Defender of the Crown

by Paul J Bennett

  "Then we'll sell our lives dearly."

  Arnim drew his sword and saluted her. "Be valiant, my friend, and take as many with you as you can." He turned his horse around and rode off at a gallop, back to the south and the escaping Mercerians.

  * * *

  Noon came and went, and still, the enemy watched. Beverly finally resorted to retreating in stages, sending half her men back the distance of an arrow's flight, and then galloping the other half to join them. The tactic proved quite useful, for the enemy failed to attack, contenting themselves to merely move up and keep the range constant. The Guard Cavalry drew closer to the river, though the progress was slow.

  It was late in the afternoon when Arnim reappeared.

  "We are crossing the river," he announced. "There is a rocky shelf to the southwest forming some rapids. It's navigable, but the current can be fierce. We're using the captured horses to help people across. The other side of the river is rough looking terrain, but it should be more than capable of hiding us from our pursuers should the need arise."

  "How long before they're all across?" she asked.

  “The last of them were crossing as I left. You’ll need to hurry if you want to reach the crossing before nightfall, you've some distance to cover.”

  "Providing the enemy allows us," reminded Beverly.

  "I don't envy you your task," he said. "In the meantime, I must return. I look forward to seeing you south of the river."

  She absently watched him ride off, her mind occupied by thoughts. Turning to her men, she gave the command and once more, they began to fall back in stages.

  * * *

  The sun was low in the sky, and Beverly knew it was now or never. Her men had just completed another fall-back and stood, facing the enemy. It had been the same thing all afternoon, fall back and then watch as the enemy slowly advanced. They would then sit for some time, staring at each other across the fields. This time, however, she hoped to surprise them.

  "Guard Cavalry," she ordered, "retire."

  She wheeled Lightning around and headed southwest at a brisk trot. Her men, eager to obey, followed suit, and the entire line began their retreat.

  "They'll be watching," she called out, "so let's keep them guessing." She knew the Norlanders would wait until they halted before advancing and hoped to use that against them. After falling back the requisite distance, she ordered her men into a gallop. The horses, having been tightly reined in all day, were given their head and surged forward. On she drove them, heedless of their formation. The line began to waver as the faster horses stretched their lead.

  Beverly risked a glance over her shoulder to see the distant Norlanders. Their horses were now advancing at a gallop, eager to take advantage of the Mercerians’ break in formation. She slowed Lightning, letting her men out-pace her.

  "Keep going," she shouted, "and get across that river!"

  As they galloped off, she brought her mighty Mercerian Charger to a halt. Lightning turned, pivoting in place to allow his mistress to face her enemies.

  Beverly drew Nature's Fury, taking a moment to examine the head of the war hammer. Crafted in Sky Metal, it caught the sun's rays, and she couldn't help but think of the smith that had crafted such an exquisite weapon.

  "Come, Lightning," she said, "it's time we ended this once and for all."

  Beverly felt herself pushed back into the saddle as the great warhorse exploded into action. The enemy, surprised by the lone rider, had slowed, though she could see weapons being drawn. Releasing the great beast's reins, she freed up her left hand to draw her sword. Now, she held both weapons, riding forward with grim determination, ready to bring death and destruction like a messenger of the Gods.

  She aimed straight for them, riding between two of their number. Nature's Fury sang out, whipping through the air to strike its target full in the face. She felt the weapon penetrate steel and then tugged it free, just as her sword slashed out to her left. The blade cut deep, slicing through another's leg brace. Lightning didn't stop. Instead, he continued north, eager to deliver his rider to another target.

  Beverly's mind focused on the soldier before her, and she swung the hammer upward, striking a Norland horse, sending it rearing up. At that very moment, she stabbed out with her sword at the beast's eye. It turned aside in a desperate attempt to avoid the blow and fell, crushing its own rider beneath its body.

