Brother, Betrayed

by Danielle Raver

  The elder, glaring at him, spoke in a low tone, “You want there to be a siege, a confrontation. It would prove all your conspiracies.”

  Syah shook his head.

  “Well your suspicions will not drive me to disobey the king.”

  “That is not my intention,” Syah said in frustration.

  “Then what is?”

  “To protect this city!” Syah met him. “Can we at least send out scouts to assess the degree of threat this army poses?”

  Fasime’s tight chest prevented a response.

  “At least until sundown. Let us delay my squadron until then. If we find that the advancing enemy is not a threat, then we will send them to join Father.”

  “Syah…”

  “He wasn’t expecting me to have returned to the castle this soon. It would have taken that long for you to send word to me of his need.”

  Fasime began to argue but stopped, closing his eyes. He shook his head and turned to leave the main hall.

  What a time to find myself sitting at my desk with this diary in front of me. Did I come here for refuge? Hoping for some advice from lifeless pages? Fasime is just being foolish. How could I not insist on defending the city?

  I’m trying to imagine what Father would think, what he would say if somehow we were able to reach him to explain our dilemma. Would he tell us to support the armies facing definite danger, or would he want us to defend against a possible threat? I am almost positive, the more I search my memories of him, my teachings, that he would want to insure the safety of the capital. Fasime’s accusations are just haunting me. It is as if he dismissed my words due to their origin, that he doesn’t deem me capable of making useful suggestions. Why doesn’t he see what I see?

  By any means, my brother’s shortfalls cannot be allowed to harm the city. I will do what I must… to follow Father’s will.

  For the three brothers,

  Syah, Prince of Arnith

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  SEIGE OF ANTERIA

  “Roughly two hundred soldiers, and a hundred or more lightly armed civilians with them. They are bringing tools and large containers, probably to build siege equipment.”

  “They have stopped, sirs, and have begun to construct it.”

  “Concentrate all of the city guards on the walls, then. Slings and arrows can hold them off until Father returns,” Fasime stated dismissively.

  “Not if they focus their forces on the main gate,” his younger brother interjected. “We don’t have enough archers to keep them at bay.”

  “These walls have never been breached by an enemy, and an amateur band of barbaric Dikartians have no chance of changing that. It would take a thousand men to overcome our walls.”

  “When the king’s army defends it, yes. Now the castle is mostly deserted of soldiers,” Syah argued.

  “Archers have the advantage in the towers and gatehouses, that will offset the Dikartian’s numbers.”

  “Fasime, the enemy can concentrate all their arrows and ladders on one section of the wall, and then they would quickly be able to overrun them.”

  “We can hold them off long enough for…”

  “No, we can’t,” the younger interrupted. “No aid will reach us in time. And if the Dikartians breech the wall, they could be vengeful enough to kill every man, woman, and child that would be left defenseless in the city.”

  “Your words would inspire a criminal, Syah, but the truth is that the risk is not that grave.”

  Syah's eyes narrowed, but he dismissed Fasime's insult. “It could be.”

  “And we have spent too much time deliberating on this. The time has come to comply with the king’s requested reinforcements for the real battle he is fighting.”

  “We cannot send all of our remaining soldiers,” Syah argued.

  “Retaining them may steal Father’s victory from him.”

  “Half, let me keep half of the men that returned with me,” the youngest insisted.

  “What good would they do in changing the outcome of a siege of five times that many?”

  “I have a plan,” Syah said and left the room.

  The prince gazed out at the masses of soldiers and archers around him, and felt an eerie calm as the silence and peace of the scene seeped into him, quelling the ferocious and stern countenance he had worn during battle. He sighed finally, relieved, watching the men establish a perimeter, and others begin to build fires and set up camps. But then the severe method tinged his thoughts and he remembered the enemy, scanning the hills around for sign of them. He turned and found the king close by with a group of officers and approached them.

  “Set up the archers on the opposing hills,” the king ordered as he motioned to two large hills bordering their camp. “Focus the swordsmen and pikemen on the west side of the camp, for now.”

  “Father,” Oman interjected, “is it safe to set up camp here? Won’t the Marrians and Rognoth see it as a reason to attack?”

  The king turned to his son and handled his question with respect, “They have taken a reprieve, Oman. Their armies have suffered much, and though they have withdrawn, they have not retreated, nor will we. The Marrians and Rognoth will stall, for now, for another full-out charge would be too costly. They will harass us with small coups, and us them, but neither will initiate another large attack until we have the advantage. They are probably waiting to see if more reinforcements will join us, or if we will turn and retreat.”

  Oman nodded. “I will take some horsemen and help patrol the border,” the prince offered.

  The king did not falter as to show perceived weakness in his son. “Take Captain Sorfian with you,” the king said and looked to the young officer, who nodded and followed the prince to the horses.

  “There are plenty of reserve weapons in the armory, the problem is we don’t have the men to wield them,” the general interjected.

