The Wrong Sword

by Ted Mendelssohn

  The archers and catapults will begin. Then the towers will move close to the walls, under cover of the arrows and stones. Geoffrey’s men will climb up inside the towers and try to take our battlements, while we try to destroy the towers and throw things down at the troops on the ground. It’s quite simple, really.

  As Henry hiked to the tower, the sun cleared the hills, and the war started.

  The first flight of arrows struck while Henry was still twenty yards from the tower. He dived to the floor. The arrows whistled overhead for what felt like minutes, flickering against the pale blue sky, so thick it was like a wall of wood and noise moving quickly just above his nose.

  Staying low, Henry turned over and crawled forward on his knees and arms. Every now and then an arrow would come in low and shatter against the stone, its pieces ricocheting behind the merlons.

  After he had crawled about ten yards, the volley ended. He got to his feet in a crouch, and dashed from merlon to merlon until he reached the tower. Percy pulled him up. “That will wake you up, eh, My Lord?”

  The men in the tower were foot soldiers, wide and hard, some of them almost as young as he was. Most had polearms, ten- or twelve-foot long spears with complicated heads that could be used to jab at an enemy or dislodge a siege ladder. All of them had short swords, for up-close fighting if the polearms failed. They smiled when they saw him, and then turned back to watch the invaders.

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Ah. The ram is at work.

  Henry bent over the wall, to see Geoffrey’s battering ram hammering at the wood and iron front gates. The ram soldiers heaved the thing forward while locking their shields above their heads—the defenders’ rocks and arrows bounced off.

  Then a cascade of liquid fire spattered down the castle walls to land on the battering ram and its soldiers. Faintly, Henry heard screams, and saw the soldiers flee from the burning ram and roll on the ground in a frantic effort to douse the flames on their own bodies.

  “Greek fire,” said Percy. “A filthy thing. I didn’t know we had any.”

  “I think…I think it was in the gear I took from the firestarters,” said Henry. “I gave it to the Queen. She must have decided to use it.” He felt sick.

  “Oh. Well…any weapon in a melee, I always say.” Percy patted Henry’s shoulder.

  “Look out!”

  Henry and Percy ducked behind a merlon as a second volley of arrows flew at the tower. This time, the arrows kept coming, and so did a trio of siege towers.

  The siege towers were sixty feet high and covered in hardened leather. From Percy’s lectures, Henry knew there was a wide ladder inside each, protected by the leather from arrows, stones, and hooks. Because the inside ladder was built up from a base, it didn’t have to lean against the castle wall, and it couldn’t just be tossed from the wall like an ordinary ladder.

  “Here they come—”

  The siege towers rolled closer. At the top was a ten-foot opening. Henry could see inside the first one to the men waiting on the inside ladder, getting ready to leap onto the castle walls. Some of them raised crossbows—

  “Get down!”

  Henry and Percy ducked behind a merlon, dodging the flight of crossbow bolts from the siege tower. There was a crunch as the siege tower connected with the castle wall, and the invaders leapt onto the battlements.

  Ah. You see? The invaders have made it onto the battlements the only way they could, by attacking at many points at once, and using a volley of arrows to stop the defenders from bringing their polearms up in time. Now it will be hand to hand all along the east wall. Draw me!

  Henry did. This time, he welcomed the cold rush as Excalibur entered his nerves and muscles; it meant he might live. Once again, the unimportant details drained out of his vision, leaving only what was significant to the sword—posture and motion, leverage and position.

  The invaders pushed in from the siege towers, man over man, surging against the defenders. The crush was intense. Henry couldn’t move. All of Excalibur’s magic was useless—there was no room to lift an arm, let alone swing a sword. Instead, it was a shoving match, and Henry was carried along by the tide, unable to keep his feet while surrounded by bigger men. Every now and then, a space would open up—someone had gone down beneath the press of bodies, or fallen victim to a dagger, the only weapon that could still be used in the scrum. He heard screams as the crowd forced men over the side, to fall to the bricks below.

  And then the crush thinned out. The invaders had spread along the battlements and were fighting hand-to-hand with the defenders. Prompted by Excalibur, Henry whirled and smashed the two swords that had been coming for him. The soldiers backed away, looking for weapons. Henry stalked forward.

