The Ambersham

by Greg Ricker

  The two southlanders knew from what they had heard, that they faced the prince of Bowenn, but they could not imagine anything they had done that would surpass the urgency of the matter at hand.

  Danuel stepped off of the wagon, and dropped onto the hard cobblestoned street. He looked both young men over. Studying them.

  “You do not live here in Bowenn.” He did not ask.

  “We’re from Gerhihn.” Said Taron.

  “How did you know about this?” The Prince continued to study them. “About the Orcs, I mean?”

  Both wanted to answer, but Dalt’s tongue was quicker. “Our village was attacked...Sire.” He felt he should add the formality.

  “We may be the only survivors!” Added Taron.

  Danuel paced a short line. The people trapped in Merchants’ Square could be the only survivors of this attack, as well. No, his father would make it. He knew it.

  The prince wanted to try climbing the wall again.

  “Daylen was also destroyed.” Added Taron. “They killed everyone, and took the horses and livestock with their Dragynn. We came here for your help, and then...”

  Danuel believed them, but why where the Orcs so restless? Two villages destroyed, and then, still having the strength and nerve to attack a vast kingdom! The Dragynn were a great aid in their hasty traveling, and also the means to their successful raid on the castle. Perhaps the alliance with the flying beasts was their influence. Danuel sorted through the thoughts in his mind. Why did the Orcs want their horses and livestock so badly, that they killed entire villages to get them? He had to think more about what he was going to do about it. Standing there as war raged on passed the great stone wall, was just too much to bear.

  "The gate is opening!" The cry hit Danuel's ears, and he bolted into the crowd of soldiers, the two southlanders forgotten.

  The gate, was a pair of large double doors made of both wood and steel. The two bolts holding them secure were long, thick logs of redwood. The doors shook as the logs were pushed aside, and then slowly they were pulled back. In the opening, stood Victor Malkyr. The crowd of soldiers in Merchants' Square cheered as they rushed in, ready to kill every Orc in sight. They outnumbered them by far, now.

  The Orcs, however, had already begun their retreat. They hopped on their Dragynn, two to each one. Just the way they arrived in Bowenn.

  Danuel met Victor at the gate when the crowd had finished rushing through. The General was bleeding from almost everywhere, but standing strong.

  "My father!" The prince shouted. "Where is my father?"

  He did not like the look on Victor's face. Like he did not know how to say the words.

  "No."

  "I am sorry, Danuel." Victor walked past him. Too tired to fight in what remained of the battle behind him. Too tired to talk. A pair of soldiers took his arms and pulled him away, no doubt towards the church.

  Danuel held back growing tears.

  Why? What was this madness for? What would be gained by Orcs destroying Bowenn? By killing his father?

  At breakneck speed, he ran into the castle grounds.

  V

  Kings´ Peace

  By morning the flames had died. The castle was a pile of smoking rubble that remained too hot to stand near to. Wounded men were still being carried off on carts and wagons, and the dead accounted for. There were too many, a terrible loss. Somehow Danuel would make the Orcs pay for this. For the women who sat weeping next to their sons' and husbands' lifeless bodies. For his father, his body still within the castle ruins.

  There was only one way.

  His father had told him many times about the Kings' Peace Oath. The Lords of Lynnwood would unite, and fight their foes. Destroying them. Each king would choose an army, and the three would become one. The Men of Bowenn, the Dwarves of Mynnorah, and the Elves of Ayarlyn, would become the strongest fOrce in all the lands. The matter was urgent, and his army would have to be ready for immediate action. Was that possible now? What sort of army did he still have?

  Many were injured, or dead!

  His Generals were on the injured list. Victor Malkyr had many cuts and bruises. Nyol Jakard had lost an eye fighting on the castle grounds. As for the Lieutenants, Flan Gildmon had suffered a broken nose. Palad Grimm had a broken wrist, to match Lin Kothar's broken elbow. Rohn Ferrel, and the twin brothers, Baril, and Blayne Bryer, had minor cuts and abrasions. Would any of them be ready to leave so soon? It would be foolish to go on to Ayarlyn without the Generals and Lieutenants. They would all have to do their duty. No matter what had happened, or how they felt.

