by Brad Clark
“Tell me about this witch.”
The boy gave him a blank look. “You do not know? But they are calling for you! You must come now!”
Gregarious considered the boy for a moment longer. “Tell me first about this witch.”
“She lives up in the mountains, and they say she has lived forever. She is old and yet has the look of a young woman. They say she can seduce a man just by looking at him, and then she eats him alive after he falls for her!”
Gregarious laughed. “That is my kind of woman!”
The boy’s face went blank. “What?”
“Never mind. Lives forever, you say? She’s old, but has the body of a young woman? How do you know all this?”
“I went hunting with my pa when we first got here. We got lost and found a ruined town. She was there. I saw her myself.”
“You saw just a young woman.”
The boy vehemently shook his head. “No, it was her. The old witch, but she makes herself look young.”
Gregarious felt his fortune finally change. An old woman who looks young can only mean that this witch has the Ark of Life. Hanging from her neck, it would give her youth and never let her grow old. Although he had spent many hours rummaging through dark tunnels in the bowels of the castle, at least it had kept him in the castle long enough for this witch to make her appearance. But she wouldn’t last long. Unless she could harness the power of the Web of Magic, the Ark of Life would not protect her from his talons.
“Take me there,” Gregarious demanded.
“Of course, Your Majesty. Follow me.”
The young boy walked quickly, leading Gregarious through the corridors of the castle that were being filled with armed soldiers running for the castle walls. As he walked along, everyone gave him a quick bow or a courteous word. He could easily get used to this kind of treatment and made a note that when the war was finally over, he would be sure to insist on being treated as these people treated King Toknon.
The outside courtyard had more soldiers who were standing around readying themselves for battle. They parted aside as he walked through. The boy led him towards a steep stone stairwell that led up the side of the wall, which allowed access to the top of the castle’s wall.
The sight that greeted him pleased him. The moment he stepped up to the top of the wall, he saw the packed village. In daylight, it was much more inviting. But it also looked like more Humans had arrived. Looking farther to the forest, he saw that more of them were continuing to come out from the forest. There were even horses and oxen pulling wagons laden down with supplies.
A small group of men had gathered at the base of the wall near the gate. None of them appeared to be a witch, much less a woman. The boy had followed him up to the top of the steps.
A handful of soldiers armed with crossbows came running across the wall and surrounded him.
“Your Majesty, you should not be up here,” one of them said. “You are exposed here.”
“Which one is this witch of yours?” Gregarious asked, ignoring the soldier.
“Sire?” the soldier responded.
“This Witch of the Mountain!” Gregarious shouted back, his impatience growing. “Where is she?”
The soldier looked down at the group of men that were looking up at them. He pointed to one particular, a handsome man in a dirty wool cloak.
Gregarious wasn’t sure how he could have been mistaken for a witch, for he was clearly a man. But there was no doubt that the man had cast a spell, for he could feel the last tendrils of the spell as it drifted into nothingness.
“That is no witch,” Gregarious growled. “That’s a man.”
“But the stories,” the soldier said. “He threw fire from his hands, just like a witch would do.”
Gregarious turned toward the soldier, grabbing him by the front of his thick wool shirt. “The Witch of the Mountain has the appearance of a young woman. Does that look like a young woman?”
The soldier’s eyes went wide with fear. “She is a witch! She can show herself as anything she wants.”
Gregarious pushed the soldier down to the ground. “What do you know about witches?”
The soldier did not move. He only looked up at his king, waiting for a deathblow. King Toknon’s temper was well known and even though he had never executed a soldier for being defiant, there was always the first time.
Gregarious did not give the soldier another thought. He looked once more at the small group of men gathered below them wondering how powerful that Human Mage was. At one point in Earth’s history, there were many of them, and they were very powerful. But that age had long since passed into history. He turned to look for the boy, who was standing on the steps.
“You, boy!” Gregarious called out.
The boy slowly stepped forward.
“You know where this Witch of the Mountain lives?”
The boy nodded.
“Speak up!”
“Yes,” the boy said, his lips quivering and his hands shaking. “To the east. A village.”
“Where precisely!” Gregarious shouted.
The boy started shaking and froze up.
Another soldier cleared his throat and spoke up. “He must be talking about Mountainscope. It’s a village to the east of here that some of our people used to do trade with. There is a trail that leads through the forest, down into a valley, past a tall tower, and then up into the mountains. The trail ends at the village.”
Gregarious looked eastward, his eyes searching the far-off mountainside for a village. There was none to be seen, even with his powerful vision.
“What of the Karmons, though?” the soldier asked.
“The who?”
The soldier pointed down to the small group of men that were gathered near the gate. “They called for you and threatened to tear down the gate with their fire. What are we to do?”
“Kill them, of course?”
“What?”
Gregarious shrugged his shoulders. “Are they not our enemy?”
“Well,” the soldier glanced over at the sea of men, women, and children that were living in the village. “They were once.”
“Once an enemy, always an enemy,” Gregarious said. “Kill them. Kill them all.”
When the soldiers hesitated, Gregarious growled at them. “Do not disobey your king! Kill them all!”
