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

by Ron Smorynski

  Finally, a larger ratkin boss appeared to figure out what was going on. It was the size of a large man but with fur, thicker skin and muscular limbs. It emerged from a swirl of ratkins. It had a few arrows in it but was able to reach Sir Murith, who was busy fighting many smaller ones around him. Sir Murith was unaware of the great rat behind him. It raised a large fat cleaver that looked like it could cut through metal and limb.

  Loranna saw this and immediately responded. “Concentrate all fire on the big one!” she yelled. The girls from all three balconies turned their bows towards the ratkin leader.

  “Row one fire!” Loranna yelled.

  The shower of arrows littered the ratkin’s bulbous back. This stopped its impending swing.

  Sir Murith easily swatted ratkins away as he twirled around. He was stunned at the behemoth before him.

  “Row two fire!” Loranna yelled.

  Another shower of arrows pin-cushioned the beast. It wavered as it tried to swing its giant cleaver.

  “Row three fire!” Loranna yelled hoarsely, unleashing her own arrow.

  The arrows shot true, with hers piercing its head, popping out a black orb of an eye! Yuch!

  It fell before Sir Murith! Standing behind it, as if waiting to see the outcome, were more ratkins, not in the least delighted by this outcome.

  Sir Murith saluted up to the girls and leapt into the fray, swinging and bashing and splattering ratkin after ratkin.

  Loranna and the girls looked wide eyed at each other, almost giddy. Loranna shook out of it quickly and yelled, “Keep firing! Keep firing!”

  Their arrows hit easily in this mess of ratkin swarms. As the mass toppled over itself to move forward around the deadly swirl of knights, a wall of them would come crashing down with a dozen arrows in them. The girls rushed along the balcony, many just firing arrow after arrow. Others gathered around Loranna and began volleys at choice spots. This gave the knights time to clear dead rats off their spiked maces and spiked armour or kick and punch their way out from under piles of the dead.

  Though the knights caused much devastation, the girls’ arrows frustrated the ratkins to no end. The ratkins used their own dead to leap upon the knights, who could still be overwhelmed by them. As they toppled a knight and were getting the best of him, at much cost, a sudden continuous volley of arrows would weaken their resolve giving the knight his chance to leap up, pull off the spiked dead and begin anew. The knights continued their pummeling and kicking at the thwarted ratkins.

  Some ratkins, perceiving the ambush and seeing the girls above, tried to scale columns to get to them. Loranna pointed at the ascending ratkins and had the girls fire at them. The knights knew this was their chance to repay the girls, so they leapt on the columns, smashing into and yanking down ratkin after ratkin.

  Tahnwhithe still defended the door, but many managed to crawl around him to get to the opening. Alfred had foreseen this and had placed Broggia and Boggin there behind a metal gate that ran across the doorway. They jammed their own spears into the mass of desperate ratkins trying to get out.

  “I don't think so!” Boggin yelled fiercely, pushing his spear in. Broggia grimaced at first nervously but then became incredibly virulent and somewhat vicious. “Okay pops, okay, don't have to get vicious about it!”

  It was truly a slaughter. Thousands came, and thousands died. The floor was covered with puddles of ratkin blood and spittle and bile along with many crushed ratkins in heaps and piles. The knights stood atop the biggest piles so as not to slip continually in the mess of filthy blood. Lord Byrom was unfazed by it. He simply trudged through and bludgeoned his way forward towards the gaping hole to stem the ongoing tide.

  Knights are well trained in wrestling and combat. They are the best and the strongest of men. Though each maneuver, each tumble, roll, jump, leap, kick, bash, smash, crush, twirl, head butt, grapple, and so on resulted in many deaths, more ratkins poured in.

  Even at their best, which these knights were not after many years of deprivation, their energy could not last much longer. Their attacks became awkward, in some cases dizzying, as they flailed with waning strength. Each began to show wear and tear and breathe heavily. For each moment given them before the next swelling of ratkins, they would kneel to rest in utter exhaustion. For each new attack wave their swings were a bit wilder than the last. No man could last this long. The knights had gone beyond their breaking point. Du Locke, the eldest, showed the most endurance. He pulled back knights and leapt into the fray to give Murith, Gorham and even Dunther a moment to breathe.

