Alfred 2: And The Underworld (Alfred the Boy King)

by Ron Smorynski

  His bow hand suddenly tightened and his cat eyes blinked. An arrow pierced the hand, forcing him to release his bow, letting his arrow flip limply to the ground. He stepped back, only to crumple from another arrow cutting through his leg. His cloak spluttered its magic, and he was fully revealed as the tall girl and boy came upon him from the field. A smaller girl stood up from gnarly roots, not ten paces from him, and gave a thumbs-up with a smile.

  The tall girl had an arrow aimed at him. He was quite unable to attack.

  “Who betrays King Alfred?” Loranna yelled. “What is the plan?! Is the Ambassador going to take the castle with his guards?!”

  “He's right there,” said Noren. “I think he can hear you.”

  “Tell me! Who’s betraying King Alfred?!” Loranna kept her arrow tight and fixed.

  The elf quickly pulled out a small dark vial and drank it.

  “He's healing himself to escape!” Noren yelled.

  The elf suddenly convulsed, his mouth frothing with black foam, and he died. His face dispensed a gruesome look of wickedness!

  “Or.... the opposite,” Noren whispered.

  “Can I have his cloak?” Niranna asked in a most cheerful way.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Attack Is Upon Us

  Gorham galloped quickly across farmland and fields, through light forests, and along creeks and ravines. He raced through a mist blanketing a small valley and rode alongside a pond with croaking frogs. The moon still shined bright and gave plenty of light. Regardless, Gorham knew the way.

  He purposely chose high ground. His farm horse admirably topped a hill. Gorham could see the southern road winding down below in the forested valley. And there, stretched along the country road, was a caravan of the most grotesque and monstrous kind of beasts. Spiky black torches illuminated giant figures riding atop squat thick wagons. Horns and tusks, from creatures hunted long ago, protruded at all angles. Chains of various sizes and shapes hung from many hooks. The wagons were filled with an assortment of cages. Some were filled with human slaves.

  “Slave raiders! Ogres of the Orient!”

  These were not just any slave raiders. They were the worst, giant ogres – thickset, six to eight feet tall beasts of men. They were perhaps even taller, as they tended to be hunched over, with enormous chests and bigger bellies.

  They came from the far East Orient and were gruesome to behold. Their limbs were as thick as tree trunks and their strength that of bears and rhinos. They wore thick greyish leathers, embedded with protruding horns, tusks and metal plates. Their faces were scrunched and harsh-looking with piercings, tattoos, coarse beards and mustaches. Much of their thick black hair was braided or tied in various ways.

  They marched, not with haste or subterfuge, but slowly and methodically along the road as if they were expected!

  There must have been a score or more of them. A score is twenty! They never came alone. Nor did they do much actual work, as they had many slaves, small goblins and a force of hobgoblins with them. These hobgoblins were similar to goblins but with an oriental flair, and they attempted to look like their masters in dress and facial adornments. They were slightly bigger and thicker set than a usual goblin and a match for any man.

  Gorham shuddered at the force and what was to become of the people of the West. He thought of the farmers and their children and of Alfred their King. “All is lost,” he couldn't help but moan.

  A bark from down the slope awoke Gorham from despairing contemplation to the reality of that despair. A hobgoblin on a grossly sized hyena spotted him atop the hill. It blew its horn as the hyena barked and chattered for a hunt.

  Ogres and hobgoblins below looked up to see the lone figure. A large ogre, the Chieftain, stood up from his vast wagon pulled by horned dragons as beasts of burden. He was the largest and most adorned with spikes and chains. He raised his thickset arm. A smaller goblin atop the wagon opened a cage, and a large bat-winged creature flew out and landed on his arm. He fed it a limp rat and pointed up at Sir Gorham. The bat beast screeched and flew up at Gorham with long talons and sharp teeth.

  “A pet gargoyle!” Gorham clinched his teeth and reared his pony.

  The hobgoblin scout on the hyena charged up the slope. Gorham turned his tired pony and fled down the hill away from the caravan of doom. He hurried as fast as the braying pony could muster. In the next valley, he ducked into the forest.

