Legends of the Brethren: The Sampler

by Susan Skylark

A Reluctant Queen

  “You will marry the King of Saracen whether you like it or not child,” scolded the King to his second oldest daughter of fourteen, “your elder sister is far too homely to make a pleasing wife and the alliance will certainly prevent a war! You leave at dawn with a grand entourage upon your nuptial journey.”

  “But father!” gasped Katia, “the man is nearly sixty and has been married eight times. It is said his previous wives have succumbed to a broken heart, if not worse. I will not live to see twenty!”

  The King sighed, “perhaps it is just rumor. But whatever may come, you will do as you are told and consider your sacrifice an honorable duty to your people.”

  Tears stung her eyes, “such alliances have not prevented him from making war with his neighbors in the past, what is there to prevent him now?”

  The King frowned, “you listen too much to that prattling Advisor from Astoria. You would be better served to perfect your womanly charms rather than listen to political history lessons from that old fool. Women were not meant to think! Go to your chambers and prepare for the morrow, I will not change my mind.”

  She gave him one last desperate look and ran from his presence sobbing; his heart quailed a moment in pity, but he sternly rebuked himself that it was a political necessity and she must learn to sacrifice just like he had for the good of the Itria. He was drawn back from his silent thoughts as the aforementioned Advisor cleared his throat and stood in the corridor waiting the King’s pleasure. “What is it now?” demanded the King.

  The man said patiently, “I am sorry to bother you Majesty in this desperate moment. My business is not urgent and it can wait.” He bowed deeply and retreated the way he had come. The King scowled after him for a moment but was soon lost again to his silent brooding.

  The Advisor found the sobbing girl in a quiet corner of the gardens and said quietly, “I heard your dire news when I came to speak with your father. What are you going to do?”

  She looked upon him with surprised eyes, “what am I going to do? What is there to do but my duty?”

  He sighed, “what you said to your father is correct. You will not live long in the presence of such a terrible lord and even such an alliance will not keep him from attacking Itria. Could you prevent a war, it might perhaps be worth the price but this is nothing but suicide. You cannot remain here.”

  “What am I to do?” gasped the girl.

  He smiled gently and said, “that you must decide for yourself. I would advise you to ride for Astoria, but as to the how that you must devise on your own for if I knew your plans I would be forced to betray them if questioned upon the subject.”

  She nodded grimly, thanked her dear tutor for his advice, and vanished into the castle to begin devising her plans for escape. He stared after, wondering what would become of the poor girl. She retreated to her rooms and summoned her most faithful servant and said, “I must leave tonight and in secret else all is lost. We may never see one another again. You have served me faithfully since we were little more than girls and this is perhaps the last thing I shall ask of you.” She briefly outlined her plans and both wept at the thought of forever being sundered but not long enough to interfere with their desperate plans. Katia was certain that the King would suspect that she might try to escape this night and knew she would never be allowed into the stable or especially out of the castle gates, but a servant could go almost anywhere at anytime unquestioned for they would not dare such unless ordered about by some person of importance.

  The girl went to the kitchens and said her mistress did not feel like eating and then both withdrew to the princess’ chambers until late in the evening. When all was silent, Katia slipped into the livery worn by the servants. The real servant went to the kitchens and took what provisions her mistress might need upon the journey. Katia packed the necessities for such a journey and met the servant in a small corridor outside the kitchens and took the parcel of food. They made their farewells and the servant returned to their chambers while Katia made her way to the stables. At this hour of the night, all were gone to bed save one junior stable boy who would wake the others if an emergency arose. He gaped to see the princess in the guise of a servant in the stable at such an hour, but quickly helped her saddle a plain looking horse and secure her baggage behind the saddle.

  “You must cut your hair,” said the boy bluntly.

  She stared at him, “what?”

  He smiled shyly and said, “if you wish to escape unnoticed you must look the part of an errand boy sent with some vital message. Your beautiful locks were never seen on such a lad.”

  She nodded grimly and almost reverently he helped her trim her hair roughly with a belt knife. He gave her a shapeless hat and she smiled grimly, “thank you for your help.”

  He bowed awkwardly and said, “you have ever been kind to me lady. I do not know your trouble but I will keep your secret. Farewell.”

  She climbed into the saddle and rode swiftly away, the guards upon the gates did not bother stopping a messenger obviously leaving in haste on some desperate business of dire importance. It was a busy night for messages apparently for after the girl left, three other riders left one after the other. The guards scratched their heads but made no move to stop the emigrants.

