Tarquin was climbing the stairs from the town as Malcom left, and the mercenary took the place where the king had sat. “Are you nervous?” he said.
“Of course,” Cedric replied. “I’d be a fool not to…yourself?”
Tarquin reclined and placed his hands on the back of his head. “I have trained myself not to think of such things. I’d prefer to think of the green fields of Kruithia, my home, or the taste of sweet wine, to the freight of battle. I’ll be sent down to the gate for the fight, held up like a cornered rat.”
“You should stay with us upon the wall, much safer.” Cedric implored.
“In battle, I do not care for safety, it is the one in the most danger, who fights the hardest. Any day of the week I would take a fight in the muck and grime than in the open field. Give me a dagger rather a lance and horse. How fares your lady love, I had seen her carried in the city with the caravan?”
“She is recovering, safe in the city.”
“Remember her when the enemy comes for the wall, the bound of a good memory can rally man better than anything on this earth.”
Suddenly Cedric spotted a rider approach from the field. He rode a black horse, whose eyes were a bright red, and was draped in a long dark cloak. Cedric recognized him as the rider who had chased him into the Ithon, for his eyes were as cold and void like as they had been on that day. From the height of the wall, Cedric could also spot Sibi amongst the company, along with Yellow-Eyes and Arrington, the chiefest commanders of Azrael’s forces.
The rider raised his hand forward, in it, a banner of black with a red rat’s head. The whole field turned a dark red as the moon brightened overhead as though by some foul magic. A chant of unintelligible phrases went up in the enemy camp, accompanied by a beating of spears against shields.
Cedric spotted patterns of shifting in the enemy camp. “Crawe, look out to the field!” Cedric said as he leaned forward on his seat, and placed his hand upon his blade.
The beady-eyed rider raised his arm, which was too covered in black cloth, and gave a command to the horde. The great camp outside the wall suddenly appeared to move, for the torches and men now swelled and rolled across the landscape, directly towards the walls.
Cedric jumped to his feet and rushed to alert the others. “They are moving to the walls! Hurry! Sentries to their positions, Guards to your feet. Now is the hour, to your work!”
“Let them come!” Crawe shouted as he drew his sword, which was ornate with golden vine upon the handle. “Let them come and find the Vine King’s blade!”
The Vine Guard assembled on the wall, wielding long spears and heavy shields of many layers, and some were armored in their standards of thick leather jerkin with golden vine pressing upon the breast. The other levies of Midland bore metal helmets and greaves, but only tunics upon their torsos. The Rivermen, adorned in light leather and rich tunics, took arrows into large baskets, and each made ready to loose their flatbows against the enemy. Roderic was at their helm, with a crown placed upon his head which held the figure of a bronze boar. The Knights moved into position, taking hold of strange bronze canisters which contained the Usham Fire, and were decorated with the images of dragons.
Cedric took command by Amalric’s side, and the horde advanced, carrying ladders. Their standard bearers blew on dark horns and beat large drums, marching the horde forward at a brisk but steady pace. The chanting morphed into a single note of wailing, as though the spirits of dead marched with the enemy ranks, and it filled the defenders on the wall with a dread that gripped tightly to their hearts.
The archers began their volleys, scoring ranks of hits against the lighter dressed Hirdmen in the horde, who often came with light leather or fur as their only protection. The rushing enemy’s movements were thrown together and unorganized, throwing themselves against the first set of walls like falling rain against a rock. Amalric held his knights at their position, for the horde was still out of place for his strategy. From the towers, the Rivermen rained arrows down; each volley called down by Roderic’s booming battle commands.
It was near midnight when the horde had broken through the first gate, placing battlements and ramparts so that they might cross without the fear of arrows. Tarquin and his foreign mercenaries were holding the gate, throwing up lances and shields as a makeshift wall. Many had fallen, and yet more came to replace them, making it seem as an unending chain of bodies. It was at this moment that Amalric unleashed the master plan of the knights. He flung his mangled arm down in command, and torches were lit upon the end of the copper canisters, and the pumps were pressed back and forth. Suddenly a stream of the black tar and bellowing out of the nozzles, and burst into a cloud of flame as it passed the torch serving as the pilot light.