  He would see to it himself.

  In fact, the plan in his head had already begun to reveal itself.

  "Sir Talbarond!" A castle guard ran to the prince's side. He carried his helmet in one arm as he slowly made his way in his heavy, plated armor, covered with both Orc, and human blood. "The High Lord General wishes to see you sir."

  Danuel decided to go right away, or he would never take his eyes off of his father's castle. He headed for the square, knowing that the General was still inside the church. He tried to think of what to say to him. Would the highest-ranking officer of the Bowenn army argue an order to stay behind?

  Victory Malkyr had his own private room in the tall towered church. He never asked for special attention, he just received it. He sat in the great study of the High Priest, in an oversized chair made of dark walnut. He held a wounded left leg out straight on a padded bench. His golden armor and neatly folded cloak sat upon the small, square table next to him, leaving him in his red trousers and wide-collared black shirt. His thick, muscled arms stretched the short sleeves.

  Nyol accompanied Victor with a large bruise showing around his eye patch. Flan, with a bandage across the bridge of his swollen nose, and red-haired Palad, wearing a sling on his right arm. They passed around a tall pitcher of a healing drink that too much of made a person drunk. They all had swallowed more than enough for their pain. All in casual clothing now, they sat slouched in their chairs, except for Nyol, who remained standing.

  "How long has it been, forty years?" Victor was asking. He grabbed the pitcher from Palad and lifted the bottom up for a long drink.

  "Forty-one." Said Flan, a big fan of written history. He could be both fascinating to talk to, and boring. He wore the same wool button-up and brown trousers as Palad. Not on purpose. "It was the Gnoll lord, Yeenoghu."

  "I never thought it would happen again in my lifetime." General Malkyr sounded happy that it did, though. He knew the acts of great soldiers made the history books as well, and perhaps one day Flan's children would read about his deeds.

  "Never has anything like this happened, though." Palad added. "They seem to get more clever each time."

  Victor grinned. "Experience, Lieutenant! Did we not learn something from this invasion? I, for one, learned that we could be beaten!" That hurt no matter how much he drank. The loss of their king, was a grave failure.

  "What do you propose that we do about it?" Asked General Jakard, always his angry, growling self. He was dressed entirely in black, and felt awkward without his sword, knots, and seal. Irritating him further.

  Victor shook his head. He knew what Nall had planned. Danuel would lead the Bowenn army to Ayarlyn. Then it hit him that he was the only person with that knowledge. He could use that greatly to his advantage. Who would know the difference if he appointed himself that position? Would it really change his responsibilities? Only that he would have the first say about everything. Danuel would be king, but not until the day of his Royal Coronation. He was just another lord to the people, at the moment, and Victor's orders were far more beaten into the soldiers than the prince's. He could not help thinking about the fact that if Danuel had died in the attack, he would no doubt be the only remaining choice for king.

  He shook his head again, but no one else knew why.

  "We will have to wait for the prince's orders, I suppose." Flan answered Nyol, after allowing the High Lord General a few moments to do so
. "That is was the law states."

  "Law." Victor spat the word. "Do you actually believe, for one minute, that some drunken delinquent knows the law like we do?"

  Flan, nor Palad, could argue. Danuel was a hard man to defend. The soldiers liked him well enough, but he lacked the maturity of a dignified noble.

  Even less, that of a king!

  Victor laughed at the two silent men.

  Then the door to the study opened, and Danuel quickly stepped in. His shoulder had been seen to downstairs, and bandages could be seen through the tear in his silk shirt. He spotted the pitcher in Victor's hand, and sighed. It was well known that he did not disapprove of drinking, but he wanted to find them sharp, at that moment.

  "Greetings, Danuel." Victor stayed in his chair, but the Lieutenant- Commanders stood with the already standing, General Jakard. "Glad to see you well."

  Did he really mean that?

  "Generals, Lieutenants." The prince addressed them as he stepped into their circle. He did not know that he had actually invaded it. "I have made a decision."

