Fate of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

He heard yelling coming from the campfires and turned as an arrow flew in his direction. The bolt went wild, likely shot in panic and Lorgar grinned, his white teeth in stark contrast to his dark green skin. His comrades were striking out now, the sound of melee growing, increasing around him. Running to the nearest campfire, he plunged his spear into a footman. His target fell heavily into the fire, sending a shower of sparks into the air.

  He looked at the blaze, noticed one of the logs was only burning at one end, and he picked it up. Nearby stood a group of wagons stacked with supplies, so he ran toward them, tossing the burning branch into the back of one.

  The fire didn't take right away, but he didn't care. Lorgar ran on, jabbing out again with his spear, forcing a soldier to back up. He swung the spear like a staff, taking out the man's knees, collapsing the soldier to the ground, then ran on, screams echoing behind him.

  The camp was in chaos. Humans were yelling everywhere, and Lorgar knew there wasn't much time left before the heavy horses of the knights responded.

  He caught sight of Gorlag and waved his hand in the air, signalling the withdrawal. Gorlag pulled the horn from its sling and blew the notes. The sound echoed through the darkness and the Orcs withdrew, their work done this night.

  * * *

  Valmar surveyed the damage in the early morning light, his captain following him obediently.

  "They caught us by surprise," muttered Captain Davis.

  "I can see that," Valmar fumed. "Weren't the sentries posted?"

  "They were, Your Grace, but the greenskins killed them all."

  "And not one of them was able to sound the alarm?"

  "I'm afraid not, sir."

  "Who commands here?" he asked.

  "Captain Conners, Lord."

  "Bring him here, to me, right now!" he demanded.

  Captain Davis ran off to find him.

  Valmar looked at the dead bodies. They were scattered all over the place, many of them at the edge of the tree line. "They ran," he said, more to himself than anyone in particular. He walked toward the trees to examine the dead men in more detail. There were three here, all of them with wounds in the back. He shook his head in disgust, then spit on the corpses.

  "I found him, Your Grace," came Davis's voice.

  Valmar turned to see a young soldier, "Are you Captain Conners?"

  "I am, my lord," the man replied.

  "And you command here?"

  "I have that honour, Your Grace."

  "Give me your sword," he ordered.

  "Lord?"

  "You heard me, man. Give me your sword!" Valmar demanded, his voice rising in anger.

  Captain Conners drew the blade, hesitantly handing it to the marshal-general hilt first.

  Valmar took the handle, holding it up before his eyes to examine the metalwork. "A fine blade," he mused.

  "It was a gift from my father, Lord."

  "Tell me, Captain," said Valmar, "what do you make of these men?" He used the tip of the blade to point to the bodies.

  "They were killed by the Orcs, Your Grace."

  "Is that all?" he asked.

  "I'm not sure what you mean, Lord," said the captain.

  "These men," said Valmar, "were running from the fight. Do you know why a man runs from battle, Captain?"

  "They are cowards?" he offered.

  "They are led by cowards," Valmar clarified, plunging the tip of the sword into the hapless Captain Conners, whose eyes grew wide in surprise. Valmar felt the man's breath on his face and pushed harder, the blade now protruding from the man's back. "I will have no cowards in my army, Captain!"

  The duke stepped back, pulling forth the sword, and then the helpless Captain Conners fell to the ground, clutching his wound. As an ever-increasing pool of blood formed around him, he looked up at the marshal-general with pleading eyes.

  Valmar smiled, then knelt by the dying captain.

  "Why..." the man uttered.

  "I have nothing against you, personally," whispered Valmar, "but I must make an example. Your punishment will inspire the men to fight to the death, if necessary."

  He watched the captain's eyes glaze over and then the breathing stopped. Rising to his feet, he pushed the corpse with the toe of his boot to ensure no life remained. The marshal-general stared at the body for a moment longer, then turned to his aide. "Captain Davis, send word of what happened here. Tell all the officers that any man that fails in his duty will be executed for treason."

