Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1)

by Ron Smorynski

  “Is all ready?” Alfred whispered.

  “Not yet, milord,” Derhman replied. “Harvest is hard work. I don’t know if we’ll have time for what you wish.”

  “Do you want your farm saved?” Alfred’s question reminded them of the purpose of the plan.

  Derhman bit his lip.

  “Well then, you must do as I have ordered as soon as possible! Hedor and his men will help. I have ordered it so. And Derhman, you must not tell the others.”

  “Others?”

  “Gylloth, Verboden and Abedeyan. I don’t want them to know.”

  Derhman tied down bundles of wheat. “But they are your servants, milord. They are wise and knowledgeable.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want to talk about it. Just do what I say.”

  Derhman gulped while looking helpless at his son. Cory shrugged, piling wheat bundles onto a small cart.

  Hedor and his bandits carried shovels and the like out of the castle. There were now many farm folk and peasants huddled in all the corners of the castle, all with as much as they could carry from their homes and what would fit. They didn’t have much. Blankets, clothes, a few pots and pans, candle sticks and the like were all they had. The women were making the best of any spot they could find to make their temporary abode. Abedeyan and Gylloth noticed Hedor and his men.

  “Where are you off too?” Abedeyan asked.

  “Oh, me? Us? We’re off to finish up any last bits of harvesting.” Hedor smiled with a bit too much skulduggery! Yep, he looked a little too underhanded!

  “I have taken care of that, so there is no need for you to go out. You are needed to man the guard posts,” Abedeyan said.

  “King’s orders,” Hedor began to pass. A staff was placed in front of his path, halting him.

  “The Exchequer, the Steward of the Castle... Abedeyan has not finished talking to you,” said Verboden.

  Hedor and his men looked at the staff, not out of fear but in annoyance.

  Abedeyan moved closer to them. “King’s orders? He would give me any such order to give to you!”

  “Apparently not, old man. Alfred told me and my men directly.”

  “What orders!?”

  “King Alfred told me not to say, sworn to secrecy, and so I won’t. Now, if you don’t believe me, that’s your problem. You think I can gallivant about this castle lying about whether a king gave me specific orders? You want the truth, go to King Alfred yourselves. My men and I have urgent business, king’s orders!”

  In so saying Hedor lay heavy emphasis on the word king. Then he slapped Verboden's staff away with his shovel and continued out.

  Abedeyan yelled after them, “Where is Alfred!?”

  Chapter Twenty Three: Goblin Raiders

  In the moonlit night on a far hill, a farm lit up the sky, flames engulfed it. A farmer, on the castle walls holding a rake, pointed and gasped. Many others rushed up to the wall to see.

  “Tis our home!” one man gasped. His wife clutched him and cried.

  “Goblins! They have come!” another said as he shuddered.

  Dozens of shadows snuck along the hillsides and down dark empty farm roads. The goblins looked like dark ants roaming beneath a dark blue sky, searching fields, expecting to find hiding peasants.

  The War Chief, a larger creature, rode a huge black greasy boar with thick curled tusks and a foamy mouth. It leapt about, prodded by smacks of the War Chief's blade or pokes from his spiked boots.

  Goblins would form up near a farm and then rush in growling and howling. They banged in the door and leapt through windows, smashing anything inside and taking whatever loot they could. Then they rushed out and headed for the next farmstead. Their archers grouped around a torch bearer, lit their arrows and fired at small hovels. Thatched roofs readily ignited.

  The attackers showed no secrecy, skill, tactics or invention. Groups of them scattered about the hills and took the same approach over and over as they rampaged the land.

  From the castle walls, the marauders were now easy to see -- torchlit groups of dark figures racing from one homestead to another. They could also be heard yelling and howling, growling and yelping. The farmers watched with horror and fear. Gylloth, smoking a pipe, sat below the wall by the smith's fire tended by Boggin and Broggia.

  The War Chief and several goblins neared the castle’s walls and noticed it was inhabited. They sniffed the air and pointed, knowing their prey were locked up inside. Many came close, howling goblin insults at the farmers on the walls. In fear, the farmers backed away from the walls, ran, ducked or leapt into the court area.

