by Brad Clark
Hargon didn’t respond right away. He climbed up onto the box that Lord Martin was standing on and leaned towards him and whispered, “These men need someone to inspire them, not bore them back to sleep. Step aside, little man.”
Lord Martin’s face turned beet red. “How dare you! I am a lord of this realm!”
Through gritted teeth, Hargon snapped back, “You are a cowardly weasel. Of all the good and courageous men to die, how is it that you are still alive? You want to do something to help? Pick up a sword and join those men out there who are ready to die to save the people of this kingdom. If we don’t get into the castle by mid-day, we will be torn apart by the goblin horde that is one its way.”
Before Lord Martin could react, Hargon turned towards the knights and men of the village that were gathered before him. He saw dirty and tired faces, but most importantly, he saw strong, steely eyes. Even the men of Karmon who had never been trained with a sword looked up at him with faces of fearlessness. “Men of Karmon, I am Emperor Hargon. Former Emperor Hargon. Today could be your last day on Earth, but that thought should inspire you, not fear you. For your last day could be your greatest day when you slay the enemy that stands in the way of the survival of thousands of your people. As Emperor of Taran, I knew of Karmon Knights and I feared them. I respected them. I knew that to go into battle against them would be a disaster. It would take thousands of centurions to go up against a few hundred Karmon Knights, and in the end, most of those thousands would be dead. What I know of you now has not changed my mind.” He paused for dramatic effect. Slowly, his eyes looked around the room, seeing furled brows and some anger in their eyes. “I now know it would take tens of thousands of my centurions to defeat a few hundred of you. The strength and courage of each one of you is why I choose to fight at your side. I could have turned and run from this fight, to go up into the mountains, or even back to my homeland. But I stand at your side. Now, I will stand at the front of your ranks, and I will lead you into battle!”
An energy that had been absent suddenly surged through the room. Swords were drawn and lifted as the shouting began.
Hargon lifted his right hand and made a first. With a sharp, gravelly voice, shouted out, “I was born a Taran, but I fight for Karmon! Who is with me!”
The shouting crescendoed into a volume that shook the room. Men who had never lifted a weapon before the Deceiver’s army came lifted their swords with confidence. Their faces were contorted in an adrenaline-fueled state that would drive them to conquer their fears and perform feats of strength and courage that they never could have done on his own.
Sir Gossmire stepped up to the box, inadvertently forcing Lord Martin to step off. Sir Gossman lifted his sword above his head, oblivious to Lord Martin, who had fallen to the floor, fuming with anger.
“Knights of Karmon! Men of Karmon! It is time! We march upon the gates! Before the sun rises to its full height, we will take the castle!” He lowered the sword and pointed it across the room. “We will muster into three groups. Those of you that are with me, you know who are. Stay here with me, and we will leave last. Men who are in charge of the wagons, be ready, for we will need you to act as soon as the battle starts. The rest of you will take up your bows and march to the gate to be ready. This battle will be won! Victory will be ours!”
Sir Gossmire lifted his sword as the cheering and shouting continued. After a moment of soaking in the moment, he jumped down from the box.
Lord Martin was still sitting on the floor.
“There are plenty of swords,” Sir Gossmire said to him. “You can take one if you want and join us at the gate. But the women, children, and elderly will need someone to direct them into the castle as soon as it has fallen. I will not judge you for your choices but do not claim to be someone that you are not. I don't care that you are a coward. Just don’t pretend otherwise.”
Lord Martin opened his mouth to protest, but Sir Gossmire did not care to listen to him. Sheathing his sword, Sir Gossmire followed the mass of knights and men as they quickly left the building. Hargon was right next to him.
“You sounded almost convincing,” Sir Gossmire said, a smile on his face.
“I’m scared to death,” Hargon replied, also smiling.
“Good. A bit of fear will help keep the edge on.”
“But you are not afraid? How do you handle it?”
