White Angel

by R A Oakes

  So, as Lord Pensgraft entered the ramshackle house serving as his headquarters, the giant warrior’s 100 personal guards stayed mounted and surrounded it with swords drawn. These warrior women had great respect for Lord Pensgraft, but they loved Chen, who they viewed as their true master. And none of them wanted to tell the black leather panther that they’d allowed her husband, the father of her baby, Dylancia, to be killed. Chen would find it totally unacceptable if Lord Pensgraft died while his personal guards could still draw breath. So, given that their survival was directly tied to his, the warrior women were generous with their advice and expected Lord Pensgraft to heed their counsel. Saying the giant warrior was nagged would be an understatement, but he owed his life to these demanding, insistent, aggressive women.

  However, as he burst through the front door, nearly knocking it off its hinges, Lord Pensgraft was feeling anything but reassured. Sighing deeply, the giant warrior looked at General Tark, his chief military advisor, and said, “Fighting our way up the mountain trail is going to be even harder than we’d first thought.”

  “What are our chances?”

  “I don’t know, but the way things stand, we’ll suffer enormous losses. If we’re lucky, maybe 1,000 warriors will make it to the top.”

  “If that happens, attempting to storm the castle walls would be suicide.”

  “You’re probably right, but King Tarlen has ordered us to mount an attack on the mountain trail, so come tomorrow morning, we will attack.”

  “Death with honor is the most we can hope for.”

  “Then so be it.”

  Suddenly a loud knock on the door snapped them out of their feelings of impending doom.

  “Enter,” Lord Pensgraft called out.

  Captain Jeriana, head of Lord Pensgraft’s personal guard, strode into the room closely followed by a gaunt-faced, withered old man. “He says he has urgent dispatches for you, my lord.”

  “Urgent dispatches from whom?”

  Appearing frightened, the local villager looked up at the muscular warrior woman for guidance.

  “Go ahead. Show him what you have,” she said giving him some encouragement by gently putting a hand on his shoulder.

  Approaching Lord Pensgraft, he held out a leather pouch with both hands. After accepting it, the giant warrior nodded to Captain Jeriana, who pulled a chair out from the wobbly kitchen table and offered it to the elderly man.

  When the villager became a little less nervous, Lord Pensgraft said, “The pouch looks old and weather-beaten. Who’s it from?”

  “King Ulray.”

  Lord Pensgraft looked at Captain Jeriana, and then back at the elderly villager, who appeared to be over 80-years-old.

  “Then you’ve been holding onto these dispatches for quite some time,” Lord Pensgraft said humoring the elderly man but certainly not believing him.

  “Most of my life, my lord.”

  “How old are you?”

  “55.”

  Upon hearing that, Lord Pensgraft felt a pang of sadness go through him. But the giant warrior wasn’t overly surprised for he knew humans had endured extremely harsh treatment under gargoyle rule.

  “Get him some water, Captain,” Lord Pensgraft said.

  Captain Jeriana handed a canteen to the physically ravaged villager who drank gratefully, wiped his mouth and said, “King Ulray assured me you’d be coming here with an army.”

  “How could he have known that?”

  “Master, you are Lord Pensgraft, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  The frail villager smiled with relief. “I’ve been waiting a very long time for you, my lord. Sometimes, needing to deliver this pouch to you was all that kept me alive.”

  “King Ulray entrusted this pouch to you alone?”

  “No, my lord. I am the last of the Dispatch Dozen, as we called ourselves. All of us had taken an oath promising King Ulray that we would deliver this pouch to you. But our numbers gradually diminished over the years as we fell victim to Swarenth’s insanity. Thankfully, I lived long enough to see this day.”

  “How did King Ulray know I’d be coming here?”

  “Your daughter, Aerylln, told him, my lord.”

  Lord Pensgraft again looked at Captain Jeriana, who gave a small shrug of her shoulders. Sensing their confusion, the villager quickly added, “The contents of the pouch should clarify things, my lord.”

  “You know what’s in this pouch?”

  “Not the specifics, my lord, but King Ulray said you’d know what to do after you read what’s in the pouch.”

