The Kingdom

by Bryan M. Litfin

  “To war!” Brother Thomas yelled as he spurred his own horse. “To war! To war!”

  The Knights of the Cross were mounted on horseback, so they led the initial attack. Several Jinevan brigades were also mounted, though most were foot soldiers who marched alongside the militiamen of Marsay. As the gap between the two armies narrowed, the riders at the leading edges broke into a full-out gallop. Teo rose in the saddle and leaned forward, urging his steed toward the outsiders’ ranks as they barreled toward him across the field. Though the Royal Guard was fighting on behalf of the High Priestess, Teo decided not to cross blades with a fellow guardsman if he could help it. There would be plenty of outsiders to worry about, so he directed his mount toward them.

  The thunder grew louder with each passing second. Teo could see the barbarians’ fierce eyes staring from their helmets. He could hear their deafening war cries ringing in his ears. He could feel the rumble of innumerable hooves reverberating through the ground. Snatching the sword of Armand from its sheath, he pointed it toward the heavens with a mighty shout. His galloping horse strained at the bit as the frenzy neared. Teo’s eyes widened. Clods of earth flew up. And then the maelstrom consumed him.

  Teo’s world shrank to the immediate space around him—a world marked not by the alleged glory of battle but the horror of death. Screams and gore, shrieks and blood, curses and sweat filled the air. Teo wore no chain mail, so quickness and agility were his only protection. He never stopped moving, never stopped hacking, never stopped dealing out destruction. The outsiders charged him continuously, sometimes two or more at once. Teo parried and thrust, dodged and ducked, stabbed and sliced. His sword pierced many a throat; his ax split many a skull. It wasn’t pretty; it wasn’t glorious; it wasn’t exhilarating. It was the ugly face of war, and Teo did what he had to do.

  As the pitched battle wore on, the outsiders began to be pushed back. Teo found a clear space and reined up, wiping blood from his eyes. Across the field he could see that the Marsayan militiamen had disrupted the ranks of the Royal Guard. Meanwhile, the Jinevans had swarmed the Vulkainians, pulling them from their saddles. Now was the time to press the advantage. With the Citadel’s moat at the enemies’ rear, they would have nowhere to retreat if the assault continued to bear down on them.

  “To me, knights!” Teo cried, raising his sword. “Rally to me!”

  The knights responded right away, gathering with Teo for a final charge. Though the outsiders fell back and attempted to regroup, fear was in their eyes as they prepared for a last stand. Teo readied his men to attack. He was about to leap into the fray when a black filth oozed onto the field of war.

  Teo felt the evil before he saw it. It hit him like a thunderbolt, a raw power that clutched at his soul and melted his heart. He turned to see a horde of Exterminati enter from the side. All were mounted on dark-colored horses as they streaked toward the knights’ exposed flank. Their black garments and hooded faces made them look more like specters of death than men—and indeed that is what they were. Though the unclean spirits couldn’t be seen or heard, Teo could sense them accompanying the shamans into battle. The Exterminati raved and gnashed with the ferocity of the underworld. The gods bore them along on dark wings. And nowhere was their malevolent presence more strongly felt than upon the diabolical warrior who galloped at the head of the pack.

  “Turn, men!” Teo shouted. “Watch your flank!”

  He wheeled his horse and bolted toward the Iron Shield. Teo knew this battle was his alone to fight. Go before me, Deu! he prayed, and then his enemy was upon him.

  The Iron Shield leaned from his saddle as he swept by, his mace a murderous blur, but Teo kept out of reach. At the same time he hurled a steel ball from his ax but missed. Whirling, the two men sized each other up.

  “You cannot win, Teofil,” the Iron Shield said with a rumbling laugh. He wore no patch over his missing eye. The gaping socket gave his face a skeletal appearance.

  “The victory is already won,” Teo said.

  “Ha! I defy you, little pup! I defy your whelp of a god.”

  “This is the last day you shall.”

  “No. This is the day the Morning Star rises!”

  The horses lunged forward as the mortal enemies charged each other once more. Teo stood in the stirrups and swung his sword with all his strength. The Iron Shield took the stroke against the haft of his mace. Teo’s arm quivered at the impact. The tremendous blow knocked him so far out of the saddle he couldn’t maintain his balance. He tumbled from his horse’s back and hit the ground hard.