Sir Gossmire put a hand on Hargon’s shoulder and leaned in close. “I’m always afraid. But I do not let it control me. My fear is not in dying, but in failure.”
Hargon let out a soft laugh. “That sounds like the mantra of the Karmon Knights.”
“Well, actually it is!”
The mass of men had finally moved out of the cramped building. As they stepped out into the cold of the pre-dawn morning, Hargon asked, “Is everyone ready.”
“While you slept, we worked hard to get everything in place.”
“You know I needed the sleep!”
“I know. I meant nothing by my comment. Of all of us, your job is the most important.”
“But yours is the most dangerous.”
“If we fail, thousands of Karmons, probably all that is left in the kingdom, will die at the hands of the goblin horde.”
“Then we better hurry.”
Sir Gossmire took a couple steps away towards the part of the wall where he was going to start his assault. He stopped and looked back. “You don’t act like an emperor.”
“I don’t feel like one anymore.”
“What you said back there, it was inspiring.”
“I meant it. It was probably the first time I spoke in front of soldiers that I meant what I said. I have never fought in a battle until I came into your kingdom. I spent my life surrounded by centurions whose job it was to give their life for mine. Even when I was at the back of a battlefield, I was protected. Then, I was afraid, but not like I am now.”
“To be afraid of death is normal.”
Hargon’s looked up at the stars in the sky before replying. “To copy the words of a great man I know, my fear is not in dying, but in failure.” They laughed together for a moment. Then Hargon continued, “Life right now is hard, and I don’t know what we have in store for the future. Maybe there is still a chance to live a good life, but I fear it will only get harder. The time of comfortable beds and warm food every night is gone. It would be easier to die, to let a crossbow bolt strike me down. It is harder to stay and fight for this kingdom and for this world.”
“Doing the right thing is always harder. That’s why it’s more satisfying when you finish the job.”
Hargon let out a long sigh. “Okay, let’s finish this job.”
“I’ll see you on the other side of the wall.”
“Until then.”
Hargon put his head down and walked briskly towards the castle gate. He passed by knights and other armed men who were getting prepared for their duties. He had not believed in Sir Gossmire’s plan when he first laid it out, and he still wasn’t sure it would work. He didn’t have a better option, so this was it. By the time the sun reached its peak, they would either be safely behind the castle walls, or they would all be dead.
***
Hargon walked alone towards the front gate of Neffenmark Castle. The battle from the previous day had torn up the grass in front of the gate, leaving the ground a muddy mess. However, the cold night air had hardened the mud, which would help give traction to the soldier’s footing in the upcoming fight. The moon was in front of him, just above the mountain peaks. It cast just enough light that he thought he would make a perfect glowing target. He kept his eyes scanning across the castle’s wall, waiting for a crossbowman to jump out and try and shoot at him. Although he was within range of crossbows, he was far enough away to be a very difficult target. A perfect shot would bring him down and bring a quick end to their plan. But he needed to be close enough for them to hear him.
“King Toknon!” Hargon shouted. “Come out from behind your stone walls and step forward like a man!”
He turned his head to listen, but he heard nothing. No birds. No insects. No sounds of boots marching.
“This will be your last…”
The sound of a crossbow being fired cut him off. He had been expecting it and jumped to his right. The crossbow bolt missed wildly, enough so that he had no idea where it went. He crouched low, hoping that the cover of night would hide him.
After several heartbeats had passed with no more crossbows being fired, he allowed himself to finally breathe. They were all waiting on him, but he found himself suddenly nervous. He was alone in the middle of a grassy field. There was no protection other than the cover of night, which was not very dark because of the bright moon.
His mind was spinning with so many thoughts that he couldn’t concentrate on the words of the spell that he was trying to cast. He let out a frustrated cry. It had become almost instinctual to fire these fireballs, but now, when he needed it most, he couldn’t cast the spell. His heart pounded hard, and he could feel a rush of adrenaline sweep through his body. Fear of failure began to consume him.
