by Sam Ferguson
“What of my knights?” Dalynn asked. “I could use your men inside the walls.”
“My men are no use inside city walls, m’lady,” Sir Alexander said with a shake of his head. “We were born to ride in the open against our foe. Whether they number ten or ten thousand, we prefer to meet them out in the open.”
“Do you think you can really pull it off?”
“I do,” Sir Alexander affirmed. “I have been watching the enemy since they arrived. We have timed their patrol routes and watched every move of their guards. We will live long enough to destroy their catapults and trebuchets, I promise you that.” He stroked his silvery beard and smiled widely as he looked the queen in the eyes. “We will live long enough to give the whole camp a good throttling with our blades.”
“I must tell you something,” Dalynn said quietly. Her eyes conveyed a strange mix of fear and pride as she gazed on the knight. “I have often wished that I had gone with you to the borderlands. I would have very much liked being a soldier’s wife.”
“And I would have enjoyed being your soldier,” Sir Alexander replied softly.
“You are nearing your fiftieth year, are you not?” she asked as she rose from the bench and stepped close to her former lover.
“I am,” he confirmed.
“As am I,” she said as she gently took his left hand with her right and clasped her other hand over the top. “As queen, I am not allowed to mar the memory of my late husband by wedding another.” She sighed softly and blinked away the faint welling of tears in her eyes. “However, as a woman, I cannot send my true love into battle without a kiss.”
The two embraced each other and shared a passionate, long kiss that seemed to melt all of the years away that Dalynn had spent apart from him. She cried as he pulled his mouth away from hers and held her in his arms.
“When I return then,” he said. “Surely a queen can leave the castle and explore the countryside with a trusted bodyguard.”
Dalynn nodded. “Then return to me in one piece.” She looked up to his eyes, her hands trembling as she reached up to caress his face. “Promise me that you will return, and I will promise to go away with you afterward.”
Sir Alexander nodded. “I will return, my queen.”
With that the large man turned to leave, but then paused and turned back to her. He lifted his hand up to pull a silver necklace out from under his shirt. Dalynn put a hand to her lips as she saw a faded red ribbon tied to the chain.
“You wore this in your hair the night we spent together,” he said. “I have always had you with me ever since.” He smiled to her and then bowed before leaving.
Queen Dalynn wept softly as she moved back to the bench and sat down.
Karmt entered the room after Alexander had left and moved to sit beside Dalynn. “The king was also a good man,” he told her.
Queen Dalynn could sense the reproach in Karmt’s tone. She knew then that he had not given them as much privacy as she had thought. She waved his remark away and said, “I was given to him in marriage when I was only sixteen.”
“Many marriages are arranged similarly, it has been done for centuries. Many of them start out slow, but develop happily.”
“My husband was often wroth with me for the first few years of our marriage, did you know that?” she asked.
“I was not aware of that, m’lady.”
“He was already in his late fifties when I married him. He had never had another wife, though I had heard that he had shared his bed many times before he took me to wife.” She smiled thinly, almost dutifully, as she remembered the early days of her marriage. “My husband blamed me for not bearing an heir,” she said. “It was as though he thought I was purposefully denying him a son.” She was silent for a moment and her face grew hard, as though she was chiseled stone instead of flesh and bone. “After the first couple of years I told him that perhaps it was his fault, not mine. After all, he had never fathered any other children, despite having plenty of opportunities to do so.” She looked up at Karmt sullenly then. “The night I told him that was the first time he struck me.” She lowered her gaze, ashamed. A small lock of hair fell over her brow, but she made no move to wipe it away.
Karmt sat silently, allowing the queen to compose her thoughts. He reached out slowly and took her hand in his. She looked at him as tears continued to silently trace lines down her cheeks. “That is not how a man should behave,” he told her after a moment. It was the first time she had ever heard Karmt utter words of disapproval regarding her late husband.
