The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  A stout dwarf sat on a higher bench to his right, the shortened arms adjusting enemy positions as aides relayed them to their commander. Bendor Firefist was the leader of his army and bore the sole responsibility for keeping them all safe. Though John was king, and his input greatly considered, it was Bendor’s choice in the end the best plan of action to enact. There was no purpose for such a post and responsibility if it could be undercut and taken away by an inexperienced monarch; it would diminish the efficiency of their defending forces.

  As Bendor had tutored John on most of his military tactics, he was confident the dwarf was always two steps ahead of him, thinking further down the road than the rest, seeing the whole picture; not their individual pieces. The dwarf’s brown and gray hair was tucked behind his ears, the long beard nearly dragging across the table. He was wearing a brown jerkin and black pants, his armor on a stand in the corner to be adorned when needed. The dwarf enjoyed freedom of movement and rarely wore armor unless doing battle himself.

  Roland Woodhurst was standing at Bendor’s side listening to the troop deployments and trying to spy weaknesses in the enemy’s placement. He was commander of the cavalry and when it came to siege warfare, he was next to useless within the castle walls. John knew the general was working out ways to harry the enemy on the grasslands beyond, eager to get into the fight himself.

  Standing at a window that looked west was his commander of the auxiliary, Brigette McKnight. She had short black hair and devastating blue eyes. Her skin was tanned, and a scar pitted her right cheek from some distant battle they’d all forgotten. She had traveled with Griedlok’s forces during the Cleansing as an advisor. His father had greatly appreciated her tactical genius and ability to anticipate enemy movements. Though women were not common within the army, she had proven herself more than a match for her male counterparts.

  The final member of their council was missing, and he wondered where Thomas Cox had gotten off to? He was the commander of the infantry and his input on the readiness of their forces was vital going forth. They couldn’t plan an attack if they didn’t know how many capable soldiers they had to command. “Where’s Thomas?” he asked Bendor as he leaned over the table, eyeing the changes being made.

  “Seein’ tae th’ woonded. Th’ laddie wanted tae dae ‘at personally,” Bendor replied with discontent; obviously not agreeing with his subordinate’s decision. Why then, had the dwarf allowed it? Obviously, he knew what John was thinking and continued on, “he gae me his report afair takin’ aff. Fower thoosain ready tae tak’ th’ field, fifteen hunder in reserve, an’ ower nane hunder recruits still tay green tae dae anythin’ but flin’ rocks at th’ enemy.”

  He knew the opposing army numbered at least four times that; he didn’t like the odds.

  “He’s got to learn to not be so close to the men under his command. It’s only going to get harder going forth. He’ll have difficulty sacrificing them if the situation calls for it,” Roland interjected, the older man obviously agreeing with the dwarf’s reservations.

  “Och aye laddie, but it’s easier taught than tauld. Lit heem be. He’s yoong an’ he’ll either buck up ur be mustered it,” Bendor told them, finally finished updating the model before them. “Sae, Clint’s a traitur, huh?”

  The dwarf had been listening. “He killed my parents, tried to kill my brother, and let goblins in through a secret entrance in the dungeons. Is there a word stronger than traitor for something like that?” he asked his assembled comrades.

  Brigette broke from the window and approached him, eyes calculating. “I never did like that bastard. Your father should have gotten rid of him a long time ago. Never was worth a shit.”

  Roland had begun cursing as well.

  Bendor simply sat on his bench, staring at the model castle before them. “Ah feared as much. He’s probably leaked everythin’ he’s heard in uir cooncils an aw. We’re gonnae hae tae rethink everythin’. Start ower.”

  “We don’t have time for that,” Roland growled. “Another attack can begin any second, it’s too late to start making changes now.”

  “Are they concentrating on the southern wall?” he asked, making sure that he was interpreting things right.

  Bendor nodded, “och aye, an’ goblins make up th’ bulk ay their forces. Those vermin ur idiotic an’ cannae fin’ their asses wi’ a map an’ a mirror; sae, we hae ‘at gonnae fur us. Fur now they ur concentratin’ oan overwhelmin’ a wall by sheer numbers, but considerin’ hoo mony ur it thaur, they coods surround aw fower walls, an’ still burst us bonnie stoaner.”

