Authors: R.A. Salvatore
They found their reward on the second day after they had splintered from Duke Kalas, their fifth day away from St.-Mere-Abelle. In a sheltered cove only a short distance up the western shore of the All Saints Peninsula, they found the fleet of Prince Midalis.
Alpinadoran longboats had been drawn up onto the shore, while the greater sailing vessels sat at anchor in the distance.
Nearly three hundred men, hardy Alpinadoran warriors all, guarded the beached boats.
When his scouts returned to report the sighting, Sir Blaxson didn’t hesitate, forming his line.
“Our duty is here and now before us,” he told his men, riding his To-gai pony up and down the length of that line. “The former prince has brought an invader to our fair shores: an Alpinadoran foreigner. A barbaric invader! These northmen know no quarter, no mercy, and no decency. They will kill our people indiscriminately; they will take our women back to their cold wasteland to serve as bed warmers!
“We must turn them now!” Sir Blaxson cried. “We must kill the barbarians and destroy their vessels. Damnation awaits Prince Midalis for bringing these murderers to the fair shores of Honce-the-Bear! And King Aydrian will deliver him to that damnation, alongside all the traitorous rabble who have joined him!”
The warriors cheered his every word, their excitement building, the sense of righteousness overflowing.
“Death to the barbarians who dare come south to spoil our lands, our women, our children!” Sir Blaxson cried, and he turned his pony to the north, drew forth
his sword, and pointed the way.
The charge of three thousand warriors flowed over the high bluffs just south of the sheltered cove, descending fast upon the surprised Alpinadoran guards. Kingsmen archers filled the air with deadly missiles. Sir Blaxson sent his infantry down first, the soldiers breaking left and right as they neared the barbarian line, for through the center came the cavalry charge.
To their credit, the Alpinadorans did not break ranks and flee. In concert with their proud heritage, in agreement with the tenets that guided their warrior existence, they took up their weapons and joined in a song to Dane Thorrson, their god of battle. Side by side, they met the attack with a wave of thrown hammers, then with their own muscle.
Against the infantry, the great warriors of the northern lands killed two Bearmen for their every loss, but strong as they were, the Alpinadorans had no answer for the heavy Kingsman and Allheart cavalry. Even to the sides of the devastating cavalry charge, the Alpinadorans were swarmed and brought down, for the army of Sir Blaxson outnumbered them ten to one.
Few of the Alpinadorans fell wounded, for they fought until all life had left their tall, muscular frames. Those wounded few were shown no mercy by Sir Blaxson, nor did a single Alpinadoran ask for such.
They were put to the sword, joining the dead on the blood-soaked beach.
The task was not finished, however, and Sir Blaxson ordered his men to destroy half of the forty longboats. The other half were dragged back into the surf, manned by Bearmen warriors.
Out they went for the anchored, and barely crewed, warships.
A couple, including
Saudi Jacintha
, raised their sails and headed out. One even managed to begin firing its catapult at the approaching armada, though to no effect.
One by one, the great ships of Honce-the-Bear were reclaimed in the name of King Aydrian.
Watching from the beach, Sir Blaxson puffed his old chest out in pride every time the flag of Ursal was brought down and the bear and tiger of King Aydrian was run up. Those two or three that managed to get away would be of no consequence, he understood. He had served his king and his duke to perfection.
Now Prince Midalis had no retreat.
“J
ust as Juraviel informed us,” Prince Midalis remarked to the others when they came in sight of the high ground north of St.-Mere-Abelle. There in the distance loomed the unmistakable forms of catapults, and even as they watched, the massive war engines were being turned about.
“It would seem that they have noted our approach,” Pony said.
“They’ll not turn them in time,” Prince Midalis assured her, and he lifted his arm into the air. “Ride on and run on, my warriors!” he cried. “Now is the hour of my ascent!”
Beside him, Bradwarden took up a rousing tune on his pipes. Behind him, Bruinhelde and Andacanavar led the Alpinadorans in a song to Dane Thorrson.
But then they all paused in awe, for before them, a great winged shape loomed up over the distant cliffs and rushed at the artillery emplacement. Bearing Brynn and Pagonel, the dragon soared past the terrified Bearmen, his fiery breath igniting one catapult, his great claws overturning a second.
