by C J Brown
Archers began loosing arrows at the enemy as an army of shrieking Huns broke off to fight the Britannians.
The two armies collided less than a hundred yards from the wood.
Arthur slashed with his sword, breaking armor and shields as the fury of people and soldiers battled the barbarians.
Magi Ro Hul fought beside him as Merlin struck with his blade. Fireballs streaked across the predawn sky as the sun approached the horizon.
Dawn broke to see the fire of the enchanted forest unstoppable and uncontrollable. Galahad was leading a cavalry while Magi Ro Hul attacked the Huns’ western flank and Arthur redoubled the attack against the center force.
As Arthur cut down one of them, sunlight shining off his iron armor, he looked up and spotted a hulking giant watching the battle.
Three hundred yards away, the enemy commander was the very embodiment of the vile Huns. Arthur, his horse rearing, realized he had to fight him later.
With five thousand men behind him, they were able to clear a path to the city.
With the sun rising over the horizon, night was receding, but the darkness had not left. Fires raged as soldiers lay in the dirt, banners left abandoned on the ground and arrows and spears bristling.
Reaching the burning forest, Arthur spotted a cavalry column charging out of the wood, slashing at the enemy as their horses reared and fireballs streaked overhead.
Something about the commander felt familiar, as he fought the enemy, his helmet missing.
“Father,” Arthur said, tears welling in his eyes, hope rekindled in his heart.
“Yah!” He shouted and Merlin turned to see Uther Pendragon battling the enemy.
“Your father has returned,” Merlin said, the sound of battle surrounding them.
“We fight as one,” Arthur declared.
Turning, he charged to his father’s side, with Merlin just behind.
Soldiers on foot clashed with the barbarians amidst the forest while Arthur led a thousand men to his father’s side.
“Son!” Uther shouted, when he turned and saw his son approaching him.
Arthur stopped before Uther’s destrier.
He nodded, and Uther turned back to the enemy.
“Long have these Huns caused the world pain and agony. No more.”
Arthur almost laughed as they galloped off and clashed with the enemy again.
The forces of Demetia collided with the Hun ranks, sparing nothing. All efforts were directed toward defeating the barbarians. No matter what, they had sworn, they would not let them pass.
Catapults hurled burning grass and boulders through the air.
Arthur and Uther fought side by side as King Megolin and General Clyde fought to free the trees from the enemy.
Arthur slashed, arrows racing past, as his horse reared. Beside him, his father was cutting down Huns with all the fury of a Roman general, and an emperor. Like Augustus and Caesar who fought with their men, the courage Uther inspired in all was unparalleled.
Within minutes, the Hun infantry phalanx directly ahead of the Hun commander watching from the distance was decimated, and Arthur looked up at him.
“Arthur! To the trees!” Uther shouted.
Arthur turned and followed, surrounded by friendly forces on foot and horse charging for the wood-line.
Spears were launched from the Britannian army as the sound of battle echoing through the burning forest was heard.
The smell of ash and smoke turned Arthur’s nose and lungs sore as he charged toward the trees.
Dawn illuminated the muddy plain where green grass once flourished, where bunnies once ran. Thundering past the trees, Arthur slashed at a Hun. Jumping over a fallen tree, as more creaked, falling to the ground, branches breaking and men running, Arthur stayed by Uther with their four thousand men. Everywhere, Huns were dueling with their forces. No longer were formations clashing with armies. Soldiers were fighting for their lives.
Arthur could see Demetia through the flames and arrows. The courtyard was ablaze, a number of the guard towers collapsed. Royal guards and Demetian warriors were battling the Huns, struggling to keep the enemy at bay till the rest of their forces could retake the streets and sectors that had already been lost.
His greatsword gleaming, his armor dented, Arthur found himself surrounded by Huns. With fear now powering his arms, he slashed at them, with no friends in sight.
Arrows and spears raced past as he tried to charge back to the city.
Clearing a path with his sword, he made his way to the courtyard.
A stone crashed into one of the barracks just then, sending brick and mortar flying out.
“Hold the line!” He heard a voice shout and turned to see King Megolin with a column of infantry and cavalry, guarding one of the streets that led to the rest of the city. The others were being guarded by battalions of Royal Guards, civilians, and all their allies.
“Father,” Arthur whispered.