  “We need to find a way to take out their siege engines,” his cavalry commander directed towards Brigette, who grimaced and looked like she’d already been thinking along those lines.

  “From what we can see, they have eight or so trebuchets they’re moving into place, as well as ten or so siege towers. For all I know, more are being brought or constructed from the surrounding forest. Either way, I expect that the trebuchets will be operational before dusk,” Brigette informed them.

  He shook his head with despair. Constant bombardment was to be expected, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. “So soon?”

  “Soon, Sire?” Brigette asked with a raised eyebrow. “You’re lucky we’re not getting hit already. Our men would’ve had them maintenanced and ready to go long before the first attack. That they’re not just shows an ineptitude for what they’re doing. You can whip a slave forward, but you can’t make him think harder. No, be glad that this morning’s attack was not with the support of artillery or Thomas would be assuaging many more widows right now.”

  “Brigette!” Roland scolded.

  “What? Don’t tell me you don’t know how much of a womanizer that man is,” she replied coldly. “He uses his rank to woo as many women as he can, then dumps them as soon as he’s had his fill. If he’s not sleeping in three different beds a week—”

  “Oh, that’s bullshit,” Roland interrupted, scowling at her.

  Brigette’s eyes flared, her dander up. “He’s already made his way through every brothel in town; what is left other than grieving widows for him to stick his dick into?”

  Bendor was rolling his eyes and about to intervene when John slammed his fist into the table top. “Enough! Just hours ago, a man we all trusted betrayed us and is out there right now telling the enemy commanders everything they need to know to get in here and wipe us out. We can’t spend what little time we have fighting amongst ourselves. Now, let’s get to work and figure out what we need to do!”

  “Whit ur we gonnae dae?” Bendor asked his king curiously, obviously eager to change the subject.

  Suddenly he felt like he had put on the spot; being tested by his former tutor. He knew the dwarf already had plans of his own and he was checking to see if John was worthy enough to be a part of them. He focused his mind and looked at the model, trying to figure where to start.

  The door opened, and Thomas entered, Windel quickly upon his heels. The aide had changed from his Guardians uniform and was wearing a simple tunic and brown jeans. He looked more comfortable, but his face was uneasy. This was the first time he’d be around the generals in his new position and he sympathized with the elf’s uneasiness.

  “Sae, th’ new aide, och aye?” Bendor rounded about and eyed the youth. “Heard we owe ye uir li’es an’ ‘at Ah gie cheers. However, bein’ a newborn runt means bein’ whieest an’ waitin’ fur orders, understuid?”

  He felt defensive of his new companion and wanted to rush to the elf’s defense, but he couldn’t argue with what Bendor was saying. Saving his life and those of his people did not mean the aide had anything to contribute to military matters. To his credit, Windel simply nodded and came to stand by John’s side.

  “Are the grieving widows feeling satisfied?” Brigette asked the infantry commander.

  Thomas flushed and began fidgeting with something on his collar. “Clerics are tending to the wounded and fresh soldiers have rotated onto the battlements. We awai
t your command,” Thomas told Bendor, ignoring Brigette’s question the best he could. He couldn’t meet any of the eyes staring at him and the shifting of his weight told John that Brigette might have been right after all. Well, they might all be dead soon, so he couldn’t hold anything against the youth for trying to live his life while he had the time.

  “Och aye, och aye, we ken ‘at,” Bendor growled. “If ye huvnae got anythin’ new, sit doon an’ try tae be useful.” Then the dwarf looked to John with an impatient wave of his fingers.

  He leaned forward and began, “supply trains are still coming in and we need to take them out. Get the horde starving they’ll be less willing to follow orders and might turn on their whip masters.”

  The dwarven general nodded and motioned for him to go on.