  Loranna and the girls worked hard to keep firing non-stop. Eventually, all had bleeding fingers, some had raw skin. They became so weary they could hardly pull their bow strings back far enough to fire. Some resorted to throwing their arrows, but saw that wasn’t enough force to cause any injury.

  All the knights and the girls were overwhelmed—and stunned that ratkins kept coming. Even down in the dungeon corridors, the boys were doing their part, killing many and piling the dead along the side corridors while herding the rest up to the ambush in the hall. Cory and Alfred were fighting with such ferocity to hold them off that they too were weakening, both physically and mentally. Yet they tried to be aware of any weak points where the ratkins were crawling through to attack.

  They wondered how much longer they could keep this up. All had many cuts and wounds, with many boys falling back in pain from a deep scratch or cut or bite. They didn’t know if they could keep up their fight. The insurmountable odds of defeating the ratkins were starting to take hold in their minds.

  The knights began to retreat, each picking others up while smacking away ratkins with exhausted limbs. They held their ground at the door, surrounded by what seemed unlimited numbers of the gathering foe.

  Verboden came to the gate and ordered Broggia and Boggin to open it. They did and peeled away at the dead ratkins to allow him to pass. Many ratkins leaped at the chance to run out in the open and advance the killing spree. They were frothing for the chance to bite. Broggia and Boggin immediately closed the gate once Verboden was through.

  Verboden had prepared for this moment with all his spirit. He pushed forward his staff, and a light as piercing as the sun and as white as the moon burst upon the ratkins. It caused them to retreat and topple upon one another in fear. The light blinded many. Accustomed only to the darkest of realms, they screamed and fell, clutching at deadened eyes.

  Verboden slipped often on the gruesome rat-filled floor but kept moving forward. It was his moment to give his all to help in the fight. The knights fell back exhausted, trying to hold each other up, feeling as if every muscle in their bodies were paralyzed. Verboden thrust his staff into a pile of ratkins, where it stuck. The ratkins climbed back atop each other, unable to penetrate the incredible aura of light to attack the knights.

  Then Verboden turned toward the fallen and weary knights and waved his hand.

  Utter light, utter soul,

  give them hope, give them might!

  Purity of strength

  wash over them!

  Purity of will

  lift them up!

  Purity of heart,

  Give this day, to the knights!

  With each incantation Verboden clapped his hands, creating a booming noise above the shrieks of ratkins, which were piling up like a swirling wall of flesh. The knights felt their spirits lift and found a renewed surge of strength. They lifted their heads, then got to one knee. Then slowly, painfully, they stood up tall. The six black knights with spiked armour – Lord Dunther, Sir Gorham, Lord Tahnwhithe, Lord Byrom, Lord DuLocke and Sir Murith—stood side by side. They raised their fists. Lord Dunther yelled, “For the King!”

  And the others responded, “For the King!”

  And Dunther yelled, “For Country!”

  And the others yelled, “For Country!”

  Dunther looked up to the girls. They looked down at the spiritual magic of Verboden, smiling and tearing with a renewed sense of hope. He
yelled to them, “For the People!”

  And the knights yelled, “For the People!”

  Then they charged into the massive wall of ratkins. Arrows flew past them to knock down the first row as the knights dove into the mass, almost disappearing when the wall of ratkins toppled over them.

  Verboden stepped back as his light waned. He grabbed his staff, easily leapt over the barricade and ran along the stairs that led up to the balcony. Many ratkins tried to follow him but got stuck in the barricade of spikes. Verboden turned and used his staff with fury, knocking back ratkin after ratkin.

  The ratkins finally realized that this was the way to the girls, to stop them from firing arrows. But it was too late. Verboden was there now, swinging his staff in quick jabs and swats. A meager touch of his staff thrust the ratkins back into their own.

  Lord Byrom, the first to break out of the mass, heard the desperation of the boys below, screaming to each other to fall back.

