The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

  I cannot dwell on that night. Got to be strong. Keep moving.

  But it was so hard.

  Shallan glanced at Lord Tolruan’s dead face. His eyes stared out at her in surprise from beneath his helmet. She turned away, watched as blowflies clustered noisily around the gaping wounds of the bodies all around her.

  So much death.

  Shallan felt her gorge rise. She lurched forward and vomited again and again until her stomach cried out in rebellion. Then as the cramps subsided Shallan stood up. Her jaw was set with resolution.

  You cannot go back—have to keep moving forward. That or perish. Shallan was a duke’s daughter and she would do as Barin had advised and see to her father below. It was time to stop fretting and care about others instead.

  Shallan gave one last withered stare out across the city. The streets were strangely quiet now and empty of citizens. Apart from the distant sounds of fighting reaching out to her from over a mile away, the only sounds were the groans of the wounded under the surgeon’s scalpels somewhere below.

  Briskly with mind made up, Shallan descended to the street below and wound her way purposely toward where her father lay dying. If the city were to fall then she would die at his side. That was only fitting.

  Shallan had reclaimed her fallen bow and collected a handful of arrows. She had her new knife too, which she’d thrust into her waist belt. Shallan sprinted across and down to the healing houses where the surgeons worked assiduously on the wounded, maimed and dying. Somewhere in their blood-soaked midst she would find the room where rested the Duke of Morwella.

  ***

  Scarce moments after Shallan left the battlements, two bloody hands gained purchase on the wall. With an agonised heave Rael Hakkenon launched his battered body back over the parapet. He looked a mess: two of the fingers on his right hand were broken, his face was covered in tiny scars from the thorns and his silver hair matted with dried blood. He was in a rare foul mood.

  Rael scanned the grisly scene with indifference before dropping silently down onto the deserted walkway. Not a good result for Crenna. A second time his hardy boys had fled back to the ships without seeking him out. Back on the island he’d grill the lot of them over an open fire and recruit new blood. But for the time being he still needed them, craven bastards though they were.

  Glancing below, Rael saw Shallan running in the distance. He recognised her as being with Barin. She was making for the healing houses.

  Rael smiled at this new development. Here was someone he could vent his stresses on. The girl vanished inside the building and Rael gave careful chase, hugging the walls and making sure nobody saw him. He entered the building, ignoring the groans all around. Rael glimpsed Shallan talking to a healer before vanishing behind another doorway. He waited a moment then stole across and entered unnoticed behind.

  Chapter 43

  The East Wall

  When Barin reached the east wall he was confronted by total chaos. There were Groil everywhere, and the hard-pressed defenders were retreating in panic. He had to act fast lest all be lost.

  With a yell the Northman and his men fell on the Groil from behind, catching them unawares with such savagery, they backed away from the windmill path of Barin’s axe. Barin roared at the city defenders to stand their ground. Awed by his presence, they obeyed. Pont the messenger boy looked stunned as he watched the giant axeman and his ferocious warriors fall upon the foe.

  Like a vengeful war god out of a lost saga Barin strode forth, eyes blazing blue fire and blond braids trailing down his back. Behind him came Fassof, wiry and mean, Cogga with curved blade and nasty knife, Taic and Sveyn, both hauling axes, and seven other shipmates they’d found along the way, Barin’s men having been scattered all along the west wall during the skirmish with Rael Hakkenon. Lastly stalked Zukei, wild-eyed and murderous. A lean spiky-haired killer, armed with slender sword and throwing axe, both weapons hewing a path through the Groil.

  The Groil fell back in disarray, not used to this sudden ferocity. They had relied on fear till now and that had worked. But with brutal efficiency Barin and company swept the Groil clean from the east wall and above the gate, earning the defenders a brief respite.

  Barin paused to take breath. Beside him Fassof leaned on the parapet and belched down at the milling horde below. He turned, hearing a soft thud, and saw that another ladder now rested on the battlements some twenty yards away.

  “We’ve got company,” Fassof grunted.

  “I don’t know what’s keeping that lot down there,” Cogga said.

  “Perhaps they didn’t make enough ladders,” suggested Taic. “They seem a bit dishevelled.”