  His aide swallowed and then nodded his head, too afraid to speak.

  "Come," said the marshal-general, "it's time we were on our way."

  Valmar turned to look back at the camp. Soldiers milled about while others helped with wounded, but without a Life Mage, they were a liability.

  "Any man who cannot walk is to be left behind," he snarled.

  Captain Davis nodded his head, "Aye, Your Grace."

  Valmar smiled, a look that sent shivers down the captain's back, then turned toward his carriage in the distance. He began moving toward it, the men giving him a wide berth.

  Twenty-Three

  The Battle at the Crossroads

  Spring 962 MC

  Baron Fitzwilliam brought his mount to a halt. Before him lay the crossroads where Sir James waited with the footmen and archers from Bodden Keep while the horsemen rode past, Sir Rodney at their head.

  "Take them to the northern flank," Fitz commanded, answered by Rodney's nod. The baron looked eastward, but the enemy troops were still out of sight.

  "Any sign of our allies?" he asked, looking to Albreda.

  "Not yet, Richard, though I have agents out looking."

  "Agents?"

  "Birds mostly," she replied. "Don't worry, at the first sign of them I'll let you know."

  The baron turned and rode on until he was before his footmen, then halted again, this time dismounting and passing off the reins.

  Sir James quickly approached, "I have deployed the men as directed, Lord. Archers to the north, a few to the south in that group of trees and the footmen in the middle."

  "Any defences?" he asked.

  "I'm afraid not," replied Sir James, "but they all have shields, and even horses can't break our shield wall."

  "They can if there's enough of them," countered Fitz. "Let's hope Valmar is as incompetent as I remember."

  "We are vastly outnumbered, Lord. Would we not be better to withdraw back to Bodden? Surely we would be safer within its walls.

  "It's too late for that," said the baron. "They're too close now, I'm afraid the choice has been made for us."

  "Any word on our allies, Lord?" asked Sir James.

  "I have spotted some in the distance," offered Albreda, "but they are still a long way off, and I fear their numbers are lower than expected."

  "They must have suffered stiff resistance at Redridge,” said Fitz.

  "What do we do now?" asked Sir James.

  "We do what we always intended to do, we fight."

  "We are still outnumbered, my lord."

  "Is there anything you can do, Albreda?" asked Lord Richard.

  "Not much, I'm afraid. My spells are useful against small groups, but against these types of numbers, they're not very effective.

  "What about a stampede?" Fitz asked. "It worked once before."

  "There's no time to prepare that," she said. "I can't produce an entire herd from thin air, and the last time I did that it cost us dearly; a lot of animals died that day."

  "Then we shall have to do what we can," he replied. "I suspect Valmar will aim directly for the centre of our line. He'll attack in three waves with his knights."

  "How can you be so sure?" asked Sir James.

  "He has no respect for his footmen so he'll be counting on his knights to do all the heavy work. The first two waves will try to disrupt the line, then he'll charge home with the third. It's a simple strategy, but sound considering his numbers."

  "How shall we counter?" pressed the knight.

  "The men
of Bodden are highly disciplined. They'll hold the line, you can be sure of it."

  "I might be able to help after all," offered Albreda.

  "How?" Fitz asked.

  "I can make the ground here uneven to break up their charge. It won't stop them, but it will take some of the bite out of their strike."

  "Do what you can."

  "And the cavalry?" asked Sir James.

  "Break them into two groups. Heward will command one group, Rodney the other. They'll be to the north of our line. Tell them to use their best judgement when to attack. I'm afraid we'll be too busy to send messages back and forth, and we have no other effective method of signalling."

  "Yes, my lord. Anything else?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes," Fitz replied. "Send three men with Albreda to keep her safe. When the enemy appears, make sure she gets to safety."

  "I can take care of myself, Richard," she declared.

  "I know you can," said the baron, "but it would give me peace of mind."

  "Then you take care as well, Richard, I shouldn't like to see you fall this day."

