“Your Highness, we’re here to protect you…” he assured quickly, catching her wrist firmly in one hand as she instinctively swung at him again. “We’re here for the king but I need to see… to see how bad it is… please…”
“Charli… it’s alright…!” Phaesus croaked softly, managing to raise a hand and lay it gently on her shoulder in reassurance. “Everything will be alright…” There was strength enough in his words to bring her back to her senses for a moment, and with a sobbing sigh she relaxed her arm and withdrew, allowing William access.
He carefully reached down and lifted the bloodied rag just enough to see the wound beneath and gasped at the sight. There was no arrow nor crossbow bolt to be seen, yet a large hole had been punched straight through the chainmail and into the man’s side… quite deeply so far as he could tell. It looked almost as if he’d been speared, although there were no lancers present other than his own, and he was at a loss to find any other explanation. Either way, there was no avoiding the fact that it was almost certainly a mortal wound, and the flicker of shock and fear that flashed across his face was enough to reduce Charleroi to tears once more as the king met the young man’s horrified gaze and simply nodded in solemn recognition.
“Whatever the outcome, you must take us from here, captain…” Phaesus advised weakly, eyes flicking to his sobbing daughter for a moment. “Whatever happens, she must be safely away from here. Randwick… Randwick will know what to do.”
“Indeed, Your Majesty, we came with Master Randwick this very hour but – but we came too late…” William exclaimed, fighting to hold back tears of his own as his king continued to die before his very eyes.
“Not too late… not yet…” Phaesus assured, shaking his head. “Get my daughter to safety and you’ll have my blessing.”
“We’ll have you both to safety yet, Your Highness,” Randwick declared gruffly as he reined in how own beast and dropped to the boardwalk beside William, sabre in hand as more guards joined the fray with every passing second, rapidly overpowering the dwindling ranks of Baal’s troops. “We need to make for the safety of the fortress… can he ride…?” He asked quickly, turning to William.
“Not a chance…” The officer answered honestly, also rising to his feet, “…and I’d not rate his chances of making that journey even as a passenger. If he is to die though,” he added with a humourless smile, “it might as well be in the saddle as lying her on the boardwalk.”
“More chance on the move than standing to face those hell-spawned things,” Randwick agreed darkly as a third broadside struck warehouses and factories further to the west. Fire billowed skyward in huge clouds as a distillery was set alight by exploding shells, sending burning spirits flying in all directions and adding dozens more to the already-mounting casualties. “He can take my horse,” the old man added with a shrug. “We’ll not make much better than walking pace anyway until we clear the chaos in these streets…”
“There’s mine as well… for the princess…” Nev added loudly, having already dismounted and deciding that walking would be a better option moving forward. Her backside and thighs sore in ways she’d not imagined possible and she was happy to stay well away from horses for the time being.
“We can’t! We can’t move him!” Charleroi wailed, sharp enough to know the damage that was likely to do as William took the scarf from his neck, fashioned it into a rudimentary bandage and slipped it around the man’s waist to secure the dressing already there. “He’ll die!”
“We’ll all be dead if we stay here, Your Highness,” Randwick pointed out urgently, extending his hand and helping her to her feet as William and another guardsman took up positions on either side of the king, preparing to lift. There were more explosions along the docks, closer now and illustrating his point perfectly as debris clattered around them and they all flinched.
“Ready, your highness…!” William warned, receiving a pained nod in response as the pair steeled themselves and hoisted the king between them with a grunt of exertion and a muffled cry of agony from the king. “Up… up with him!”
“Here, bring him across,” Randwick directed, taking his horse by the reins and mane and guiding it slowly around until they were able to lift the king across the saddle from behind. “Can you ride, Highness…?”
“Well enough, sir… well enough… Let’s be away now: first to the Longhouse to gather as many as men as we can, then on to the fortress to plan our counter-attack.” Phaesus croaked with determination, forcing himself to sit upright as best he could as his old mentor passed the reins to William.
“Aye, and a savage one indeed,” the old man growled darkly as he gave the junior officer a quick nod. “See him safe… guard him with your life…”
“Always…” was all the reply that needed to be given. “Guardsmen – with me…!”
“The princess with me…!” Randwick barked then, climbing into the saddle of Nev’s horse and bringing it around as William remounted his own mount and led the king quickly away. “Come on, young lass: up you get…”
“The doctors…! The doctors at the Longhouse will know what to do!” She sobbed, barely coherent as he reached down and lifted her into the saddle ahead of him.
“Aye, lass…” he agreed, already knowing how bad the wound was and hating himself for the lie he’d just given. “Aye, they will. Let’s be to safety now.” He turned toward Nev, still standing to one side with bag on her back and sword at her hip. “And you, girl? You’ll be safer with us: we owe you that much at least…”
“She can ride with me, My Lord,” Godfrey called out from some distance away as he and Lester rode up at a canter, both of them sweaty and stained with soot and smoke. They’d become separated during the race to the king after fire from Devastator’s guns had shattered the boardwalk and forced them to backtrack through the city streets.
“How far to this Longhouse?” Nev asked, reaching up and accepting Godfrey’s hand as he leaned down on the saddle and hauled her up behind him.