  “Don’t knock it,” responded Cogga.

  “Shut up, you twits, and follow me!” Barin was already beating a path to where the enemy were spilling onto the wall.

  There were few guards over there and already two score men had climbed over the parapet. They were led by a huge warrior garbed entirely in black. Barin recognised Derino and smiled.

  “Zukei, lads, kill those buggers. I’ll deal with their leader. I promised him an education.”

  Perani’s second was a huge man, almost Barin’s size and from head to toe decked in sable armour. In his right gauntlet he heaved a heavy mace whilst his left clutched a broad serrated sax. Behind the leader were his prized bodyguard. All were ex-Tigers—huge burly men renowned for their prowess at killing.

  Derino saw Barin approaching at speed and smiled. It was time he dealt with this Northman. Derino had underestimated the defenders. He’d expected the Groil to have terrorized them into surrender. Instead they’d fought with stubborn tenacity. Derino had promised Caswallon’s spy he’d have the gates open by mid-afternoon. Now he realised he’d miscalculated. No matter, he would put an end to this charade himself. And that would start with Barin.

  “Take the city,” ordered Derino, waving the ex-Tigers on. “I will deal with this barbarian!”

  ***

  Hoofbeats drummed the morning. Golden sunlight danced off steel-bright mail as Ariane of the Swords led her small army towards the bright walls of Calprissa. Ariane could see the dark horde spoiling beneath the eastern walls and prayed that they were in time to save the city. She saw no breaches and wondered why the enemy hadn’t brought any siege machines or mangonels. Were they that arrogant? It seemed so.

  She urged her mare on and her host followed behind, their horses at the trot. The road plunged narrow between two green hills. They entered a wood, forded a fast flowing river and then the road veered up to a high windy ridge. At its crown Ariane reined in. The city lay before them, two or three miles away. The riders could hear the sound of fighting coming from the city walls.

  Queen Ariane wheeled her mare about and addressed her riders.

  “I’ve no brave speeches,” she told them. “Just want to say how proud I am of each and every one of you. Raleenian and Kelwynian both, I’m honoured to have you following me. For freedom from tyranny and victory against the odds,” she shouted, “let us ride!”

  The riders roared approval as Ariane guided her mare to face the city again.

  “To Calprissa and victory!” Ariane pulled back her reins and leaned forward in her saddle. The mare whinnied and kicked its forelegs high. Men hooted and cheered.

  “Elanion is with us!” Ariane yelled at them. “Come, my heroes! Ride with your queen to war!”

  “To battle!” Captain Tarello shouted beside her, then in a quieter voice added, “Goddess, ward Queen Ariane from harm, her survival is paramount to our cause.” She smiled at him then, and together queen and captain spurred their horses forward, and with a thunder of spear on shield her host followed. Like a thread of silver fire the riders streaked down from the hillside entering the level plain below.

  The walls loomed higher as they galloped at speed toward Calprissa. Three miles, two miles—the gap closed. One mile. At Ariane’s right thundered Captain Tarello, his face flushed with battle fever.

  Not far b
ehind him rode ‘Squire’ Galed, eyes wide with panic as he clung desperately to his frothing steed and willed himself to stay put. Someone yelled in his ear. Galed glanced across. He nearly fell from his horse when he saw the boy Cale riding alongside him.

  “You?” Galed gasped. “Idiot boy! I—” Galed’s words were swallowed by the deafening rumble of hooves on stone.

  Cale grinned back at him. The boy had been unable to contain his excitement any longer. Galed clenched his teeth. The queen would boil both of them alive but it was too late now. The east wall was looming close.

  Ahead a shout announced the enemy had seen them and were turning to confront them. Galed closed his eyes and prayed out loud to Elanion. Beside him, Cale gripped his reins tightly with his left hand, while with his other he unsheathed his pilfered sword. He twiddled it through the air but almost dropped it. (Something he’d seen Corin do with that longsword of his but Cale hadn’t perfected the art yet). He decided on caution rather than flare, clinging to the hilt with greasy fingers and releasing a manic yell, as his queen and comrades bore down on the startled foe.