  "Nor I, you," he replied. "You are ever in my heart of late." He took Albreda's hand and kissed it.

  * * *

  Roland Valmar gazed across the field to take in the rebel army. "Is that all they have?" he asked out loud. "I'm surprised he would make a stand when he's so obviously outnumbered. It's not like him."

  "A trap perhaps, Lord?" offered Captain Davis.

  "Doubtless," he agreed, "but who does he expect to arrive? And better yet, how many?"

  "There could be reinforcements coming up the Redridge road," suggested the captain.

  "A valid point. Let's deploy some footmen to the south to block the way while our knights finish off this feeble excuse for an army."

  "And the archers, Your Grace?"

  "We'll send half of them south, to reinforce the foot. I want the rest of them behind us, watching our rear."

  "Our rear?"

  "Yes. The last thing we need is Orcs attacking us from behind," said Valmar, "Send two companies of foot to reinforce them. We'll make a line there, back by that hill. We've already deployed the rest of the army to this side. Perhaps our overwhelming numbers will convince them to surrender."

  "I doubt it, sir. They're already facing the death sentence as traitors, what would they have to gain?"

  "A good point," mused Valmar. "Perhaps we'll try a different option."

  "Sir?"

  "We'll send a messenger out under a flag of truce and give them the option of surrendering."

  "You think the baron would consider it?"

  "The baron is a sentimental old fool. He'd surrender himself to spare his men, I'm sure of it. We'll promise to spare the men if he surrenders himself."

  "And will we, Lord? Spare the men, that is."

  "No, of course not, but if we can convince them to lay down their arms, so much the better. Then we'll be able to destroy them at our leisure."

  * * *

  Sir James reached out to adjust a footman's grip on a spear. The soldier, looking over his shoulder at something in the distance, caught the knight's attention. He twisted his head to see three men riding toward the lines with a white flag. He immediately turned his attention to the baron. "My lord," he called out, "someone approaches under a flag of truce."

  Baron Fitzwilliam swept his gaze eastward where the riders were approaching. "Now that IS unexpected. Shall we see what he wants?"

  Sir James returned to his horse, hauled himself into the saddle then spurred his mount forward to match gaits with the baron. They began riding towards the approaching enemy, that had halted halfway between the two armies. Fitz heard some hoof beats, and suddenly Albreda was beside him.

  "You're coming with us?" he asked.

  "I can't allow you two to have all the fun, now can I?"

  "I suppose not," he said, "and truth be told I'm happy to have you with us."

  "What do you think they want?" she asked.

  "I rather suspect they want us to surrender," replied Fitz. "Wouldn't you agree, Sir James?"

  "More than likely," said the knight.

  They halted a horse's length away from the other riders and sat, patiently waiting.

  "I am Sir Alard," called out the messenger, ignoring his companions, "here representing His Grace, the Duke of Eastwood, Lord Roland Valmar, Marshal-General of the Royal Army of King Henry of Merceria."

  "And I am Lord Richard Fitzwilliam, Baron of Bodden and these are Sir James and Lady Albreda."

  Sir Alard bowed his head in greeting, then waited, as if unsure of how to proceed.

  "What is it Valmar wants?” asked the baron.

  "The same thing as you, Lord," replied the knight, "to avoid unnecessary bloodshed."

  "Then march your army away," said Albreda, "and none shall be shed this day."

  The enemy knight showed a look of distaste. "You should keep your woman under control. A parley is no place for a female."

  "She is not my woman," the baron replied, "but a powerful ally. Have you never heard of the Witch of the Whitewood?"

  The baron was pleased to watch Sir Alard visibly pale.

  "The etiquette of battle leaves no place for magic," said Sir Alard.

  "Spoken by someone who has none," said Albreda.

  "You seem to be under the illusion that this is a meeting of gentlemen," remarked Fitz.

  "Can we not be civil?" replied Alard.

