Defender Of The Crown: Heir to the Crown: Book Seven

by Paul J Bennett

  "So far, but can you assure me that it won't spread? Even a small cut can turn lethal if left untreated. You know that as a healer."

  "I do," said Aubrey, "but we have little information to go on at present. The fact is, we simply don't know for sure. What we do know is that many of us have used the gates in the past, and none have shown any signs of this illness."

  "And have you a cure?"

  "Not yet, Majesty, but we are working on it."

  "Then," said the queen, "I must insist that you give it your top priority,"

  "Won't you need our healing services in the upcoming fight?" said Aubrey.

  "We shall, but until such time as the army marches, you are to continue your research." Anna turned her attention to the rest of the council. "However, when we march to Uxley, I shall require the full power of this council."

  "Of course," said Albreda, "we will be happy to lend what assistance we can."

  Queen Anna rose, prompting the rest to do likewise. "Thank you," she said, "this meeting has been most informative. I shall look forward to news of a cure."

  She left the room, leaving the mages standing.

  "I don't envy you, Aubrey," said Aldus Hearn, "you have the weight of the kingdom on your shoulders. If the queen is sick, it puts us in dire peril."

  "We are already in dire peril," said Albreda, "or did you forget the invasion so soon?"

  "That's not what I meant," grumbled the old druid.

  "Then you should choose your words more carefully," said Albreda. "Aubrey already has enough on her plate without you reminding her of her responsibilities."

  "My apologies, Lady Brandon," said Hearn, "I did not mean to give offense."

  "And none was taken, Master Hearn," the young Life Mage replied. "But I'm afraid you must excuse me, Kraloch and I have much to discuss."

  "I, too, must depart," said Kiren-Jool, "for I must give careful consideration as to how I might assist in the upcoming battle."

  "You plan that far in advance?" said Hearn.

  "Naturally," the Kurathian replied, "doesn't everyone?"

  "I prefer to adapt as the battle progresses," said Hearn.

  "What of you, Albreda?" asked Kiren-Jool. "Surely, as the most powerful among us, you must take great pains to organize your spells."

  "I'm afraid I'll have to agree with Master Hearn on this," she replied, rising from her seat. "I seldom plan such things in advance." She made her way to the door, then stumbled, reaching out to steady herself with the back of a chair.

  "Something wrong, Albreda?" asked Hearn.

  Albreda stood there, shaking, her eyes squeezed tightly closed. "I see a battlefield," she said, "with the dead strewn all around. We shall lose this war unless...." her voice trailed off.

  "Unless what?" asked Hearn.

  Albreda held up her hand to silence him. She was evidently struggling, searching for something no one else could see.

  "There, I see it," she said, her eyes finally opening. "Yes, that's it, we must seek the woods."

  "I beg your pardon?" said Hearn. "You're making absolutely no sense."

  Albreda looked directly at him. "There's only one way we can win the coming battle, Aldus, but we must be quick."

  "Where are we going?"

  "To the Whitewood," she said, "for there, we shall find the answers we are looking for."

  "The Whitewood? That's your domain. Why in this world would you require my help?"

  "Let's just say you have a way with...dirt."

  "Dirt?"

  "Yes," said Albreda. "Now come, I shall explain on the way."

  They left the chamber, leaving Kiren-Jool to stare after them. "Earth Mages are a strange breed," he muttered, "powerful, but maybe just a little too...feral for my taste."

  Thirty

  Home

  Fall 964 MC

  * * *

  An ominous mist covered the open terrain before them as the Mercerians plotted their next move. The forest had been a mixed blessing, giving them an ample supply of berries, plants and the occasional stream to fill their water skins. Hunting had been challenging, armed as they were with swords and axes rather than bows, but they had made do, bringing down a couple of deer by chasing them with their horses. Now, however, they must leave the protection the woods offered to make their way south, to the land they called home.

