The Immortal King: Part One of the Godyear Saga

by Jason Malone

  The Pretender was in an open tent at the back of his army, in council with his strategists and commanders. He was in his war gear. A purple cape was folded over his shoulders, and a longsword hung at his belt. He wore his crown. Carol smiled as I entered the tent, and I gave a short bow.

  “Edward,” he exclaimed. “I was praying you had survived.”

  “Lord King, I—”

  Carol raised his hand. “I heard. I know about Tillysburg.”

  “I am sorry, Lord King.”

  Before Carol could respond, Earl Roger slammed his fist on the table. “You failed us all, Edward. So much for being ‘Gifted.’” His face was bright red, and he glared at me until he was back-handed by Carol.

  “When we win this battle, Roger, and I have my kingdom back, you will be compensated for the loss of your town. Do not let your sense of self-importance allow you to forget your place, Earl,” Carol said. Roger bowed his head and mumbled an apology. “And what of my sister? Did you rescue her?”

  “I did, Lord King. She is safe with your man Arne and is heading with the Tillysburg refugees to Giant’s Rest.”

  “Then you have brought honour to your name, Edward. I cannot thank you enough, but once we have crushed this usurper, I will try.”

  “As you say. But I must warn you. Emrys will be heading this way with around three thousand cavalrymen, and Lord Odo plans to turn on Stephan once he arrives,” I said.

  “What evidence do you have for this?” one of the commanders asked.

  “Emrys made me translate a letter from Lord Odo to him, and he told me that is what he would do.”

  “Then perhaps, Lord King, we should wait for Odo and this Emrys character to defeat Stephan for us,” another of the commanders suggested.

  Carol shook his head. “If Odo was sympathetic to our cause, I would have heard about it, and his ally would not have pillaged a town loyal to me,” the king said. “Pardon my tongue, my lords, but this truly does fuck up my morning. What would you propose, Edward?”

  “I cannot say. If I were in command here, I would put my best spearmen on my left flank so they could counter Emrys when he arrives,” I replied.

  “With respect, My King, Edward is here to give you spiritual, not military advice,” Roger said.

  “I do agree with Earl Roger, Lord King.”

  Carol thought for a while, and we all watched him in silence, until he finally nodded. “My captains, I have decided on this battle plan: we will divide our army into three units. Roger will command the middle unit, composed mostly of our peasant forces and the rabble from the wilds, which will fight aggressively in the hopes of drawing most of Stephan’s forces to him. Based on the deployment of our enemy, I am expecting Odo’s forces to take our right flank, so our best warriors will be in our right unit, and they will guard Roger’s right. Our left unit will attempt to outflank Stephan. Our cavalry will sit at our open flanks and act only as a defence against enemy cavalry,” Carol explained.

  “And what of Emrys?” I asked.

  “We cannot fight him, Stephan, and Odo at the same time. If our plan works, we will hopefully rout the traitors before Emrys arrives. I am gambling on him staying in Tillysburg for long enough to let us do this. If our plan fails, then Emrys would not have made a difference to the battle anyway. But do not forget, Edward, that I have the Gods on my side and the good fortune of Middlespring Day.”

  I nodded, trusting the better judgement of Carol and his advisors. I only hoped they were right and that Middlespring’s fortune favoured us. “And where do you want me, Lord King?”

  “With Roger. I need you to inspire the souls of the men in the most vicious part of the battle. Should our middle be routed, we will be split in two and all of Ardonn will be lost,” Carol said.

  I bowed. I felt honoured but frightened. I had never been in a proper battle before. The skirmish on Mudhill was nothing compared with what I would face that day. Roger gave me a curt nod. “Who will be leading Stephan’s centre?” I asked. I needed to know who Roger and I were up against.

  “I do not know. The warriors in Stephan’s vanguard are carrying dark blue banners with a white hare emblazoned onto them, but none of us know that emblem,” Carol said.

