by David
Loric fell asleep as soon as he laid down his head....
Chapter Seventeen
An Acquaintance Renewed
A hand gently shook Loric awake.
“Captain, it’s time to move again,” Baldron informed him.
Loric wiped the sleep from his eyes to see that his lieutenant was standing over him. Loric clambered out of his bedroll and gathered his things. Darkness still covered the encampment, but companies were already forming with the same precision they would have exhibited ordering themselves during the day. Loric stretched and shook off his mantle of weariness so he could see to his men, not that they needed any guidance from him with Gradlin already barking necessary commands.
The host was on the move within a turn of the glass. Loric surmised that their ride would continue until their task was complete. Indeed, they rode until dawn before they stopped. The break only lasted for half-sands before they were obliged to mount up. They rode at a brisk pace, while the sun rose high and bright above them.
Loric considered all that he had read in his father’s knightly log as he rode. He wanted to question Aldric about matters there written, but he chose against it. Aldric was not going to tell him anything new, he decided, so why arm him with news of Sir Palendar’s discovery, when he may not know of it? For every reason Loric found to question his liege, he held a strong doubt. I should find the Father of the Forest and its keeper. Then I will know all. In due time....
Warnyck returned to the host in the midst of Loric’s mental debate. He said, “Of our
enemies there is nothing to report-”
“What?” asked an agitated Aldric.
“There is nothing to report,” Warnyck began again, with his grin betraying him, “because we now lie across the path our helpless quarry wishes to take.”
Aldric laughed with delight, “Good. You are lucky it is as you say, or my army would need a new set of eyes--and so would you.”
“I know you don’t mean that,” Warnyck observed with a reflexive shudder.
Aldric only offered a wicked smile in reply.
“We are now less than a half-mile from the river,” the scout hurried on, ignoring his lordship’s bluff expression, “but our foes are moving swiftly toward us.”
“Carry these tidings to Lord Garrick,” Aldric ordered the scout. “We must prepare to meet the enemy.”
Warnyck hastened off as instructed, but he met an unexpected courier along his way. It was Marblin. Those men exchanged words. Then each messenger bore his report to its intended recipient. The veteran Moonwatcher made directly for Aldric and came to a stop before him.
Marblin’s face was deathly white. His shaking hands clung so tightly to his horse’s reins that Loric feared he was going to cut his hands on the leather. “L-Lord, I have ill tidings to bear,” he began, nearly weeping. “All has gone sour with Lord Garrett in the south. Even now, all may be lost there.”
“How did this evil befall us?” Aldric asked, alarmed out of his equanimity by the grim message at hand.
“Garrett drove us in a hard chase for the border, so we overtook our foes well short of Landolstadt,” answered Marblin, shaking his head uncertainly. “All started off well enough with our assault, but things took a bad turn.” His head hung despondently as he continued his tale, saying, “Garrett must have underestimated enemy numbers. Yet, we held our own.... well, we did until several thousand additional spearmen crashed into our flank. It was murderous fighting!
Complete mayhem, lord!”
“Was Hadregeon with them?” Aldric questioned eagerly.
Marblin shook his head. “Nay, lord. I never got a good look at their leader, but I am certain it was not the King of Landolstadt. Whoever it was, he was fierce in a fight and skilled in command. We were overmatched in every way. Lord Garrett tried to organize a retreat, but when he dispatched me to bring word hither, rout seemed imminent.”
Aldric shook his head against the outcome in the southwest. “Arrogant fool!” he growled angrily. “Did his father not warn him to be cautious?” He drew breath and comported himself.
“This message will sadden Lord Garrick, for hope of success now fails us. Go to him at once.”
“I have already born word to my lord,” answered Marblin. “That is why I have come to you.
His Lordship of Durbansdan makes no move to face his enemy, claiming that his life no longer matters to him.” Marblin appealed desperately to Aldric, “You must lead his men or all hope is lost to us. Our leader mourns a son who has not yet died, instead of commanding his men that he may live. He is in no fit state to lead his army.... and he refuses to take action against King Hadregeon.”
