by SL Figuhr
Oh no! Not now! He fought to stay conscious and maintain his grip. The world moved past in slow motion as he found himself falling toward the ground—or it was moving up to meet him? The last thing he saw was the figure behind the altar turning in his direction.
Chapter Eighteen
D ark clouds blotted out the sky; their undersides glowed red, orange and yellow as shouts and screams drifted on the wind. I reined my horse to a stop, smelling fire and death. I should have just stayed at home. My food would have come to me; I wouldn’t have to go out to the countryside to hunt. A shape hurtled from between the buildings, howling in victory, sword covered in blood. The man spotted me and charged, battle madness shining in his eyes. I deflected his sword with my own, cutting him down, not recognizing him. It would be madness to enter a burning town; fire was deadly to me. I put my mount to a trot. We entered the drifting smoke, shapes appearing and disappearing in the flicker of light and darkness. I headed toward the center, a jumble of thoughts letting me know bandits and townspeople clashed together. I hadn’t had a decent fight in a long time.
Windstorm shied as we dashed past buildings fully engulfed, the heat near-unbearable. I guided him away so we wouldn’t be singed, killing those with evil thoughts who crossed before me. I left behind the shouts of townspeople I helped, passing through the engulfed center of town. The heat lessened, as did the fire. We burst from a cloud of smoke and ash to see bodies of the palace guard. A hard wind blew down the river, toward the sea.
A mix of people fought in a roil at the base of the bridge. I paused for a quick look. The cliffs loomed across the river; shouts echoed in the flickering fire amid the warehouses at their base. I could see thick smoke from farther up the hill, letting me know noble houses burned. A horn blasted out. I saw another group of fighters at the top of the street before the inn.
“Move! Fall back! To the hills! The palace guards have been alerted!” a big bearded man screamed over the noise. He sat a horse in the middle of the bridge.
I doubt his fellow raiders heard but they seemed to know what the horn meant, as the tenor of the battle changed. I wanted him; I could use him. I put heels to Windstorm; he leapt forward, knocking over a pair of fighters. It had been a long time since I fought from horseback; I used the smoke and flickering shadows to help hide my super-fast reflexes as I rode closer.
I wheeled around, cutting down fleeing robbers whose arms were full of booty, while I waited for the fight to come down off the bridge. On my side, townspeople chased after them. The horn blew again. I was temporarily alone with the dead. The apparent leader spotted me sitting my horse, letting out a roar intended to terrify, but he didn’t ride closer. He could see the firelight shining on my bloody blade. I was glad of my black leather; it would hide the stains.
His men reached the top of the bridge, running down it toward me. The foolish fleeing thought to pull me off my mount by sheer numbers. It only took a few seconds of my flashing blade, Windstorm’s teeth and hooves, and my exponentially growing pile of dead bodies to have the rest deciding I wasn’t worth the trouble.
I continued holding my ground, cutting down those I could reach. I shifted my balance to stay seated as Windstorm trampled on fallen bodies. Finally, the big man had no choice: the last of his men streamed past, the guard behind with their pole arms and swords.
I made no reply as the palace guard pounded past us, intent on chasing and capturing any bandit they could. My opportunity came just as the captain of the guard came riding up to help. The big man fell unconscious at my feet, the horse he rode galloping off before realizing he was riderless and stopped.
“Coward!” A dirty-faced woman grappled with another in the ashes, both of them pulling on a lumpy sack; with a rip, it split, spilling bread and cheese as the two dived after the food.
A black-haired man in a leather breastplate with a sheriff’s patch on his sleeve ran from a bunch of men and women, who were brandishing ropes and weapons. He tripped on debris, went sprawling, and scrambled back up. “There’s one of ’em! Come on! Grab him and we can hang him!” The man turned a corner and ran into another pursuing mob. They swamped him; he was dragged through the streets and hanged.
“Don’t you leave us here to pander to those commoners! Your family needs you! Let the advisor deal with it if the king is too scared.” Lady Elizabeth’s nostrils flared in anger, her pallor making bruises stand out.
