by Mike Simmons
Cedric walked on towards the entryway, and Janga, without looking said “At ease, boys, back to work.”
They continued to walk towards the courtyard, through the welcoming rooms, past the entry storage halls and guard stations, and through the main gate. As Cedric exited the castle, the roars of his men broke out in excitement. They threw their fists in the air and shouts of goodwill rang clear. It took Lord Reinhold back a bit, especially seeing the black smoldering stack of smoke that rose into the air from outside the castle walls as a grisly reminder of what happened here. Amidst the death and the losses, these were his men and they were here to do what needed to be done. He was Lord Cedric Reinhold, Master and King of Karpathos Kingdom, the Soldier of the Light, and the only one who would risk everything to combat Empress Aurora, the mad woman.
He raised a hand in the air, patting a flat palm up and down to quiet the men. As they hushed, he walked around them, through the groups, checking out the condition of the equipment and the men. He shook hands, gave many nods of approval, and thanked his warriors for everything they have done. As he neared the end of his walk, he approached his First General.
“Janga, give me a head count of what we have left.”
Janga responded without thought. “We have five hundred dragoons, more horses available then dragoons to ride them. Less than fifty Gifted, a thousand archers, and six thousand foot soldiers, give or take, plus six smiths, two dozen food prep workers, two fletchers, and three mechanics.”
Reinhold calculated the numbers in his head. “Send the smiths to the shop, have them fire up the forges and begin fixing the weapons and armors. Send a dozen soldiers to help them with whatever they need. Have the fletchers go to the wood smith shop and begin fletching arrows, six or seven soldiers with them as well. Give a dozen soldiers to the mechanics. We need the ballistas and catapults all in working order. Tell them to double check all wagon axles and carts. Have the kitchen maids check the store and supply rooms and get that kitchen cooking. Have them open up the reserve wine barrels and let us get these men fed and taken care of. I want a dispatch of archers along the guard wall, two groups of dragoons patrolling the outside perimeter. I want the trebuchets moved, and placed there… and there,” he said, pointing to areas of the battlefield. “Load up the ammo wagons. Make sure the tree line is cleared a thousand paces from the outer wall. Let’s move.”
Like a disturbed beehive, the castle came to life. Men and women shuffled in every direction, carrying loads of equipment, moving storage crates and boxes, and dispersing like spilled water throughout the whole castle. Fires blazed up in the blacksmith’s shop, choking out black smoke from the heat stacks. The rhythmic buzz of sawing droned from the fletchers in the wood shop. Soldiers moved wagons of barreled wine and cheeses, meats and salt to the kitchens. Archers filed up the ladders to the guard wall, loading up the arrows barrels as they went. Hammers rang against metal as the smiths worked. It was not much, but it was something. It was a start.
Arkam approached the King, speaking with a voice like ice on the wind.
“Milord, the Lancers and I are ready to serve. We stand sixteen strong.”
Sixteen Gifted may not seem like much help but numbers do not represent potential among the Ice Lancers. They are all Gifted in the Element Aspect of Mind; control and power over ice. They can form weapons and shields with it, bend it to their will, create and destroy it. Their ability to manipulate it far exceeds that of a normal element bender. They are a combat force to be reckoned with.
Cedric acknowledged. “Arkam, Madagrack paid his life here in the castle. We are without an Ice Lancer Champion. You have served me well and served your Kingdom; will you stand tall for me and represent the Banner of Lion as Ice Lancer Champion?”
Emotionless, ice-blue eyes locked on his King and Arkam replied, “It would be my honor.”
“Good. Glad to have you on board. I need you to take the Lancers to the wood line,” he said, motioning outside of the castle. “Use the trees as cover, and keep me updated on any activity out there. If there is someone out there, I want to know about it.”
“Consider it done, Milord,” he turned and ran like the wind out the main gates.
Men moved a wounded soldier on a make shift stretcher past Lord Reinhold. Bandages covered his head and half of his face, soaked through in blood and wetness. As he passed, Cedric reached out and gave the soldier’s hand a squeeze. The two men carrying him nodded at their King with respect.