The flames engulfed the horde trying to scale the walls, their skin burned as they screamed in agony, and the smell permeated and fouled the air. The fire soon became a huge billow of black smoke, which covered the view of the ground from the battlements on the wall.
From the ladders, Hirdmen came up bearing long shields and blades as they scaled. Cedric saw one jump from his ladder, and directly onto the pike of a Vine Guard who cried out in humor to his companions as he saw the man cough blood from the end of his spear. “Look Lord Crawe! By the gods, this one has lost his supper!” The young lads at his sides laughed as he threw the Hirdman back off the wall with one mighty heave, soon a great cheer started throughout the ranks of archers who volleyed down at their foes.
More and more of the horde poured off the ladders, and soon they matched in the number of defenders on the wall. Cedric was on the vanguard, accompanied by Alfnod and Beorn, who guarded at his sides. The heat from the Usham Fire bellowed and overtook the stone of the walls, causing ash and sweat to form upon the red faces of both defender and attacker. Cedric rushed into a cluster of Hirdmen, who had begun to enter the gatehouse in an attempt to lower the iron wrought door.
“Don’t let them near the gatehouse!” Cedric cried as he stood vanguard over the door, packed tightly with a battalion of Vine Guard who raised their shields as tight as the shell of a tortoise. They fought slowly, taking precise moments to strike out, lifting their shields and plunging their spears into the exposed ranks of wall climbers. Even with this caution, wounds were unavoidable, and Cedric and his companions felt the sting of sharpened steel against their flesh.
Crawe could be seen from the gatehouse upon the higher ramparts of the wall, accompanied by a compliment of silver and golden guard, adorned in jewelry and armed with fine blades. The Wine King had made his stand, and gave a grizzled and bitter war cry, plunging his golden handled blade through a swath of the enemy.
From the gatehouse, there was news of a break, and a great host of the enemy rushed through, near swallowing up Tarquin’s band whole. Amalric saw this, and he descended from the wall, with a full escort of knights.
Cedric cried to the leper knight. “Amalric! You cannot hope to turn them back! We can fall back to the palace!” The lord pleaded and begged, but he knew Amalric’s mind was set.
Amalric and his knights mounted, though their commander cried out in pain, for he could not feel either of his legs as he saddled, and his arms had become nearly completely void of life. “By Cinder’s light, I will not be left out of this fight!” Amalric boomed as he thought of a plan. “I spit in your face Beelzus, queen of disease.” Amalric spotted a nearby squire, tending to the wounded. “Lad! Come here and tied my legs to the horse, for I have no strength to hold my lance.” His knights watched in awe as Amalric became wrapped in a mess of straps and leather, suspending his back upright against his horse, allowing him to hold his lance proper.
Taking firm grasp of his lance with the last of his strength, Amalric pressed his horse forward. Flying down the streets, he charged at the horde of the enemy near the gate, who had begun to pour into the city. He drove his lance through near five ranks deep, and his horse crushed the bones of the unfortunate in its path. The Knights were quick to follow, pushing t
he enemy back through the gate. The battle was won there, but not without cost. For many Hirdmen carried spears and struck and pricked through Amalric’s shining steel. His gripping disease kept him from feeling their blows, and he continued swinging his sword madly through their host.
Finally, his horse was struck, and he collapsed beneath it. Prod upon many pikes, he bled from all manner of places, his chainmail and white cloak turned to a dark red from the pouring of his blood. Cedric rushed down from the battlements, and with a small band of Amalric’s knights, secured the gate.
Cedric collapsed to his knees and attempted to drag Amalric from the bottom of his lifeless horse. He had not the strength, and fell backward as Amalric coughed, his throat congested with blood. Cedric took off Amalric’s helmet. He could see clearly the knight was dying fast.
