Riding to the fore of his forces he unsheathed his sword, brandishing it above his head he shouted loudly. ‘Warriors of the Wolf Pack, for too long we have been held in place by these charlatans and frauds. It is time to put an end to this bureaucracy and seize our destiny. Kill all who stand in our way. Make for the city...Charge!’
As one the soldiers surged forward, several regiments made their way towards the large breach. Others still made straight for the wall with ladders and grappling equipment determined to make it into the royal city by any means necessary. Gerwold smiled as he lowered the faceplate on his helmet, the snarling wolf’s mouth carved into its face seemed only too fitting.
*****
With tremendous fury the attackers threw themselves at the wall. Ladders were thrown against the wall only to be pushed back by the defenders; armoured soldiers clung to them as they toppled over crushing the unsuspecting troops below. Grappling lines were cut wherever they were found as the defenders fought tooth and nail for their beloved city.
At the breach the fighting was fiercest; scarcely a dozen paces across the attackers clambered over the crumbling masonry and launched themselves upon the stoic defenders. Arrows rained relentlessly as archers waiting in the courtyard blackened the sky with each volley. Yeomen on the wall fired steadily into the teeming mass of men. In the breach itself a company of soldiers braced for the coming charge, whilst others waited nearby ready to stem any gap that formed in the defense.
Dariyen watched patiently as rank upon rank of attackers fell, but the others pressed through the dusty smoke filled air. Rank upon rank of mighty warriors in wicked plate armour marched into the breach, appearing through the mist with weapons raised they would throw themselves at the waiting defenders with berserk fury.
Resolutely the defenders braced themselves against the tide taking the brunt of the charge on their shield wall. As their momentum waned, the warriors of King’s Court counterattacked, hacking and thrusting from behind the safety of their large shields. The Wolf pack died in droves, the difficulty of wielding their great swords in such a tight space weighed heavily in the defenders ‘favor. In addition to which the Wolf were still fighting uphill and the defenders were positioned well to exploit the terrain to their advantage.
Gerwold watched patiently as his army launched itself at the capital, the pack would not break, whether it was one casualty or one thousand they would press on. Discipline was a commodity Gerwold prized above all.
Unfortunately for the would-be king, even the iron will of the Wolf was struggling to gain traction against the defenders. Here and there soldiers were making it to the top of the wall, but the warriors of King’s Court held firm. Turning his horse, he spurred it towards his command tent. ‘Kalian, get out here at once!’
From the shadowed recesses of the tent a figure emerged, dressed in billowing robes of flowing colors the young Kashishian woman appeared. Kashish was a Tribal Kingdom across the Boundless Sea. Slavery was commonplace amongst many foreign kingdoms and Kashish was the hub through which the misery of slavery and human trafficking had not only persisted but thrived throughout its bloody history.
The woman before him held an exotic allure, her deep emerald eyes sparkling in the sunlight as a coy smile graced her lips. At first glance many would have considered her a courtesan, doubtless many had perished at her hand, lured by lust and beguiled by beauty. The slavers who had sold her had warned him vehemently to beware lest he too should share that fate.
‘Kalifae, now is your day of decision. We both know what you are and the power you possess. Will you help me?’
‘Why would I help you?’ the woman answered, her sing song tones a stark contrast to the din of battle ringing in the air.
‘For your freedom,’ the Baron responded simply. ‘If you help me gain what I want, I will not only free you, but I will destroy those chains that have been used to bind you against your will,’ Gerwold gestured at the black iron chains that bound the woman’s wrists. Even now the glowing runes on their surface warned of the power being contained by the dark steel.
‘Why would I trust you?’ the woman countered. ‘Words are cheap. I’ve had many vow such oaths only to break them and trade me as a chattel,’ the last words were almost spat with distaste.