  “We take out the patrols here and here,” he told them, indicating troop placements to the north. “Then send our cavalry out to attack their supply lines. They’ll rush to intercept, drawing them along the west wall where our archers can pick some of them off. While the horde army is scrambling to protect their food, we send another force of cavalry from the east gate south, come along the rear of the horde encampment and take out every siege engine we can find before our enemy realizes what we’re doing. Brigette, we’ll need artillery support for both attacks. If we’re lucky, the horde will be drawn between the two and have to choose which one they want more, their food or their siege engines.”

  Bendor was nodding with approval, but Thomas looked disappointed. Neither attack would require infantry involvement; he’d be stuck behind the wall watching from afar. It was an over eagerness that was misplaced; they would all see combat soon enough and long for the days of peace and quiet to return.

  “If we are going to pull this off, we need speed, which means light horse,” he told the young general.

  Roland pounded Thomas on the back with a grin, “don’t worry, we’ll save you plenty.”

  A runner came in and approached Windel, drawing John’s eye. “What’s going on? Has the attack resumed?”

  Windel dismissed the man, his face confused, as if not sure how to proceed. “Sire, a mage has arrived and seeks admission to the war council. He’s come to offer his help.”

  “Bloody hell, we don’t need any of that sort around here,” Mark growled, speaking for the first time since his arrival. The general had been quietly listening in the background, measuring everything said, and he knew that when the man did speak it was only after a lot of consideration; the words picked out precisely.

  “Is it Merlin?” he asked, eyes dancing. If the mage had returned, had his brother come with them? He tried to think of what he’d say, whether he could trust anything the other man had to offer, but Windel was shaking his head.

  “No Sire, I don’t know who he is,” the aide told him reluctantly.

  “My name is Serix,” spoke a man in black robes as he entered the room. His cowl was back and there was a small grin upon his face. His generals all went for their weapons, but the man raised both hands to show he meant no harm. “I’m not here to fight, I’m here to offer assistance. Judging by what I’ve seen, you can use all the help you can get.”

  Bendor grunted, “ne’er hud use fur magic, laddie. Gezz an axe an’ a heed tae cleae, that’s aw Ah pure need.”

  The others murmured in agreement, but the mage was not deterred. “Your enemy has no such qualms, Master Dwarf. They will hit you with whatever they can, as hard as they can. They have no honor nor compunction over what you might consider to be the rules of war.”

  “Are you in league with Merlin?” he pushed, trying to gauge the magician that had interrupted their war council.

  “Yes, your Majesty. I am working with Merlin, but that doesn’t mean what I have to offer should be disregarded because of it,” Serix told him, coming to stand before John. Windel had taken a step closer, a hand on his weapon, but John had yet to feel like it’d be necessary.

  “Why isn’t he here himself?” he demanded. “And where is my brother?”

  “Who’s your brother?” Serix returned, curiously.

  His patience was starting to grow thin; how could this guy be in league with Merlin and not know who his brother was? Was he truly who he said or was this a trick; another agent of the Phoenix?

  The mage looked at him, studying his face. “Little fellow? Timid, long brown hair? I think I know who you’re talking about. Didn’t catch his name, sorry. We met only briefly. He and Merlin had come to see a friend of mine and we were attacked by goblins. During the battle, Merlin fell through a portal and I followed after. We were transported to the Dierdan Desert and by use of the same spell, I was sent here to help you break this siege.”

  “This is madness, my Lord,” Mark stated, moving around the table. “The mage in which he refers is wanted in connection with your father’s murder. Any associate of his—.”

  “Merlin was perfectly innocent of those accusations and he helped uncover the true assassin. If not for his help this castle would be burning, and its inhabitants enslaved,” Windel broke in, rushing to his former comrade’s defense.

  The general bristled, eyes narrowing, “says who? An elf who abandons his post and a black robed magician that nobody has ever heard of?”

