Brother, Betrayed

by Danielle Raver

  Oman approached a few of the horsemen that positioned themselves near him.

  “Good timing, friend,” the prince said to their captain.

  “Here sir, a mount,” the captain responded and signaled for a horsemen to release his steed. As Oman began to mount, he paused, hearing something beyond the cheers of his soldiers and the tumult of battle near him. It was a signal to prepare, to reposition… but Oman at first couldn’t discern its source. A few of his soldiers heard the signal as well, and looked around in vain for its source. Oman looked to the captain questioningly, but the captain shook his head.

  The prince tightened his brow and mounted, trying to use its vantage to observe the battlefield. The signal sounded again, and the prince and his soldiers turned towards the king’s army.

  “Impossible,” Oman uttered. He felt that he would fall from his horse, shifting unsteadily at its rider’s rigidness. A mass of soldiers was appearing to the south of the king’s army.

  “Is that more Marrian infantry?” the captain asked.

  “It can’t be,” one of Oman’s knights stated.

  “No, they come from the direction of Bafonville,” Oman answered.

  “There are at least a few hundred of them advancing from the south. The king’s army is surrounded.”

  “It is the Rognoth. They must have already taken over Bafonville and we weren’t given word.” When Oman said it, a feeling of dread came over them, but the spell passed as they realized their role to play, still, in these unfolding events.

  “What are your orders, sir?” the captain asked.

  “Have your men charge the Marrians, here,” Oman commanded. “Signal to have Lenpece’s horsemen to join us. We will conduct a tactical retreat and regroup with the king’s army.”

  “We had better signal the retreat now, sir,” his lieutenant warned, “the Marrians are pushing back our front lines.”

  “There is no reason to further delay. Attack swiftly and retreat, giving time for the footmen to sprint free. We will run along the hill till we are beside Father’s army.”

  “Blasted, the Marrian cavalry are returning,” a knight on the ground warned.

  “We will handle them first,” the captain said and bowed to the prince as they turned to meet the charging Marrian horsemen. The cavalry left them and Oman was torn between them and the mounting conflict on the ground behind him. Both demanded his attention, the Marrian horsemen rushing the single row of Arnith cavalry, and the Marrian footmen, pushing harder against them now with the obvious intent of overrunning them in their vulnerable state between two fronts.

  “Prince Oman, to us!” one of his knights shouted and Oman turned quickly back around to the cavalry. A group of Marrian horsemen had charged past the Arnithian riders and were rushing towards them. Their aim wasn’t directed towards the prince, but his guard started to rush around him. Oman calculated his soldiers’ susceptibilities. He pulled the reins to turn his steed and drew his sword.

  “Prince, no, fall back!” a soldier warned behind him. But it was too late; he kicked the horse and snapped the reins to meet them.

  The first rider had the advantage; his inertia allowed him first strike. But the prince deflected him, turned his sword and cut the rider’s arm before he had galloped past him. The prince didn’t have a chance to see his victim’s fate as another Marrian rider charged him. This time Oman only had time to dodge the enemy’s blade before the horseman had passed him.

  The prince paused, in the peace between the two fights. The Marrian horsemen left him to rush towards his back lines. He turned his mount, seeing his soldiers preparing for the rush of mounted attacks. His guard had ceased trying to compel him to return for fear of labeling him. Oman realized that they and his footmen were easy targets for the Marrians’ quick attack. Oman’s brow tightened with resolve and he signaled his mount into action, leaning forward as he galloped towards his enemies. He had never felt the singular strength of a steed until that moment, sensing the horse had realized their purpose and was investing every muscle and stride into victory or death.