I surfaced from my nap with the tumulus thoughts of the townspeople threatening to overwhelm me. I still wore my leathers from the attack; the stale smell of smoke rose off them. I descended from my room, finding my slaves clustered near the front door in a state of agitation. They turned at my approach.
They looked at each other, Eron stepping forward. “Nothing to worry about, just a mob forming.” His dark eyes challenging me to chastise him.
“If it is not outside our gates, I expect everyone who wishes to continue receiving food and shelter to get back to their tasks.” After a moment, they went back to their daily chores. “As for you, come with me.” I crooked a finger at Eron. We headed down the drive.
“How many of the warriors did we lose?”
“A handful, along with the new barracks, oh great Mistress.”
“Sarcasm? Really? I know I am considered a kind owner, but don’t let it give you false confidence. Morale is low enough without my having to order you punished.”
Eron followed me as I threaded my way past burnt wagons, and a row of bodies neatly lined up near the closed gates of my courtyard. Two slaves guarding them drew open the gates enough to let us out.
A cold wind smacked into us, angry steel gray clouds boiling overhead as we stood in the middle of the nearly empty street. A look left showed me bodies littering the road, most of them bandits, with a few sporting the uniforms of the palace guard or of noble houses with a sheriff’s man or two. I couldn’t see the entrance to the palace because of how the street twisted, but I could make out the dull glint of metal from pole arms atop the wall. A few drifts of smoke curled from various noble houses. The scent of charred bodies and organic material lay heavy in the air. I saved the view of the town for last, just standing there. A few of the guards turned, but as we provided no threat, they faced back across the bridge, except for one man who came striding over.
I recognized him from last night as the captain of the guard: Mathias. He stopped abruptly in front of me, hands on hips. “What did you think you were doing last night with your display? You should have left the battle to the men, to us guards—”
His uniform was sweat-, smoke-, and dirt-stained, as were his face, hands, and neck. His brown brush-cut hair lay matted to his head. His hazel eyes were sunk in dark circles of exhaustion.
An angry mob comprised mostly of townspeople, with a few groups of slaves, milled around a large bonfire. Bodies were tossed in a pile off to one side, the ground a churned sea of bloody mud. From our vantage point, it was easier to see the damage. The center of town lay in drifting ashes; the path of flame had radiated out in a circle, slowly dwindling to spokes on a wheel. Smoke continued to hang heavy, blanketing the remains, with the occasional crash of an unstable building drifting to our ears.
“Damn it, woman! No one wants to address the rabble. It took all the men we had just to push them away from the palace and back across the bridge. They want the king, and he hides with his harem, crying about assassins trying to kill him again.” He snorted in contempt. “You wanna risk your noble neck by talking to them, be my guest. After I get the prisoner.”
Mathias just stared at me. “I was warned you have trouble obeying our laws. The prisoner goes to the head questioner, who will report his findings to the king.”
He frowned at me, his eyes shifting to the man behind me, then to the mob. “The king isn’t going to come out of his rooms, and I’m not risking execution to try and force my way inside.”
“Very well. What of the sheriff and his men? Should they not be helping to disperse the mob?” I g
estured to the lower half of the bridge. I could hear the lawmen and the crowd exchange taunts and threats.
The captain snorted again. “Why do you think we have a mob? Half of ’em are crying the sheriff and his men helped the bandits. The other half wanna blame other townspeople they got a problem with.”
“At least take a note to the chamberlain, Aranthus. In two hours, I will bring the prisoner here. I trust you can keep the mob at bay at least that long?”
Two hours later, as promised, I had the prisoner with me, weakened from blood loss. The big man stood, wrapped in rope between Eron, who rode on my left, and me. A horn wailed from the palace, low and mournful. It wasn’t a warning of attack, but an announcement that the royal presence was emerging. After a few minutes, the call came again, and the mob, which had grown in the meantime, crowded closer to the barricades. I was very conspicuous as I sat still on my mount. The crowd muttered and shouted at us, which we ignored. A third time the horn blew. My household was lined up before the entrance to my property, bundled against the cold. Windows on the top floors of the inn facing the road opened the guests who had those rooms leaning out to see what was going on. The stable hands opened the inn gates; more guests and workers came to stand and gawk.
