Heart of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  "Could you tell whose soldiers they were?" pressed Alric.

  "No," he lied.

  Something screamed inside him to share what he had seen, but years of experience on the frontier made him disbelieve what he had observed. He needed time to think it over, but there was so much as stake. Beverly was still holding the bowl after taking a sip. She passed it to Jack, who politely declined the offer.

  The shaman put his hand out, waiting for the bowl to be passed back to him. "The test is done," he announced.

  "Test?" Anna turned suddenly. "You almost killed Gerald. What sort of welcome is that?"

  "He was never in danger," replied Andurak. "He was on a spirit journey, guided by our ancestors. I have never seen it have this effect on a Human before, though I must admit few Humans have tasted of the milk of life. Now you must come with me." He rose to his feet, waiting while the others did likewise. He held his hand in the air to get their attention. "Only a few may go," he said, turning to Anna. "You must pick, no more than four."

  "Gerald, Beverly, Hayley and Revi," she announced. "Does Tempus count?"

  The shaman smiled, "You chose wisely, the beast may accompany us."

  "Where are we going," asked Gerald.

  "To a place not far from here, there is something you need to see."

  "Why can't we all go?" asked Alric.

  "There are some here," the shaman replied, "who are not yet ready to face what is to come. Bide your time, they shall return before daybreak."

  "But it's not even dark yet," complained Jack. "Do you at least have wine here?"

  They filed out of the clearing, following the Shaman in single file. He was walking with slow, measured steps and Gerald thought he might be counting paces. They stopped when they were out of range of the sounds of camp. The shaman turned to face them, raising his staff in his right hand.

  "I shall invoke a spell," he said. "Be not afraid, for it will not hurt you."

  "What spell?" asked Revi.

  "Your spirits will be transported to another location. When the spell is done its course, you will be returned here."

  "What will happen while we're in this spirit form?" asked Anna.

  "You will be taken to another place. You will be able to see and hear all around you, but will not have physical substance. You will be able to observe, but not interact, and will appear ghostlike to each other."

  "Master Revi," asked Anna, "have you heard of this?"

  "Indeed I have, Highness," he remarked. "It's called spirit walk, though I've never seen it in actual use. It's mentioned in an ancient tome in my library. I believe it was developed by the Elves."

  A harsh look crossed the shaman's face, "The spell is Orcish in origin, not the blasphemous magic of the Elves."

  "I stand corrected," said the mage. "I meant no disrespect. I am at the mercy of those who wrote the tomes of which I speak."

  "Understandable," said the Shaman. "Our traditions are oral, therefore we have no written works. It seems quite likely the Elves took our discovery as their own."

  "Why do you hate the Elves so much?" asked Anna.

  "Many generations ago they destroyed our cities in a war that lasted for years. We call it the time of the great parting. Our people were scattered to the ends of the land, to live out their lives in exile."

  "How many cities were there?" she persisted.

  "There were seven great cities," he replied. "But now is not the time for a history lesson. There is much for you to see. Are you ready?"

  They nodded their assent and then the shaman began chanting. Gerald noticed some runes on the Orc's staff begin to light up as he spoke, and a feeling of warmth spread over him. He felt himself being pulled out of his body and suddenly he flew into the air in a rush, his physical form left below. The air seemed to distort, and then he was standing on a ledge, looking into a ravine. It appeared to be a box canyon, with only one way open. He glanced to his side and saw Anna standing beside him, her whole being lit like an angel. He became aware of others when moments later they appeared, as if from thin air, materializing slowly in their ghostly form.

  "We are here," announced the shaman. "Look below and tell me what you see."

  Gerald crouched at the edge of the ledge to look. There were dozens of dead deer carcasses, partially stripped of meat and rotting in the sunlight.

  "This is horrible," remarked Anna. "These animals have been slaughtered.

  "Yes," agreed Gerald. "Someone's killed them all, but why?"

  "Food, most likely," offered Hayley. "I can see arrows in the bodies. Someone has stripped some meat but done a sloppy job of it."

  "This was done by soldiers, not hunters," said Gerald.

