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

by Ron Smorynski

  “That is folly,” said Murith. “Even if we could arm everyone, even if we had our old armour and swords, we would be overrun. It is just as you said!”

  “Yes, even long ago when the ratkins made this hole, whether Lord Dunther was here or not, you would have fallen,” Alfred said. “They’ll surround you from all sides and easily kill you, Sir Murith. Small little ratkins can do this. But you won’t be surrounded. They will. Loranna and all the archers will be up there along all sides surrounding them. They are great archers. They are! However, that is not all we will need. We will need you knights here as well.”

  “Even if these young children are good archers, the mass of ratkins that would pour through this opening would eventually overtake us,” Lord Tahnwhithe duly noted.

  “Have you guys ever heard of pro-wrestling?” Alfred asked.

  “Yes, of course, we are well trained in the art of wrestling,” Lord Tahnwhithe said with pride.

  “You expect us to wrestle a bunch of armed ratkins?” Murith asked.

  “Yes,” Alfred said, pausing a moment to let it sink in. All of the knights raised their eyebrows, including Lord Byrom and Du Locke. Unbeknownst to them, Gorham had joined them and stood above in the shadows just beyond the balcony wall. “Only, your armour, mailed fists, small shields, boots, backs, helmets and knees will be riddled with protruding spikes.”

  Lord Tahnwhithe and Murith shared an amused glance. What Alfred was suggesting had never been done. Everyone found it intriguing.

  “Every move you make, every swing, roll, fall, climb, jump, clamber and tumble will be a deadly strike on numerous yet far inferior and weaker creatures than yourselves. Every leap and climb they attempt on your armour will only bring pain and death to them. Every attempt to bring you down will only bring down a wall of spikes on them. – This is our time.“

  Byrom stood up. He was nearly twice the height of all and definitely twice the girth. Du Locke came from the shadows, his eyes glistening with vengeance. Lord Tahnwhithe’s eyes gazed with bravery. Murith smiled and licked his lips.

  Then they heard resounding applause from above. Gorham walked out from the shadows, standing above them on the balcony and clapped. “Well done, King Alfred. If there is any chance at all, that may be it.”

  “Well, here it is, the ‘proto-type’ as Alfred put it,” Broggia said as he showed the knights the new armour. It was made of goblin pieces with spikes of various lengths poking out from many sides.

  “I kept the spikes short and more dense where I suspect you may fall or roll. I don’t want them all breaking off at once. The longest spikes are here, along the maul, the shoulders and helmet.”

  “It looks a bit ugly. It is not really noble-like, now is it?” Lord Tahnwhithe remarked. Broggia huffed.

  Murith touched the armour with keen interest.

  “Would you like to try it on?” Broggia said with excitement.

  Murith nodded. As Broggia and Boggin tightened the straps, Broggia had to calm Murith down so as not to be killed by him. “Not the slightest move, please, milord.” Before long he was fully suited.

  Murith waited patiently, barely, but as soon as they were done, he moved about with wrestling moves. He rushed about the ward scaring everyone and hitting things he shouldn’t. He rolled onto one of the looms where the weavers had done work and obliterated it. Everything he came into contact with was utterly destroyed.

  In his excitement, he leaped at the door and got stuck there like a helpless ornament. “Help!” he yelled.

  Broggia and Lord Byrom rushed up and carefully pried him from the door, both reacting several times from repeated pokes. Murith, in his forgetfulness, reached out to hug Byrom, who screamed in utter pain as he backed away.

  “Squire, I’ll get you!” Byrom grabbed up several large pieces of wood and tossed them at Murith. Each piece knocked Murith back and stuck to him as well.

  “Oh, I’m sorry! Sorry, Lord Byrom! Truly, I’m sorry.” Murith cried.

  Lord Byrom was bleeding from many small holes. He and everyone present couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his wounds caused by a squire’s hug. Their mirth increased when they saw Murith lying there, stuck with large pieces of lumber he was trying to remove.