  Something smashed down on her back but deflected off the metal plates, and she quickly used her legs to manoeuvre Lightning around. Up came her sword once more, slashing viciously, while her hammer blocked a counter-swing. She felt the power building within Nature's Fury, her swings becoming faster and faster, while all she could do was let it flow through her. The hammer drove into a chainmail sleeve, and then she backhanded someone else, flesh giving way before the massive onslaught.

  Surrounded by Norlanders, their weapons stabbing forward in a constant push, she parried their blows with her sword, allowing Nature's Fury to wreak its full havoc upon her enemies. Time appeared to slow as she let loose with all the vengeance she could muster.

  She struck out yet again but met only empty air. Looking around, she saw them fleeing to the north, leaving their wounded comrades behind. Beverly fumed, unable to come to grips with their retreat, so intent was she on delivering them to the Underworld. Finally, she came to her senses. Her heart pounded in her chest, the blood coursing through her veins, and then she closed her eyes, willing it to slow.

  When her mind cleared, she opened them again to view the devastation around her. Scabbarding her sword, she turned towards the river. Moments later, she was riding as fast as Lightning could take her.

  * * *

  The river soon came into view. Arnim was there, watching from the other bank as the Guard Cavalry made their way across the rapids. Beverly's recent fight had left her drained, and she struggled to remain in the saddle, exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her.

  As Lightning finally stepped into the water, she felt relief wash over her, but it was not to be. Off in the distance came the sound of horns, and she looked back to see what was left of the entire Norland force descending upon her. She knew, in that instant, that she would never gain the south bank in time.

  Beverly turned Lightning around, ready to make one final stand, but before she could draw her weapons, the ground shook, only a minor tremble, but it appeared to be coming from the northern bank. Casting her eyes downward, she watched the ground shake and split as strange tendrils broke through its surface to crawl across the ground and entwine themselves into a wall of thorns.

  Instinctively, she turned south to see Albreda. The druid was standing on a rocky outcropping, her hands still tracing arcane symbols in the air, her attention riveted to the enemy horsemen.

  Beverly resumed her crossing, finally making the south bank.

  Thirty-One

  The Old Oak

  Fall 964 MC

  * * *

  The winds coming in from the north were strong and cold, promising an early snowfall. Sergeant Garrick pulled his cloak closer, trying to ward off a chill that penetrated deep into his bones. As a Norland scout, he was mounted on a fleet horse, but, like his companions, they were only lightly armoured, the better to maintain the fast pace of their advance.

  He looked to his left, to where Talmus rode beside him. "'Tis a cold day," he said.

  "So it is," Talmus responded. "Far too cold to be out here in the middle of nowhere."

  "You forget," said the sergeant, "we are close to a village called Uxley. There'll be warm shelter there, you can be assured."

  "I hope so, for my fingers are growing numb."

  They had gone no more than a mile when the flakes began to fall, drifting down from on high to swirl around them. Talmus grunted, causing Garrick to glance at his companion once more.

  "Cheer up, Talmus, it's melting even as it falls. Winter's not here yet."

  "No, but it's close."

  The road meandered slightly to the eas
t and then turned south once again, revealing a sleepy little village in the distance.

  "There, you see?" said Garrick. "We're almost there."

  "Finally," said Talmus, reaching for his sword.

  "Hold," said Garrick, "they may be friendly."

  "Friendly? They're Mercerians, for Saxnor's sake!"

  Garrick smiled. "They rose in rebellion against their queen. We are the liberators here. Merceria will be ours without bloodshed."

  "You really believe that?"

  Garrick shrugged. "Perhaps, but I shall be on my guard nonetheless."

  "A wise move. Now, let us ride into this place and see what they have to offer."

  The sergeant looked back over his shoulder. "Come on, men, there's warmth ahead."

  The road ran by a small stream, leading them past a series of houses with closed doors and drawn shutters.

  "They must have seen us coming," said Talmus.

  "Can you blame them? It's not every day an army comes through. Do you see any signs of movement?"

  "No," said Talmus, "but I see smoke coming from a chimney." He pointed towards a large building, sitting beside a giant oak tree.

