The ratkins chewed at the wood frame of the door, the doorway finally buckled and with a loud clang broke out. A few came out at first, looking about and sniffing the open air. Then more ratkins began to pour through the opening and fan out onto the castle grounds.
Lord Dunther yelled with renewed vigor and charged at the massive swarm. Ratkins met him head on, not knowing the capability of a knight in such armour. Their strength somewhat renewed, Loranna and her girls fired arrow after arrow into the mass. Hedor and his men stood their ground, swinging violently at the stragglers Dunther missed. Alfred, Cory and the boys formed a wall with their shields and stabbed outward to any that passed. Peasants stood at their side, swinging as best they could. The ratkins seemed to fill every gap and opening on the grounds, biting ferociously at anything that moved.
Swinging and crushing many with his spiked fists, Sir Murith fell down by the opening, facing the Great Hall’s doorway. He expected more to burst out at him but was stunned when none came. He stared wide eyed for a moment and then realized there was still much to do. So he turned back toward the remaining ratkins. He yelled out as best his hoarse, weakened voice could, “There are no more! There are no more!”
In a moment of hopeful wishing, Dunther looked up at the door and was astonished at the silent emptiness. He bellowed a war cry of hope, which renewed the strength and bravery of those around him. What started as the attack of the ratkins now turned into their panicked flight. Hundreds still raced about the grounds of the ward, but the attacks of knights, girls, boys, bandits and peasants quickly eliminated them.
Ratkins are ferocious and attack in number, but when there is no greasy ratkin on either side, they feel vulnerable and immediately turn into frightened, shivering, over-sized rodents. The ratkins realized all was lost, their kin were decimated. Only a few were left, scattered and retreating from charging farmers and children. The rats fled, scurrying back into the dungeons, then down into the Underworld never to return.
“Milord, milords!? The goblins! They’re coming!” Abedeyan yelled.
Dunther looked up. Though full of vigor and spirit at having defeated the ratkins, he was reminded that the real battle was yet to come. He looked at the dirty worn state of his few knights. He knew in his heart there was little hope they could defend against a fresh goblin army. He was grateful no one could see the loss of hope on his face within his helm.
Alfred fell down, unable to go on. Cory tried to pick him up but did not have the strength. Seeing Alfred down, Dunther did not feel bitter at him, for all had fought as much as they could. And though Dunther wanted to lie down and give up as well, he trudged as best he could to the walls, to look out to see the goblin horde amassed, ready to attack.
Chapter Thirty Three: One Last Time
Loranna rushed down to Alfred. She knelt beside him and held him. Hedor and his men rushed back to the walls. Hedor carefully helped Dunther up the stairs. The knight was completely exhausted and his armour still very pointy! At the top Hedor stepped past Dunther, braced himself and reached out with his spear. Dunther grabbed it. Hedor pulled him up the final steps. With wobbly legs Dunther leaned against the battlements and stared out.
The vast horde of goblins marched slowly in a V-formation with the point coming straight to the gate below Dunther. He looked down, focusing his mind on the fact that they were not charging.
“They are expecting an easy entry through the gate!” He turned to the inner ward, to all who were fallen in despair. “Archers!”
Loranna looked up at him. The girls were all sitting or lying down. All looked up at Lord Dunther, hearing his shouts.
“To me! Now! Quickly! One last time!”
Dunther waved at the girls. Something was odd in his stance. He seemed excited, almost giddy.
“ARCHERS!!”
Loranna stood up and was able to help the other girls. Alfred also got up and helped, his curiosity overtaking his weakened state. The archers rose and gathered on the grounds just below Lord Dunther. He pointed to the massive force gathering at the castle wall.
“Fire at will!”
From the ground the archers took up their bows and arrows as best they could and unleashed arrow after arrow over the wall. They fired through bleeding fingers and raw skin. The farmers joined in, as most had decent skills in archery. They didn’t have to aim, just fire their arrows over the wall. Thankfully, there were plenty of bows and arrows left!