  Lord Dunther stood in the outer ward. He stared at the awesome display of knights before him, each fitted in spiked dark goblin armour. Each looked like something out of a nightmare, like terrible demons in shadow armour. Lord Tahnwhithe looked embarrassed. He knew this was not proper attire for a noble knight. Deep down he was hoping Lord Dunther would not approve.

  “Well, what do you think?” Alfred asked.

  Dunther blinked slowly. Gorham came out in his attire and looked the most ferocious. He carried a spiked mace, with spikes all along it and a spiked shield.

  “Hey, where’d you get that?” Murith asked.

  “I made it!” Gorham said. He held it up to Murith and then tossed it at him. Catching it in the wrong place, Murith grimaced. Then he carefully removed it from his hand. Once he held the spike-free grip, he forgot his pain and swung the mace.

  “I want one. Can I have one?”

  Gorham laughed, “It’s yours. I’ll make some more.”

  Broggia joined in. “My son can make some more, if you like.”

  Gorham looked at him. “That would be an honor.”

  Broggia bowed.

  Dunther smiled and then looked at Alfred. “Well, where’s mine?”

  Murith rushed at the boys, not in his spiked armour, of course, but wrapped in many wads of leather with two big triangle cut pieces that looked like large ears. He almost looked like a rat as he rushed about the dungeon corridors. He yelled and screeched and leapt at the boys. He knocked many over and pulled and tugged at their spears and shields. He finally got several boys stacked in a pile, put his foot on them and raised his arms in victory, yelping and hollering. Several other boys rushed in from all sides with their sticks pointing at him. Murith leapt about but knew he was trapped. He raised his arms in surrender but was given no quarter as the boys continued to poke their wooden sticks at him.

  He laughed with each poke, “Alright, alright, I surrender!”

  Gorham entered the area. “Good, you helped your fellow men. But you men cannot let the ferocity of the ratkins overtake you.”

  The boys stood up from their fallen positions. Alfred, Cory and the rest listened intently. They were all especially dirty and tired looking. Murith stood behind, readjusting his ratkin-like costume and protective pieces.

  “Right, let’s do it again!” Gorham said, clapping.

  The boys moaned and groaned, but Gorham would have none of it. “Move soldiers!! Move!!!”

  Hedor stood atop one of the towers, looking into the night sky. He had a small oil lamp to keep his hands warm.

  “You should not have that lamp lit,” said Dunther, slowly ascending the small wooden ladder.

  Hedor stood still. “Milord.”

  “It is much harder to see in the darkest nights when your eyes grow lazy by a fire,” Dunther said. Hedor nodded and blew out the lamp. The cold blue light of night seeped in.

  “Alfred told me of your stand with Gylloth, fighting off the goblin raiders,” Dunther paced along the tower parapets, looking at the quiet dark landscape below.

  “Yes, milord, he fought bravely.” Hedor rubbed his hands in the cool night.

  “So did you.”

  Hedor kept a smug look.

  “And so did your men.”

  Hedor nodded.

  “You were all farmers once?” Dunther inquired.

  Hedor nodded. Since Dunther was looking down, he did not see his response. So Hedor stuttered a reply, “Yes, farmers, but we have no farms now.”

  “All of us have lost something,” Dunther replied. ”Now King Alfred is helping us to get something back.”

  Hedor nodded, knowing that this time Dunther’s gaze was upon him.

  “I need good men, good fighting men,” Dunther said
. “When the knights and… children… are fighting for their lives in that Keep, we will need men out here holding back the goblins, holding back Gorbogal’s horde.”

  Hedor looked up to meet Dunther’s gaze.

  “I need a captain. I need a man-at-arms up here,” Dunther said.

  Hedor mixed a shrug with a nod. Or was he just responding to the chill in the air?

  “Good,” said Dunther with a nod, climbing back down the ladder. “Good night, Captain Hedor.”

  Chapter Thirty: The Battle Begins

  Farmers hurried into the Keep. Dunther, Tahnwhithe and Murith rode on the three remaining horses to help peasants get to the castle. Goblin scouts had appeared. Groups of them spread across the land, creating panic and fear.