Like a massive gong, the all bronze warning bell on the castle top resonated out like thunder; once, twice and then three times. The sound, loud enough to be heard in the castle dungeon, caused all in the castle to cover their ears. Lord Reinhold stood in the courtyard, shocked.
What is going on? Is this really happening? Is Aurora here already?
Men shouted and yelled and one of the archers screamed, “Incoming armies, from the south!” Reinhold’s heart sank into his stomach. They were not ready for this. Only moments before they began the long and treacherous road to recovery. Armors were broken, there were no ammo wagons to load the trebuchets, and the archers did not have enough arrows left to hold off any incoming troops. Cedric could feel the blood draining from his face.
Arkam bust through the entry gate and ran straight for the King. Sweat beaded off his face as if he had ran a mile straight. He spoke urgently.
“Milord, there are more troops, thousands of them, filing in from the trees to the west, and horsed riders approach from the east.” Cedric felt light-headed. This could not be. The warning bell blazed its song across the castle. Men panicked, trying to ready for the incoming assault.
Cedric’s mind raced in a million different directions; how the enemy would move against him, what troops they would send in first, how he could protect his people from the barrage of incoming arrows, and how long his people would survive. He knew it would not be long. Even though they had the castle as fortification, they did not have the supplies to successfully defend themselves.
His worst fear birthed to life. As he glanced across the courtyard, men ran and yelled in panicked disarray, and his eyes stopped still as death on the small wooden wagon made of oak, topped with thick steel poles that formed a solid cage.
Sitting inside against the bars, the muscular man with the shaven head, peered outward back at him, licking his front teeth as if trying to wipe something off them. His mouth curved in a small smile and his eyes glared with expectation. Cedric stared at him as the Avatar of War nodded slowly.
Time seemed to slow as they stared at each other. Cedric considered the consequences of his future actions.
Should I? What would happen? He will kill my men as fast as he will kill hers! He does not take sides! I only have eight thousand left, eight thousand to lose, but she… she has two hundred thousand and they are knocking at my front door. The Avatar of War will kill without regards to numbers, and if he was faced with fighting a few of my men or an army of hers… Would he accept the challenge? He would! I have to bet on it! I do not have a choice, do I? It is now or never, the time for idle plans is over.
His mind played over images of the Avatar stepping out the cage. If his men were anywhere near Bram when he gained his freedom, they would be slain on the spot. It is what he did and it is what he loved. Perhaps he could leave the gate open, withdraw all guard wall ladders and lock everyone else inside the castle. Would I have time? Bram did not have superhuman strength; he could not knock down walls. The castle doors would keep him out and if he went outside, he would be face to face with the enemy, with Reinhold’s enemies. Her army could not withstand the might of the Avatar of War. The odds could be evened up in a single blow. There might even be a chance that Aurora would be there. How lucky would that be?
Cedric’s eyes raced over the span of the guard walls; ten ladders. With a single shout, those could be withdrawn upward on the wall, making the twenty-five foot walls impossible to reach. His archers would be safe. He whipped his head back towards th
e castle; roughly two-thousand men scattered across the courtyard. He could fit six-hundred in the inner ward, five-hundred in the great hall and throne room and another two-hundred in the chapel. There were also the smith shops, the grainery, and the storage cellars. It had to be enough. They were out of time.
Cedric exploded in action. “Archers! Withdraw the guard wall ladders!” he yelled, arching a pointing finger across the whole distance of the wall. “Soldiers, retreat to the inner ward and throne room! Seek immediate shelter in the grainery and storage cellars! Get out of the courtyard! Now, now, now! Go! Seek shelter! Lock the doors and protect yourself! Clear this courtyard immediately! Go now! Make haste! Run!”
As if confirming his commands, they slightly hesitated before his men did exactly what he ordered. The ladders shot upward out of view along the guard wall, soldiers in the courtyard funneled into the buildings, as Cedric stood alone in a sea of movement, watching and staring at the man in the cage.
