“Relax lad. He’ll understand it’s no fault of yours.” Robertson reassured him, correctly interpreting the silence.
“Reading my thoughts Lance?” Tristan asked with a crooked smile.
“S’not my gift my Lord.” He chuckled.
Prince Tristan was still very bothered by what had some to pass since he’d recovered. Lately he’d decided that when he felt this nagging guilt it was better for him to focus his frustration at those who put him in this situation. Secretly he worried that if his memories came back, would he prefer the man he’d been or the man he was becoming? Outwardly, everyone seemed to prefer the more rational and thoughtful man he was now. Tristan wasn’t sure if those character traits would make him a better leader or not. His father had been willing to eventually award him a duchy regardless of his foul temper.
His dark thoughts were interrupted as the company crested a hill and the full size of the fort they approached could be seen. The walls were tilted inward at the plinth, making it damn near impossible for sappers to collapse a section of wall. Towers jutted out at odd locations with no discernable pattern, Tristan assumed this was to keep any climbers at bay.
Everything was built with rough stone and timber, unlike the keeps of Vallius there was no thought put towards making the structures attractive. Everything here was highly functional and nothing spoke of symmetry, attractiveness or gaudiness. After all the time he’d spent with Kevin, Tristan greatly appreciated the attention that had gone into the defenses and functionality of the keep.
Heatherington Keep was more like a fortress than any keep he’d ever seen before. Even at this distance he could see men running along behind the parapets. A trumpet sounded from the keep and the walls were quickly lined with soldiers. The Prince was deeply impressed, so much thought was put into defense of their country, and yet surrounding the keep he could see that these people were also very gifted farmers.
Fields of vegetables, grains and fruits grew larger and in more density than any he could recall. Tristan looked at their escort again and noticed that every soldier was equally large, broad and sat his horse with a quiet confidence built from experience. Each of them had a round shield strapped to their backs with a crescent shape cut out of it where it met their saddle; a spear was strapped between the shield and their back. Each of them was armed with a single short sword with a rounded off pommel.
Tristan surmised that while they would prove a devastating cavalry; they also appeared to be excellent infantry. Their armor was sparse, being only a light leather breastplate and a pair of bracers each. Their boots were unlike his own, appearing to be made primarily of cloth with thick hide for a sole. Each soldier was tanned deeply, presumably from their nomadic lifestyle. Each clan would forgo their nomadic ways for three years as they occupied one of the four cities in turn.
As they rode forward a large drawbridge descended, if Tristan hadn’t seen it lowered, he wouldn’t have known where to find it. Bricks poked out from the sides of the bridge as though someone had painstakingly chiseled around each seam to create a piece of wall that could be lowered.
The group rode closer and Tristan began to drink in the details of the city and her defenses. He could see wooden trim with large iron plates every few feet. Pulleys inside allowed the chains to effortlessly lower the draw bridge over the moat. It wasn’t until the drawbridge had completely lowered that Tristan noticed that the path going up to the wall was strange; it ran off and into the wall at strange angles. When the bridge was up Tristan admitted he would be hard pressed to know which part of the road led towards the drawbridge. It was a small thing, though the young Prince’s eyes drank in every detail he could see.
More details became visible as the group approached the walls at a canter. There were portholes scattered at odd places along the walls where archers could hide and fire at invaders without fear of injury. Tristan could see lights dancing inside some of them and assumed there must have been braziers in there so archers could shoot lighted arrows.
The inside of the drawbridge was made of metal and wood, which they urged their horses up and onto as their escort led them into the keep. Just as in Kenting, the shops inside the keep were modest. Each contained basic everyday needs and no thought was put into finery. The buildings were assembled in much the same fashion as Kenting as well. They possessed flat roofs, no windows on the main floor with doors and shakers that could easily be bolted from inside.
Every thought seemed to be geared towards making this keep as impregnable as possible. A bell chimed from one of the western towers and the Suttenites scrambled. Tristan looked at Robertson in confusion, receiving a shrug from the old man in return. William dismounted and handed his reins off to a porter. Turning to Tristan he yelled over the chaos;
“That’s an attack warning bell. Let’s go see what the commotion is about, shall we?” He explained with a smile on his face.
Tristan smiled back, handed over his reins to a porter and dismounted Pava. William led him up the nearest walkway and as Tristan looked out over the parapet he was forced to admit that he was quite glad to be behind these walls. The array of strange and fearsome creatures gathered on the
“Son of a…” Robertson muttered from beside him.
“That will do Captain.” Tristan interrupted, chuckling in spite of himself.
“Giants, orcs and bugbears don’t often band together like this.” William commented from his other side.
What Tristan saw in the shadow of the immense fortress was a horde of the most impossible creatures. Easily forty thousand men and creatures gathered at the foot of Heatherington Keep. Scattered in their midst were enormous giants, casting their shadows over scores of riders and infantry, human, orc and goblin alike. Large rolling buildings, filled to capacity, wound their way through the ranks, being pushed along by something that resembled a short giant or enormous orc. Large bugbears pushed catapults forward, urged on by gangly trolls brandishing whips.