  I sighed, and my heart sank a little. It was as I feared. “Those banners belong to Odo’s son,” I explained. “William. He is a friend of mine.”

  “Well, today he is a traitor,” Carol said. “Edward, if what you have said about Emrys and Odo is true, we can only hope Stephan ignores us and draws his attention to the other threats. It will be chaos, but hopefully we will come out on top.”

  “Of course, Lord King,” I said. Carol waved us all from the tent and sent a rider to warn Stephan that Odo might betray him in the hopes that he would retreat, then we all went to look over the field at our enemy.

  My hopes were very low that morning. Not only were we outnumbered, but our enemy just seemed better equipped. There were more housecarls and more archers, and their cavalry almost tripled ours.

  Carol’s forces were passionate, but unlike Stephan’s they lacked the discipline required for victory. If Emrys joined the battle and Odo betrayed his king, the subsequent chaos and confusion would make it easy to rout our men.

  But we could not turn back now, because that would mean Carol was admitting defeat, and he would lose all support. Our fate was in the hands of the Gods. Our ancestors watched over us all, and the Lord of Death began selecting men to die.

  Roger and I stood side by side in the shield wall’s front row. Our unit numbered around three hundred men, with the front few rows consisting of the toughest warriors. Our two back rows were the archers who would drop their bows and draw their swords once the melee began. Our job was to hold the enemy in place so that the two outside units had enough time to outflank our opponents.

  Carol had given me a helmet, a coat of mail, and a large round shield so that I would be better protected. The egg-shaped helmet had a faceplate depicting the head of an eagle, which would strike fear into the hearts of my enemies.

  As I stood beside Roger, staring at the enemy forces at the bottom of the hill, I had that faceplate open. The enemy stared back at us, some of them jeering and taunting, inviting us to attack. Their dark blue banners — William’s banners — flapped in the light breeze. The morning sun that slowly climbed up over the hills made their helmets shine. Morenlea’s light heralded victory, but for whom?

  “Carol should have positioned his army atop that ridge there,” I said, pointing at the steep hill to our left.

  “Aye, I suggested that too,” Roger said. “It is a harder climb, and the morning sun would be in their eyes, but the older generals told us it would just be a stalemate.”

  “And this isn’t?”

  Roger did not reply. He was scanning our opponents for a weakness in their line. I could tell that Roger did not like me very much, and I was not exactly fond of him, but today we would be brothers in arms, and we both knew that if we were to fight together and win, we would need to at least pretend to be friends.

  “Their strongest fighters will gather around Odo’s son. Do you see him?” Roger asked.

  I looked along the line, trying to spot William, and then I saw a person I guessed was him in the middle. “There,” I said, pointing.

  The man I identified was wearing the rich blue cape William had worn the day I rode with him, but he had a full helmet on his head, so I could not recognise him. It was a guess, but I saw no one else who could be William.

  Roger only nodded. I did not know what he was thinking, but I guessed he was planning on concentrating most of his strength towards William. If we could capture William, it might force his men to flee, and that would send ripples of doubt through Stephan’s troops.

  “What does your Gift tell you about this battle? Have you seen the outcome?” Roger asked.

  I shook my head. “The Gods have revealed nothing to me.”

  “Some gift.”

  I ignored him and t
hen turned to see if I could spot Carol. I found him back behind the army, higher up the hill with a dozen or so housecarls and other nobles. He was watching over the battle, his head exposed.

  Carol had argued with his nobles to allow him to join the fight, but they insisted he stay back and act as a “beacon of light” for his men, so that should they decide to turn and run, they would see their king and be filled with cheer once more. That was why he wore no helmet — so men could see his face. After much discussion, Carol eventually agreed that it would be best if he stayed back and acted as commander rather than as warrior.

