“Your Majesty.”
Orsak struggled to open his eyes.
“Your Majesty—are you all right?”
All sound around him turned into a high-pitched scream.
“Sire? Go and get cool water; and salts. He is fainting.”
Orsak blinked, and as the world regained solidity a growling voice whispered in his ear: It is now. It is time. It is undone.
The King found himself sitting on a plain chair surrounded by a group of soldiers.
“You were falling,” said the young man crouched down in front of him.
“I—I did fall. Didn’t I?”
Orsak held his treasured cane in his left hand and he pushed against it as he stood. The round diamond on top of it felt warm, as if he were holding it above a fire. He moved his hand and looked at the cane and found the diamond indeed ablaze. It did not burn in flames; it glowed with a red-orange light.
“Your cane,” the young man cried out. “What is happening to it?”
Orsak shook his head. “It has not glowed as such since the day I first received it; since the day Galyan—” The name froze on his tongue. “Not since it was given to me.”
He watched the diamond’s fire brighten then fade, slowly, like a dying flame, until extinguished. For a moment, the King remained transfixed on the cane. Then, he blinked and shook his head back into reality.
“Your color, your face, it is better. Are you feeling more yourself?”
“I believe so.” Orsak nodded, not in response to the knight, but in response to his own uncertainty.
“How will we proceed?” asked the soldier. The King looked at him for a long time. “What is your name?”
“Jonus.”
“I am growing impatient, Jonus,” Orsak said at last, “with the state of my army. Without Malden, without his leadership, I—”
He nearly spoke the truth for a moment, but caught himself. The strings used to command an armed force no longer fit around his fat fingers and he had forgotten how to pull them. With his second-in-command maintaining control of all military action, Orsak, the ruling monarch of a land governed by brute force, had never needed to soil his hands. Not since he held the bloodied sword that had run Albetais through had his fingers felt the warmth of freshly spilled blood.
“We shall regain control of the common folk,” Orsak went on. “I shall regain control of the entire kingdom once again. That is how we shall proceed. I shall not be defeated by a foolish squire, a dreaming princess, and an old knight.”
He paced about the room; the knight followed the King’s movements with his eyes. His energy had returned. His pulse had quickened.
“I shall stop them. I shall rob them of their momentum, of their fight.” The King stopped and fixed his eyes on the knight. “Go find them, Jonus. I want to make certain they are dead, all of them—Delcan, Rojimon, Wildon, and Aria. Do not waste any time. I want you to go out and search every village—”
“Sire,” the soldier interrupted him. It was the first time in forty years that any one of his subjects had cut short his speaking. His hands came up and in a flash of anger he thought he would surely strangle the knight.
“They are preparing to attack.”
The words stole his attention immediately. The boiling fury within evaporated. Surprise replaced it, and then newly found anger.
“We have reason to believe they, the prisoners, the princess, have joined the rebels and are arming as we speak. A large band of them are readying to launch an attack on the castle.”
Orsak nearly burst out laughing. “The rebels? Aria has run to the rebels for help? What do they call themselves? The Cave Dwellers?” He scoffed. “They haven’t nearly enough of an army, much less enough weapons, to attack my castle, or to protect her.” In the deepest cavern of his mind the King recognized the focus for revenge had shifted; Aria was now his target.
“They have gained considerable support lately,” said Jonus.
“From the western villages? From farmers who would grasp at the air itself if it would help them against me?”
“From the whole of Paraysia. I believe it is from the word being spread of the rebel leader’s identity.”
“Branis,” Orsak said. Since Rojimon’s and Delcan’s escape, Orsak had suspected Wildon to be the driving force behind the rebellion. Recently, he had thought Rojimon himself to be leading the infantile effort.
“Who is he?” Orsak asked.
“Aria.” The knight nearly whispered the words. “The princess.”
Orsak’s eyes widened and once again his world seemed to swirl.
“Aria,” he whispered.
“She has led them secretly for several months. Yesterday, she revealed herself to them. The villagers are spreading the news. Excitement is building; she is gaining support. Your Highness, an attack is eminent.”
Orsak grinned. It was rather comical when one thought of it long enough—a princess, a girl, really, rousing up a group of farmers to take up arms against him. A band of crazed villagers carrying brooms and pitchforks, led by a girl of marrying age wearing the pretense of victory like leather armor.
It would never succeed, the odds against them were too great, the might and power on his side. Still, he would face the threat earnestly, without reservations. He would form a defense against the rebels unlike any the kingdom had ever staged before against an enemy. The definitive wrath of his power would fall upon them and crush them. And, with them, he would stomp any thought that his hands had turned weak and the kingdom would collapse once again upon its knees.
“An attack on this castle is a fatal mistake,” said Orsak. “I shall destroy them before they even reach the gate. Besides, what does a child know of war?” he grinned at Jonus. “That is what we shall give her enthused flock of malcontents—a full out war. When is the attack expected?”
“Within the next few hours, Sire.”