“I do not understand,” Aldric shared, shaking his head doubtfully. “The man you have just described is not the lord I know. The Garrick I know....” Aldric let that thought dangle. “It does not matter,” he decided. He turned to Marblin and assured him, “I will do as you ask, but only if I truly must.” He then demanded, “What was Garrett’s condition, when last you left him?”
“He was hard pressed, but he was unscathed,” answered Marblin. “His plan was to fall back to Moonriver Castle, where he expects to meet with you and his father.”
“Go to Lord Garrick,” Aldric ordered him. “Remind him that his son yet lives. Encourage him, for all is not yet lost.”
Aldric tapped Loric on his shoulder, urging him, “Go with your friend. If Lord Garrick is unwilling to lead his men, do so in his stead, on my authority.” Aldric discerned the doubt in his trusted captain’s face and assured him, “I have faith in your ability to do as I have asked.”
Loric shrugged and raced northward to the river, his mind muddled by this sudden turn in Durbansdanian fortunes and his heart racing with the sickening excitement of commanding an army that was not his own. There he found Garrick, the Lord of Durbansdan, seated upon a large, flat rock beside his horse, with his face buried in his hands. He moaned loudly for all to hear.
Garrick’s captains stood nearby, discussing their options. Some of them were already
making to lead their men back to their strongholds, while others proposed bending knees to new overlords, like Aldric or the leader across the field from them, King Hadregeon of Landolstadt.
Bitter debate had left them showing uncertainty what actions they should take, besides milling about, bewildered and demoralized.
“Milord,” Marblin asked tentatively, “why do you mourn? Your son is not dead. Even now, he battles free of his assailants. I am sure of this.”
“Do you not think I know what they will do to Garrett when they capture him?” rumbled the aggrieved warlord. “And capture him, they will!” Garrick snapped. He sobbed, “My son will not be spared. Not by Hadregeon, he will not--oh, no. I have sent him to his death.”
“Nay, milord,” Marblin said. “He lives. Even now he awaits us at Moonriver Castle.”
“Did you not hear me, man?” roared Garrick. “He is doomed!” His voice went weak as he shared, “I have just received word from Moonriver. The castle stands besieged by Turtioc’s traitorous mob.” His words slowed, thickened by bitterness, as he went on, “Nothing can save us from defeat now. Under the ruse of rescuer, Turtioc overwhelmed our border watchmen and marched on my keep.” Garrick spat, “Curse his disloyalty!”
Loric’s heart sank. Princess Avalana was waiting for him at Moonriver Castle. “Lord
Garrick,” he pleaded with his overlord, “you must lead us or we stand no chance of snatching victory from defeat.”
“I will not,” grumped Garrick.
“But many lives depend upon your skill, lord,” Loric begged him.
“I will be left alone until Hadregeon comes for me,” Garrick answered scornfully. “And then, I will have my revenge,” he added coldly.
“Your people need their king!” Loric snapped.
“And they will have him, when I am dead!” growled Garrick. “Lornigan’s line will end with me and another line will begin, Loric of.... Sh
immermir! Leave me!”
“We have no time for this argument,” Loric returned sharply. “If you will not lead these men against Hadregeon, at least do them the courtesy of surrendering so they will not die needlessly.”
“We all die, Loric,” Garrick assured him. “It is life that is needless.”
“I will not listen to this foolishness anymore!” Loric roared.
“I told you to leave me,” Garrick reminded him, showing a twisted smile.
Loric gathered his resolve to say what he must say, collected his breath and told Lord Garrick, “If you will not lead these men or offer your surrender to the enemy, then I must command them in your stead. Yea, even if I am less learned in the ways of war than you are.”
Garrick waved him away with a snort. “Begone! I will await my end in peace.”
Loric’s boot heels cut circles in the dirt as he turned away from Garrick, frustrated and disgusted. He channeled his extra energy into issuing orders to Men of Durbansdan. When any of them questioned his authority, the son of Palendar coolly explained that Lord Garrick was not well and had empowered him to command them. Furious though he was, Loric saved his wrath for the coming fight.