One more time, he lifted his hands and muttered the words. Again, there was nothing. He glanced to his right, and he could see movement from the village. The knights were getting into position, and if he didn’t start his attack now, they would be noticed and be torn apart by crossbow fire.
He stood just as he heard the twang of a crossbow. He didn’t think anything of it, as he knew he was such a hard target in the darkness. Then pain exploded through his right leg, and he fell to the ground, pushed there by a great force. It was as if someone had just stepped on his leg and broken it in a thousand pieces. He looked down and saw the crossbow’s arrow sticking out if it. Not only was his leg seemingly on fire, but his entire body seemed to be engulfed in a flame of pain.
The shock of being struck broke him from his state of fear. Without thinking, a ball of fire appeared in his hands, and he tossed it at the gate. It exploded in a shower of fire, but there was not even a mark left on the gate. Another appeared in his hand, and he tossed that one as quickly as he could. One after another he tossed them, striking the same spot on the door. But his eyes scanned the top of the wall and the moment he saw movement, he fired a ball at the shadowed figure. He missed, but it was also the signal for Karmon archers to launch their attack.
***
Sir Gossmire crouched in the darkness, hearing only the pounding of his heart in his ears. They were at the very edge of the village, hidden in the shadows of a building. They could have gotten closer if the moon hadn’t been out in its glowing white glory. There were five others with him, clad in only light leather armor. Any heavier, and they would be too slow. Although they would miss having armor on once they were atop the wall, they would certainly not miss it when they sprinted for the wall. For some protection against crossbows, each had a small circular shield strapped to their backs. It wasn’t much protection, but it might just be enough to save a life.
He did not know how many soldiers were inside the castle or were manning the walls. He had seen far fewer than he expected so either King Toknon was holding back his men in reserve or the castle was lightly guarded. The only way his plan would truly work would be if there were not many Thellians guarding the walls. He expected to meet heavy resistance, so even though he saw light defenses, he was mentally prepared for whatever the Thellians threw at him.
A flash of light at the edge of his vision caught his attention. A stream of fireballs were cast from the middle of the open field in front of the main gate. Some of them struck the gate, but many others struck high along the wall, presumably to hit crossbowmen who were coming to defend against his assault.
The Thellians reacted almost as he hoped. Shouting came from the top of the wall near them, and most of the crossbowmen that were guarding his section of the wall ran along the top of the wall and towards the gate. Sir Gossmire stood, still under cover of shadows and signaled for the first wave to start forward.
Almost immediately two four-wheeled wagons started towards the wall. Three men were crouched behind each wagon, pushing with all their might. Crossbowmen, who noticed the wagons, fired their crossbows towards the wagons and the men who were driving them forward. The back of each wagon had been reinforced with knight’s shields, and it took only seconds for the shields to be stuck full crossbow bolts. They did their job keeping the pushers safe.
When the wagons were halfway to the wall, two sets of two men began sprinting towards the wagons, ladders in their hands. No one could find a ladder tall enough to reach the top of the wall, and there was not enough time to make any that would be long enough and strong enough for the knights. A carpenter suggested a way to lift the ladders up higher off the ground using the wagons. Their success at storming the castle hinged on a simple carpenter who had never held a sword or set foot upon a battlefield.
As the four men ran for the wall, knights armed with longbows began firing at the remaining wall guards, keeping them from shooting at the ladder bearers. When the wagons reached the wall, they crashed into it, sending the pushers stumbling to the ground. Right behind them, the ladder bearers were just about to reach the wagons. A group of five crossbowmen suddenly appeared and fired their weapons in unison at the first ladder bearer. He stumbled to the ground, dead. His companion dropped his end, as it was too long and bulky to carry by himself. He continued running until he reached the wagon and dove under it to protect himself from a second wave of crossbow bolts.