  Gylloth sensed something and stood up. “Where are Hedor and his men?”

  Abedeyan rushed over, “They did not return.”

  “What about archers? Do we have any?”

  “Some of the farmers have skill with bow and arrow.” Abedeyan motioned over to farmers, fathers huddling with their wives.

  “Where are Alfred and his archers?” Gylloth asked.

  “The children?” Abedeyan said with a smirk. He looked around. None but the youngest of children were present. He started feeling uneasy. “They must be in the Keep somewhere.”

  “Then go get them,” said Gylloth, gritting his teeth.

  Abedeyan looked at Gylloth and then turned.

  Crashing through hedges, a group of goblins came upon a farm untouched. They howled with enthusiasm in discovering a new target. Rushing forward, they began to race, each trying to knock others down so as to be first to arrive. Goblins are nasty, bitter, jealous and foul, hating everything including each other. Their bitter rivalries were obvious even as they worked together to ravage the landscape.

  Before they got too close, the farmhouse’s tattered cloth windows opened, and children peered from them. The goblins stopped, staring in surprise. Then they howled in joy and renewed their charge.

  The door opened, and to the goblin's amazement more human children appeared. But something was different. The children crowded at the windows and doorway had their arms stretched with bows and notched arrows. In heightened chagrin, for goblins are chagrined about most things, the children were using goblin bows and arrows—and they let loose.

  A good dozen goblins fell. All bent over, grabbing at arrows stuck deep in their tattered bodies. Many had two arrows drawing blood. One had three! All but one dropped, and he stood there unsure of what to do. More arrows flew at him. He looked like a pin cushion, finally falling amidst the pile of dead gobs.

  Several smaller goblins by the hedges, witnessing the surprise defense, hissed in shock. They had torches and bows. One quickly lit the others’ arrows, and they fired at the farm, yelping with joy.

  All of their arrows missed except one that hit the roof. The goblins leaped in joy, each proclaiming it was his that hit its mark. The flame went out rather quickly. The goblins pointed at it in dismay and confusion, huffing, unsure of what was amiss. Again they fired a volley of flaming arrows, and again the one or two that hit thatch sputtered out.

  Unbeknownst to the goblins, the roof was reinforced with wood and bramble, and all of that was caked heavily with clay and mud. The children had poured water on the roof earlier in anticipation of this battle. There were small peep holes in the roof where several boys were ready with ladles of water.

  Disappointed, the goblins howled eerily into the night. Other goblins from across the hillsides turned from their own wanton destruction and focused on the unique pitched howl. Hearing this instinctual warning, the War Chief turned from the castle wall and growled with a deep rasping voice. He and his bodyguards gathered and raced off.

  When he heard the excessive howling, Gylloth rushed up to the walls just as the War Chief and his group were leaving. Abedeyan clambered up the stairs behind him, huffing and puffing. “Gylloth, I did not find the children or Alfred. They are missing!”

  “I know where they are.”

  Goblins gathered along the hedges near the farm where the children were. Surrounding it was a harvest
ed field, now an open space. In the middle of it lay a dozen dead goblins in a pile. Seeing this, the goblins leapt and howled with anger. A group rushed forward, driven by murderous revenge. As before, the windows and door opened. Out flew a shower of arrows. Most found their mark. Goblins fell to their death.

  A silent grumbling permeated the remaining goblins. Then they renewed their guttural growls and howls of anger. More charged in and were themselves shot down by several arrows. Goblin archers fired repeatedly. Most seemed unskilled, as only a few arrows actually hit the farmhouse. The flames at their tips went out quickly. The place seemed impervious to fire.

  By the time the War Chief and his group arrived, many goblins lay dead in the field. He looked at the frustrated and hesitant goblins still remaining. He bent over and pushed a nearby goblin forward, wanting to see for himself what had happened. The goblin roared with enthusiasm and charged.