  Ariane’s cavalry tore through the enemy camp like a silver tornado. At Tarello’s orders the riders had formed a tight wedge with spears thrust forward and shields locked together. Like a huge silver arrowhead they pierced the rear of Derino’s horde, ploughing a deep furrow through its ranks.

  Everywhere was mayhem as the enemy fled from the sudden unexpected onslaught coming from behind. Ariane’s face was flushed with excitement—all fear banished by the immediate. She yelled as her rapier slashed the mask from a fleeing foe. Then she hacked out with the sabre at a hooded spearmen, gasping when she realised it was a Groil. So it wasn’t only men they were fighting. That only hardened her resolve. Caswallon’s ghouls were no match for her army.

  “Die!” Ariane yelled as she sliced the throat of another hoodie. Beside her Tarello’s spear gored through two Groil but stuck in the last one’s midriff. Tarello dropped the weapon and unleashed his broadsword.

  “Time for some wet work!” Tarello yelled at his queen.

  Ariane’s wedge cut deep and fast into Caswallon’s horde. In its midst were two terrified riders. Galed, shielded at either side by warriors, sat his saddle in gap-jawed disbelief.

  He had actually asked to join in this lunacy. Why? His knuckles were white and his brow was sweating profusely despite the cold. Galed’s prime concern was to stay on his saddle and not get crushed. No mean accomplishment. One slip would lead to a very nasty end. He hadn’t even unsheathed his sword because he dared not let go of the reins.

  Behind Galed, Cale swiped his blade at a passing spearman, reaching out too far and nearly falling from his horse. Bad idea. Then a Groil emerged from nowhere and swung a serrated sword at Cale’s exposed legs.

  Shit!

  Cale tried to block but missed. He yelled in panic as the wicked blade slid across toward his unprotected knee. Then the Groil fell back, gored by the Raleenian lancer on Cale’s left flank. The rider grinned at him.

  “You’re a crap warrior,” the Raleenian told him.

  Cale muttered thanks and clung to his sword, feeling suddenly very shaky. The boy hoped this battle wouldn’t last too long. He clearly needed to invest in a training program. Perhaps he should have stayed in Wynais after all. Too late for regrets. Best Cale hang on and keep his head on his shoulders.

  Queen Ariane and Captain Tarello urged their frothing steeds to greater speed. As yet they’d not lost a man due to the swiftness and surprise of their attack. The steely wedge parted foes like windblown wheat. But they were running out of space.

  They had reached the walls and the enemy were closing again. Tarello yelled out to Darosi, the Raleenian captain, ordering his elite lancers to form a circle around the queen and cut their way across to the east gates. The Kelwynians would follow behind.

  Once beneath the gates the combined force would yell to the guard to let them through to aid the defenders within. It would be touch and go but there was little else they could do, greatly outnumbered as they were.

  The Raleenians complied, locking shields and forming a broad circle with lances lowered ready. Behind them were the Kelwynian guard and finally the archers awaiting their chance. At Tarello’s signal, and keeping the wall behind them, Ariane’s army pressed towards the gates. A shiny beetle surrounded by dark milling ants. The enemy closing in on all sides.

  Ariane fought alongside the Raleenians, her silver armour drenched in blood. She hacked to left and right, killing men and Groil, often not knowing which unless the hideous masks fell to reveal the faces. Worried, the lancers closed ranks around her.

  “I need more bloody room!” Ariane shrieked. But then Tarello intervened and, despite her protestations, Ariane was surrounded by a protective ring of steel.

  “I lead from the front!” Ariane yelled at Tarello. She was furious.

  “You’re no good to us dead, my Queen!” the captain yelled back.

  “Bollocks!” Despite her anger Ariane was forced back to where the archers stood nearest the wall.

  It was then that the queen saw Cale lurking close by the archers. The boy’s expression was one of sheer terror mixed with deranged excitement. Despite this he looked pale and sick and sat his horse with the grace of a sack of potatoes.

  Ariane’s face blanched white. She mouthed a question but the milling of horses and jostling of their riders widened the gap between her and the boy. Soon Cale was lost from her sight.