  Syah stepped to the window. “We have the men,” Syah stated as he gazed out onto the city, “just not the soldiers.” He turned back to his brother and the officers of the meeting room. “I have a plan to diffuse the Dikartians’ momentum and make them more susceptible to our attack. We will arm the townspeople. Give every able man and woman a bow and position them where they can have a strong defense from the enemy.” The young prince paused, knowing his coming suggestion wouldn’t be taken easily. He looked into Fasime’s eyes deeply, who waited for him as a fishermen waits for his line to tighten. “They could be used to reinforce the remaining soldiers and knights that we have.”

  The older prince moved towards him. “Then why don’t we station them along the front wall? If we armed every able man and woman in Anteria,” Fasime stole his words, “their arrows would hold back this band of soldiers easily until the king returns.”

  “And what is to stop them from going round, and with grapplings, ladders, or rams, making their way from another side? It would be impossible to protect all sides of the city with these few soldiers.”

  “That is the dilemma with being under siege, my lords,” the captain interrupted them. “You must defend on all fronts.”

  Syah shook his head. “What if we don’t?” He looked up to his brother a moment, but then doubted him and turned to the officers. “Imagine that the Dikartians arrive, and they find the main gate poorly guarded.” A distasteful expression came over his older brother’s face, and began even on the officers’, but the prince preempted their reaction with further explanation, “They focus all of their efforts on the main gate, and with some effort they tear it down.” Fasime shook his head, but again Syah spoke before he could. “They enter the city, and find it deserted. No building is open to plunder, no citizen visible to attack. So then their attention turns to the prize: the castle. The gem of Arnith before them, protected with little guard. Their troops would pour in the city gates to capture it.”

  “That is ludicrous, Syah,” Fasime rebuked. “The last thing we would want is to let the enemy within the city. That is why we have walls to protect
us!”

  “But the walls beg the enemy to cross them. If we allow them entrance, then we can control their movements and direction, and position them…”

  “I have to agree with Prince Fasime,” the captain interrupted. “The enemy free inside the walls would mean having a storm let loose in the city.”

  “No,” Syah insisted, “they wouldn’t be free. Let them stream inside, with the castle before them, their direction will be singular. Let them meet no resistance until they come nigh the castle. There we will concentrate most of the trained soldiers and knights on the ground. Then, atop the buildings lining their pathway, we will position the townspeople with their bows and arrows, and at a signal they can release on the stream of enemy soldiers down the main street of the city.”

  Fasime laughed some, and waved his hand at his brother. “This is foolish to even discuss. Your plan does sound appealing; allow the Dikartians into a trap and position them so our archers could have free targets, but it would never work. At sign of ambush, the remaining enemy will disperse into the city, and capture it.”

  “We block their escape. Have the townspeople set up barricades strategically across the city streets, blocking the Dikartians from spreading once we wipe out most of their forces.”

  “We need to focus our efforts on strengthening the outer wall. Take the men you plan to ambush the Dikartians and use them to strengthen the gates. We will send the troops to Father, so he can quicken his victory and return to relinquish their forces.”

  “We will put them to better use here.”

  “If you hadn’t postponed them, then they would reach Father in time.”

  “If all you have to offer is criticism, Fasime, then be silent. It is too late for our reinforcements to reach Father now, anyway.”

  The elder prince stared at Syah with inaction, both of them realizing his words and in any other circumstance they would have stopped and chuckled. But neither did, and Syah stood steadfast, no longer looking to his brother for support but now out of scorn. Fasime, unsure, postponed further argument.

  Syah turned back to the officers and advisors of the city. “We have to do something. Call the city’s captains and gather the knights that returned with me. Have them start preparing the civilians. We will meet before nightfall and discuss our strategies for preparing the city.”

  Oman entered the tent, weary yet wondering what news his father had of the enemy, whom he had not encountered on his rounds. The king dismissed the officers in the tent, who looked to Oman solemnly as they turned to leave.

  “Are they attacking?” the prince demanded.

  “No,” Algoth answered, “but they are moving. Come now, take a reprieve from worrying about them.”

  “No I…” Oman started, stepping up to the map his father had laid across the table.

  “How can I enforce rest and rations with my soldiers, if my own son won’t take them? Men are not like swords; they cannot keep fighting battle after battle without bending. You have taken many shifts, first commanding the eastern army and then helping to patrol the perimeter most of the day. You should rest to regain your strength.” Oman sighed. “I will handle the front against the Marrians and Rognoth for a time.”

  Oman shook his head. He didn’t bother with his armor and weapons as he laid himself down on the cot at the edge of the tent, figuring on appeasing his father by lying there still for a while.

  “See that he’s not disturbed,” he heard his father say to the guard as he closed his eyes. He was more tired than he realized, for he was asleep quickly.