“I thought that he would stop after the prince was born, but he didn’t. He never believed that the prince was his. He always suspected I had been unfaithful. Yet, here I am still fulfilling my duty to him even though his bones grew cold long ago. In some ways, it is better to be alone.” The queen swallowed hard and looked out the window and down to the commander of her knights. “If we survive this, I will leave.”
“With Sir Alexander?” Karmt asked pointedly.
Dalynn nodded. “If he survives, then I want to live the last portion of my life in his arms.”
“And if he doesn’t” Karmt asked. She could tell by his tone that he wasn’t being mean or trying to cause offense. He was her advisor, and as such it was his job to point out alternative possibilities for her to consider.
“Then I will go somewhere alone.”
“What of the kingdom?” Karmt asked. “The cube will open after the winter solstice. You could unite the empire once more.”
Dalynn shook her head. “You will promise me to stay here, and guide my son when he ascends to the throne.”
Karmt shook his head. “The cube will not recognize him.”
“Why not? He is of my blood. He is a true descendant and heir of King Dailex.”
Karmt shook his head again and sighed. “As long as you live, your son is not the rightful heir. If you leave, the empire cannot be reunited.”
Dalynn swallowed hard and blinked away the remaining tears. Dalynn closed her eyes and her head drooped down. She felt Karmt let go of her hand and listened as he exited the room. The door groaned as the advisor closed it behind him and the latch clicked into place.
*****
The night air was as stale as it was black. The moon barely showed her face and the stars were not seen through the low clouds that hung over Kobhir like a blanket. Normally, the dreary night would have been unwelcome, but Sir Alexander thought it was a sign that the gods were with him. The absolute dark of this night would help his men conceal themselves as they rode toward the enemy camp.
He waited until half-past midnight before he gave the order to ride out through the east gate. Slowly, he led his knights north, along the outside of the city wall and around until they stopped at the base of the northwest tower. He tried to use his looking glass to see the enemy, but the tool was useless in the overwhelming darkness. Normally, this too would have been ill desired, but tonight it made him smile. If we can’t see them, then they can’t see us, Alexander noted silently. He turned in his saddle and looked to Ret and Jaidor.
“When I blow the horn, the two of you will detach from the group, along with the men I assigned to your command. Remember, nothing must stand in the way of tearing down the trebuchets. I don’t care how many of us fall along the way, we have to destroy them.”
“We will not fail,” Ret replied firmly.
“No man will shirk his duty tonight,” Jaidor agreed. “The children of Kobhir will sing songs of our valor for centuries to come.”
“Look after yourselves,” Alexander urged them. “When the camp wakes it will be like trying to kill a dragon with a sling loaded with horse-apples.” The two lieutenants smirked and even Alexander chuckled a bit. But they quickly erased their grins from their faces. Each man grew eerily silent, realizing full well that they would likely not live to see the sun rise again. Alexander was the first to spur his horse forward into a slow, controlled run. Ret and Jaidor silently motioned for the other knights to fol
low closely.
Alexander strained his eyes against the dark, aiming his steed for the distant glow of scattered torches in the enemy camp. He did not see the looming shapes of the trebuchets until he was within sixty yards of the enemy camp, but as soon as he spied the contraptions he wasted no time. His hand ripped the horn from his belt and he blew a short, yet distinct note.
The company of three hundred knights instantly morphed into three warbands of one hundred knights. Alexander, Ret, and Jaidor each led one of the groups onward to attack the enemy’s siege engines. The sound of hooves galloping across the packed ground roared like a raging river, or even like thunder. Within a few seconds, there were shouts from the enemy camp.
Alexander steeled himself and spurred his warhorse onward, faster than he had ever ridden before. Bugles sounded from the tents before him. He could hear men shouting and cursing. Under the light of lanterns staked into the ground, Alexander could see that there were only twenty or thirty tents near the trebuchets. The rest of the enemy camp was farther back, about one hundred yards away. Armor plates clanged and banged together as the enemy camp roused to answer the warnings of the bugles. But it was already too late to save three of the trebuchets.