  I turned back around when I heard Roger curse under his breath. Farther along the line, one of Roger’s mail-clad warriors had stepped forward and walked twenty paces down the hill. He held his arms out and was shouting about how all of Stephan’s warriors were cowards and that they should face him in one-on-one combat if they wished to prove him wrong. He was crying out his name, his father’s, and his birthplace, so that tales would be told of his bravery.

  “Bloody fucking bastard,” Roger growled.

  It was common practice, especially in the ancient times, for warriors on opposing sides to duel each other before the battle began. It was tradition. It brought the duellists great honour and reputation and was believed that the Gods would favour the side of the victor.

  However, the tradition was dying out as armies became more disciplined, and generals hated the practice. Not only did it mean good warriors were being wasted, but it also showed a lack of discipline, and the comrades of the loser would become demoralised with the belief that the Gods were not on their side.

  Roger had warned his men that they would be flogged if they did such things, but in the tension before a battle, when everyone is nervous and excited and full of emotion, and the insults are being thrown across the field, it is hard for some men to resist.

  Shortly after our brave duellist came forward and made the challenge, a man from our enemy’s forces stepped forward as well, and the two men approached each other.

  The opposing warrior raised his faceplate and announced himself as Giselbert of Everlynn, son of Ecbert. I recognised him as one of the men that guarded Lady Eleni’s carriage when my friends and I were travelling with Odo’s army. He closed his faceplate, the two warriors shook hands, and then backed three paces from each other.

  Soon after, they charged forward, and their swords clashed.

  We all watched, and men from both sides cheered their champions on. They both had a lot of sword skill, and so the fight seemed to drag on longer than a duel usually would. Yielding was possible but was highly unlikely, since it was far more dishonourable than death in this situation.

  But yield was exactly what Giselbert did. Our man had managed to trip Giselbert onto his behind, and after pinning him to the ground, he pressed his dagger against Giselbert’s throat. “Yield!” he called out.

  Giselbert raised his hands and removed his glove, throwing it aside. Our man took Giselbert’s weapons and his glove and raised them up into the air, cheering. He turned around, and everyone in our line cheered too. Even Roger smiled, because it at least meant our side would believe we had the favour of the Gods.

  But what happened next shocked us all. Caught up in his victory and drunk with the rush of combat, our champion stood over Giselbert and plunged his sword into his throat. Both our line and William’s went silent, and then our enemies began to roar in anger. A terrible sin had been committed, and that sin demanded justice.

  The stalemate was over.

  “Here we go,” Roger mumbled.

  He closed his faceplate and drew his sword and then said something to the man beside him. That man blew a war horn. From the back of our unit, the archers nocked their arrows. At the bottom of the hill, William’s men were arranging themselves in a wedge formation. We could hear their horns blowing and their drums beating, and men were shouting orders. Once they were in formation, they began to move slowly uphill, their shields held above their heads.

  “Ready,” Roger called out. “Aim.”

  Our archers drew their bowstrings and pointed them up into the sky so they would come down in an arch over our shield wall. William’s forces were getting closer, but they were only walking. Their boots stomped against the earth in unison, and they gave short yells with every step.

  “Hold there! Wait for them to be in range,” Roger shouted.

  Our enemy began to jog towards us, still maintaining their wedge. I could sense the fear in the men around me, and my own heart was racing. I closed my faceplate and could hear my heavy breathing echoing in the helmet. I was terrified.

  “Wait,” Roger said. The archers’ arms were shaking as they struggled to keep their bows drawn. Our enemy grew closer, their jog getting faster and faster and their short grunts getting louder. I drew my sword. The enemy held their shields out in front of them and then broke into a sprint. “Now,” Roger screamed. “Loose!”

  And for a second, all other sounds were drowned out by the swoosh of bowstrings releasing their tension. Hundreds of arrows shot up into the air and with a flutter came down like iron rain.

  Then the screams started as they thudded against wood, mail, and flesh.

