Joema stood at the window looking out over the city. The wind was still and the air stale with the smell of blood floating about on what little air there was. Joema felt pressed in. He raised his hand to lean against the side of the casement, and as the heat pressed he wiped the lazy sweat from his brow. It came off thick and Joema suppressed the luxury of dreaming hundreds of miles away from that place. In all the castles and towns he’d been in, none felt so pressing as his did now.
He watched below as men from inside the castle ran towards the walls surrounding the city. Joema could not see what was happening beyond the haze of the day, but dust rose out where the gate should’ve been. Within my own city, which I built with the integrity of men, I am now a prisoner of its graces.
The door flew open behind him and before the guard at the door could announce the unexpected visitor the man walked in, pushing formality out of the way. Joema of course recognized the man right away but the way in which he entered was of further concern. A man sent on an errand can speak volumes of the quests effectiveness just by walking down a hall. With the heat bearing in on him coupled with this, Joema found little to encourage him.
“My lord King!” the man knelt quickly but rose in the same motion before Joema could acknowledge.
“What is it,” Joema replied.
“My errand has afforded us little hope. Even though I traveled as one plagued by the battle itself I found only that any help we might have had is now worried about their own problems.”
“And are my knights also unable to come aid their King?”
“My lord,” the man replied earnestly, “regardless of your tributes to Acrea we will have no help. And not only have I returned but there are also fresh battalions marshaling across the river, they will be here before night fall I fear, and we are already pressed for men.”
“Indeed,” Joema turned back to the window.
“My lord, it is not out of spite that the knights of Acrea do not come to your aid. Their swords are taken up defending their own lands. The lands of every Knight seem to feel the sword of this enemy. Blackrough is all but overrun with Arrackmen. The Castle Brock is yet holding but I knew once I came within reach of the Arrackmen scouting parties that asking them for help would be useless. And even if there were enough men to come to our aid, would there be enough men left behind to defend the women and children?”
“I do indeed think of that. And not only do they think of those things but I do as well. I would not have my own wife in the hands of that horde. Nor would I have my son exposed and killed within their ranks. Some may think so, but at heart I’m really not all rotten.”
“No man dares say that Sire. Nor would he think it.”
“Indeed!” Joema came away from the window. “I’m sure many a man among their own house would say such things of me. I don’t begrudge them such a thing though. Every kingdom or ruler has men who are discontent with their lives and their fortunes. That is why I relented on your rule to let the wanderer’s in. Let men find their own fortunes if they will, and let the free people of this world alone. But that is not the issue at hand. The issue at hand is defending those free people of this world, while we yet have it in our power to do so.”
“How much longer is that Sire?”
Joema turned sharply to the man, “As long as you still hold your name! As long as one man lives the battle is not over! We are alive yet and we will yet live! The time will soon come when this is forgotten and no longer of concern, but we owe our allegiance to the people, and now we fight for them.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Go now, I have your message. I know now that the knights of Acrea have their own affairs, and we have our own as well. Go and rest yourself. I dare say the final struggle will come soon.”
The man bowed again, much more soberly this time as the sharpness of the Kings’ words sunk in. He left quickly, and so doing passed the Queen as she came in with her son. Joema’s heart leapt at the sight of the little baby and his wife. The heat of the day and the battle beyond it left his mind as they came to his side.
The Queen looked into Joema’s eyes; he was snapped back to reality by the earnestness behind her deep blue pools of life. Gravely he stared back out the nearest window, his eyes ever traveling to the dust of the battle at the gates. It wasn’t often his Queen would worry, and if she did she took care not to think much of her own life. Her worrying nature though surfaced after the baby was born. That she would bring that in with her now did little to ease the great rock of burden already laid upon him by his people. But her spirit persisted.
“My Lord,” the Queen spoke. Joema felt the tenderness of the speech; it was smooth as her way was. She surely had her ways with him, but Joema didn’t loathe her at all for it.
He looked back to her, mustering all the tenderness he himself possessed, or whatever he had left in him, “Yes, what is it?”
The Queen lowered her head. She uncovered her little bundle’s face slowly then looked back at Joema, “What are we to do?”
Again the doors of Joema’s chamber were thrown open, once again matters he would tend to must be put off. In irritation he stood apart from his cooing wife. It seemed quite backwards that as she kept their child quiet, he sought to wage war. ‘Tis indeed a funny thing, Joema thought.
He stood erect now as a man he knew closely bowed before him, “My Lord the King!” the man said stoutly.
“What news do you bring Lonarden? I would very much like to know how the gate holds and how my men fare.”
“Of their fate I know not,” Lonarden replied. “It’s like as not they’re faring badly, but it is not their fate that I’ve come to speak of. I’ve traveled a great distance to reach you in time but now I find it foolishness to hole my tongue any longer on this matter I’ve come to see you about. Whether you are prepared to hear about it now or not.”
Joema suppressed a grin, “So you’re saying that your errand of warning and preparing us for battle wasn’t a good enough excuse for coming to your King? You are a strange one, but my own father spoke of promise in you, and I can’t say, as you haven’t fulfilled that. But of your true errand to my castle, speak quickly. Time is not on my side nor is it on yours.”
“My time or yours, it matters not. It is not my concern what happens you or your men, even though mine are already yours, it is my sole concern that I worry of your son, the people’s Prince and rightful heir!”
The Queen snapped around and the tiny Prince began crying, “What do you have for my son?”
“I have a plea, to the King,” Lonarden replied. He turned around and summoned a man into the room entirely unlike himself. It was clear the man was of no royalty, his nature and garb were wholly opposite of any royal claim. But even so, the Queen perceived something kinder than what his clothes spoke of. He was clean-shaven and neat underneath his cloak, but his eyes told of experience and untold sadness. But the mysterious man held in his confidence a sort of peace, and the Queen felt he was good.
“I have a plea to the King,” Lonarden said again.
Joema looked the second man over, “If this business is ill in my perception I would send you to the gates if you have no other contract. For they are in sore need of men such as you.”
Lonarden spoke up quickly, “To send him to the gates would destroy my purpose, besides, what can this one man do? What can this one man do against the thousands marshalling across the river? Sire, you would waste this man on such a task. But I’ve not brought him as another sword for your defense…he’s here on behalf of your son. Yes my Lady, I too care for the child a good deal and would have him survive beyond this battle. Who is to say how this battle will go? Would you risk the entirety of your house Joema?”
“You tire me,” Joema replied with a wave of his hand. “Had my father not suggested that I keep you on, I would’ve sent you to hunting Arrackmen over the mountains a long time ago. Do not weary me with your talk any longer, a battle rages and I will not long stay away from it.”
“My Lord! Your child’s life is in danger! The foundations of your very house threaten to cave in upon you! This child is your successor! My Lord, let me speak what I’ve come to say.”
“Speak it then!” Joema shouted. “And let me hear the last of you!”
Lonarden replied slowly, “Let the child leave Acrea.”
The room fell dead in silence. The Queen drew in a sharp breath and Joema let his hands fall to his sides quickly. Joema let his mouth hang briefly; his heart hurt at the thought of losing his son. Dying himself to protect him would be far better.
Joema set his jaw into a firm line, “And why would a wanderer’s son wish exile for my son?”