“Amalric hold on! The doctors will see to your wounds; you won’t die today…”
Amalric lifted his right arm and stretched it out towards the sky. “This is what I want,” He cooed, coughing more violently than before. “I die a knight of Adalgott, a knight of Cedric.” His arm fell, and his body became limp.
Soon the fighting devolved into madness, for the Vine Guard and Hirdmen alike grew winded, and soon broke from rank and training. The smoke had filled both sides’ lungs, and their faces and eyes sweated and burned from the smell and feel of the fire. For hours, the burning raged without end in sight, and the moon, now veiled by black smoke, had waned and fallen in the sky.
When the fire had subsided and the cloud dissipated, there came a great cheer from the defenders. The horde had broken, and now they fled back across the wooden ladders of the first wall, and across the horizon, their army routed and scattered. The Vine Guard rattled their spears against the stone flooring of the walls and cheered with booming voices in victory as their enemy fled in disorderly chaos.
“See how they run!” Malcom cried out, his armor was dirtied and has many holes in it, though the old man did not bleed. “See the cowardly forces of Azrael! More fit for the gallows than the marching ranks!” The old man grinned and growled like an old grizzly bear as he patted Cedric on the shoulder, who was now stretched against the wall. Cedric had collapsed on the wall when the retreat began. He was exhausted from the hours of fighting and couldn’t even stand. He clutched at his side as blood ran down from his forehead from a spear point which had slashed at his hairline.
Cedric heaved, and pulled himself to the battlements of the wall, and took stock of the fields. Many bodies littered the place, but by no means a full company of the enemy. Most had broken and fled before even reaching the walls, for fear of the consuming fire which spewed down upon them. Upon the furthest hill, Cedric spotted a figure that once more sent chills rushing down his spine. The beady-eyed rider was once more upon his eyes, and his horse was kicking its front legs in the night and cried a terrible and blood boiling cry. From, this distance the rider’s eyes appeared red, matching that of the full red moon to his rear, which loomed over the landscape in horrifying fashion.
Cedric felt his body weaken, and his eyes grew heavy as blood swelled around them. Soon he was fast asleep on the wall, and he did not stir till the morn had fully come.
Chapter 27
The Child of Lenich
“Come on get up.” A voice called to Cedric, along with a sharp kick to his side. Cedric saw that it was Eadwine, who had been bandaged along his arm and side. As Cedric slowly opened his eyes, which were filled with the radiant light of a bright fall morning. Cedric was filled with urgency and sat upright against the rubble and wall.
“Are we all safe?” Cedric said with a dry throat.
Eadwine smiled reassuringly. “Well Leopold still can’t seem to wipe his dour mug off his face, but other than that plague we’ve all done well for ourselves. Come now, I have a surprise.” Eadwine slumped next to Cedric, and pulled a gilded glass bottle from his cloak, with the reserve of Crawe’s wine within. “The lords and captains had such a row when the battle was done; they had not the wit to place a guard at the cellar, leaving swift hands to their work.” He uncorked the bottle and began to drink, before offering some to Cedric, who took it gladly. The wine tasted crisp and refreshing as it rushed down his dry and hoarse throat.
“I feel like I was trampled by a horse,” Cedric said as he clutched at his side, and lifted his tunic of chain, which revealed a bruise black and purple. “I think I was actually trampled by a horse.”
Eadwine gave a small laugh, and with one gulp, finished the bottle of wine meant to be savored and sipped. “Let’s get you back to the palace. Lords and captains are assembling to plan our next step, Azrael’s beaten but not finished.” Eadwine hoisted his lord to his feet and placed Cedric’s arm slung over his shoulders as the pair made their way through the city, where jubilant people celebrated and sang in the streets.
Back at the palace, a party had raged through the night and morning, with both sleeping lords and bottles of wine were littered across the great lawn and scattered in the maze gardens nearby. Cedric and Eadwine crossed through the threshold of the central courtyard and entered the hall where Malcom sat at his table, accompanied by a full host of lords feasting and drinking merrily.
