by Jon Kiln
The going was as slow as Forseth had predicted. The prince set the pace and seemed to be moving as if he thought he was still in the parade, even though they traveled an empty road heading east.
Twice, other groups of travelers approached, heading west toward the capital. Captain Forseth shouted them off the road as the prince slowly trotted by. The citizens asked what was happening, but Forseth remained mounted and silent between them and the prince until he was past. Forseth retook the front and continued on.
Darkness crept over and the prince called out. “I’m ready to stop and eat.” It was first time that Nisero had heard him speak.
“We need to go farther,” Forseth shouted back. “We are not to a safe place yet.”
The men of both parties exchanged looks. Nisero was ready to stop, too. They could commandeer any house they wanted to quarter the prince. The men could take shifts guarding the property until morning. One would be as safe as any other, but Forseth kept riding.
One of the attendants to the prince became disgruntled. “The prince said he was hungry. It is time to stop, soldier.”
“Shut up,” Forseth yelled back.
The prince bristled visibly. Nisero saw hands rest on swords all around the group. This was about to go worse than the royals throwing furniture.
“Like you,” Forseth said, “I am charged with the prince’s safety. This place is not safe. Things were left ugly in the capital, as you know. We must get farther, to a place with safer walls. If we had ridden faster we would be there, but we are not, so we keep going. It is the only option after all that has happened.”
The prince and his vocal attendant exchanged a look, but kept riding without further comment. Nisero did not know if they accepted Forseth’s explanation, though they continued riding all the same.
As full darkness set in, Nisero thought about Berengar’s daughter, Arianne. Nisero had fled with her from the ruins of the bandits’ castle until they had found the Guard and rode back to rescue Berengar. There had been a brief spark between them. Nisero had even considered stepping away from the Guard for the life of a farmer, or in some other sedentary trade, to begin a life with her.
After Berengar had accepted his final accolades before the King, Arianne had begged off of Nisero’s affections. He did not pursue, but he did ask why. She had said that her father did not wish the life of a guardsmen’s wife for her, and she was inclined to agree.
He had let her walk away.
As he rode in the darkness behind a foreign prince, he wondered if he should have pursued her then. He wondered if it would have mattered.
Forseth pulled the group to a stop and circled back.
“Do we stop and eat now like bandits in the dark?” the prince demanded.
Forseth pointed up a road between the overhang of dark trees. “I will take a small group up to the manor to announce our presence. You will remain here with the rest.”
The prince shook his head. “Why?”
“We are late. I do not want the guards firing on you during our approach because they think we are bandits. I’ll clear our passage. Then, I’ll get you boarded and fed.”
The prince turned away. “I’m not a horse.”
Captain Forseth wheeled his mount away. He called seven names and a party of eight, counting the captain himself, galloped up the dark road. Nisero stared and noted the captain had not bothered to give him any direct instruction.
The surrounding area was gloomy and wooded. Nisero thought this was a poor choice of location to stop. They could barely see beyond the tree line, yet with the prince’s attendants carrying torches they would be clearly visible to others.
Lieutenant Nisero dismounted and ordered the men to stay lively.
A sudden movement caught his attention. Arrows whistled through the night, striking two of the Guard. They collapsed off their horses onto the main road.
“Rally to the prince!” Nisero commanded. “Move him to cover.”
Two arrows struck the neck of Nisero’s horse and the beast collapsed on top of him. He fought to draw his legs out from under the animal.
Nisero watched helplessly as an arrow planted in the prince’s chest. He slumped in the saddle and another struck high on his neck. He fell heavy and awkward to the ground. The attendants crouched over him.
One yelled, “He’s dead!”
An arrow struck him and that man went down too.
Nisero yelled from under his horse. “Go for the cover of the trees!”
The remaining Guardsmen and a few of the prince’s men moved to obey. As they did, dozens of armed men charged from the darkness. Nisero knew they were overwhelmed and outnumbered. All Nisero saw was their black helmets as the attackers cut through men he had served with for years.
Nisero fought one leg free and drew his sword. He watched in growing desperation as the men that still fought were surrounded by three and four attackers as they fell one by one.
The lieutenant saw three men with bows step out of a ditch and walk among the fallen horses and human bodies. One of the attendants raised his hands from the ground. “No, please.”
The archer fired into his chest and strung another arrow. They went body to body, checking.
Nisero laid down flat on his back. He braced his free foot against the horse’s saddle and pushed, pulling his leg free inch by inch.
One of the archers stood over Nisero and drew his bow. Nisero swung up and sliced off the archer’s hand at the wrist and snapped the arrow he held in two. The man fell away screaming.
Nisero sprung to his feet and ran.
A second bowman spun around on him. The lieutenant swung through, missing the bow, but hitting the archer in the skull. His shot went straight up in the night sky as he fell to the road.
Nisero charged the third as the man drew back the string. The lieutenant dropped and rolled as the arrow soared through the space Nisero used to occupy. Nisero came up on his knees and sliced deep through the archer’s gut.