  Keep moving, keep—

  “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  Touchy.

  “Could we focus, please?” Henry ran forward, looking for Percy.

  One soldier, three soldiers, two soldiers, Henry/Excalibur marched forward, shattering their armor and weapons, letting the defenders retake the battlements they cleared, the Henry part of the pair trying hard not to think about men wounded and bleeding behind them.

  The crowd in front of them parted, revealing one of Geoffrey’s men, a knight, forcing the defenders back. He was big, and fast, and—

  —efficient.

  One defender came at the big knight, and got a bastard sword in the guts. The sword kept moving to cleave the armor of a second defender, and then to cave in the helmet of a third who had tried to sneak up behind the knight. A fourth man went down, a fifth, and the knight showed no sign of slowing.

  At last, a foe worthy of us! Attack!

  “Are you crazy?”

  And then it didn’t matter, because the knight spotted Henry and Excalibur and charged.

  Henry couldn’t believe it. Seventy pounds of armor and a hand-and-a-half sword, and the knight moved as quickly as Henry did, jinking past others to seek him out. It was terrifying.

  Do not fear. He has a weakness.

  “What?”

  When I find it, I’ll let you know.

  And then the big knight was on Henry. The hand-and-a-half came up from below, a move that almost no man could make with a sword that heavy, but the knight handled it like a thrust with an assassin’s dagger. Henry leaped back. Then the knight was hacking from right and left, the strikes lightning-quick. Even with Excalibur’s speed, Henry was barely able to parry in time, let alone attack.

  Time after time, Henry tried Excalibur’s stock in trade—shattering the knight’s sword and slicing open the armor. But somehow the sword was never quite where Henry expected, or Excalibur wasn’t at quite the right angle. Now Henry was getting tired, and the knight seemed fresh as sunshine.

  “Excalibur…”

  I’m working on it.

  Then they heard it—the crunch, crunch of more siege towers hitting the wall. A ramp fell between Henry and the knight, separating them, as a wave of new soldiers poured out along the battlements. The knight screamed in frustration as the crush of attackers pushed him away from Henry.

  Thank you, St. Dismas! thought Henry. He saw Percy at the East Tower, and ran toward him.

  “A sharp set-to, My Lord.” Percy grinned at him, already covered in gore. Henry raised his hand and saw that he was bloody, too. Whose blood—He quashed that line of thought. If he stopped to think about it—

  More.

  Another wave. Henry and Percy stood back to back. Each attacker seemed outlined in red and yellow, his weaknesses highlighted by Excalibur. Blades and armor shattered, guards fell, and opponents wheeled away, clutching their sides or chests or legs, to be replaced by others. Almost unnoticeable in the rising sun, Excalibur began to glow.

  And then the invaders turned and ran for the towers, leaping onto the ladders, fleeing the battlements. The walls were clear. Henry turned to face the other soldiers, and raised Excalibur. They cheered.

  “We did it, My Lord! We did it!” Percy grabbe
d him in a bloody, sweaty bear hug. Henry grinned.

  “Wait a moment.” Henry looked over Percy’s shoulder. Rolling up to the walls was another siege tower, not like the others.

  “Percy, do you see it?”

  “Aye.”

  It was a huge pillar, gleaming red in the sun. No ladders, no grappling hooks, no catapults, no troops.

  Henry rubbed his forehead. It looked familiar. Where had he seen it before—the Chapel Perilous? It had that weird simplicity—

  “What’s that, My Lord?” Percy pointed to the thing’s base. “A giant wheel?”

  Henry looked down. A huge wheel, sheathed in red metal. Surrounding a lump of black metal.

  Copper and loadstone.

  A loud CLANK filled the air. Then another. Henry turned. A dozen men, wearing leather tunics and leather hats, were working a giant treadmill connected to the wheel by a vast chain that was slowly accelerating.

  Percy peered over the wall. “Milord. Over there, by the ditch in front of the castle. Do you see it?”

  “Yes.” A squad of men pelted away from the wall.

  “I feel…strange, Milord.” Percy took off his helmet. His hair rose on end and waved in the breeze.

  “Oh, God.” Henry spun around to face the defenders. “GET DOWN! GET DOWN!” he yelled.