‘Have I mistreated you? Or abused you, as other men have? You know I have not. You have been well cared for and today you will be free. There are no slaves in Valaar and you will not be the first. It was always my desire to free you, I just wished you to get to know me first. I hoped that perhaps you might aid us in our struggle of your own volition.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘If we take this city, I will be king and you will be free, the master of your own destiny. You may rule at my side if you so choose or return home should you so desire. But know this, should you aid us you will never again be a slave. Your life will be your own.’
‘Prove it.’
Gerwold swung down from his horse and drew a heavy gold chain from around his neck. Lifting the chain, an ornate key appeared from beneath his breastplate. Walking up to the indignant woman, he gingerly lifted her hands, ‘I am a man of my word,’ Gerwold whispered softly as he slid the key into the lock on her shackles. With a clink, the manacles opened and fell from her wrists into Gerwold’s waiting hands. ‘You are free, Kalifae. What you do with that freedom is up to you.’
The woman cocked her head in surprise. She had been a slave for so long she had lost hope that she might ever know freedom again. She flexed and stretched her hands and began to smile as she felt the warm caress of arcane energies playing along her fingertips. It had been far too long. She looked at her deliverer and weighed him in a stare.
The din of battle continued unabated, but the young sorceress would not be hurried. She contemplated reducing her captor to cinders as her powers gathered, but something within struggled against her. With a sigh, she relaxed and looked on Gerwold, before smiling, ‘I have never been a queen before.’
‘Help me today and I will make you queen of all you survey.’
The sorceress wrung her hands anxiously as she laughed, ‘Excellent, you may call me...Your Highness.’
Chapter 35
With an earth shattering crash, the colossal head of the Fordham battering ram smashed into the Lion Gate. After an immense struggle, the forces of Fordham had finally moved their ram into position. Close to a thousand soldiers had pushed pulled and heaved the titanic structure into place. Archers picked away at the soldiers labouring to move the machine into position, but the large sweeping canopies of the ram provided excellent protection.
As the ram reached its destination teams of soldiers wedged bricks and cinder blocks behind its wheels to ensure it would not be moved out of its place. Teams of soldiers stormed into its forward siege towers where they would soon be hurling themselves upon the defenders at the top of the wall.
At the same time those that had laboured to move the machine into position moved to the rear of the war engine and took hold of the dozens of ropes that dangled from the mighty oak ram. Nearby an officer shouted loudly, as he barked his orders hundreds of soldiers lent their weight to the ropes.
Slowly at first the mighty oak tree began to inch backwards. The soldiers heaved with all their might until the ram was drawn back as far as the chains and weight of the oak would permit. ‘Release’ bellowed the officer. As one the soldiers drawing back the ropes released them. The might oak sailed towards the Lions Gate. The bronze ox head on its front collided with the solid steel gates and sent a bone shuddering clang like the tolling of a church bell ringing across the battle field. In spite of the immense impact the gates held fast.
‘Again’ shouted exuberant officer. ‘Raise the ram again!’ Picking up their ropes once more the soldiers drew back the ram. Once more it sailed into the Lions Gate with terrifying force. The bronze head struck home violently and the tortured metal of the Lions Gate screamed in outrage, its hinges straining under the sustained
stress. Eagerly the soldiers began drawing back the ram for another strike.
Desperately the defenders unleashed everything at their disposal, boiling oil rained down from the parapets. Arrows, stones, and anything else the defenders could lay hands on was hurled from the tower above the Lions Gate with frantic urgency. One of the guardsmen hurled a torch over the parapet. The torch struck the boiling pitch and oil that had coated the front of the siege machine and set it ablaze. Several soldiers plunged screaming from the machine as oil, flames, and dirty black smoke engulfed them.
Even with the machine ablaze the ram continued its unyielding assault. ‘Put your backs into it. We’re almost through.’ The officer shouted as the monstrous battering ram was once more drawn back into striking position. Soldiers heaved and grunted with exertion, sweat running down their faces. At the officer’s command the ram sailed forwards into the weakened gate.