The helmeted men in the trees shouted. “Get him!”
Nisero stood and leapt over the ditch where the archers had hidden during the ambush. He heard feet and horses behind him as fled across the dark field.
Chapter 2: On the Run
Nisero sprinted across the open field in the pitch black. He stumbled a few times, hitting his knees and shins on the sharp edges of rocks. His feet dug deep into the ground, which felt like it was left fallow under the new grass whipping past his legs. The deep steps threatened to turn his ankle and end his retreat in capture and sure death.
Cloud cover muted the stars, and there was no moon. The bandits could not have chosen a night of deeper darkness to cut down the Elite Guard.
The lieutenant reeled from his painful run and the gravity of realizing how sudden and complete the attack had been. They were in a gauntlet. The archers rose out of the opposing ditch, perfectly positioned to pick off every man on a horse before he could react. They hit the prince first, then his attendants, and then the guardsmen. As soon as the thoughts passed through his oxygen starved mind, he realized it was wrong.
No, Nisero thought, they had hit the Guardsmen first, and then the prince, before seeking to finish off the Guard. The timing and order was deliberate.
Nisero had only survived by the chance of dismounting on the opposite side of his horse. The archers had put two into the beast’s neck, level with where Nisero’s head would have been.
As soon as I sounded the order. They aimed on my voice.
They saw him dismount before they attacked. They went for him in particular. They either wanted to take him out before he could escape on foot, or they knew rank.
He had ordered the surviving men to find cover on the manor grounds as the bandits knew they would. They waited in the trees and caught them in the dark. Even still, Nisero would have expected the Elite Guard to fair better in the battle. They always had. His mistake was in assuming they always would. Had he not been pinned under his own horse, he would ha
ve been with them.
I should have been with them.
Nisero thought about the captain and the advance party splitting off to hail the lord of the manor. They had been allowed through unharmed, and the attack had been unleashed after they were out of earshot.
Captain Forseth and the surviving men would be soon riding back into the ambush, with a small complement from the manor, at best.
Nisero stopped and turned about.
He spied a dozen figures spread across the field behind him, and charging in his direction. None were on horseback. They weren’t converging, but were rather spreading out. Still, they drew close.
Nisero fell to his belly and lay flat in the spotty grass with the loose, fallow soil underneath. He suspected they were not keyed onto his position, but were just sweeping over the ground in the direction he had fled, hoping to overtake him.
A man charged by, raising dust with his hard steps as he passed without pausing. Another man passed farther away on the other side, thundering through the field and sucking air in deep, wet gasps.
Nisero raised his head a span and turned to look about in every direction. He lost sight of figures now beyond him, but still heard their retreating footfalls as they themselves thought they still pursued.
The lieutenant took to his feet and paced back in the direction of the road. He did not have a clear sense of the time that had passed since the attack, nor the distance he had covered. He might be too late to usurp the second ambush. He wasn’t sure if he was close enough to hear it.
He thought it might be wise to swing wide and cross the border of the manor grounds. And from there, retake the trail beyond the attack point. If he was lucky, he could warn the others before they fell into the trap.
Nisero did not feel particularly lucky this night.
Nisero scanned for a sign of the road ahead. As he lost his sense of direction in the cloudy darkness, he saw two more shapes approaching from ahead of him. Nisero dropped to his knee and gripped the hilt of his sword.
“Over here. I think I saw something.”
“Then take care and stay quiet.”
Nisero gripped his sword hilt tighter.
They spoke in the tongue of the kingdom and held no accent except that of any typical men from the central plain. They didn’t even have the twinge of accent that sometimes snuck into the speech of mercenaries that were well traveled. These were citizens of the kingdom, unless the rabble had worked hard to put on a flawless, central accent. Even if they had reason to do so in some places, they would not likely maintain it sweeping a field in the pitch darkness, and it would be difficult to do so after the sweat and fire of an intense battle.
Not from the eastern kingdom, Nisero thought. Not bandits from beyond one of the other borders. This attack came from within our own people. An assault on a foreign heir to the throne, but also the Elite Guard of the King himself. This is an act of civil war as much as banditry. Wholesale assassination. Who are you?
“Must be nothing. The others are still running out beyond this point toward the far tree line. He may have outpaced us.”
“He’ll have no friends. We just need to find him.”
“Was it the lieutenant? That’s not good.”
“We won’t know until we identify the other bodies.”
“He’s going to kill us.”
Nisero breathing quickened. Who? Do they speak of me or their disappointed master?
They drew close enough that he could see the lines of their dark clothing. They had removed their helmets and carried them on their hips. One man had a beard. The other had a sharp nose and long hair.
Nisero determined to draw his sword in a full swing. He’d slice through the one with the long hair. The lieutenant thought he could open the man’s belly laterally and take off the end of his nose before coming down on the second man. He’d hold his blade to the second man’s throat and press him for information until he spoke, or bled out.
One more step for a better angle, scoundrel, Nisero thought.
