CHAPTER 108
Apples and Arrows
Gripping the reins of his steed, Prince Gregory led his men north in pursuit of King Justin and his captors. Moments earlier, upon rounding the corner of the garrison, he was horrified to see about thirty horses bolting from the open main gates, making a beeline into the heart of the city. Among the fleeing soldiers, the prince saw his father being ushered away atop one of the steeds in the fierce stampede. The garrison’s main gates were quickly closed and barred from the inside after the soldiers had departed. Prince Gregory directed his men both on horse and on foot to save the King.
“Stop them from reaching Minakaris!” he shouted, knowing it would be impossible to breach Vellan’s stronghold. He also realized that because intense fighting still raged throughout Del Norác, the enemy troops would not be able to push through the streets in one attempt. They would have to slog their way forward, giving slim hope to the prince that he might yet save his father. “Split up and flood the city!”
He signaled for two captains to veer off left and right with some troops and filter through several side streets to cover more ground. Ramsey, following on foot, trailed the prince into the center of the city along a narrow road. Corpses were strewn among several low buildings pocked with smashed windows and broken doors. Here the fighting had been particularly harsh in the past hour, though now the area was serenely painted with golden rays of the setting sun that gently touched the faces of the dead. But as the lane opened up onto a grassy common, a new skirmish erupted when enemy troops swooped in through a thicket of trees and from behind a row of crumbling brick shops.
“Well, Eucádus, it’s time we earned our pay!” Ramsey grimly joked as he unsheathed his sword, glancing over his shoulder. “Maybe this time we’ll–” But when he saw no sign of his friend, he worriedly looked about, assuming that Eucádus had been a few steps behind him all along.
But Ramsey’s concern was driven from his thoughts as he charged headlong into the fray with several fellow soldiers. Their swords clattered sharply as blade met blade in the latest round of the war. The attack was brutal as their foes swarmed at them like angry hornets, but as the enemy’s numbers were limited, the onslaught was short-lived. Prince Gregory and his men swiftly gained the upper hand and defeated their opponents, though a few on the periphery escaped to regroup elsewhere.
“This was a hastily arranged ambush to delay us,” the prince remarked as he brought his horse to a halt and sheathed his blood-stained sword. Though the air had cooled appreciably in the approaching twilight, he wiped a forearm over his sweaty brow and took a much needed gulp from a nearly empty water skin.
“Then let us move on,” Ramsey said as he cleaned his sword in a tuft of grass. “The mountain looms eerily close in the north.”
“It does,” he replied, gazing upon Mount Minakaris before calculating the number and strength of his remaining troops. He noted the weariness in their eyes yet also a fiery determination to press forward. With an encouraging smile he urged them onward. They followed Prince Gregory across the trampled common and through another maze of streets, needing little motivation other than securing the safety of their King.
Soon they approached the northern part of the city, overwhelming a scattering of the enemy along the way. Prince Gregory, not wanting to appear overconfident, saw that his father’s army had secured at least this section of the city, though the chaotic sounds of battle reverberated from afar, especially to the east beyond the city’s border. But his brief illusion of partial victory was shattered when they emerged from several narrow streets into a large area of farmland, grazing pastures and budding orchards. The cultivated parcel encompassed the northernmost strip of Del Norác before it gradually transformed into a large swath of grassy scrubland that lay in the shadow of Minakaris. The mountain loomed a quarter mile away, its slopes bathed in the glow of the setting sun.
Spread out before them, running east to west, were several battles raging at once across multiple terrains. Over the course of the day, the fighting inside the city had moved northward into these more open areas. The clashes here had been joined by troops led by King Cedric and Tolapari who then gradually moved southward after their earlier encounter with Vellan’s troops from the mountain stronghold. This sudden re-eruption of the war darkened any hope in the prince’s heart for victory. But when he glanced westward at a field parallel to a sprawling apple orchard just beyond it, his mood changed.
