by Jack Cage
“What is that?”
“Look at the pommel of the sword, the bottom part.” Amri raised the sword in front of him and saw a piece of fabric hanging from the bottom with a bead at the end. “That is your mother’s hair and some of the fabric from her dress,” Joseph said.
Astonished, Amri quickly smelled the fabric. Instantly, he knew it was his mother’s hair and dress. He began to cry softly to himself for a brief moment.
“Rise to your feet young man,” Joseph said. “Every sword must be balanced and true. How does it feel in your hand?”
Amri spun the sword in his hand and took a few practice slashes. “It feels like it is a part of me,” he replied.
“Good. I took the liberty of creating a scabbard that I believe your father would approve of.” Joseph presented it to Amri. It had the face of a lion carved onto both sides. “Keep your sword inside this scabbard. It is made strong and can be used in a fight along with your sword, if needed.”
“Thank you so much for all that you have done for my father and me,” Amri said with great appreciation.
“My people believe all is lost out there on the battlefield, but I believe you can help our people, and save many lives. But you cannot fight without a suit of armor, and after watching you practice all of these years, I had to create a different type of suit for you.”
“You made me a suit of armor?”
“Yes. It is my finest work, and the last suit of armor I will ever make. My hands cannot stand the abuse anymore.” Joseph reached down, moved aside a floorboard to reveal a hidden compartment, and asked Amri to lift a large crate from within. “Open it,” said Joseph. Amri did so, and inside, he found a bascinet. “Put it on.” Amri carefully lowered it down over his head. “To your left is the water pot I use to cool my steel, look at yourself in the reflection.”
Amri was startled to see the dark, bronzed face of a lion with long fangs covering each of his cheeks in the reflection. “Your father spoke of people calling you the Black Lion where you came from. I thought it was appropriate for you to look as such. With all of that hair hanging out of the bascinet, you look like a lion too. Let me help you with the rest of the suit.”
Piece by piece, Joseph helped Amri don the rest of the armor, and although the metalsmith’s water pot was not big enough for the Sefu man to see his armored reflection, Amri knew it was stunning. “What do you think?” Joseph asked.
“I love it,” Amri replied.
“I know you rely on your speed, so that is why your armament is minimal in the joints. I concentrated the majority of the metal on your chest and back. Your legs are also covered, but I believe you will not allow anyone to get that close to you. The chainmail is a special weave I made for you. It is light but strong and should give you the freedom of movement you need,” Joseph said while adjusting the fit to Amri’s massive body. “Put your bascinet back on.” Amri did as instructed. “Now, nod your chin down quickly.” His faceplate fell down over his face with a clank. “You are now ready to fight. Oh, but I forgot one last thing. You cannot fight without the colors of the Midlands.” Joseph tied the crimson colors of the Red Guard around Amri’s waist with the sword and scabbard attached to it. “Your father spoke of your greatness, and I have done all I can to help you achieve your destiny. You are the last hope for my people. Please help us defeat our enemy.” Joseph ran his fingers along the lion’s head he had stamped into Amri’s chest plate. “Be the Black Lion for us,” Joseph said.
Amri[DS16] gently hugged Joseph Cannon and told him, “I will do what I enjoy doing the most.”
“And what would that be, Amri?”
“Inflicting pain.”
Amri left Joseph’s shop and walked toward the staging area. The men were still strategizing when they saw Amri walking toward the castle gates. To them, he looked like an armored demon from their worst nightmares.
Sam had been wounded earlier in the battle, yet his hatred for Amri did not stop him from hobbling over to him. “How dare you wear the colors of the Red Guard!” he spat. Before he could say another word, Amri punched Sam so hard his head slammed back to rest between his shoulder blades, and there it remained.
“I told you I would kill you,” Amri said to himself, then continued to walk out beyond the castle walls.