  Katia rode on well into the morning hoping to put as much distance between herself and the castle before she was missed and pursued, but her horse stumbled, nearly unseated her, and refused to go further. With much frustration she slid from the saddle to inspect the horse and find the reason for his reluctance to go on. The reason was quite obvious, the creature had thrown a shoe and the offending foot was now lame. She sighed and led the animal off the road and out of sight, wondering what to do. She glanced around desperately for inspiration, near to panic at the delay; her eyes fell upon a small cottage set some distance back in the woods. She smiled and hoped the local herbalist could help her. Katia secured the animal behind the cottage and then returned to the front and knocked upon the door. A comely woman in her middle years beckoned the girl to enter, wondering why a girl with a bad haircut in the King’s livery stood at her door.

  “I need help,” gasped the princess, “my horse has thrown a shoe and can go no further until attended to and I must leave Itria at once.”

  Intrigued, the woman said, “calm yourself child. Come, have some tea and we shall discuss your problem.” Katia chaffed at the delay but desperately needed the help so endured the woman’s hospitality as patiently as she could. She was not sure if she could trust the woman, but perhaps her pitiful tale would touch the woman’s heart. Katia poured out her story and the woman’s face was one of infinite patience and calm but her eyes widened in surprise and speculation as the girl spoke. “And what would you have of me child?” asked the woman once the girl had finished.

  Katia said, “I need another horse or perhaps a place to hide. Whatever happens I must not be found by those seeking me.”

  The woman smiled and said, “then you had best change clothes and stay for a time, until we can safely smuggle you from the country.” The girl smiled deeply and in her joy drew the woman close in a grateful hug.

  The woman clad the girl as a peasant boy and did what she could to disguise her female attributes. If one did not look too close, the girl was easy to overlook as just another peasant lad going about his chores. The King had sent out soldiers to find the girl when it was discovered that she was fled, but it was a large country and the girl could be anywhere within or beyond its borders by now. Two days passed and the girl began to relax, hoping that perhaps she was finally out of danger. She did odd jobs for the woman and began to wonder if perhaps she might not accept the woman’s offer to stay on indefinitely and learn the art of herbs and healing. That night they sat over supper and the girl asked, “I had thought to ride to Astoria and seek refuge there, but I am very interested in the healing arts. Are they not practice
d by the Brethren?”

  Her host smiled and said, “there are some I am sure with some minor skill, but it is not their main area of interest or purpose. Their intent is more upon justice, peace, and the passing on and preservation of lore and history rather than in healing and other more useful skills. They do not go in for the crafts and skills necessary for civilized life, leaving such things to lesser folk. I am sure they think they are doing something good for the world, but craftsmen and artists they certainly are not.”

  A look of confusion played across Katia’s face at this statement of irreverence for a group she had respected all her life. The woman smiled, “child, I have no use for your precious Brethren. If they ceased to be life would still go on for the majority of us, but if all the blacksmiths and healers vanished from the face of the earth civilization itself would collapse.”

  Katia said carefully, “I have heard rumors about certain healers, it is said that their skills spring not from nature but from a more sinister source. Is this part of your antipathy towards the Brethren?”

  The woman scoffed. “we are an independent and stubborn lot, not easily placed in a box like your Brethren who are all the same. We can believe, think, and act however we please. A certain number of us certainly lean towards what some call the dark arts to aid our healing abilities, but there are others that hold that these arcane skills are not as bad as all that for they say the power comes not from an evil source but from the benign spirits of the woods. Of course it is only some of us that go in for that sort of thing. Others are strictly dealers in herbs and natural cures, staying well away from anything of a more supernatural nature; these of course have a much less successful practice but they assure me that their lives and minds and perhaps even their souls are much lighter and freer than those who delve into the mysterious.”

  “And of which persuasion are you?” asked the girl with wide eyes.

  The woman laughed, “I do not go in for evil dabblings, of course. Drink your tea and then I have more work for you to be about.” The girl nodded dutifully, much relieved at her host’s assertions, took up her cup, took a long draught, and with a gasp of surprise slumped unconscious on the table.

  A sinister voice said, “what was that about evil dabblings?”

  The herbalist laughed, “I am no witch but I do know a thing or two about herbs. I never said I was a saint either nor am I one to turn down such a chance at profit. She will sleep for six to ten hours, after that you are on your own.”