  Alfred and Cory could barely hold their positions as boys fell back behind them with cut hands and feet. As blocked up as each corridor was, the frustrated and enraged ratkins began to break open the gates or squirm through bent bars. At this point, more boys were hurting on the ground than standing. Alfred knew they could hold no longer. He had them back away together as the wall of dead ratkins gave away to furious live ones. Many were suffocating due to their masses, but many more were still able to push aside their dead and the gates to get to the boys.

  Alfred hurriedly yanked the boys away. They had to retreat out of the tunnels, as they had done all they could do in those tight confines. “Up! Up! We must go!” he yelled above the maddening squeals.

  Just then many gates began to buckle, and ratkins poured in after the fallen boys. Seriously weakened, Alfred and Cory stood to protect crying boys too wounded or weak to flee in time. Ratkins swirled to the openings, ready to exact vengeance on their tormentors.

  All of a sudden, Lord Byrom dropped down and squashed the incoming tide. He leapt from the top, bulldozing his way from the great hole. “I have you, my king!” he yelled as he leapt through, rolling down upon the forming ratkins. With each roll he crushed scores of ratkins, and he banged against the tunnels and gates, yanking ratkins away from Alfred and the boys.

  “Hurry, my king! Save them!”

  Hurriedly and with renewed strength, Alfred and Cory pulled the boys away to narrow stairs that led up to the hall.

  Within the tight confines, even after crushing a mass of ratkins against the walls, the space became so constricting that Lord Byrom became exhausted and was overwhelmed. The rats with their tiny spears were able to find their way within his armour. He roared from the pain and had to summon all his strength as he continued the crushing fury. Then he yelled out one last gasp, “For the King!”

  The other knights fighting furiously in the Great Hall heard.

  “Hurry, up, go go!” Alfred screamed at the boys, pushing and yanking them on.

  “Lord Byrom, my friend!” Lord DuLocke yelled his first words in years. He leapt into the tunnel, killing dozens upon dozens as he skillfully slid down. He grabbed Byrom’s hand as he became fully covered with motionless dead ratkins. A second and third layer of ratkins leapt upon him. He worked with fury to try to save his friend, knowing he was too late. He began to slow, as exhaustion and fate overtook him.

  DuLocke did his best to clear the ratkins. In his haste he did not see the large one rearing up behind him, having come from another tunnel. In the tight space it was still able to swing its heavy cleaver down onto DuLocke's armour. The ratkins then jumped on DuLocke. In DuLocke’s last stand, gurgling in pain, he leapt upon the huge ratkin, spiking and bashing it. He died next to Byrom, under a massive swirling of vicious rodents.

  Due to Lord Byrom’s and DuLocke’s efforts below, the Great Hall finally thinned of more swarming ratkins. Dunther, Gorham, Tahnwhithe and Murith, having a moment to breathe, found energy to fight the few stragglers remaining and pull ratkins from each other’s armour. Those few brief moments helped them regain focus from the chaos of battle.

  Loranna and the girls quickly wrapped cloth, torn from the skirts, scarves and the like, on their hands.

  Verboden nimbly leapt on a heap of ratkins and endowed the knights with what blessings he could muster.

  Once their strength was somewhat renewed, Murith remembered, “Byrom and DuLocke are down there!” He climbed atop the ratkin piles. The others followed but quickly stopped as they saw Alfred and the boys coming out of the rear of the Hall, as all knew the various corridors to retreat.

  “What of Byrom and Dulocke?” Murith asked. Alfred, in his grime and filth, carrying up a younger boy whose arm was dangling with blood, shook his head, “No.”

  A buildup of chattering could be heard from below. “We make our last stand outside!” Dunther said. “Come now, come all of you.”

  With that and with what energy they had left, they crawled their way out. The girls followed, carrying as many arrows as they could.

  Broggia and Boggin pulled open the front doors as the knights fell out into the cool air. The boys and the girls staggered out, wounded, cut, and exhausted. Peasant women, many the mothers of blood drenched boys and girls, rushed up in horror, taking their children to care for them and love on them this fateful day. The air was cool, and a breeze helped clear away the stench of ratkins. They knew the battle was not over, but they had renewed energy and strength within. They now believed that it was possible to defend the castle.