The interim commander watched as Hadregeon’s army came into view. He quickly arrayed
Garrick’s companies to meet them. The King of Landolstadt was with them. Cold rage seized Loric. He took his emotional madness by the hand and prepared to dance across the same floor as the Soul Snatcher.
Without waiting for his enemies to advance, Loric ordered a charge into their midst. He had superior numbers and the oath breaker himself was there for the taking. He guided Sunset on an unwavering line toward his adversary, Lord Regent Hadregeon, the King of Landolstadt. One idea blinded him. He thought it as he rode: An army detached from its head is as lifeless as is a man in the same condition. I will make this king so. Then the headless body of his people will stagger blindly until they fall.
“Oath Breaker!” Loric roared. “I will bring you justice.” To Garrick’s men, Loric cried, “For honor and justice: Death to Hadregeon! Down with Landolstadt!”
“Death to Hadregeon!” echoed his followers. “Down with Landolstadt!”
Two opposing lines drew close to one another and braced themselves for impact. A sudden jolt told Loric that yet another newly acquired lance had struck something solid, but after a moment, pressure against its point lessened. The stricken object yielded. The son of Palendar watched with satisfaction as his lance sent his enemy flying from his saddle.
Loric bumped his helmet into proper position on his head, maneuvered Sunset toward his fallen foe and put an end to his pain with one swift jab of his lance. He cast about the field in search of Hadregeon, only to see him cantering up the enemy line in the opposite direction from him. Between Loric and his enemy counterpart lay a violently convulsing sea of men and horses.
His hope of felling Hadregeon, and thus ending the battle, washed away in its tow.
Loric’s initial charge was effective. Many foes perished upon impact. Still others fell back to escape their doom. Unfortunately, the enemy was tying up Garrick’s horsemen, seizing or slaying mounts and ripping riders from their saddles.
Loric ordered a full retreat, but it was too late to disengage from the enemy. Men of Landolstadt were pressing hard all about him. Like so much driftwood, Loric and Sunset moved amidst an enormous, storm-ridden swell of men, with its tumultuous waves crashing relentlessly against them. Sunset struggled vainly against flesh-and-blood tides, but he and Loric, along with his Men of Durbansdan were being driven toward the river. Loric discarded his lance, as he resolved to cut his way out with the Sword of Logant.
“Follow me!” Loric roared. “This way, men! We must get free for another-”
A distracting hand suddenly clutched at Sunset’s bridle. Loric lashed out before the red stallion could take offense, and the fleshy limb fell away, just below the elbow. Several more hands clutched at Sunset, some to meet the same fate as had the first. Without warning, Loric felt a huge hand at the seat of his pants, and a powerful arm unhorsed him. The knight rolled to his feet, amazed that any man’s grip could be so strong. He turned to face his thick-fingered foe, only to stare in sudden recognition and utter disbelief.
The man was large and barrel-chested. His filthy blond hair was stringy and almost brown with dirt. He had a fat, meaty face and pudgy hands that were almost as sullied as his hair was.
The brute looked haggard and worn. He wobbled as a man who was drunk.
“Fanshy meeting you here, Shir Strange-ling,” the man said, slurring nearly every word.
“Barag,” Loric spat, almost as disgusted by the wretched state his townsman was in as by the blue colors he wore.
“That’s right, Sir Boyhood!” Barag affirmed. “It’s me: your old friend Barag. I have a score to shettle with you.” He grinned wickedly. “I guess another time has finally come at last.”
Loric was still struggling to comprehend Barag’s emergence from amongst the pack of
Landolstadters when the bully rushed in to attack him. Completely shocked by this sudden turn, Loric strove to parry many fierce blows that his longtime tormentor delivered against him. It was difficult to stave off Barag, for the bully used his superior height and weight to his fullest advantages. Each stroke that landed against the Sword of Logant reverberated down through Loric’s hand, bringing pain and numbness in alternating turns. Barag was pounding him like a piton.