  The men were looking at Victor then. The High Lord General appeared calm. Sure of himself.

  "I plan to honor the Talbarond name," the prince continued, "and uphold the Kings' Peace Oath. I will send two men with the news of our tragedy, and the news of our coming. I want all soldiers capable to ready an army, and we will leave for Mynnorah in two days."

  The officers were shocked. Danuel was serious.

  "Two days?" Victor almost laughed aloud. "Easy as that, is it?"

  Danuel did not like the General's tone. He had to stand strong, whatever was said. He would leave this room in charge of the situation.

  "I don't think you understand." Victor was no longer smiling. "We lost many of our best soldiers inside the castle. Your army will be made up of sword-dropping children."

  "Then they will have to do." Danuel would even settle for worse, at the moment.

  Victor removed his feet from the padded bench and leaned forward in his chair. "If you think that I am going to take an army like that..."

  "You will be staying, General." Danuel interrupted. He knew what he was doing, and Victor would have to accept it.

  Victor quickly stood. "Don't be foolish, boy!" He would never have spoken that way to Nall.

  "Why should I remain here?"

  "To be king." Danuel replied. "Should I fail to return."

  Victor was almost speechless. The others stood watching silently with wide-open eyes.

  Nyol could only hold the one eye wide-open.

  "Two days, Victor." Danuel's voice resembled his father's just then. "I know that King Blanford will wait five days for my arrival, then leave on his own, if need be."

  Flan nodded. The Prince was correct.

  "I want all who are not injured to join me." Danuel looked about at his commanding officers. They were all injured themselves.

  "Perhaps, sire," Victor addressed him derisively, "you should take an aggregate of your men."

  Something he, himself, had already ordered done.

  "One-thousand and eighty-six injured," Danuel began, "and six-hundred and twenty-three dead. Leaving nine-hundred and sixty-five soldiers. I believe only three dozen castle knights survived, but one has blurred vision, and will report to me later."

  Victor frowned. The prince was right, and even shared a little more information than the General was aware of.

  "I trust you to serve and defend my father's kingdom as well as he would." Said Danuel. "I can only trust you with such a duty, General. Only you could withstand the consequences of such a position."

  Of course Victor could, but being the best choice did not guarantee an exemplary outcome.

  "Thank you, sire." He replied. The men were more wide-eyed than ever.

  Had Victor given in?

  Danuel smiled then. He gave each man a quick look. They were fine soldiers, and friends.

  "Let's all get some rest for a while, then.¨ Danuel suggested. ¨We all need it."

  He knew they would all probably just pass out by the time the pitcher was emptied.

  "Good day, men." Danuel left the room.

  Flan and Palad saluted, out of habit, as the prince left the room. Palad awkwardly had to use the wrong arm.

  After a brief moment of silent thought, Victor's fist hit the table so hard that his armor toppled over and fell onto the shiny hardwood floor. He pretended not to care about it. The Lieutenants jumped back, but Nyol was used to such outbursts.

  After all, he had an even worse temper than Victor.

  "Lieutenants!" Flan and Palad looked at General Malkyr nervously. Their fear of both Generals was far more powerful than Danuel's blood. "Tell every soldier that their final duty to the King, is to follow my orders. I will be leading an army to Ayarlyn, and the prince is to remain in Bowenn. Anyone who joins him will be punished. Harshly."

  No one would dare declare loyalty to the prince once the order was spread. He would finally get the chance to use the knowledge and power that a lifetime in the military had given him.

  "Reach every ear within the hour."

  The two men saluted and quickly left the High Priest's study.

  Nyol chuckled when the door closed, but it made his empty eye socket hurt worse. "What are you planning, Victor?"

  The High Lord General smiled as he sat back down in the high-backed chair. "Watch, and learn, General Jakard. Watch and learn."

  "...and let he who follows the Lord, walk on paths of petals." The High Priest continued, as he circled the great room of the church, praying for the injured and dying on blankets at his feet. "Let those who wish to harm us, walk on paths of thorns."