Bram stood up within the cage. His smile broadened, showing his teeth. He knew he would be free to unleash his fury. As the King watched him stand, Cedric also knew something, something grave. He knew whoever opened that door would not survive it. Whoever opened the door to that cage would be trapped within the power of the Avatar as the Avatar hacked him to pieces.
Decisions and sacrifices, earth and stone; all a part of being the ruler of a nation. No one else could make the decision but Cedric, and no one else could offer such a sacrifice. Cedric took in his last conscious breath as he walked towards Bram. He had made the decision the second he realized his choices; sacrifice for his people.
As he approached the cage, Bram spoke. “About time, King. You should consider this an honor.” Cedric pulled out a key attached to the necklace hidden underneath his shirt and reached for the lock.
Chapter 14 - Bindings Held True
Lord Cedric Reinhold grabbed the intricately wound silver necklace that attached to the small key underneath his shirt. He gripped the key and then reached for the sturdy metal lock that sealed the door to the cage in front of him. The man inside the cage crouched at the door, holding tight to the thick steel bars. His hands trembled uncontrollably, making it difficult to get the key in. After the second try, he took a deep breath. C’mon Cedric.
He glanced past the cage to see the two massive castle doors slamming shut. At least that is done. The courtyard had mostly cleared. A few soldiers ran around the perimeter doing this or that, but enough had been done to calm Cedric’s nerves.
“C’mon, King!” Bram yelled. The Avatar of War tapped his foot rapidly in anticipation. Cedric inserted the small key into the lock. It went in smoothly. As the key bottomed out in the lock, a deep horn, first one and then another in eerie unison, bellowed from outside to the west. From the east came the clicking of drums in rhythmic beat, sounding like the wings of a million flying grasshoppers.
It is time. Cedric looked back from the gate to the lock and turned the key.
Janga’s scream thundered across the courtyard. “Cedric, nooooooooooooo!”
Panic and distress flooded through Reinhold like a tsunami. He held the lock that caged the Avatar of War, and in one more second the Avatar would be free. All thoughts of the enemy vanished as he realized his actions. Janga stood shouting at him urgently. Burn me! Only a madman would release the Avatar of War in his own castle!
He jerked his hand away, but the slapping of the Bram’s hand around his wrist stopped him instantly. “No no no, King! Release me!” Cedric looked upon the Avatar in fear. Janga still shouted at him to stop, now running through the courtyard in full sprint towards him. “Now, King! Release me!” Cedric yanked his arm backwards, releasing a loud “clink!” The base of key sat in between his thumb and forefinger, the shaft broken within the lock. Bram sighed dramatically and fell back on his rear, head down, sadly disappointed. “So close,” he whispered to himself, “So close…”
Janga’s hand hooked Reinhold’s shoulder and yanked him away from the cage as the two horns bellowed from outside once again. Cedric seemed caught up in the confusion. Janga grabbed both of his shoulders and turned him so they were face to face. Janga bore a large exhilarated smile.
“Sire, it is help! Those units outside! Come! Look!” He grabbed the King’s arm and urged him towards the outer gate. A thousand thoughts raced through the King’s mind. Could this really be true? Have I finally been dealt a winning hand? Have the Gods favored me this day? I must see it to believe it.
As the King walked out past the guard wall, he got first glimpse of the approaching units; their numbers overwhelmed him. From the south, lined in tightly packed rows of units, came the armored Templars of the Highren’Dol, a hundred thousand strong. They wore beautifully elegant plate mail that looked like it should be setup for show, not for battle. Their azure-grey chest pieces rippled flawlessly into the spaulders, which from afar looked like two ovate leaves pressed together along the edges and rose along their peak. The girdles were overlayed strips of the same metal, meeting the plate leggings somewhere underneath, down to the polished metal boots. Their helmets appeared to have angelic wings where the ears should be, pointing upward and back. Only their eyes showed through the thin slit that went eye to eye and down from nose to chin. On the right shoulder of each Templar lay their massive polearms, a long gracefully curved blade resting on the top of the shafts.