“Why would you call it an exile?” Lonarden replied. “The life of a wanderer is self-exile, but sending your son to safety holds no dishonor in it.”
“Any man who flees the battlefield is considered dishonorable…the royal line should keep the field as any man of his worth should. If Acrea is to fall should there be a leader for no one? Today might decide my lines fate, but as sure as you stand there, if it were to go as you say, Acrea will fall entirely. But, if we do not die today, you’ll have sent my son away in vain, and his people will hold me as well as him, in contempt. No, I will not strip my son of his quality before he has a chance to be royal. If you wish to do Acrea good then defend my gates, you will do quite better than taking my heir into the wiles of a wanderer’s confidence.”
“Please, my lord,” the Queen stepped forward and laid a hand on Joema’s arm. “For my sake, let him speak.”
Lonarden spoke at the Queen’s interruption, “I have chosen a man who has been my friend for many years, inside battle and in peace.”
Joema raised his eyebrows, “You seem to think that would comfort my in some way. He is a wanderer, which any man can see. Another thing any man knows is that they are the least manner of men in my mind.”
“My King! You cannot disregard this man’s reason!” The Queen implored. “Our son is more in danger than are we! If the Arrackmen were to fire the Castle we would stand it for a bit, maybe until help came, but our son. A siege at his age is not within his ability to survive. He is much too frail even considering he is almost past his first year.”
“I suppose you would say he is more ready for travel?” Joema replied. “He is not ready for a siege I grant you, but he has more chance of surviving than he does in the hands of a wanderer. I’ve sent for the parties of Muril, they’ll be back soon and the Arrackmen siege will fall. I will not trust the fate of Acrea to a wanderer. I’ve never trusted them, and asking me to give my own son to one is beyond my ability! My answer is ‘no’ and it shall remain ‘no!’”
Lonarden shook his head as another man burst through the doors. Joema took great relief in seeing this man, his wife and Lonarden combined brought the strain of war to a new level and he was angry with them both. The man bowed quickly but didn’t speak, but when he did Joema lost the relief he had before.
“Sire!” the man spoke between great breaths. “The gates…have fallen!”
Joema jumped forward and heading to the door he shouted back orders, “Take Joema to the third floor! Lonarden, you and your man are to accompany me!”
As Joema left the Queen caught Lonarden’s arm, “Stay, I command you. You and your man.”
Lonarden snapped his fingers and his man came back in, closing the doors. Lonarden turned back to the Queen, “What would you have of me my lady? I understand you agree with me, but the King uses stubbornness like he would his sword. His answer is firm and I do not see that I can challenge that.”
“Am I not Queen that me should also do my bidding?” the Queen replied.
“My lady…” Lonarden began regretfully but was cut off.
“You will do as I say,” the Queen uncovered the little Prince. “Does your man know about children?”
Lonarden grinned, “I would trust him with my own.”
The Queen replied firmly, “Than if he is in your opinion trustworthy I will trust him. But I will not hesitate exchanging your life, or his, for my son’s.”
“May death close my eyes if your child dies. I place my life as ransom for his. If my man does not bring your son back when he is of age, than I place my life into your hands as forfeit. My friend has been commanded to raise your child in the ways of the wanderer’s kind; I doubt that this child will overcome my friend’s abilities. In all of my own travels I have not seen a better example of a wanderer.”
Does he speak? This I would like to know since he hasn’t spoken since he came in.”
“Yes my lady,” the man spoke suddenly, “I speak, and do it well enough I fancy. But as to not speaking until now, I haven’t had anything to say worth speaking until now.”
“What is your name? And tell me quickly for we do not have the luxury of time.”
“My name is Dunar, my house is broken, and I am the last of its wretched kind. Yet I’ve sought throughout my life to outdo what my forefathers left in their wake.”
“You also know that it takes very little to bring my power against you concerning my son?”
“I do know my life is mine, and as long as I live this little man you have will come to no harm. His life, if it is to be lost, will be lost second to my own, and I assure you my lady, I don’t plan on leaving life today. Your son will come to no harm.”
The Queen lulled her baby to sleep in her arms as she was speaking. She did not stop as she stepped to the window where Joema stood only moments before. She looked out over the dust-covered city as evening wrapped the city up in its quiet embrace. The heat did not subside as the sun slipped behind the peaks surrounding the valley. The Queen felt both need and the heat press about her. Sweat madder her clothes feel like they constrained her, and the baby in her arms made a tear slide down her cheek as she caged up her own heart.
She turned suddenly to the two men, “Take my son with you to safety.”
Dunar brought out a phial from his cloak and handed it to the Queen, “Do not fear the drink my lady, the potion will leave the Prince in a state of sleep. He will sleep until I am well beyond the reach of Arrackmen. Nor will I treat him as another bundle that I carry. My life is worth far less than his. I understand this, and soon enough, so shall he.”
The Queen fingered the phial as she stood on the brink of her decision, but one look at her child’s innocent smile dashed her arguments to pieces. Her love would not save him from Arrackmen swords, but her love could send him beyond them. Silent tears streamed down her face as she brought the bottle to the little Prince’s face. The Queen kissed her baby one last time and handed him slowly to the man. The child’s cries subsided quickly as the potion lulled the baby to sleep. To the Queen’s dismay the man did not immediately leave.
Quietly Dunar spoke, “His signet my lady,”
The Queen slowly responded, “Oh…it hangs about his neck. Take care of my son Dunar.”
Dunar gave the Queen an assuring nod. Quickly he threw his hood over his head and tightened his belt. Taking the Prince in close to his heart he stole quietly out of the room, leaving the Queen alone with Lonarden to console her torn heart. Joema had no knowledge that his son had left his house to join the least house of all wanderers.
Women and children fled wildly to the Castle. The word that the gate had fallen spread quickly from one woman’s scream to another man’s outcry. Goods spilled into the roadways as the people went mad in their search for safety. In this time, men and women alike threw aside their loyalties and cursed the King for having let such a thing come upon them. Some say curses have on consequence, but in some worlds, and in some times, they can have deadly consequences.
The ground rumbled as the doors of the castle ground open, admitting the people into its confidence with the promise of a desperate last-battle. Among those fleeing inward were also those going out to do battle. Joema leapt out onto the stairs atop his steed. Behind him his royal guard followed hotly, every one yelling as they charged down the stairs into the roadway. The people paid little heed. The Arrackmen were well known, and not a man among them wished to meet such a horde alone. Nor indeed without a good thousand swords!
Yet Joema and his royal guard charged head long into the gathering night. The ride from the castle to the gate was long, considering towns of Acrean kind. Yet even though the horses brought the men to the gate in short fashion, the ride was still too long.
The gate-men were either dead or on the run throughout the city. A turn in the road just before the gate saw Joema reign in his guard as closer than a hundred feet away stood a menacing wall of spears. The Arrackmen were expecting a retribution for entering the city, their officers were not about to lose what they’d lost three battalions getting.
Joema studied the advancing mass for a moment, and then leapt from his horse. The guard formed a double line behind Joema and, at his call, set arrows to string. The Arrackmen horde marched forward defiantly; even their white armor showed their ugliness. Their grinning rotten teeth dripped with the intoxicating drink of their kind, the blood of an enemy.