“Over there!” he cried, pointing to a large group of enemy troops on horseback trying to break through a line of soldiers pushing back from the north. “That has to be them!” Prince Gregory charged forward while others followed as best they could. Some of his soldiers though, were diverted along the way when pulled into other fights spread out upon the vast canopy of grass, trees and soil. The setting sun dipped slowly into the blazing western peaks. In the east, a string of snow-tipped mountains stood proudly against a crisp blue sky as a silvery-white glow steadily rose from just below the horizon.
Prince Gregory led three dozen men north across the field, the fragrant orchard of budding apple trees forming a natural border to their left. Suddenly, one of his captains who had broken away earlier, burst forth with a contingent of soldiers from the southern streets. Though weary and bruised, the men, most of them on foot, charged forth to catch up with their fellow soldiers in the rescue attempt.
“Now let’s see the enemy reach the mountain with the King,” Ramsey said with renewed hope to a soldier running beside him. “We’ll block them from the south while our allies act as a wall to the north. And if we each stream out to the east and meet, we can pen in Vellan’s troops with the orchard as a barrier to their west.”
As Ramsey drew nearer, he guessed that Prince Gregory was thinking along those same lines since a portion of his men began to circle about to the northeast. Whoever was in charge of the northern company had given a similar order as a line of men veered southeast and linked up with their fellow soldiers to loosely lock in the enemy.
As the allied forces moved in, several of Vellan’s troops on horseback saw the futility of their cause and bolted, galloping through the circle at its weaker points. A few succeeded, though others were struck down by well aimed arrows or expertly wielded swords. Ramsey, having joined the fray inside the circle, was drawn into a fight with a soldier from the Isles. But having a bit more energy in reserve, he outmaneuvered the Islander and finished him off with a lethal stroke. It was then that Ramsey locked onto King Justin as he was being pulled off his horse near the apple orchard. The monarch, his hands tied in front, was grabbed by two men from Kargoth and steered into the orchard of low trees as he struggled to get away. Ramsey, knowing that the captors would take the King to Mount Minakaris by any path possible, raced to the orchard.
“King Justin has been taken into the trees!” he shouted to anyone who could hear him as the battle raged on like wildfire.
Moments later, he located Prince Gregory who was fighting a short distance away atop his horse. The prince sparred against a soldier from Kargoth on horseback, their blades harshly clanging. As Ramsey raced to his aid, he grabbed a dagger clutched in a dead Islander’s hand that he passed by. With hardly a pause in his stride, he flung the knife at Prince Gregory’s foe, striking him in the lower back. The Islander lurched upward in his saddle as a spasm of pain shot through him, rendering him paralyzed for a brief moment. Prince Gregory lunged forward in that instant and plunged his sword through him, toppling the man from his steed. In the approaching twilight, Ramsey noticed the fallen soldier’s eyes slowly clear up and his features soften as Vellan’s spell dissipated.
“This son of the King thanks you for your assistance,” the prince said, very much out of breath as he looked down upon Ramsey, noting a shadow of dread upon his face.
“And this son of Linden would like to assist you one more time,” he replied, informing Prince Gregory about his father’s predicament. He pointed out where along the orchard’s b
order the King had been taken. “Ride to him now, sir! I’ll follow with others to help,” Ramsey urged, pausing to catch his breath after the prince had sped away. But moments later, he was once again racing toward the apple trees, encouraged to see that other soldiers had caught up and were heading that way as well.
Prince Gregory reached the orchard in breakneck speed, striking down an Island soldier who tried to block his way. He abandoned his steed before entering the grove as the apple trees were too low for the horse to maneuver through. He observed at various points north along the tree line that several allied soldiers had plunged into the orchard as well in pursuit of the King, grateful for their undying loyalty. He slowed down from time to time, dodging branches as he continually scanned through rows of trees dappled with the rays of the setting sun. Soon he spotted three men heading northwest several rows beyond, their movements halting and awkward as if one of the three were impeding their progress. Prince Gregory grinned, knowing his father was putting up a good struggle.