Bradwarden resumed his song; Bruinhelde began to sing.
On came the prince’s charge.
Few of Aydrian’s men remained to oppose them, with most fleeing to the south and west. A second pass by Agradeleous set yet another catapult ablaze, and this time, with the prince’s army closing fast, Brynn and Pagonel leaped down amidst the terrified and scattering soldiers.
Symphony and Pony were the first to join them, the erstwhile queen wasting no time in flashing off a devastating lightning stroke that splintered the wood of the one remaining catapult. The concussion of the blast dropped a dozen men to the ground; and as one, as they recovered their wits, they threw aside their weapons and begged for mercy.
Pony linked with Brynn and Pagonel, and Agradeleous set down beside them. The devastating group overwhelmed another pocket of defense.
And then Midalis and the hordes were there, tearing through the meager force. The high ground was theirs!
From that vantage point, they could clearly see the northern walls of St.-Mere-Abelle. From that vantage point, they could see the dark swarm of Aydrian’s army, west of the main, western gate. The path to Aydrian was at hand.
But then a very shaken Belli’mar Juraviel stepped as if from nowhere into the midst of the leaders, wagging his head in distress. “We have been deceived,” the elf wailed. “Duke Kalas has turned!”
All heads swung farther to the west, and soon enough they saw the cloud of dust rising into the air, the approach of a great army.
“How is this possible?” Prince Midalis asked the elf. “Why did your scouts not detect …”
“Aydrian,” came the elf’s simple answer. “Aydrian and his gemstones. We have been deceived.”
“We cannot fight them all,” Pony remarked.
“If we turn now, St.-Mere-Abelle is doomed,” the prince replied.
“St.-Mere-Abelle is doomed in any case,” Juraviel noted. “Duke Kalas’ army is huge.”
Prince Midalis looked all around, searching for answers. He seemed to grow more desperate by the moment, but then Pony put her hand on his arm, forcing him to calm himself and to look at her.
“We have nowhere to run,” the woman told him.
Prince Midalis nodded his agreement. “Then let us fight,” he replied, his voice full of determination.
“S
o it begins,” Aydrian announced, sitting astride his horse before the gates of St.-Mere-Abelle. He turned to a young monk standing beside him. “You have brought the items as I instructed?”
“Yes, my lord,” the man sheepishly replied, and he handed Aydrian a quiver of arrows.
Smiling widely, Aydrian calmly told Marcalo De’Unnero to order the catapults to pound at the door, and to begin the charge for the main gates. Then the young king drew one of the arrows from the quiver and held it up before his eyes, marveling at the small ruby that had been secured to its shaft, just below the arrowhead.
He was still staring at it when De’Unnero returned to his side. “You cannot think to …” the monk began, but Aydrian merely laughed, stopping him.
The young king took out a soul stone and pulled his great bow, the bow of his father, from the side of his saddle, and, with a fluid movement, strung Hawkwing.
“I have not practiced my archery as much as I should have,” he lamented, as the catapults fired and his warriors took up the charge. With a shrug, Aydrian set the ruby-imbued arrow to the bowstring. “Still, I expect that I can place the arrow close enough to the gate towers to cause a bit of discomfort.”
I
nside the uppermost open rooms in the gate towers flanking the main door of the great monastery, the brothers of St.-Mere-Abelle responded to the assault with blasts of magical lightning, like blue-white arms reaching down to sting and slam the front ranks of the charging warriors.
In the left-hand tower room, flanking Father Abbot Fio Bou-raiy, Bishop Braumin cheered his brothers on, imploring them to throw every ounce of energy they could muster into their initial blasts. Braumin had seen Aydrian quiet the magical response in Palmaris, after all, and he could only assume that the young king would similarly cover his attackers here.
Father Abbot Bou-raiy also implored the brothers, yelling out to them, reminding them that St.-Mere-Abelle had never fallen and telling them that it would not do so now! From both towers and all along the walls at the front of the monastery came a thunderous response. With gemstones and crossbows, with boiling oil and heavy stones, the brothers and the peasant army fought hard against the crush.