  Farmers and castle folk stood on the walls. Each time they saw a new column of smoke rise in the sky, they would speculate on whose farm it was. The goblin raiders were burning whatever they found standing. Farmers and their wives cried when they realized which column of smoke seen must be coming from their very own farms.

  They had prepared for this moment. All the seed and fruits of harvest were in the castle as well as important tools, livestock and belongings. Each family had a designated area within the walls where they could put up makeshift tents and store their belongings. They hugged each other for comfort and for hope.

  In their traditional though minimal armour with sword and shield, the brave knights galloped across fields and pastures. The goblins hurried through the darkest patches of forest, trying to ambush fleeing farmers along narrow roads. The knights were well prepared. Dunther, Tahnwhithe, and Murith quickly dispensed the scattered raiders. These short-lived creatures never saw such defiance in men, especially men with well fed horses and sharpened lances. They expected an easy slaughter of struggling peasants. Instead, it was a slaughter and routing of goblins.

  “All are accounted for, and all are well!” Abedeyan yelled from the gate. Alfred, Gorham, and Verboden were helping families with their goods. It was a prodigious affair. Chickens flew. Cows mooed. Pigs snorted. Gorham rushed to the gate, peering across the land. Alfred hurried over. Abedeyan was at the wheel, making sure it was ready to lower.

  Cory rushed out from the Great Hall. “All the boys are in, sir,” addressing Alfred. “We are setting up our defensive positions in the dungeons.”

  “Good! Make sure everyone is well fed. Then establish patrols and rest times. Everyone must be ready when the ratkins attack,” Alfred said.

  Cory saluted Alfred and left.

  Gorham and Verboden could not help but smile. Alfred noticed and asked meekly, “What?” Even in such circumstances, both tried to nod away their affection for their king. Who happened to be a boy.

  Alfred walked through a dark corridor with a candle as his only light source. He entered the tower hall where Tirnalth once resided. It was empty. He sat at the table. “Tirnalth, where are you? I hope you are okay. We could use you, your help.”

  Verboden entered and sat next to Alfred. “He’s okay. I feel it.”

  “I’m wondering about Gorbogal’s mist. Do you think she found him?”

  “No, I don’t. But I am not sure. If she did, I would think something more grand would have happened, even more grand than a few ratkins and goblins attacking. She would have come herself.”

  “Is he hiding at his place, in that great hall of books?”

  “I am not sure. I will pray for him, and I will pray that he returns.”

  Alfred put his head on the table.

  “You have done well, Alfred. I can see why Tirnalth risked so much to bring you here. Even without his memory, he knew in his heart that we needed you. You are a great king. No matter what happens, you have brought back the light and restored hope in all of us. No one would begrudge you for bringing joy to us this moment, even with evil knocking at the door.”

  The sun was setting and darkness seeping in. On the horizon all manner of poles and banners appeared.

  “Here they come!” Lord Dunther bellowed.

  “Why haven’t the ratkins come?” Alfred wondered aloud.

  “Don’t worry, King Alfred. They will come! The goblins will make one meek attack upon these walls to get us focused and worried about our outer defenses. Then the ratkins will strike from within. They will think we are vulnerable, having made the fatal flaw of looking out instead of being ready to defend within. But we will not make that mistake, – because of you King Alfred. Indeed, we will not be vulnerable at all.”

  Lord Dunther could not help but smile at Alfred. “Murith,” he said, “make sure Broggia and Boggin have that pro-wrestler armour ready!”

  Murith nodded and leapt down from the wall in regular knight's armour with sword at hand.

  “Pro-wrestler armour?”

  “Well, that’s what you called it. Didn’t you? Pro-wrestler!”

  “Well… sort of…”

  As his eyes gazed at the horizon, Alfred went quiet. The sun was nearly gone. Besides banners and flagpoles, he now saw a mass of spears appearing among the hills.

  “A goblin horde indeed,” Dunther hissed.

  They could faintly hear the drumbeats. It seemed there were hundreds of drummers. At first the sound seemed chaotic, each drummer beating to his own rhythm. Soon enough they were in unison, making one thunderous beat after another. Goblins on boars raced about, barking and roaring orders to keep others in line. The goblins formed groups, covering the slopes of the hills and valleys. They waited for their order to charge up the slope to the lone keep.