  Dunther stooped over with hands to knees and breathed heavily, coughing up blood and spit. The women poured water over the knights to cool them and clear out the ratkin blood and goo.

  Captain Hedor approached them. “Lord Dunther, the goblins have not attacked. They are obviously waiting for the fall of the defenses from within. It looks like they will be waiting a long time, thanks to you.”

  They shared what smiles they could. Dunther looked gruesome and quite evil in the black spiked helmet covered with ratkin blood. Between coughs he managed to say, “It’s not over yet.”

  Chapter Thirty Two: The Battle Within

  Broggia and Boggin secured the door leading out of the Great Hall. Upon hearing the screeches of ratkins emerging from within, they rushed down the few steps to the courtyard. Lady Nihan and her ladies quickly passed around water to the remaining knights, Dunther, Gorham, Tahnwhithe and Murith. The knights quickly removed their black blood-ridden helms. They gulped greedily from ladles. Loranna and the girls carried their bundles of arrows and set up behind the knights.

  Much to everyone’s surprise, Lord Dunther took a ladle of water and offered it to Loranna.

  She yelled to the girls, “Archers, set up on the walls, have arrows ready.”

  “Drink water first!”

  All the girls paused in confusion.

  With not a moment to lose, Loranna took the ladle from the Lord Knight and thanked him with her eyes and a nod. Little did she know, this interchange would be written in song and lore. She drank heavily, then passed it on. Never had anyone seen a Lord Knight hand a young maiden a drink of water, ever, let alone during a pause in a great battle that enlisted the girl's help. The girls set down their gear and quickly came to get water. Rehydrated and energized, they gathered up their arrows and rushed to the walls.

  Alfred and Cory and a few of the older boys drank water and readied themselves for the next battle. They stood beside the knights. “We are here, Lord Dunther. We are ready to fight!”

  Lord Dunther and Gorham could do nothing but smile. Dunther looked at his spiked helmet as they put them back on, and then at Alfred. “You’ve done us wonders, King Alfred. You’ve done such wonders for us all, no matter the end.”

  Alfred focused on the Great Hall's gate and the oncoming tide of ratkins. He paused for a moment and looked into Lord Dunther’s eyes, beyond the black spiked helm and gruesome dripping blood, into the deep wells of hope and glory.

  Verboden passed amongst the gir
ls, healing all that he could and giving them resolve to continue their fight. Some were just too weak and collapsed where they stood. The older peasant folk carried them to a safe place to rest. The hard working farmers and wives came down from the walls. They lined themselves next to the knights and boys. They took up goblin weapons in their unsteady hands. They knew that if there was any chance to survive, it would take every able-bodied person to fight.

  Lord Dunther nodded to each one. They looked down, away from the lord, partly afraid of his visage and partly out of respect for royalty and fear of his rule. Dunther looked away. There was no time for thoughts. The peasants gathered in groups with their weapons as ready as could be. Sir Murith stood in front of many, ready to take on the first wave and to die for them.

  Captain Hedor and his men were still on the walls. He looked out into the darkness. The remaining goblins stood several hundred yards off, beating their drums and waiting patiently. There was still a massive horde of them to deal with. He shook his head. Abedeyan stood near. When Hedor met Abedeyan’s eyes, he handed him his extra blade. “You must man the walls.”

  “Me? But…” Abedeyan fell silent. He looked out into the darkness, out at the multitude of goblins.

  Hedor waved to his men, and all rushed down to the grounds. They stood with the peasants and knights, ready to fight.

  The new ratkins came in to the Great Hall yelling and screeching. Never had they seen so many mounds of dead ratkins. The ratkin cared for no one, for each was always hungry and always in bitter struggle with every life form including its own. They were chattering in anger and madness. There was such a mess of bodies and blood, and the mounds of piled carcasses were unsteady, making it difficult for them to swarm.

  They were equally frustrated that there seemed to be no way to advance out of the hall. Soon enough, a few found the locked doors and could smell the fresh air and scent of humans. They gnawed at the thickset doors. More came up and joined them, gnawing furiously. The screeches and gnawing reverberated, announcing to all the rest that this was the way forward.