  The dark man nodded and went to collect his prey. He had been lurking about the castle for months by the order of his much dreaded masters and had been doing his best to foment war between Itria and Saracen. When he saw the girl flee after her father’s proclamation he knew his chance had come. He had ridden out in pursuit of her and followed her to this place where he had made a profitable offer to the woman who readily agreed. He placed the girl on the horse and then crawled up behind her in the saddle. It was a dark night so he rode slowly that his horse not stumble along the way. He mused as to what he should do with the girl. He could return her to her father and perhaps gain a trusted place within his court. He could give her into the hands of her affianced and perhaps do the same. Or he could dispatch her and blame it on one side or the other and the more easily foment war. Or she could quietly disappear and the King of Saracen might ride to war all the sooner. He sighed, the best option was certainly delivering the girl into the hands of the Saracen King and telling a tale of heroic escape and treachery on the part of Itria. He smiled, such a story would do nicely and provide him with ample reward as well as progressing his master’s plans. His introspections were cut short as his horse stopped abruptly.

  The dark man glanced up and found another rider blocking the path with his sword at the ready. The dark man growled under his breath, it was the Brethren’s Advisor to the King. “Let her go,” said Markor.

  The dark man scoffed, “and how did you find me?”

  Markor smiled, “I followed you after you followed the girl. Let her go and I will spare your life.”

  The dark man scoffed, “and what is my life worth if she is lost to me? Move aside or she dies.” He held his knife to her throat to show he meant business.

  Markor sighed and said, “will you take me in her stead?”

  The dark man scoffed, “and what would that avail me? She is a valuable prisoner, you are just another nuisance.”

  Markor’s response was cut short by a grunt of pain as an arrow grazed his shoulder. The two men looked around in confusion as half a dozen men armed with bows and swords surrounded them. Their leader laughed, “throw down your weapons lads and you might not get hurt. Now who are you and why are you detaining my lord’s bride?”

  The dark man scowled, “and who might you be? I have big plans for this girl and you dare stand in my way? You are as annoying as this pious fool! Move aside ere you regret it.” The men did not cower in terror as he had hoped, instead they laughed uproariously. He had the power to manipulate them, at least individually but it seemed the presence of one of the Master’s servants and a unicorn hindered that ability significantly.

  Once the men had quieted in their mirth, the leader said, “we are Knights of Saracen come to fetch home our lord’s beloved whom you are holding captive at the moment. One of my spies saw her flee and alerted me to the danger. We were waiting in Itria to escort her to her waiting fiancé and now we shall do just that. I would put up that dagger if I cherished my life. Now who are you?”

  The dark man snorted in irritation, “my annoying friend is the Brethren’s Advisor to the King of Itria and was trying to stop me from taking the girl. I am a man with great designs on this girl and what she will mean for my future. I will give her into your keeping if you will tell your lord the part I played in her capture.”

  The soldier laughed harshly, “you will be lucky to keep your life fool. As for your friend, I am sure the King will be delighted to make an end of him. He has no use for such as he and nothing pleases him more than to watch them die horribly.”

  The dark man said, “my life is forfeit unless I gain something out of this failed scheme so what does it matter if you spare my life? Perhaps I should just kill the girl and be done with it.”

  The captain’s eyes widened and he said, “let us not be hasty now. I will put in a good word to the King and I am sure he will hear you out.”

  The dark man turned to Markor, “does he speak truly.”

  Markor nodded, “he tells the truth.”

  The dark man smiled, “see that you do not disappoint me or you will regret it sorely. But take my advice and kill the fool and his mount before they cause further problems.”

  The captain laughed as one of his men relieved the dark man of the sleeping girl, “there is no point in killing a perfectly good horse. You cannot tell me you believe in those stories the Brethren pass around that they actually ride unicorns! He will die soon enough.”

  Markor and the girl were quickly bound and kept in the center of the group as hostages while the dark man was allowed to move about as he pleased. He chaffed at his helplessness to use his dark powers to affect the men. Had they done as he had asked and killed the annoying pair, they would have been powerless before him. As it was, he was now fully dependent upon them for his future longevity. His masters were not keen on failure and made startling examples of such when they could. He did not wish to become such a byword if he could help it. The girl woke sometime the following morning when the small company had made camp for the day. They traveled only at night until they were safely beyond the borders of Itria. She gasped to find herself in such a predicament but was even more startled to find Markor in the same situation. He smiled ruefully but had no plans as to how to get out of this strange situation. The unicorn was ready to fight his way out or more likely die trying but his master held him firm while there was yet some hope of es
cape, but the closer they got to Saracen the dimmer that hope became.