  "Civil?" said Fitz. "This is war, not a game. It is a struggle for survival."

  Sir Alard looked past their group to the thin line of troops that waited to the west. "You are vastly outnumbered, Lord. Would it not be better to avoid the slaughter? Have your men lay down their arms and they shall be spared."

  "And the baron?" asked Albreda.

  "The baron must surrender himself to face the king's justice."

  Baron Fitzwilliam looked back to his own line, his hand instinctively going to his chin to rub his beard. He returned his gaze to the envoy, "I must admit your proposal has merit. Allow me to consider the offer. I shall give you an answer by mid-afternoon."

  Sir Alard, pleased with his success, bowed deeply, a smile creasing his face, "By all means, Lord."

  They each turned, heading back toward their respective lines.

  "Richard, you're not seriously considering surrendering yourself? I didn't rescue you only to have you taken away in chains."

  "No, of course not," he replied, "but we need to buy some time. I don't think Valmar will attack while he believes I'm seriously considering his offer."

  "He's cunning, our baron," added Sir James. "We like to call him 'The Fox'."

  Fitz looked at him in surprise, "When have you ever called me 'The Fox', Sir James?"

  "Lots of times," the knight retorted, "just not to your face."

  Baron Fitzwilliam broke into a grin.

  "Now you've done it," said Albreda, "he likes it."

  * * *

  They returned to their lines to wait. The afternoon wore on with little taking place; then, about the time they expected the parley to reconvene, the enemy began to move. They deployed their troops in a line opposite those of the baron's, the same width as the defenders, but deeper ranks thanks to their numerical superiority.

  "I don't see their archers," commented Fitz.

  Albreda opened her eyes, focusing them on the baron. "My agents tell me they've placed crossbowmen to the north with the bulk of the archers to the rear, though he's sent some to the south, along with some footmen. I think they may be trying to outflank you."

  "Any sign of our allies?" he asked.

  "Reports indicate horsemen to the south, though they're still some distance off. There's perhaps one hundred to one hundred fifty, moving quickly. I suspect they're the Kurathians."

  "Sir James," called out Fitz, "send riders to them, warn them of the enemy's location."

  "Aye, sir," replied the knight, who then began barking out orders.

 
"Will Valmar wait much longer, do you think?" asked Albreda.

  "No, he's an impatient man. He's already started shifting men south. It's his opening move."

  "What will he do next?" she asked.

  "He'll try to hit us as hard as he can."

  "How?"

  "With a mass of knights, I suspect. He's not the type to take his time. He'll try to crush us as fast as possible."

  Even as they talked, there was activity amongst the enemy. Their foot soldiers had lined up in groups, with gaps between them. Now knights were riding through these gaps, their armour glinting in the afternoon sun. As they made their way forward, they turned, forming a line in front of the infantry. More knights poured forth, forming a second, and then a third line of heavily armoured warriors.

  "What's he doing?" she asked.

  "Preparing for the assault," Fitz answered. "He's going to launch them at us one group at a time to try to wear us down, bit by bit. All he has to do is break our line, and he will have the run of the battlefield. How many knights did you say he had?"

  "One hundred," Albreda replied, "or so I thought. He must have received reinforcements from somewhere; there has to be almost three times as many now. Why doesn't he get the attack over with?"

  "He's making a show of force," said Fitz, "but it won't work."

  "It won't? Why is that?"

  "The men of Bodden have been under threat of attack for years. They're defending their homes, they won't give ground easily."

  "They've started moving," called out Sir James.

  "So they have," replied Fitz.

  Captain Lanaka, commander of the Kurathian horse, looked back at the long line of troops following him. There were two hundred of them, the finest light horse in the land, and yet he worried for their future. They rode to battle as they had done many times before, but this time he knew they were outnumbered. It was not that he feared death; he had lived his life as a mercenary with death a constant threat, but his honour demanded he do his duty. The army of the princess had been badly mauled at Redridge, and now only a small portion of it was able to reach the crossroads.