  The large hall reverberated with the clamor of too many bodies moving, too many boots hitting the stone floors, too much armor clanking against weapons, and too many voices, each striving to be heard over the other. Syah’s plans dominated his thoughts as he prepared to present them. But something distracted him from the continual repetition of strategies and arguments that were plaguing his mind. He realized the hall; immense, majestic, familiar, but also remembered it cycles before when a gathering of celebration vibrated its walls. No celebration had been held there since that night. And while there may be another happier time when music and dancers once again fill her hall, the possibility seemed so obscure with the threat of violence in the air and the kingdom’s protectors in full garb for battle, arguing over plans to defend the city.

  “We need to request reinforcements from the king now. These few guards can’t defend against a force that size.”

  “The king requested reinforcements himself, he cannot spare any men.”

  “Then he needs to return,” another knight added.

  “There isn’t time.”

  “Then we reinforce the gates, barricade the entrances.”

  “The Dikartians will only go over the walls, or worse, release flaming arrows or catapults upon the city,” Syah was able to add to their fury of arguments.

  “We can take those losses, if it means we buy enough time for the king to relieve us.”

  “They will overrun and overpower us,” Syah argued.

  “We will organize a counter-siege; boiling oil, stones, arrows, and slings will keep their army at bay,” Fasime retorted.

  “They will be prepared for that. They would easily be able to break our defenses if they focus on a single area of the wall.”

  “Reinforcements could be positioned…” an officer began.

  “Set wood spring traps and pitch pits, that would reduce their numbers before they could reach our walls.”

  “Not enough to do more than stall them,” Syah said, but not above the tumult, and if anyone heard him it was unobservable. He stepped towards their map on the table. “But perhaps if we used them in another way…”

  “Move all possible troops to the main gate,” Fasime commanded. “We will barricade the other gates and make them impassible. If the enemy tries to move to another side of the city, then we will move the force there.”

  “That won’t work,” Syah warned, but the mass didn’t notice him, stirring into action. “The archers will be spread too thin, they will make easy targets. And what if the Dikartians plan to attack two sides of the city at once?”

  Then the officers paused, hearing him.

  “Dikartians are skilled climbers, they could scale our walls and be within the city before nightfall. Think about their timing! They must know that the king’s army is away, that the castle if poorly defended. Their courage in attempting the castle isn’t born out of desperation or madness. Believe me, they have a strategy, and the first thing they would expect us to do is focus all of our men at the main gate.” By this time, the young prince had gained the platform and stood near the throne commanding the attention of everyone in the great hall. “We have only one advantage over them, only one element of surprise. The Dikartians don’t know that we have realized them, have counted them and are trying to develop a strategy to deflect them. We can fool them into thinking we are unprepared, weak, and make easy targets, and therefore guide their actions.”

  Syah’s reasoning began to reach them, and some of the officers glanced nervously at Fasime, who was watching his younger brother impatiently.

  “Let them think that they have surprised us. We can use traps then more effectively, where they will cause the most damage and demoralize their troops rather than annoy them.”

  “What are you suggesting?” a knight asked from the crowd, but not doubtful, as if requesting orders.

  The young prince gazed at them, then through them, peering into possible futures veiled in his sight. “We let them in.”

  Chapter Thirty

  SACRIFICE

  Oman woke, feeling hot under blankets he found had covered him. But that was not what had woken him. He felt a hand on his face.

  “My son,” his father said and he opened his eyes. His brows lowered upon seeing the king, kneeling beside him.

  “You have made me very proud,” the king stated.

  Oman caught his breath, worried his father somehow had been injured.
He looked down to the king’s chest and arms, but there was no sign of a wound.

  “Come, my son,” the king commanded as he lightly grabbed Oman’s arms.

  The king moved Oman to the middle of the tent. He did not break his gaze. Algoth half smiled, lifting his head up as he gazed at Oman’s form. “My son will make a good king.”

  Tightness gripped Oman. “What’s wrong?”

  The king sighed, his smile fading, being replaced by a knowing, thoughtful expression.

  “Oman,” the king said, “you have grown very strong and brave. You will remember this day, and I hope you remember that I was proud of you.”

  Oman’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head, trying to cast away his dizziness.

  “You will make a good king,” Algoth said, nodding to him.

  “What is it?” Oman asked again.

  Before Oman could question further, he realized his father was embracing him. The questions in his mind couldn’t find words to be asked as the king held him tightly. He exhaled deeply when his father released him.

  “Father, please…” Oman began, but didn’t know what question to ask now.

  “Yes,” Algoth said, “it is time. You are very strong, Oman. Yes, very brave. You will emerge from this darkness unharmed.”

  “What darkness?” a failing voice spoke from Oman’s throat.

  “The enemy has grown during the night. Our lines will fail. The enemy is drawing nearer, and they are thirsty for blood.”

  Oman's thoughts cleared. “We can defend against their attack. There are more soldiers in the camp that can defeat them.”

  “No, Oman, we are outmatched.”

  “But there are reinforcements coming,” Oman argued and motioned to the map that showed all of their troops and their movements.

  “No, Oman,” the king said, keeping his gaze again. “There are no more reinforcements.”

  “You can’t say the battle is lost. You haven’t given the soldiers a chance to face them.”