even an officer. “What difference would that make? Do not think to question my commands! They are still soldiers. They can manage. The city must be defended. Carry out my orders!”
“Yes sire!” replied the guard, bowing out.
The King did not like when anyone questioned him and his choices, let alone a lowly guard. General Criv-Kurlirra had been relieved of his normal duties, and dispatched to the front along with the other officer whom he’d been speaking with, and a company of the least experienced members of the Elite Guard. Wilnar-Medira would not have the head of the royal guards making light of his king’s beliefs.
He had partly relented, though. Thus the battle was happening today, two weeks before the end of Stillness, the start of the Season of Planting and the new year. Let the Sharron Army prepare, too late, to meet his attack. They were for more outnumbered than even the Sharron Warlord’s sources could have learned.
Wilnar-Medira turned back to his maps. The battle would have begun by now. He wished he could actually watch it as it happened. Of course, he admitted to himself, he was as close to the battlefield as he’d care to get.
It was not that he was afraid to fight. Indeed, he was a fairly skilled fencer. But he preferred to leave warfare to his generals and his army. The King’s place, to his mind, was his throne. It was the business of others to carry out his bidding.
Wilnar-Medira’s thoughts returned to this new problem. Who would be attacking Penkira? In broad daylight, no less? He considered sending for Count Vular-Murtona, but figured that the man would not hide any intelligence he may have gleaned with regards to plans against their security. An attack here would put him in danger as well.
Wilnar-Medira knew the Sharronians would have the entirety of their army facing his, and Lirdarra and Cordianlott were allied with him, most of their forces committed to the same battle. The deals with their leaderships were too good for them to turn on him. Rannora hadn’t had a real army since the Ontseer invasion, and Nevarna’s forces were almost totally defensive. It could be no more than a small force of some kind, which his Elite Guard troops should be capable of handling.
It would not, in the end, matter. He was safe here, in his palace. No one had entered the Palace by force in over two-hundred years. No one would enter now, either.
*****
The Falcon Raiders had arrived in groups of no more than a dozen at a time. They had approached from nearly every entry point to Penkira, so as not to draw attention to themselves.
Getting into the city had been very easy. Security was lax, and it was obvious that those at the various checkpoints were not normally positioned there. They had hardly been searched, and even allowed to carry the multiple weapons one or two were discovered with.
It was unexpectedly sloppy. Clearly Wilnar-Medira anticipated nothing happening in his Capital, or he’d have had more thorough security measures.
Lyrra-Sharron and company walked casually towards the Palace. They were still broken into small groups. One, led by Torman, would remain outside, to attack the palace gate with a frontal assault. Another, led by Varnon, had been left at the docks, where they’d stir up chaos, so as to draw the attention of the Penkira Police.
The rest would gain entry to the palace. If hers and Dak’s plan worked, it would be easy enough. Thus far, nothing they had seen led any to believe it would be of much difficulty at all.
Wilnar-Medira had dispatched his entire army to the front. Lyrra-Sharron had learned this from an enforcer the Falcon Raiders had captured upon reaching Penkira. All that remained was the Penkira Police, and the Palace Guard.
In Gara-Sharron, the Army, Royal Guardsmen, and local Constabulary worked closely together to protect the capital city. They trained together, and were virtually interchangeable, for situations like the current one, where a part of the three forces was diminished for other reasons.
In Medaelia, the army alone normally handled guard duty atop the city walls and at the various points of entry to the capital. The Police were responsible for handling crime and disorder in the city itself, and Palace Guard seldom left the confines of the castle.
The enforcement entities were all-too obviously ill prepared to take over this particular duty station. They didn’t even know what they were looking for when they’d searched the Raiders entering the city. Causing chaos would be easy with a situation like that.
Still, Lyrra-Sharron was concerned. Her father would be facing an enormous force. Perhaps one that was too large even for him and his generals. But it was far from where she was, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. So she remained focused on the task at hand.
The palace was looming before her. Walls of forty feet, arrow slits and high battlements, and only three gates in or out. The guards would not be alert to their presence, nor any threat, yet.
She and the other Falcon Raiders roamed about casually. There were merchants with open carts within a few feet of the fortress walls. Lyrra-Sharron had always heard that the Medaelians placed undo emphasis on proximity to the crown, so peddling wares near the palace was considered a major accomplis
hment.
After all that she had studied and learned over the years, Lyrra-Sharron hoped fervently she was right about how it would all play out.
