Sir Warren pointed, "Looks like a messenger, my lord."
Valmar watched as a man pushed his way through the mob, his partial chainmail armour easy to spot in amongst the commoners. Clutching a scroll case tightly in his fist, he fought his way past everyone to come to a halt at the side of the carriage.
"My lord," he said, handing over the scroll case, "a message from Captain Eldridge."
Warren took the tube, opening it to reveal the parchment within. After scanning its contents, he tried to hand it over, but Valmar just waved it away.
"Out with it, man!" the former marshal-general urged.
"They've secured the back gate," said Warren. "It appears your plan has succeeded."
Valmar sat back, letting out a deep breath of air. "As I always knew it would," he said with more confidence than he felt.
"Shall we proceed, my lord?"
Valmar stared at the knight as he thought things through. It had been an immense gamble, he knew, to try and seize the crown, particularly when he had no legitimate claim to it, yet the Gods seem to have rewarded him this day.
"Very well," he finally said. "Let us proceed to the gate and demand the surrender of the Palace."
Sir Warren called for the guards, then waited as ten men-at-arms formed up to provide the soon to be king with protection.
Valmar stepped down from the carriage, stumbling slightly as he dropped to the ground, so used was he to having a step provided. He began moving towards the front gate of the Palace grounds, his men clearing the way for him. The crowd, now taking notice of his arrival, stepped aside, allowing him unfettered access to the gate, where a small group of Royal Guards waited.
Valmar halted. "In the name of the crown, I call on you to surrender," he demanded.
The guard captain, whoever he was, appeared unimpressed with the declaration. "By whose authority?" he called back.
"I am Marshal-General Roland Valmar, Duke of Eastwood, and I demand you allow us entrance to the Palace."
The crowd started calling out for them to surrender, and then a different call emerged, "Let him in!"
Valmar raised his hands in the air, turning to quiet those assembled. When the noise subsided, he turned once more to face the gate. Just as he was deciding on his next words, a distant sound came to him, echoing off buildings and down the street. At first, the words were indistinct, but as the noise drew closer, it became clearer, "Long live the queen!"
Valmar looked at Sir Warren, but the knight was as perplexed as he. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"I have no idea," said the knight.
One of his guards pulled himself partially up on the gate in an attempt to see over the crowd. A Royal Guard stepped forward, ready to reach out with his spear, but one of his companions held him back.
"What is it?" shouted Valmar.
"A horde of people," said Valmar's man, "and they're heading this way!"
Valmar turned in annoyance, pushing his way back through the crowd. He had paid for these commoners to be here, and he was not about to have them scattered by Royal Troops.
He cleared the edge of the mob to see the approaching group, led by a woman. Something about her looked familiar, but he couldn't quite place her face. Beside her, strode a man in the clothes of a vagrant, but it was the crowd itself that drew his attention, for they dwarfed his small group. Armed as they were with clubs and other makeshift weapons, they looked like they meant business. Even as he watched, his own group of people became agitated. Many of them had been spoiling for a fight and now, unable to vent their thirst for violence on the Palace Guards, they refocused their hatred on these newcomers.
Valmar pointed. "Kill them!" he bellowed.
Baroness Hayley Chambers looked out the window at the courtyard below. Enemy soldiers were swarming the back door of the very Palace itself, flush with the victory of taking the rear gate.
"Now," she ordered.
The second-floor shutters flew open, and the Orcs stepped forward, their great warbows at the ready.
She turned to Albreda, who was waiting beside her. "If you'd be so kind?" she said.
"Of course," said the druid, stepping forward. She pointed at the gate, words of power flowing from her mouth. The air began to buzz with magical energy, and then dozens of tiny lights began glowing before her as if fireflies had appeared out of nowhere. She spoke the final word of command, and the lights flew across the courtyard, over the heads of the invaders to land by the back gate, sinking silently into the ground.
The invaders, their attention momentarily caught by the display, jeered as the lights faded from sight, and then redoubled their efforts to take down the back door to the Palace.
A low rumbling sound interrupted their plans. All around the courtyard, the treasonous soldiers paused in their efforts, trying to ascertain the source of the noise. A loud crack, like that of lightning, echoed off the Palace and then thick vines erupted from the ground, pushing cobblestones aside to reach up to the iron gate. They grabbed the metal construction like hands, pulling them closed and then curling around them, sealing the attackers in the courtyard.
"Let fly!" called out Hayley.
All along the windows, the mighty Orcs loosed their arrows. The range was short, and arrows thudded into their targets, taking down men despite their armour.
Hayley aimed her own bow, taking time to pick out an officer. She let loose and had a second arrow nocked almost before the first hit its target. Her quarry fell, disappearing amongst the mass of invaders trapped below.
Someone tried to scale the vines and was halfway up before Albreda spotted him. She uttered a word of command, then snapped her fingers. The vines grew strong tendrils that grabbed the man's arms, tearing them from his body. He dropped to the ground, a dripping, pulpy mess.
Captain Eldridge looked up to see the windows opening.