  "Looks like a tavern," said Garrick.

  They moved closer to see two men sitting beneath the great tree.

  "Welcome, strangers," said the older man, "and welcome to Uxley village. Are you the queen's men?"

  "No," said Garrick, "we're Norlanders."

  The old man slowly smiled. "All the better for us," he said. "Come inside, friend, and let your men warm up. I'll have Sam, here, lead you to the stables."

  The sergeant called his men to a halt. "Dismount," he ordered, then detailed two to escort the horses. The rest filed inside to find a cozy and warm tavern.

  "Come, sit," urged the old man. "I'm Arlo Harris, proprietor of the Old Oak. Let me get you gentlemen a drink. It's not every day we get to meet our liberators."

  "Liberators?" said Talmus.

  "Oh, yes," said Arlo, "they told us you'd be coming."

  "Who's they?" asked Garrick, growing suspicious.

  "Agents of King Valmar," said Arlo. "They said you lot would be coming to keep the peace. Is that not so?"

  The sergeant's shoulders relaxed. "Yes, that's us, my friend."

  He took a seat, his companion sitting across from him. There were only eight others here, locals keeping their own counsel, but the entrance of the Norlanders had quieted them.

  Arlo went behind the bar, pouring drinks as the other scouts entered. The old tavern keeper brought over two tankards, dropping them onto the table with a flourish. "There you go, a nice mulled cider to ward off the first chill of winter."

  "Thank you, my good man," said Garrick.

  "Have you ridden far this day?" asked Arlo. "You look chilled.

  "To the bone," replied Talmus. "This is not the time of year I'd choose to be out riding."

  Arlo looked around. "Only a dozen? Is this all your men, or are others on the way? I only ask because I'm preparing food."

  "You seem very welcoming for a conquered people," said Talmus.

  "Conquered?" said Arlo. "More like rescued. The queen was an overbearing despot, much like her father. We're well pleased to be rid of her."

  Talmus couldn't help but smile. He took a drink, tasting the thick, rich flavour of the cider.

  "This is good," he said, draining the cup. "I'll have some more."

  "As you wish," said Arlo. He nodded to a brown-haired waitress who was serving the other Norlanders. Arlo made his way across the room, stooping to gather more tankards from beneath the bar.

  Garrick felt his body begin to relax as the drink settled into his stomach.

  "W'as this?" he said, his words slurring. He blinked, then tried to speak once more. "Wh'"

  He felt the grip of fear and tried to stand. The tavern keeper was staring at him from behind the bar, a smile growing on his face.

  The sergeant's legs wouldn't work. He looked over at Talmus, but the man had fallen head first onto the table. Garrick's mind started racing as the brunette made her way across the room. Something about her demeanour shook him to his core and then, from somewhere, she produced a sword.

  The last thing he saw was the iron blade plunging into his chest, and then he collapsed as everything went dark.

  * * *

  Sam Collins led the two warriors north, across the bridge.

  "The stables are just up here," he said, "on the right. Once we've got your horses taken care of, you can return to the tavern, if you like."

  Each of them led two horses, the intent being to return for the rest once the first group was settled.

  "Here it is," said Sam. He directed them through a large door and into the stables. "Take the stall on the end there," he said.

  Sam watched as one of the Norlanders walked his horses to the end of the structure. The warrior held the two reins in his left hand while he opened the stall door with his right. He never saw inside the stall, for as soon as he unlatched the door, an arrowhead blossomed from his chest, followed by a second which struck him in the throat.

  The Norland scout fell to the ground without uttering a sound. His companion, busy with his own horses, suffered a similar fate for he too appeared to sprout arrows. He was standing there one moment, looking down at the door handle, then the next he was staring at an arrow that had gone straight through him, its head emerging from his chest. Only a gurgle escaped his lips, then he collapsed.

  Gorath emerged from the hayloft, along with his ranger companions.

  "Good shots," said Sam.

  "We aim to please," replied the Orc.

  "Now we must hasten back to the Old Oak," said Sam.