  Captain Hedor rushed from wall to wall to encourage his two dozen men. They were spread out along four walls and four towers.

  Abedeyan slowly climbed up the stairs to where Alfred and Dunther stood. “How is it going?” he asked. Upon reaching the top and viewing the immense field below with goblins filling every slope and patch of green, he answered himself, “Oh my!”

  Captain Hedor came up to where Alfred and Dunther stood, passing the paralyzed Abedeyan. “We have only a few men on each wall. If they attack us from all sides, we will easily be overrun! I hope this is only meant to be a distraction. We won’t be able to hold them back!”

  Dunther and Alfred were clearly unsure of what to do. The immensity of the situation, regardless of any planning or strategy, was just overwhelming.

  “If any one of my men are lost, the essential defense of these walls is doomed,” Captain Hedor said.

  Abedeyan bowed silently and hurried away.

  “We will be here as long as we can,” said Lord Dunther. ”The knights will have to retreat into the Keep to change armour quickly before the ratkins arrive. I don’t want to expose the new armour or our plans of defense to them. It may look like there are only goblins out there, but I’m certain Gorbogal has eyes here somewhere. I know it!”

  “Look! Up there!” someone yelled out.

  All looked up and then ducked as something huge swooped across the dark sky, blotting out stars as it passed. The wail of a giant vulture screech could be heard across the valley.

  Alfred ran to the boys in the dungeons. He was already prepared with small armoured pieces on his shoulders, elbows and knees, and he had on thick leather gloves. As with all the boys’ spears, his was a goblin spear designed for battle against the ratkins, with spikes protruding outward from the upper shaft.

  Each boy also had small shields with spikes, and each shield had a round hole to shove a spear through. The boys were separated into groups and placed in specific corridors with metal gates hammered into place. All the gates also had protruding spikes. The boys stood behind them for protection. The smaller boys rushed about laying caltrops—twisted metal stars placed on the ground with one end sticking up.

  Alfred rushed from group to group, encouraging them and seeing that all was made ready. He gave Cory the thumbs up and then rushed up to the Great Hall.

  Loranna and the girls were placing their bundles of arrows at choice points along the balcony. All were aiming and test
ing their bows. Each had two or three bows and piles and piles of small arrows ready.

  Alfred stopped and gazed at Loranna for a long moment. Their eyes met, and there was a shared sense of joy. The noise from the girls with their bows and arrows and the distant sound of booming goblin drums brought them back to the task at hand. Loranna adjusted a pad on Alfred’s shoulder to get in close. She hugged him. He hugged back as best he could with his spear and shield in his hands.

  They nodded, as there were no words to speak. Loranna wiped a tear away and turned to give orders, to make sure all was ready. Alfred rushed out to the walls.

  As he sprinted, he ran into Abedeyan, who was leading the peasants. Broggia and Boggin rushed about giving out their load of goblin swords and axes, shields and pot helms. “Take one. Take all! Come on! We’re all in this together!”

  “These are a bit small,” a farmer said.

  “They're sharper than your rake or hoe!” Boggin said.

  “Smell odd?” another farmer commented.

  “With goats all day and you’re concerned about the smell!?” Boggin retorted.

  Broggia noticed Alfred and bowed as best he could given he was carrying a handful of goblin accouterments. Peasants, men and women who were strong and could fight gathered what they could. The youngest of children and the oldest of peasants cried and held each other in the shadows of the walls and towers as their fathers and mothers, or sons and daughters, prepared themselves for the fight of their lives.

  Abedeyan led them to the walls, separating them into groups to ascend stairs on each side.

  Lord Dunther and Captain Hedor turned to see the peasants coming forth. Dunther advanced to stop them but was stopped by Hedor. “It’s our only chance. It’s their only chance.”

  With the weight of the situation on his heart, Dunther knew it was not his pride being hurt. He was worried for these people as they passed him and took up positions along the walls. He shuddered when a farmer's wife, weighted unsurely by metal, passed him.