They turned around. Nisero decided it would take two strikes now, but he could make the steps unseen with their backs turned. He’d slice across the kidneys and then through the back of the neck before catching the second man.
They both took a step away.
Nisero stood and took a step toward them.
“Have you three found anything?”
“There are only two of us.”
Nisero lowered back to his side on the ground.
“I can’t see anything out here. We’ve secured the manor and moved all the bodies off the road. He wants a report.”
They speak of their rebel commander.
“The others are still out pursuing the one that escaped.” The man with a beard pointed out at the field over Nisero’s head where he hid on the ground behind them.
The new arrival said, “You’re sure it is just one?”
“We took the rest,” the long-haired man answered.
“We need to rally back at the manor. He wants to set out an organized search.”
The three stepped away from Nisero. They crossed back in the direction that he assumed was the manor which now lay in the hands of the attackers. That could only mean that they had waylaid the captain and other guardsmen, or they at least thought they had.
How far am I from the capital? Nisero wondered. Should I return there alone to report this? There may be others that fled as well. If they can’t see me a few feet away, then they could have missed others. It did not look like they missed any, though.
Someone grunted to his left and the lieutenant whipped his head around to see another man pick himself up. The man kicked a low stump and cursed before continuing on.
Nisero crawled sideways along the field until his shoulders and thighs cramped. He finally lumbered to his feet and ran to the next cluster of trees, weaving through in the darkness.
He heard a crackle to his right and ducked down next to a tree trunk. The sound continued, but veered off away from him. As the trees fell back to near silence, Nisero stood again and worked his way through.
He emerged into another clearing and saw darkened cottages. He considered seeking the families inside for help, but he still felt too close to the point of attack. The rebels had not searched these homes yet but they had taken a manor, overtaken the Elite Guard in one attack, and likely would be searching them soon.
Nisero paused long enough to draw a drink of water from the well. He could not find a ladle in the dark. As he drank straight from the bucket and allowed some to splash the front of his armor, he thought about years before when he had lowered himself into the well of the razed village of Patron’s Hill. He was making sure the bodies of former Captain Berengar’s family were not dumped below. They had no idea at that point what adventure lay ahead of them. He could not help but to think he was in exactly the same circumstance of ignorance as he drank from this well.
He also thought of another well in an abandoned village in the mountains beyond the border. Gray skinned, wild men had swarmed around ready to consume their raw flesh and they barely escaped. Nisero swallowed hard and looked back over his shoulder into the deeper darkness of the trees. He thought about the dark bandits tracking him through the night, and he suspected the second well experience was closer to his current situation.
He left the bucket on the edge and continued across, away from the cottages and the trees. He saw an intersection ahead and to the left. A few more buildings marked the spot. They were also dark. Farther off the road, a barn sat back in the fields.
Nisero turned away from the road and crossed through the grain that was up past his waist. He felt the grain heads come off on his clothes and his brushing hands. He tried to lift his feet and step carefully to do as little damage as possible. The farmers might appreciate his effort, but he was hoping not to leave too obvious of a trail for those that pursued him. He suspected he was failing.
There seems to be plenty of grain. Nothing worth killing ov
er.
The lieutenant pushed through the gap in the door of the barn. Horses for plowing and cows that were probably for milking jostled in their pens at the unfamiliar arrival.
He considered stealing one of the horses and making a mad run away. As much as he desired the cover of night and the wind from a speedy retreat, he wasn’t quite ready to behave like a wanton bandit. He also did not know which way to flee. Nor did he fully trust the endurance of plow horses.
Nisero felt his way along the gates of the pens past the snorting animals. One huffed out warm air from its flared nostrils and snapped its rounded teeth at Nisero’s knuckles as they slid past the creature’s nose.
He found the ladder and made his way up into the loft. The top floor was heavy with straw, so the lieutenant waded through to the front of the structure. He pushed the loft shutter out a few degrees to see across the fields toward the road. He rested back on the musty pile behind him and stared through the gap into the darkness.
Nisero thought about the other end of this day. In the morning light he had stood on the capital parade grounds in full regalia, shoulder to shoulder with his brothers-in-arms, listening to the declarations of the King and the fanfare of a foreign dignitary. Now, he cowered in a barn alone. His brothers lay dead, and their bodies dragged from the road. His king was betrayed by his own people, and the heir apparent of the kingdom to the east was murdered despite Nisero’s charge to prevent just that.
Their kingdoms would surely be at war when the news traveled to both capitals. The Elite Guard was fallen, leaving the King without a layer of long trusted protection. Those that orchestrated the fall of the Guard might well have designs on others in the capital before their treachery was through.
Nisero blinked against tears that were as much from anger as they were sorrow. He needed to reach the capital. No matter what the cost or what had been lost, he had to report it to the King.
He considered again climbing down and stealing a horse to begin that ride—not the one that had bit at him, but maybe one of the others. Again, he decided against the night ride. It might make him feel better to be on the move, but he was as likely to ride into another ambush as to get through alive. He needed to wait and find his way in the light of the sun and the full knowledge of his situation.