He turned and galloped to King Megolin’s side, spotting Uther amongst the first rank.
“The garrison has but three hundred men left,” Megolin shouted. “The reinforcements you brought are not able to reach us. They are being cornered beyond the wood. The Huns have already overrun most of the northern sector. The courtyard is all we hold here.”
Arthur turned back as a commander shouted, “Loose!” and archers launched a shower of burning arrows at the enemy.
Tar was being hurled from the towers that remained as flaming arrows set a line of fire to burning, blocking the Huns from King Megolin.
“There is still hope,” Arthur said. “Magi Ro Hul leads the army outside. We have to weaken the Huns where they control the wood. The Royal Guard can take care of the Huns here. We have to free up Magi Ro Hul!”
Megolin nodded.
“Royal guard!” He boomed, “defend the city!”
“At once, the royal guards amidst their ranks broke off, amassing as five hundred men, to attack the northern sector.
“Archers! Front line! Make way!”
Arthur, Megolin, Uther, and the rest of the men at the head of the column stepped aside to let the archers move through.
They loosed arrow after arrow at the Huns beyond the wall of fire.
Arthur sat steady by his uncle and father.
“Where’s Mother?”
“She leads the royal guards already defending the northern sector. Two hundred warriors.”
Arthur nodded.
“Father,” he turned, “thank you.”
“My son, I ask not for your forgiveness,” he said, smiling sadly, black marks streaked across his face. “Thank you for being my son.”
Arthur nodded, unable to reply and turned back to the line of fire.
Archers were loosing arrows at the enemy, when the first Hun ran through the fire.
One by one, they darted through the flames, not caring for the heat or the pain.
Arthur raised his sword and cut down the first one as hundreds poured in.
Thundering over the cobblestone, they stormed the towers and the buildings as Arthur, Uther, Megolin, and Clyde fought to hold the line.
As Arthur slashed at a Hun, his eyes blue, his face pale and dirty, an arrow broke through his iron armor and flesh.
Burrowing into his lung, he felt blood rush in as he struggled to breathe.
Uther suddenly eyed his son.
“Arthur!” he shouted.
Arthur turned to him, trying to breathe.
“I’m fine,” he said, cutting down another Hun.
Another arrow hit him in the shoulder.
Uther at once jumped in front of his son, dressed in his Roman armor.
Arthur felt his vision growing blurry but remembered Olivie’s voice, remembered that his father was fighting beside him, fighting to save him
, that good and honest men stood with him, that the cause he was now bleeding for was the greatest he’d ever fought for.
Shaking himself out of his blurriness, he turned and cut down a Hun.
His right shoulder burned from the arrow wound, but he ignored the pain and kept fighting.
He looked up and saw a stone racing toward them.
“Move aside!” He shouted.
Darting away, soldiers cleared behind him to avoid the rock.
It landed, breaking off a few pieces and sending them flying through the air. Soldiers blocked with their shields as Hun arrows and spears raced toward them.
Men were shouting and some were beginning to flee.
“Stay together!” General Clyde bellowed.
Arthur, short of breath, kept slaying the Huns, one after another. Yet they kept attacking, running through the wall of fire that was now diminishing.
“Fall back!” Megolin shouted. “Make for the temple!”
At once, soldiers began running away from the courtyard as Clyde and Megolin followed.
Uther and Arthur turned, galloping away as the Huns overran the courtyard.
There was no place battle could not be seen, no street, no corner where there wasn’t fighting.
Iron struck iron along the streets as the Huns redoubled their attack.
Fire and stone still streaked overhead, demolishing the buildings of Demetia.
Within moments, their hooves and soles striking the cobblestone road, the army reached the temple, where the citizens of Demetia prayed daily to Gaea.
“We defend this sacred land!” Megolin bellowed. “At all costs!”
Soldiers, many bleeding, their shields bristling with arrows, watched as the Huns thundered toward them, shrieking.
Archers loosed arrow after arrow, cutting down the ranks of the enemy as a few reached them.
Arthur slashed at one as the rest charged through the lines of their own dead.
Arthur’s sword met a Hun shield, breaking through wicker and striking the barbarian.
As he fell, Arthur turned and cut down another Hun, Uther, his strikes growing weaker, still fighting.
A tower fell in the distance, the crash of stone and brick landing on the cobblestone road echoing through the streets. Shouts were sounding from across the city when commotion erupted behind him.