The entire force halted just outside of bowshot as a large platform supported by a hundred slaves made its way to the head of the column. A robed figure stood next to a large impressive looking man. He spoke and it was as though he was standing mere inches away from them, his voice clearly amplified by the sorcerer at his side.
“Warriors of Sutten! You need not lose your lives; I come for one among you, though not of you.” Announced the man as a general murmuring echoed along the defenders walls. “You have four hours to produce the dragon spawn Tristan Vallious.” The murmuring intensified on the walls.
“Should you hand the Prince over willingly, my force will turn from your lands and leave you in peace.” He finished. His platform retired to the middle of the army as the force began to light cooking fires and prepare for the coming battle.
Knight-Captain Robertson swore, “Oh yes. You’ll take forty thousand butchers and just walk away. I’m sure.” He muttered sarcastically to Tristan’s amusement.
William turned to face Tristan; a look of deep concern clouded his features as he motioned for the two of them to follow him back to the keep. The soldiers they passed looked at them with calculating glares. The women and children, tears gathering in their eyes, looked at them pleadingly. Prince Tristans’ walk to the Heatherington central chamber felt like it took forever, and was very uncomfortable; even for a young man who was used to dark looks.
They entered the main audience chamber, which was being cleared as they entered. Soldier’s frog marched merchants, wives and children out of the hall as Tristan was brought forward. William stood next to Tristan at the front of the hall as the doors were closed and locked with a deafening clang that echoed in his ears.
“So young Prince,” Spoke the man sitting in the centermost chair. “It appears we’ve got unwelcome guests outside our door and an old friend to thank for them.” His dire tone carried easily across the hall.
The man appeared to be of middle-years, dressed in much the same fashion as all the other soldiers present, though h
e wore a mantle trimmed with white fur. His serious expression slowly split into a wide grin as he got up with surprising agility and pulled the Prince into an embrace.
“It’s good to see you again, my boy.” He said jovially as he patted the young man on the back.
Sensing hesitation, the older man pulled away, holding the young Prince at arm’s length. “What’s wrong lad?” He asked, serious once again.
“He can’t remember you Fred.” Robertson commented.
“I’d heard, though I couldn’t believe it.” He said, turning his eyes on Tristan he added. “Is it true lad? You don’t remember your old Uncle Fred?!”
His serious expression once again split into a wide grin that Tristan found infectious. Fred laughed, patting the Prince on his shoulder. “Worry not lad. We’ll soon jog that memory for you.” He chuckled.
In spite of the tense situation outside, Tristan felt at ease in this hall. He couldn’t place the feeling, but thus far, his instinct about the trustworthiness of those around him hadn’t been far off. Tristan smiled back at his Uncle, still a little uncertain of the brewing situation on the fields just outside this fortress.
“Now. What are we to do about these troublemakers outside?” His Uncle asked with a smirk.
“Maybe we should just toss the boy over the parapet and be done with it.” Knight-Captain Robertson joked.
“Don’t think that hadn’t occurred to me, old friend.” Fred commented slyly with a wink in Tristan’s direction. “But I’d hate to have to explain to his father and his rather large brother what happened to him.” The room burst out in laughter.
“The thing is.” Fred continued. “We don’t often see giants around here, and even less orcs. The bugbears, goblins and such are a constant annoyance.”
“There’s nothing for it father.” William began. “We fight as we always have.” He said with conviction, putting his hand on Tristans shoulder.
“Agreed.” Others echoed throughout the hall.
“Then we’re decided, now boy, why does that whoreson want you so bad that he brings forty-thousand up to my walls?” Chieftain Fred of the Lion Clan asked.
Tristan tried to organize his thoughts as best as he could before attempting to explain. “I assume you know of my heritage?” He asked tentatively.
“You refer to your mother, boy?” Fred asked.
“Yes.” Tristan answered bashfully.
“I am aware of your lineage boy.” Fred said calmly. “I miss my old friend Socolis.”
Tristan’s eyes widened in surprise as an image of a white dragon flashed in his mind’s eye. He could recall a conversation on the beauty of trees with the elder dragon. Tristan fought to grab a hold of the memory, though the harder he grasped at the edges, the faster it was lost. Sill, perhaps not all of his memories had betrayed him. He continued to try and recall the details of the conversation, but even the details of the dragons features faded away like aged parchment.
The Prince tried to force himself to remember other dragons he may have met, but to no avail. He was confused that he could recall with clarity a white dragon but seemed unable to remember the bronze one that had helped him just days ago.
Shaking off the irritation of his failed memory, he focused back on Fred as he composed his next words. “There’s a group out there hunting me and what they call my kind down.” Reaching into his pocket he pulled out one of the many dragon pendants he’d acquired and tossed it to his uncle.
“They wear these and call themselves; Draconis’ Bane.” He concluded.
“I’ve seen this before; a magician visited us some time ago.” Fred began, handing the pendant over to William. “Come to think of it, he asked about you quite a bit. After learning that we didn’t know where you were, he left.”
“I’m willing to bet he’s that robed one out there.” William spat.