  Stunned, Teo rolled over and tried to collect his wits. His weapons had been hurled from his grasp. He felt along the ground until his fingers closed on his sword’s hilt. Scrambling to his feet, he saw the Iron Shield running toward him with incredible speed. Teo did not wait for his enemy’s arrival. He gripped his weapon in two hands and raced to confront his foe.

  The Iron Shield had lost his mace when he was unhorsed, so he drew his longsword from a baldric across his back. He brought the weapon around in a slashing attack that Teo barely managed to block. Now the unmistakable sound of swordplay rang out as the blades clashed and the two men did battle. The Iron Shield was the taller combatant, and his reach was longer; yet Teo’s weapon was the lighter of the two, which gave him an advantage in speed. Even so, Teo found himself pressed hard, for the Iron Shield was a master swordsman. His footwork was impeccable, and his movements were impossibly fast. Each attack was ferocious, each parry impenetrable, each riposte immediate. Sweat streamed down Teo’s face as he fought to keep his enemy’s deadly edge at bay. His pulse pounded in his temples, and his breath came in grunts of intense exertion.

  “You grow tired,” the Iron Shield observed. “Your strength is failing.”

  Teo had no boast in return. He knew the words were true.

  The Iron Shield renewed his attack with increased vigor. Raising his sword overhead, he brought it down in a chopping move. Teo got his weapon up at the last moment, but the Iron Shield rebounded off the blade and hacked again. This time the overpowering force of the blow drove Teo to his knees. The Iron Shield towered over him. An evil glint burned in his one good eye. Both his arms were raised above his head.

  “Now die!” he screamed and chopped down a third time.

  Teo ground his teeth and clenched his jaw. He held his blade parallel to the ground as his enemy’s weapon sliced through the air like a woodsman’s ax. Steel met steel with a resounding crash—and the Iron Shield’s blade shattered against the sword of Armand.

  Aghast, the dark warrior stared at the hilt in his hand. Instead of a glittering blade it now bore a useless stump. Teo bent his elbow and cocked his arm.

  “Meet your maker!” he cried, and thrust his sword into his enemy’s heart.

  An agonized roar burst from the Iron Shield as he reeled away with the blade in his chest. Even in defeat his face was a twisted mask of malice and scorn. He regained his balance, staggered, and dropped to his knees. His baleful glare was fixed on Teo’s face.

  “We hate you,” snarled an unnatural voice that was not of this world.

  “Go to hell,” Teo replied.

  The Iron Shield closed his lone eye. His body sagged. Tumbling forward, he impaled himself on the full length of the blade. Twice he twitched. Then he lay still.

  Teo panted as he knelt on the bloody grass. His muscles ached, and his mind was numb. He struggled upright and surveyed the field. Though the lord of the Exterminati was dead, the battle was far from over. Hand-to-hand combat raged all around. Teo could see the shamans weren’t the only recent arrivals to swell the enemy ranks. A new battalion of outsiders had swarmed out of the woods, breaking the knights’ formations. In a sudden and unexpected reversal, the odds had tipped in the defenders’ favor.

  Teo rolled the Iron Shield’s body with his toe and extracted his sword. After retrieving his ax as well, he gathered his horse’s reins and mounted again. From his vantage point in the saddle he could see many good
soldiers lying dead on the field. The men of Marsay and Jineve were going down, and even the knights were falling before the outsiders’ reinvigorated onslaught. Teo knew how formidable the Royal Guard alone could be; but with the Guard fighting alongside a horde of fresh barbarians and a legion of shamans, defeat seemed inevitable. The idea of escaping into the Beyond crossed Teo’s mind, though he hated the bitter thought of retreat. Where’s Ana? he wondered. At that moment a surge on the periphery of the battlefield caught his eye.

  A new contingent of soldiers now entered the conflict. They wore the uniforms of the Royal Guard, yet they attacked from the invaders’ side. Teo blinked, trying to understand what was happening. It made no sense. Then, as the riders crested a low rise and came into full view, Teo recognized them. He gasped.