“A half-mile or more,” Randwick answered, steadying his mount as another broadside howled overhead and exploded somewhere deep within the town itself, “and a dangerous ride at that! Away now! Keep up where you can! Yah…!” And with a shout and kick of his heels, he urged his horse forward, following after William, the guardsmen and the king as they pushed forward behind a wall of white-coated Huon soldiers.
A kilometre east of their position beyond the city walls, six large assault ships had coasted up to the beach, the easternmost of them taking great care not to come too close to the white-painted staves pinned into the sand there to denote the Keepsake that had been the cause of all the princess’ problems earlier in the week. Each ran aground in turn with oars raised, then dropped loading ramps on either side of the bow to allow mounted cavalry to come streaming out in waves.
The Burnii guards, although initially posted further back from the dockside ceremony itself, were strong in number all the same, and once the initial shock of the attack had passed they’d been quickly able to overpower their Taasi counterparts, forcing them away from the harbour and back against the city wall there. Many had managed to escape through one of two of the gates on that side while just as many had fallen against those towers of black-grey stone, left with no avenue of retreat and given no quarter by Huon troopers incensed by news that the king had been betrayed.
Those who’d managed to slip free were now running headlong to the east along the beach, Baal and Garrick among them, and they were met halfway by the advance guards of the newly-landed cavalry. The prince was immediately given a horse and sent back to a makeshift command post close to one of the grounded boats where – somewhat miraculously, in Baal’s opinion – Silas, Roland and De Lisle were already standing around a large map table, engaged in serious conversation with Harald the Black himself. Behind them both, remaining aloof at a discreet distance, Persephone also stood watching the proceedings, outwardly calm but with eyes alight as she watched the cavalry for
m and move out toward the impending battle.
Harald was a huge bear of a man standing as tall as Randwick and markedly broader across the chest and shoulders. He was also of similar age to the mentor and his face and arms carried a number of battle scars earned during some of the many battles he’d led personally over his thirty-year reign. It had been expected that Harald would arrive aboard Devastator as part of the now-aborted peace talks… it was of no surprise whatsoever to Baal of anyone else who knew the man that he’d instead arrived with his own assault forces, ready to place himself at the forefront of battle.
“The Burnii garrison holds the upper hand!” The prince barked breathlessly as he slid from his horse and jogged across to join the gathering, his arrival barely raising a glance or even an eyebrow from anyone else. “My bluecoats are being forced out of the town and back toward us, here…”
“No great surprise,” Harald grunted, not bothering to look up from the map of Huon he’d spread out across the table top. “Their numbers are greater: it’s to be expected.” This time he did look up, fixing Baal with a cold, soulless gaze. “Those fops you call a bodyguard have served their purpose well enough in keeping them within the city walls. We’ve landed heavy-horse without opposition, with shock troops coming in with the next wave: there’ll be nought that can stop them now with support from Devastator’s guns.”
“They’ve more men at the Longhouse and atop the hill…” Garrick chimed in, catching up with Baal and also breathing heavily with exertion and excitement. “It can be only a quarter-hour or less before they march out to meet us…”
“The Longhouse is of no concern…” Harald shrugged with little interest, casting a cursory glance over his shoulder at the looming shadow of it through the smoke and haze of battle that was already floating past their position. “The fortress may prove a harder nut to crack but they’ll not sally forth from there in force. The walls are their strength, and they’ll not sacrifice that advantage; better for them to wait out a siege while armies are raised throughout the rest of the country to march against us.”
“They’d risk everything on such a plan?” Garrick was dumfounded at the thought, while Baal simply nodded, deep in thought.
“Aye… and in any other battle, they’d be right to do so, for we’d never have been able to hold a beachhead against such numbers. This time however it shall be their end... Cardinal…!” Harald turned to De Lisle and barked is words with such force that any lesser man might’ve flinched. “A message to your man aboard Thunderbolt… tell the captain he may fire at will on the Longhouse: with Phaesus and the whelp gone, I’ve a mind to see it burning…”
“My Lord…” Baal began haltingly, the chill of fear rippling through him at that moment. “Did my messenger not precede me…? The king is not dead or… at least… he still lived when last I saw him…”
For the first time since he’d arrived, the prince had Harald’s full attention, and he found it to be an exceptionally uncomfortable experience.
“Are you telling me you failed…?” The huge man demanded, his words becoming a roar of rage at the end of the sentence. “…That even with this magical killing machine of yours,” he continued, slapping Baal’s shoulder heavily near where he’s slung the shotgun, “you still could not accomplish the one thing with which you were tasked?”
“There… there was confusion – interference…” Baal griped evasively, searching for excuses. “He was mortally wounded when I left him: he’ll not last the night, I swear it on my life…”
“Your life indeed,” Harald snarled darkly, ice in his tone. “And the daughter…? What of her…?”
“She… she was not harmed, so far as I know, sire…” Baal admitted eventually, terrified of the man’s expected reaction but unable to avoid the truth of it.