  It got about half way in and then retreated. The War Chief saw that it had an arrow in its neck. It hobbled a few paces and then fell down dead, revealing several more arrows in its back.

  The uproar was stupendous. All around goblins yelled and screamed. The War Chief raised his huge scimitar and let loose a horrendous howl. Then he lowered the sword and pointed it at the farm. The large group of goblins charged from all sides, issuing a thundering chorus of howls. The War Chief moved in last, whipping his fighters forward.

  Goblins fell everywhere. Arrow after arrow flew at them, but they kept charging. With so many of them in force, they were bound to reach the farm and gain the upper hand. Collectively the pack held onto this notion as goblin after goblin fell gurgling or grunting its last breath.

  When the goblins closed in on the farm, many suddenly fell into a ditch encircling it. It was hidden with grass and bramble. Each falling goblin yelped in pain, breaking a bone or, worse, stepping onto a wooden spike with shoe-less feet. The goblins behind them surmised the situation and paused in confusion. These made perfect targets for children shooting arrows. Row after row of attackers fell, creating a wall of dead. This slowed the bewildered goblins behind them.

  There was now a pile of goblins moaning and groaning. The War Chief saw that all was lost. The remaining goblins dispersed in utter fear. He turned his wild boar to retreat. But it was too late. The door opened and children rushed out, forming a line and firing at him. His boar fell from many arrows. It landed on the War Chief’s knobby fat leg, pinning him to the ground.

  Hedor and his men then rushed out from the cabin. On his way out, Hedor slapped Alfred on the back, shouting “Well done! Hahr hahr!”

  The bandits rushed about the fallen goblins and dispensed with any still alive.

  Setheyna began to rush out, but Loranna held her back. “What are you doing?”

  “I want to get m’arrows to kill more goblins!” she said with pride.

  “Nay, young warrior, we brought plenty. Stay back!” Loranna commanded, much to the chagrin of the smaller children.

  Hedor and his men were judicious and quick. There were only a few goblins still alive. They tried to jab at Hedor and his men’s feet. Hedor and his band were experienced at this and used their spears to strike from a distance. A few goblins got up but were quickly shot in the back by the waiting children and fell back down. Hedor gave the thumbs up many times.

  From near the dead boar a raspy bellowing sound erupted. Alfred immediately dashed over, leaping across the ditch and goblin corpses, climbing atop the boar, and saw the War Chief blowing on a tusk horn. Alfred speared the War Chief, ending the goblin signal. He expelled a sigh and retracted the spear. He cringed at the site of such a horrid creature. His relief was short lived.

  Far off in the distance another horn blew. It was another War Chief. And from a different direction, another horn blew.

  Alfred rushed back. “More are coming!”

  “We should get back to the castle! Now!” Hedor commanded.

  Alfred looked at the men and children. He was tired and had had enough fight for one night. “Okay, let’s hurry!”

  But it was too late.

  “Look, over there!” Wilden yelled. He was one of the boys on the rooftop of the farm.

  Along the ridge lit by the moonlight, at least a dozen goblins on boars raced their way. They were all the size of the chieftain Alfred had killed.

  “Back inside! Quick!” Hedor yelled.

  The children rushed back inside the farm. Hedor and his men followed, quickly killing any moving goblins they saw as they went. Wilden and the other boys atop the roof, having wet it with more buckets of water, slid down and leapt inside.

  It took only moments for the goblin riders to reach the hedges and see the field of dead gobs. They growled with moonlight misty breath and spat frothy saliva. One was foolish enough to ride forth and was shot down by many arrows.

  The others raced along the perimeter screaming and hollering until the rest of the goblins that were on foot arrived.

  “There are so many of them,” Wilden said anxiously, peering through a window.

  Loranna and Setheyna unbundled another bunch of arrows, quickly leaning them in choice spots along the walls under windows for easy access. Many children huddled on the floor, tired.

  “Your archers are very skillful, Alfred. You’ve done well by them, but I’m afraid they are still children,” said Hedor. “I do not think they can last this fight.”