A guard came riding up swiftly, and was immediately admitted to the palace. No doubt reporting the attack on the city walls. She looked around, saw Dak, and gestured to him.
They went towards the third gate of the palace, on the eastern side. Lyrra-Sharron hoped her recollection of Sir Garvol’s maps was accurate. This gate was meant for guard access only, he had believed.
She’d long ago memorized the maps Sir Garvol’s spies had sent back to Gara-Sharron from here. This gate issued into a main courtyard, from which guards and other soldiers would muster and depart.
Wilnar-Medira had grown careless enough to allow vendors to set up tents along the walls, near the gate. Since none other than soldiers came or left through this gate, he didn’t give it a second thought. The Medaelian Crown seemed only to anticipate a frontal assault of some sort, never a sneak attack.
Of course, no force capable of this sort of attack had ever been available to any foreign force before.
Taking over the tents nearest the gate, Lyrra-Sharron on the one side, Dak on the other, they captured the vendors, then bound and gagged them. No one would be killed, these were innocent bystanders. It happened swiftly and quietly.
Positioned as planned, they made ready.
The gate was thrown open, and a few more than two dozen horses thundered out. As they rode clear, the heavy doors began to swing closed.
The people of Penkira, over the years, had come to ignore the palace itself. They’d been so intent on the Guards riding out, they hadn’t even noticed the men and women on foot sneaking through the open passageway. Not that they could do anything if they had.
The soldiers inside were caught completely off-guard, and were captured or killed before they could cry out. The gate was held open, and the rest of their forces, ninety-eight Falcon Raiders, swiftly came into the courtyard.
Varnon had a dozen with him at the docks. Torman had four dozen still milling about near the main portcullis.
Nadav was the last, signaling to Lyrra-Sharron to have the entranceway closed.
“We’re ready, Captain,” said Nadav to her formally.
It had, actually, worked even better, and gone far smoother than expected. “Alright. Lieutenant Darak, wait for Torman to attack. Take out the Guards from behind when they are diverted. Lieutenant Nadav, Sargeant Khelvan, you have your orders, you know the plan. We take the palace as quickly and quietly as possible. Go!”
*****
Lieutenant Nadav led his company in towards the heart of the Palace.
“Move quietly, everyone,” he ordered just louder than a whisper. “Any servants or palace personnel we encounter, we take. Gag them, but do not cause them injury…they’re not likely to offer us much resistance, so we take it easy on them.”
They swept through hallways quickly, on watch for guards to avoid, capturing any in palace livery they encountered. At one point, they ducked into a small storage room, as soldiers passed quickly, responding to some emergency. Nadav pressed an ear to the door as they passed.
“…some sort of disturbance at the docks…” someone running past was saying. Varnon’s group, obviously, had struck.
Continuing their sweep, Nadav and company found themselves in another open courtyard, facing a group of similarly armed men and women.
“Khelvan,” Nadav acknowledged, the surprise in his voice evident. “I thought you were sweeping the palace for stray guards, before Torman’s attack takes the rest to the walls?”
“We are,” replied the Falcon Raider Sergeant, “but we found these barracks, and met only slight resistance. We were about to move out again, then you arrived.”
Nadav looked around, saw that none of Khelvan’s people appeared hurt. “We’ve still work to be done, and these prisoners are slowing us down. Clear the weapons from the barracks, bar the windows, and let’s set up a holding cell here.”
“You heard the Lieutenant,” ordered Khelvan immediately, without question. “Make it happen, people!”
In a matter of minutes, the weapons had been cleared out of the barracks, and the windows blocked with shields hastily nailed over them from the outside. The servants were escorted within, gags removed, and were admonished to remain silent, lest they be dealt with harshly. As predicted, they did not resist, accepting their fate without comment.
“We need to sweep the Palace again, I don’t believe these are all the servants,” stated Nadav. “Khelvan, keep your people here, and on guard. Torman should be attacking within minutes.”
“We’re on it,” he replied.
“My people, let’s move!” ordered Nadav.
They swept through the palace again, gathering anyone they encountered not in uniform. As they marched them back to the barracks, shouts were heard, and they ducked into dark doorways as the remaining palace guards raced past, responding to attackers from outside the walls.
Once they were clear, Nadav rushed the servants to the barracks, where he found Khelvan and his people, weapons ready, on guard.
