The Conqueror

by Louis Shalako

  This left him about seven hundred men.

  In the center of the line were the Sicurri, just to his right with a hundred and fifty honored and heavily-armed guests, and that left Lowren on the left wing. He’d reinforced the tip of the line with a couple of hundred men, or two companies as he called them. Between him and the end of the line, it was three ranks, with four or five feet between their shoulders. This allowed archery as well as swordplay, and if a man fell, the next one simply stepped into his place. Where possible, someone in the reserve ranks would pull killed and wounded out of the way. He had serjeants for every twenty or thirty men, and a captain for each division.

  As things stood presently, the sun was well up and enemy ships were burning merrily out in the harbor. That battle was just beginning and it might go on for half the day. Enemy ships were hurriedly lifting sails and trying to escape. It looked, by the hazy reports just coming in, that the Heloi had cut the line of anchored ships in half and were busily destroying all those that hadn’t been fortunate enough to escape.

  Lowren marveled.

  “I have this crazy feeling we’ve been here too long already.”

  Stacks and warehouses full of vital military supplies were blazing a hundred yards behind Lowren’s deliberately curved line. He had his left flank thrown well forward where the enemy would either have to deal with it or go round, for which he had an immediate response anyways. The tip of this left wing was heavy with archers. These men had certain very specific instructions. Hand-picked for reliability and experience, hopefully all would be well.

  “Are they coming? When are they coming?”

  Vaeomon and Lowren conferred, before things got too busy.

  “Well, they’d better come soon, or they’re going to miss their chance—” The plan called for them to be on land for a half an hour at best—forever laying their bones there only in a worst case scenario.

  While time passed quickly in battle, it was like the sun was higher every time he looked at it.

  The black, milling cluster at the gate, a seething mass of what looked like busy ants from this distance suddenly split and heaved aside. There were pale faces visible now, where before all backs were turned.

  Like something foul growing, the mass got wider, spreading out, and then there was a new color appearing in the middle of the mess, all grey and white and glistening with tiny brass buttons.

  Pikemen, and crossbows by the look of it. Someone over there had taken charge…

  “I think they’re coming now, sire.”

  Vaeomon laughed, and gave the kid, whom Lowren had recently dubbed Ube, which was short for ubiquitous, a stout blow on the back.

  “Well. How do you like that?” Vaeomon grinned in delight. “The nerve of some people’s kids.”

  “I’m an orphan, sir.”

  Lowren just bit his lip.

  “You’re going to love this part, Vaeomon.”

  “Trooper, be ready on that horn.”

  It looked like the enemy, well-equipped with horses as they were, were deploying pretty much as any half-trained captain would have expected. This was an easy battle to read. The enemy senior commanders would never commit the bulk of their troops. They would be expecting a sally from within the walls of Kthmarra, timed to coincide with the one from without.

  That could still happen, thought Lowren, although it wasn’t strictly necessary.

  “They’re going to try and sweep around us on the left flank. They’ll try and cut us off from the boats.” Vaeomon nodded in comprehension at Lowren’s explanation. “Boys. Pass the word.”

  In Lowren’s estimation the horses would have been better employed along the beach, but lancers liked speed above all else. The ground was harder up above and they were further from the ballistas and the crossbowmen on the ships.

  “Here.”

  Two hefty troopers stepped in close. Holding one of their shields on two sides, they made a quick platform for Lowren. With a hand on each of their shoulders, he mounted and carefully straightened up.

  The king peered at the enemy formations. He dropped lightly down again. The ubiquitous kid was right there.

  “Pass the word. When you hear the horn, left wheel.”

  The kid ran up the line to the left, carrying the instructions. He nipped right back and passed it to the right flank as Vaeomon yelled at his people.

  “All right, who’s got the horn?”

  A soldier stepped up with alacrity.

  “Here, sire.”

  “Good, mind you stay right with me.” Lowren preferred the fellow at his left shoulder as opposed the right.

  What they were about to attempt was a simple military evolution, admittedly complicated by the burning buildings, the fires, the smoke and confusion.

  A great shout came from the Hordesmen as the cavalry wheeled to Lowren’s left and spurred up to a gallop. Their massed infantry on the right flank, going all the way down to the beach, put their heads down and advanced at a measured, disciplined pace. He waited about a minute and a half, glad to see faces turned to him with calm looks and cocked weapons.

  “Pass the word. Fire at will.” Lowren’s instructions were noisily carried up and down the line as the Sicurri all around him visibly braced themselves.

  Like driven snow, the clouds of arrows flew. The enemy began to respond, and the men nearest him put up a quick wall of shields to protect their king and themselves. He ducked when appropriate and the first light flurry of enemy shafts caused few casualties.

  The beauty lies in the details. It was a question of perfect timing and proper execution.