  Three of the Marrians turned before the prince reached them, and no longer able to surprise them he let out a battle cry. He rushed towards the middle of them, but as they were about to meet, Oman turned and engaged the rider on the end. Both riders wielded their swords and they clashed but found no target. They halted their horses to find the victor. Oman saw the man’s face, more so a blur of teeth, a flash of white eyes, hair and tense skin. The prince withdrew his blade when the horsemen turned his steed. He recognized the move that would put his enemy within better striking range. But the prince remembered a lesson with Fasime, and jerked back on his horse’s reins. At first his mount shook his head and stepped back nervously, but Oman pulled upward and the steed reared back. The enemy’s horse was too close to Oman’s agitated steed and was plummeted by its angry hooves. The prince released his hold and allowed the horse to return to the ground, and as they dropped he slashed his sword across the unsettled Marrian’s chest.

  The man fell from his mount and Oman turned to determine his next opponent. The remaining Marrian horsemen were reversing, however, making an attempt to join the rest of their party that had begun to retreat. The riders were too far to engage with a sword, but Oman shouted for a spear and one was quickly tossed from the soldiers that were beginning to approach him. Oman caught it, adjusted his hold and in the same motion thrust it towards one of the escaping Marrian horsemen. The spear found its target and the prince’s last prize fell from the back of his horse as the rest of their cavalry galloped out of range.

  “Finally, a turn for the better,” Oman said to himself. The rest of Commander Lenpece’s horsemen appeared around the mess of Marrian troops to the north. “Infantry, stand to,” the prince commanded and the knights that had reached him stopped and appeared ready to receive orders, rather than reprieve him as they had seemed about to do. The captain of the horsemen returned to him with his rally of cavalry.

  “We will prepare to charge, sir. Have your men ready to sprint. We cannot hold the line for long.”

  The prince nodded. “Signal for the archers to fire into their lines.”

  “How deep sir?” the lieutenant asked, and the prince turned to him.

  “It doesn’t matter, just to generate confusion in their lines.”

  “Yes sir,” the officer replied, and then called for the archers to return behind the infantry’s lines. “Fire at will!” he called out and Oman’s archers, however slightly diminished from the attack of the cavalry and the proximity to hand to hand combat, released a volley of arrows above the still struggling mass and hoped they found enemy flesh inside it. The Marrian’s attack slackened, but they didn’t have time to return arrows before the sound of the charge was given by the commander’s large force of Arnithian horsemen. Oman’s soldiers on the ground formed ranks, allowing the riders to pass through their lines and engage the Marrians before them. The commander and his entourage separated from his main force and approach Oman.

  “We will take the prince in our care,” the elder commander stated as he stopped his horse beside Oman. “Lead the infantry ahead of us to the king’s army.” The knights nodded and joined the infantry and archers that were beginning to run alongside the base of the hill towards the south. “That was quite the rescue you achieved, Prince Oman,” the commander stated as he eyed him, even with a suggestion of scorn. “Come, we must leave this area. The Marrians will rush us once our horsemen and infantry have retreated.”

  Oman followed him at a medium trot, keeping alongside their cavalry, bargaining intervals of engagement to allow the infantry and archers to sprint free. Then the archers held, pausing to release a round of arrows to slow their enemy’s pursuit. The infantry stopped behind them, forming ranks of raised shields to defend against the onslaught of the Marrian rushing front lines. But then the cavalry charged the enemy and relieved the infantry for a few moments. The prince saw that this maneuver, however more time co
nsuming, was saving the lives of many more of their soldiers than would have been lost if they had attempted a full out race to the south. The threat the king was under urged him to abandon their tactic and sacrifice those Arnithian lives. He forced himself to accept that he would be of more use to his father by bringing him the most reinforcements he could, and not as fast as was possible.

  They passed the curve at the bottom of the hill where the prince had been so brash not long before, and he took a moment to turn to the emptying battlefield they were leaving. He hadn’t thought of it, but as he gazed back he saw the wounded and fallen dotting the landscape. Neither had time to tend to their wounded and fallen as they competed for the better position for victory elsewhere. Bodies of fallen soldiers littered the side of the hill, fallen enemies mostly where the prince had the advantage over them, and many fallen comrades mixed with them at the base of the hill they were leaving.