Loric desperately sought to trade roles with Barag, before the larger man wore him out, but he abandoned offensive strategy in favor of meeting the brutal fury of his opponent’s attack. At length, Loric stumbled and fell to one knee. The larger man raised his sword up high. Loric lifted the Sword of Logant to parry the blow. Two blades clanged loudly against one another, and Loric tumbled to the side. He reset his feet and began dealing out blows upon drunken Barag, whose turn it was to block frantically. Loric made his hand move as deftly as his mind could conceive his next attack routine, to prevent his brawny foe regaining the advantage in the fight.
He struck at Barag many times. The brute answered each attack with a parry. Loric probed for an opening in the bully’s defenses. As his sword struck enemy steel, he guided its blade down the opposing edge to an open wrist. The Sword of Logant eagerly bit into Barag’s flesh. With a panicked cry, the bully lost his weapon, which went skittering across rocks, as the point of Loric’s blade flicked up to Barag’s throat.
Loric stared at his fellow townsman as he sought after words. Finally, he asked, “Barag, why do you fight in the service of Landolstadt? What wickedness are you about?”
“What would you have me do?” Barag asked scornfully, now sobered by the point of steel.
“I could not offer my service to the lord who burned my village and put its people to the sword.”
“What are you talking about?” Loric asked, altogether bewildered by Barag’s response.
“What?” Barag asked him. “Did you not know that the cottage you called home is nothing more than a smoking ruin, and the parents you loved are no more than memories?”
Loric could not believe what he was hearing. No, he thought. My parents are not dead. The cottage is still there, in peaceful Taeglin.
“Liar!” he screamed, pricking Barag’s flesh with the Sword of Logant.
Barag’s eyes--his hollow, haunted eyes--were streaming tears when he looked up to ask,
“You think I would lie about that?” He ignored his rolling tears and the trickle of blood at his throat, as he demanded, “Why don’t you go and see for yourself, Loric? I laid my father and mother, and my brothers, to rest with these bare hands!” he shouted, putting his half-clenched fists on display. “And Belinda, my betrothed, lies beside them, along with her father and mother, too!”
Loric wanted to kill Barag. He was a great, fat liar, or he was a coward. Either way, Loric felt as though his sword could serve justice by ending Barag son of Borag. Then he remembered hi
s own words, and he was suddenly at odds with himself. He could not slay his fellow townsman. Loric lowered his sword, saying, “Surely, you lie.”
Barag shook his head. “I wish that was true, Loric. Gods, how I wish it was true.”
The truth overwhelmed Loric. He had never known Barag to lie. His cruelty had its limits.
Even so, Loric wanted to be angry with the bully, to blame him for everything that had happened. His head reeled as he came to accept that his father and mother were gone--
slaughtered! he decided. He remembered his townsfolk, reviewing names and faces in his mind, until he came back to those nearest him and Barag and ended with one they commonly loved.
Loric whipped his sword back to eye level with the bully before him and charged him, “It was your job to protect Belinda!”
Barag was overcome by his grief, his utter helplessness, as he muttered, “I could not....” An invisible force blocked his voice, and he bawled like a small child as he fell to the ground and sprawled in the muck.
Loric felt Barag’s pain, which was his too. He lowered his sword.
“Loric, I could not save them,” Barag said, his eyes red from his grief. “I failed them all,” he confessed, with his brow knotted torturously.
Sudden warmth brought life back into Loric’s hollow heart, as wrath filled it. “Who did this?” he demanded.
“None other than the Men of Durbansdan and Moonriver--Lord Garrick’s swine!” Barag
roared. “To think that we always believed our liege lord was there to protect us from our enemies, when that vile man was our greatest enemy--it sickens me!”
“That is why you joined the Army of Landolstadt,” Loric reasoned aloud, to which Barag nodded. “When, Barag?” he asked. “When did this happen? Tell me to the exact turn of an hourglass.”
“What matter does it make?” Barag questioned. “Garrick must pay.”
“Perhaps,” Loric returned. “There may be more to this crime than you know.”
“Tell me what you know!” Barag barked.