  "How do you know that?" asked Anna.

  "They've only taken the easy cuts of meat."

  "No Orc would allow this to happen," said the Shaman. "It unbalances nature."

  "Can we go down and get a better look?" asked Hayley. "We might be able to get some idea of who did this."

  The shaman nodded his head, leading them to a steep incline. Soon, they were walking through the carnage, the stench of death overpowering.

  Hayley stooped near a body, trying to withdraw an arrow, but her ghostly fingers slipped through it. She walked among the dead until finally, she spotted what she was looking for; an arrow lying on the ground. Likely someone had missed the target, and it had come to rest here.

  "The arrow looks Mercerian," she stated. "The arrows in Weldwyn have different fletchings."

  Beverly walked over to take a look, crouching down, almost lying on the ground to examine the tip in detail.

  "This is no Mercerian arrow," she stated.

  "How do you know?" asked Hayley.

  "The arrowhead is cheaper metal. No smith in Merceria would make such a weapon."

  "What are you saying?" asked Gerald.

  Beverly rose, blushing slightly, "I've spent quite a bit of time in a forge. Aldwin taught me all kinds of things about weapon craft. I think this is a Norland arrow."

  Gerald considered this carefully as things began to fall into place in his mind. "What would happen," he mused, "if Mercerian troops attacked Norwatch."

  "It would be war," said Beverly. "But we don't have an army here."

  "But if soldiers attacked Norwatch dressed as Mercerians, wouldn't the effect be the same?" he persisted.

  "How do you know they're after Norwatch?" asked Revi.

  "It has to be," Gerald continued. "Don't you see? If they attacked further east, they'd have to come across the river, or no one would believe it. I don't know what my vision was, but I saw soldiers wearing the colours of the King of Merceria."

  "Why didn't you say so sooner," asked Anna.

  "Something was wrong. I've seen lots of soldiers back home, but their choice of weapons and armour felt out of place. They must have been Norlanders playing the part."

  "We have to get back to Norwatch," chimed in Hayley, "before they attack."

  "How many troops are in the village," Anna asked.

  "I saw no more than a dozen," offered Beverly, "and half of them are likely out patrolling the road. They'd never be able to stop the troops who did this. Judging by the arrows, there must have been scores of them."

  "How do you know that?" asked Revi.

  "That's easy," interrupted Hayley, "the arrows come from many angles. They likely drove the deer into this canyon then shot from the cliffs."

  "In my vision, I saw at least a hundred," Gerald added.

  "Return us please, Andurak," asked Anna. "We have work to do."

  Gerald felt a slight breeze brushing his face, and then he found himself back in the clearing. He glanced around to see the look of determination on everyone's face.

  "We must hurry," he said. "I don't know how much time we have."

  Eighteen

  The Battle of the Northern Wood

  Autumn 960 MC

  The village of Norwatch was little more than a small collection of buildings, reminding G
erald of Uxley in size. Its defense was an impossible task; they had very few defenders at their disposal. In addition to their own group, there were six soldiers present, along with half a dozen locals armed with makeshift weapons.

  Gerald had placed Hayley atop the Fiddlers Bow, the largest structure in town. From there, her vantage point gave her a good view of the surrounding area. He had organized the townsfolk to throw up some makeshift defenses; wagons tipped on their sides, barrels roped together to provide obstacles to the attackers, and sacks and crates piled to form walls. There was no way to create a complete wall, so he settled on making a stand in the rough centre of the village where the tavern formed a 'T' intersection along with the local church and the saddlers. He had urged the commoners to take up positions of safety, and now most huddled in the cellar of the church, praying to Malin that they be spared.

  His best fighters; Jack, Beverly and Celia, he placed in the middle, making them able to respond to any location should the need arise. Alric had claimed to be quite capable with a sword, but Gerald knew he couldn't risk the life of a Prince of Weldwyn, for his death would have far-reaching consequences. He and Anna were atop the tavern, along with Revi, helping Hayley keep watch. As for himself, he stood near the town guards, behind a row of barrels, waiting for the inevitable.