The battlefield was cluttered with the corpses of fallen warriors. Amri continued his slow walk from the castle, and with every step he thought about the events that had brought him to this point. He looked to the sword hanging from his hip and felt sadness for his father. It was then Amri realized he was no longer in the castle, and his spirit came alive. He was no longer in a cell, and was not running away from his enemies—he was walking toward them.
This time, no one was telling him what he should not do or how he had to suppress his will to fight. In this place, this battlefield, Amri realized he already had his freedom.
He had gained it as soon as he put Joseph Cannon’s armor on, and no human on earth could take that away from him.
As Amri continued his slow walk toward the battle in front of him, he could see men fighting against each other. One of Carpenter’s cavalrymen spotted Amri in his dark, bronzed armor and commanded his horse to a fast gallop in hope of intercepting him as he approached the battlefront.
Amri could see the rider coming in his direction, immediately assessed his surroundings, and was quick to notice a very large iron mallet on the ground. The rider approached, lowering his long spear as he intended to slaughter Amri in stride.
As Amri Sefu watched the horseman hurtle toward him, he broke the long stride he had maintained since leaving Harkstead Castle, spun counter clockwise, and just as the rider’s spear missed his right shoulder, he clubbed the horse squarely in the chest with the iron mallet. The wooden handle shattered into pieces, and fell away from Amri’s hand.
The beast cried out in pain as the force of the blow caused it to flip over itself in the air, crushing the rider beneath it. The horse laid on the ground writhing in pain before finally taking its last breath. The animal’s cry and the ensuing clatter had been heard over the din of the battle, and Carpenter’s soldiers had turned their attention to the giant armored man.
Having lost his bascinet in the scuffle, Amri bent to pick it up, and placed it back over his dreadlocked mane. A quick nod brought the Black Lion’s faceplate down, and Amri turned to face the incoming assault. “More,” he said to himself.
The air was calm on the battlefield, but through his bascinet, Amri thought he heard bugs flying around him. Suddenly, he heard something whiz past his ear, then another.
He turned to his right to find group of young, and obviously frightened, archers shooting arrows at him. As Amri started to turn toward their direction, he immediately dropped onto his back to avoid an arrow flying toward his face.
Infuriated, he gathered himself off the ground quickly and moved as fast as he could toward the group of young archers, and in fear and haste, the inexperienced archers could not nock their arrows quick enough before the armored warrior dove into the group. Grabbing one of the arrows, he shoved it into the nearest archer’s eye, then used the archer’s body to shield himself as he picked up a bow and loosed arrows at the archers who had scattered when he ran at them.
From a distance, Thomas Carpenter saw the large man in dark armor throwing archers about, and said, “What the bloody hell is that?”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty, but he is very big,” Davis replied.
Amri noticed a pair of throwing axes holstered to the chest of a dead soldier.
Grabbing one, he threw it laterally across his chest, cleaving an archer just below the throat. As soon as he had let the ax fly, a Carpenter soldier grabbed Amri by the shoulder. He began to turn toward his attacker, but from the corner of his eye, Amri saw an archer rip the ax from his cleaved enemy, and launch it back at him. He parried to his right and spun the man gripping his shoulder around in time for the ax to strike his enemy in the chest.
Rip
ping the ax from the soldier’s chest, Amri threw it with precision back at the young archer, killing him instantly.
He was feeling more alive than he had ever felt before. His eyes were wide and his heart was calm. It is a beautiful day to die, Amri thought. As he turned to move on to his next skirmish, a blow to his chest slid his feet backward through into the blood-soaked ground. A very large enemy soldier, wielding a two-handed broadsword, then followed with a kick to the mid-section. Armi reached for Lion’s Heart, and as he held it in his hands, time stood still for a moment. Amri noticed the ground swell under the weight of his enemy’s feet, his sword was too large and heavy to swing quickly, and he was out of breath from the kick he had just dealt. The enemy soldier raised his mighty two-handed broadsword into the air, preparing to bring it downward for slashing blow when Amri drove the Lion’s Heart into the man’s foot.
