Maxwell's Closet

by Steven Belskie

  Down below on the field Max could see the army approaching. At the head Blaise and his father were organizing the troops. Max had no doubts that they were both speaking words of brilliant encouragement. The blood of the soldiers would be firing red hot as they prepared for a final charge. Hope almost welled within Max until he remembered the contraptions sitting around him.

  He had not yet seen them fire any actual shots but he was certain they would be destructive. He wondered if the king had any idea what kind of a storm was about to be unleashed upon him.

  “You see these beauties, Max?” He rubbed his hand against the spear hurler next to him. “This is what money can buy. I tried to explain it all to you but I’m not sure you quite understood.”

  As he was speaking, the men on the wall continued to load the machines. It seemed that each machine could hold three spears that it was capable of firing in rapid succession.

  “Hunter and his elaborate plan for the mastery of language to indoctrinate his followers is quite interesting. But it is all a waste. Words cannot indoctrinate a man like the allure of cold hard cash. Hunter’s legion could no doubt eradicate your friends down there. But I will break them without losing a single one of my men. And that is the allure of money, Max.

  “Now, boys,” the Merchant spoke to the men manning the machines, “let’s show our friend here what our toys can do. Aim high, and let’s see how many donkeys we can pin.”

  The Merchant raised his hand and the first shots whistled off, followed closely by the second and third. The destruction that followed these volleys of death was astounding. Max watched as the spears hurtled down like meteorites striking the front line of soldiers and continuing six rows deep. The entire advance was halted as those still alive struggled to climb over their fallen friends. Those unlucky enough to be pierced last by the spears were still alive. The massive spikes of metal had lost their lethal force by the time they reached these poor souls, but they were still powerful enough to pin them helplessly to the ground.

  Even from this distance Max could hear the groans and screams of battle. Those still alive stood in terror. Max was sure another volley would break them. The soldiers manning the weapons took a little time to admire their handiwork as they began loading spears for the next wave.

  The Merchant stared out at the slaughter, a wide grin across his smug face. Max wanted nothing more than to wipe it off. So he did.

  HE shot his elbow back hard. It crushed into the gap between armor plates, and the Merchant doubled over as the air was crushed from his lungs. The soldiers manning the weapon nearest Max hesitated. Max leapt forward, punching one across the face and driving his shoulder into the stomach of the second. The soldier fell backwards and flipped over the banister.

  Max grabbed the weapon and quickly spun it ninety degrees to the right. He pulled the lever hard and fired a shot. The spears fired straight down splitting each one of the other hurlers in two. Max spun the gears and prepared to launch the second shot into the mass of soldiers now charging toward him.

  He heard a shout from his side. The Merchant had recovered from the blow and now leapt at him. Max released his grip on the machine and reached out, blocking the Merchant’s attempts. They grappled fiercely as the other soldiers looked on, unsure of what to do.

  The Merchant could feel his stamina waning as the wiry child countered his every move. Sweat poured from his brow while Max’s face was dry and cool. Max could sense the growing fatigue of his opponent, and he used it to his advantage. The sluggish, tired punches and grabs of his opponent were predictable and easy to counter. So Max allowed the Merchant to do all the attacking while he waited for the opportunity to strike.

  It came in the form of a sloppy lunge. Max sidestepped the Merchants grasp and drove his shoulder up into the Merchant’s chin. A loud snap sounded as his jaws crashed against each other, sending fragmented teeth scattering across the ground.

  As the Merchant recovered from the blow he drew the dragon-hilted sword and charged at Max. The sun shimmering off the blade made it seem like real fire. Max was defenseless, and he had only one choice.

  He grabbed the handles of the hurler and spun it hard, then grabbed the lever and pulled. The spike shot out, crushing through the golden breastplate of the merchant. The force of the impact knocked him off his feet and sent him flying backward.

  The spear crashed into the wall, embedding itself deep in the stone. The Merchant hung there pinned— the spear through his chest. He struggled to breathe but he only gasped as his lungs were either punctured or blocked.

  The soldiers still stood hesitantly. They knew Max still had one shot and on the crowded balcony he could take out half of them in an instant. Not one of them was willing to be the first one to take a step forward.

  “This is what money has bought you,” Max whispered to the dying man.

  Max saw sadness in the Merchant’s eyes but in an instant it was gone and he was dead.

  The soldiers around Max were growing uneasy, and he feared one of them would soon attack. Sure he could take down some of them, but he couldn’t actually win. As soon as he fired his last shot, those remaining would charge and he would be killed.

  “Stand down.” Max turned to see Prince Hunter standing in the doorway leading into one of the guard towers. He was nearly the same as when Max had first seen him. But he skin was paler and he face much more grim.

  “Come, Max, we have much to discuss.”

  Blaise stumbled over the last of his fallen men. The dead were all around him, nearly four dozen men. The first wave had been devastating, but it had not been followed up. Blaise did not doubt that he had Max to thank for it. He had seen a lone figure take control of one of the weapons and use it to disable the others. Knowing that Max was still alive and that he was helping them gave him the feeling that they couldn’t lose.