The King drew and arrow back to his cheek as the white wall advanced still onward, and with a yell the arrows sprang forward into the Arrackmen. The line of spearmen crumpled and gave way in the small road. But others sprang up behind and pressed forward over their fallen comrades. Twice more Joema let loose the fury of arrows into the steady white line, and the line stood shakily at the first impact, but now the line faltered in their course.
The King immediately took up the charge with swords and rushed the Arrackmen line while they were still reforming. The royal guard eagerly jumped from their horses and followed Joema into the fray. Once more the besieged capital of Acrea took up the defense.
Joema ran a creature through as he crashed upon the hoard. Then turning he hewed a spear and man in two within the same stroke. As the other men crashed upon the hoard the Arrackmen grew stiffer.
One such creature grabbed a man whose sword was through him. The creature brought the man to his face and roared. The man could feel the black walls of unconsciousness press him as slime fell upon his face from the enemy who held him. In a desperate gesture the man plunged his knife into the creatures arm. The creature roared in the renewed pain and fell dead from his wounds. But not without snapping the man’s neck that he held. Such was the determination of the Arrackmen.
Joema slashed down the Arrackmen who tried to regain the spears and drove them back towards the gate. The guard pressed hotly around the passionate King as they did their best to protect him from any injury. Thus Joema pressed on and so did the guard who saw their lives as merely useful in the line of duty. Their hearts instilled with the threat presented by the enemy the guard hewed through the steady stream of Arrackmen.
The King drove deeply into the line of Arrackmen. As he traveled further so the Arrackmen grew more desperate. The line originally held by the enemy lay now in a heap, mingled with the blood of those they meant to conquer. Every one of the dead Arrackmen were not meant to enter the city.
Whether it was by unnatural forces or pure luck one cannot know, but the offensive into the city of the King held very few well-trained soldiers. They were meant only to hold the men under pressure until the main body could arrive and raze the city. The Arrackmen knew this, but a few valorous men among them led the charge that broke the mighty shell of the city. Yet they were followed by men who’s abilities were only to keep the men under pressure. No more could be expected out of them. They fell under the sword easily and no longer offered trouble of any kind. But even as the line was quickly thrown back, they were not about to let the gate go.
The Arrackmen Captains gathered the officers and veterans together in one mass and stood their ground as the offensive group before them broke apart in confusion. One Captain was seen by a handful of guards that yet survived, the Captain gathered together many Arrackmen soldiers and they took up the great battering ram. Hoisting it up on their shoulders they took ff with a large body on a side road, traveling around Joema and his men towards the Castle.
The heavens thundered with a storm that spawned over the mountains, and rain fell so thickly from the clouds that a man could not see where he was going in some places. But below the mountains in the valley, thunder rolled across the roadways and drowned out the storm above. Dust flew thick enough that it was well their storm passed quickly before it was lost within itself.
3,000 hooded horsemen flew across the roadways of Acrea. The leader of the group urged his mount faster and faster as his men struggled to keep up with him. His look was grave, but his determination was fierce.
The Meddel ford came upon the group suddenly, and the leader regretfully reined his horse to stop. The river was high above where it normally was with rainwater from the mountains; the leader studied it for a long time as his men caught up to him. He turned to gather his officers before they crossed and found the whole force spaced out haphazardly along the road.
The leader addressed one of the men how gathered to him, “Are we close together Trate?”
“You know well enough that we are anything but that Muril,” the man Trate replied. “We’ve been riding for three days only to find ourselves riding harder the fourth. These men are beyond exhausted Muril, them and their horses. We’re in no condition to charge any number of Arrackmen, however dire the condition. You’ll find both man and beast falling around you without a wound and it’ll do us no good to have come all this way to die on our front doorsteps.”
The leader leaned forward on his horse’s saddle, “We’ve been faithful in protecting the trees and mountains and fields of this valley,” Muril began slowly. “How is it that when those that live among the trees and fields are threatened by fire we tuck tail and run because our own comforts aren’t satisfied,” He stared intently at the man. “My King is out there in the middle of a shattered city as far as we know…I for one want no part of resting until he can rest with me in safety!”
The leader dug his heels into the tender underbelly of his mount and charged forth into the troubled Meddel waters. The challenger looked on and shook his head sighing before he too took his reigns in hand, “And I though I was going to live through this’n.” Digging his heels into his steed he led the rest of the men into the swirling Meddel River.
Darkness shrouded the besieged city as predator came on its prey. As if hope could be found in any man of the city, clouds gathered in the west and darkness came much earlier that night. Dust now mingled with ash and smoke as the Arrackmen fires spread easily. The crusty weather hastened the destruction of war, and whether by night or by the darkness of the ash, not a man save the King could find something past his own sword that would give him hope.
Battle upon battle raged among the dark and panicked city. The isolated guards of the city fought valiantly wherever they could make a stand. But numbers are capable of overwhelming skill, and thus the enemy did. Joema’s mighty Captain’s lessened in number steadily as the white hoard’s spread across the southern half of the city.
The lines of white marched steadily through the streets of the city. The defenders fell backward from them, vainly trying to gather themselves together. Line after line gathered far ahead of the approaching enemy, a good strong barricade would be birthed, and just as quickly, fire and sword consumed them. The same trait that took the city’s gates now threatened to take the entire city: persistence.
Yet among such happenings stole a silent creature. Whole groups of man and enemy would pass by his eyes, but not one from either party perceived his presence. This hooded and cloaked man kept his little sleeping charge close to his heart, and he ever kept a knife close to his hands. Around him swirled the testament to his caution and he manipulated the shadows as ever he could to protect the last piece of royalty that had a chance to survive the night.
The Queen clung to the railing of the windows. Earnestly her eyes sought out the child, but always she could not find either the man or her son. The only small comfort she had in this was that it was well that even she not see the pair. This was a comfort to know that this wanderer was a good man, and that he could trick even the most caring eyes. Whether by treachery or falsehood, she would have her son live, and what better than to have her son go with a man who deceives in his own way? The Queen was glad her son’s chance for life were better than her own, at least she could die content in that fact. But her arms missed the baby sorely.
Amidst her tears for her son she looked to the gates of the city. Her heart ached all the more. Her son was gone from her, and now, the enemy threatened to take what little joy there was left to her.
“My lady! We must secure you further into the Castle!”
The Queen looked back to her personal guard briefly then back out into the night, “Sorenay…only a little while longer.”
“M’lady! These Arrackmen will not wait during that time! We must organize our men to defend the castle! Our enemy knows as well as we that if the Castle falls our case here is hopeless. We must withdraw from that point, without the Castle we can have no victory in defense. All their efforts will be to attack us before we can make a hearty defense. Please my lady! We must go!”
The Queen sat on the window ledge for a moment. With no words to say she sighed again, What a life, she mused, and they call this “royalty.”
“Go out for a moment Sorenay,” the Queen commanded. “I’ll be a moment, but it will be a moment well spent.”
Sorenay bowed and left the chamber. He quickly closed the doors and drew his sword, staring stone-like down the hall. People settled in any spot that was empty in the hall, momentarily calm with their faith in the stone structure. Sorenay knew though, that if the white lines drew nigh to the Castle, the people within would no long have such a faith. He stole quick glances at the windows.
“Sorenay!”
Sorenay looked down the hall to a man just pushing his way out of a new crowd. The man was a good friend of his and he felt better to know he would have another trustworthy sword beside him. The man approached quickly, it was obvious this was no cordial meeting, but then again, among such times, what was?