  The men stared at him.

  “NOW!”

  Then the lightning struck.

  The world flashed white, and the thunder rolled. It died away, and Henry clutched at the stones, trying to hear past the roaring, try to see past the blue dazzle in his eyes.

  He waggled his fingers. All there. His teeth, his heart, his fingernails—the lightning machine had missed.

  Henry turned back to the wall. Gervasius’ machine was in pieces, just a crater surrounded be dazed men in leather tunics. He smiled. The monk’s workmanship was as good ever. Maybe things would be all right—

  A deep, tooth-rattling groan rumbled through the wall, and suddenly the Narbonnese were screaming. They knew something that Henry didn’t, and they were all scrambling for the stairwells and the ladders. The rush threatened to become a panic. Henry leaped onto the merlon and held up Excalibur.

  “LISTEN UP! YOU’RE MEN, NOT SHEEP! THE NEXT GUY THAT SHOVES HIS WAY TO A LADDER BITES STEEL!”

  The defenders stood still.

  “Bites steel”?

  “Go with it,” Henry muttered. “All right. One at a time, down the ladder, single file…or chop-chop!”

  The defenders started to climb down. Another groan echoed through the wall, and they started to move even faster, but in good order. Henry turned to Percy. “What’s happening?”

  Percy looked around, sweat on his forehead. “The lightning must have blown a hole under the castle wall. That sound is the stones, settling. Any moment now, this wall will collapse.”

  Another groan, this time followed by a shudder that ran straight through Henry’s bones. There were still a dozen men waiting to get down the ladder. Henry eyed the crowd. There must be room for one teenaged-sized soldier to get down RIGHT NOW—

  You are the defender. You wait until everyone else is down.

  “I hate you.” He hustled people down the ladder. “HURRY! HURRY! MOVE YOUR ASSIZES!”

  “LOOK!”

  Everyone turned. Behind them, the wall was swaying back and forth. There was something terrible about seeing a mass of stone that big, built solid as eternity, waving like a tall weed in a meadow.

  The last few people were waiting for the ladder. “GO! GO!” Henry yelled, shoving them forward. Then, with a sound like a million avalanches, the wall came apart.

  First, it sagged in the middle like a giant U. Then, in an instant, the depression deepened by twenty feet, sending a shock through the battlements that knocked Henry and Percy off their feet and sent the ladder falling backward through the air.

  Percy got hold of a merlon’s edge and grabbed Henry before he tumbled off the battlement. Now the wall’s destruction was speeding up, huge building blocks tumbling off the wall, and the devastation spreading faster and faster from both sides of the original break. In a heartbeat, the disintegration was just a few feet away and leaping toward them.

  “RUN!” Henry and Percy turned and pounded south along the wall.

  “Where’s the next ladder down?”

  “It’s the stairway in the north gate tower!” shouted Percy.

  Thirty yards away. Henry sprinted like he was running from some mark through the streets of the Latin Quarter. The thunder of falling stone was constant now, an earthquake waterfall. The cracks were getting closer and closer.

  Percy was dropping behind. “Lose the armor!” Henry yelled. Percy whipped off his helmet and shield fast enough, but he had no time to pause and take off his mail. “Breathe deeper and push with your calves!” Percy got a few more yards—and then he tripped and went sprawling.

  Whimpering with fear, Henry dithered for a moment and then turned back. He helped Percy up. The void was leaping behind them now as they raced forward. The gate tower was in view. It was closer—

  The wall came apart underneath them. With his last bit of momentum, Henry leaped for the tower doorway, and he and Percy smashed into the doorframe. Their legs dangling over emptiness, they hauled themselves into the tower.

  Wheezing like Alfie on a cold morning, Henry stood in the doorway and turned to look at the wreck. Between their tower and the next, a hundred yards away, there was now nothing but dust and air. The sheer drop started just inches from Henry’s feet; it was as though he were standing on emptiness, looking down from the sky. He closed his eyes as a spasm of vertigo whirled through him.

  Percy’s hand on his shoulder brought him back. “Hurry, Lord. We have to join the defenders on the ground. Geoffrey’s men will be coming through any second.”