  It was just as well the baron wasn't present for once Alric made himself known, the locals responded to the crisis in a workmanlike manner. These were hardy people, he knew, unlikely to run and eager to defend their homes and loved ones. He prayed to Saxnor to spare them the loss that would inevitably come with a battle but felt it did little good. The affairs of men were of small consequence to the Gods. Besides, it was the clash of steel that would decide this day.

  A shout of warning came from the roof of the tavern. Hayley was pointing with her bow while he readied the men in front of him. The enemy had decided on a straightforward rush, being confident in their numbers. They didn't have to take the town to accomplish their objective. In their minds, a simple attack and withdraw was all they needed to convince the locals that a Mercerian army was at their door. Gerald smiled grimly; they had no knowledge that real Mercerians were here, right now, waiting for them.

  They came out of the woods in a mass, crossing the open field behind the stables, seemingly taking their time. Half of them weren't even running, merely walking toward them. There were shouts and jeers from the attackers, and then suddenly an arrow seemed to blossom from one's chest as Hayley let fly with her longbow. Her target gaped at the wound and then fell forward, breaking the shaft in his descent. Swearing erupted from the enemy troops before they then broke into a trot. Gerald wished he had more archers but there was little he could do.

  The enemy was stretched out, more or less in line, and he realized that their flanks would overlap the town. He dispatched Jack and two of the local soldiers to hold the western end of his defenses while Celia and Beverly moved east. The attackers drew closer until he could just make out individual faces as they started yelling, making the final dash for the village.

  In their preparations, the defenders had collected whatever tools and weapons they could find. Gerald gave the order, and the men to his front threw the hatchets and knives that they had gathered. He saw an enemy soldier take an axe to the face, screaming as he fell backwards, but his comrades surged forward.

  Gerald let them come; the barricades funnelling them, making them bunch up in their eagerness to overwhelm the defenders. At the last moment, he stepped into them, slashing violently with his blade. It sliced through an invader's arm, severing the limb, which fell to the ground. The victim collapsed, screaming, but Gerald didn't pause, he jabbed forward into the belly of another man. Someone stabbed with a spear to his side, the tip glancing off his chainmail. Lacking a shield, he grabbed the haft of the spear with his left hand, pulling the weapon from his attacker's grasp. Two men tried to force their way past him, but he butted one with the newly acquired spear; not strong enough to do damage, but sufficient to make him back up in alarm.

  He stomped forward, stabbing with his sword, the blade scraping across the enemy's collarbone. His foe tried to swing his axe, but Gerald followed through by smashing the man in the face with the pommel of his sword. His target fell back, blood gushing from his nose while Gerald retreated to the barricade.

  A Norwatch soldier beside him took an arrow to the face while Gerald dove behind the makeshift wall. Arrows sailed over the top of the barricade as the enemy archers finally let loose. Hayley was shooting arrow after arrow, each one striking a target; the heavy draw of the longbow sufficient to make the arrows puncture the enemy's armour.

  Gerald peered out from his cover, and then ducked and cursed as a hail of arrows descended on his location. He looked down the street to see Jack. He was standing on the barricade, blade dripping with blood, taunting the enemy as they withdrew from his position. The fool, thought Gerald. If they had bows to the west, he'd be a dead man.

  He heard fighting to his right, the eastern flank. Beverly and Celia, both in their armour were handling the invaders without his help.

  Two of the local soldiers were down. One was dead, the other bleeding from an arrow wound to the leg. Gerald reached out, grabbing the man's arm and dragging him behind the barricade. He knew the enemy couldn't continue the advance until their arrows stopped and so he bound the injured man's wound as best he could. The clatter of arrows against the barricade subsided; it would only be a matter of moments before they were on him again.

  Two men in chainmail led the charge. The first was big and carried a large two-handed sword. The second had a shield and mace. Gerald silently thanked Saxnor for the enemy's stupidity. A great sword requires a lot of room to use properly, and he would use that knowledge to his advantage.