  “So, what do you think is in it?”

  “Battle plans,” the elderly villager said smiling. “Also, King Ulray gave us one verbal message to convey to you.”

  “Which is?”

  “He said, ‘Tell Lord Pensgraft that I’ll be seeing him at the top of the mountain.’”

  The giant warrior shook his head and sighed. This crazy old man’s story is the only glimmer of hope on the horizon, yet it’s so outrageous, he thought. But looking carefully at the pouch, Lord Pensgraft saw that the royal seal was still intact. After breaking it, he reached into the pouch and pulled out a sheaf of papers gasping when he saw the top page. He recognized the handwriting. It was Aerylln’s.

  Lord Pensgraft read his daughter’s letter and then devoured King Ulray’s instructions like a starving man who’d just been invited to a banquet. When done, he looked at General Tark and said, “You know that big oak tree a little south of the village?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “King Ulray buried something there.”

  “What, my lord?”

  “Hope, possibly. Maybe even victory. Bring some shovels,” Lord Pensgraft said feeling greatly relieved.

  ◆◆◆

  South of Coldstream Village, standing at the base of the old oak tree, Lord Pensgraft walked 30 paces and said, “According to King Ulray’s dispatches, this should be the exact spot.”

  “The exact spot for what?” General Tark asked.

  “Before saying more, maybe I should wait to see if they’re actually here.”

  “Wait to see if what’s actually here?”

  “You’re persistent, General. I like that,” Lord Pensgraft said smiling.

  “Thank you, and so?”

  “We’re looking for catapults. Several large catapults. Among other things.”

  “But the fortifications along the mountain trail have thick walls. Even pounding them with boulders wouldn’t cause much damage.”

  “We won’t be tossing rocks at them.”

  “If not rocks, then what?”

  “Something far more intimidating and effective.”

  “Master, even if King Ulray buried catapults here, the lumber used to construct them would have rotted away years ago.”

  Lord Pensgraft smiled but said nothing.

  “Okay keep your secrets.” Turning to the six men he’d brought with him, General Tark said, “Well, boys, pick up your shovels and put your backs into it. And let’s hope King Ulray knew what he was doing.”

  Lord Pensgraft’s warrior women, who accompanied him everywhere, fanned out in a wide circle keeping an eye out for trouble while the general’s men dug furiously. But after an hour and nearing exhaustion, the male warriors had yet to uncover anything. Captain Jeriana signaled to six of her warrior women who dismounted, took the shovels from the men and began digging in earnest, eager to be the first to discover something of value. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long.

  When her warriors struck rock, Captain Jeriana knew it had to be important. After all, she reasoned, why would King Ulray bury anything that might impede their progress? Digging with all their might, the warrior women uncovered dozens of flat-surfaced stones, and it seemed that they’d unearthed a floor of some sort.

  Yet whatever it was, it wasn’t level and angled downward. Then, as it became longer and went deeper, Captain Jeriana realized they’d be moving far more dirt than anyone had expected. The hal
f-dozen shovels General Tark had brought to the site began being passed from one six-person digging team to another as the warriors struggled to discover where this stone floor was taking them. After uncovering over 100 flat-surfaced, interlocking rocks, it became obvious that the warriors had discovered a paved ramp.

  “It’s possible that the catapults are buried in an underground chamber,” Captain Jeriana speculated. “King Ulray would certainly have put wheels on the base of his catapults, and a ramp would be needed to bring them to the surface.”

  “Makes sense,” General Tark agreed.

  “You should find a stone door with four metal handles at the bottom of the ramp,” Lord Pensgraft said, still a bit reluctant to provide more information.

  “What’s the reason for so many handles?” General Tark asked.

  “You’ll see.”

  “Why so secretive, my lord?”

  “What if this is all too good to be true? I’d just rather see for myself what’s actually in this underground chamber before getting anyone else’s hopes up.”

  “The ramp leads to a cavern?”

  “No, it’s man-made. But if the dispatches are correct, it’s huge.”