“Sorenay what’re you still doing here? Doesn’t the Queen know we are at war?”
Sorenay quieted a bit as he spoke with his friend, but he ever looked around at the windows, “Warn, the Queen knows we’re at war sure enough, but it’s everything I can do to make her act on it! We’ve nearly three score men armed and ready to fight in the Castle, but if we don’t move even they won’t be any use to us. As you probably know now, our gates are in the enemy’s hands and that alone is enough to set me on edge. The Queen is averse to my position though and cares only to look out her window!”
Warn replied questioningly, “If I was any commoner I would think that was no matter since you seem to have taken up the same occupation. But since I’m not a commoner and know you better that that I’m inclined to ask about it.”
Sorenay sighed and looked again to the nearest window, “It’s not news of the battles that I look for,” he looked back to Warn and grabbed him by the shoulder, “Warn, you know better than I what’s happening out there! The fact that we’ve lost our own blasted gates is cause for enough concern. But the gates are not the main reason for attacking. They didn’t come here to take the gates. And there’s no way the Arrackmen could’ve taken those gates without also taking the adjoining walls, which means ladders. And if those white devils scaled our walls, they can reach those very windows!”
Warn glanced around at the windows, “Sixty men won’t be able to hold this Castle.”
The floor beneath their feet shuddered, and the rooms echoed with the sound of a thunderous impact. Sorenay spun around and pounded his fists against the doors of the Queen’s room. Warn bolted down the hall directing the panicking people as he went. The people moved crazily up to the already crowded third and fourth floors.
Sorenay continued to pound the doors with all his might. Nervously he glanced to the windows. Behind him the heavy clink of metal was heard in the emptying room. Sorenay drew his sword as he spun to face the sound. Sorenay saw Warn rush up the stairs with some twenty men, but his gaze was averted to the wall facing the gates.
From the side it looked like two bars protruding from the wall, but Sorenay knew its kind immediately. A salvo of fire arrows soared through the windows, many hitting the terrified people crowded against the stairway. Sorenay in horror saw the metal bars jump repeatedly. The enemy was coming up to them now.
Sorenay didn’t even see the second ladder hit a different window on the western wall. He slashed down the bolt that held the Queen’s quarters closed. Racing in he was relieved to see the Queen was yet alive, but the room was burning with fire arrows. Sorenay turned on his heels and closed the doors, bracing them with anything he could.
He turned back to the Queen. He stopped, quite surprised at what he saw, “M’lady…you’re dressed as a common hunting girl!”
“Aye Sorenay I am, but what of it?” She said drawing an arrow and notching it to her bow. “We are at war. I have more to worry of than what I wear.”
Joema cut down the flag bearer by the gate and lifted high in the air their own Acrean standard. The veteran lines were loath to give up the precious advantage the gate held, but steadily the Arrackmen line fell back. With the help of the city guards originally forced away from the main body, the Acrean militia forced their way through until they were surrounded in the archway.
The swordsmen pooled into the archway, completely covering the King inside. The Arrackmen force closed in on both entrances with spearmen and the Acrean militia was cut off from the rest of the city. The white armor of the Arrackmen pressed in on both sides of the gate, their numbers made even the sight of the Castle impossible. The men of the guard slashed down the spearheads as the enemy taunted the cut-off group. The Arrackmen knew they had the King. He’d come out of his stronghold and now they would take their prey.
Joema glanced around the two lines. The ugly faces of the Arrackmen showed their pleasure and added to the growing spirit of doubt in Joema’s mind. He began to wish that he’d never sallied out to meet this force. His breath came quicker as the sounds of jostling armor bombarded his mind. Joema opened his eyes wide and shook. The men around him backed away as best they could. Small tears came to their eyes and every man felt as if a sword was only an inch away from killing them. It was as if only a small push was all that was needed to snap the iron of sanity.
The King eyed the Arrackmen crazily. His eyes were visibly red and he kept looking around as if there might be some small hole he could crawl into and leave everything. But there was nowhere to go. There was no way out that led to life. There was only one place where life could be obtained, and that was in the immortal tales of the musicians. The battle lines on either side of the desperate group licked their teeth with the opportunity to deliver this immortality.
Joema lifted his sword and charged through the men and into the enemy lines. A spearman cursed in his language as his weapon tore through the King’s right arm, and Joema delivered the answer as the spearman was cut down. Joema plunged into the swarming mass of Arrackmen, hewing at their legs or any other part that came within his path.
With a renewed vigor the little band followed their King into the battle once again, bellowing their war cry. The men were an unstoppable wave upon the battle lines, and the enemy broke asunder inside the city. The spearmen held no contest with the archers who cleared the way for the swordsmen (as was a common tactic of the Acreans), and no Arrackmen could stand up to the fury of Joema’s blade.
But the enemy still besieging the city fell upon the rear of Joema’s band. The men were cut down quickly as almost three Arrackmen could be seen to one man. Even the valiance of Joema’s officers could not keep their blood off the roadway, and the defense of the gate seemed lost.
Yet from the city came another cry from Acrean throats, and Joema could feel the weight of the Arrackmen bearing down on him. He slashed through many white plates that protected the Arrackmen, but their numbers were greater than he alone could withstand. Even so, Joema’s sword flashed in the firelight as he defended what was left of his own.
Joema cried out in pain as a dagger slipped into his calf. He fell backward but an Arrackman Captain grabbed him by his breastplate and dragged him to his knees. Knocking the sword from Joema’s hands the Arrackman slammed his studded fist into the King’s face.
The Arrackman grinned down at Joema. It was clear he was a high officer; no other Arrackmen interfered with his cruelty. The officer drew out a thin knife and again hauled Joema up. Bringing his face close to the King’s the Arrackman spit on him and spoke in the Acrean tongue, “The skin of the Acrea King would look well on my wall no?” As he spoke, rotten food oozed through his teeth and spattered across Joema’s face.
The officer grinned widely, “I find no cruelty in keeping you alive. It is very little revenge when it is you who’ve taken the lives of many of us. Aye, and my wife will enjoy using your eyes for jewels while my children play with your bones!”
The Arrackman held the knife above Joema’s head and grinned again. But then his eyes flew wide open and his mouth fell agape in a silent scream. The Arrackman fell, and behind him stood Lonarden, sword by his side.
Joema retrieved his sword on his hands and knees, but he stood slowly after he found it, and only then with difficulty. Lonarden steadied the King only by fixing his eyes upon him, “I wonder now if you still think your father was crazy for suggesting my service to you?”
The King stood straight and smiled, “I think now I would suggest your service to my son. Know now that I am in your debt as my father was also indebted to you. Nether of which we have repaid.”
“Nor is this a time to speak of that. But if an occasion comes that you can help me, I ask for life. I ask for an assurance that you will do what you can to keep me in life.”
The King brandished his sword and pointed it back to the enemy, “That wish I readily grant.”
Lonarden stood beside the King and made ready to charge. In his mind he accepted that he was safe from the King’s wrath, but even so he hoped that when certain discoveries were made, the Queen would be alive to attest to them. In Lonarden’s heart he felt no renewal of passion.