  This patch of trees was thick with bramble and had dark shadows under the glaring moon. Many branches seemed to reach out and grab him. Sir Gorham had to yank and thrust against the branches as they tugged at his passing. The pony was exhausted and wheezed loudly. Gorham could hear the screeching of the gargoyle as it flapped its wings above the trees. Hyena growls echoed from the valley's enclosure. Hobgoblins blew horns, resounding beyond the steep hills.

  Gorham followed a path along a creek. He knew it led down to a river away from the road the ogres were on. He pushed his pony forward. The gargoyle flew above the creek clearing and attacked. Gorham's sword was ready. He slashed out, cutting the gargoyle, which then retreated in anger. The gargoyle was thin and wiry for flight but as big as Gorham. It may even have been stronger, but it wielded no blade. The pony brayed and buckled. Gorham could not control it well. He swung his sword about and lost balance. The gargoyle saw its opportunity. It dived in and grabbed at Gorham's sword arm, tightening its talon grip. It bit at Gorham's hand, trying to get him to release the sword.

  Gorham grimaced in pain and let go of the reins. He was flung from the horse. The gargoyle held on tight, biting down on Gorham's gloved fist. Gorham yelled in pain but wasn't done fighting. He pulled out a small blade and swung over and into the back of the gargoyle's head. It fluttered to the ground, dead, dropping Gorham. It rolled and lay still as Gorham dragged himself out from underneath it. He looked up to see the pony sprinting away in terror. Then he looked back, hearing the barking of the hyena and a rustling of bushes. He scrambled to hide behind some trees, sword in his wounded hand and short blade in the other.

  The hyena burst through the bushes with the hobgoblin atop. It stopped abruptly at the fallen gargoyle and sniffed around in impatient anger. The hobgoblin heard the far-away galloping of the pony and pushed its stubborn mount that way.

  Gorham saw his opportunity and leapt at the hobgoblin. He slashed immediately, lopping its head off and slamming into the monstrous hyena. The beast turned and snapped its jaws at Gorham, who fended it off with both blades. The hyena snapped, bite after bite, as Gorham dodged and blocked. Then he sliced along the lips and mouth, infuriating the primal beast further.

  Gorham pointed the sword just so. The beast took the bait and bit the blade, trying to wrench it away. As it bit, Gorham came in closer and drove the smaller blade up under its jaw into the soft throat. He jabbed repeatedly to make his point! The beast rolled its eyes and thumped down dead.

  Gorham fell with it and got pinned under. He wriggled partly free. Black beastly blood spurted from below, pooling about him. He could hear more hyenas yelping, as a large group of mounted hobgoblins were nearing. He froze as they burst through the bushes and saw the fallen gargoyle and hobgoblin. The hyenas sniffed about in a crazed state. They found the fallen hyena lying in a pool of its own blood. They howled and yelped in anger. One hyena sniffed around the dead mount and the blood. A hobgoblin waved its iron-spiked club to quiet the others and heard the pony far off braying and galloping away. He pointed and barked for them to hurry. They raced off after it.

  Gorham lifted the hyena, coughing out the stench of the innards he had hid in to avoid being seen. He crawled out, slipping and sliding. One could go into the details of what was sticking to him, but why bother? He slogged off into the creek, removing his armour, to rinse off and lighten his load. He was exhausted and still had many miles to go. He let the creek carry him downstream. In some areas it was too shallow for him to float, so he lifted himself up and slogged through. In other places it was deep enough for him to swim. He knew the river
would pick up momentum soon. He was risking injury, but this was his best hope for escaping before they returned.

  The hobgoblins saw the pony rise up the opposite slope with no rider. They stopped, slamming into each other, barking and growling then turned back.

  The farm horse reached Loranna's home as she and the others were packing a small cart, getting ready to leave. It was deathly exhausted. The father immediately removed its saddle and let it follow them as opposed to pulling the cart. “No use pushing it any further. Let us hope no attack comes here.”

  “If Gorham didn't make it, then the attack is from the south,” Loranna said as bravely as she could. “Inform everyone. I will go to the Keep to warn them.”

  “Make use of that cloak!” her mother said.

  Loranna and Niranna both wore the elven cloaks and had their bows. If there was any magic to be conjured in them, they knew not. They certainly looked spectacular in them. Niranna and Noren stayed with their parents to protect them.