The resulting clang was deafening, it seemed the whole tower shook with the impact. The heavily reinforced hinges gave a tortured shriek as they split asunder. Freed from their mounts the heavy steel gates broke free and toppled outwards towards the besieging forces. Scraping against the siege engine they continued their descent. Those nearest the gates hurried to get out of the way as the gates plummeted towards them, those too slow to react were helplessly crushed beneath the heavy gates.
The forces of Fordham cheered as the gates collapsed only to find themselves facing a sturdy portcullis. The portcullis was bowing dangerously where the ram had struck the outer gates. The weary soldiers picked up the ropes once more and heaved the rams head back once more.
Gravity drove the rams head towards the weakened portcullis, with terrifying force the rams head struck the bent steel. As the bronzed head struck home, the portcullis twisted violently. The force of the impact shattered the surrounding masonry as the portcullis broke free and bounced noisily across the cobblestones, sparks flying madly about.
Dust and debris rose from the shattered portal, the ominous bronze ox head of the battering ram appearing through the billowing smoke. There was a moment of stillness as the bronze visage leered at the stalwart defenders. With a tremendous roar, the forces of Fordham poured through the devastated gate. At the same time the attackers manning the towers of the siege ram threw down planks to bridge the gap to the wall and eagerly threw themselves at the walls.
Dariyen watched in dismay as the besieging forces streamed through the gate and onto the tops of the walls. If the defenders could not stem the tide the city would be lost. The fighting would be close quartered and bloody, the streets would be devastated as attackers raped and pillaged their way to the palace.
Lifting his voice, he shouted loudly. ‘Men of King’s Court, before you lie a horde of murderers and thieves, their lust for power brings them here, to our home. If we fail it is our wives and children who will suffer at their hand. It is our homes and our lives that will be lost. Help is on the, way but we must hold them here. We must take back the gate, not for duty or honor but for lives of those you hold dear, do not yield an inch. Onward, men! On to victory!’
Inspired by the better cause the defenders of King’s Court surged into the square. From nearby buildings archers continued to fire volley after volley into the surging tide of soldiers flowing through the gate. The forces of Fordham were seemingly without number. Each that fell was soon replaced by another eager attacker.
The two forces collided in a storm of steel. The forces of Fordham were exuberant. Their success at the gate spurring them on, but the men of King’s Court fought like Lions for their home, in spite of an overwhelming advantage of number, the forces of Fordham began to lose ground. Inch by inch they were driven back towards the gate. The disciplined blades of the King’s Guard sowing death at every stroke.
*****
At the Eastern Wall, the struggle raged on, the Wolf fighting tooth and claw, trying to make a stronger position in the breached wall. The defenders, bolstered by the addition of the Tanamere, were holding fast. The rubble from the ruined wall was proving a difficult obstacle to the Wolf as they attempted to traverse it whilst being assailed from above.
The assault on the walls continued with limited success, the Wolf falling rapidly as they attempted to scale the unprotected ladders. Gerwold moved through his forces, mindful that at any moment, reinforcements might appear to relieve the beleaguered defense. Unless he could break through the wall, he’d find himself caught between the forces of King’s Court on the eastern wall and the reinforcements he anticipated would arrive from the north or east by nightfall.
As Gerwold approached the front lines, he watched with frustration as his men continued to struggle to gain a footing in the breach. Gerwold turned to the sorceress walking at his side, ‘Kalifae, we must gain entrance to the city whatever the cost. Can you clear a path?’
‘Certainly. I’d advise your men withdraw...for their own well-being.’
Gerwold turned to the herald that had been following them, ‘You heard Kalifae. Sound the withdrawal!’
‘Yes, Milord, at once,’ the herald replied, pressing his horn to his lips he blew a long sullen note. At once, the Wolf forces began to disengage. Archers on the wall continued to fire steadily, sowing death amongst the retreating mass of soldiers before they could make it to safety.
Once the Wolf were clear, the sorceress moved towards the breach. Stopping just out of range of the wall, she closed her eyes and began to chant. Her lips moved quickly, though no sound could be heard. In the space before her, the air shimmered. The chanting continued and soon a large oval of silvery strands was visible in the air before her. The strands wove themselves into a solid wall which reflected the scene before it almost like a mirror.