  Upon hearing this, the warriors, both male and female, renewed their efforts. In less than an hour, they reached the base of the ramp where, as Lord Pensgraft had predicted, there was a stone door with metal handles.

  “The door’s high enough and wide enough to allow catapults to pass through it,” General Tark said.

  “Attach ropes to each handle,” Lord Pensgraft commanded.

  General Tark motioned to his eldest son, Kirnochak, who brought several long, thick ropes down the ramp and tied them to the handles. When he was done, Kirnochak looked to his father for further instructions.

  Turning to Lord Pensgraft, General Tark asked, “Now we have a few powerful horses pull the door open?”

  “Yes,” Lord Pensgraft said whistling for Zenithstar, his wife’s warhorse who was serving as his own mount while Chen was inside the castle.

  “Zenithstar, I need this door opened,” Lord Pensgraft said while pointing at it. The mighty warhorse saw the ropes attached to the handles and immediately understood what Lord Pensgraft wanted. After inspecting the other horses, Zenithstar selected three of the strongest who then proceeded to follow him down the ramp. Once ropes were tied to the pommel of their saddles, the horses waited for Zenithstar’s signal, and when their leader gave a loud whinny, they surged forward ripping the door out of the wall and dragging it to the top of the ramp.

  Lord Pensgraft motioned to General Tark and Captain Jeriana who followed him back down the ramp carrying torches. As the warriors passed through the doorway, each was relieved to see four catapults directly in front of them coated with grease as a preservative and appearing to be completely intact.

  Pointing to dozens of large ceramic pots, General Tark asked, “What do you think these are for?”

  “They’re filled to the brim with flammable oil,” Lord Pensgraft said. “Smudge-pot oil to be specific.”

  “The reason for that being?”

  “Smudge-pot oil creates an enormous amount of very dense smoke. We’ll be virtually invisible to our enemy.”

  “Won’t they be able to see us coming up the mountain trail?”

  “Yes, but once we get these catapults within range of the fortifications, our enemy’s visibility will go down to almost zero.”

  “We’re catapulting jars of oil onto the fortification walls, burning our enemy to a crisp?”

  “Yes, if the gargoyles choose to remain on the walls. But after a couple of these burst upon the fortifications, they’ll get the idea and clear out fast.”

  “If the fortifications are covered in flames, how are we going to get over the walls?”

  “Let’s focus on one thing at a time,” Lord Pensgraft said. “First, let’s see if everything else King Ulray said would be here actually is.”

  “Like what?”

  Lord Pensgraft picked up a package wrapped in weatherproofed cloth, took his knife and cut the thin ropes binding it. The giant warrior then held up a tunic, a long cloth shirt worn over one’s regular clothes.

  General Tark and Captain Jeriana both gasped. The tunic was green with a yellow tiger’s head on the chest. A chill ran through them. They knew that this was exactly like the tunics King Tarlen’s personal guards wore. It was a royal tunic signifying the wearer to be in the service of the king. A Kardimont king.

  The three warriors quickly cut open several more bundles. All were filled with green tunics.

  “How many are there?” General Tark asked.

  “King Ulray’s instructions say there are 3,000 royal tunics.”

  “That’s roughly the number of warriors we have with us.”

  “Aerylln would have known that. She must have told King Ulray.”

  “Having White Angel for a daughter must be nice.”

  “It doesn’t hurt,” Lord Pensgraft said as they all smiled.

  General Tark went over to another group of packages, all of which were up off the floor on shelves, and opened one. Taking it with him, he went deeper into the underground chamber and took a differently shaped package off another shelf and opened it. Holding both items to his chest, he leaned back against a wall and was close to tears.

  “What is it?” Lord Pensgraft asked.

  “Look, my lord. Look at the honor King Ulray is bestowing upon us,” General Tark said holding the items up near his torch which he had stuck into a wall.

  As Lord Pensgraft got closer, he felt himself close to tears as well. There in the torchlight was a helmet with a royal tiger-head crest upon it. The general was also holding a sword but not an ordinary sword, for it, too, had a royal crest upon its hilt.