  Loranna hurried along southward toward the Keep as her family headed north and west to evacuate the farmers. It may have been a difficult and long path for some, but Loranna knew the road well. She was veiled by the cloak and equipped with an elven bow. She felt lighter with both. Some might think it morbid of her to wear the very gear of one she had just felled. But she knew that the elves ambushing Sir Gorham and a defenseless family on a farm would have shown no mercy. She seemed to leap slightly farther than she remembered.

  As she bounded across stones of a creek, taking a short-cut, she fired arrow after arrow at a tree on the opposite side. When she reached the arrows, she was impressed by her results with the elf’s bow. She nearly fell trying to pull the arrows out casually. They were in deep – even more impressive. She had to put good effort into pulling them out individually.

  “Elven bows... have to get us some more of these!”

  Loranna breathed heavily yet was calm, continuing toward the Keep. She passed through the ramshackle village at its outskirts. Drunkards snored, but mostly it was quiet. She hurried up and got to the gate. She knocked on it a bit too gently.

  “Gatekeeper?! Anyone?” she yelled. “Hullo!”

  “Who goes there? Come out?!” a gruff voice called from high above.

  Loranna saw a group peering down and noticed that they didn't seem to see her. She looked down and remembered she was wearing the elven cloak. She scurried under the stonework out of view and took it off. Then she turned it inside out and wrapped the bow inside it. She leapt back out.

  “Here I am!”

  “Hey whaht?” A guard yelled groggily from the top. “Who’s that there? A little girl?”

  “Oh yes, just King Alfred's friend!”

  “Girl friend, one might say,” the guard said to no one in particular. “It's a bit late, ain't it?”

  “Uhn, nah?...” Loranna looked about and saw a slight hue of the morning sun coming up. It was dawn. “It's just early morning!” she said, smiling innocently.

  “Uhhh, right, so it is...” said the yawning guard, looking up as the dark sky gave way to a yellowish glow.

  The gate opened. Loranna rushed in.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Arise We Are Under Attack??

  Loranna ran through the courtyard, past the foreign pavilions and tents and carriages. Then, turning, she ran into the Magistrate.

  She fell down, dropping the elven cloak with the elven bow wrapped inside it. She had taken these things from the Magistrate's very own assassins. He picked up the dropped bundle and looked disdainfully at the messy girl. “What are you doing running around, slave girl?!”

  Nubio stood next to him, holding a bowl of steaming water. He nearly spilled it when she bumped into the Magistrate.

  Loranna got up. “I'm no slave! Give that back to me!” She reached for it, but he held it high, curious about the wrapped item.

  She was desperate. If he discovered what happened to his elves, he could have her disappear, and she would never be able to warn Alfred. She looked around. Guards were standing about. The Magistrate began to unwrap the cloak. She looked desperately at Nubio, pleading with her eyes for help. Nubio suddenly tripped and spilled the bowl of water on him.

  “Gaaayyaahhh!!”

  The Magistrate leaped as steaming water drenched his robes. Then he backhanded Nubio, who fell down crying. “Abominable fool!” shouted the Magistrate. “Ten lashes for your insolent clumsiness!” He rose to strike again and realized his hands were free. He looked to see the girl dashing off into the Keep with the bundle in her arms. He looked down at the groveling, muddied, crying slave boy. He kicked him and walked off.

  “Alfred! Alfred!!” Loranna cried, scurrying through the tables and columns of the Great Hall.

  With oil lamp in hand, Abedeyan met her first. “What's all this racket?”

  “Arise King Alfred! Arise! We are under attack!!” Loranna yelled past him.

  “We know. We know,” said Abedeyan. “We sent Lord Dunther and Sir Gorham north to meet them!”

  Loranna reached the doorway to Alfred’s chamber. Abedeyan followed.

  Alfred opened his door, still buttoning a shirt. “We under attack?!”

  “Not from from the north, from the south!” she said. “Sir Gorham went south to see!”

  “Where is he now?” Alfred asked, buckling his gear.

  “He is... has... fallen...” Loranna let the last word fall softly, realizing what it meant.

  Alfred and Abedeyan shared a stunned gaze.