Yet the charge came and the Arrackmen still in the city bore the rush valiantly. The white lines stuck their spears out and caught many a man in full spirit, yet the spear-line grew weak as the passion of Acreans outmatched the weaponry. White armor turned to red as the men slew their enemy to reclaim their home, no Arrackmen were spared the wrath felt by each man who’d lost loved ones or who were in threat of doing so. Even the charge of the Arrackmen into the rearguard of the Acreans slowed.
The lines in the city splintered as Joema and Lonarden met it. Their small train of mighty warriors knifed through the spearmen like a peasant would cut through a stalk of corn. Yet the Arrackmen would not separate. They stayed in groups and rallied against the Acreans rather than fleeing, just outside the gates came a promise of their relief, and the Arrackmen meant to meet with it…alive.
In the same breath that Joema charged out of the gates, so too did the Arrackmen outside the city walls. The scaling ladders swarmed with Arrackmen, and the wall guards could not push them back before new enemies jumped up beside them. The main force on the ground also seized opportunity as Joema’s charge spread the Acreans out. Thus the axes of the Arrackmen militia met the long-swords of the Acrean’s at last, the levies finally had their chance to meet battle. Untrained though they were, their passion met the Acreans equally. Even the far better trained Acrean men could not withstand the crushing wave of men.
Lonarden felt there was something wrong. His spirit troubled him even as he lessened Acrea’s enemies. In that moment while he looked about, a spearman thrust his weapon into Lonarden. He cried out as he felt the head glance off his armor and rip open his side. Raising his sword he separated the Arrackmen’s arm from his body, and then cut off its head with all the might he could muster with one arm. His thrust was so passionate that two enemy’s fell by it. No Arrackmen challenged him for a time. A time in which other Acreans came and took Lonarden’s place.
Lonarden sensed the difference even through his pain; and as men ran by him he held his side in bewilderment. As if by chance, Lonarden glanced upward and saw a great smoke rising from within the Castle. Despair gripped him, but Joema had already rushed ahead toward the Castle. A great charge left Lonarden in an open part where the men were much fewer. But cries from their rear guard spurred Lonarden to charge along with the rest, even though his bleeding was intense from any movement.
He stumbled over the dead as he charged ahead, but kept his balance despite himself. The banner of Acrea still flew proudly from someone’s hands, high atop a pole, as it did on the Castle roof. Thus, even though his pain was great, Lonarden straightened himself and turned back to continue the battle of the gates.
As the men rallied around him there were heard great horns blowing in the distance. Great and foul horns reverberated its mournful call over the city, dripping fear into the fiery hearts of the men. The armies across the river had come! What hope did a shattered city such as this have of holding now?
Sorenay drew the spear back into a throwing position as two ladders hit the balcony. Beside and behind him stood the Queen and her servants, bows in hand, ready for whatever came. They stood three facing forward and three facing back so as to cover each other, but Sorenay still stained for the slightest sound that would speak of the doors. This was a dire and hopeless task, but she was his Queen, and he was far more satisfied to die here than in old age.
The metal ladders clinked against the hard balcony as the Arrackmen ascended. Sweat stood out on his arms as Sorenay heard the jostling armor coming closer to the top. The hairs on his head tingled as the hard breathing of the Arrackmen became apparent. His arm was far too tense. He felt the tension mount so high he almost wished the Arrackmen were at the top. C’mon! Just jump up! Just get up here! Sorenay thought beginning to shake a bit.
Then two jumped over the top followed by another two. Three of them fell back against the balcony wall as others began pouring up onto the ledge. The three girls behind Sorenay turned and shot with them after the first salvo, and he felt no enmity against them for disobeying orders. The Arrackmen would not be stopped though, not by one man and five girl-hunters.
Sorenay hefted his shield and skillfully guarded the Queen from the Arrackmen who threw knives in return for arrows. The other girls though quickly suffered from lack of shielding; but each took the knife while defending their Queen. Sorenay’s rage grew within him as one by one the girls were thrown back into furniture by the pitiless Arrackmen knives. The sickening thock and the short outcry combined to make within Sorenay a suicidal swordsman. His rage grew until he had no wish for life. The Queen noticed quickly this change, but rather she shared the feeling than fearing it.
The Arrackmen pooled on the terrace and threw themselves into the room, yet they only steadily grew to threaten the Queen. As their swords drew near, the Queen’s shafts began missing their mark. Sorenay’s shield was in splinters, but his skill kept the seeking javelins and enemies at bay. Their faces became discernable now, and they pressed against Sorenay’s shield-hand, bearing down on him with their armor. Within him, Sorenay felt sense flee in one last desperate throe, and a new being took his place.
The creatures fell by the scores with the sweeping motions of Sorenay’s sword and shield. Where before the Arrackmen pressed the two, he now swept them aside and pressed back. The Queen stepped back to the wall and shot sparingly to save her aide.
Fire consumed the bed and sent choking smoke in the faces of the Arrackmen. The creatures roared in irritation and crept back onto the terrace. Javelins and stones now poured into the room, but it mainly hit their own comrades and Sorenay found the battle against the Arrackmen become much easier.
Yet the battle against the flame was hopeless. Sorenay threw an Arrackmen body back onto the terrace and retreated through the smoke. He stumbled on another body and looked to find a shield. Grabbing it he quickly plunged into the intense smoke. The mist hardly lifted as he saw the door.
“M’lady–!” Sorenay’s call was cut short as the familiar sickening thak threw him away from the doorway.
“Sorenay!”
He felt the stickiness run down onto his chest as he sat up. Two gentle hands gripped his shoulders and a smoke-stained face dropped to his. The Queen held him in a shaking grip.
“Sorenay, Sorenay…” the Queen cried as she held him, “I’m so sorry! I thought they had overcome! I heard the clattering of a body and the nothing. Sorenay…say something!”
“M’lady…”Sorenay made every effort to look well, “do not trouble yourself on my account. There is trouble enough already, and I do not begrudge you for adding to mine,” Sorenay grabbed his shield. “Get back highness.”
“You’re bleeding badly Sore –”
She never could finish.
Sorenay stopped in his kneeling position for a moment. He just stared as the Queen’s eyes grew lifeless and her lips ceased to try to make words. Sorenay let anguish fly out from within him, and the Arrackmen on the terrace momentarily stopped their assault as the tortured voice rose above their vigor. Sorenay’s loss was complete.
He turned to charge out, but three knives hit him at once. In one last effort, he threw both shield and sword out on the terrace. In the songs and tales of war it is told that both ladders fell when Sorenay died.
Dunar stole up silently to the walls. Beneath his dark cloak a light bundle lay cautiously in the crook of his left arm, resting peacefully. With what skills he possessed, Dunar had avoided contact with both man and creature so that no one could say where he went. But more importantly, so that no man or otherwise would know what he carried.
As eh moved from shadow to shadow he paused to check the little prince, “Rest in ignorant slumber little one. The screams of this night are not for you to hear or be haunted by. Just sleep. Rest until we are far away from such death and defeat,” Dunar searched the night with his eyes. “Soon enough we will not be able to know anything concerning this place.”
Dunar stepped out of the shadows cautiously. Behind him a twig snapped. Dunar spun around, blade in front of the Prince. A cow protested his intrusion and Dunar heaved a breath of relief. In the distance the sounds of burning houses and clashing armor could be heard as he re-sheathed his knife. The noise of battle bothered neither the wanderer nor the indignant animal. I was no more than the tolling noise of rain, once begun no notice is taken.