“Come! A place at my table for every brave soul who shared the wall with me that night!” Crawe cried out, lifting his glass with a wide grin to toast Cedric. “Ha-ha! Did you see how we beat them?! They’ll sing songs of that night till the end of the world!” The lords burst out in cheer, and too raised their glasses in celebration, ignorantly spilling their drinks and tossing their food like children. Only Roderic, who still was adorned in his boar helm, did not drink or eat, nor give shouts of merriment. He held his hands at his bruised chin, pondering deep in his mind.
Cedric was helped into his chair by Eadwine, who took his place next to him. “What news from the barracks? Did we lose many?”
“For every one of us that lies on the ground, ten of the enemy do as well, so our scouts say,” Malcom said with swagger, as though by his work, and his work alone, that they had won the battle.
“Have their forces begun to reform ranks? We will need to chase down those who routed, so they cannot muster another attack,” Cedric said concernedly.
“There is no need, Cedric, they have completely scattered. Some head north, some south, others east. Come the first snow they will starve, why waste men on such a benign task?”
Roderic winced and rolled his back on his chair in annoyance. “I did not know that one battle wins a war, my king.” He said with a bitter taste in his mouth.
Suddenly the laughter and merriment stopped, and all lords looked to Malcom, whose faced has been wiped clean of any faint sign of joy. The scowl returned to the old man’s visage, as he took the last of his wine, placing both of his hands on the table. “In this case, it does young man; age teaches you such things.”
Roderic sat with a smug look on his face, fit to prod at the old man just enough to rile his bitterness. “Have we any news from our lord Cedric’s allies, the Unseen?” Roderic quickly changed the subject while twiddling his fingers on the table.
“None but that they muster.” Malcom gave an old man’s unique grunt. “Bah, by the time they’ve mustered, the enemy will have frozen in the next ten winters!”
Cedric was quick to defend Pike’s absence. “Only because they lack our order, your grace, which they make up with unmatched strength in battle. When they are ready, they shall come, by my honor.”
“I’ll hear no more of fairies of the forest.” Malcom had bitter feelings toward the Unseen, as he had for a great many people. “We must take them in the field.” He pointed to the map which lay at the center of the field, across it, wooden figures had been placed where the enemy was in number. “There.” Malcom pointed to a large crag upon the map, surrounded on either side by stony hill. “To the Sundering Hills, they have their greatest force, where your chancellor is certainly helming his rally. We take the fast road, through the valley of rocky terrain, a
nd we’ll gut through their many force, dividing down the seam.”
Roderic raised his voice in protest. “We have no idea what number they field, nor their entrenchments. We should wait come the spring when they have starved.”
Malcom was resolute, unbending in his decision to one so young. “If we wait then, we shall have no idea what damage they will have done to our countryside. Whole fields salted, villages burned, come the next winter it would be us who starve. No, our course and fate are set upon that valley. Men may win battles, but supplies win wars. We will show the north menfolk do not need the help of flowery southerners, nor woodlands beasts.” He gave a small chuckle, satisfied by his own wit.
Malcom waved his hand and considered this business done. “Our scouts report the enemy is broken in the field, traveling in fractured ranks towards the north, by the Red Marsh…” The seated lords became distracted, and their gaze had followed the figure who approached in the doorway. Cedric turned and saw a young woman standing in the doorway, with red hair with a tint of rose petals, as her father once had in his youth, and her skin was pale as Malcom’s white beard. Her face was no less dour than her father’s, but where his was filled with a quick anger, hers was covered by sadness. “The joy of my joys. Come and be presented at my table.” Malcom beckoned her over in a jolly voice, and each lord, including Cedric, was fixated by her motion, as though they had an unspoken connection. “My lords, my daughter, the Lady Beatrix.”
The girl gave a small courtesy, and her cheeks began to blush with redness as though a fire had been stoked. She took her place by the wall, accompanying the other lesser nobles with sat there. Cedric noticed Dag by Roderic’s side, and through his chain mask, the half-giant gave Cedric a strange look
The Sword to Unite Page 25