  The dark man whispered quietly to Markor one day as the others dozed, “I have a plan to free ourselves and the girl, after that we can discuss this matter further.”

  Markor nearly laughed, “I cannot cooperate with you even did I wish it.”

  The dark man growled, “what did your precious Oath ever gain you? Can you not see that you are going to die! Forsake your vows and save your life fool.” Markor shook his head grimly and no more was said on the matter.

  They soon left Itria far behind and were well into Saracen and soon within the royal palace. The King soon had the whole party standing before him in the great hall. He laughed grimly as his captain told the tale. He looked the girl over as one might a spirited horse, liking what he saw. The King said to the girl, “your father is a fool to think that by sacrificing you to my appetites it would spare his Kingdom. Even now I am massing for war upon your pitiful country. You however will serve as an amusement while you last. Take her to her chambers.”

  “And who are these fools captain?” asked the King examining the dark man and Markor.

  The captain said, “one is the Brethren’s advisor to the girl’s father and the other had a hand in capturing your renegade bride.”

  He looked over the two carefully and said to the dark man, “you seem a cunning fellow, what would you have for aiding my men in the capture of the rebellious girl?”

  The man smiled in his most sycophantic manner and said, “I wish nothing more than to serve as your aid and advisor my lord.”

  The King laughed darkly, “would you now? I have and need no advisors. I am wise enough to know my own mind. You are a fool to think that flattery will gain you anything with me; I am no such fool. In fact, I can see that you are of a dangerous and devious mind, perhaps equal to my own. I will suffer no such rival or danger within my own realm. Thus you will share in the fate of your scrupulous friend here and amuse the court this afternoon and tomorrow I shall be married.”

  The dark man’s face turned several shades of red and was nearly purple with rage as he said, “you dare defy me!” The King laughed and the guards escorted them away.

  “Now what?” asked the stunned dark man of the captain as they were escorted from the King’s presence.

  The captain smiled in anticipation, “the King has quite a menagerie of rare and terrible beasts, now and then he likes to amuse the court by pitting his pets against his enemies. He has just acquired a Great Northern she-bear and he is quite eager to see if she is as dangerous as rumor holds. I do not think it will be long and you will discover this for yourselves.”

  He left them together in a small holding cell to wait while the preparations were made for the afternoon’s entertainment. “This is all your fault,” growled the dark man to Markor, “if you had had the decency to either die or cooperate I could have dealt with those soldiers quite easily. Now we are both dead men and your precious princess is doomed to the same fate as before while Itria will feel the wrath of Saracen. You are quite a failure I think.”

  Markor said evenly, “things seem hopeless I suppose but while life lasts there is always hope. I may not succeed but others shall take up what I lay down.”

  The dark man threw himself down in one corner and sighed, “do you Brethren never despair? What is the fun in tormenting a man who will not give up?”

  Markor laughed, “how can one despair who trusts in the source of all hope?”

  The dark man growled, “where is your hope now?”

  Markor shrugged and said, “we shall see.”

  Preparations were quickly made and within an hour, the court had gathered around the arena the King had had built for just such an occasion and the prisoners were shoved out a small door into the great sandy circle surrounded on all sides by high walls behind which sat the spectators in tiered seats. The spectacles were open to the public and attendance was required of all who could come. It served as a very efficient example of what happens to people who disagreed with the King.

  A gate on the far side of the ring was opened and a huge bear lumbered out into the arena, blinking after the darkness of its cage. The creature was huge and each paw boasted the largest claws either man had ever seen. She sniffed the air and looked about her in confusion. She was hungry and worse, grumpy from being roused from a nap and forced out into the bright sunshine. She approached the walls but found she could not scale them or reach the eager spectators on the other side. Then she noticed the pathetic humans in the ring with her. She gave a great roar and in a lumbering run charged the prisoners. The dark man shouted in triumph, “I may be a dead man but I die of my own volition. You however must face the wrath of the bear!”

  His exultation was cut short as he watched Markor’s eyes widen in surprise, his hand went to his chest as if he felt some strange sensation there, and then he collapsed as if dead. He sighed, wishing that there had been even one witness to this perceived triumph, however small and willed himself to die; his last thought was how utterly unfair it was that no matter what his powers, the Brethren always seemed to ruin his moments of victory. The bear reached the place where her prey had been. She growled in confusion and sniffed first at the black puddle that was all that remained of the dark man; she snorted in disgust and wiped the sticky liquid from her nose. She then nosed at Markor but found nothing of interest in one already dead. She grumbled in confusion and frustration and lumbered around the arena until someone opened the gate back to her lair. The audience was silent in amazement.