The man screamed in pain, but it did not last long; Amri pulled out the two stilettos strapped to his back and drove them up under the man’s bascinet. The incredible force behind Amri’s knives raised the man’s body off the ground—with the exception of the foot still pinned to the earth by the Lion’s Heart. The insatiable Sefu warrior looked deep into his enemy’s eyes as he drove the knives still deeper into his flesh. [DS17]
The Carpenter’s soldiers did not know what to make of the massive, dark, armored man who donned the colors of the Midland Kingdom’s elite fighting force.
Amri threw the body of the enemy soldier down and retrieved Lion’s Heart from the ground. A horn sounded in the distance; he turned to see the remaining Red Guards’ hurtling toward him.
They had been inspired by Amri’s fighting, and raced to the frontline on horseback and foot.
A massive sword fight began with Amri taking the lead. The Lion’s Heart was indeed the best sword Joseph Cannon and Zuberi Sefu ever made; its balance and weighting was perfect in his hand, and he killed dozens of the Carpenter’s soldiers in a blind rage. To the enemy soldiers, Amri moved too fast for a man of his size, and to Amri, Carpenter’s men moved as if they were made of stone and mortar. He killed as swiftly as the wind blew, and true to his title of “Black Lion,” his roar was carried across the battlefield by the same winds that had been following him throughout his life.
***
“I can’t believe this is happening! You said your plan would work!” Carpenter bellowed. Before Davis could respond he was knocked off of his horse by a broad ax to the chest. Carpenter looked down at Davis, then in the direction the ax had come from to see Amri in the distance, empty handed.
Amri drew Lion’s Heart from its sheath, and Carpenter yelled, “Enough of this foolishness! Order the cavalry to rush the castle, and kill that man!”
Word of the order spread quickly within Carpenter’s ranks, and every soldier that was not fighting Amri or the Red Guard charged the Harkstead Castle gate.
Deep inside the palace, Endesha and Harold were preparing to leave the castle by means of the secret path below the dungeons. “Why are we leaving, Endesha?” Harold asked.
“So you can be safe, little one,” Endesha replied.
“They are rushing the courtyard!” said a handmaiden near a window.
“We must go now!” Endesha said as he placed Harold on his back like Coffa used to do with him. “Hold on tight!”
He took a torch from the wall and ran as fast as he could down the hall and several flights of stairs, all while trying to remember the locations of the doors that led to the dark, stale, secret exit. “Almost there!” Endesha said.
Before long, they found the hall that would lead them to the door of their escape route, and away from Carpenter’s men. Endesha lowered Harold back to the ground, and said, “Hold my hand.” As the two approached the large door, Endesha suddenly stopped walking when he heard men outside it. He could not tell who it was, but knew very few people were privy to the location of the door.
Unfortunately for Harold and Endesha, Davis, as a former member of the Red Guard, knew of it and had given the location to the Carpenter’s men. The men on the other side had a ram and started driving it into the door. Endesha knew he did not have much time before the old wood would give way, and he and his ward would be killed. He had to think fast. He picked up Harold and placed him around the corner at the beginning of the hallway. “I need you to stay here: don’t move, cover your eyes, and begin counting. By the time you reach one hundred, I will be back for you,” Endesha said.
“Okay,” Harold replied.
Harold started to count, “One, two, three…” As he did, Endesha scanned the area looking for things he could use to fight with. He saw some long tapestries, pulled them down, tore pieces off, and wrapped them around his forearms.
Moving farther down the hallway he found some old swords and shields hanging on the wall, and grabbing them down, placed them strategically in various places along the hallway. Lastly, he came across a small, unlocked door. Upon opening it, he found some bottles of wine. It looked as if it was from the king’s special collection. Endesha uncorked a bottle, drank some, and thought to himself, Know who you are.
He placed the torch near the end of the hallway and poured the rest of the wine onto the tapestries he had pulled from the walls. He heard a loud crack as the wood started to give way, and Endesha knew he was in for the fight of his life. Using the items he had collected, he made a small torch, and as the men burst through the door, he threw it into the tapestries lining the entrance and set them on fire.
