Vengeance of Hope

by P J Berman

  What made the choice of battleground perfect was that there was a particularly boggy area on the far side of the path and just beyond that was another, slightly less steep gradient and in the trees that topped that, Hojorak had hidden his foot archers. The trap was set. All they had to do now was wait.

  Hojorak was joined by Blavak and Bezekarl, both of whom were also astride horses on the left flank. The right flank would be led by Kivojo. As Bezekarl watched him, Hojorak gave him a look and with a deep throaty chuckle, said something in Hentani. Blavak laughed and Bezekarl already knew they were laughing at him. He felt so isolated with these savages. He hated them. Blavak indicated Bezekarl’s shaking hand.

  ‘My master asks if you are scared, little one?’ he said. ‘He observes how your palm wishes to run and hide and he wonders how a great warrior such as Lord Yathrud has such a whimpering son. He says he wonders which has seen less action, your metal sword or your fleshy one.’

  Bezekarl coloured and turned away in a vain attempt to hide his emotions, giving Blavak his answer. He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the barbarian’s laughter. They, like the other Hentani horsemen, found it highly amusing that he had a suit of armour and a shield, while they had only thick goatskin and shields were used only by the infantry, yet he was the one that was terrified by the thought of battle. He shut it out of his mind. The crucial moment was approaching. To him, every sound seemed to be maximised beyond belief, however quiet in reality. That’s when he heard it; a whinny from a horse further down the path.

  Vaezona looked about her as the walkable ground thinned. She began to feel less than stable on her donkey, who was starting to find the mud difficult and she didn’t like the look of the bog off to the right.

  It’d be best to keep away from that, she thought.

  In their new, thinned formation, Aetrun and the Divisio cavalry took to the front, with Vaezona behind, flanked by the spear-carrying Divisiomen on foot. The archers and spear militia followed; spearmen on the outside, archers on the inside.

  The place seemed eerily silent in a way that the northern parts of the forest hadn’t and the atmosphere became tense as the breeze whispered softly. All present cautiously watched the trees as they pressed on. A whinnying horse near Vaezona broke the silence and its rider leaned down to calm the nervous animal.

  The next few moments seemed like hours and Vaezona was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when an arrow thwacked into the neck of a Divisioman on her right. She gasped as his blood spattered on to her face and he collapsed to the ground.

  ‘Get down!’ someone shouted.

  Without thinking she threw herself from her mount. She hit the ground hard but it was a reaction that saved her life, as a death-dealing volley of arrows hit the small convey from their right flank, one of them striking the donkey in the rump. She curled into a ball to save herself from its flailing hooves, but then another arrow pierced the pathetic creature’s throat and it crashed to the ground instantly, dead.

  Soldiers screamed as they were dealt terrible injuries and cursed their attackers, but above the din, Vaezona could hear Aetrun shouting orders in an attempt to rally his troops.

  ‘Stand! Stand! Divisios! Form tortoise! Spearmen! Protect archers! Archers! Fire!’

  The return volley never stood a chance of being as effective as that of the attackers. The enemy archers were hard to pick out from within the trees, whereas the Bennvikans had been caught right where their opponents wanted them. Confusion reigned as they jostled for position to face the enemy and the already treacherous ground was added to by the bodies of the fallen, as more and more arrows found their mark.

  Aetrun was attempting to direct proceedings by cantering up and down the back of the Bennvikan line encouraging his troops, as the remainder of his cavalry dismounted to support the infantry. The Bennvikans had already lost at least twenty or thirty soldiers and the growing mass of corpses in the confined space was forcing some of them forward into the bog, where they were even easier for the archers to pick off.

  Suddenly, with no warning at all, the enemy fire ceased. Even Vaezona, from her coiled position, found the courage to lift herself nervously into a crouch, then to stand. A few of the enemy were seen running from their positions and over the lower ridge. Ludicrously some militia attempted to run after them, but a bellow from Aetrun stopped them in their tracks. Clearly those few had thought they’d won. But that was when, from beyond the top of the higher ridge, behind them, they heard the awful sound of a war horn.