The wanderer walked slowly along the houses lining the street by the wall, his pack moved a little with his step, which scratched his shield when he had to move fast. Dunar took a moment and jumped his pack straps that wore on him in his stealthy move. Even as he did so he kept his eyes constantly moving to catch the slightest movement of light, which always came before a group of men.
Dunar stood at the edge of a large home. Dunar shifted his gaze to behind him. No one.
“This house…” Dunar stood at the edge of a larger house, “it holds value to someone who’s dying tonight. Mind you, he didn’t want to die, not many men do. But you have to remember my child, that even though there are many things in this world, it all has value to someone. Even at that…” Dunar shifted his pack again, “I wish this house were two.”
Dunar bolted across the length of the house and glanced around the corner. He saw a wide roadway that took a sharp and obscured all detection of an immediate group. Dunar looked down the wall towards the gates. In the distance he could make out the figure of steps leading to the top of the towering wall opposite the homes. Dunar stepped out into the pen street; his hand hovered over the hilt of his knife.
He froze. Torchlight filled the street with a bloody glow as an Arrackmen party came into the street from around the corner. Both stopped; Dunar’s shadow wavered in the glow from more than three score torches. Yet the Arrackmen stopped only to see if this one man meant a trap.
They roared with challenge and charged. Dunar sprinted towards the stairs, just getting out of the street as Javelin’s buried themselves into the corner of the house, barely shielding him as he passed out of the street. He swung his shield off and tightened his grip on the child as a spear narrowly missed his head, missing unexplainable consequences. Dunar ran across the open cobblestone path and the Arrackmen kept close on his heels.
Ahead of him Dunar heard shouts and in the distance he saw with dismay a great multitude come around out of a bend in the wall. The stairs were very close now. “Hold on little one,” Dunar whispered as he ran.
An arrow whizzed past him. Dunar kicked out a board that held up a pile of stones near the wall and started up the stairs. Dunar heard men shout to his right and on top of the wall he turned to see Arrackmen pouring down the stone way. Gaining the top he ran down the wall to his left, holding his shield behind him to dodge the arrows that occasionally sought him out.
His enemies shouted after him but could not make their way well among the dead that filled the path. Dunar’s years of flight aided him as he nimbly raced across the path. His enemies fell behind yet Dunar did not slow down. Out of the night came the roar of a mountain beast and behind him the walls blew apart as the monster smashed through. Soon Dunar found that the driver had selected him as a target to destroy the walls.
Dunar strained to run faster and his distance from the gate widened, but the beast’s clashes against the wall slowed him down as he increasingly stumbled. The impacts grew larger as the beast flew into a rage at its ill aims. Dunar held his shield above his head as chunks of debris and men rained down on him. Finally, Dunar turned, and grabbing a spear he faced the beast.
The small eyes of the beast burned ominously into his. It lifted its weapon to strike, and Dunar threw his spear into the monsters middle. The beast dropped its weapon and let loose a thunderous roar, which brought down more debris in the breaches. Dunar stepped out of the way as the creature crashed through one last section of the wall.
Yet the Arrackmen would not settle peaceably with such an insult to their face. Dunar crouched down behind the lip of the wall as Arrackmen besieged him from below. He looked down at the mountain beast’s fallen form and tightened his grip on the Prince.
“The Queen, your mother,” he spoke into his cloak, “ordered that you stay alive as long as it is in my power. Don’t worry your highness…” Dunar smiled, “the Arrackmen will not find you unless I die first, and rest assured little one, I don’t plan on doing that.”
Joema slashed the base of the ladder while Arrackmen still scaled it. These creatures, seeing that the men closed in on them were in a frenzy to gain the window access to the castle, even though smoke billowed out from them. The ladder crashed sideways into the ranks of the Arrackmen and the lines of spearmen broke.
Lonarden jumped into the breach with his men and widened the gap. Lonarden’s skill with both hands made him a terrible opponent to face, and all Arrackmen challengers fled from the world of the living. His challengers sought peace through the quietness of his blades’ eternal power.
Joema routed the Arrackmen and drove them back away from the castle walls and back into the rubble of the city. The Acrean archers stayed in line, loosely following each other in groups and firing at any retreating white armor. Even as Joema laid into the enemy with every ounce of passion he possessed, his swordsmen and his archers exhibited likewise with equal vigor as their families lives were held on a thin string. Joema bade the flag-boy to wave the standard high and it showed where there should have been white, there was the black spreading across en masse.
Roars resounded over the city. Chunks of houses and walls flew into the ranks of men. Through the streets leading from the castle to the gates came ballistae and giants with stone-capped ram logs. The white lines stiffened and then turned suddenly on the men.
Joema’s voice could be heard only among those around him, but even for them he offered what he might, “Lo! Even though the mountain beasts have come, and even though the white tides make way for their siege equipment, we fight for your families as well as mine. We fight for all Acrea and not merely ourselves! Every man has their limits…but even more so an Arrackman! Fight now for yourselves and all that you love, so that our children may have days where they can love what you do!”
With such words a man may have less hope in peace. Yet war pressed upon their strong and their weak, it was not content in sparing any. The ground shook with the clashing forces, and as a man and Arrackman sought to kill alike, the country that they both sought became increasingly worthless.
The mountain beasts crashed into the men in one loosely knit line. The swordsmen stood valiantly but the mighty stone hammers and large axes swept aside such valiance and left in its wake utter desolation. Few men survived the offensive of the beasts.
Thus the castle burned above the men as they died in vain to keep it safe. The Arrackmen did not press hard against the men; they merely fought to keep the men where they were so the beasts would find their job quite easy and unthreatening. Indeed the beasts cut through the men as any sword would cleave through the unprotected. Joema held the men to their lines against the Arrackmen, but the beasts destroyed the middle, isolating the King from his reinforcements. Then the beasts pressed outward from where they were in the middle. Yet before they turned they symbolically broke open the castle at its base, but they did not enter or cause it to fall.
Joema looked skyward and prepared to charge for the last time. It’s true he really didn’t need anything more glorious. He’d defeated every enemy he knew until now; he became King that way. Joema felt peace as his men showed their unswerving faith throughout the battle. Raising his sword one last time he swept through the Arrackmen lines, his men following fanatically at his heels.
Horns sounded outside the city. A cascade of war music shot through the ears of the Arrackmen. The horns were Acrean. No man knew where the help came from, but it was help, and they stood all the stronger as the promise of reinforcements disheartened the Arrackmen. A cry of victory swept over the men and their swords were set together against the now battle-weary Arrackmen.
The beasts heard the promise of reinforcements as well, yet they knew nothing of its meaning. They saw only the change in the men. The Acreans were harder to kill than before. Instead of merely sweeping them aside, spearmen and archers pricked the beast’s sides and arms. The men grew braver in the face of death, and they used what they could to tangle the beasts in their stride. The beasts viewed the change with extreme distaste.
Up on the terraces of the castle the Arrackmen began losing their foothold and some lowered ropes to escape. Even though the ladders were many, they could not bring up enough men to make up for those they lost. The Arrackmen kept great pressure on the men, yet the Acrean’s still managed to defend and use their defensive siege engines. Thus the Arrackmen could not form the lines before the Acreans broke it again. With the sounding of Acrean horns outside the city the Arrackmen officers increasingly felt the agonizing despair of a failed mission. They’d been sent to capture a castle, and they were failing.