The horn came a fourth time, closer now, along with the sound of hooves and boots trampling. A fifth time the horn blew, sounding right behind me. Palace guards marched past as their comrades got a space open in the barricade. With barely a pause, they continued through and onto the bridge, lining the length of the bridge on both sides. Mathias rode up next to me. Eron, following my earlier instructions, rode back to stay with my slaves, and Aranthus took his place on my left, clutching his pommel as a palace groom led his horse.
“This will either earn you much prestige, or a trip to the dungeon,” he muttered to me through clenched teeth as the three of us rode onto the bridge, my prisoner stumbling beside my mount.
“If not, Lord Nicky will clap us in chains.”
“I thought he was missing.”
“He turned up just as I was leaving. Wherever he had been, he was gloating. I heard him questioning the slaves as the horn rang out the first time. I think it would be safe to say you probably single-handedly ruined the best mood he’s ever been in.”
The last of the mounted guard had formed the other three sides of a box. Aranthus, the captain, the prisoner and I stopped on the hump at the middle of the bridge. Behind us, the clatter of hooves stopped; the captain had raised the horn to his lips, and before he blew, he said, “I hope to the death lands you know what you’re doing.”
A sixth and last time he blew the horn until his breath gave out. He was red of face from the effort, but the mob realized if they didn’t quiet down, they wouldn’t hear what we had to say.
“Good citizens! Hear me! I speak to you on behalf our glorious ruler, King Maceanas, may he live forever!” Aranthus’s voice quaked as he spoke. There was some booing and derisive jeers, which died down as he continued.
Screams of joy, cries for him to be hanged or other creative deaths, came from the crowd, while a few insisted he hadn’t acted alone. I saw the sheriff turn to glare up at us, his mouth moving as he talked to his second-in-command. Jake must have made a crude joke as a few of his fellow lawmen turned to look my way, laughing and leering.
“For far too long we have been harried and tormented by the lawless hordes who hide in our hills and mountains, raid our town, steal our animals, rape our womenfolk.”
Laughter and other voices yelling in agreement followed. The captain of the guard held a hand up, bellowing for silence as the sheriff and his men spluttered denials and retribution to the speakers. Several tense minutes passed as the two groups heckled each other; it looked as if a fight would break out. Mathias sent a man to tell Jake to shut up and get his men under control. He did so, turning to look at me, searching behind as if expecting someone.
“Are you sure about this, my lady?” Aranthus took the pause to question me as he cast a worried look at the man between us, who was swaying, sweaty, and pale, mind firmly in my control.
“History is in the making, chamberlain, let us hope the townspeople recognize an opportunity. That those in the mob are less afraid of change than of the sheriff.”
The captain was directing some of his men to bring wooden crates, forming a makeshift platform upon which we could have the bandit stand for better visibility. The palace guards took the lead rope from me, prodding the man, forcing him to mount. He almost toppled, but two guards leapt up to help him stand upright.
“The man before you calls himself the King of the Bandits!” Aranthus shouted. The prisoner stood, looking around, half-defiant, halfafraid. “Today, we shall deal a blow against those who have preyed upon us!”
A voice called out from the crowd, “I still see the sheriff in charge! One bandit ain’t gonna help none when the biggest one of ’em wears a badge!”
“Shut it! I’ll have youse hung!” Jake screamed, wildly looking over the crowd for the person who had spoken. His men and the townspeople hurled accusations against each other.
Mathias was calling for order, Aranthus cast a nervous look back up the hill as the crowd jostled and swayed. A few of the townspeople tore at the barrier, trying to make a way through it while others tried to climb up it. The chaos was exactly what I needed. I had not planted the speaker; whoever they were would have my gratitude.
“Aranthus, it seems the people have a grievance against our good sheriff; it could be legitimate. We should let them have their say before they take matters into their own hands.” I suggested. Either way the man will die.