As Harold continued to count, “22, 23, 24, 25…”
Time seemed to stand still for a moment as Endesha did not understand why the Carpenter’s men seemed to be moving so slow. To the Carpenter’s men Endesha was the fastest man they have ever battled when he engaged them with a sword in each hand. Some of the men were on fire as they rushed into the hallway, others pushed their way into the hall and were met by Endesha—moving in swift precision with his swords. It was like nothing Endesha had ever experienced before, fighting was like dancing to him.
The Carpenter’s men saw death before they could see who was wielding the blade that cut them down.
As Endesha gave ground, he retreated to the shield had driven into the ground earlier and used it to block the blows from the enemy fighters.
He had prevented further retreat as he knew in the back of his mind that Harold was in the distance unprotected.
After killing more men, Endesha fought his way backwards toward his large torch. One of the Carpenter’s men attempted a strike that Endesha had to dive to the ground to avoid. With two men left, he knelt on one knee, grabbed the torch, and rose to his feet. Inhaling deeply, he blew the wine he had kept in his mouth the entire time into the flames, setting the men’s shirts on fire. [DS18]Endesha quickly killed the two men and collapsed in exhaustion.
“95, 96, 97, 98, 99, and 100,” Harold finished counting just as Endesha appeared from around the corner. Bloodied by several cuts and bruises, but very much alive, Endesha picked Harold up and held him close to his body, so he would not see the dead soldiers on the ground.
After they made it outside, Endesha took a few well-earned breaths, and asked Harold, “How do we get to your father’s place in the north?”
***
The horn signaled the remaining Red Guard soldiers to retreat back to Harkstead Castle. Amri was preparing to run back toward the castle when he saw one of Carpenter’s riders approaching from behind. He reached up and pulled the enemy soldier’s scabbard as the horse rode past, causing the rider to crash into the blood-soaked earth. He mounted the steed, rushed back to the Harkstead gate, and quickly dismounted to continue engaging the enemy.
“Lower the gate!” Amri bellowed.
The Red Guard and diminished Midland Cavalry tried to prevent the Carpenter’s soldiers from entering Harkstead before all of the Midland fighters were inside the battlement.
All except for Amri who was still fighting when he heard the portcullis’ massive locks release.
Just as the gate began to crash down to the ground, he stopped fighting, and walked into the courtyard as the portcullis narrowly missed him from above.
Amri continued to walk as he gathered his breath and noticed the Midland fighters defending Harkstead tirelessly. He gripped the Lion’s Heart in his hand and dispatched the few fighters that crossed his path. He made his way back to Joseph’s workshop. “Come with me, we do not have much time.”
“The Carpenter’s soldiers have breached the battlement?”
“Yes, and if we lose the courtyard you will perish, we must go now.”
“Where are we going to go?”
“I need to find someone. But first, I need to take my father from this place and give him a proper Sefu burial.”
“I will hold your bascinet.”
“Thank you.”
Amri moved as quickly as his armored body could to retrieve his late father. He found fresh cloth to wrap his father’s body, and placed him over his shoulder. Amri would have been gentler with his father’s body if he had more time, but he and Joseph had to leave before the enemy made their way into the royal house.
He remembered the secret entrance, and as he and Joseph made their way through the royal house, they found King Phillip standing by a window overlooking the courtyard. “Did my brother make it out safely?” Amri asked.
“I’m not sure, but I forgot to give him this royal decree naming Harold as the heir to the throne of the Midland Kingdom. Please take this with you.”
Amri took the decree along with the bottle of wine he saw sitting on the floor next to the doomed king. After drinking his fill of royal wine, the duo began heading down the hallway that led to their escape when King Phillip shouted after them, “Are you two heading to the north to joint Endesha and Harold?” Amri turned back to look at the king, then looked to Joseph before returning his gaze upon King Phillip, and replied, “No. We are heading south to Brixham to find a man named Burton. He is going to help me keep a promise.”
* * *