“Broggia!” Dunther hollered, running about with renewed vigor. “Bring bows and more arrows! All who can fire come up now! Come with bow and arrow! All of you! Now!”
Alfred took up a bow from an exhausted girl and began firing arrow after arrow. This piqued the girl to action. She showed a burning desire to help. Alfred winked and gave her bow back as he grabbed an extra one and arrows from Abedeyan. There were plenty to go around. Alfred, Cory, Wilden and the peasants came up. All fired arrow after arrow.
Goblins fell, dozens upon dozens. For a long time they were unaware of their coming demise. They kept beating their drums and howling. They expected the gate to open, giving them an opportunity to rush in easily, raiding, pillaging and taking what they wanted. Instead, they fell by the silent arrows striking them down. Though many died, many more filled their spots. Eventually panic began to rise within their ranks, as they saw many goblins falling at their feet and the gate still had not opened.
The goblins at the gate panicked first. They realized the gates were indeed not opening and saw archers amassing on the wall, firing at them. They began to push back but were crowded in on all sides. This lead to a more densely packed crowd of goblins making them easy targets for arrows headed their way. Most landed on exposed necks, shoulders, throats and of course various parts of their goblin faces.
As feeble and fatigued as the people were, they were united and able to keep firing rapid volleys of arrows. Every able-bodied person on the walls and grounds was firing away! It was literally raining down arrows.
They didn’t have to aim or worry about the onslaught of goblins. Since there was no ducking or hand-to-hand combat, they were able to use all their strength to fire at their own unhurried pace. The sound of rising panic within the sea of goblins grew and grew. Howling fear spread like fire from the front line across thousands of unwitting goblins further back.
Dunther watched as goblins began spreading out and fleeing in all directions. There were a few islands of staunch stubborn leaders, the larger goblins on their boars, yelling and barking at those fleeing. They were surrounded by their bravest and most ferocious, but eventually they too were soon met by a volley of arrows. As half a dozen of their own fell, including leaders and boars, the rest realized the futility in standing against the tide.
Still, a few foolhardy goblins, in either hatred of men or utter fear in failing the witch, came forward. They mustered what few they could to head to the gate, to hack at it with axe and hammer.
Unexpectedly, the gates opened. The goblins became excited. In their greed for pillage, they advanced without calling back to their fleeing brethren. They were met by the spike-ridden black-armoured knights. For a moment, recognizing the armour as goblin style, they thought they were seeing some of their great warriors. Or perhaps the witch had provided powerful forces to aid them. But no matter, the goblins rushed in, looking for the easy kill, the easy plunder.
They were stunned when the knights with spiked maces and shields began hammering at them. The hundred or so goblins and boar riders that advanced were suddenly and quite thoroughly annihilated. As tough as goblins are, there is nothing more ferocious than a prickly armoured knight leaping at them and hugging them with dozens of spikes and nails.
The victory was complete. The ratkin swarm was nearly wiped out, and the goblin army decimated and routed. The dead of the enemy was in the thousands upon thousands.
Never in these lands had such a battle been waged, nor had any opposing force so thoroughly routed the armies of Gorbogal. She had defeated many armi
es of men, dominating the lands of the West and South. She had ensured that all lived in fear and oppression. It was inconceivable that such a defeat could happen so close to her home—or some might call it a lair.
And though Gorbogal would have desired to eradicate this inconsequential kingdom that she had known and destroyed long ago, though she could have easily razed it with her magical powers and greater armies, she was now prevented from doing so. When word spread of the demise of her ratkin swarm and goblin horde, the free peoples of many lands found the courage to gather their forces and revolt against her. Gorbogal now was under siege on many fronts and once again had to contend with the bravery of man.
But that is another story.