Alexander reached down to his saddle bag and pulled a sticky leather pouch from it. The pouch was sealed with a length of twine that also served as strap for Alexander to hold. He slowly twirled the leather bag beside him and launched it toward a nearby trebuchet like a child’s fox-tail. His aim was true and the bag struck the neck of the war machine, splitting instantly and spilling oil and pitch all around. He reached down and grabbed a lantern, post and all, out of the ground near a tent and threw it like a fiery javelin to ignite the pitch and oil. The flames whooshed up along the wooden neck of the machine as he and fifty knights pressed on to the next machine.
Swords clanged together then, and he knew that the other men from his group were embattled with the enemy. He said a silent prayer for them, hoping that the gods would give his men enough strength to stave off the enemy until the first trebuchet was fully destroyed. Some of his men would be hacking at the machine itself, while the rest would be holding the enemy away so the fire could not be extinguished.
After only a few more seconds he launched another satchel of oil and struck a second trebuchet. He reached down and held out his hand to rip another lantern from the ground, but just before he reached it an arrow struck his horse in the neck. The animal cried out and its head dropped to the ground. The world seemed to slow down for Alexander as he found himself catapulted from his saddle and flying through the air over the lantern and into the tent behind it. He landed with a clamor of metal and wood. The tent poles collapsed and the cloth of the tent fell all around him. Puffy, man-like shapes scrambled around under the cloth; punching, kicking and striking out with swords and daggers. Their movement made it hard for Alexander to steady himself as the canvas tent swirled all around like waves of the sea.
The knight somehow got his feet under him and started hacking at the men under the canvas. The first swing of his sword nearly cleaved a man in two and left an enormous red stain on the tent. His second strike slammed into something hard. Either the man under the canvas had managed to dress in a hauberk, or he had some sort of shield, but it didn’t deter the knight. Alexander struck again and again until the man fell under the weight and agony of crunching bones and splitting flesh. The third man was able to crawl out from under the tent before Alexander could reach him, but it did nothing to spare him from death. A sword crashed down from behind as one of Alexander’s men rushed in to the fray to find his commander.
“My thanks,” Alexander offered. The other knight nodded and quickly turned his horse away. Alexander looked around and realized that the enemy was rushing in all around. He had only a few seconds before they would be on him and his men. He looked beyond to see five more fires glowing bright against the dark of the night. A smile washed over his face as he saw the blazes creep upward into the sky. The other trebuchets were also on fire, he knew. His joy inspired him into action.
He rushed to his dead horse and pulled his shield up from the ground beside the fallen animal. He steeled himself and raised his sword as three soldiers charged him. The first swung a mace, but Alexander blocked the blow with his shield. Immediately the second soldier struck out with his spear, striking under the upraised shield, but it glanced harmlessly off of Alexander’s steel plate armor. The knight, not flinching an inch at the attack, thrust out with his sword and caught the third soldier in the left shoulder, just above where the collar bone rests. The soldier dropped his sword and fell to the ground. Alexander pressed the attack. He put his weight behind his shield and jumped forward, throwing the first two soldiers back a few feet. With them out of the way, Alexander slashed back with his sword and slew the third soldier.
The spearman was the first to rush in again, but Sir Alexander was ready. He lowered his shield on the spear, just behind the point, and drove down until the spear stabbed into the ground and the shaft snapped in the spearman’s hands with a resounding crack. The soldier stood baffled. Alexander swung his sword with a mighty yell. The soldier instinctively raised the remnant of the spear shaft to block the incoming blade, realizing too late that the wood would not deflect the gleaming steel of the knight’s sword. The spearman slumped to the ground, covered in blood.
The mace-man roared defiantly and jumped in to avenge his comrade. He beat down on Alexander’s armor. The clangs were deafening and hard, but the armor held true. Only the smallest of dents formed as the mace struck again and again. Alexander stepped back and to the side repeatedly until the mace-man overextended his swing. Then the knight moved as swiftly as an eagle strikes a fish. The knight sliced off the mace-man’s arm just above the elbow and then he drove his shield into the man’s face like a giant, flat hammer. The soldier’s face was smattered with blood and teeth were chipped, cracked, or replaced with gaping holes. His eyes glazed over and were almost like glass by the time that Alexander brought his sword down on the soldier’s neck.