  After clearing the bodies the army was able to increase its pace and move unhindered across the plains. Up ahead the massive gates of his home city began to open. Overhead the floating palace cast a heavy shadow on the battle, and though they fought in the day it felt as if they fought in the darkest depths of night.

  Out of the yawning gates poured hundreds of orcs. The spilled forth like a flood fanning out and covering the plains around them. They screamed and shouted odd guttural chants as they moved quickly to encircle the outnumbered soldiers.

  They were armed with black weapons and armor. No fear could be read in their faces, and Blaise knew every one of them would fight to the death. He also knew this was only a scouting force, a mere harbinger of the terror Hunter would later unleash.

  “Steady, men. Stand your ground. They will come at us and we shall not break. We cannot break!” The king shouted to his soldiers and they responded with loud cheers.

  The orcs merely regarded the display with mock fear as even more of them continued to pour out from the open gates. Hundreds had already left the city and hundreds more waited their turn. This battle would be long and tiring. And unless help arrived, Blaise knew there could be no victory.

  The orcs attacked first, charging from all angles. The circle collapsed like a noose around the outnumbered soldiers. The order was sounded and the collected soldiers aimed and hurled the spears they carried. They flew in each direction and from above the army looked something like an expanding puffer fish.

  The wall of spears flew toward the charging orcs but they did not falter. They flung themselves like crazed fanatics onto the flying spikes. Within seconds the advancing orc lines swallowed up the dead bodies and broken spears.

  The soldiers drew their swords and prepared for the onslaught. The first orcs leapt and dove into the waiting lines. Quick thrusts and swipes dispatched them. As the two lines met, they melted into one. The fighting was intense and close quartered.

  The problem was that the orcs kept coming. The orc’s numbers were their only advantage, but Blaise was certain that without help it would prove an insurmountable obstacle.

  The fi
ght had been raging for nearly an hour. They had lost only a handful of men and had slaughtered hundreds of the enemy, but they were exhausted and the enemy kept bringing fresh soldiers to the front line.

  Blaise could feel the fatigue in his arms and chest. They burned even when he wasn’t moving. His legs ached with a dull throbbing that made even the slightest step unbearable. His lungs faltered with each breath.

  Blaise knew they couldn’t hold out much longer. Soon one of the lines would break and the whole army would follow. In the distance he heard horns. Their notes signaled that reinforcements had arrived. To the east and west he saw men coming up over the crest of the hills. They finally had a fighting chance.

  Chapter 16

  “Max, I must assure you I am not at all angry with you. In fact I am quite happy to have my sword back.”

  Both men sat in a lavishly decorated room. Two chairs of deep red outlined in gold faced each other next to a fire. Between the chairs rested a small yet ornate table constructed of shining silver. Upon the table was laid out a tray of varying food and drink. Every possible color and shape seemed to be represented.

  The prince was enjoying the fine delicacies laid out before him. He seemed to sample a little bit of just about everything. He gulped the wine and followed it with more food. He frowned as he saw that Max was not joining him in the enjoyment of the fine refreshment.

  “Is something not to your liking? If there is anything you wish for please do not hesitate to ask.”

  Max stared at Hunter, offering no response. Hunter frowned again, though this time there seemed to be anger in his gaze.

  “What have I done, Max, to encourage this rudeness? What lies has my father spun that have made me out as the bad one?” Hunter’s jaws were clenched tight.

  “Nothing but the truth has turned me against you.” Max returned Hunter’s unblinking gaze.

  Hunter rose from his seat and walked to the window overlooking the courtyard below. He looked down and memories of his childhood washed over him. Memories of a simpler time.

  “The truth is not what you have been told. What you know is like a fable. Based in truth, but it has been twisted and folded so many times that it no longer is anything more than fantasy.” Hunter stared down into the courtyard as he spoke.

  “You are nothing but a liar. You may be able to poison the minds of your minions but not mine. I know the truth. You are little more than a power-hungry brat. All this because your father chose Blaise for his mission. How spoiled you are.” Max spat in disgust.

  Hunter turned. His face was livid with anger. He breathed through clenched teeth. Max knew he had struck a chord.

  “How can you accuse me of this? You do not know the half of it, you insolent fool.”

  He again turned his back and stared down into the courtyard. Max knew that he needed to escape now. The prince’s anger was boiling and soon it would reach its breaking point. Max searched around the room for a weapon. There were knives and forks on the table. Glancing over at the dragon-hilted blade Max knew he needed something bigger.

  Across the room stood two suits of armor each holding a massive spear. That would work well but there was no way he could cross the hall without drawing Hunter’s attention. He wanted nothing more than a distraction.

  Just as he thought this, the doors at the end of the hall burst open. In came a frantic-looking man dressed in ceremonial armor and a large flowing cape.

  “General Pausus. I am sure you bring me good news.” Hunter smiled as the general leaned in close to speak.

  “We are being pushed back, Your Majesty.” His voice was loud enough that it carried to Max’s ears.

  “Send in more orcs then, General. They are not just to decorate the street.”