  "I'm sure Hayley has things under control," said Gorath.

  "Still," said Sam, "I'd feel better knowing for sure."

  * * *

  Hayley looked around the common room. "They're all dead," she announced.

  "And justly so," said Arlo. He spit on the dead Norland sergeant. "Filthy invaders. How dare they come into Merceria!"

  "I might remind you there's still plenty more where they came from," said Hayley. "We need to get moving. Can you take care of the bodies?"

  "Consider it done," said Arlo.

  "Good, now it's time for phase two."

  "Phase two?"

  "Yes, we have blinded their army by taking out their scouts. Now we must move in and nip at their ankles."

  "That doesn't sound very devastating," said Arlo.

  "Nor is it meant to be," she replied. "But we must slow them down to allow others to get into position. Make sure you bar the doors as I leave."

  "You don't have to tell me twice," replied the tavern keeper.

  * * *

  Hayley watched from the rooftop of the church as the next group of Norland cavalry approached. She was lying just behind the peak, safe from discovery.

  "What do you make of it?" she asked.

  "I'd say almost thirty men, this time," said Gorath. "I doubt we'll see many more."

  "I suppose we'll have to take what we can get," she replied. "Give the signal."

  Gorath climbed down to the edge of the roof and waved to a distant sentry, while Hayley rolled over onto her back and strung her bow.

  "Any time now," she muttered.

  Hearing the calls from below, she knew it was time. She stood as best she could and advanced to the peak of the church, nocking an arrow. Down below, just in front of the old oak tree, the large group of riders halted. Several of them had dismounted and were heading towards the main door of the tavern when the first arrow struck, hitting a rider in the lower back, sending him sprawling to the ground, wracked in agony.

  It was followed up by more, as Orcs appeared from between the buildings, their warbows easily penetrating the thin armour of their foes.

  Hayley let loose with her own arrow, and it sailed across the distance to strike a rider in the back of the head, penetrating his helmet. As the man slumped forward, she reloaded and
let another fly forth to strike a soldier's arm, eliciting a cry of agony. The Norlanders tried to react, they really did, but the Orc archers loosed their volleys with such ferocity that it cut them down like chaff.

  It was all over in an instant. Hayley pulled a horn from her belt and blew two long notes.

  Telethial peered out from among the trees. The enemy forces were trotting down the road, heedless of her presence. She heard the horn sounding in the distance and gave the command. Elven archers stepped from cover, their bows held at the ready.

  A shout of alarm rang out among the Norlanders. Several of them urged their horses off the road, hoping to neutralize the threat.

  The Elves let their arrows fly, and they raced across the gap in a single volley, striking riders and mounts alike. Many fell, but the rest responded with surprising speed. Orders were shouted, and the entire column turned in place, then rushed for the wood line.

  Telethial saw the threat, even as she loosed another arrow. "Back," she commanded.

  Her archers moved as quickly as they could, but the Norland cavalry descended on the Elves with a fury. The Elven leader saw a rider take the head off of one of her archers and swore. Turning, she let loose with another arrow, smiling as it hit home.

  Suddenly, a rider appeared to her left, and she dove out of the way just as it rode past, hoofbeats heavy in her ears. Getting to her feet, she drew her sword, the Elven blade glowing faintly with magic.

  Another horse came at Telethial, and this time she stood her ground, holding her sword two-handed. Closer, the enemy came until finally, she slashed out, the blade humming as it cut through flesh and bone, taking the horse's legs out from beneath it, but the beast fell towards her. Telethial felt the great bulk strike her, and then all went black.

  Herdwin waited, listening to the sound of the distant battle. It was hard, sitting and doing nothing while others fought, but he knew that he must do his part. He looked down his line of Dwarves, their heavy arbalests ready to strike fear into the enemy. Behind them stood the axe wielders, prepared to leap forward should the enemy choose to close the distance. If things went badly, he would have little choice but to fight and die, for Dwarves were slow, and they would easily be overrun.