  Alfred looked down. He too felt exhausted. “Let them rest. When the goblins attack, we’ll wake them.”

  “They could attack at any moment,” Hedor growled.

  The goblins gathered. Several riders took it upon themselves to keep their fellow goblins in some order until more had arrived. Their horns bellowed in the night, and more horns answered. Soon dozens of goblins turned into hundreds, as dark figures swarmed in from across the hillsides.

  “They will be cut down!” Abedeyan said in a panic from the castle wall. “There are too many!”

  Gylloth pulled his armour tight.

  Abedeyan looked at him. “And what do you propose to do?” he asked.

  “What I can.”

  “It is too late. Alfred made his choice.” Abedeyan sunk below the wall. “You cannot save him. You cannot save them.”

  “It is my duty to protect the king,” declared Gylloth, adroitly clasping buckles.

  “He is king no longer. He abandoned his castle.” Abedeyan sat stoically still, staring blankly.

  “I beg to differ!” interjected Lady Nihan, standing below them on the stone stairs. “A castle is nothing without its people, and its people nothing without their homes!”

  Abedeyan rolled his eyes. “Hush, Lady! This does not concern you.”

  “Does not concern me? How impudent! King Alfred has helped rebuild this land and given hope to the farmers and workers. He has given hope to us all. And now he is out there fighting for their farms, for their lives. He is fighting the evil that has cursed us for so many years. And he is using children to do it!” Unable to speak any longer, Lady Nihan rushed down the stairs and out of their sight.

  Abedeyan looked up at Gylloth, who was staring out at the forming goblins. “Shall I get Verboden?”

  “Please.”

  Abedeyan rushed off.

  The goblin horde was now in the hundreds, surrounding the whole of the farm. They were at least two, maybe three goblins deep. A shower of flaming arrows flew wildly at the farm. The only flame that held was that which remained on the shafts of arrows landing in thatch. Damp mud prevented them from igniting their target.

  The riders moved forward along the advancing perimeter, each in turn raising its scimitar or other malformed weapon. Each signaled to the others that all would attack in unison. They met each other’s big black eyes and growled until a tumultuous howl from several hundred goblins rose into the air. Then they charged.

  Goblins fell to the left and right as arrows flew from every window. Goblins rushed in, undaunted by their falling comrades, quickly leaping and climbi
ng over the many dead and fallen. Some fell into the ditch, grabbing their punctured feet in pain, while most climbed over mounting piles of dead.

  Arrow after arrow flew from the children, tired or not. Goblin archers fired back, but their aim was so bad that the best merely hit the farm. It had hundreds of goblin arrows stuck to it. Very few flew through the windows, most were lodged in the frame or on shields. The archers were guarded by the spear boys holding up their shields at the various windows. The boys were also ready with their spears.

  The goblins slammed against the farmhouse door and windows. The boys thrust their spears furiously, sticking and cutting at the dismayed goblins. As Hedor and his men held the reinforced door, they felt the bang and hack of goblin axes.

  Alfred yelled, “Fight them! Fight!” He did this to encourage himself as much as anything. Some of the boys and Cory and Wilden jabbed their spears through their windows with shields held up high. They kept up a furious attack as goblins pounded against the shaking farm. Would it hold?

  Goblin arms pushed through the windows, swinging black blades and axes. Hedor swung violently to hack an arm off. A goblin squealed in pain, falling back as another replaced it.

  Hedor kicked and hacked. “There are too many, Alfred!”

  Chapter Twenty Four: A True Knight

  Oh Father of Light,

  Give this land, this King his might

  Empower then, and bring forth

  That will rise, a powerful Knight!

  With this blessing, Verboden opened his arms toward Gylloth, who raised his sword. A streak of light shone down and encompassed Gylloth. He glowed with a great aura.

  “Go, knight! You are endowed with his Holy Light!” Verboden stepped back.

  “For the king!!! Heeyah!” Gylloth commanded his horse to gallop. He charged from the castle and raced down the hill along a farm road. As he neared weary goblins, they became blinded by the great light and fled with fear into the darkest parts of the forest.