Bishop Braumin did notice the group of figures across the field, watching it all, and he knew that Aydrian and De’Unnero were among them. He took little interest in them, however, for they seemed far out of his magical reach; and so he didn’t even see the young king, still sitting astride his horse, lift his great feather-tipped elven bow and let fly a solitary arrow.
The missile, to any who noticed, seemed like nothing at all, a minor bolt amidst a swarm of carnage. It arced perfectly through the morning sky, descending to the open tower top room on the right-hand side of the battered gate. Nor did any of the monks notice the presence that accompanied that missile, the spirit of Aydrian, moving out of body, retaining his connection with the ruby set in the arrow’s shaft.
The arrow clicked down against the stone, shattering as it hit the ledge of the
great open window in the tower.
And then it exploded, a tremendous fireball blasting through the tower room, silencing the magical defenses of the monks in a burst of sudden and terrifying flame.
“By God,” Braumin Herde muttered, stunned by the magical display. The man’s knees went weak beneath him as he heard the screams from across the way, as he saw one man and then another leap out of the tower, flames clinging to every part of their bodies. “By God.”
“Sunstone shields!” Fio Bou-raiy cried desperately, for when he looked across the field, he could see Aydrian lifting his bow yet again. The monks scrambled to produce the proper stones, but they were not in time.
A second arrow came down from on high, arcing into the courtyard behind the gate itself. The ensuing fireball had the peasant force gathered there in defense of the gate screaming and running, many of them with flames leaping from their clothing, their hair, their skin. Even worse for the integrity of the defense, the flames caught on the great beams holding the door, as well.
“Get some serpentine down there!” Fio Bou-raiy cried. “Get some water down there!”
Braumin Herde, his body glowing blue-white now from a serpentine shield he had enacted, fell over Fio Bou-raiy, and worked feverishly to include the man within the shield, even as the third magical fireball went off, this one blasting through the room that contained the leader.
Braumin flew back from the force of the blow, but held stubbornly on to Bou-raiy, even when they crashed against the back wall. Still holding tight, the bishop climbed to his feet and pulled the Father Abbot up with him, then ushered the man from the burning room, down the tower’s spiral staircase, and out of the structure altogether.
“Hold as long as you can, then organize a retreat to the cellars,” he instructed Master Machuso out in the courtyard. “We must make them fight for every inch of ground. We must make them climb over the bodies of their dead comrades every step of the way!”
The old master nodded his agreement and ran off, rallying the brothers and the peasants against the unexpected devastation, making sure that the sunstone shields were being emblazed all across the battle zone. And indeed, the next ruby-set arrow that soared in from across the way crossed into an area of antimagic, where Aydrian’s spirit was repulsed. The fireball did not explode.
“A conventional battle, then,” Master Machuso remarked, and he nodded grimly, certain that he and his brethren could give this enemy all that they could handle with or without magic.
His determination turned to great hope soon after, when cries echoed down from the northern stretches of the monastery wall, heralding the arrival of a second force, led by Prince Midalis.
A
ydrian and De’Unnero soon heard the rumors, as well, and soon after that, saw the force of Prince Midalis, charging hard from the north.
“We’ll pivot and move them out from the wall,” De’Unnero reasoned.
“Then Midalis will flee inside the monastery,” Aydrian reasoned. “And that, we do not want.”
De’Unnero started away, but Aydrian reached down and stopped him, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Look there,” the young king explained, motioning toward the west. “Duke Kalas will see to the army of Prince Midalis.”
De’Unnero settled immediately as yet another army made its appearance on the field, charging in hard from the west. Duke Kalas had returned, with a force three times the size of the one Midalis had brought. A quick glance to the north and then back to the west showed the young king and the fierce monk the truth of it. Prince Midalis would not make the gate before Duke Kalas.
“Duke Kalas will have the fight without well in hand,” Aydrian assured the monk. “Come, let us go to the gate and see to the fight within.”
Aydrian had to walk his horse in a zigzag course to avoid the carnage before the gate and walls of St.-Mere-Abelle. He figured that more than a third of his force of five thousand were down, but he didn’t care—for the gate had been weakened, and the defenses were tiring. Connected through his hematite, he could tell that there was some sunstone antimagic about, but it was nothing substantial out here, beyond the gate, and certainly nothing that would inhibit the power of King Aydrian.