Arthur turned and saw a Hun column attacking his own, breaking the line.
Archers tried to pick off enemy warriors as they attacked the column, cutting down men with almost no difficulty, but it would not work.
Arthur turned and galloped across, cutting down one of the Huns who was breaking the column.
From the street that they attacked, Huns were storming the buildings.
The column Arthur now fought to defend was comprised of civilians, Romans, Demetians, and Highlanders. Standard-bearers used their banners to charge the enemy while swordsman swung their blades and axes. Archers cut down the enemy, but strength was finite, and the arrows were running out.
Within minutes, the column was broken. Each man was fighting for himself. Orders fell on deaf ears as Arthur felt his arm weakening.
Another arrow struck him, tearing through his shoulder from the back.
Pain sent him falling of his horse.
Clattering to the ground, soldiers running past him, Huns overrunning the street, Arthur felt his sight and hearing diminish.
“Arthur!” A voice bellowed.
He turned and saw Uther kneeling beside him. Then an arrow pierced Uther’s chest.
“No!” Arthur screamed, his clarity of sight returned.
Uther looked at his son, tears welling in his eyes, and fell over.
“Father!” Arthur shouted, sitting by Uther.
Uther looked at him, his sword by his side.
“Forgive me, Arthur,” he said, as a Hun ran past them. “You are my son. I only have one.”
Arthur found himself weeping.
“You have made me proud. Your mother helped me see. Kindness, my son,” he said, clinging to life, “heals all souls. I’m sorry I saw too late.”
“No, Father,” Arthur said crying, his wounds weakening him by the second. “This isn’t the end. You still have time, laughs to share, tales to tell, family. This is not the end.”
Uther chuckled, weakly.
“I’m sorry, my son,” he said, holding his arm. “You have always been a Pendragon, the greatest of us. You shall always be.”
His eyes grew distant.
“Father, no!” Arthur cried.
“Father!”
Arthur wept, kneeling beside his father.
The sound of battle disappeared as he sat there, all the pain he had ever felt rushing to his mind at the same time.
He remembered the pain his family had endured, the pain Bulanid Mehmet had caused, the pain Lucius caused, the pain Grandfather caused. But he also remembered the happiness, the closeness of his family. Never before had there been a more wholesome one. Uther had taught Arthur how to wield a sword, a spear, a bow, how to gallop, taught him the history of Rome and the deeds of great emperors, that he would one day be the emperor, and that he would be greater than even Augustus.
He felt hatred rising but remembered his father’s words.
Conflict erupted between his hate and the words of his father.
Arthur was suddenly picked up and raised onto a horse.
“Father!” Arthur shouted.
“The city is lost,” Merlin said. “We must retreat.”
Arthur looked around and saw King Megolin charging ahead, with members of the royal guard and surviving warriors. Igraine was already there, leading a hundred elites.
Slumped over the neck of the great destrier, Arthur felt the pain of his wounds fading.
The sound of shrieking Huns, battle, and fire faded away.
Grief, sorrow, fear, anger, all occupied his mind.
He pictured Olivie, his father, his mother, Merlin, Megolin, Magi Ro Hul.
They were all there, smiling at him, laughing, happy. Jokes were being told, tales recounted. A future, a life that Arthur knew would never be. His mind drifted again, and he saw him marrying Olivie. Magi Ro Hul, his mother, father, uncle, cousin, they were all there. Vipsanius was standing by his side. A joyous laugh sounded, and Arthur smiled.
He almost wanted to say something, reach out, when all things faded away.
Also by C. J. Brown
Pendragon and Merlin's Tomb
Pendragon and the Mists of Brittania
Pendragon and the Traitor's Menace
NEWSLETTER
This is the fourth book in the Pendragon Legend. If you enjoyed Books 1-4, sign up for C.J. Brown's newsletter to get the first notice of new releases. You can sign up for the newsletter on C.J. Brown's website.
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About the Author
C.J. Brown has a lifelong passion for fantasy books, and she quit her career in marketing to pursue her dream of becoming an author. Legends and myths in particular strike her fancy, and she loves putting her own spin on them. An adventurer at heart, when not writing, she can be found exploring the old mystical Northwoods around her home, where she finds much of her inspiration.
Website: cj-brown.com
Facebook: fb.me/cjbrown78
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