by T. S. Church
Sulla shook his head.
“Behind each gate the road will be built to favour the knights. They will be able to pour boiling oil on us, or trap us between portcullises. It is better this way. It makes them fearful, makes them gaze in horror at their fate!”
Inside Sir Amik’s chamber the noise of the cannon and the wails of despairing citizens was inescapable. Bhuler was still awake and keeping watch, and he helped the knight to sit up.
“How long until the dawn, my old friend?” Sir Amik asked, his voice stronger than before. “How long until the darkness ends?”
“Another six hours,” Bhuler said. He had spent the time in prayer, pleading for the knight’s life and offering his own in its place. He knew that Falador needed staunch leadership now, more than at any other time in its history.
“Wake me at first light and help me with my armour.” Sir Amik’s eyes rested on his torn and bloodied standard, still leaning in the corner. “Everything shall be decided then,” he sighed, lying down to sleep once more.
The third breach was made an hour before dawn, and it heralded panic amongst the people of Falador. From the window of his merchant house Lord Tremene watched in dismay as the wealthier citizens hurled their valuables into the moat about the castle.
The people have turned into animals, he thought. He saw a man push his wife to the ground and stand ominously over his daughter.
“It is a better end—to die here and now!” the man cried, tears running down his face as he raised his axe above his daughter’s head.
“No, father!” she cried in horror, realising his intention.
But the axe never struck. Lord Tremene watched as Squire Marius pushed the girl aside and parried the blow with his sword before kicking the feet out from under the hysterical man.
“Do you call yourselves men?” he roared. “You are citizens of Falador—of the greatest city in the world! And look at you now. Sacrificing your women and hiding your gold, driven mad by your fear! Where is your pride?”
He gestured wildly with his sword at the crowd and immediately a strange calm settled over them. Men stopped shouting and the women ceased their laments. Swiftly the city militia broke the group up.
“Squire Marius!” Sir Vyvin called from the castle wall. “Bring the women inside the castle. They will be safe here.”
If the Kinshra don’t come soon, Lord Tremene thought, the city will destroy itself.
Ebenezer looked with disappointment bordering on despair at the men gathered near the westernmost breach, where they had successfully held the goblins before. Of his total strength of six hundred remaining men in the city militia, less than half had responded to his orders summoning them to the wall. The others had fled, to spend what they believed would be the last few hours of their lives with their loved ones or to hide themselves in the lowliest corners of the city.
Marius stood next to him, sharing his disappointment. The alchemist could sense anger in the squire, who felt betrayed by the citizens his order had defended for so many years.
Lord Tremene rode up behind them, and dismounted.
“Where are the reserves?” he asked as he stepped closer.
“There are none, save the city guard, and those number less than two hundred” Ebenezer said. “They are stationed at the gate under the command of Captain Ingrew.” He spoke softly, his fingers caressing the runes in his pocket. He had retrieved them from the body of Master Segainus. He knew he could not wield a weapon with any degree of skill, so he had decided that resorting to magic was his best option.
At least, he thought wryly, Castimir would approve.
The alchemist looked grimly at the desperate men before him. He knew they could only hope to defend one of the three breaches that now perforated the wall. He cast tired eyes to the east, where he knew dawn would be lighting the streets of Varrock in neighbouring Misthalin. For a moment he wished he had fled before the siege had begun.
Anywhere but here, he thought.
Tremene laughed bitterly, catching the others off guard.
“Suddenly wealth doesn’t seem so important anymore.” He smiled ruefully at Ebenezer.
The alchemist smiled knowingly back.
“No” he said. “No, it doesn’t.”
“Permission to join your militia, Master Alchemist, to stand in the breach and fight by your side?”
The two men shook hands.
“Permission granted, my friend. Find yourself a suitable position and send to the Abyss any enemy who crosses your path!”
The two dozen followers of Lord Tremene rode up and dismounted, checking their weapons and armour and finding places alongside his men. All the citizens of Falador were represented in the remaining militia—rich men stood alongside poor men, all of them free men who had offered to fight for their city.