  The low note was met by a cacophony of war cries. With a clatter of hooves and the ominous sound of many feet, a howling barbarian army moved into view at the top of the higher slope behind the Bennvikans. Aetrun, who had moved back level with his Divisioman, turned to face the new threat, followed by his troops.

  As Vaezona looked, her feet rooted to the ground in horror, the goatskin-clad tribesmen waved their scimitars in the air, baying for Bennvikan blood. They beat their weapons against their round shields, each of which was highly decorated with bird’s feathers of all colours. They were toying with their prey.

  Many of the enemy were infantry, but on the near flank, Aetrun could see cavalry.

  ‘Traitor,’ he exclaimed; his eyes widening as he noticed that one among the enemy cavalry was a knight with the three golden dragons of the Alyredd family emblazoned across his scarlet shield. Astride the horse next to that man was a huge tattooed warrior in a goatskin jacket and breeches, who raised his sword and gave a throaty roar, inducing an exultant cheer from his warriors and the whole force surged down the hill.

  Bezekarl’s heart pounded as he chased Hojorak into the fray, aiming straight at the enemy commander; who Bezekarl had recognised to be Invicturion Gednab Aetrun. A volley of enemy pilums was hurled at the Hentani horde. Many fell with terrible screams, but the torrent of warriors charged onwards, heedless of the fate of their comrades. They crashed down on to their victims and in the unstable mud the Bennvikan line nearly collapsed there and then, but somehow they found their grip. Driven on by bloodlust, some Hentani were carried straight over the top of the Divisiomen’s tortoise formation by their fanaticism, while the momentum of others took them straight into a Bennvikan spear or sword.

  Aetrun swung his blade at Hojorak as the Hentani Cheif charged forward, only to have his blow parried and the two men engaged in one-on-one combat. Bezekarl’s mount reared as they got close to the solid wall presented by the Divisiomen’s shields and he turned to follow the other horsemen who, save for Hojorak, were wheeling around the Bennvikans and had taken out their bows, ready to pick off any soldier at will. They moved in an oval that took them up the lower slope slightly, away from the boggier mud that plagued their opponents further down. To add to the Bennvikan woe, the Hentani foot archers had reappeared; their position now largely unthreatened.

  As he followed the other charging horsemen in their encircling arc, he saw that the Bennvikan archers did all they could to return fire, but they had barely any room to draw their weapons fully and the spearmen that protected them were slowly falling as the deadly horse archers thundered past. Order in the line turned to chaos as the militiamen were overwhelmed by the merciless onslaught. Those who had persisted in firing back at the enemy archers were eventually forced to drop their bows and take out their swords to defend against the tribal infantry, who were beginning to outflank them.

  The already slippery ground became more and more treacherous as the bodies of both sides piled up further. Naturally, the Divisiomen were holding out far better than the militia and for a moment a gap appeared between the two. As he galloped by, cutting down any Bennvikans who tried to run, Bezekarl was astonished to see a young girl cowering at the centre of the enemy line. He knew what he had to do. He threw his shield to the ground, raced over and hauled her on to the horse behind him. Fortunately for him, she was too dumbstruck to resist. With a quick turn, Bezekarl kicked his horse and fled the battlefield at a gallop.

  Chief Hojorak w
as still busy contending with a determined Aetrun. Despite being longer than the swords used by the Divisio infantry, Aetrun’s weapon didn’t quite have the same reach as the Hentani blade and it was obvious that he was having to put more effort into each attack than his opponent. Noticing that he was starting to wear the Bennvikan down, Hojorak continued to parry Aetrun’s blows, ready to strike at any moment.

  Carried in Aetrun’s left hand, his shield was the wrong side to be any protection against his opposite number. He kept turning to try to get the Chief on his left, but Hojorak simply moved his own horse with him as the two duelled. The Invicturion’s shield had already been hit by two wayward Hentani arrows that had come close hitting their own commander. With the impaled shafts causing the large shield to become an ineffective dead weight, Aetrun tossed it to the ground and pulled his bearded axe from his belt. His sword in one hand, his axe in the other, he attacked wildly; his eyes full of blood lust.