We are focused on this small, lost kingdom of the Westfold and on a tired worn boy who, holding a goblin spear and wearing a small spiked helmet, became a warrior king. Who would have ever believed that peasants and common folk, bandits and children, would unite behind and follow this strange boy into battle? Or who could have imagined seeing royal knights bowing before a youngster because his clever ideas for defending a castle, a fortress they had lost, were successful? They called this boy a monarch… King Alfred, the Boy King.
Chapter Thirty Four: The Honor at the Field
The next day while all were still weak and wounded, the people walked down a path near the Keep. Their eyes were downcast and weeping was the only sound that could be heard. Sir Gorham, Sir Murith, Lord Tahnwhithe and Lord Dunther walked aside a small cart with the covered beaten and broken bodies of their brothers-in-arms, Lord Byrom and Lord Dulocke. They were buried with identical simple stone markers next to Lord Gylloth in a grove near the Keep.
While all were in the grove mourning their loss, Alfred stepped forward nervously and spoke suddenly. “We all live, while the knights die.”
Dunther covered his eyes.
Sir Gorham wept openly.
Sir Murith kept the stern face of a proud young warrior, wiping only his nose.
Lord Tahnwhithe stood as still as a statue.
“Thank you” echoed softly in the grove that day. Verboden, weak from healings, leaned heavily on his staff and helped by others, spoke a soft blessing of sending. Sending them away.
In the days that followed, the people of the Westfold spent time bandaging the hurt, resting sore muscles and aching bones. Many of the children had come down with feverish conditions as they healed from their wounds and strain. Verboden, looking near catatonic, kept up his healing spells even as he needed rest himself. The peasants began clearing out the massive mounds of dead goblins and ratkins in and around the castle. A mountain of the dead was made outside the Keep. Alfred and Cory helped, resting often, as they were still weary. Hedor and his men stacked dead bodies high on the ghastly pile. Every able body helped in this gruesome yet needed task to minimize the stench and prevent disease from breaking out. Strong women, as well, dragged dead goblin after goblin, ratkin after ratkin, to the pile. The only two that seemed energized were Broggia and Boggin. They picked greedily through the dead, collecting all sorts of metals and scraps as well as blades and arrows.
Over the coming days, Lord Dunther and his knights roamed the fields and farms, rooting out any goblin stragglers. Though the battle had ended, there was still anxiety that goblins and ratkins would regroup and return. But none came. The knights found a few squealing frightened critters hiding here and there and killed them.
Slowly, the heavy atmosphere turned to cheer, and the people worked with a renewed sense of pride in what they had endured and accomplished together.
The men brought in loads of wood to use for a fire on the great mound. Loranna and the girls collected bramble and kindling.
It was on this day, amidst carnage and decay, that a song would be made of a moment not yet fully understood. The moment would change many people in the days to come. Many small and unimportant beings and peasant folk across the land would speak of this day as a day for all.
Lord Dunther and the knights returned and rode up to the tired common folk who labored slowly on the great mound of the dead goblins and ratkins. All were dirty and worn. All were covered by filth from the fallen. Somehow this did not matter to Lord Dunther and his knights. As they rode up, the people stood aside, concerned about the disposition of such powerful and dominating men.
Alfred and Cory were resting on a rock near a stack of goblins they were intent on carrying. Broggia and Boggin were still scavenging arms and armour in the filth. They stopped as everyone looked up to see Dunther and his knights dismount.
The people stood back. Tired and begrimed, Loranna and her girls stood near their parents. Some huddled under the arms of mothers or fathers. Lord Dunther walked up to Loranna’s quivering parents and extended an open hand to Loranna. She hid behind her mother. Dunther motioned for her again. She looked pleadingly at her mother, but the size and shape of a fully armed knight with a great sword crusted with the blood of many goblins was too overwhelming. She stepped out, toward him.
Lord Dunther led her to Sir Murith, who had raised a flag. It was a dirty red tapestry on a simple pole pushed into the ground. Yet it shined like a majestic banner as the sun was lowering into the red of an evening sky. Dunther then motioned for the other girls to come forward. Some were reluctant. Others walked up and stood by Loranna, leading the rest to follow. They cowered together below the banner. Mothers wavered, wanting to rush up and take their daughters back, but were held back by the fathers, who feared the knights.