The apple trees were planted in long rows north to south. The prince sped north along a strip of ground between two of the lines, keeping a constant eye on his father and his captors until they were almost directly to his left. As the trio moved northwest, hoping to clear the orchard and make for Mount Minakaris, Prince Gregory shifted west, cutting swiftly across row by row while dodging the hanging branches that scratched at his face like angry wasps. He spotted several other men at various distances and directions, all racing toward the King. He assumed all were from his father’s army, though he couldn’t make out their faces or garb through the budding branches in the dimming light.
He heard a fluttering noise through the leafy branches just ahead, followed by a single, dull thud as if someone had thrown a stone against the trunk of a tree. He stopped dead in his tracks, the origin of the mysterious noise revealed. Lodged into a tree in front of him was an arrow with orange, brown and black feather fletching, indicative of a weapon from Kargoth. Prince Gregory’s heart pounded. Someone behind and to his right was targeting him. He changed directions several times to confuse his assailant, erratically weaving through the shadowy trees. But when he thought he was finally making progress reaching his father, he noticed two more things that sent his heart racing even faster.
One of the two men dragging King Justin through the orchard was suddenly pulled to the left and stumbled to his knees. The King had used the force of his entire body and lunged leftward in mid-run, throwing the enemy soldier off balance. The man lost his hold as he slipped, and with the shift in momentum, King Justin and the second man toppled over between two trees. But the King had anticipated such an outcome. And though his hands were tied in front of him, he scrambled to his feet and raced southward before the others could stop him. Prince Gregory silently cheered on his father.
At the same moment, a group of allied soldiers rushed at the trio from the direction the captors were heading, having earlier cut across the northern border of the orchard to head them off. The man who had stumbled when King Justin escaped, a native of Kargoth, jumped to his feet when he saw the advancing rescue party. He spun around and chased after the King. His counterpart was slain moments later as he charged at the soldiers with a sword. One man from the rescue team then broke away and pursued the soldier from Kargoth before he could reach the King. A second man impulsively followed to help, his pace slower and steps less agile, yet his heart as resolute.
“I’m right behind you, Malek!” shouted Sala, his face dirt-smudged and dewy with perspiration after a day of running and fighting in and north of Del Norác.
Prince Gregory watched the rapid events unfold. He altered his direction once more, hoping to reach his father before the enemy soldier closed in on the King from behind. “Father!” he called out, ducking under a low branch. He finally entered a space between two lines of trees directly south of King Justin who now sped toward his son. With a clear view of his father’s determined face, Prince Gregory drew his sword and bolted toward him. The soldier from Kargoth, with Malek and Sala behind him, all madly pursued the monarch from the opposite side.
At once, several enemy arrows shot through the trees with lightning speed, stripping bursts of leaves from the branches as they searched out their marks. King Justin and Sala both fell to the ground in the dusky confusion.
“Father!” Prince Gregory cried as he ran, fearing the worst.
But when the King rose to his feet, having apparently only tripped on a tree root, the prince was heartened, but only for a moment. The soldier from Kargoth, now just steps away from King Justin, zeroed in on him with a dagger. Prince Gregory could almost feel the stab of cold metal himself as the soldier rushed at his father with burning hatred. But as the King turned to avoid the brunt of the attack, Malek leaped upon the enemy from behind and tackled him to the ground, taking King Justin down with them in a pile of bodies.
As Malek pulled the soldier off of him, King Justin exhaled a muffled cry of pain that quickly died in the shadows. The haunting sound tore at Prince Gregory’s heart. When he finally reached his father, he fell to his knees, his hands trembling, fearing he may have been too late. Malek, without hesitation, finished off the soldier from Kargoth with a single thrust of his sword. He turned away from the corpse in disgust, breathing in the cool twilight air to steady himself.
“Father, speak to me!” Prince Gregory pleaded with quiet urgency as he looked upon the King’s pale face staring up at him from beneath an apple tree. Malek watched over them with concern, noting a growing bloodstain below the King’s right shoulder.
King Justin, his eyes shifting in a state of confusion, offered his son a faint smile. “It’s good to see your face, Gregory, as for a while I thought I would never look upon my son again. But–” He took a slow, deep breath, trying to gather his strength. A flicker of fear shot through the prince as he protectively held his father’s hand.