Ebenezer looked into their faces—they knew that only death awaited them. As the drums of the Kinshra started to signal their advance, he felt very proud.
“Do you hear that?” a young peon said, his youthful face deathly pale from lack of sleep. “It’s the drums. The Kinshra are coming!” The boy turned fearfully from the castle ramparts to face the man by his side.
“Courage lad!” Sir Tiffy looked unflinchingly into his young companion’s eyes. “It is just a noise—and a noise cannot harm you.” He ruffled the boy’s hair playfully, looking northward across the city and over the shattered wall to the plain beyond. There was just light enough to see by, and on the plain he saw the black massed ranks of Kinshra soldiers march steadily forward, the sounds of the drums growing with each step.
“Soon they will be within range of our trebuchets,” Sir Tiffy said loudly, “then their drums won’t sound so confident!” His efforts were rewarded by the fleeting smiles of sudden hope on young faces.
The old knight left the ramparts a few moments later, walking swiftly across the courtyard to his horse. Without a word he climbed awkwardly into the saddle and rode toward the gate. He stopped to speak to Sir Vyvin, who was supervising the massed ranks of men who stood patiently in their armour next to their horses.
“Is Sir Amik ready to lead you out?” Sir Tiffy asked.
Sir Vyvin looked upward to Sir Amik’s window.
“Bhuler is readying him now,” he replied. “When he comes down we shall ride out into the city and Captain Ingrew’s men will open the gate. With any luck we should be able to reach Sulla’s guns before they can intercept us.”
Sir Tiffy’s eyes rested on the peons who sat nervously on their horses. There were only three hundred men and boys.
“They are too young for this, Vyvin” he said quietly. The other knight nodded gravely.
“They either die out there or in here, Sir Tiffy. If we ride out, we can buy time...” He lowered his voice even further. “... Time for her to come!”
The two men said nothing more, each praying that every minute brought Kara-Meir closer. Finally the old knight extended his hand to Sir Vyvin, shaking it firmly.
“Then good luck, my friend” he said with finality. “I doubt if we shall meet again. I shall go now, to visit the park for the last time and await the end, then to help where I may.”
“Several of the old knights have gone out to help the city militia” Sir Vyvin said. “If you wish to fight, my friend, then you might be best employed there.” He stepped away from the horse.
“Then I shall” Sir Tiffy promised, “after I have taken the air in the park one last time.”
With a nod he rode out through the gates of the castle and across the moat, ignoring the despairing cries of the citizens as he galloped north.
SIXTY-SIX
At dawn they came. The Kinshra charged the three breaches simultaneously and raised ladders along the length of the wall. So swift were they that Ebenezer’s trebuchets overshot their mark.
In the easternmost breach there were too few men to resist the enemy. Within minutes those few citizens and guards brave enough to stand had been driven off by the sheer wei
ght of enemy numbers.
In the centre breach the same was true. Long arrows from the foresters who had fled their homes before the Kinshra advance were not enough to halt them, despite the fearful accuracy that felled scores of the enemy before they reached the streets.
In the western breach, where Ebenezer and his militia still fought, the Kinshra advance was briefly checked. The men of the militia fought with a suicidal desperation that overcame their better trained foe.
As the Kinshra hesitated in the breach, Marius’s youthful passion asserted itself over his tactical training.
“Push them back! Drive them out of the city! Force them into the breach!” he yelled, waving his blood-stained sword above his head in a courageous frenzy.
His men cheered and the Kinshra gave way, their front ranks turning to push aside the men behind. Into the breach the defenders rushed, shoving the Kinshra before them. They thrust with their pikes and slashed with their swords and yelled with an animal ferocity that even the followers of chaos had never heard before.
Sir Tiffy Cashien called to Ebenezer, aware of the danger Marius was falling into. He had ridden hard from his park bench, barely escaping the Kinshra soldiers who had stormed through the central breach.