  The chill in the air made all aware that winter was almost upon them. Beverly sent the Guard Cavalry out first, scouting the area for any sign of the enemy. They soon returned, declaring the area safe, at least until the mist cleared, for they were hampered by it as much as the Norlanders. Those on foot marched next, with a small detachment of riders bringing up the rear.

  When the mist finally cleared, the forest had become a distant memory. By looking at the sun, Beverly knew she was heading south, but was unable to determine their exact east-west position. Having neither a map nor any detailed knowledge of the area, she had to hope they would eventually reach the river that separated their two realms.

  The sun was high when they noticed a small group of warriors some distance off to their southwest, the sun glinting off their helmets. The Mercerians kept their eyes on them, but the interlopers soon rode off.

  "That doesn't bode well," said Arnim.

  "No," said Beverly, "I think they've gone to get help."

  "I hate to say it," said Arnim, "but I hope the army is much farther south. I wouldn't want to run into it here, north of the border."

  "I'd have to disagree," she replied. "I'd much prefer to find them here. That would at least tell us that our homes are safe. Where do you think that lot came from?"

  "The patrol?" said Arnim. "Likely Brookesholde. It's a small village, about the size of Wickfield if you remember?"

  "Oh, yes," said Beverly, "we passed it on our way north. Do you think they have a garrison?"

  "Likely," he replied, "though how big it might be is anyone's guess. Their soldiers may have gone south with the army, for all we know."

  "Let's hope so, for all our sakes."

  * * *

  The day wore on as Beverly set a gruelling pace, only stopping once at a stream mid-afternoon, then continuing on their way. When the Norland village of Brookesholde was finally spotted to their west, Beverly knew they were getting close to the border.

  By late afternoon, the Norlander warriors had returned, this time a dozen horsemen in all. They rode out of the distant village, heading directly towards them, despite being outnumbered.

  Beverly, prepared for just such a development, ordered their group to take up a position on a slight rise. It was certainly no defensive mound, but at least it gave a better view of their enemy's approach.

  The makeshift spears, which she had insisted they make, were now half-buried in the ground, presenting a reasonable deterrent against the enemy horsemen. Beverly organized the defences in the same triangle pattern that Gerald had adopted in their first encounter with their pursuers, keeping the Guard Cavalry outside the defensive ring, ready to counter-attack should the chance present itself.

  The enemy rode towards them, but the sight of the spears was enough to give them pause. Beverly ordered the Mercerian horsemen to charge, but it proved futile, for the fleet-footed mounts of the Norland light cavalry simply kept their distance, running away when threatened.

  She led her men back to the 'mound' as they were calling it, a look of distaste upon her face.

  "We are trapped," she said. "We cannot bring our weapons to bear, and yet if we move from our position, we open ourselves to attack."

  "What do you suggest we do?" asked Arnim.

  "I'm open to suggestions. How close do you think we are to the border?"

  "Not far, but we'll need a ford to cross, and that means Wickfield."

  "Not necessarily," said Beverly. "There may be crossing points to the west."

  "None we can count on, and without knowing for sure, we can't expose ourselves."

  "Then we'll have to move at night."

>   "That will be tricky," said Arnim. "It'll be a moonless night tonight, making navigation extremely difficult."

  "True," said Beverly, "but at least it will give us some protection."

  "I have an idea that might buy us more time."

  "Speak up, Arnim. Let's hear it."

  Arnim rubbed his hands, warming to the task. "Here's what we'll do..."

  * * *

  Captain Dirk Kendall had spent years in the saddle. As a low-born member of Norland society, he had struggled to make a name for himself. Now, with war finally upon them, he had managed to earn a command, even if it was only a small village in the wake of the invasion force.

  He looked around at his men, all fifty of them, their faces lit by torchlight. "The enemy is not far from us," he said, "just east of our present position. We shall ride out and eliminate the threat."

  "How did Mercerians get this far north?" asked Phelps, an older warrior.