  “The elves were assassins!” she finally said.

  “They killed Sir Gorham?” Alfred asked as they moved back into the Great Hall.

  Just then Verboden came out of the chapel, putting on his cloak and armed with his staff.

  “No, we killed them,” Loranna whispered loudly.

  Abedeyan motioned for Lady Nihan and the workers to seal up the Hall. She nodded and quickly motioned for all of them to do their duties.

  “We? Who?” asked Alfred, looking at Loranna.

  “My sister and I dispensed with them!”

  Loranna then unraveled the elven cloak and bow.

  Alfred and Abedeyan gulped.

  “Good show!” said Abedeyan, whistling in stunned amazement.

  “To kill elven scouts, hired by a royal magistrate? Alfred, I think all we need is her for our army.” Verboden gazed at the cloak as she put it back on.

  “Sir Gorham, slightly wounded, then took our horse to go south, to see if you were right. Hours later, the horse returned… without Gorham.” Loranna held back her crying but not her tears.

  “Then his only fall at this point was from the horse,” Verboden said.

  “He said he'd return here no matter what.”

  “South, somewhere along the trade route then – that road leads directly to Telehistine,” Verboden said.

  “The Ambassador – is he getting reinforcements to finally conquer us?!” Abedeyan stuttered.

  Alfred buttoned his final button and shrugged. “Somehow, I, I don't think so... I will go to the Ambassador’s pavilion and speak to him about defending the castle. Loranna, you must get everyone ready to leave through the tunnels.”

  “Tunnels?” Abedeyan stammered.

  “Our escape route,” Loranna declared. “Alfred, you must come too!”

  “Yes, yes, but I gotta know. I must see if they will fight for us or if they really are against us!” Alfred gritted his teeth.

  “Isn't it obvious by all the posturing and greed and their selfish lust for power over everyone?” asked Verboden, leaning heavily on his staff, tightening his grip on it. “They led Dunther away with their paid mercenaries. Who knows when they'll kill him? He is out there alone!”

  “I have to know for sure.”

  Verboden nodded. Loranna leapt in front of Alfred. “Alfred, don't go out that door. They'll enslave you like the others, like all the other kingdoms they have conquered!”

  “No, they won't,” Verboden said calmly, placing hi
s hand firmly on Loranna's shoulder. “Let him go. He has magics in him that will protect him. This I know.”

  Loranna was not convinced.

  “Get everyone ready to leave, and armed!” Alfred hastened to the door. “And Abedeyan!”

  Abedeyan stopped to look at Alfred.

  “Get me my goblin armour!”

  Abedeyan nodded and quickly hurried away.

  Loranna and Cory called throughout all the rooms to get everyone into the Great Hall. Verboden glanced around as they came. When they had returned to the center of the Hall, he whispered to them, “I must find out about Sir Gorham's whereabouts. He may still be alive and need my help.”

  “How will you get out of here? The tunnels only lead down from here, and they're guarding the gate.” Loranna asked as she ushered the people by.

  “Since we're sharing secrets, the chapel has a secret exit as well.” Verboden smiled and went on his way.

  “Arise! The attack is upon... us!!!” Alfred rehearsed his line as he exited the Hall. There was already a flurry of activity in the courtyard. Slaves and servants were rushing about packing everything. Poles came down, banners fluttered and were quickly gathered up and folded, pots and pans were stacked onto wagons, barrels rolled back up, and the pavilions were deflated to the ground and quickly rolled up by many hands.

  Alfred rushed over to the Ambassador's caravan to see him fretting within.

  “Ambassador?! Are you leaving?” Alfred shouted through the small window.

  “I am King Alfred. A large force of ogres has come through your defenses, and we are unable to help! I'm sorry, Alfred, but there is nothing I can do,” sputtered the Ambassador, shaking.

  Alfred saw that he looked frightened. It was as if he was not really the one orchestrating the Keep’s fall. Alfred noticed the Magistrate staring at him from a distance and met his cold calculating eyes with confidence. The Royal Captain of the Guard stood next to the Magistrate and whispered something in his ear. The Magistrate nodded. Alfred looked back at the Ambassador, who was biting his nails and rubbing his chubby hands.