Chapter 11
The Cavaliers
The horses stamped their hooves impatiently. Men looked about nervously, checking their gear to make sure everything was prepared for the assault. Some of them patted their mounts’ necks reassuringly, lost in the thoughts all men have before they are about to face death; others simply talked to forget their fears. Even Mikhal tried to fight the anxiety rushing up within him as he went from soldier to soldier inspecting them one final time. He had checked them all many times already, but he could think of nothing else to do while they waited for the signal. Mikhal and his men were responsible for securing the docks before the Belarnian guards were alerted. That meant rushing through the town’s gate and down the main street in a race to see who could get there first. It was the riskiest part of the attack, but it was Mikhal’s plan, and he could not let his friends volunteer for it.
To successfully enter the town, someone had to first open the gate; Singhal was protected by a large wall, and every entrance was protected. That would be Hanson’s job. His men would dismount and climb over the northern wall, dispatch any guards nearby, and then open the massive wooden doors for the rest of the cavaliers. Mikhal would lead the charge through the opened gate and head directly for the harbor area. The remainder of the soldiers, along with their commander, would follow Mikhal’s men past Hanson’s position and head for the local garrison, cutting off any enemy reinforcements that might attempt to reach the docks. Then Alek would meet Mikhal at the harbor, ensuring everything was ready for the Duellrian fleet. It was a good plan, one that Alek and Mikhal had thought through many times before they had disembarked on the northern shore of the Forsian Sea.
The cavaliers had disembarked from the Duellrian ships almost two days earlier; they had left Justan and Admiral Clarind along the border between Erand and Belarn and made their way across the northern plains as quickly as possible. There were no signs of enemy patrols near the sea.
“A good sign that bodes well for the army,” Mikhal commented. It meant there was a better chance of them reaching the port without being noticed. At least that is what Mikhal hoped as he looked at the snow-covered walls of Singhal. He also hoped the Drakes’ messenger had returned to their king and reported on Kristian’s intentions. If the messenger succeeded, Mikhal expected Erand’s army would only be a few weeks behind them … and then they could march on Belarna.
Mikhal stood in his saddle, stretching to relieve the tension in his leg muscles, as he continued to watch the walls above the gate for a signal. He could see little through the darkness and wondered if Hanson had even started his part of the mission. Nervously, he checked to make sure the reins were secure in his left hand and that he had a good grip on his saber in his right hand. Then he looked back past his men to his commander to ensure all was ready.
“Relax sir,” one of his sergeants said, riding up next to him. “Remember, you set the example for all of us. You need to stay calm.”
“I am calm. I’m just ready to get this started.”
“If you cinch down your straps any more, you’ll either break them or kill your horse.”
Mikhal had to smile. “Thank you, I get the message.” But he could not help thinking about Kristian and wonder how his prince might affect things tonight. He rubbed Champion’s neck to forget about the reckless prince and focus on the task his men had to accomplish.
Kristian saw Alek nod toward one of his officers in silent acknowledgment that all was ready. All they waited on was a falling torch from the walls to signal their attack. It was hard for Kristian not to interfere. He disliked the plan because he felt it split up the company’s forces. They should attack in a massed formation, rushing the walls and drive right past the guards before they had a chance to warn anyone. Kristian had hinted a few times he felt that speed was more important than surprise, but the commander was reluctant to change his plans.
So be it, Kristian thought. I’ll let him have his chance, and if he makes a mistake, then I won’t forget. Kristian was definitely in a hurry to get this raid over with, and everyone knew it.
“They don’t know how long this is taking,” he complained bitterly to himself. Allisia will be dead or worse before we reach Belarn. He shivered in the frigid night as he thought of her and then tried to put it out of his mind for a while by looking at Captain Heinren’s men.
The cavalrymen smiled when he joked with them about how easy it would be to take the town, and they half nodded at his comments about Erand’s commitment to honor and duty. The prince thought his words would encourage the soldiers and let them know he supported them, but they seemed a little too worried as he looked around at the gathered men. His concerns over whether the plan might fail grew. They looked nervous and restless. Kristian had thought that well-trained men like the cavaliers would be confident and well prepared. In contrast, these men looked liked soldiers going into battle for the first time.
Truan Langwood came up next to Kristian and patted the neck of his horse. “Now, this is a fine steed, Your Highness,” the old warrior said, smiling as he rubbed the horse’s muscular neck. Then turning more serious, he looked up at the young prince and said, “Tonight will be easy for them, Prince Kristian, they know that.”