  The galloping warriors followed a resplendent figure bearing the flag of the Fifth Regiment. The rider was no soldier, no general, no famous leader of men. She was a humble farm girl from Edgeton with more courage than all the rest combined.

  “For Armand!” the soldiers shouted as they charged. “For Armand! For Armand!”

  “And for Chiveis!” Teo cried, prompting his horse into battle once more.

  The men of the Fifth thundered across the field between Entrelac and the Citadel in a wedge-shaped formation. Ana’s flag rippled as she galloped at the tip of the spear. She sat light in the saddle like the excellent horsewoman she was, leaning forward with her weight on her legs. Her arms moved in rhythm with the horse’s neck as it strained for even more speed. Ana’s head was bent low so that her hair streamed behind her like a golden banner catching the light of the sun. She was majestic in her traditional Chiveisian garb, magnificent in her boldness, dazzling in her beauty. Teo’s mouth fell open. Though he had been amazed by Ana before, he now found himself utterly awed by the woman he loved.

  As the wedge of riders drew near, Teo merged into their ranks. The men of the Fifth crashed into the terrified outsiders, who were not expecting such a determined attack. “Brothers!” Teo yelled as he swung his sword. “The outsiders serve the High Priestess! Fight them! Fight the Vulkainians! But do not lift your weapons against the Guard!”

  A tumult now raged in the center of the battlefield. The barbarians were harried from every direction. Yet as the fighting continued, it became obvious that the men of the Fifth were avoiding their brothers-in-arms. Whenever a platoon of guardsmen tried to circle around the outsiders, the Fifth Regiment shied away. Teo kept shouting his exhortation: “Not the Guard! Not the Guard!”

  At last the dam broke. A platoon from the Third Regiment had edged into position to attack, but the Fifth refused to engage. Confusion and ambivalence were written on the attacking soldiers’ faces as they tried to decide what to do. Guardsmen weren’t supposed to fight guardsmen; they fought outsiders. Suddenly one of the soldiers in the Third Regiment turned away from the Fifth and leveled his sword at the barbarian horde. With a wild yell he charged into the fray while the rest of the platoon watched him go. The men glanced at each other, then roared in unison and turned to follow their comrade.

  Teo cheered from his horse’s back as he watched the stunning reversal of allegiance. Victory was near; he could feel it. Though the outsiders still presented a dangerous threat, Teo knew if the entire Guard turned against them, the battle would be over. And nothing can prevent that now! Thank you, Deu! Nothing can stop—

  Teo’s jubilation evaporated as he caught a glimpse of the Citadel’s gate. Dark fingers of despair reached inside him and grabbed hold of his soul. It was as if Astrebril himself had seized Teo’s flicker of hope and extinguished it between his finger and thumb.

  The High Priestess sat astride a black charger at the end of the Citadel’s causeway. Her dark hair swirled in the hot winds blowing at her back. She carried a sword in one hand and a serpent-shaped scepter in the other. Yet the unholy queen of the underworld was not the most terrible sight of all. She had unveiled something far worse.

  Behind the priestess on the bridge, perched upon four wooden wheels, stood a war machine of fearsome and unknown power.

  Ana hit the wall of outsiders at full speed and did not stop. She knew her role wasn’t to swing a sword or take down any foot soldiers. It was to carry the banner as deep as she could into the enemy ranks—to pierce all the way through if possible. Ana was the razor-sharp tip of a human spearhead that would cleave the outsider army in half.

  She stormed through the melee, dodging attackers, even mowing down a few under her horse’s churning hooves. Clutching the flagpole to keep it upright, she guided the stallion with her legs as the barbarian warriors seethed around her. There! A gap appeared, and Ana headed for daylight. She broke out of the fracas into open space.

  Several guardsmen of the Fifth reined up next to her. “Well done!” exclaimed the exultant commander of the regiment. “Your grandfather couldn’t have done it better!” Ana held her back straight and nodded graciously to the silver-haired colonel.

  The riders’ swords were slick with blood. They had swung their blades at enemies as they charged through the ranks while Ana carried the flag. Now the men whirled their horses to reenter the fight. The Fifth Regiment had succeeded in splitting the outsiders’ force in two, but the battle was still undecided.

  “Your work here is done, Anastasia d’Armand,” the commander said. “Today you’ve proven you are brave beyond measure! Leave the field in honor, and let us finish this fight.”