The chamberlain quivered beside me, scented linen held up to his mouth and nose, eyes wide with terror as he watched the crowd becoming increasingly agitated. A few enterprising townspeople made it to the top of the pile. They leapt upon members of the sheriff’s men as Jake scrambled up the bridge toward us. His men began using their clubs and swords to subdue the jumpers as the Palace Guard tried to hold the barricade in place.
“He should already be in the care of Rablias. How dare you place His Majesty in danger?! How dare you think to exceed your position?! You have no authority for such matters!” Nicky hissed at me as he transferred his eyes to mine. If looks could kill, and I can assure you mine can when I want them to, I should have been long dead and buried.
Speak! Now!“We were promised ten gold coins from your master!" the bandit continued howling out. “We were promised the palace guard wouldn’t interfere!”
The mob went wild, the bandit continuing to accuse the lawman. Jake stood gaping stupidly for a few moments before adding his own denials to the rising din. He stomped closer to our location.
“Aranthus! We are going back at once! Lady Illyria, I will deal with you on the morrow!” Maceanas shouted at me, terror in his voice. He seemed more afraid the mob would break through the barricades and try killing him.
“These are your loyal subjects, Majesty, the very backbone of your kingdom. Would you deny them their right to redress wrongs? To deny them a chance to take part in rebuilding the town and their homes?” My tone a gentle rebuke. “I should be ashamed to call this my homeland if we cannot work together for the betterment of the land and Your Majesty’s might.”
“I would not mind listening to what the people have to say, in a more controlled setting, of course. It is a great job we have ahead of us.” He put the linen square back to his mouth and nose. Only I heard him mutter, “Finally a chance to rid ourselves of the damn sheriff.”
“He has already spoken of what he knows, of who delivered the orders for the raid. Hang him now, for the townspeople, and question the sheriff.” I spoke drily, earning a vicious glare from the advisor. “The more important matter is who gave the orders for the raid to be carried out.”
“Without us,” my gesture including the people and surroundings, “Your Majesty will not have a kingdom. Many townspeople are ready to leave, seeking fortunes elsewhere, I have been h
earing,” I added.
“NO! His Majesty is too exposed here. There are traitors in the palace guard if what you’re insinuating is correct. That’s the only way they could have made it across the bridge without an alarm being raised,” Lord Nicky snapped out.
The advisor intended to keep the king in a state of panic, keep him from thinking. The young man turned to me. “Or else you helped them across somehow. Isn’t that your mansion to the side of us?”
“Why would I want to help them sack the town? Or the palace and its grounds? His Majesty is and continues to be more than generous to me. I have no need nor desire to see either destroyed.” I countered, the roaring mob’s voices swelling. “I would lose what little I have to the ensuing power vacuum.”
We turned as one to see people actively attacking the barricade, tearing it apart, palace guards and sheriff’s men trying to brace the pile while fighting off their attackers. The bandit lay on the ground, curled in a fetal position, Jake over him. The horse guards clattered into position, their captain yelling orders.
“Sire, if you don’t at least grant them a forum to be heard in, here and now, they will certainly finish what the bandits began.” I slammed my power into the king.
His eyes rolled back in his head, gurgling as I forced my command through unknown barriers freshly overlaid in his mind. An angry sound as of a kettle hissing came before being cut off. Maceanas swayed in his saddle, while royal guards hurried to support him as he blinked and coughed.
“Where are the archers?” Lord Nicky yelled.
“Majesty, what happened, are you all right?”
“Hold the line! Hold I say!”
Be a king! Command your peoples to obey!
“SIIIIIILLLEEEEEENNNNCCCEEEE!”
The king managed to stand up in his stirrups, his great roar echoing over sounds of shouting and fighting. Combatants broke off, casting about in shock. Many of the people were sporting cuts and bruises, a few had to be helped up from the ground as others dropped pieces of debris meant to be used as missiles. Bridles jingled, saddle leather creaking from men repositioning themselves.