“Then why do they look so afraid? They look as if they’ve never seen bloodshed before,” Kristian said as he looked at some of the younger cavalrymen in line.
“Many of them haven’t seen battle before, but they are cavaliers. They are the best trained cavalry in Erinia, probably the whole world. They will take the port … they are confident of that. But they also know not everyone is going to make it through the night. These soldiers have families, loved ones that they are afraid they may never see again. And they are a close bunch of soldiers. Soldiers are going to lose good friends tonight. They are concerned about who will take care of their loved ones if they die, and they are concerned about the safety of their comrades … as well they should be.” The weathered sergeant pulled his gloves tight over his hands and nodded to the prince before taking his place at the rear of the column.
Kristian watched him go, wondering why the sergeant had spent time explaining this to him. With new insight, Kristian looked again at the faces of the cavaliers. He saw them holding cherished keepsakes or glancing to their comrades one last time. They smiled remembering better days.
Kristian felt ashamed as he thought of his own family. He wondered what his father would be thinking of his son as he prepared to attack Belarn. He had not thought about the possibility that he might never see him again. So many things were left unresolved between them. There were so many things Kristian hoped he could make right once this was all over, but first he had to find a way to rescue Allisia. He thought he had found a way to bring him and his father closer, by marrying the princess. She had seen something in him that no one else had. Allisia had not said so, but Kristian saw it in her eyes; she was willing to give him a fresh start. He hoped it was because she saw potential in him even though no one else did. Looking back toward Singhal, he prayed to God that she was all right.
Mikhal was the first to see the small light atop the wall directly above the northern gate. He motioned for his men to make ready as he squinted to see the small flame. A moment later, the torch fell from the battlements to sputter out in the snow. Mikhal looked back quickly at Alek Heinren for permission to move out. After a quick nod from his commander, Mikhal sounded the charge and urged his mount into a full gallop.
The force split into two columns on either side of Mikhal, moving almost silently; the only sounds made were the jingling of a few unsecured harness straps and the crunching of the frozen ground below the horses’ hooves. They covered the open ground between their hiding place and the gate in a few heartbeats. They were racing toward the walls, and Mikhal was afraid the doors would not be opened in time. They would have to stop and wait for Hanson’s men to open them. He was immediately concerned about his men being exposed to archers and spearmen. He began to doubt whether Hanson had succee
ded in taking the gate, that maybe he had misread the signal.
The doors swung silently inward just as he was about to order his men to turn away. Hanson had accomplished his part of the plan. More so, the big southerner had enough foresight to wait until the last minute to open the gates, just in case anyone was around to sound an alarm.
Mikhal leaned forward in his saddle, pushing his horse harder then he ever had before. A moment later, he was through the gate. Wheeling around at the first street corner, he directed his men past him toward the harbor. It was more important for his sergeants and their men to secure the docks and find the harbormaster quickly than for him to be the first one in harm’s way. He looked over his shoulder to make sure the rest of the company was heading toward the garrison once his men were past him. He barely caught the gleam of helmets and sabers moving toward the heart of the town before they turned around a distant corner. Mikhal turned back toward his own men and spurred his horse into a run. One of his veteran sergeants nodded, letting him know that all of his men had made it into the small town. Everything was going as planned.
Sprinting dangerously down the icy streets, Mikhal caught up to his men as they turned onto the last street leading to their goal. No lights were on except in a small shack close to a pier.
“That’s probably the harbormaster’s place,” Mikhal called out, as they got closer. Some of the cavalrymen had already dismounted, searching for signs of immediate danger. His men encountered no resistance, though, and began securing the area without having to be told. Mikhal turned his focus to the shack. Two of his men were banging on the door, ordering the occupant to wake up and come outside. A few minutes later, one of his sergeants came to give him a report.
“There are seven warehouses in the immediate area. They’ve been searched, and no one was found. There’s also one tavern close to where we turned onto this street. There were a few drunken people there, but they were told to stay inside or they would be hurt. I had Turngor’s squad keep a few men there to watch the place. There are also a few small fishing boats moored along the side of a pier, but they don’t look very seaworthy.” The sergeant finished his report, scanning the darkness, searching for his men. Mikhal was glad he had such experienced leaders to watch after the younger soldiers. Seeing that all of them were doing what they were supposed to do, he decided to stay out of their way and wait for the situation to develop.