  The King stood and called to the captain of the guard, “what has happened? Where are the blood and the screams and the terror? How can two perfectly healthy men just fall over dead? I want my amusement! Have we no other prisoners?”

  The captain saluted and went to find other victims to sate the King’s wrath while various servants set the arena to rights. The soiled sand was removed and the dead man drug into the depths of the castle where he might be put to good use. In the lowest dungeon toiled a man whose job it was to prepare the meat for the King’s fearsome creatures and it was in this room upon a pile of carrion that they laid Markor. All such victims, or whatever was left of them, eventually found their way to that pile and then into the bellies of the King’s vile stock, but the pile also contained a number of goats, sheep, calves, and other creatures acquired by various means. The man in charge of the preparations did not differentiate between a lamb or a man for to him a corpse was a corpse and the animals must be fed. He finished dressing the goat upon which he had been working and then made ready to put the man to good use. But the man stirred at his touch. He scratched his head in confusion and thought he must be seeing things but then the man moved again and then, shaking his head sat up.

  His nose wrinkled at the scent of death thick around him and started in surprise to see a large man with a blood-spattered apron standing over him with a grim looking knife. Markor glanced down in further surprise at the pile of carrion upon which he sat. He stood shakily, ready to defend himself but the man just stood there and stared blankly, scratching his head. Ignoring the reinvigorated corpse, the man reached into the pile, took up a different victim, and returned to his place and his duties. Markor watched in astonishment. The man continued to ignore him and did not seem intent on raising the alarm. His business was with dead things and if a thing were not dead it was no business of his.

  Markor shook his head in astonishment and began poking about the dismal rooms, hoping to find a change of clothes that he might somehow blend in with the invisible servants that kept the castle running. He found a small storage room off to one side and within found a rough garment worn by the laborers who hauled water, chopped wood, and removed refuse. No longer stinking of death or looking like an enemy of the state, Markor crept off to find a place to await nightfall when his mission would begin. He still marveled at the fact that he w
as alive. The bear was nearly upon them when suddenly he had felt himself snatched away, leaving the bear to nose about in confusion over his body. Once the danger was past, the Master sent him back to his body with instructions to free the princess who must flee back to Itria with a warning that war would soon be upon them. Darkness fell and the more regal inhabitants of the castle went to bed while the less dignified came out to attend to their duties. Night was when the floors were mopped, and all the myriad chores required to keep the castle in good order, but which were too vulgar to noble sensibilities to be done during waking hours, were accomplished. Markor passed unremarked as just another common laborer going about his chores.

  He found a soldier dozing by a pillar while he was supposed to be on watch. It was no difficulty to capture him, secure him in a small closet, and make off with his uniform and weapons. Now garbed as a guard of the castle, Markor had no trouble finding the Princess’ chambers and relieving the guard on duty for it was late and he would much rather be sleeping. The man disappeared and Markor gave him half an hour before opening the door he guarded. He glanced in and found the Princess sitting upon the bed, pale in the moonlight that streamed through the window. Her eyes were red with weeping and she would have screamed at the sudden intrusion but Markor removed his helmet and held a finger to his lips. She nodded grimly and flung her arms about him in relief; they were still very much in the heart of danger but the presence of a friendly face brought joy into the midst of her despair. A serving girl crept out of the shadows and made quickly for the door but Markor held her at sword point only to watch her fall to the floor weeping disconsolately.

  Katia and Markor exchanged a confused look then the Princess knelt beside the weeping girl, “what is the matter Malia? You must not be afraid for my rescuer has come.”

  Malia dried her eyes and said, “that is just it my lady! If you are not here on the morrow, I will be the next one fed to the bear! I must warn the King if only to save my own life.”

  Markor sheathed his blade and said, “I will not leave either of you to such a fate. Can you disguise yourself and your lady as common laborers and sneak from the castle?”

  Grim determination replaced the despair on the girl’s face as she said, “we can sneak out using the refuse cart but I doubt the pony will outrun the guards’ horses when they realize we are gone.”

  “Do it,” said Markor grimly, “forget the pony and take the black horse in the last stall. Once you are free of the city, abandon the cart and let him have his head.”