  Hunter looked away clearly finished with the conversation. The general hesitated; he had more to say.

  “Sire, there are more of them.”

  Hunter was growing impatient now. “What do you mean more of them?”

  “Reinforcements, sir. Thousands of them.”

  “Thousands?” The impatience faded from Hunter’s face and it was replaced with a twinge of fear.

  Quickly he composed himself. Max could almost see the wheels turning in his head. “It is of no matter how many men they bring against me. My legions are invincible. Send out the Grand Army. Let us see how they fare against their own kinsman.”

  “There is other news, Sire.” The general spoke timidly. “We weren’t able to secure the perimeter quickly enough. It seems that several teams of assassins were able to penetrate into the city. I assure you we are hunting them down and they should pose little threat to you.”

  As he finished speaking a commotion erupted from the hallway. The sound of steel clashing with steel could be clearly heard.

  Hunter eyed the general with disgust. “Little threat?”

  The general attempted to offer some rebuttal, but he was stuttering so badly he couldn’t even get past the first word. Hunter held up his hand to silence the babbling man.

  “I am going to investigate the source of this commotion. Take the prisoner down to the cellblock. Double the guard and then report back to me. Go now.” Hunter turned and drew the dragon-hilted sword.

  Hunter turned and spoke to Max. “Thank you for taking care of him. I was beginning to miss this sword.”

  Without waiting for a response Hunter moved out of the room and down the hallway. The general grabbed Max and dragged him through the room. As they exited through a different door than Hunter had taken, the general informed the guard of Hunter’s orders, and he ran off to deliver the orders to the commanders.

  It took nearly a half hour to reach the cells. It would probably have been quicker but several times the general was forced to change directions when the sounds of the fighting grew too close.

  The cellblock was a small square chamber filled with four square cells. Two ran along each wall. A dozen or so guards stood like stone sentinels. Even with the approach of the general they showed no signs of life.

  The general barked orders to the prison commander to order a double shift, and the commander only nodded before sending a runner to inform the off-duty guards they were needed. Cursing as he fumbled with the keys, the general motioned Max toward the empty cell.

  As Max strolled through the small room he looked into the cells he passed. The two on his right housed several men in each, most of whom were sleeping and none of whom showed any interest in his arrival. In the second cell there was a large bench pressed up against the wall though none of the men in the cell used it.

  However in the cell to his left was a lone figure draped in white. Even in the squalor of the prison cell her beauty was apparent. Her long locks of dark, beautiful hair shone in the sunlight that filtered through the windows above the cells.

  She lay on her back, asleep. Her soft red lips lay parted as her chest rose and fell with each breath. Max felt pangs of grief assault him, knowing that he would never again taste those lips.

  “Ava.” The word escaped his lips as little more than a whisper. He knew he had already lingered too long. He hesitated, not wishing to take his eyes from Ava, but soon she was out of view as he stood before his own cell.

  “Where are the other guards?” the general asked, growing impatient.

  The commander looked anxiously out the doorway. “I don’t know, sir. They should have been back by now.”

  “Should have? Commander, if you cannot manage something so simple as guarding these cells I will find someone who can.”

  “Of course, sir. I will send another guard out to fetch them.”

  “Good idea, Commander. You better hope this one returns in a reasonable time.”

  The commander offered no response to the not-so-subtle threat. He motioned to one of his men to go fetch the off-duty guards.

  Satisfied that this time the guards would return, the General turned his attention back to Max. He opened the cell and rather forcefully assisted Max into it.

 
Closing the door and locking it the general laughed. “Do not expect an escape this time. Your friends are too busy dying out in the fields to be able to help you.” The general stopped for a second as if thinking and then he laughed again. “I hope the news of reinforcements didn’t get your spirits too high. Ten thousand men is surely a lot, but it is nothing compared to what we have. We could match that number just in worthless orc fodder. Your friends may feel they are winning for a time, but they are simply tiring themselves out to become the perfect prey for them.”

  “Them? What are you talking about?” Max asked.

  “When your friends have lost all hope, when their courage hangs by a thread, when they are ready to give in, that is when we unleash a terror greater than you can imagine.” The general smiled with a look of pure glee as he spoke. Max simply looked at him with disgust.

  “What terror?” Max spoke, knowing he didn’t truly wish to know the answer.

  “Dragons.” The general spoke one simple word. His eyes lit up like a child on Christmas, and a stupid grin spread across his face.

  Max felt his stomach drop out. He had read enough stories concerning dragons and knights that he knew how deadly they could be.

  Whispering from behind broke the general’s attention. He wheeled with a look of anger on his face. The commander and another soldier were conversing in hushed tones.

  “Where is the second guard?” The general’s voice boomed like a cannon.

  “Sir, no one has returned. They all should be here by now, General Pausus.” The commander spoke with an apologetic tone.

  “I will see to this myself, you incompetent monkey.” Pausus moved across the room with long powerful strides. As he reached for the handle, the door opened quickly toward him. The heavy wooden door slammed into his face and he was knocked from his feet.