  Together they clattered down the spiral staircase, hands spread out to the walls for balance, skidding occasionally on the worn stone steps. From outside they could hear shouts and the clash of metal on metal.

  The stairwell opened out into the huge archway that housed the gate and portcullis. Beyond was the main courtyard, hazed in dust and lanced by sunbeams. Through the murk, Henry could already see the dim outlines of soldiers struggling. He drew Excalibur and stalked forward. Percy followed.

  The courtyard was a ruin. Boulders and paving stones the height of a man were scattered dozens of yards in every direction. Blood slicked the ground, coating the rubble and mixing with mud. The courtyard’s own cobblestones had been shattered here and there by the force of the impact. Dust hung in the air, making Henry’s eyes water; the sharp, dry particles made him sneeze and gag. Sunlight came down in beams and shafts, making the yard seem like a cathedral—until you saw the bodies of the people who’d been hit by the stones.

  The gap was huge. Too big to be called a hole, it was more like the absence of wall. At the base, rubble rose up in a wide, steep hill, ten feet high. Beyond that was the city, and the siege engines, and the army.

  It was the end of things.

  Henry heard a loud crash, and then another. At first, he saw nothing. Then, like the snout of a hedgehog poking out of its burrow, the edge of a wide wooden deck appeared at the crest of the hill of rubble. It was followed by another. Soon, wooden decks covered the top slopes of the hill, providing sure footing to the invaders.

  Henry turned to Percy. “We’re scattered. Go through the north courtyard, gather up all the defenders you can find, and make for the inner gate. I’ll take the south.”

  Percy nodded and they split up. Henry stalked past the boulders and the wreckage, holding up his sword. “GO TO THE INNER GATE! GO TO THE INNER GATE!” He passed ten or twelve soldiers whom he pointed back to the gate of the inner courtyard, but no more. The collapse of the wall must have killed hundreds. At least he didn’t see any townspeople among the dead—they had been moved to the inner courtyards and the keep that morning. Of course, if the siege lasted much longer, hunger and disease would take ca
re of that.

  Crash. Crash. Henry weaved in and out of the rubble, looking for more soldiers. Crash. He peered out from behind a boulder. The decking was halfway down the inner slope now. Crash.

  One more round—finding people in the wreckage was like walking a maze. You couldn’t be certain if you’d been to a particular area before. He turned left and saw a flicker of movement back near the north tower, by the rubble that had been the east wall. He saw the rose and lavender of the Queen’s colors. It was right in front of the hill of rubble.

  Henry glanced at the decking. It was getting closer to the ground. He could see the heads of the invaders rising a little above the crest of the hill. There wasn’t any time to help; he had to get back to the gate—

  Henry took a deep breath, tucked in his head and ran to the gap. The soldier waving was Valdemar.

  “Valdemar! What are you doing he—”

  “Just shut up and help.”

  Valdemar’s leg had been hurt. Henry couldn’t tell how badly, but Valdemar couldn’t walk on it. As Henry stooped down and got Valdemar’s arm around his shoulders, the wooden decks hit the ground of the courtyard.

  Henry glanced up at the hill top. For a moment, he could see nothing but sky. Then he heard the neighing of horses, the slow clop-clop of their hooves striking wood and trotting forward.

  Valdemar cursed. “Get out of here, Henry. Drop me and go.”

  “Don’t be an ass.”

  “I can play dead. But they’ll cut you to pieces, just to make sure.”

  Clop-clop. Clop-clop.

  The horses crested the hill and stood out the top. The knights surveyed their new conquest in a perfect row, outlined by the sky. There was no time or place left to run. Henry eased Valdemar to the ground.

  “Have a seat. I need my hands free.”

  One boy against a line of knights on horse. Terrific. He drew Excalibur.

  “Any suggestions?”

  I can cleave stone.

  “Yeah. So?”

  I can bring down this hill, and the knights upon it. But it will be hard, and you must do it now. Step forward—

  Henry took a breath and stepped forward to the base of the hill. He held up Excalibur. As he did, he felt a rush, a surge of power come up from the ground, a tidal wave of force. His own lightning machine—it was excruciating, like being stung by a thousand bees. His head screamed; his teeth became pinwheels of agony. He could barely hold on to the sword. He smelled burning hair. Smoke rose from his shoes.