A loud clang made Alexander turn on his heels. One of his men had been knocked from his mount. He rushed in, hacking and slicing at the enemy soldiers in his path. He slammed into a spearman’s back with his shield, sending the man flying forward to the ground. He ducked low under the swing of an enemy ax and struck out to hamstring the enemy. The man went down yowling like a castrated bear. Finally, after hacking through a few more soldiers that were eager to get at the fallen knight, he pushed through the throng. The knight’s helm was leaking blood under the visor. The chest plate had been pounded in on the knight’s chest and a fairly sizeable hole marred the fine steel.
Alexander moved beside the knight and kept swinging his sword at the enemies crowding in. Three soldiers engaged him from the right. He worked his sword and shield furiously to keep them at bay, but it was a losing battle. Two soldiers rushed in on Alexander’s left and wrested his shield away from him. He tried to back up, still swinging his sword to parry the strikes of his enemies, but a heavy, sharp strike slammed into the back of his left knee, right where the armor was weakest. The force of the blow ripped through his leg and pain shot through the whole left side of his body. He arched backwards and flung his arms out to keep his balance. A mace slammed into his chest, a sword crashed into his side. The armor groaned and strained under the onslaught. Every sharp jolt made his leg throb and ache. At last it was too much for him. He fell to his back and his sword was kicked from his hand.
Alexander could feel heavy blows slamming into his chest, abdomen, and legs. The steel plates moaned and started to give away under the force. Denting steel crowded in on his flesh, and started to tear his skin. A sudden blow, like that of falling stone, stove in his visor. His nose broke under the pressure and his vision went dark. He didn’t know if his eyes had been injured or if his helmet obscured his sight, he only knew that he had been blinded by the strike. He was just about to resign himself to death when he heard thun
dering hooves and shrieks of men.
“Form up,” he heard a voice shout, but he was too far gone to recognize the man. The battle raged on around him. He could hear the ghastly screams of the dying, the screeching of metal on metal as armor, shield, and sword grinded against each other in the melee. The minutes seemed hours as he lay there helpless on the ground. The sharp pain in his left knee was giving way to a pounding throb that made him black out more than once as the fight raged on around him.
A loud crash of metal right next to Alexander’s head woke him from unconsciousness. Something tapped the side of his helmet. Was it a finger? He had no way of knowing. It tapped a few more times and then a horrible screeeetch filled his ears as the object scratched along the side of the helmet. The sound sent shivers down his spine and made him cringe. He jerked his head away and the sound was gone. He could still hear the stomping of horses and the clamor of battle around him. Some men were shouting, but he couldn’t make out the words over the din of the combat.
He struggled to bring his hands up to his helmet. He had to know what was going on around him. He fumbled with the clasps for what seemed like an eternity before he got the contraption off. Torch-light blinded him as soon as the helmet was off. The sudden blast of light made him recoil and throw his arm over his face, yet it was a relief to know that he still had his eyesight. As he slowly brought his arm down he saw knights encircling him, battling as fiercely as any knight of legend he had ever heard of. Many of them had blood covering so much of their armor that it was impossible to tell if it was theirs, or the blood of their fallen enemies that circled their feet in disgusting piles of limbs, weapons, and blood.
He pushed up from his elbows and looked down to his left knee. He saw the crimson puddle around the joint and knew instinctively that there was little to no hope of saving his leg, even if he survived the battle. He removed his gauntlets and set them at his side. Then, with his fingers free to work, he set about removing his armor to release his body and inspect his wounds. He knew that this would expose him to enemies, but he also knew that he had been down for a long time now, and he had lost a lot of blood. He would have to try to assess his wounds and stop the bleeding, despite the risk.