“You fool…!” De Lisle snapped, pre-empting anything Harald was likely to have said next. “Do you realise the position this leaves you in? Not only have you tried to kill a king and failed but you’ve left alive his only rightful heir. Regardless of the circumstances, you should’ve been next in line for the throne… with her alive, all you are now is a usurper… a traitor. She was already a beautiful young princess and now you have made her an orphan… the orphan of a martyr…! Stories like this are the stuff of legend, you stumbling clod! Empires are lost because of them!”
“She’s a girl, preacher, not a Shard God,” Harald pointed out, almost amused by the rabid fervour of the cardinal’s rage. “She’ll die as quick as any other with a blade at her throat. Let’s not mourn our battles before they’re lost just yet. Get this idiot out of my sight…” he added gruffly, turning to the nearest guard and clearly referring to Baal. “Better yet… put him in with Third Cavalry and send him up to the fortress with the scouts…” he added, grinning evilly as a flash of fear again flickered in the prince’s eyes. “Maybe you can see for yourself if Phaesus still lives, and if you come back from that alive, then perhaps I’ll forget about your incompetence. You’ll leave that infernal ‘hand-cannon’ behind as well: I’ll not have you make things worse by losing that the moment you’re out of my sight! Take him away, boy…” he ordered the guard, “…and give these orders to the commander of Three-Cav: they’re to ford the Mu the moment the Longhouse is done, then circle east up Round Hill from Wyvern Hole via the Stewpot Road. Tell him not to spare the horses: that’s where he’ll be heading if the king does still live, and our task will be a good deal easier if they’re caught before they reach the safety of the fortress.”
“She’s with them…” Percy observed softly, speaking for the first time as she stepped cautiously forward and whispered in the cardinal’s ear at a quiet moment as the others returned to their maps and Baal was taken away.
“The witch…?” De Lisle asked in surprise, fixing her with a suspicious glare. “You have no power now: how could you possibly know that?”
“I don’t know how,” she answered with more honesty than usual, managing to affect a shrug as if it were no big deal but throwing Silas an evil glare all the same. “Maybe it’s because ‘Satan’s house-elf’ over there burned us both with the same crystal – or tried to, in her case… don’t know how; I just know… She’s there and she’s going to help them… she has been helping them…”
“Being touched by Dragonfire alone isn’t enough for such a connection,” De Lisle shook his head slowly, regarding her with a cautious eye of his own, “although it may be part of it…”
She speaks the truth… The words boomed in the cardinal’s head, jumbling his thoughts for a second or two as he struggled to show no outward effect.
“See…? Told you…” Percy pointed out, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.
“You heard that…?” De Lisle croaked, his voice almost breaking with shock as he took her by the arm and drew her a few metres away from the group. “They have spoken to you directly…?”
“I’ve heard him before,” she shrugged again, then conceded: “…first time without a crystal, though. I figured he was just working through yours…”
“It’s rare for the Shard Gods to speak through another’s link… although not unheard of…” he admitted reluctantly. Extremely rare, he didn’t add, but the fact remained that for whatever reason, the Gods had decided to trust this girl enough to speak directly with her, and if that was the case it was most likely in De Lisle’s best interest to do the same. “It seems they have some use for you yet, as I suspected might be the case. What would you do next?”
“I’d send a crystal up to the fortress with Prince Idiot for a start,” she answered immediately, having been thinking about exactly that subject for some time as the others had talked, trying to decide how best to turn it to her own purposes. “She may not know how to use that thing properly – yet – but it could still be dangerous in the wrong hands.” She paused for a moment for effect, then added: “She might also use it to heal the king…” That terrible thought hadn’t even occurred to De Lisle, and it frighte
ned him more than a little now as he considered the possibility. “…You could send me up there with them, but that would mean giving me another pendant and I doubt I’ve been forgiven enough yet for that to happen…”
“And the alternative might be…?” He asked almost tiredly, well aware there was already another idea waiting behind her calculating gaze.
“Send the old fart instead…” She suggested evenly, certain the cardinal would know exactly who she was referring to. “She wouldn’t even have a crystal if it weren’t for him: the least he can do is make amends…”
“With a brother nearby, we might be able to block the witch…” De Lisle mused thoughtfully, liking the idea more the longer he considered it. “We should be able to raise a wall against her, but we’ll need a point of focus close to her position and there’s not many experienced enough to handle that kind of power. I doubt Brother Silas will be pleased with such a decision…”
“And which part of that is my problem…?” She responded coldly, arching one eyebrow. “Is there anyone else could do it…?”
“Yes, but not as well…”
“Then hey, it’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it…” Percy shrugged again, not caring for Silas’ well-being in the slightest.
“Indeed…” De Lisle conceded, unable to fault her logic. “Brother Silas!” He called out, turning toward the old man and gaining his attention immediately. “A word, if you don’t mind…”
They’d been forced to move inland, use of the coast road made far too dangerous by the arrival of Harald’s assault ships, and it had taken far too long for William, Randwick and the others to draw within sight of the Longhouse as a result. Circling around from the south, they’d reached the meander of the Mu River and turned to follow it north again, back toward the towering structure from behind where they were safe from the prying eyes of their enemies on the beach.
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