  Hojorak parried another sword blow but his horse collapsed from under him as Aetrun’s axe smashed down into the animal’s head, splitting its skull. Hojorak was lucky not to have a leg caught under the dead horse as he scrambled to his feet. Aetrun attacked again, but as he slashed down Hojorak seized the older man’s sword-arm in his powerful grip and with his other hand, he thrust his own blade upwards through Aetrun’s exposed chin, piercing its way through his lower jaw, his mouth and up into his brain.

  Hojorak ripped Aetrun off his horse, throwing him to the ground. After a moment, the Bennvikan’s jerking body stilled and as the adrenaline wore off, Hojorak became aware of the final sounds of the battle around him, as his remaining warriors picked off the last few enemy troops; toying with them and extending their ordeal. Placing a boot on Aetrun’s chest, he wrenched out his blade, which now glistened with the fresh blood and other fluids from inside the dead Bennvikan’s skull.

  Bending down, he removed his fallen foe’s helmet. He took a handful of Aetrun’s hair and began hacking away at his neck to decapitate the corpse. Then he mounted the head back on the end of his sword. Slowly he drew in a deep breath of air and gave an enormous roar, to which his soldiers howled their war cries in exultation. Those few wounded Bennvikans left alive begged for death, but the Hentani had a score to settle for the threat to their villages, so they wouldn’t receive it. Not yet, anyway. The Battle of Ustaherta Forest was over, but for the Bennvikan prisoners, the real suffering was about to begin.

  Chapter 13

  After the battle, Vaezona and her captor quickly regrouped with the rest of the Hentani army. To a man they had been jubilant at their crushing of the enemy, filling the air with the sound of their victory songs. But once on the move, they rode hard.

  Each day they woke early and marched long into the night. On the third day, the exhausted men arrived back at the city. Vaezona wasn’t sure which city this was, but beyond the city walls, she could see the sea. Wasn’t Rildayorda by the sea? She hoped she was correct. If so, they were taking her right to her intended destination.

  Given what had happened to her escort, Vaezona couldn’t have dreamed for better luck gaining entry to the citadel. This didn’t improve her mood though. Why had the knight helped her? Maybe he wanted to save her from being ravished just so that he could have her for himself later in the comfort of his own bed, where she couldn’t get away.

  Many times on the journey she had instinctively checked under the material covering her breast to check that the small trinket handed to her by King Jostan was still there. Remarkably it hadn’t fallen out of place during the battle and even more remarkably her captor hadn’t searched her – yet.

  Clearly the young man with whom she silently rode was a figure of some importance, as he rode towards the front of the column. When they entered what Vaezona hoped was the Preddaburg citadel, many of the warriors behind them were ushered elsewhere, presumably to various billets dotted across the city itself. The lead group though carried on through the citadel and into the inner ward, where a welcome party awaited them.

  By now their group numbered about twenty, though most of these were probably the commander’s bodyguards, Vaezona decided. When all had reached the courtyard, they dismounted. She saw four men – the Bennvikan who had taken her and three Hentani – step forward to approach the welcome party, who consisted of an old Lord in a dark blue tunic, a golden-haired young man in emerald attire, a young woman with flowing chestnut locks and who wore a long, modestly cut scarlet dress and finally a Chief Invicturion in full uniform, as well as about ten of their retinue. Strangely, all the men appeared to be behaving deferentially to the woman, despite the fact that she was clearly the youngest.

  So, that must be Princess Silrith, Vaezona thought.

  She couldn’t hear most of what was being said, until suddenly she heard her captor call ‘Girl, come,’ as he turned and beckoned to her. Moving forward, she felt very underdressed in her dirty white servant’s garb, compared with all others present in their expensive finery. She withered under the Princess’ piercing gaze.

  ‘I see you’ve brought me a present, Bezekarl,’ Silrith observed.

  So her captor’s name was Bezekarl. Wasn’t he part of the Alyredd family? Yes. He was Lord Yathrud’s son. Vaezona recollected her uncle Naivard explaining to her who was who out of the noble families.