  “Do not dwell on the past, Prince,” Oman heard from beside him and he fretted to realize he had stopped riding and was starting to be left by the joint retreat of his kingdom’s forces. “Focus your thoughts,” the prince heard the commander the second time he spoke, “on the challenge ahead.”

  Explanations came to Oman, of how he was analyzing their tactical flaws, judging their enemy, and learning from his mistakes, not lamenting, but he decided not to voice them. He just nodded to his visibly impatient commander and nudged his steed.

  In moments, they caught sight of the king’s army. It had not suffered many losses, for the king had faced the two opposing armies strictly with defense, and in turn had inflicted no losses upon the enemy. The king’s heavy soldiers, who he had intended to block the Marrians’ advance to the south, were now divided on either side of his forces and providing a strong barrier against the Marrian and Rognoth waves of attack. The Marrian cavalry had also come to pick off Arnith soldiers by quickly attacking and then breaking away from the east, but the king had dealt with them with a double line of spears and pikes. Oman saw that their plan to join him had been wise, for the king had no chance of leading his army out of this trap without their help.

  The front lines of the Arnithian cavalry charged for the Marrian horsemen without being given the order, and without giving time for the Marrians to reconsider their attempts on the king’s army.

  “Signal the king’s fanfare. We will charge this side of the Marrian lines. Have the archers bombard them. Then send half of our swordsmen to reinforce their southern lines, giving the king a chance to fall back to our position.”

  The archers, infantry, and cavalry under Oman’s command were deployed. They positioned themselves to provide a push against the king’s enemy where he had them at a stalemate. His remaining troops fortified their position for the arrival of the king.

  His father’s army complied, without a message having to be sent between them, and carefully fell back to the east where Oman’s troops were focused. The Rognoth footmen attempted to rush them, but Oman’s archers bombarded them with arrows until they conceded and were forced to withdraw. The Arnithian cavalry, applying the previous tactic, rushed the lines of the Marrians and Rognoth, providing time for the Arnith soldiers to retreat. Soon the king himself was within Oman’s sight, but the pleasure the prince had expected was not on his face.

  “Nicely done improvising, my son,” the king said as he reached him, and turned to oversee the rest of his men joining the prince’s reinforcements. This created a stronger army that turned to meet the combined forces of the Marrians and the Rognoth without pity. “We have escaped from their trap, but our numbers have suffered. I wager that we will need the remaining squadrons we left at the city and to the east to best them now.”

  Oman nodded. He signaled for a messenger.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  THE ENEMY NEARS

  “What is happening, Fasime?” Syah demanded, short of breath as he entered the main hall. “I saw the soldiers preparing to leave.”

  “We received a message from Father. They have lost many of their troops and are outnumbered by the enemy.”

  The thought of potential danger made Syah steady himself on the table with one hand. “Father will send for reinforcements, he won’t retreat.”

  “No, capturing the Marrians is too important,” Fasime stated, watching Syah lower his head in thought, “we wouldn’t abandon the opportunity.”

  The youngest prince straightened and turned, hoping the seriousness of his demeanor would extend into his words as he anticipated the nonacceptance of his brother. “Fasime, what about the Dikartians?”

  Fasime approached Syah with annoyance on his face. “Why do you still pursue that notion? There has been no word from the scouts to confirm Dikartian troops are attacking.”

  “No scouts have returned, which is only more reason for concern. What if they have all been captured and the Dikartians continue their advance undiscovered?”

  “And what would you have us do, disobey the order of the king to send him more troops? They require more soldiers. The king wouldn’t have sent for reinforcements if they weren’t necessary for his victory.”

  “Father didn’t know that the city was under threat. He would want the city protected.”

  “It is protected,” Fasime stated firmly. He lifted his arms in a coaxing manner. “You were obviously frightened by being ambushed by their raiding party. But Syah, you are safe now. You need to drop this foolishness before you start sounding obsessed!”