With a graceful leap, Gregarious jumped from the wall down into the courtyard. He thought nothing of the leap that would have killed a normal man, nor of the soldiers around that watched him with dumbfounded expressions. All he cared about was the sound of crossbows being fired, which would provide him plenty of cover to escape.
Chapter Nineteen
“Finally,” Lord Kirwal mumbled when King Toknon appeared. He watched with impatience as the king stood atop the wall, looked around at the village overflowing with survivors from Tyre, and then started chatting with a young boy.
Just as Lord Kirwal was about to call out to the Thellian King, Toknon turned his back to them and started yelling at the soldiers that had gathered around him.
“What is going on?” Lord Kirwal growled. “First he locks us out of our castle, then he insults us.”
With his booming, deep voice, Lord Kirwal called out, “Toknon! Open this gate right now! This is Karmon land, and you have no right to lock the gates. Let our people in!”
King Toknon glanced at him over his shoulder and then walked out of sight. That was when the soldiers atop the wall turned their crossbow bolts on them and fired.
Lord Kirwal did not have a chance. As de facto ruler of Karmon, he had stood proudly in front of their small group. But, in the end, that was his doom. The first crossbows were aimed at him, and five of ten bolts struck him square in the body, staggering him backward. A final, perfect shot struck him in the face, sending him to the ground dead before his large body bounced on the muddy, wet grass.
Sir Gossmire reacted the moment he heard the twang of the crossbow strings. Knowing instinctivel
y that many would be aimed right for him, diving to the side was the best chance for his survival. With only light leather armor, he was easily able to dive and roll and avoid the first volley. Unfortunately, a second volley that anticipated his action was more accurate. One bolt grazed a leg, slicing open his thigh. A second bolt found its home in his left arm right in the middle of his bicep. Fortunately, it bounced off, but not before doing its damage. Pain instantly exploded from the impact, and he knew that his arm was broken and now useless. As he rolled, he tucked his wounded arm into his body and drew his sword with his good hand. He had no way of using it to defend himself, but it was the only thing he could do.
He took a split second to survey the attack and was disheartened to see Lord Kirwal on the ground, crossbow bolts stuck in his still form. There would be plenty of time to be despondent, but right now he needed to gather his men and get out of range. About half the knights that had been with him were also on the field, dead or dying. With a heavy heart, he knew there was nothing he could do other than to turn and run. A couple crossbow bolts whizzed past him, but none struck home.
For a brief moment, he felt like a coward running away, but standing against crossbows without so much a shield was simply foolishness. Along with the surviving knights, he ran towards a group of knights and villagers that heard the fighting and came forward with bows. As soon as they were in range, they returned fire, allowing the knights who were still on their feet to make it to safety.
***
Hargon had reacted purely out of a survival instinct. As quickly as the crossbow bolts could be fired, he tossed balls of fire at them. He wasn’t sure what good it would do, but the bolts disappeared in a puff of smoke as his fireballs struck them. He was thankful that the Thellians used crossbows instead of bows as they reload rate was much slower. That gave him time to react. Quickly switching to his lightning spell, he cast it upon the closest soldier atop the wall and the lightning jumped from one soldier to the next, rendering each one incapacitated.
The knights behind him reacted only a heartbeat slower. Some of them were struck by crossbows and dropped to the ground. The rest turned and ran, running with quick jumps to the left and right so that the crossbowmen couldn’t anticipate their moves. Hargon walked backward at first, sending more fireballs at the top of the wall, not caring what he hit, only that he was distracting the Thellians from firing their crossbows.
Shouting from the village behind him caused him to turn and see arrows flying from a large group of Karmon soldiers and knights who had moved forward to provide covering fire for the knights who were running from the wall. He took the opportunity to sprint out of range, hoping that the return fire would keep the crossbowmen from targeting him.
Once he was out of range, he found himself separated from everyone else. A few crossbowmen continued to step out from behind the wall’s battlements and blindly fire their weapons. Karmons returned fire, much of it over the wall and into the castle courtyard, hoping to cause havoc. His heart pounded hard, and the idea of him surviving had not yet really hit him. He knew that he was lucky that he hadn’t been hit and although a sense of relief was there, there was also a sense of guilt. There were still some knights that were on the cold, wet ground. Some were still and clearly dead. Others were trying to get up and crawl to safety.
An odd feeling came over him, one that he had never before let himself feel. It was a feeling of sorrow and empathy. As emperor, he had never let himself feel it. All his decisions were for the betterment of the empire, or more importantly, himself. A crossbowman stepped out from behind a battlement and fired a crossbow into the back of a surviving knight, and anger replaced the empathy. There was no reason to kill a wounded soldier. He was still a man and didn’t need to die in such a manner.
Ignoring any survival instinct, he forced himself to march forward, firing fireballs at any crossbowmen that appeared. He didn’t care if he struck them, although he hoped he did. He simply wanted to distract them enough that the survivors made it to safety.