Many of the outlying Arrackmen levies scattered among the city with torches, setting it all aflame, so that in the event of an Acrean victory there wouldn’t be a city worth holding. It’s true the Arrackmen held little worth for the city they now strove to conquer. Their worth lay under stone in the mountains and the valley land of Acrea was all they sought. Thus victory was in the desolation, not the capture, of a city. Especially this one. The levies were justified in their actions greatly according to Arrackmen Warfare, and the fire they spread eagerly licked up what prosperity the city once possessed.
The other Arrackmen groups converged on the Acrean garrison in an attempt to gain a defensive position before the reinforcements arrived. The castle was yet to be taken and the Acreans staunchly defended the gates as they’d done before with the city gates; no Arrackmen had yet set their foot on the main floor of the castle, and no Acrean would bear it. Every soldier held to faith that they would emerge the victor of the day, but as the battle grew to desperation there was great doubt.
Lonarden stood up to the great Arrackmen captains and left them with no easily healed injury. Even though he too was wounded, the officer mercenaries were to have no part of victory on his account. Three elite mercenaries at one time flanked him with a horde of regulars and moved into the position that would merit the greatest glory. The regulars, although wasted on a whim, found worth in their desire to live. Many turned away from such an order at the last moment, leaving the hulking mercenaries alone to fight and die for their own glory.
Every time Lonarden’s blade crossed with a mercenaries, there would be the hot breath of the enemy pouring expectantly over his face, which followed with a look of agony as his knife slipped in between the ribs and out again. Each mercenary would fall to its knees with blood in its mouth and a look of disbelief as the next Arrackmen readied his attack. Lonarden’s knife hand was covered in the black blood by the time enough white-armored mercenaries had tasted adventure. Yet still more would step up in pride and whether by knife or sword, or the combination of both, the enemies that once stood would drop dead beside its comrades.
In this way, even though they were separated from the King, the men grew confident and followed Lonarden as he threw his exhausted frame back into the fray. Yet even the skill of Lonarden couldn’t stand against such numbers as there were, and the men pulled Lonarden back out of the fight. None could tell whose blood dripped from Lonarden’s body as he sat in utter exhaustion. His spirit stayed alive within him though and he shouted words of encouragement, as he lay propped against dead bodies, where the line had been before he charged.
Pressure continued to mount as once again the horns sounded. The Arrackmen roared with rage at their circumstances. Raising their spears, the rest of the enemy joined the battle with the beasts, for the Acrean’s now heard the promise of liberation.
The plains before the castle thundered like a mountain cascade with horsemen. Bits of grass were churned and through high into the air as the returned hunting party bore down on the Arrackmen rear-guard. The great horns of the party drowned out the sounds of battle and seemed to hold back the rain of the storm that followed on their heels. Dust and thunder it was that rose up to meet the storm of the skies, and the cries of the injured mingled with the clash of water against armor.
The rearguard of the Arrackmen pressed against the lines ahead of them, trampling many underfoot. In their panic to get into the city and under protection from the wall archer’s they turned to slashing their way through the ranks, leaving pathways for the horsemen to follow. The men tripped over the long lines of chains and shackles in their rush. The officers saw in dismay that the glorious speculation of leading the royalty of Acrea out as spectacles would indeed not be possible, and what they laid out in preparation for their enemies now turned against them. Then looked at their preparations one last time, then at each other, and then too fled with the rest in search of protection within the city that was yet unconquered.
With the rearguard scattered outside the city nothing stopped the horsemen from entering the city. They entered through the gate, and they entered through any breach made in the walls. The city was now engulfed in flames, but the horsemen navigated quickly around such obstacles as their quarry made sure to leave paths for their own troops to maneuver.
The leader of the Acrean party wheeled his horse into the ruined archway that once held the gates of the city. He leaned forward on his horse and slowed his pace, thankful that there were no guards to challenge them in such a narrow position. Once through though he sat up straight, and blowing his horn once more he threw back his hood and charged forward as if he were once again on the bank of the Mendel river.
Three groups entered the city through any means, but mostly they were channeled through two breaches and the gates. All 3,000 horsemen entered the city and fell upon the nearest group of Arrackmen, for indeed, there were plenty to be had. The group that entered through the gates found the Arrackmen quite ready for them and many horsemen fell before the Arrackmen spear-wall was taken.
The two side groups entered the city and went immediately towards the castle. Yet because of the roads layout the right group was directed back to the main road where they found the unprotected Arrackmen side. Such a move broke the Arrackmen group near the gates and the middle and right horse groups met quickly.
Still, the Arrackmen gathered up again amidst their fleeing comrades and quickly set a spear wall in place once more. Behind this wall reckless archers and mercenary knife-throwers made the option of regrouping impossible for the horsemen. The captains muscled men into positions and kept their swords ready to cut down any who faltered before the charge. Desperation was not at its height by far, but with the defeat of their back division it held a point to note. Even though that division stood as the worst of all fighters, the officers knew the confusion of defeat held very few advantages for the defender. Only order could offer advantage, and the captains did all in their power to maintain both.
The cavalry groups formed as quickly and as well as they could, but the knives and the arrows continued to shred their lines. Thus the charge came suddenly and without warning. This time though, archer-horsemen who’d lost their mounts took up positions atop a few un-burnt homes. As the cavalrymen charged, the archers shot holes in the spear-wall, yet it only afforded a little more advantage as the Arrackmen did their best to shore up any breach. The Arrackmen archers were not as accurate, but in such a tight field, they didn’t have to be, and the cavalrymen too suffered in their work.
Horses stopped short as the long spears snapped against the great strength of bone and sinew. The riders were thrown into the swirling mass of Arrackmen who stabbed to death with knives rather than with a quick sword-thrust. Yet the spear-wall broke under the weight of the charge, and the two groups swept through to the interior of the division.
With one group driving straight into the center and two groups going to the sides, once through the spear-wall the advance progressed much quicker. The Arrackmen soldiers responded by cutting the legs out from under the horses and pulling men from their mounts. Yet the steady flow of superior cavalrymen soon widened the breaches in the struggling Arrackmen offensive.
All men fought through the nightmare war this battle had become. They ever pushed to break the backs of the Arrackmen. They only hoped that such fighting would bring them to their King…before he died.
Joema was thrown to the ground as an arrow slammed through his armor from behind and protruded out his left arm. He cried out in fatigue and anger. This moment of pause in pain only brought the reality of his exhaustion fully upon him, dragging him towards the nearby door of complete peace. The King knelt on the ground in tears and blood as his anger renewed within him. He forsook the peace and raised his sword again, crying out all the while.
A Mountain Beast took notice of the undefeated King and turned toward him. The King’s personal guards were long since separated from him and the beast charged him readily. Joema leveled his sword and in the torchlight and dust and rain, the two opposing forces stood out from the rest as great giants, towering above all others in the night. Indeed, in their reckoning, there were no others. Only their weapons served as spectators who played much more a role than such a title suggests.