  “My lord, King Ulray is dressing us like Kardimont warriors, as true servants of King Tarlen and himself.”

  “We already serve the Kardimonts, but, yes, this does make it more formal,” Lord Pensgraft said as he put on one of the green tunics. Next, he put on a royal helmet and took up a royal sword.

  “Wait until those gargoyles see 3,000 Kardimont warriors heading up that mountain trail,” Captain Jeriana said. “It will be a regal procession that will scare them half to death. They’ll think the Kardimont line of kings is back in full force.”

  “I’m sure that’s what King Ulray had in mind,” Lord Pensgraft said.

  “But, my lord, as General Tark has asked, how will we get over the fortifications when they’re covered in flames?” Captain Jeriana asked.

  “This dispatch pouch holds the key to that as well.”

  “Tell us, my lord,” General Tark begged. “Please don’t hold us in suspense any longer.”

  “All right, hold your torches over these diagrams,” Lord Pensgraft said pulling some papers out of the pouch. “See how Tarlen’s father has solved that problem as well.”

  As General Tark and Captain Jeriana looked closely at the drawings both began smiling.

  “This just might work,” General Tark said.

  “Of course it will work,” Lord Pensgraft said smiling as well.

  “People say King Ulray was a great warrior king. Well, I guess this proves it,” Captain Jeriana exclaimed.

  “And King Tarlen’s personal guards say he’s as good as his father,” General Tark added.

  “He’ll need to be before all this is over,” Lord Pensgraft said thinking how glad he was to have 100 of the king’s warriors encamped at Coldstream Village. Only 20 of King Tarlen’s personal guards had entered the College of Wizards with him. The rest were now riding with Lord Pensgraft.

  “Do you think Aerylln and Marcheto can bring King Tarlen back into this world?” Captain Jeriana asked.

  “Yes, they can handle it.”

  General Tark and Captain Jeriana looked at each other and smiled once more. They could hear the fatherly pride in Lord Pensgraft’s voice. And General Tark was feeling a sense of fatherly pride himself. Marcheto was his y
oungest son.

  “It’s a great day to be alive,” General Tark said.

  “Yes, it is,” Lord Pensgraft agreed.

  “My lord, with smudge-pot oil providing both light and dense smoke, is there any reason why we can’t attack tonight after dark?” Captain Jeriana asked.

  “Captain, I was thinking the same thing. Yes, at nightfall, we attack.”

  With that decided, the three powerful warriors strode towards the entrance dressed in Kardimont tunics, wearing Kardimont helmets and carrying Kardimont swords.

  “This might be the end of the line for Swarenth,” General Tark said.

  “Maybe, but remember King Tarlen only has 200 warriors with him inside the castle, and they’ll be going up against thousands of gargoyles. Even with King Ulray’s help, I don’t see how they can do it,” Lord Pensgraft said.

  “Yes, how can they conquer a castle with 200 warriors? It’s only because King Ulray intervened that we have a decent chance of retaking the trail with almost 3,000 warriors. Before learning about these catapults, I thought we were all going to die fighting our way up that mountain,” Captain Jeriana admitted.

  “You’re probably right. Most of us would have died,” Lord Pensgraft said grimly.

  “I must have gotten swept up in the excitement of discovering this underground chamber,” General Tark said. “But you’re correct. No one is going to conquer a castle with 200 warriors, not even King Ulray and King Tarlen.”

  “What King Tarlen wants most is to find Swarenth,” Lord Pensgraft said. “He wants to destroy that sadistic monster personally. Remember, Swarenth killed King Tarlen’s entire family, not just his father.”

  “Wouldn’t it be something to watch the last Kardimont and a gargoyle warlord fighting it out?” Captain Jeriana asked.

  “Yes, I’d like to see that myself. But let’s reclaim the mountain trail, and let the devil take the hindmost.”

  “Speaking of the devil, what’s Aerylln going to do about Balzekior?” Captain Jeriana asked.

  “I don’t know, but we need to get past the fortifications and up that trail as fast as we can,” Lord Pensgraft said feeling a deep anxiety seeping into his heart.