“Thank you, Jamal. The men are doing very well.” Jamal nodded and turned to go check on the platoon’s progress.
One of the soldiers came out of the shack, leading an old man toward him. The man was almost doubled over from age and looked as if he feared he would be hung at any moment. Wearing nothing more than a dingy tunic, he tried to keep from shivering as Mikhal’s men urged him forward.
“This man is the harbormaster, sir.” the soldier said as others fanned out to secure the area around Mikhal.
Mikhal looked into the old man’s eyes and saw only shock and fright. He ordered someone to get the man some warm clothing and hot food. Then he motioned for the harbormaster to come closer.
“You’re the harbormaster?” Mikhal asked politely.
“Yes, sir,” the old man answered, unsure of what was happening.
Mikhal patted the man’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t be afraid. I’m Lieutenant Mikhal Jurander of the Cavaliers of Erand. None of us has any intention of harming you or anyone else in the town … so long as no one tries to harm us.” Looking directly at the old man he added, “In fact, I bet you could be of tremendous service to us.”
“Me?” the master asked suspiciously. He could not fathom how he could manage to help.
“Yes, sir. If you are indeed the harbormaster of this town, I am sure you know every part of these waters.”
“Humph,” he snorted as he looked out at the bay. “I’ve worked these waters twice as long as you’ve been alive. There is no part of it that I don’t know better than I know myself … uh, sir,” he added, thinking his life might hang in the balance.
Mikhal was amused by the old man’s pride and smiled. He knew this man would prove invaluable to the fleet’s landing. He had instructed his men that it was imperative they capture the harbormaster alive. Mikhal was going to do everything to ensure that he was well taken care of.
“Are you loyal to your new king?” Mikhal asked. “I want no treachery.”
The old man shrugged. “I’ve never seen him or any other Belarnian king. We’re just simple fishing folk. I’m sure that no one will resist if you leave us in peace.”
Mikhal nodded.
Suddenly, there was the clash of steel on steel and shouts of warning coming from further down the street. A lone cavalryman ran up to Mikhal and reported that his squad had run into a patrol of Belarnian soldiers. Mikhal fought the urge to run to the fight; he knew his responsibility was to ensure the security of all of his men and not just one squad. He warned the others to keep a sharp eye out for enemy reinforcements and tried to wait for further word from those in the fight. As quickly as the sound of struggle had reached Mikhal, it abruptly ended. He anxiously stared at the dark street corner where the fight had taken place, waiting for news. After a long break in the action, Jamal came running out of the gloom to meet Mikhal.
“There was a small patrol out. They were alerted by the sound of our horses. We surprised them as they came down the street. They’re all dead,” Jamal announced as he tried to catch his breath. His heart was still beating fast from the excitement. “Darnell has a small cut across his ribs but he will be alright in a few days.” The sergeant waited for Mikhal to give him further instructions.
Mikhal nodded and then said, “Well done. Maintain your positions and don’t push out any further. Remember we’re only to take the docks not the entire town.” The sergeant smiled and saluted before running back to his men. Mikhal visibly calmed as he admired the efficiency of his men. They had done their jobs well, and he was proud of them. He only hoped the rest of the plan had gone as well.
An hour later, Alek’s officers were gathered within the tavern near the harbor. The three lieutenants and their captain sat at a table looking over a map of Belarn as they ate soup and hot drinks provided by the proprietor. The town of Singhal was secure. Only a small force of twenty Belarnian soldiers was garrisoned within the town with the rest of the security left to the villagers themselves. In the last fifty years, there had not been a single instance where the people had been called upon to repel a hostile force. The quick seizure of key areas within the town had successfully kept the few soldiers on duty from being able to react. Most of the guards were captured as they slept in their beds.
Regretfully, one soldier from Hanson’s platoon was killed while securing the northern gate. A single Belarnian guard had hid from the cavaliers as they climbed over the defenses above the wall. Once he saw that most of his friends were captured without a fight, the soldier stabbed the closest cavalier in the back and then tried to jump off the wall and escape.
Unfortunately, the Belarnian ran right into Hanson. He was so enraged by the death of one his soldiers that the southerner grabbed the man and snapped his neck. The Belarnian’s body was attached to the signal torch and tossed over the wall.