As the remaining ladder reached its wagon, Sir Gossmire and the rest of the knights began their sprint for the wall. Their archers did their best to keep the crossbowmen occupied, but there were too many of them. Sir Gossmire juked left and right, trying to keep any of the crossbowmen from targeting him.
One-by-one the knights sprinting for the wall fell until it was only Sir Gossmire that remained. His heart sank as he saw the last two ladder bearers on the ground, stuck with a half dozen crossbow bolts each. He was only a few paces from the wagon, and his only option was to dive under it and hope for an opportunity to put the ladder up. Just as he was about to make his dive for safety, balls of fire streaked down the wall and struck the stone battlements right next to the group of crossbowmen. The resulting explosion of fire lit up the wall and stunned them, knocking them off the wall, screaming all the way down to the ground.
Sir Gossmire did not wait for the thud of bodies. He and the surviving ladder bearer jumped from cover, grabbed the ladder, and manhandled it up onto the wagon. Karmon archers intensified their fire, giving him just enough time to get the ladder in place and start climbing. With his heart racing as fast and hard as it had ever pumped, he scurried up the ladder. Fireballs from down by the gate continued to be fired at his position along the wall. His knights and their longbows continued to send volley and volley of arrows. He was given just enough protection to reach the top without being fired upon.
Stumbling onto the top of the wall, he drew his sword and pulled the shield off his back. As he adjusted it onto his forearm, he had second thoughts about the size, as it would only cover his torso. His legs and head were fully exposed. It was also thin and would not completely stop a crossbow fired from close range. He couldn’t think about what he didn’t have. He could only be sure to use whatever resources he had. The small shield would have to do.
Crouching low with his back against the battlement, he looked to his left and right, looking for any Thellians charging at him or firing their crossbows at him. For the moment, the only sounds were coming from the gate, which was several hundred feet away from them. Their assault worked so far, but only because the walls were much less defended than he anticipated. He hoped that would continue all the way to the gatehouse.
Four more knights quickly joined him at the top of the wall. He said nothing as they dropped next to him, their swords and shields out and ready for battle.
Once they were all there, Sir Gossmire muttered, “Let’s move. Grab a crossbow, though.”
&nb
sp; There were several dead Thellian crossbowmen near them. Each knight took a crossbow, loaded it, and started to move carefully down the top of the wall towards the main gate. Two knights kept their crossbows aimed behind them while Sir Gossmire and two others aimed their weapons forward. It had taken only a handful of steps before Thellian crossbowmen came into view, running towards them from the gate. Both sides dropped to a knee and fired simultaneously. Three Thellians fell as did one of his knights. He had no time to grieve his fallen brother. He needed to get the gate open.
Fireballs from the gate stopped coming down the wall, which allowed more Thellians to turn their weapons towards the invaders. Sir Gossmire sprinted down the wall, dodging many dead bodies that had been burned or stuck with arrows from knight’s longbows. He was thankful for Hargon, for if it weren’t for him, they would never have been able to get this far. His accuracy with his fireballs was amazing. Wherever he aimed, the fireball struck.
Sir Gossmire and the three surviving knights reached a stone staircase that hugged the wall and led down to the courtyard. With a quick peak, he glanced in that direction, expecting to see an army of infantrymen ready to meet the pending assault. There were some soldiers, but only a fraction of what he expected. Most of the defenders seemed to be atop the wall, and many of those were already dead. For the first time, he thought he might be able to pull off this miracle attack.
As he turned to run down the stairs, a group of Thellian soldiers were coming up. Being above them, he and his knights had a clear tactical advantage, which he used to quickly dispatch the Thellians. Following the tumbling bodies, Sir Gossmire and his knights descended the open staircase and ran along the wall towards the gate.
The Thellians that were gathered in the courtyard did not react to them. Some of them did not notice Sir Gossmire and the other knights running along the wall, even though the glow of the moon clearly exposed them. A few made eye contact with them, but none moved to attack. Sir Gossmire did not question what was going on, so he just continued sprinting along the wall.