  “Mark!” Bendor snapped, making the other guy flinch. “Th’ laddie main be a green advisur, but he’s a trained Guardian, fa did his duty protectin’ his prince an’ returned oan his ain, ben th’ lines ay an oncomin’ horde, tae warn us ay a traitur, fa was at ‘at huir uv a moment lettin’ those vermin intae uir haem! As fur th’ mage, Ah dornt hae tae loch it, but th’ man’s reit, can we pure turn awa’ help? Ur ye ‘at confident we can repel th’ invaders?”

  “This castle has never fallen into enemy hands; it won’t fail us now!” Mark snarled, glaring at the two newcomers. “Throw the mage from the walls and banish the elf back to the palace where he belongs!”

  “General Brasten—,” he began but stopped with a glare from the dwarven commander.

  Bendor hopped down from his bench and approached the fuming man. “Ye need tae tak’ a donner.”

  Mark’s eyes were bouncing from Serix to Windel, then finally to the dwarf standing before him. “Maybe I do,” the man snapped, then brushed past and stormed out of sight.

  “I’ve never seen him that fired up,” Brigette commented, as Bendor watched his second in command take his leave.

  “A lot has happened in a cuttie time, lass,” Bendor said, shaking his head. “Ah kin his anger, e’en if Aam less vocal abit it. Constantine’s death, Clint’s betrayal, mysterioos mages an’ disappearin’ princes—it’s bin quite a lot, an’ ye hae tae wonder, fa can ye pure troost?”

  He had watched it all with quiet reserve, waiting to see how it’d all play out. He could force his involvement, but it was Bendor’s place to reprimand one of his own. The dwarf answered to him, but the rest answered to the dwarf. The general had moved towards the window and was stepping onto a small bench in order to better see the countryside beyond. The others were quiet, not wanting to break the silence and get their heads bit off.

  He had no such worries. “Do you know where my brother is?” he asked the mage.

  Serix looked at him, tearing his gaze from the dwarven general. “According to Merlin, he’s coming down from the peak and about to head south.”

  He wanted to ask for what purpose, but after reading his father’s letter, he could hazard a guess. They were looking for something called Excalibur; whatever the hell that was. He decided to push away his doubts and take a leap of faith. He reached out and offered the mage his hand. “Thank you for coming and we accept.”

  Serix grasped it and smiled grimly, “now we just have to make it out of this thing alive, eh?”

  II

  Riding free of the forest, Amysta stared across the plains and used her keen elven sight to spy ahead. They didn’t see anything; not to her surprise. Their enemy had a huge head start and she knew that the legion to her rear was slowing h
er down. Luckily for her, it had never been Erik’s intention to give chase with an entire legion at his back. She turned in her saddle and glanced at her comrades. Uriens and Pendoran looked at her expectantly; they knew what was coming next. “I need twenty volunteers from the knights. The rest are to ride south with the Fifth Legion and go to Lancaster’s defense.”

  “And where do you think you’re going, my Lady?” Pendoran asked pointlessly.

  “I’m going after my daughter,” she told them, “as you full well know. There’s no chance of catching these vermin with marching soldiers and supply trains. Speed of horse is needed.”

  Uriens was shaking his head, “the king would not—.”

  “He’s not here, I am. This is what he had intended from the start and I agree with the wisdom behind his choice,” she snapped, cutting him off, “I’m your Queen and I’m giving you a direct order. Obey it or I’ll see you reduced in rank and sent home.” The young elf bit off the retort that had been forming and took to fiddling with something on his saddle, head bowed. Good.

  “You can say what you want to my young friend here, my Lady, but I’m afraid that I fear your husband’s wrath should something happen to you, rather than any punishment you could devise,” Pendoran pushed, not backing down like his brother-in-arms. “I can tell there’s no persuading you not to go,” the elf smirked as she turned to face him. “So, let me put it this way—I am your first volunteer. Either accept that or my resignation.”

  She couldn’t think of a response that would persuade him otherwise; it was obvious by the elf’s tone that he was serious and would not follow any order that sent him south. Either she accepted his resignation and sent him back to Forlorn in disgrace or accepted his help finding her daughter. She considered carefully, then finally nodded, seeing no other way forward. She needed him, and he knew it.