He was still brooding over the loss of his man as the four discussed how they would conduct their next mission. The Duellrian fleet would be landing within the next few hours and the cavalry officers knew that they would be needed to scout ahead of the main force. The company’s sergeant already reported that distant lights out on the Forsian Sea could be seen heading toward the harbor. Alek urged the sergeant to be cautious in case the boats belonged to the Belarnians. The cavaliers were vulnerable to counterattack for the next couple of hours and the commander did not want to be surprised by anything. The sergeant nodded, assuring him that blocking positions had been established throughout the town. No one would get into Singhal without being seen. The sergeant prepared to leave the men to their planning when he remembered somethin
g and turned to face them again.
“Sir, I forgot to tell you that the prince wanted to convey his compliments to you and the company for a job well done.” Looking at Hanson he added, “He also wanted me to tell you that he is terribly sorry about the loss of Armis.” Hanson nodded in grim silence as he tried to think of how he was going to tell the dead soldier’s wife that her husband was not coming home.
Mikhal looked at Hanson and frowned. He was relieved that none of his own men were killed and that they completed their mission with just a few cuts and bruises; he remembered all to well what it was like to be in Hanson’s predicament. Mikhal had to meet two widows and one grieving mother after his battle with Belarnian forces in southern Erand last year. Mikhal would never forget the deep sorrow on their faces as he told them their loved ones were not coming home. Surely there was enough on everyone’s mind already without having to worry about the dead.
Mikhal turned his thoughts toward Kristian’s sudden aloofness. After securing the docks, the lieutenant had waited for the rest of the company to search the town and ensure there were no traps waiting for them. Only a short period of time passed, however, before Alek and the prince returned from their reconnaissance of the town. The young cavalry officer was surprised by the prince’s quietness as he reported his platoon’s success to his commander. Mikhal saw that the prince was aware of everything going on around him, but still, he said nothing as he watched the men prepare for the fleet’s arrival.
Mikhal wondered what Kristian was thinking. He hated that a part of him wanted his prince to approve of their actions. Mikhal did not know why he felt this way, especially since most of the time he felt like hitting the young, spoiled prince. No matter how hard Mikhal thought about Kristian and his past actions, he could not understand the man’s motivation for some of the things he said and did. It was dumbfounding to hear Kristian praise the men for their efforts one moment and then curse them the next for not doing something the way he wanted it done. Mikhal was concerned about him leading them into battle and was unsure of how Kristian would react at any particular moment. He hoped Kristian would not be in any position to influence things once the fighting started.
Ferral brooded over the latest information concerning the advance of the Duellrian forces while he sat in his new throne made from the bones of those that had opposed him. The demon warned him they were coming. She had seen ships emerging from the river north of Brekia when she destroyed their capital, and now they had reportedly taken a small town on the eastern border of his country. Enraged by his military advisor’s inability to ensure the security of Belarn, he ordered the arrest and execution of the last of his father’s trusted officers. It had pleased him to know that he had finally rid himself of those most likely to spread dissent. The feeling of control quickly vanished as more reports were brought to him regarding his enemy’s movements.
He was constantly distracted by the wriggling form at his feet. Rebenna had tried to flee the city, to escape Ferral and his demon. The magi had only been able to bring her to his side by hinting that displeasing him could mean the end of her freedom or worse. He knew she feared him now, and it made him smile. He could see the anxiety in her eyes.
Someday, he thought, all of the world will look at me as she does. Ferral laughed, reveling in the possibility of countless people groveling at his feet. He would choose who would live and die.
The large doors at the far end of the throne room opened, and a solitary man in polished black armor walked cautiously toward Ferral. General Derout was solidly built; he had served a long time as the prince’s personal bodyguard and seen many battles. He pledged a life of service to Ferral and had quickly been promoted to his current position as commander of the Black Guards, Ferral’s personal army. Now Derout was ordered to take charge of all Belarnian forces and prepare for battle against the Duellrian army.
A firm, scarred hand rested on the long broadsword that hung from his belt. He stared directly ahead toward his king, slightly jerking his head to the side to fling a single knot of black hair over his shoulder. He tried to focus his stare on the king and not on the new throne as he approached. Even Derout was daunted by the gruesome visage before him. The general could show no outward signs of fear, though. It could be his undoing. Too many of his predecessors had been executed in the last few days because they were weak, but the throne was disturbing even to the seasoned warrior.