“But what, Father? What do you wish to say?” he whispered, wondering if their time together was nearing its end.
King Justin gazed lovingly upon his son and squeezed his hand as a look of befuddlement slowly crossed his face. “But–who is he?” the King inquired, indicating Malek with raised eyes. His voice had grown stronger now, giving hope to his son that maybe his injury was not as severe as it looked.
“My name is Malek, sir. I’m with the mountain resistance,” he replied. “Though for the past several hours I’ve been fighting alongside your troops under the capable direction of King Cedric and the wizard Tolapari.”
“Ah, Malek,” he replied, recognizing the name. “Nicholas Raven and your friend, Maximilian, had both talked about you when we had met by Lake Mara. In nothing but glowing terms, I should add,” he said, trying to sit up.
“I’m flattered,” Malek replied. He knelt down and helped Prince Gregory to gently position his father against the tree.
“So you do not intend to die in this apple orchard?” the prince quipped.
“I feel battered and pierced, but with salve and bandaging, I should pull through. That dagger missed any vital organs,” he said as his son examined the wound. “Besides, think what a pall I would cast upon Megan and Leo’s relationship if I died under an apple tree, of all things.” He softly chuckled. “The boy would be devastated!”
“Agreed,” Prince Gregory said as he removed his thin, cloth vest and pressed it upon the wound before glancing at Malek. “Can you run for assistance?”
“At once,” he replied, racing north up the narrow strip to where most of the soldiers from his group were still gathered.
But he had taken only a few steps when he noticed Sala’s body sprawled facedown upon the ground several yards ahead, an arrow buried in his back. He ran to his friend, his chest tightening with every breath. Suddenly a cry of rage erupted from somewhere in the trees far to his right, momentarily drawing away his attention before all went silent. But Malek ignored whatever danger might be lurking and knelt down beside Sala’s body, feeling sick to his
stomach when gently laying a hand upon the back of the young man’s head. But when he did so, Sala flinched as if having been asleep. He slowly turned on his side, the ridge of his nose bloody and bruised as he gazed groggily at Malek.
“My face hurts,” he muttered, lightly pressing a finger against his nose. “I lost my footing and tripped. I think someone pushed me.”
Malek, on the verge of tears, couldn’t help smiling. “And you hurt nowhere else?” he asked in disbelief.
“I scraped my hands, too,” Sala said, sitting up. “I guess I passed out.”
“If that’s the worst of it, you are lucky indeed. But you weren’t pushed, my friend.” Malek reached around Sala and grabbed hold of the arrow he now realized was only lodged in a small pack around the man’s back. “You don’t feel this?” he asked, gently wiggling the arrow a few times.
“Feel what?”
“Good.” He circled around Sala and examined the arrow which was stuck in the small pack but not firmly so.
“What are you doing? What’d you find?”
“One moment,” Malek replied, easing the arrow out of the pack and holding it in front of Sala’s stunned eyes. Attached to the point were two of the hardened biscuits he had retrieved from Brin’s raft last autumn. “I didn’t think these were still edible.”
“They’re good in a fix, sort of,” he sheepishly replied. “I forgot I had any left.”
“Well, don’t get rid of those,” he said, handing Sala the arrow and slapping him on the back before racing northward. “Now attend to the King while I get help.”
King Justin walked into the field east of the orchard several minutes later. Prince Gregory and Sala assisted him on either arm, his wound temporarily bandaged. Malek and a few other soldiers accompanied them. The growing white light of an approaching moonrise filled the eastern sky where a string of mountaintops stood silhouetted against the crisp horizon. The battle in the immediate area had since concluded. Most of the enemy lay dead and their horses grazed among the grass as the King’s soldiers patrolled the area. But the fighting continued unabated in other parts of Del Norác, especially in the eastern field outside the city’s border.
Nicholas Raven and the Wizards' Web (The Complete Epic Fantasy) Page 173