  He backed up, letting the two attackers surge toward the barricade. He struck just as they drew even with the defenses to either side. The gap was sufficient to stand two abreast, but there was no room to swing the mighty sword. The large man was hefting his blade over his head, intent on bringing it down in a powerful heave, leaving him wide open. Gerald stepped forward without hesitation, stabbing the man in the groin. His target crumpled to the ground, his attack all but forgotten in his agony. As he fell his blade went wide and the second man had to raise his shield to protect himself from the wild movements of his companion. Gerald ducked, then pushed forward, using his sword like a spear, driving it into the other invader's chest. The enemy crumpled with little more than a sigh. Gerald lifted the dead man's shield, hefting it onto his arm, feeling more secure with the extra protection.

  Having seen their heroes go down, the enemy balked, and Gerald ran out, past the barricade, swinging at any and all before him. Astounded by the sudden rush, they backed up then turned to run away. He knew they would be back once they reformed, so he returned to the barricade, to catch his breath. Soon, the arrows began their assault again, and he once more took refuge behind his shelter.

  He heard a noise behind him and turned to see Revi crawling toward him trying to avoid the maelstrom of arrows. The mage rose to a crouch, running the last few paces, and then knelt to heal the injured guardsman.

  "How many of them are out there?" he asked.

  "Too many," replied Gerald. "We'll have to pull back and make a stand at the tavern."

  "What about the people in the church cellar?" he called.

  "They're too busy trying to kill us. When the arrows stop, get the soldiers back to the tavern."

  "What about you?" the mage asked.

  "I'll be fine, I've got my armour."

  Revi moved the soldier to a crouching position, his wound healed. The rain of arrows ceased, and Revi stood, helping the soldier to his feet. Though healed of his wound, he had lost a lot of blood and was weak. Revi put the man's arm over his shoulder and supported him as they made their way toward safety.

  Gerald watched the enemy advancing. This time, they had learned their lesson, and a mob of men, some dozen people w
ide, came like a great flood. They wouldn't fall for the funnel again, so he backed up slowly, hoping the mage and his patient would have time to get to safety. He heard a shout to his left and saw Jack sprinting for the final stand. His soldiers lay dead at their positions as a swarm of attackers flooded over them. Gerald turned back to face his own foes, but the distraction had been ill-timed. He was now being rushed by dozens of men with nowhere to go.

  Beverly felt the weapon scrape across her chest plate, but she ignored it, swinging her blade from right to left. The tip cut through the man's arms, spraying blood in a wide arc. She struck again with a sudden jab, a kidney strike that dropped her target a moment later. The other men backed up, temporarily shocked by the ferocity of her defense. To her right stood Dame Celia, her blade and shield held in the ready position.

  The small crowd in front of her parted as someone in charge stepped through. His eyes searched the defenses, as if looking for something, then locked on Dame Celia.

  Beverly prepared to launch an attack. Perhaps, if they took out the leader, the others might flee. She was about to say as much when the blade struck. One moment she was watching the enemy, the next a terrible pain erupted from her leg as Celia drove a sword into her thigh. Beverly turned, looking on in horror as the blond knight stabbed at her again.

  Beverly dove to the side, her leg collapsing as she tried to come upright. She cursed herself for forgetting about the traitor in their midst; the betrayer had finally revealed her true colours, and now Beverly would pay the price. The turncoat's sword came down, but Beverly managed to parry with her own, barely. It was a desperate defense while Celia's strike was swift and powerful, causing Beverly's sword to fly from her hand, coming to rest a few paces away. Now, the traitorous knight stepped forward again, rage filling her face.

  "Death to Merceria!" she cried as she swung her sword overhead.

  Beverly brought her shield up just in time to block, feeling the force of the enraged blow. The other attackers stood watching as if this were some form of entertainment. Again and again, the blows rained down. Beverly crouched, trying desperately to cover her body with the shield, waiting for any opportunity to counter-attack. Striking out with the edge of the shield, she heard a shriek; Celia backed up, limping slightly. Beverly forced herself to stand, hopping on her uninjured leg. She drew her dagger and held her crumpled shield, trying to maintain her balance.