“Prepare the fortress for war,” the King ordered in a sure and heavy tone. “Place all guards on alert. Order the knights to gear up—full armor. They are to secure the perimeter of the castle on war horses. A battalion will ride out, down to the valley, and await the rebel force. I want them to sit on their stallions for as long as they must. The rebels will not come close to the castle.”
He paced.
“Put guards on the walls, guards in the courtyard, and guards outside the gate. I want our defense to devastate the rebels. Is this understood?”
Jonus nodded.
As he spoke, Orsak’s breathing once again quickened.
“If any one reaches the castle, enters its walls—and you better make certain they do not— they will find knights guarding the interior of the castle, as well. I want the courtyard littered with war horses ready to ride, in the event the gate is breached.
“Double the guards on the walls. If they should see the eyes of the commoners approaching, they will blind them with arrows. No one will trespass the security of this fortress.”
Words ran together and his heart raced to keep pace with them. In his hand, the cane grew warm and the diamond glowed.
“Your words shall be done, Your Majesty.”
“Send out a group of spies through the villages immediately; find all there is about this rebelling force—their numbers, their arms, their plan of attack. As the information arrives, come to me. I shall be in the Throne Room.”
“I shall carry out your orders sweepingly, Sire.”
“From this point forth, you are their commanding officer.”
“Yes, Sire.”
“Perform your duties well and we shall speak at length of your new responsibilities as Head of the Guards.”
Jonus saluted and struggled not to smile as Orsak walked away.
“It will be my honor.”
As the King pulled the door closed behind him, Jonus realized he had not mentioned to Orsak that several knights, perhaps as many as five, or more, had not reported for duty and that just as many guards were unaccounted for. He feared t
hese men may have turned their backs on the King and had gone to assist the rebels. But, until he had definite proof of his premise, Jonus would not mention it. He would not jeopardize his newly gained position. Besides, he had a massive defensive strategy to arrange. The castle would be prepared for an attack tonight.
The assault came five days later.
Chapter Forty-three
Upon the back of a stallion, Aria watched the sun rise over Castilmont. The night’s last stars still winked above it.
She had waited for this moment for hours—when the old night and the new day met for the first time and embraced, each losing itself in the other. In this embrace, the world fell under the ideal light for a silent assault on the castle upon the hill.
She turned to look over her shoulder. In the shadows that stretched behind her, the movements of horses with still figures on their backs seemed like an illusion, a spell cast by the ghosts of nights past.
Again, she faced the castle and emerging sun.
“Ready?” she whispered.
Beside her, Delcan nodded. “We are.”
Delcan’s horse snorted then lowered its head and busied itself pulling at the tops of the brush and short grass with its teeth.
Aria turned to her right and looked at Roimas. He waited for her command with his arm casually resting across the saddle horn.
“As far as they know,” Roimas nodded toward the castle, “the villagers are spirited and vocal, set afire by your talks, but that is all. The castle is well fortified but they have been waiting for over four days for something to happen. It is unlikely they know when an attack will come, if any at all at this point.”
“Grainer has said some knights were withdrawn,” mentioned Sandrion. “They rode back into the castle yesterday evening.”
“Our groups are in place,” Delcan added.
Aria listened to the information given to her. She sighed and threw one last glance at Castilmont. “Then we shall move forward.”
The last two days had passed quickly. With all the travelling she and the others had done between villages, Aria had not noticed the rising of nights and the falling of days. From dawn to dawn, they had gone to farm houses, to village squares, to village inns, throughout Paraysia, building support for the rebellion; igniting the commoners’ spirits. Through moving declarations of the new world to come, and with victory sparkling in her eyes, she arose excitement and hope in the hearts of common folk. She was a royal princess in armor walking among villagers, urging them to rise and demand their kingdom back from their despot king.
Their numbers grew and Aria recognized there were certain to be spies among those who showered her with support. In preparation for deceit, she called upon the men whose lives were once devoted to King Orsak—guards and knights whose faces still hid beneath the shadows of hooded cloaks—to stop any flow of information that might make its way to the King. They stood among the cheering crowds, their eyes searching for familiar faces they had once known—or at least had seen within the confines of the castle wall—and who were now standing in farming garb, as if the clothes had covered their backs all their lives, raising their fists and chanting Aria’s name.
The hooded rebels found at least one spy in every village—in one instance they discovered five among the crowds. These they did not apprehend, or even approach them. Instead, the rebels took note of these royal informers and made certain that erroneous and incomplete information floated their way. There were knights among the villagers as well, overtly patrolling the villages in an attempt to break up mass gatherings. In several occasions, the crowds themselves drove the knights out of the village.
Aria presided over furtive strategy conferences originally conceived by Sir Wildon. In all the rallies held in village plazas and village inns, the talk never mentioned an attack. It focused on the future, on the need for courage and solidarity, for passion.
Among the words Aria spoke, there were instructions, hidden deep within her sentences. The commoners who had been among the first to join the Cave Dwellers had spread throughout their families and friends a secret means of communication composed of specific words that when used in union with one another provided detailed orders.