As the sun set, it caused worn armour to gleam as if new. Lord Dunther stood with Sir Murith, Lord Tahnwhithe, and Sir Gorham, shoulder to shoulder, facing the girls and the banner. Then unexpectedly, they each bowed on one knee for a long silent moment. The girls were stunned and then hugged each other and cried. Mothers rushed forward. Fathers cried tears of pride. Something took place that day that had never happened in the history of the peoples of the West.
No king or peasant, no emperor or warlord, no brigand or bandit, no wizard or cleric, no sage or seer had ever heard of such a thing. Even the people who stood before these knights, the weary and dirty peasants, the mothers and fathers of these few girls, did not quite understand what happened.
Abedeyan licked his dry lips and leaned on his rake, knowing full well that a legend was taking shape before his eyes.
As the seasons passed and in times of peace when they spoke of this moment, when the minstrel sang the song, “Honor at the Field,” all knew that royal knights had bestowed the highest praise imaginable on a few peasant girls.
As quietly as they had bowed, the knights rose and turned to get back on their horses. As the sun set, they were wary, thinking there could be more goblin stragglers to dispense with that night. Lord Dunther swore under his breath that as long as he was alive, no farmer, no man, no woman and no child of this land would be hurt by those foul creatures. So the knights rode off on the hunt.
Days turned into weeks with no goblin or ratkin sightings. It was amazing for all to see, especially for several dozen minstrels and a collection of traveling merchants who came to observe for themselves what happened in the forgotten Westfold. They had never encountered anything like this. All came, migrating to where great stories are to be seen and heard.
Like other visitors, the troubadours were fascinated by the tale of the battle and traded performances for every story local people would tell them. At night crowds celebrated with singing and dancing at the farms, in the castle or outside of it surrounded by makeshift tents. That summer was an endless festival. As the tales spread, many more visitors came to hear what had transpired—a small kingdom had defied the great evil witch!
Alfred and the knights were told of great troubles in distant lands. A merchant from Telehistine, a renowned seaport, told them that some of Gorbogal’s forces were there now, laying siege to its outer kingdoms. He subtly remarked that if it wasn’t for this distraction, Gorbogal would have easily overrun the Westfold. Dunther rebuked the assertion. Alfred mere
ly nodded in acceptance.
After a long thoughtful pause, Alfred looked seriously at the merchant and said “We are all in this together. Only united may we defeat her.”
The merchant had been hired to learn about this small remote area for the merchants of Telehistine. He was not a spy looking for weakness in the castle’s defenses or devising a devious trap to destroy its walls. He just did not disclose that he was in direct communication with the hardened Merchant Lords of Telehistine. He was sent to assess this new ruler, to see if they should begin a dialogue to work together. The few words King Alfred spoke were enough. “Thank you, your majesty,” the merchant said. “I will send word that there is interest in exploring an alliance.” With that, he bowed and left.
King Alfred felt encouraged by all that was happening and how the people were at one with each other. There was the constant clatter of hammers and saws and the voices of team leaders and workers. Many repairs were under way in the castle, it's towers and the King's Hall. Many craftsmen and tradesmen scattered throughout the lands were flocking to the small keep to find work. Alfred felt a sense of pride in the rebuilding and growing of the kingdom.
Constantly looming in the back of his mind was his concern that another confrontation with Gorbogal was brewing. He knew that the four knights, the children with bows and spears, and the peasants were not going to be enough. Yet somehow, he was able to remain at peace.
He looked around and was amazed at all that was going on. Dunther was now busy instructing Cory and the other boys in combat. Loranna and the girls continued honing their archery skills. Broggia and Boggin were busy smelting goblin metal, scooping out impurities to create stronger metal and hammering out pieces of armour and arms. They were all busy rebuilding and preparing.
Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1) Page 27