“Ebenezer! You must pull your men back or we shall be surrounded” he shouted. “The enemy are in the city. If we linger here we shall be trapped!”
The alchemist knew he was right, yet he couldn’t dismiss the thought that if they were victorious at the breach then the rest of the city would rise to follow them. Even if it were to mean their deaths, it would be worth it.
Sir Tiffy saw his friend’s indecision.
“According to Theodore’s message, Kara should arrive soon,” he said. “We have a chance, Ebenezer. Sulla’s force will be divided—some in the city and some outside—but we need your men to make it a reality. We cannot delay!”
The alchemist looked toward the breach, shrouded in smoke and echoing to the sounds of battle. After their brief hesitation, the Kinshra were rallying.
“And what of the city guard in the gatehouse? Do we abandon them?” Ebenezer asked, knowing that his retreat would leave them unguarded.
The old knight nodded.
“We have no choice. They can seal themselves in the building for a few hours. Besides, the gatehouse won’t be the target— once the enemy get into the city they will look for plunder and forget the battle.”
With a sigh, Ebenezer gave the signal. Swiftly his men abandoned their position, running south toward the castle.
As they ran, Ebenezer counted the men. Three hundred had gone into the breach and now they were only half that number.
“The Kinshra have broken through the wall, Sir Vyvin!” a messenger announced breathlessly. “There are hundreds of them at each of the breaches.”
“Does the gatehouse still stand?” Sir Vyvin asked calmly.
“Yes, sir—though for how long is anyone’s guess.”
“Ten minutes will be enough, my friend.” He turned to the men under his command. “Gather your weapons, for we shall leave here as soon as Sir Amik joins us.”
Sir Vyvin noted their courage lift at the very mention of the name. He smiled into the hopeful faces of the peons who had donned their armour and stood waiting to be led into a battle they were still too young to fight.
He thought back upon his last visit to Sir Amik’s chamber. He had opened the door to find Bhuler struggling to help Sir Amik from his bed. In a fit of sudden anger the valet had shouted at Sir Vyvin.
“Shall I tie him to his horse as well?” he railed. “Will that satisfy your damnable honour?”
Sir Vyvin had said nothing, for there was no answer he could give that would pacify Bhuler’s righteous anger. But Sir Amik’s presence—riding in his armour and under his banner—was the only thing now that could give hope to his men. Sir Vyvin had closed the door, and as he had done so he heard Sir Amik fall to the floor while Bhuler uttered a curse.
He decided now to go back into the tower and drag Sir Amik from his bed himself. As he moved to do so, a door opened and a cry went up from his men.
For Sir Amik was standing there in the courtyard, holding his banner. With a sudden shout of encouragement, made all the more terrifying because it issued from behind his white visor, he raised the banner above his head and limped to his horse, which stood at Sir Vyvin’s side. As he made his way through the men, they clapped and cheered and beat their swords on their shields with renewed fervour, while the peons wept unhidden tears at their leader’s courageous sacrifice.
“I wish I had the strength to ride with him,” an injured knight said as he, too, wept openly. “To go with him on the final ride of our order, and to commit indelibly to history the courage of our friends,”
Without a word, Sir Amik drew his sword, pointing to the north where their enemy had begun to burn the city.
The guard on the gate looked to the north also, waving his flaming torch. The man next to him blew a long signal on a horn. It echoed across the city, gaining strength as it overcame all other sounds, until it reached the city guards and Captain Ingrew on the northern gate of Falador.
An answering torch was lit and a second horn was blown. Sir Amik dug his heels into his horse’s flank, leading every man still capable of fighting out of the courtyard, to the north and to the war.
The Kinshra had driven all resistance before them, but now they were in the city their minds turned to plunder. Swiftly their discipline broke down and many, drunk on the rage of battle and their thirst for violence, fought amongst themselves.