Joema raised his sword as the beast thundered across the empty roadway before it and prepared to strike. Pain shot through Joema’s body as he threw his sword across the remaining space. The beast paused in its run as the sword stuck it full in the chest. It gave a sort of a questioning grunt, but then it looked again to Joema and its mission was rekindled. Bellowing it charged towards Joema again, victory filling its mind.
The King dropped to his knees, breathing hard and holding his left shoulder. He watched as the beast came to him and picked him up, crushing the arrow in his shoulder into painful fragments. Joema sucked at the air, but the beasts grip on him denied his body the room to breathe and he felt senselessness weighing him down.
The beasts almost grinned seeing his helpless quarry in such a state. The beast had heard the challenge presented by the King when he brandished his sword, and it had answered. The challenger King hung in its hand helpless, and the equivalent of joy entered the monster. Its mission of capturing the Acrean King was done, and it was time to take the King back to his masters.
The King saw the battle around him briefly. His men were overrun. Siege ladders were being repositioned and steadily mounted; and Joema gave into peace.
He felt air flying around him. He was falling through darkness. His legs jarred his spine hard and he felt his cheek meet the hard, sticky pavement. His eyes came open.
Before Joema on the ground lay the beast in stunned eternity. Air blasted into the King’s lungs, sweet air! The color of the world filled in and the haziness gave way to focus on a single figure, one man sitting atop a horse. Joema almost laughed with joy as he realized what it meant, he spit out a breath of air in the attempt. Their relief had come. The King’s relief had come.
The mountains of Acrea held a peaceful rumbling high in its peaks as the storms moved out. The rain came and left it’s marking upon the valley and now it had blown on. In its wake a dry breeze ruffled the grasses of the plateaus and paths of the mountain passes, bringing comfort to one who took news from the elements.
“The storms of Acrea have passed on little one,” Dunar said. “And I’m sure your father has a better feeling about his country now. It seems to me that there was too much horse-smell on the breeze, which can only mean the main hunting party your father commissioned, has returned. Good horsemen never failed in turning the tides of a battle. I don’t doubt that both your mother and your father are good and safe now. Oh sure,” Dunar said beginning their journey again, “there will be a great many sorrows tomorrow, and a great many new patches of earth will be turned up towards the sun. But the important thing is, you will have a home to return to, as some men do not.”
As the winds of a storm passes on and rests, so too the line of Kings passed on into the night and departed Acrea that morning. Away from the restlessness of the valley and into the wisdom of the woods that some would consider dark and titled it so. Yet more safety came from these dark woods beyond the valley walls of the south than what could be found within the valley itself. The valley people were surrounded by walls they had not built, the creatures of the woods claimed no walls as their protection. They had a home and family to love and protect, it was with their surroundings that they enjoyed defense and peace against the storms of the world. Into this bliss came a prince…sorrow could no longer touch his youth.
Smoke rose from the extinguished fires of the city. The dead Arrackmen were being heaped in a pile outside the city, their armor and weapons stripped from them and laid in the hands of those who could yet wield a hammer with skill. There were not many left, but the armor they were given could indeed be used for other things. The gold from the bodies went directly to each man that was yet alive, as well as any other plunder they could gather among the bodies. The dead men of the city were laid in the arms of their widows who carried them beyond the city walls to their own lands, and there was a long train of weeping widows exiting the city even unto the next day.
A long line of men entered and exited the castle as they cleared it of the dead and prepared it for repairs. Rubble from the breaches were taken first and sifted through to make use of any whole stones, the rest was piled for use on the roads. In all this, there was no joy in the victory the men gained. They lived, and many had not; there was no joy in the toll the victory had exacted.
Out beyond the city, Joema stood silently as a procession of women carrying a litter, took his Queen to where she would be buried by the river, as she had always wished when she was alive. Joema looked on as the procession passed by him and into the underground tomb. His eyes betrayed his passionate feelings to the warriors that stood around him.
Seldom had his men seen Joema cry. In pain or among the desolations of war, Joema had weathered it all without any show of emotion. The only times his men had seen Joema cry were times when men were failing around him in battle and hope was gone. It was in anger against the enemy that he cried. Yet now, Joema cried without ceasing. Never before had such a thing been taken from him. In all the wars of his time he could always come back to his Queen who would in all her gentleness welcome him as the only person she would ever wish to see. He cried now for her.
Warriors looked up to Joema on the field of battle. Song’s were sung about his campaigns. But who could he look up to when he was despairing? Who could sing him a song that would lighten his heart? No man could do this, and now, no one could.
The leaves of the river rattled in the wind, and birds continued in their swooping among the branches. But among the deer that passed among the trees there were some who stopped at the sound of agony. Tremors of Joema’s suffering went out, because his spirit could not withstand such depths of loss. The wind carried the sounds on, and wrapped the party up with its sorrowful kiss of coolness.
Lonarden bit back tear’s as he understood the loss. He shifted his weight constantly, and no wind could cool the heat he felt coursing through him. The heat grew until it flushed an uncomfortable cold and back again to heat. He understood that with the Queen gone, the disappearance of Jaquen would be placed solely on him. There was nowhere to go now, and no one to turn to to say that Lonarden held any innocence. What man would in this time stand up for his character when the evidence of treachery was before them all?
At length Joema stood and looked toward the large clouds that broke the blueness of the sky. He then turned to Lonarden. Lonarden did not sense great anger but only disappointment and great sorrow, but at this time there was no wanderer’s tool that could aide him.
Joema stepped into the middle of the pathway, away from the other men and stood directly in front of Lonarden. Their eyes met, but soon Lonarden looked away. Joema shook his head in the silence.
“You have been my father’s friend since you were a boy. I’ve known you for as long as I can remember. I will not ask what has happened, nor why it happened, for I know now that no wanderer can be trusted, as I’ve known before. Now that my wife is gone, I will find my son and bring him back to Acrea. She wished him to be safe, and so he is. But now war is gone from the valley and his presence will be missed.
“As for you…”
“My King,” Lonarden spoke.
Joema struck him full in the face. Lonarden looked back up at him, blood sliding down from his nose and mouth. Joema’s eyes were icy.
“You are a snake!” Joema said. “I know it was the Queen’s wish that Jaquen was to be sent away, but even then you couldn’t abide in the fact that the Queen would live to save you. You had to find an opportunity to place me in your debt. You were so willing to do as you would without regard to me. How is it that you can play both sides of an argument without so much as a twinge of guilt?
“I will remember my debt to you, and you will live. Yet in song you will have no place,” Joema raised his voice. “Let it be known that all songwriters are to strike Lonarden’s deed’s from their verses, and that in tales of the recorders there is to be no mention of the things he has done for good. But let it be known in both song and tale that Lonarden conspired against me and took into confidence the Queen by singing to her feelings. By letting her worry over nothing she did not organize the men of the castle and in turn died from it. Let it also be known that Lonarden will join the ranks of the recorders, but he will not record history to be made known. He will speak to a crowd that no longer is welcome.
“Furthermore! Let it be known that Acrea is closed to all wanderers. They are to be no longer welcomed in this valley. If any are found it is the right of any man to be rid of them, whether by arms or by reporting them to the local garrison,” He turned now to Lonarden. “Your kind is no longer welcome here. I will find my son. But through this all, you will have no part in life but will remain as a hermit among papers and ink. Let it be known that my debt has been paid.”