  Yet the enemy kept moving forward, their shields all locked together to form a powerful knife that would cut through our own shield wall. The man beside Roger blew his horn. I put my right foot back, digging it into the soil to brace me. My shield was locked with those of the men to my sides and back. Our archers fired another volley, and the arrows once again came hissing down onto our enemy.

  And then, with the great thunder of shield crashing against shield, the battle had begun.

  15

  Death

  For my sixth nameday, my sister Edith used the coppers she had been saving for a year to buy me a little wooden figure of a warrior from the village woodcarver. It was made of strong oak, stood about eight inches tall, and even had a little sword and shield that could be detached and reattached. I loved that toy, and ever since my sixth nameday it made me want to fight in the king’s army.

  On the same day I received that little wooden warrior, my father took it from me and told me I could not have it back until I proved myself worthy of it. He said that I would need to be able to fight like a king’s soldier, and until then I would never be able to play with my new toy.

  And so every evening for three months I went out into the woods near our farm and trained to be a warrior. I used my father’s lumber axe and a plank of wood as a shield, and I pretended the trees were my enemies.

  One day, I decided I was ready, and I went to my father and told him I wished to prove myself. He agreed and told me to meet him outside at dawn the next morning. My sister pleaded with me, begging me not to do it and promising me that she could get me another gift, but I ignored her. I wanted to show everyone that I could fight for King Edwin, like the wooden warrior Edith had bought me.

  The test my father had come up with was waiting for me outside. He made me stand out with the axe and my plank of wood in the small paddock where we grazed our cow. Awaiting me in that paddock was one of her calves. My father had sold all the other calves besides this one, and in order for me to prove I was a warrior, I had to kill that calf.

  At first I did not want to. It was so small and weak, and it just stared at me with its big wet eyes and lowed. But my father yelled at me, called me a coward and a girl, and said I would never be strong enough to even hold a proper weapon. I had to prove myself.

  Without hesitation I sprinted towards the calf, screaming. It tried to run from me at first, but its thin legs were still weak, and I was much faster, so I caught up to it and with one overhead swing, I cut down into its back. It wailed and moaned and fell to the ground, writhing in pain, and I stood over it, horrified at what I had done.

  I heard my father laughing, but then I heard a heavy rumbling and the sound of our family’s cow crying. I turned, but too late, because the calf’s mother had seen what was
happening to her baby and decided she wanted revenge.

  Instinctively I held up my shield, but the cow rammed into it and threw me back. I was winded and stunned and lay on my back staring up at the sky. My whole body throbbed with pain.

  The cow would have trampled me then and there had Edith not thrown stones at it and scared it away. My father only laughed the whole time, but at least I could have my toy back — not because I had proven myself as a warrior, but because I had amused my father.

  That toy warrior sat on a shelf in my old home until Hakon’s men torched it.

  It is strange what men think of in the heat of battle. That memory was the only thing running through my mind once the armies clashed at the hill near Tillysburg. When William’s wedge of warriors came smashing into our wall of shields, the blow felt exactly like that the cow gave me all those years ago. I wondered what my father would have thought if he saw me that day. Would he think I was worthy of that little warrior? Would Edith be proud? All these things ran through my mind, and I hardly thought about the fight itself.

  Our wall had not broken. William’s wedge rammed against us, and a ripple went down the line, but the men at the front stood firm and braced against the impact. Everyone seemed to grunt in unison. Blow after blow after blow struck my shield as men used swords and spears and axes in an attempt to carve a gap in the wall. Whenever I saw a gap in our enemy’s wall, I would thrust my blade forward and pray I found a mark. A few times I did, and it would be followed by groans and gurgles and gasps.

  The man beside me took a spear to the shoulder, and so the men behind him pulled him back and quickly took his place before the whole wall fell apart. It was brutal. It was savage. The smell of blood, sweat, and shit burned my nostrils, while the screams of the dying filled my ears. The sound of steel beating against wood was deafening. The enemy was trying to push us back uphill so we could fight on more level ground, but we pressed back just as hard. Neither side moved much at all.