“Great. Well, I don’t want more lives at my feet.” Tristan began.
Fred waved him off, irritation clearly etched on his face. “Never mind that dramatic non-sense lad. I’ll not hand you over, I know what’s at stake here and I’ll be damned if some group of grannies is going to control my actions.” He grunted.
“How did that bastard get all of them to band together though?” Robertson asked.
“It would appear that the Bane has more influence than we first were led to believe Captain.” Tristan replied.
Fred waived off further discussion. “It matters not. We’ll met them in battle, drive them back and make them wish they’d never set foot in my country.” He winked at Tristan.
“He’s going to need some proper siege training then?” William asked with a crooked smile.
“Aye, we can’t have him waving that scythe about on the walls.” Fred muttered. “Get him a room, a bow and start working with him, son.” The old man commanded.
William nodded before grasping Tristan by the shoulder and steering the Prince out of the chamber. Laughing he patted the young Prince on the shoulder as they walked through the town.
“Well brother, let’s find you a room.” He chuckled.
“I’m sorry.” Tristan replied, stopping as he turned towards his cousin.
“For what man?” William asked in a shocked voice.
Tristan motioned around them. “All the trouble…not knowing you…take your pick.”
“Bah.” William waved off. “You’ll remember things soon enough, and if not, I’ll count myself lucky for making the same friendship twice.” The Prince smiled hesitantly, as Williams' infectious laugh echoed throughout the market square as they made their way towards the barracks.
~
The alarm bell sounded as Tristan and William quickly ran up the stairs to look out over the wall. Fred and Captain Robertson were already there as the young Prince rested his new bow against the parapet. The platform was once again moving forward with both men still on it. Once it had reached just beyond bowshot it stopped and the magically amplified voice cut through the oppressive silence.
“Your time has passed my friends. Hand over the Prince or we will be forced to burn your lovely keep to the ground.” He announced.
Tristan turned to his Uncle Fred.
“If I may?” He asked motioning to his Uncle’s longbow.
Over the last four hours Tristan and his cousin William had spent their time having an impromptu archery contest. The Prince had shown uncanny knack with the short bow and his cousin had challenged him to a longbow contest. His skill had impressed everyone, but most of all William who swore the Prince had always been a barely average archer.
His Uncle nodded, as Tristan pulled an arrow from his back quiver, tied one of the many dragon pendants he possessed around the shaft and drew back. Carefully taking aim he let the arrow fly in a high arc. It flew through the gap between the wall and the army and landed with an audible wooden thump on the platform, in front of the speaker.
The man stared wide eyed at the pendant, clutching his chest reflectively. On the wall many of the defenders, privy to the details of this force, narrowed their eyes as Tristans assertions were proved true. William began a war cry that echoed from each of the soldiers lined along the wall. The sorcerer waved his arms sending forth a ball of lightning which crackled and spread as it sped across the field towards the high walls. It hit mere inches from its target and dissipated along the wall.
Shocked, Tristan looked questioningly at Fred and William. The chieftain shrugged as he casually said; “Donated dragon blood mixed into the mortar.” He chuckled.
Tristan burst out laughing, followed by the others within earshot of the old man’s flippant pronouncement. For reasons he couldn’t verbalize, the young Prince felt as though he could fight and die here and never regret a moment of it. A warm feeling spread through his body as a single purpose coalesced in his mind. He would fight and destroy the Bane and this would be a grand start.
In anger the sorcerer cast a fireball which completely engulfed and destroyed the arrow and the pendant attached, leav
ing an angry circle of scorched wood in its wake. The defenders laughed at the childish display, which appeared to irritate the man as well as the sorcerer.
The magically amplified voice cut through the laughter. “I am King Roger of Terum, your walls will fall before me and your bones will be ground into powder at my feet!”
Prince Tristan and William smiled at one another, drew arrows in their longbows and let fly. The two arrows crossed the distance between the walls and the army catching two of the slaves baring the platform in the chest. The rest of the slaves tried to re-adjust their hold on the platform, but it was no use, the fallen slaves’ death throws knocked down many others around them.
Slowly but surely the platform began to dip forward. The King and his sorcerer lost their balance and unceremoniously rolled down the front of the platform landing in a tangled heap. The slaves holding the platform were in full route as they tried their best to escape the collapsing structure.
The defenders were beside themselves with glee and many who were already laughing themselves hoarse began to cheer. Tristan smiled at his cousin, nodding his head they both drew another pair of arrows and let fly. Just as the sorcerer and the King had worked themselves free, two arrows pinned the sorcerers’ robes to the ground sending them both crashing down again.
The laughing on the wall died as horns sounded from the enemies lines and their forces began to slowly move forward. Porters came rushing up on the Heatherington walls baring braziers brimming with hot coals for lighting arrow heads. Tristan handed Fred back his longbow, picked his short bow and drew a bead on the closest orc running ahead of the mobile barricades.
“HOLD!” Fred called.
The foolish orcs ran closer to the walls baring their teeth and carrying scaling ladders.
“HOLD!” Fred shouted.
All of the orcs were now uncomfortably close and yet he called again.
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