***
Now that he was safe, Sir Gossmire allowed himself to finally breathe. Bent over at the waist, he sucked in air to catch his breath. His final sprint had been a desperation run, and he had forgotten that he needed to actually take in air. Facing the wall, he saw that there were still some crossbowmen who were firing their weapons. When one of them put a crossbow bolt into the back of a wounded knight, he knew he couldn’t let his men be slaughtered like sheep. With an angry shout, he commanded the bowmen to move forward to provide more covering fire to retrieve the dead and wounded. Just as he did so, fireballs appeared from his left that sent the crossbowmen scurrying behind cover. It was just what the wounded knights needed to survive. Sir Gossmire screamed a second command and knights, soldiers, and villagers responded by running towards the wall to help the wounded.
Ignoring the pain from his broken arm, he ran straight for Lord Kirwal. He knew Lord Kirwal was dead, and his own strength was waning, but Lord Kirwal didn’t deserve to be left on the field of battle to rot. Grabbing him by one arm, Sir Gossmire began to drag the large and heavy man backward. But it was slow going, and he felt exposed to possible crossbow fire. Before he had gone ten feet, his fear manifested itself with a Thellian turning and aiming his crossbow right at him. With a surprising panic, he found himself frozen and unable to move. It was the first time he had ever been unable to react in a fight, and it scared him. The thought of him dying swept over him and he felt a moment where he was actually going to relish not having to fight to survive anymore.
A grunt and the flash of a ball of fire broke him from his trance. The ball of fire continued past the crossbowman and struck the mountain far behind the wall, but it had forced the crossbowman to duck behind a battlement.
Sir Gossmire glanced to the right and gave a nod of thanks to Hargon, who tossed several more fireballs at the wall. Grim-faced, Hargon only gave his own quick nod of acknowledgment. A moment later, another knight grabbed Lord Kirwal by the feet and a second took Lord Kirwal underneath the armpits to carry Lord Kirwal out of bow range. With his arm pulled tightly against his side to keep it from moving, Sir Gossmire followed the knights off the battlefield and watched Hargon toss fireballs one after another to keep the crossbowmen from returning fire. He found it hard to believe that the courageous man who was standing in harm's way, protecting soldiers he didn’t know, was once the emperor of Taran.
***
Once all the fallen knights had been retrieved, Hargon once more ran out of range of the crossbows. The Thellians ceased firing their crossbows when they were sure that there would be no counter-attack. Some of the knights were still in range, but they were far enough away that their shots would not be accurate. It was time for them to restock their ammunition in preparation for the next assault, which they all were sure would eventually come.
As he neared the village, he could hear knights moaning in pain. Many had fallen in the first wave of crossbow fire, but many had survived as well. Lord Kirwal’s body was lying among them, having been set carefully on the ground, eyes closed and hands crossed in front of his body. His face showed that he was in peace and Hargon hoped he was. There were many wounded knights and soldiers that were sitting up or lying on the ground. Most had more than one crossbow stuck in their body, and he could see on their faces that death was on their doorstep. His fingertips tingled as he thought about what he knew he needed to do. Although he might not be able to save them all, or even bring Lord Kirwal back to life, he could help many of them. It would take every ounce of his strength to do it, but he knew it was what he was meant to do. He bent down to one after another, touching their skin and drawing power from the world around him.
After some time of healing, he stood up and stretched. His knees ached, and his back was sore. He looked among the wounded and dead with an emptiness inside. He wasn’t sure if it was hunger or sadness because he couldn’t heal them all. There just wasn’t enough left in him. Even though many who had been he
aled thanked him profusely, the thought of failure burned in him and made him hot with anger. It wasn’t that long ago that he thought so little of human life that he would send thousands to their deaths in wars that meant nothing but to stroke his pride and ego. Now, though, each death was a weight on his shoulders. Try as he might, he just couldn’t save them all, especially the ones who deserved to live.
Frustrated and exhausted, he walked away from the wounded soldiers. Women versed in stitching and binding wounds stepped in to help the remaining wounded as best they could. Fortunately, the battle only involved crossbow bolts, so there were no sword wounds and severed limbs to contend with.
A light rain had started to fall as he approached a cluster of soldiers, many of whom were armored in light plate or heavy leather. Based on the stern and focused looks, most of them were likely Karmon Knights.
“We must try again,” one of them said.
There were some mumbles of agreement, but also voices of disagreement.
“We have no battering rams to take down the gate, nor do we have shields to protect us from their crossbows,” another argued back.
“There are hundreds of us. We can rush them!”
Hargon pushed his way through the throng of knights that were gathered. Sir Gossmire stood in front of them, dirty and bloody from the fight. His left arm was in a hastily conceived sling and held tightly next to his body. Hargon could see the weariness in his eyes and in his stooped posture. But his voice was a strong as ever.
“Sir Hollin,” Sir Gossmire retorted as if he were addressing a naïve child. “You are courageous, but your courage alone will not win the day. An impenetrable wall stands before us, and we cannot simply throw bodies at it. Maybe they will run out of crossbow bolts, but will we run out of soldiers first? How many hundreds are you willing to sacrifice to get atop the wall? Then how many hundreds more must die to gain access to the gatehouse? And then once the gate falls, many hundreds more will die storming the castle.”