  He wore all flowing white, with a gold, rope belt, and used a tall wooden staff as a walking stick. "The Creator leads us to the right path, to our homes in his kingdom. To salvation..."

  He passed two young men that held down the legs of a young soldier while his sword wound was being sewn shut by an elderly woman.

  An Herbearer Mistress.

  Herbearers were women skilled in the art of healing, mostly with the use of plant extracts. They could begin their training at any age, but had to live inside the training school for six years. Many women wanted to learn, but not many wished to make the sacrifice. There were only eight fully trained Herbearers in the city, and six students. The pupils, and three of their teachers, had all been slain. The school, had unfortunately been located inside of the castle grounds. That left only five to look after hundreds men.

  That number dwindled as time went on, though.

  All the bench seats in the high-ceilinged room had been moved to the walls, leaving the large floor open for all the injured to lie upon. Each had their own blanket, and most had the comfort of a pillow under their heads. There was only enough room between them for narrow walking paths.

  "Cloth!" The Herbearer Mistress did not mean to snap, but she was trying to hurry. There were dozens of others she would have to see to. Her long gray hair, which she normally wore in a large bun, was stringy, and tangled to the middle of her back. She was plump, and wore a dark blue dress that hid the numerous blood stains well. None of the blood was hers, of course.

  Sharp pincers cut the stitching thread without added pain, and cold water was poured over the wound. Then she used the cloth to dab it dry, and in her other hand, produced a strange mixture, like green porridge, and she smeared it over the wound. The soldier grunted, and tried to sit up, but Taron and Dalt held him down.

  "Let him get up." Said the Herbearer. "I need to wrap it now, anyhow."

  She removed the soldier's unbuttoned shirt when he sat back up. He was grinding his teeth the entire time she wrapped the heavy bandage snugly around his midsection. Then he was allowed to return slowly to his pillow, with much help.

  The Herbearer hastily packed, then moved on to the next bleeding soldier. Near her, a much younger woman, in her early twenties, worked on a man with an even worse gash down his left thigh.

  "He
lp her." She ordered the two southlanders, and they were at the younger woman's side immediately.

  The girl was in the same need of grooming as the elderly woman, but she was beautiful, still. Her jet black hair was wavy and long, bangs pulled up into a hurried bun. She wore the same blue dress with long sleeves, and a high, choking collar. Labeling her an Herbearer, as well.

  Having been through the same procedure almost fifty times already, Taron and Dalt were quick to offer the girl everything that she needed, and sometimes, even before she asked for it. She was not as fast with her actions as her elders, but she was as equally sure of what she was doing. In less than eight minutes, it was done. The soldier was lying on his back with his eyes closed, the wound nearly forgotten, as he fell asleep. The girl packed her things.

  "You did well, Kaylel." Said a woman's voice behind her. It was Blenda Stalmane, the head of the Herbearer School. Her tall, gray bun was perfect. Not one stain could be found on her clothes. She had been practicing for most of her sixty-eight years.

  "Thank you, Lady Stalmane." Kaylel stood with her bag in hand. "I'm afraid I have not yet done enough."

  "Calm yourself, child." Blenda called everyone younger than her, child. "All have been seen to now. We will just have to wait and see how our efforts turn out."

  Kaylel nodded. She had been very nervous. Scared, in fact.

  "Come now," Blenda started, "you must get some water for yourself. Take a moment to rest your hands."

  Before the two women had taken five steps, Kaylel's brother, Jarod, stepped in her path.

  "Kaylel." He sounded relieved. He ran a set of fingers through his wavy, brown hair. He was dressed in his chain-mail uniform, stained with yellow, proof he had given some Orcs a taste of his sword. "Danuel is looking for you."

  "For me?" Kaylel sounded surprised.

  "I want you to get that water, Kaylel." Said Blenda, as she was leaving them.

  "Yes." Kaylel replied. "I will. I promise." Then her attention went back to her brother. Only she appeared angry this time. "Tell him he will just have to wait. Does he not know I am busy? He should understand."