  "That we do not know," said Kendall, "but we must do our duty and defeat, or at least capture them. Their very presence could upset our leader's plans."

  "So, we're to attack them in the dark?" asked Phelps.

  "Of course," said the captain, "this is our land, and I will not suffer them to occupy it. We will strike swiftly and overwhelm them while they sleep."

  "And how do you expect us to do that, sir? If I may be allowed to ask?"

  "We shall move slowly, riders with torches in the lead."

  "I beg your pardon, sir," said Phelps, "but won't that give our position away?"

  "It likely will, but our scouts report that the majority of these interlopers are on foot. Once we brush aside their horses, we can concentrate on their footmen," he said, glaring at his men. "Any more questions?"

  They all looked downward, intimidated by the captain's ill-humour.

  "Good!" Kendal said. "Then, let's ride!"

  The captain, spurring his horse, urged it onward, and his men duplicated his efforts. It was a cold night, and as the small detachment began moving east, their breath frosted in the air. Captain Kendall took the lead, his men strung out behind him in pairs.

  It was just after midnight when they spotted the light, flickering in the darkness.

  "That must be their camp," the captain said. "Spread out."

  He watched his men disperse, a line of torches marking their positions. As they drew closer to their destination, he could just make out figures moving about the fire.

  "They don't seem to have noticed us," said Phelps.

  Kendall was about to reply when a distant figure halted, pointing at them. He cursed his luck and urged his men into a faster trot. The campfires grew brighter, but the figures had disappeared.

  "Where did they go?" asked Phelps.

  "Likely skulking in the dark," said Kendall, "so be careful."

  He slowed the line, no longer sure of his actions. He had expected the enemy to make a stand, but now, with naught but campfires before him, he was starting to have doubts.

  "'Ware the flanks," he stammered out. Damn, this was not the image of command he wanted to project!

  "Stakes!" called out one of his men.

  "We were warned of them," replied Kendall. "Proceed at a slow trot, shout out if you spot anyone."

  He halted before one of the spears and dismounted. It was, on closer examination, of very crude construction, and he pulled it from the ground, tossing it aside in contempt.

  "There's no one here," he called out, "they've all left."

  Phelps halted beside him. "Someone was here, sir. They can't have gotten far."

  "True," the captain agreed, "but in what direction have they fled?"

  "We shall have to wait for daylight. There's no telling where they might be."

  Kendall fumed. "We just saw them moving around their camp, for Saxnor's sake!"

  "I’m sorry, sir," said Phelps, "but we can’t see anything in this gloom. We'll have to wait for morning if we were to follow."

  "Very well, have the men dismount. Mount a picket and rest the horses.”

  "We could always return to Brookesholde?”

  “And lose the trail? I think not.”

  * * *

  Arnim looked back at the camp, absently rubbing his broken arm. It ached terribly, but at least he could ride, a skill that had proven valuable this night. He and a small group had delayed their departure, the better to give the illusion of a busy camp, then fled east, hoping to draw the Norlanders away from the others, should they choose to pursue.

  "It doesn't look like they're taking up our trail," noted Harper. “Your ruse didn’t work, they’re not following.”

  "No," said Arnim, "but I suppose we should consider ourselves lucky, at least we’ve bought some time for the others. No doubt by morning, they’ll be after us again, but we’ve left a trail heading east, perhaps that will be enough."

  "Orders, my lord?"

  "We'll turn south now that we're clear of the camp. We can rejoin our companions once the sun reveals their location."

  "Won't it also reveal them to the Norlanders?"

  "It will," said Arnim, "it will indeed."

  * * *

  Beverly heard a noise just as the sun appeared on the horizon, the sound of running water. Glancing to the north, she hoped for some sign of Arnim and his men but could see none.

  She brought Lightning to a halt, waiting as the rest of her people struggled past. The exhaustion on their faces was plain to see, the night's march having taken its toll.