  Ana considered protesting, but she knew nothing about close-quarters combat from horseback or even how to wield a sword. It wasn’t exactly a skill taught to the village girls of Chiveis. “Very well,” she agreed, then smiled at the commander and added, “I’m proud of you, sir. Today you remembered who you are.”

  The remark surprised the old soldier. He raised his eyebrows and flushed at the compliment. Looking away in embarrassment, he barked to one of his men, “Take the flag.” Ana removed the pole’s tip from the carrier attached to her stirrup and pitched it to the captain.

  The soldiers returned to the action and left Ana alone in the field. She gazed at the jumble of men spread across the plain. Teo was out there somewhere. Deu, protect him!

  As she turned to go, Ana glanced toward the gate of the Citadel. What she saw there made her suck in her breath and rein her horse to a halt. The High Priestess was near the end of the moat’s causeway, robed in white, bearing a double-edged sword. She rode about on a black charger, thrusting her blade into any man who dared attack. Yet her Vulkainian guards had surged forward, leaving the priestess’s flank unprotected.

  Ana looked down at her mount. She had grabbed a standard-bearer’s horse after issuing a call to the Fifth Regiment at the recital hall. Her ultimatum fell like a spark on a dry forest that was primed to ignite. Teo’s eloquent speech had already prepared the way, and Liber’s noble sacrifice steeled the soldiers’ resolve. When Ana challenged the men, they decided they’d had enough of tyranny. The regimental flag served to rally them behind the granddaughter of Armand. Ana had chosen the horse because it was trained to lead a charge, but now she remembered a standard-bearer wasn’t a ceremonial position. In war, an ensign sometimes had to bear arms. For that reason a scabbard rested against the bay stallion’s ribs, carrying a recurve shortbow, some arrows, and a cavalry saber.

  Ana removed the bow stave from the scabbard along with the sinew string. Dismounting, she strung the bow, then climbed into the saddle again. The reign of terror ends today, she vowed. Ana set her jaw and began to trot toward the Citadel.

  The High Priestess’s head swung around as soon as Ana neared the causeway. With a confident sneer she turned her black horse and walked it forward. A moment later she moved up to a canter. Ana squeezed her own mount, and the animal picked up its pace.

  Dropping the reins, Ana nocked an arrow on the string. This would be the most important shot of her life. Her field of vision narrowed as everything else became an irrelevant blur. Ana focused all her attention on her approaching a
dversary.

  The High Priestess raised her sword as her horse transitioned to a gallop. Ana’s hand drew back to the anchor point on her chin. Though the bow’s draw weight was heavy, her muscles were used to holding the tension. The stallion heaved between her thighs as it sped across the grass. Ana rolled with the motion, merging with her mount to become a swift messenger of death.

  The gap narrowed. Ana’s heart raced. An enormous collision was inevitable now. The stallion arched its neck, straining ahead, churning the earth. The priestess’s face blazed white-hot in triumph. She held out her brass scepter like a weapon, shouting a profane curse. Salty sweat stung Ana’s eyes.

  Deu! Help me!

  Ana released the string.

  A bloodcurdling scream erupted from the priestess’s black lips. Yet she kept coming, standing tall in the stirrups, holding her sword aloft. Its bright edge sliced around. Ana snatched the saber from her scabbard to parry the vicious blow.

  Clang! The two blades rang out across the battlefield. Their massive impact hurled Ana backward over her horse’s rump. Her world spun. Blue and green swirled together as everything turned upside down. The ground rushed up to meet her, then smashed her body like a sledgehammer. She gasped as her wind was pounded from her lungs. Her head blazed with the agony of a thousand firebrands. Darkness claimed her as its own.

  Somehow Ana managed to open her eyes. Her shoulders lay on the ground, but her foot was elevated. She yanked and twisted her ankle but couldn’t free it from her horse’s stirrup. Every muscle hurt. She moaned softly, struggling to breathe amid the intense pain.

  A shadow darkened the sun. Ana squinted into the glare. The High Priestess stared down at her from the saddle. Reaching out, she gathered the stallion’s reins in her hand.

  “You missed,” she spat and began to drag Ana away.