"It's a trap!" he yelled, but his voice was lost in the pandemonium that erupted. He tried to get to cover, but the press of men prevented him from moving quickly. Eldridge stared up at the Palace, not quite believing his own eyes. Somehow greenskins were in every window. How was this even possible?
A man to his front went down, an arrow protruding from his chest. Backing up, Eldridge was desperate to avoid a similar fate when an arrow caught him in the left shoulder, spinning him around in surprise. He grasped the shaft in a vain attempt to remove it, but as he did so, another found its mark, driving deep into his skull, killing him instantly.
All around his dead body, men dropped their weapons and raised their hands in surrender, but arrows continued to rain down on them.
Harry felt a hand grab his arm.
"This way," said Nikki, dragging him clear of the crowd. The fighting was growing more vicious, and Harry looked on in horror. This was no common battle, fought by soldiers, but that of desperate men, struggling to survive. He saw one, his eyes gouged out, stagger to the side of the road, a woman on his back, driving a knife into his skull. Harry felt the bile rise in his throat and bent over to empty the contents of his stomach.
Nikki pulled him forward just as one of Valmar's men staggered past, bleeding from the scalp, his helmet missing. Even as Harry watched, a shopkeeper struck with a stone, cracking the man's head open like an overripe melon, dropping him to the ground.
"We need to find whoever's in charge," yelled Nikki.
Harry cast his eyes about, looking for a vantage point. "There," he said, pointing over at the Queen's Arms, where a sign hung out from the second storey. Shoving his way through the crowd, he stopped beneath it and cupped his hands to boost Nikki up. She grabbed the overhanging bar and pulled herself onto the wall, then held out her hand and Harry pulled himself up out of harm's way. The street had become one giant brawl, with little to distinguish the two sides. Harry watched in fascination as knives and clubs rose and fell.
"There's Valmar," shouted Nikki. "I'd know that face anywhere."
Harry strained to pick out the well-dressed individual
, but he was being overrun by the mob, his own men already swamped by opponents.
The former marshal-general tried desperately to reach his carriage, but suddenly the mob turned on him. Harry watched as Valmar went down beneath a flurry of arms, his screams of terror cutting through even the roar of the crowd. Axes and knives rose and fell, blood flying everywhere. Nikki turned, no longer able to witness the savagery, but Harry stared, somehow unable to tear his eyes away as a limb went flying, and then something that looked like entrails.
Suddenly, the fight seemed to go out of everyone, almost as if that gruesome act had marked the final straw. The people in the street backed up, perhaps finally overwhelmed by the violence before them.
"Come on," called Nikki, climbing down from her perch.
Harry followed as they weaved their way through the stunned mob to come upon the body of Roland Valmar, the former marshal-general of Merceria, lying in a large pool of blood. His right arm had been completely ripped off, along with his left hand, while his stomach had been cut open and his innards pulled out. Dozens of cuts to the face had rendered the man almost unrecognizable.
"What a horrible way to die," said Harry.
"From what Arnim tells me," said Nikki, looking around, "he got what he deserved. The crown is safe, and it's all due to these folk."
Twenty-Two
The Border
Fall 964 MC
* * *
The mist drifted across the land, settling into the lower pockets, while a wolf, tearing the meat from a hare, looked up, his attention caught by something in the distance. The noise drew steadily closer, and then the creature smelled horses in the air. Many, many horses. Suddenly, hundreds of horsemen emerged from the fog, their trappings jangling as they trotted. The wolf rose, then ran off, leaving its carcass unattended.
Lord Hollis halted, letting his men carry onward while his aide, a dour man named Finlad, rode up beside him.
"Trouble, my lord?"
"How far to the border?"
"We'd see it now if it weren't for this cursed fog," his aide replied.
"And you're certain Wickfield is just beyond?"
"I've ridden this part of the country many times, Lord. I can assure you we are in the right place."
"Excellent," said Hollis, "then let us hope that Lord Rutherford has been as well guided. By nightfall, both Wickfield and Mattingly shall be ours."
"And Hawksburg in two days?" asked Finlad.
Hollis smiled, a rare enough display these days. "No," he simply said.
"But surely we must capture it, my lord?"
"Quite the reverse, actually. The plan is to bypass Hawksburg, as well as Tewsbury and march directly on Wincaster. We have it on good authority that their defences are weak."
"But doesn't that place an enemy force to our rear, Lord?"
"Yes, it does, but you forget, we carry all our supplies with us. This is a war of speed, Finlad, one which we will execute with precision. Remember, we have their queen safely bottled up in Galburn's Ridge. By the time these Mercerians can react to our invasion, we shall be at their capital, and they will be helpless."
"Then why two armies?"
"The better to split their defences," said Hollis. "As we march on Wincaster, so, too, does Rutherford. We, from the west, and he, from the north."
"And is he to bypass Eastwood, as we do with Tewsbury?"
"Alas, no," said Hollis, "though I tried to convince him of the wisdom of it. No, I'm afraid our ally is determined to capture the city. A rich prize you understand, even though it isn't walled."
Finlad smiled, "You seem to have thought of everything, my lord."
"I certainly hope so," said Hollis. "I've spent years preparing for this."
"And when it's all over?"