  Lowren was betting his men could run a hundred yards faster than those horses could run five hundred or a thousand. They had the support of over a hundred ballistas, and this side of their fort had none, apparently. He hadn’t seen anything from them so far…

  And a thousand bowmen deployed in a long and over-extended line would quickly become thirty-six hundred fighting men, contracted into a very small area. Any neophyte general could see that there were nowhere near that many enemy horsemen—perhaps three hundred or four hundred at best.

  That situation would not last for very long, and there were no doubt more forming up just inside the gates.

  A man on a horse was a big target—and wounded horses quickly became uncontrollable.

  The infantry was more worrisome, but then they would have to advance through the fires and smoke of burning stores and warehouses, and when they came out, it would be all too late to change their minds.

  The horsemen were at full gallop, about to round the end of his line amidst a cloud of arrows.

  He grabbed his signaler by the shoulder.

  “Now. Do it now.”

  Sucking in a prodigious breath, the fellow put the horn to his dry, cracked lips and blew as if all of their lives depended on it.

  ***

  It was a cold, quiet, drizzling day in October and it was not the first time fires had been lit this year. There was the subtle shift in routine, as well. This was a time of introspection, and a kind of mourning for the life of the planet. The birds were mostly gone, the trees and the plants dull and lifeless. The autumn festival had come and gone, and people were mostly marking time until the winter solstice and the rebirth and renewal of the land. A terrible sadness lay on her heart and she feared the worst of all sorts of things. She worried endlessly about things she could not control and events far, far away.

  Eleanora was in their long, warmly-lit common room, quietly sewing with her ladies when word came.

  A servant stood breathless at the door and babbled the news that he was coming.

  Throwing the work in progress aside, her feet flew as servants and officials along the corridors stood aside in haste.

  She stood trembling at the top of the steps of her palace, waiting for the carriage to arrive.

  Word was that he had been wounded. A bolt from the enemy had caught him in the back at the last moment. His men had to jump back out of the
boat to retrieve him. It was all they knew.

  The thoughts of Lowren had been gnawing at her for days, ever since she’d heard. They knew so little, only that he was alive—at least at the time, when the messengers had departed.

  The small procession wound its way up the drive, and she stamped per foot in impatience. And where were Theo and Kann? Why were they not travelling together? Surely the season of war was over, and those two were needed at home now.

  A footman opened the door and she caught sight of the recumbent figure within. There was someone else in there, looking concerned and dressed in unusual civilian finery. Yet they were a commoner, going by the beard and the cut of the jacket. Her feet carried her unbidden and she leaned in the door.

  “Lowren! Oh, Lowren, what have you done with yourself?”

  His face was pale and bloodless, the sheets and bandages bloodstained.

  “It’s all right, fine lady…’tis merely a flesh wound….what house is this…?” His voice faltered and his head fell back on the pillows, greasy from his hair, which was unkempt and wild-looking. “Oh, Jupiter, god of all of time and fortune, I thank thee for the blessing of this good woman’s company…in my time of dying. For surely my time has come…”

  Her hand flew to her mouth.

  “Why, he’s delirious!|

  The men on horseback and the driver dismounted. They were a dispirited lot, not a man-jack among them daring to meet her eyes. Sure and he was their chief, and they wouldn’t let him out of their sight, but this was a disgrace.

  “Where in the bloody hell did you think you were taking him?”

  Eleanora was furious.

  “This man is in no state to travel.”

  Six of his hulking fellows stood around looking sheepish as Eleanora barked orders and her own people hustled down the steps to take charge of the litter.

  They lifted him out of the carriage, smelling badly of blood and sweat and pus and something else.

  His precious bodily fluids were draining away from him, and she wondered if the leeches, her polite word for the medical profession, had been bleeding him too profusely.

  Finally one of his companions found the courage to speak.

  “We thought…we thought.” Bibbs cleared his throat. “We thought it would be better if he was at home.”

  Her own servants took him up the stairs, his own men bringing up the rear in a kind of disgrace.

  Eleanora fussed and fretted. On her insistence, he was brought into her private chambers.

  Where better for a prince to die.

  For that was how she thought of him. A prince and not a king. He was so young.

  When they’d heard the news, it seemed so unreal.

  Her servants, her private physician Hermodautes, and Dervent the priest attended at her side as Lowren was laid in her bed.

  The man Garvin, and Bibbs, were there at her side.

  The other fellows had been led aside to the great hall for a meal and some refreshment before rooms and possibly baths were found for them. Her anger glittered in her eyes.

  “Please. This man needs rest.” Hermodautes’ command so closely mirrored the look on Eleanora’s darkening visage that the pair of them turned with one last look at Lowren, propped up on the queen’s own pillows.

  They headed reluctantly for the door.

  “Must…speak with the lady of the house…”

  “Shush.” Eleanora stepped forward and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling Lowren’s forehead and trying to determine if he was running a fever.

  The initial impression was one of cold and clamminess, which was not entirely unexpected as they’d just brought him in the door.

  Lowren’s eyes were wide and staring, more lucid now.