The Highren’Dol had a pact of allegiance with the Kings of Old, but never before had they acted in time of war. Even during the Beholder Wars, when the lords of the lands called up the Highren’Dol for assistance, they never came. Two different civil wars raged causing the deaths of hundreds of thousands, the Highren’Dol did not show. Man had lost faith in their elven companions. They cursed their existence, swearing they made a pact the elves failed to keep, and never did anyone hear word from them; only silence. However, today, the dual horns of the Highren’Dol filled the air and their armies marched, marched to the aid of the King in need.
From the east came the Horsemen of the Sand, fifty thousand nomads from the lands north of the Grogan Sea. They must have been riding for months to arrive here, for even the quickest of routes surpassed a three-month journey. The riders wore long, thick shawls that wrapped around their faces and heads, covering their arms to their hands, and draped over their legs. Multi-layered and baggy pants covered the lower half of their bodies where their wide swords rested. Heavy crossbows hung strapped to the sides of their mounts.
In a small separated group, ahead of the horsemen army, rode their leaders. Their shawls were all black, not the colors of the desert like the rest of the army. They were a part of the Hermetic Order of Helios and were all Gifted. It would be a great day in the battlefield with the Order in attendance, for the only rumors greater than their fighting abilities were of their Order’s Gifted.
Out of the western tree line marched the wild men of the mountains. They were a primal group of men, once said to have fled to the mountains as cowards during the Great Unrest, the period before the birth of the Age of Creation. They were husky and large, unshaven and covered in the furs of animals. They brought weapons of every shape and size, shields covered in the stretched skins of the wild elk, and packs of their hounds. The dogs of the wild men were thick and mangy, covered in dirt, bearing long and sharp yellow teeth. The dogs were savage and primal, some even said completely wild. The dogs stood shoulder to shoulder with their masters; large enough to wear a saddle, if they would allow it. They yanked at their master’s thick arms with heavy metal chains, snarling and biting, flinging curdled mucus through the air.
Cedric looked around in awe at the incoming forces. He wondered how they got here and how they knew to come. He stood watching as the armies filled the landscape and could not help but smile. The armies settled to stillness as the leaders of each group approached the King.
Three towering men, bare chested except for the heavy bear furs draped across they shoulder, walked towards Reinhold. The two men on either side
of the tallest and most muscular man in the middle wore helmets made from the head skins of grey wolves. The wolves ears pointed upwards and the men’s bearded faces peered out from the wolves open mouths. The tremendous man in the middle appeared to be the leader; his head covered by the skin of a grand bear, and his deep blue eyes looked through the bear’s fanged and open mouth with look of certainty.
The two wolf-headed men stood back ten paces as the largest man walked to the King, extended his arm and placed his right hand on the shoulder of Reinhold.
He had a guttural and commanding voice.
“The men of the mountain have come to stand side by side by the men of the plains, to slay the wicked and drink of their blood.” The wild men believed that by drinking the blood of their enemy, they would absorb some of their power and the Gods of battle would bless them. Although not a common acceptance amongst the civilized, Cedric would not judge them for their beliefs.
Cedric placed his hand upon the shoulder of the Wildman, named Hronlin he later discovered, and thanked him. “Your men are welcome here.”
As Cedric lowered his hand from the tall mountain man, he turned to see the desert nomad leaders; the thirteen members of the Hermetic Order of Helios. Shock and surprise ran through him at first glance, though he quickly reset his outgoing façade. He could only see the area around the horsemen’s eyes because a thick wool shawl covered the rest of their features. Lustrous green scales that reflected tones of gold and blue covered the small areas of visible skin. Their eyes, the color of burnished gold, were centered with an emerald green iris. They were humanoid, but definitely not human. The outline of the body and the structure in their faces resembled that of a lizard.
The King stood facing them, looking proud. One of the nomads got awkwardly close to the Cedric, nearly touching faces with him. The lizard man moved his head around the King’s face inspecting him, ignoring all else. Cedric had his right arm locked and back behind him, keeping Janga away, whose discomfort with the examination became quickly obvious. After a few seconds of studying, the lizard man stepped back and the King released his held breath.