  “Hold ranks!” Darosi was shouting as his lancers stoically inched across to the gates. Not much further but the Raleenians were taking the brunt of the attack. Fifty had fallen already and almost twenty of Tolranna’s picked guard. “Hold!” Tarello added his voice to the Raleenian captain. “The gates are close!”

  Ariane was beyond livid. She saw Galed struggling with his horse as he urged the beast across to hers. He didn’t look happy.

  “What’s that fucking boy doing here?” Ariane screamed at him.

  “I don’t know,” Galed yelled back. “I thought he was in Wynais.”

  But then Ariane was forced to forget about Cale. The enemy had broken through the Raleenian cordon, and were cutting and hacking their way to where she sat on her horse. But before they could reach her Darosi’s defensive ring closed again, killing all trapped inside. They’d been lucky but time was running out. The gates were still thirty foot away.

  They reached an outthrust buttress and were hemmed tight in its corner, trapped by the very walls they had sought to save. Groil and men pressed down on them. Ariane saw her fighters falling beneath that storm. The enemy surrounded Ariane’s fast shrinking army like a winter sea lashing a lighthouse. Groil reached out with steely claws, pulling soldiers from their steeds and tearing them to pieces. Men screamed and died. Horses whinnied and trampled their bodies. She saw Captain Darosi pulled from his horse by snarling Groil, his screams lost in the melee below.

  Then the enemy archers arrived. Shafts buzzed at them from all angles except the wall behind. Most bounced off armour or stuck to shields but some found their mark. They were so close but they’d never reach the gates now.

  Ariane watched in horror as her valiant army began to crumble beneath the towering might of the foe. They were trapped. Her brave plan had failed. Soon she would die and her kingdom fall to ruin.

  ***

  Barin bid Fassof keep the others back. “This is personal.”

  Derino’s men filed back along the wall, allowing their leader room. There were only twenty present as most had already jumped down into the city below. These rash raiders proved overconfident. They died to a man, surrounded and butchered by Calprissan militia, the city guard having rallied at last.

  Those militia now leaped up the stairs to the east wall, arriving just in time to view the confrontation between the Northman and his enemy.

  “I’ve come to call in my debt.” Derino loomed close like a steel tower. “Time’s up, barbarian.”

  Bari
n felt the battle rage soar through his veins. This time he would put it to full use. He felt calm: the eye of the storm. Removed from the carnage surrounding him, his mind wandered as it often did at these moments. Derino watched him in silence.

  “Are you ready, strawhead?”

  Barin could see more ladders appearing along the wall, all teeming with masked invaders. The odds were getter worse by the minute. His instinct told him Calprissa was at breaking point. Barin thought of Shallan and her father trapped in the healing house. Soon to be surrounded.

  He pictured his friend Corin somewhere far away on that crazy quest. All for what—a wizard’s wild gambit? Lastly he thought of his pretty daughters and Marigold, his wife. So long since last he’d seen them. Barin tried to picture their faces but it was hopeless in the chaos.

  Rage. Let it rain on down.

  The defenders of Calprissa’s walls were surrounded. It was only a matter of time before they fell. Barin could hear his men and Zukei engaging with Derino’s thugs. The world stopped turning. Barin’s vision sharpened and his mind narrowed to one thing. Killing. And thus Barin focused on the armoured figure bearing down on him. He smiled feeling the berserkergang take hold. Rage and Fury. The Northman’s hidden weapon, they called it.

  “Yes I’m ready.” Barin grinned and swung the axe.

  Derino’s mace slammed toward Barin’s head, but Wyrmfang trapped it mid swing. Barin tugged, yanking Derino toward him, but his enemy disengaged and leapt aside.

  Barin rammed Wyrmfang’s beak up under the chin guard of Derino’s horned helm. Derino leapt back and lashed out with the sax, scoring a cut down Barin’s left arm. Barin hardly noticed it.

  Again he swung the axe.

  Derino danced aside, whirling his mace round in blinding speed and narrowly missing Barin’s right ear. The Northman leapt back in the nick of time. He stabbed out again with the beak of the axe, aiming to pierce the thin gorget around Derino’s throat.