  ‘Yes, my Queen,’ said the mop-haired Bezekarl.

  Silrith looked Vaezona over, moving around her, inspecting her.

  ‘And you say you found her on the battlefield, with the enemy?’ the old Lord asked of his son.

  ‘Yes, father. I thought that she should serve here as punishment for standing with them.’

  ‘Quite. But we do not know her background. What’s your name, girl? Where do you come from?’ Silrith enquired.

  ‘Vaezona, my Queen, and I come from Sevarby,’ Vaezona answered, speaking aloud for the first time in days. There was no point in lying. As far as she knew most of Bennvika was supporting Jostan and she had been picked up too far north for them to believe that she was from Bastalf.

  ‘Ah, Asrantica,’ Silrith nodded. ‘Bezekarl, would you hold on to her for a minute please?’

  Silrith moved out of earshot so that she was speaking only to Yathrud, Shappa and Gasbron.

  ‘I don’t want to rebuff Bezekarl, as she could be harmless, but I feel concerned by the fact that she’s from Asrantica,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I agree,’ Yathrud put in. ‘That Feddilyn Rintta is a treacherous old dog who probably sees the rise of the House of Kazabrus as an opportunity to raise his own fortunes. However, he takes little time to win the support of the people of Asrantica and I don’t see him putting such faith in a young girl, especially a commoner such as this one.’

  Silrith nodded.

  ‘All the same, I’m concerned. I don’t want her near me.’

  ‘I’ll take her on as my personal servant,’ Shappa offered. ‘That way she can serve you as Bezekarl suggested, but only under my supervision and you can keep her at arm’s length without offending him.’

  Silrith looked at him.

  It does seem like the safest option, she thought.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That would be best I think.’

  She walked back over to Bezekarl.

  ‘I accept your offer, cousin. She will be of use to me by acting as Prince Shappa’s personal servant.’

  Bezekarl coloured slightly.

  ‘Go on girl,’ he said with a hint of resignation. ‘Go to your new master.’

  ‘Right,’ Bezekarl started. ‘Now that we know that the enemy is coming our way and the Hentani civilians won’t be slaughtered while so many of their menfolk are here, we must begin putting our defence plans into practice.’

  Silrith wasn’t comfortable discussing this in front of Vaezona.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But first, let us eat. We’ll discuss things there.’ All the while she never looked away from Vaezona and she smiled as the girl again dropped her eyes to the floor under Silrith’s ga
ze.

  ‘Prince Shappa,’ Silrith went on, turning to him. ‘I trust you can take this opportunity to show your new charge her duties?’

  ‘Of course, your Grace.’ He answered with a bow, clearly very much aware that Silrith’s permission for him to call her by name was for private situations only.

  Silrith gave the slightest of nods and turned away, followed by Bezekarl and Yathrud. The group dispersed, causing their retinue to do the same, while Chief Hojorak, Kivojo and Blavak conversed with the other Hentani warriors present in the courtyard, having evidently long since lost interest in what the Bennvikans and their token Etrovansian were doing.

  Shappa inspected Vaezona with an approving look. Clearly he thought she was attractive. She wondered what he planned to do with her.

  ‘Remind me of your name, girl?’

  ‘Vaezona, my lord.’

  ‘I am a Prince. I am Prince Shappa of Etrovansia and in the ways of my people, which differ a little to how things are done here, you will refer to me as your Majesty.’

  ‘I’m sorry, your Majesty.’

  ‘And don’t you forget it.’

  Shappa continued talking as he began to walk, with Vaezona following.

  ‘Of course, I realise you may have thought that ‘your Majesty’ was solely a Verusantian term of deference, but we Etrovansians use it too – just to be different from you Bennvikans really.’

  He noticed Vaezona’s blank expression.

  ‘What am I saying? You’ve probably never met a royal before. I doubt you had any idea what to call us really. I expect you just said the first word that came into your head that sounded vaguely appropriate didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, your Majesty’

  ‘Right, well, I suppose now would be a good time to show you where you’re going to be living for the next little while and what I will be expecting of you.’