It was the mistake that the defenders had prayed for, for it gave them time. With each passing second, Ebenezer and Sir Tiffy exchanged desperate yet hopeful glances.
When would Kara come?
Marius formed his men into a thin line across the street that led to the south part of the city, where all the inhabitants of Falador had fled. Dozens of others joined them in the retreat south. Some were bowmen from the northern forests who had fought the Kinshra at the central breach, others were young men who finally realised there was no other option but to fight in order to protect their families. Still others were old men who had decided to die with honour rather than whimper their days away, dwelling on their youth and what might have been had they had the courage to act.
Every citizen had been given a second chance, to face death with courage and prove that they deserved the right to call themselves free men. Sir Tiffy sat on his horse, looking to the north of the burning city. The Kinshra had made no attempt to engage in pursuit, and that worried him.
“Sir Tiffy Cashien? Is Sir Tiffy here?” a young voice shouted. Ebenezer turned to see one of Emily’s messengers as he ran toward him.
“I have a message, sir! It is from Sir Finistere, from the almshouse.” The boy looked furtively into the man’s eyes. “It is Sir Erical! He has been seen. He is being watched even now.”
The knight sat silently on his horse, his mind in turmoil. The man who had caused them so much damage over so many years was within his grasp, in the very hour his city was collapsing into anarchy. Was it all his fault? Had their defeat come about because of just one individual?
He raised his head, and his eyes filled with angry tears.
“He must be destroyed!” Sir Tiffy declared, his words shuddering. “He has caused so much death. He, above all others, must be destroyed!”
“I shall come with you,” Marius said, before the old man had even asked him. “Many of my fellow squires perished by his treachery, and I could happily die today if I knew he was in the ground before me.”
“I shall come also, if you will permit me,” said the alchemist. “This man tried to murder my friend. I would like to look him in the eye and to ask him what reason he has for such treachery. I shall inform Lord Tremene that he is to take charge. He has proved himself more than capable.”
The three rode to the north of the city, each burning with the desire to confront and punish this
one man who had wrought such destruction upon them all. Their minds were so focused on their task that they did not even notice the horns sounding on the breeze, echoing above them off the high white walls.
For the knights had ridden out of their castle.
SIXTY-SEVEN
Sulla heard the horns.
Then he saw that the gates of the city had been opened. It could only mean one thing—the knights were riding forth. Instantly he recognised the danger, for his army was packed up against the breaches, trying to storm the city.
His men were not expecting an attack from behind.
He signalled his cavalry chief and saw Gaius raise his lance tip in acknowledgment. His four hundred horsemen would ride to intercept them.
The knights would come, but they would not find Sulla so easily caught.
No one barred their way. No spearmen attempted to hem them in, no arrows fell amongst them and no cavalry rode to intercept them.
They had taken the Kinshra by surprise.
Out they charged, following Sir Amik. The old knight’s tattered banner waved above their heads and he brandished his sword before him. Through the gate they rushed, onto the plain. Their white helms and burnished shields reflected the bright morning sun from the east, blinding their enemies and filling them with panic.
The Kinshra infantry outside the westernmost breach had no time to react. They were too disorganised to repel an attack from an enemy they believed they had already beaten. Into the loose body of black-armoured men the knights charged. They smashed the invaders aside, trampling them under the hooves of their warhorses and driving their way to the centre of the group before any pikes could be levelled.
Sir Vyvin fought at Sir Amik’s side, cutting the arm off the nearest enemy and parrying the panicked thrust of a pike.
“Sir Amik! We must charge the guns!” he yelled.
But Sir Amik pointed to the east, where Gaius’s cavalry was approaching.
Then Sir Vyvin knew what Sir Amik intended. The lance points of the Kinshra horsemen would be deadly, and to remove the danger the knights had put the Kinshra infantry between them. So if the enemy cavalry chose to fight, they would have to ride through their own soldiers and sacrifice their tight formation. And if they did that, swords rather than lances would hold the advantage in close quarter fighting.