The sorceress blinked and the scene changed. Now a steaming tropical jungle was visible, insects swarming across the humid scene. Another blink and the mirror changed again. This time, water swirled and surged, fish swimming behind its silvered surface. Still not content, the sorceress blinked again. This time the scene depicted in the mirror was a scorched and blasted landscape, molten lava surging through large cracks in the blackened earth. The sorceress smiled and began to chant audibly, ‘Hil-sa-mi-re...Hil-sa-mi-re...Hil-sa-me-re.’
The Baron watched spellbound. He had little reference for the scene unfurling before him. As he watched with rapt attention, the lava lapped over its edges and a second torrent of lava appeared beside the first. Then, from the midst of molten stream, a shape appeared - a large sphere of molten lava began to rise. ‘Arms, those things are arms,’ the realization struck Gerwold like a runaway cart. The beast continued to materialize as it drew itself slowly out of the stream of lava.
Soon the great beast was free. Humanoid in shape, but not in scale, the flaming specter was easily three times the height of the tallest man Gerwold had ever seen. Flames lapped across its surface, as the temperature of its body superheated the air around it.
The beast lumbered towards the portal, drawn on by the sorceress’ steady chant. Lured to the shimmering silver surface, it reached out tentatively, the green fields of Valaar a vivid contrast to the blasted wasteland it was traversing. The flaming creature’s hand recoiled, repulsed by the silvered shield. In anger, the beast lashed out and pounded at the portal with little effect. The sorceress stepped back from the portal and continued chanting. The portal slowly revolved until it was facing the walls of King’s Court. With a sadistic smile, the sorceress stopped chanting and all was still.
With a flurry of motion, the flaming specter burst out of the portal, the grass burning to a cinder underfoot as the beast lumbered onto the once verdant fields of King’s Court. The immense heat of the being could be seen, even at a distance, as steam and vapor rose from its body. The humidity in the air itself was being bought to a boil.
The fiery being stretched itself to its full height and strode forwards, shaking its head about as if it was examining its surroundings. A shout could be heard on the wall and soon arrows were flying tow
ards the creature. One struck it in the leg and the beast howled in fury. Fear filled the air as the arrow caught fire and was reduced to cinders. What could be done in the face of such a creature?
The beast leapt towards the wall with a deceptively quick, loping gait, its long flaming legs closing the distance quickly. Where the beast went, it left a flaming wake scorched into the field as it passed. Archers on the wall drew a bead on the terrifying beast and arrows flew true. After all, with the size of the elemental creature it was difficult to miss. The arrows struck the beast and it roared its outrage, but showed no sign of weakening.
With terrifying ire, the molten creature moved into the breach. The stoic defenders attempted to resist, but the heat was unbearable. Several soldiers collapsed as the heat of the elemental beast overwhelmed their flagging constitution. The beast lashed out, its blazing arms resembling giant whips as it tore at the remaining soldiers. At its touch, steel melted like snow before the first rays of spring, flesh blistered and even the cold stone of the curtain wall was scorched at its passing.
In the face of the supernatural being, men’s hearts began to fail and the stalwart soldiers of King’s Court broke and fled the breach. As the soldiers began to flee, the beast turned its attention to the archers on the wall.
The flaming specter began to scale the side of the breach, the damaged masonry cracking and shifting, crumbling under the heat, but slowly the beast made its way over the shattered rubble to the top of the curtain wall. Archers continued to fire into the beast with little effect.
Godfrey watched in vain, as arrow after arrow, struck the beast and incinerated. ‘Retreat men!’ he called at the top of his lungs, ‘To the inner wall, run!’ The archers quickly gathered their quivers and took off across the top of the wall, the flaming beast falling in behind as it attempted to negotiate the narrow walkway atop the curtain wall.
A Coronation of Kings Page 25