"I shall be the ruler of both Norland and Merceria," declared the earl. "And you, as my aide, will never lack for anything ever again."
"I look forward to that day," said Finlad.
"As do I, my good friend. As do I."
* * *
The lone horseman galloped into Wickfield, his mount lathered. Pulling up in front of the church, he dropped from the saddle and handed the reins to a surprised looking guard. Throwing the door open, he sent a cold gust of wind into the room.
Sir Heward looked up to see one of his scouts, his breath frosting in the early morning air. "News?" he asked.
"Horsemen," said the rider, "hundreds of them."
The knight stood, instantly on the alert. "Are you sure?"
"I saw them with my own eyes, sir. At least three companies worth, and that was only those I could spot before I left. The sound of their horses' hooves was like the denizens of the Underworld come to claim souls, so it was."
Heward looked around the room. "Call out all the officers," he commanded, then turned his attention back to the scout. "How much time before they arrive?"
"They should be here by mid-morning, sir."
"Damn," said Heward, "they've caught us at a bad time."
"Your orders, sir?"
"Get a fresh horse and ride for Hawksburg. Tell them we're facing an invasion. I shall begin evacuating Wickfield and fall back."
"You won't fight them, sir?"
"That would be madness," said Heward. "We'd be slaughtered, leaving the north vulnerable. No, we shall stick with the plan, fall back to Hawksburg, and from there, we can counter-attack. Now be on your way, time is of the essence."
The messenger ran out to his waiting horse and immediately set off for Hawksburg.
Inside, Heward looked over at Captain Wainwright of the Wincaster Bowmen. "Harold, are your men ready?"
"As ready as they'll ever be," Wainwright replied.
"You know what to do," the knight continued, "begin the evacuation. I want your men bringing up the rear of the evacuees while I remain here with the light horse."
"Is that wise, sir?" said the captain. "You'll be vastly outnumbered."
"Don't worry, I have no intention of engaging with the Norlanders. My mission will be to draw them off and buy you some time."
"And how will you do that?"
"I'll make it look like we're guarding an evacuation into the Wickfield Hills. That should give you a good head start."
"Won't that leave you stranded?"
"We have allies in those hills," said Heward, "Orcs to be exact. They'll guide us to the Tewsbury-Bodden road, and we'll meet up in Hawksburg. You'll simply get there before us."
"Any sign of help from the Kurathians?" asked Wainwright.
"I'm afraid not, and that concerns me. Commander Lanaka has a large detachment at Mattingly, almost two hundred men. His orders would be to regroup at Hawksburg at the first sign of trouble."
"He could be cut off, sir, or completely unaware we are under attack."
"Lanaka is experienced on the frontier," said Heward. "I'll trust him to use his best judgement. In the meantime, we must follow through with our plans to the best of our ability. Give the order, Captain. We need to get the townsfolk to safety as quickly as possible."
"Aye, sir, I'm on my way."
* * *
Commander Lanaka pulled back on the reins, slowing his mount. He was on the north side of the river, technically Norland territory, but knew the border counted for little. He looked to either side, ensuring his men were spread out in a skirmish line. They were well-trained horsemen, perhaps the finest this side of the Sea of Storms, and their new home, here in Merceria, had been welcoming. Many only spoke their native language, Kurathian, but his officers were all learning the common tongue of Merceria, an act that was starting to influence the lower ranks as they struggled to adapt.
"Listen, my friend," Lanaka said, soothing his horse with one hand. "Do you hear them? Horsemen, many of them, enough to shake the very ground."
He looked left, and circled his hand in the air, signalling his men to form up to the rear. He repeated the move, looking right, then turned his horse around, trotting back to where the rest of his me
n stood waiting.
"The fog is lifting," said Caluman, "then we shall see these invaders."
Lanaka laughed, "They are not invaders yet, my friend, not until they cross the border."
"Are we to leave them alone, then?"
"When they come to the border in such large numbers? Of course not. By the Saints, Caluman, what do you take me for, a fool?"
His captain smiled, for he was used to such words. "Your orders, Commander?"
"We wait until they appear, then I will warn them off."
"And if they don't turn around?"
"Then we fight. We are Kurathians, after all. We must earn our keep!"
"What if they have knights?" asked Caluman. "You remember what happened to us at the Battle of the Crossroads?"
"Relax, my friend, the Norlanders have no such warriors. They have armour, that's true, but not the heavy metal plates that our Mercerian friends seem to be so fond of. They are much like us, but less well trained." He grinned, showing his teeth.
It was pure bravado, for inside he was worried. He had led this patrol north, as was his custom, but earlier this morning, they had heard reports of distant thunder. The clear day and his own experience told him it was horses, and so he had brought his men north, in force, to investigate. Now, he sat waiting amongst his men, the finest warriors he had ever served with, but he was nervous.
"There!" pointed Caluman.
A slight rise had hidden the approaching horses, but now they emerged, showing their strength for all to see.
"Saint Mathew protect us," said Caluman.
Lanaka watched as more and more horsemen joined the enemy line, swelling their numbers until he estimated there were more than two hundred such warriors.
"It appears they have the advantage over us," he said, "so we shall have to be swift."
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