“We must have gotten all the guards that use these barracks,” Khelvan commented, some edginess in his tone. “No one came for additional weapons. Torman’s group is attacking, so it’s up to Darak to take care of them, now.”
“Yes, it is,” said Nadav thoughtfully. “Any remaining servants won’t be much of a threat. Khelvan, stay here with the rest of your people, keep on guard. My group, with me! We go offer Darak some assistance.”
Weapons still drawn, Nadav ran towards the outer walls, where he knew Darak would be facing the distracted guards, fighting Torman and his attack party. This time, he had carried out his plan perfectly, without mistake or injury. Feeling redeemed, the Falcon Raider third in command confidently shifted his mission.
*****
Lyrra-Sharron and Dak, along with four other Falcon Raiders, were heading directly for the center of the Palace, and the throne room therein.
They were quiet, and were quick. Leather armor didn’t bang around. Dak had out his sword, and Lyrra-Sharron carried only one of her rapiers. They hugged the walls, shot past intersections with other passageways, ducked into alcoves to avoid anyone coming by as best they could.
They eventually came around a corner, found a pair of guards, walking.
“Who in the...” began one, startled.
He didn’t finish his sentence, because Lyrra-Sharron had plunged her rapier into his chest.
Dak had advanced, and punched the next guard with the pommel of his sword. He went down, hard.
“Okay, we leave them and keep going,” ordered Lyrra-Sharron.
They ran on, coming to the intersection of the hallway where, according to Sir Garvol’s spies’ maps, the Medaelian King’s study was located. They paused around the perpendicular hallway, and Lyrra-Sharron quickly whispered orders.
One of the Falcon Raiders, Dufon, walked around the corner, passing right before the double doors, and the pair of guards stationed there.
“Halt!” called one of the guards. “Who the hell are you?”
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. Wrong corridor,” said Dufon. He turned, and ran back the way he’d come.
One of the guards chased him, and as he rounded the bend, he ran literally into the point of Dak’s sword. He dropped without a sound.
A few minutes passed. “Donol?” called the other guard. “Donol, you get him?”
The guard began to move towards them. As he neared the bend, Lyrra-Sharron emerged, placing her sword to his throat.
“You aren’t Donol!” he choked.
“Very observant,” replied Lyrra-Sharron dryly. “Is the King in there?”
The guard bobbed his head nervously.
Lyrra-Sharron removed her sword from the guard’s throat. Dak came around, and brought the pommel of his sword down on the man’s head, hard. He crumpled.
“Wilnar-Medira is
in there,” stated Lyrra-Sharron.
Dak gestured towards the door. “Let’s do it.”
They walked around the corridor. When they reached the entrance, two of the Falcon Raiders flanked it. Lyrra-Sharron stood ready, Dak at her side. She inclined her head at them. The other two Falcon Raiders bashed the doors in.
She charged, ready to face Wilnar-Medira.
The study was empty.
A smaller door, behind the desk and to the left of the far wall, was open.
“Damn. He must have heard us coming,” said Lyrra-Sharron.
“I doubt it,” replied Dak. “Probably wanted to get away, without his guards.”
“My father does that sometimes,” conceded Lyrra-Sharron. “We had better follow him.”
“Halt!” came from the door.
They turned, and faced six guards.
“Could you, by some chance, tell us where his Majesty is at the moment?” asked Lyrra-Sharron deadpan.
“You are intruders! Drop your weapons! You are under arrest!” ordered the lead guard.
“I do not think so,” replied Lyrra-Sharron, the point of her rapier up in a threatening position.
Dufon swung his sword, and the lead guard went down.
Dak’s sword flashed, taking off a guard’s head.
Lyrra-Sharron thrust into the chest of another.
Four guards trotted past the open doors. They came back, a stunned looked on their faces, weapons drawn.
Lyrra-Sharron felt her arm pulled, and spun to face Dak.
“The others can handle these!” exclaimed Dak. “We need to find Wilnar-Medira.”
Lyrra-Sharron nodded her head, and followed Dak through the door at the back of the study.
They found themselves in a short, narrow passageway, and it led to a curtain. When they got to the end, Dak tentatively pulled at it, then walked through.
The curtain was actually a tapestry, and they were in the throne room. It appeared empty.
“Damn him, where is Wilnar-Medira?” exclaimed Lyrra-Sharron aloud, exasperated.
“Right here, Lyrra-Sharron Anduin,” came a voice from across the room, near the main double doors. “And what are you doing in Penkira?”