  “Must speak to Queen Eleanora…private messages from afar…” He clutched at her wrist with a strong grip as Hermodautes tried to strip off the brown, tacky bandages which entirely wrapped his upper torso. “Urgent dispatches from the Front…”

  “Hold still, young man.”

  Lowren’s face came around, as if the words were all new to him, which they probably were.

  Hermodautes was not intimidated by the human body, nor their pretensions to grandeur or even simple worthiness.

  It was all the same to him, when his skills were called for. This was just one more maimed or wounded warrior.

  Lowren pulled his head up again, earnestly beseeching the queen to listen. He pushed Hermodautes away.

  “I must speak to the lady privately.”

  Falling back, Lowren blinked as if tears were welling up just on the inside.

  “Water would be helpful, but just a little, Majesty.” On a nod, he chewed his lip.

  “Give us a moment, please.”

  Leaving the bandages loosened but still in place, Hermodautes straightened.

  “I’ll be just outside the door, if you need me—”

  The queen nodded, as she poured out half a glass of water from the carafe on her side-board.

  As Hermodautes closed the door, one last look revealed Lowren with his head back on the queen’s own pillows. He appeared to be breathing calmly. His eyes were closed and yet he was still obviously conscious going by the way he was sort of moving his legs and wriggling around to get more comfortable.

  ***

  Never at a loss for dignity or gravitas, Hermodautes stepped outside the door, a calm and patient look on his face.

  Sensing the looks of Eleanora’s two bodyguards, standing tall and steady on each side of the door, he turned and shrugged, as if to say, ‘women.’

  Can’t live with them and can’t live without them, and somehow queens were the worst.

  It was nice work if you could get it, though.

  His eyes widened slightly at a muffled squawk from the other side of the heavy door.

  Ignoring the curious looks of the soldiers, he edged up to the door and put his ear up against it.

  They were definitely talking, and he could discern Lowren’s surprisingly strong voice and a more feminine voice that was unmistakably the queen.

  He was so close to catching about every third word…

  Other than that, he had nothing much to do but cool his heels until he was called for.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “You toad!”

  Lowren, as soon as she leaned over to listen to his strained whisper, quavering as if with his dying breath, had grabbed her around the neck and she had little choice but to half fall and half crawl onto the bed in an attempt to avoid falling on her face.

  “Unhand me, you big brute! Why! You big meanie.”

  “Heh.”

  She stared, open-mouthed into those mischievous hazel eyes, with their little flecks of amber and the sardonic lines of humor at the corners.

  “You brat.” It was the second time he’d fooled her.

  “Careful, my lady, my queen. I really am wounded, you know. Ah.” Lowren carefully adjusted his left arm under her shoulder, now lying on his left side.

  The doctors would do what they could, but he might never sleep on his right side again. He was lucky it was the right side, otherwise he’d be a dead man right now. He might not even be ready the following spring, for such wounds healed slowly if at all.

  It was an amazing moment.

  They were face to face, although he was still under the sheets and she was on top.

  He brought his right hand up to her hip. He let it rest there lightly.

  “Was there something you wanted to tell me, Lowren?” She searched his face.

  “Yes. Majesty.” Pulling her in close, he put his lips on hers as the lady stared into his own questioning eyes and he carefully proceeded to do just that.

  He was nothing if not thorough, thought Eleanora, as she happily wriggled in a little closer. She squeezed a little tighter and just let it all happen.

  He pulled back for a breath, and a look full of long pent-up emotion. There was a wash of tears in his eyes.

  “You…”

&n
bsp; “Me, what…?

  She sighed, eyes demure and downcast, and still not making any attempt to resist. Those clear eyes stabbed him with a sudden look.

  “You may continue, good sir.”

  They smiled.

  “Heh, heh, heh.”

  He would find the words, and so would she. It might take a while, for it was a lot to take in all at once.

  It was enough to know, in that one very special moment in time, that the two lovers were together at last.

  ***

  The season had finally turned snowy, white and cold. With his wound healing, soon it would be time for Lowren and his small group to complete their journey homeward. There were four or five inches of fresh, soft snow.

  They followed the hoof-prints of her servants, sent out before dawn to sweep the snow away and lay a carpet at what was a well-known local shrine of sorts.

  Both were heavily dressed for the cold. Eleanora and Lowren rode along a trail that led up from the valley of Winderemere into the rugged foothills of the Juniper Mountains.

  Their breath and that of their ponies, high-spirited young animals glad to be out for a run, hung in the air. They were keeping the mounts to a slow walk, just enough to keep them warm but not break a sweat. Their voices were oddly muffled except when facing directly one another, and it was as if everything was swallowed up by a thick blanket of soft white snow.

  Lowren straightened up in the saddle.

  He gave her a look.

  “Ah. Now I know where we’re going.”

  She nodded, serious now after the sweet nothings and small talk of the first part of the journey.

  The Blue Stone was on a high promontory, where once a colony of rattlers had existed, before the sea-going people that were the ancestors of her people destroyed them in their own colonization. The path led up, ever up and around.