  Katia’s eyes widened as she realized what it was the man was doing. “You cannot!” she gasped, “you cannot be found here when we are gone!”

  Markor smiled grimly, “neither can you escape if they suspect you are not still in this room. I will ward the door as long as I can and buy you some time, but you must go now. Ride home and warn your father that Saracen is even now preparing for war. May the Master ride with you.”

  She sighed and quickly the girls made their preparations and vanished from the castle as planned. The unicorn was not pleased to abandon his master, but knew his duty and bore the girls to safety and raised the alarm in Itria. Markor stayed by the door until his replacement came and asked, “any trouble?”

  Markor smiled and said, “no, things went perfectly. When is the wedding?”

  The guard shrugged, “this morning some time. The servant had best be preparing the bride even as we speak. The King will not be happy if today is not perfect, especially after the dismal disappointment of the executions yesterday.”

  Markor said, “shall I look in to see what is passing in the room? It has been rather quiet.”

  The guard nodded, “that might not be a bad idea but it is your head if the lady takes it amiss and complains to the King.”

  Markor grinned, “it is a risk I am willing to take.”

  He dashed into the room leaving the surprised guard without. The guard expected him to come out quickly but Markor did not emerge. He scratched his head, but figured the man was smart enough to not do anything suicidal. At least there was now the noise of movement and dressing going on in the room. It would not go well if the bride were not ready at the appointed time. A servant came with a breakfast tray and the captain came to see that all was in readiness, the soldier told both that the lady ought not be disturbed for she was in the midst of her preparations and all would certainly be ready at the right time.

  Markor spent most of the morning opening drawers, pacing the room, flinging bits and pieces of jewelry and shoes about. He was not surprised that he was not interrupted with all the commotion he was causing it must be obvious to the none-too-bright guard that the Princess was too busy to be disturbed. When it seemed the appointed time was nigh, Markor finished his preparations and wondered what the King would think. There was a brief knock upon the door and then it was suddenly flung open by the captain of the guard. He saw the woman sitting forlornly on the bed, covered head to foot in the finest material. His heart was moved for pity for a moment knowing her grim fate, but his loyalty was to his lord and that was the end of the matter. He said, “come my dear, it is time at last.”

  She stood then, awkwardly it seemed, as if she were unaccustomed to so much fabric. The veil covered her face in Saracenian tradition and would only be removed by her beloved after the ceremony. They made their way to the great hall where all the court was gathered. The King was resplendent in his ceremonial best and already stood at the front of the hall where an aged General stood to officiate the ceremony. The captain escorted the bride to her beloved who then took her hand and the ceremony began. The King kept eyeing the bride as if he smelled something slightly out of place, as if she smelled ever so slightly of death or decay.

  Finally the General asked if the bride was willing for the union, to which the reply was, “certainly not,” in a masculine voice as Markor pulled off the veil and revealed himself to the astounded King and the entire court. The King turned white with terror thinking that a ghost stood before him, to which the smell of the grave certainly added its own romance.

  “Where is the girl?” stammered the King, “how is this possible?”

  Markor grinned, “nothing is impossible for the Master.”

  The man’s insolent grin was too much; terror was replaced by rage as the King drew his sword and struck off the man’s head. Markor collapsed and the King drew a sigh of relief to see that the fiend was truly made of flesh and blood, however he had managed to survive his ordeal with the bear. The King stared at his blood-spattered clothes in dismay, angry that the wretched man had ruined his best garments not to mention his wedding. He bellowed, “go find the girl and someone clean up this mess!”

  Katia reached Itria quickly and warned her father of Saracen’s impending invasion. He quickly mustered his army and met the invaders at the border in an ambush. The Saracen King had struck out in anger before he was ready and had not expected such an assault so soon. The Itrians were fighting for their lives, homes, families, and beloved King; the Saracens did not hold their tyrannical King in high regard nor did they relish the endless battles he seemed to enjoy. The Saracens quickly broke under the unflagging courage of their foes. The King lost control of himself and started lashing out at his retreating soldiers with his sword; one man so injured turned back and struck with his own blade. The King fell mortally wounded and none of his soldiers or lords turned back to lift him from the bloody mire in which he lay. The Itrians withdrew to their own country leaving the miserable King to die alone. The Saracens were long in recovering from the loss and were far more diplomatic in the future under the rule of a more reasonable King. Katia was finally able to ride to Astoria.