  The younger’s face tightened. “And suppose I am correct? The city walls can’t hold back the entire Dikartian army.”

  The elder sighed, placing his hands on Syah’s shoulders. “Brother, every minor attack doesn’t signal a threat to the kingdom. You are over-reacting. I think that leading the regiment was too much for you.”

  “Fasime, don’t. That has nothing to do with it. The Dikartians…”

  “It has everything to do with it. We shouldn’t have let you go so close to Mother’s passing.”

  “Fasime! I am not a child!” Syah pulled away from him. “Members of the Dikartian warrior cast wouldn’t have been in a raiding party.”

  “Syah, enough. There’s nothing to worry about. No army is about to attack.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “You need to relax. Go back to your room and rest. You will see that there’s no cause for panic.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! I am not panicking. I’m trying to tell you that we should prepare the city.”

  “Father left the castle in my charge. Anteria is well protected. Go, Syah, and think no more of it. Even if a raiding party followed you here, they won’t dare come nigh the city’s walls.”

  Syah’s face darkened. He backed away from Fasime, straightening. “Have you heard nothing I have said?” Fasime sighed audibly but did not reply. “Fasime, sometimes you are incapable of seeing past what Father and Oman tell you to see. Are you always going to let them handle things? Do nothing and wait for them to rescue you?”

  “Syah, stop acting like a spoiled child.”

  “I think that you don’t want to admit that the Dikartian army is approaching because you don’t believe you could handle such a threat by yourself. You are acting like a coward.”

  Fasime stepped close enough to Syah that they felt each other’s tense breath. “There is no Dikartian army,” the older commanded with warning in his voice and eyes.

  “Prince Fasime, I am afraid you are wrong,” a voice said from the doorway, and the princes turned to their interrupter with a start, realizing the general had entered a short time ago and they hadn’t noticed him. Their attention returned to his words.

  “What do you mean, General?” Fasime demanded, releasing Syah from his warning, aggressive proximity.

  “The Dikartians are approaching. Prince Syah was correct,” the general explained as he motioned to the younger brother, but Syah took no gratitude from the acknowledgement. “They have formed an organized army of at least three hundred footmen. The
y will reach the castle ere noon of the morrow.”

  “That can’t be,” Fasime argued. “They can’t possibly plan to attack the castle.”

  “Their direction is straight for us,” the general explained, “and they are traveling quickly.”

  Fasime was about to argue further, but Syah preempted him, “Fasime, we have to prepare. The castle isn’t ready to defend against a force of Dikartians.”

  “Nonsense!” Fasime cried. “This castle is well defended.”

  “The garrisons won’t hold against three hundred soldiers. We need extra troops to fortify our perimeter,” the younger insisted.

  “Even if it were true, we don’t have the men to add.”

  “The squadron that returned with me would help even the count against the Dikartians.”

  “No, they have already left to fill the king’s request for reinforcements.”

  “Then recall them.”

  Fasime stared at his brother wordlessly. “Father requires those troops. He requested any soldiers in the capital and to the east to aid him.”

  “He wasn’t aware that the castle was about to be attacked. He wouldn’t want us to lose the capital so he has to recapture it when he returns.”

  The elder grabbed Syah’s arm tightly, commands burning from his eyes. “This isn’t a real threat, and what the king faces is immediate and dangerous. The Marrians and Rognoth have surprised him, outnumber him.”

  “Fasime, you can’t possibly propose we leave the city defenseless,” Syah accused, trying to pull away from him.

  “I have to agree with Prince Syah, this is a potentially disastrous threat we now face and it should be considered.”

  Fasime glanced over to the general and then back to his younger brother, releasing him. “We will ready the city guard, then. If they don’t suffice, then we will request more troops from the king’s regiment.”

  “It won’t be enough. The king’s army will be unable to return in time. The city could be lost within a day of the start of a siege.”