Even as the number of allies and would-be rebels grew, the code only passed on to those the rebels knew well. With a circle of secrecy wrapped tightly around the plan of action, the spies were kept at bay.
By the third day of traveling, after having visited each of the seven villages, a plan had been put in place. And at dawn on the fourth day, it was set in motion.
Aria nodded toward Delcan and he gave the sign—he raised his arm and struck the back of one of the lead stallions. In an instant, a mass of horses took off and galloped toward the castle. On either side rode Aria and Delcan, Roimas and Sandrion; they each yelled and urged the horses forward, riding beside them, keeping them in formation.
To the horses’ backs were strapped near-to-life-size figures of hay and farmer’s garments. They had no arms, only a semblance of appendages for legs. They were tied to the horses’ bellies to keep them from falling; ropes tied to the saddle horns and the rear of the saddles held up the torsos. Poles that ran the length of the bodies held up their heads. They had no features, nothing that would make them seem real, human, other than their shape. Although no more than fifty in number, in the gloom of dawn they seemed like hundreds of riders in a battle charge.
The horses climbed the hill at full gallop. As they approached the castle, when the tower’s flag was visible above the rise of the hill, Delcan and Aria separated from the swarm, to the left. Directly across the river of galloping horses, Sandrion and Roimas veered off to the right. The lifeless horsemen pushed onward.
Aria and Delcan rode to the side of the hill where the northern wall lay unseen above them. They reached the brush and dismounted. Aria slapped the back of her horse and it ran to join the stampede. Delcan followed suit.
Aria adjusted the bow that pressed against her back and sprinted into the brush with Delcan behind her. Suddenly, from all around them, others who had been lying on their stomachs rose to their feet and joined them.
They carried makeshift bows, swords, flails, or maces. Some had shields stolen from soldiers strapped to their arms; others carried rough facsimiles of shields made of wood—a few from metal. A small number of them even wore leather armor while most ran bare-chested, their faces covered in black war paint. A wholehearted few wore the kingdom’s old shield—King Marcius’s shield—painted upon their chests. They all ran with a battle cry that reverberated within their minds, and within their hearts, even as they were unable to voice it as they moved in silence. Many ran to partake in a revolution that would overthrow a king for the second time during their lifetime.
With Delcan at her side, Aria led the makeshift army of two hundred up the hill upon which the once-majestic castle stood. While horses raced toward the front gate, the band of rebels charged the northern side of the fortress on foot, looking to penetrate the castle walls through the side entrance to the stables—the same entrance from which Aria and Delcan had escaped.
On the other side of the hill, to the south, another group—another hundred headed by Sandrion and Roimas—rushed the castle’s southern wall, looking to enter through the hidden passageway to the dungeon. A small band approached it from the east, aiming to climb the wall at the rear of the castle.
The attackers ran with their weapons raised, quietly, with the purpose of getting as close to the wall as possible before being detected by the guards. Then, the fighting would begin.
Glanel had held the same post atop the castle’s front gate for ten years and it had become a routine like everything else in his life. But unlike his other daily habits, he had grown to enjoy his guard duty. He felt it provided him with experiences few others in the kingdom came to know—like witnessing the rising of the dawn from a vantage point second only to the Valley of the Sun itself.
Every morning, at around the same time, he lowered
his crossbow and set it on the platform. He sat and opened his water bag while other guards paced beside him and soaked in the way Paraysia awoke to the arrival of a new day.
He delighted in sitting under the fading night and feeling the sun peek its head over the horizon behind him. Its rays illuminated the sky above the castle in a wonderful, enchanting light unlike anything one would see at any other time of day.
At twilight, the colors were bright and alive in a different way, as if the world were to be consumed by fire. But at dawn, the light was soft, gentle. It had a certain mellowing effect that neutralized the cautious alertness that the night required. The remaining shadows turned gray as the new light struck them, then turned silver-blue as it spread. It pacified the soul to look upon such wonder. It took the edge off a night of vigilance in a fortress meant to fend off wars. Especially at this time, when the vigilance had doubled and the castle was on alert for the first time in almost forty years.
As he sat, enjoying the cool water falling upon his lips, he saw something out of the ordinary moving at the foot of the hills. He pulled the water bag away from his lips and strained his eyes to see what moved in the gloom below. At first he could not discern its shape. He saw only a mass of moving shadows and what seemed like a large cloud of dust.
He rose to his feet to get a better look. A brief moment later, the water bag fell out of his hand and off the wall as he realized those were horses approaching, hundreds of them, perhaps, with riders charging the castle.
“Riders approaching!” he yelled, reaching for his crossbow. “Riders are approaching the castle!”
All other guards standing near him saw what he had realized and sounded the alarm. The word spread swiftly—the rebels were attacking at full gallop through the front gate.
Orsak had instructed the guards to not fire upon any assault until they could see the color of their enemies’ eyes. That had been nearly five days ago. In that time, the tension within the castle had grown as they waited for an attack they knew would come. It was especially taxing on the guards, who had expected the strike to come immediately after they had gone on alert, four days before.
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