  "Head towards the sound of the water," she called out as she stared north, silently praying to Saxnor to lead her people to safety.

  A horseman appeared in the distance, followed by three more. They were riding hard, their reins thrashing left and right, driving their mounts for all they were worth. She recognized the lead rider, the sling on his arm easy to spot. Moments later, the cause of their rush came into view as a large group of horsemen followed behind them.

  She turned in the saddle. "Guard Cavalry to me!" she called out. "The rest of you make for the river as fast as you can!"

  Her horsemen galloped to her position and stood waiting. There were twenty-four horsemen with her, while the rest of the guards, minus those with Arnim, protected the servants.

  Beverly counted off ten men and sent them to guard the others. She drew her hammer, holding it aloft, the sun catching its sky-metal head.

  "For Merceria!" she shouted.

  "For Merceria!" her men echoed.

  Urging Lightning forward, her men fell into line to either side of her. "Spread out," she ordered, and the cavalry responded with precision, opening up a gap to allow Arnim's men through the line. The new arrivals slowed as they passed through, Arnim nodding his head in greeting.

  “There’s plenty behind us,” he said. “An entire company as far as I can tell.”

  “Get back to the others,” said Beverly. “We’ll do what we can to hold this lot at bay.” She turned to her command. "Close up, and prepare to charge!” The Guard Cavalry shrank the line, closing the distance till they were almost stirrup to stirrup.

  The enemy rushed down at them, their horses whipped into a frenzy. Beverly ordered their counter-charge as soon as they completed their own manoeuvre, and now the two lines collided together in a clash of steel.

  Beverly struck out with Nature's Fury, a wicked overhead swing that tore into a Norlander's collar bone. She pulled the weapon free just as Lightning reared up, kicking out at a rider with his front hooves. Horseshoes struck metal, ringing out loudly, then the horse ran off, his rider tossed from the saddle.

  A sword struck her leg, glancing off the metal plate, and she pushed out with her shield, using its edge to drive her opponent back. Following up with another swing, she felt the hammer penetrate his shield, then pulled it back, watching her foe, his arm now limp, struggling to escape the fray.

  All around her, the riders of the Guard Cavalry struggled in this desperate battle against overwhelming odds. These men of Merceria we
re no knights, yet they fought with the same determination, dedicated to wreaking what havoc they could.

  Unexpectedly, the Norland horsemen retreated, galloping off to the north.

  Beverly turned to her men. "Withdraw," she commanded. They all about-faced and trotted south, towards the distant sounds of water, but she looked over her shoulder, concerned the enemy might make another attack. The Norland cavalry, seeing their opportunity, whipped their horses around and spurred them on.

  "About face," Beverly called out. Once more, her men pivoted, maintaining their formation. The enemy crashed into them, intent on mayhem, but the discipline of the Mercerians held, once more dealing a savage blow to their opponents, and sending them fleeing.

  She looked over her men. Two had been wounded, one severely so, and she ordered him back to the river. The rest she held steady, watching the distant Norlanders for fear they might attempt to repeat their tactics.

  The morning wore on and still, she watched, intent on holding their position and keeping the enemy from the rest of the Mercerians. A horseman returned from the south, and she recognized Arnim.

  "Wickfield has fallen to the enemy," he said, "so I've sent everyone westward. How are things here?"

  She pointed at the distant horsemen. "You tell me. All they do is sit and watch."

  "Could they be waiting on reinforcements?" offered Arnim.

  "I hope not, it's difficult enough keeping track of this lot."

  "Have they attacked?"

  "Twice," she said, "and both times we've driven them back. The problem is, we can't withdraw without them sallying forth."

  "Your men have been awake all night, they can't keep this up forever."

  "I know," said Beverly, "but at least the rest of our party is safe for the moment."

  "Not for long, though, unless we can find a new ford."

  "You should return to them," said Beverly. "They need you now more than ever."

  "What will you do?"