Leg bones with feet still attached by rotting cartilage reinforced the old king’s seat, completely covering the polished wooden frame. The armrests were bones with hands curved inward at the end in a cruel, mocking invitation to sit. The most horrifying details were the skulls. A single skull was mounted on top of the throne, its empty sockets staring at whoever approached. The mouth was fixed open as if the skull itself was screaming in horror. Wickedly curved horns were affixed to the top of the skull in different places, all of them pointing back to the horrors that filled the wall behind the throne.
Hundreds of skulls were piled against the back wall. Some were so white they appeared to have been bleached by the sun, while others still had bits of rotting flesh hanging from their cheeks. Derout recognized a few of the faces behind the chair. Everyone began to realize that Ferral’s reign meant chaos and dark magic. The primary thing running through Derout’s mind at the moment, though, was how to survive. The cunning general had his own plans.
Derout knelt before his new king and waited for permission to rise. The sorcerer smiled and motioned for him to stand. “Please, General Derout, stand. There is no need for such formalities between us here. You have been my friend and companion my entire life. You are my most trusted and capable officer, and you have always pleased me, and I am sure you will continue to do so.” The general did not miss the emphasis on the last part. The madman’s attitude did nothing to relieve him of his fears. “What news do you have on the progress of my army?”
The general took a deep breath before beginning. “My Lord, the bridges have been rigged by engineers to collapse upon your command. Also, stores of grain and meat have been stockpiled. The Black Guards themselves have been assembled and await orders. The regular army is …”
“Stop!” Ferral shouted in anger. “Do not stand there and recite a siege defense to me, you moron. I don’t want to sit here in this city, trapped by infidels who mock my powers just because you can’t handle them. If you can’t do this, Derout, then …”
“No, wait. I have more …,” Derout said as he looked pleadingly at Ferral, begging for more time to explain. The general was allowed to continue once his king was calmer. “The regular army will meet the invaders outside the city walls to appear as if we are giving them the advantage of maneuver. From the ramparts, we can watch their army attempt to flank us with their small contingent of cavaliers. We will let them think they are beating us back, and then we will hit them from behind with the Black Guards. Mounted and heavily armored, they are more than a match for the light Erandian cavalry and Duellrian army. They will be surrounded and forced to surrender or die.”
Ferral smiled, approving of the plan. “No prisoners, General Derout. Not one of them is to be spared, except for our new friend, the Prince of Erand. I want him captured. I want him for myself. Still …,” Ferral pondered the outcome of the battle to come, “more may be needed to ensure complete victory. I will consult my newest advisor and deliver the details to you later.” The general nodded and prepared to leave when he was stopped. “Is that all, general? It seems to me there is more you would have me hear if you thought I would not hang you for it. Well, go on, tell me.”
Derout looked up at Ferral, judging the madman’s stability, trying to decide if it was worth the risk to give him more bad news. He took a deep breath and informed his king of something that greatly disturbed him.
“My Lord, Garnis was killed.” The king stared uncomprehendingly at Derout. “He was an officer in the Black Guards. He once served as a personal guard to you, but you recently promoted him and
assigned him the task of subduing the mountain villages in the Mercies.” Recognition finally showed on Ferral’s face as he remembered the soldier.
“A terrible tragedy. I am truly sorry for his loved ones. Now, find the man responsible and kill him.” He paused to look admonishingly at Derout. “I would have thought you could handle this little problem on your own.”
“That is only part of the problem, My Lord. All of his men were also killed. Stories beaten out of the locals suggest that only one man was responsible for this trouble. It also seems that this man is responsible for the deaths of four other loyal guards and their men. Every time, the stranger is able to escape without a trace. They say he has scars running down the side of his face.”
Derout mounted a step to ensure the king understood the importance of what he was saying. “It seems to me that this man has vowed to rid the world of some very capable warriors. I mention this to you because you could also be in danger. I think this man will seek you out.” Ferral looked past Derout trying to reason out what he had just learned. It seemed impossible. Could the boy still be alive? Ferral pondered. In an odd way, it made perfect sense. He shrugged indifferently.
“It’s your responsibility to ensure that nothing happens to me, Derout. I rely on you.” He paused a moment and then said, “Prepare your men. It’s going to get very cold around here.” With a note of finality, Ferral indicated that he was tired of talking with the general. He stood and left the room as Derout and Rebenna knelt before the skull throne. He would now check on his newest guest, Princess Allisia. Tormenting her was becoming one of his favorite pastimes.