Prince Kristian's Honor

Chapter 12

  Prince Kristian’s Honor

  Kristian rode alongside Alek and General Aphilan, the commander of the Duellrian Army. Their forces were moving inland away from Singhal. Less than twelve hours ago, the fleet had anchored in the protected bay, and a few ships were able to put in at the docks themselves, but there was not enough room or time to wait for all the ships to unload. Most of the fleet quickly put small boats into the water to carry the foot soldiers into town. The cavaliers had done an excellent job of lighting the harbor with watch fires, and the ships’ captains quickly took advantage of the illumination. General Aphilan and King Justan were the first ones to land, and they were immediately taken to the tavern where the Erandians had already laid out maps for them.

  Kristian had been aloof the entire time the cavaliers were securing the city. He knew that everyone wondered where he had gone, but he chose to stay out of the way.

  Kristian was astounded by the quick efficiency of Alek’s company. They had developed an ingenious plan that separated the Belarnian forces and prevented them from reinforcing each other. Kristian thought the cavalry officer was wrong to reduce his strength by dividing his company, but the plan had worked superbly. More times than not, Kristian had gotten into some soldier’s way and prevented him from doing his job. Finally, Kristian left Alek and his men to complete the mission while he went to a secluded part of the harbor to think. He sulked because he did not feel like he was contributing to the fight. Kristian could not prove to the men, especially Mikhal, that he had worth.

  Kristian knew the cavaliers felt like their prince was thrust upon them, an unnecessary burden, when there was already enough to worry about. The prince was sure he had talent and skill that would help them, but so far the only thing he had demonstrated was that he had poor judgment and was constantly under foot or hoof.

  Kristian felt like an idiot for pushing them to follow his plans, especially now that Alek’s plan had worked. Worse, a part of him had hoped the commander would be wrong just so that he would be right. The prince watched Aphilan’s men move to unload soldiers and supplies as quickly as possible, but time seemed to be flying by, and they still had a long way to go. Kristian finally sighed and decided to sit in on the rest of the planning with General Aphilan and Admiral Clarind.

  Again, he felt the planners were being too cautious. He had seen how easily the cavalry company had defeated the guards in Singhal and thought using their speed would be the best plan. His only thoughts were of Allisia, who was still Ferral’s prisoner. No one knew exactly what he planned to do with her.

  His anger went unchecked during the meeting. It was hard to listen to the Duellrian generals plan a march that would take the army another week to reach Ferral’s stronghold. He interrupted them and demanded that his plan be heard out and that some consideration be made for his concept of how to proceed. After all, his cavaliers just demonstrated their outstanding capabilities. Why not use them to force the enemy out of their castle and reduce the likeliness of a long siege?

  “Prince Kristian, you promised your father you would wait for him,” one military officer reminded him.

  “But we have had no reports from him. He may be delayed. It might take him more than a month to reach us. We can’t just sit here and wait,” Kristian argued.

  “This is our primary port. Without it, we have no way to get resupplied. We will have no way to leave. Duellr is not here to take over Belarn. We only came to get our princess back,” General Aphilan declared. “We’ll leave the larger political issues to you and your father.”

  Kristian shook his head in disagreement. “I’m here for the exact same reasons you are. I want to see Allisia rescued and taken back to her home. That is all I want.” Many Duellrians raised their eyebrows in suspicion, but kept quiet.

  In the end, the planners conceded that speed was important. The army could not wait in Singhal for very long. The community could not support them logistically. The army would have to move before it lost its ability to fight. King Justan was especially convincing when he talked of his sister being trapped by Ferral and his demon. The young man regained some of his former composure during the sea voyage. His commitment to seeing Ferral captured or killed was very strong.

  A plan was finally devised that balanced speed with force by using a small portion of the army under the control of General Aphilan himself. His force left within a few hours of landing and set out at a blistering pace to reach Ferral’s capital as quickly as possible. The remainder of the army, under Justan’s control, would set out the next afternoon once the supplies were unloaded from the ships. Admiral Clarind and his fleet would remain in Singhal to protect their landing site and ensure the army had a way to return to Duellr once the siege was over. They also counted on Kristian’s father to show up quickly and provide critical supplies if the attack stalled. Alek Hienren reluctantly sent a cavalier south toward the border in the hopes of finding the Erandian army and delivering the new plan to their king.

  Once the overall plans were set, Kristian turned to Alek to order him to begin scouting the road to Belarn. The commander cut him short by informing him that patrols were already moving along the major road leading from Singhal to Belarna. The commander’s tone reflected what everyone was thinking; Kristian was becoming a nuisance.

  Perhaps they would have more readily accepted my plan had I not stepped forward, acting as if I were their supreme commander, Kristian thought afterwards. It was of little importance in comparison to getting them on the road toward Ferral and Allisia.

  The Duellrian generals resented Kristian; they considered him an outsider, and he was trying to order them into battle in the name of his cause. Even his own officers had grown tired of his outbursts. Since the voyage began, Kristian had done nothing to prove his competence to his men or the Duellrians. Now the army was preparing to engage Belarn in the largest battle anyone had seen in over five hundred years. Men on both sides were going to die. The authority to commit these men to their deaths was laid upon the shoulders of leaders that the men trusted. These soldiers were willing to risk their lives for the decisions made by those with a lot more experience than Kristian. For the prince to stand in front of them and make demands was insulting. They accepted that he would marry their beloved princess and possibly be their leader in the future, but now, as they were trying to decide how to best deploy their forces, they did not want or need a brash, inexperienced prince interfering.

  Kristian ignored them; he was eager to get started. His men would escort Aphilan’s infantry to the citadel. He could feel their stares directed at his back and knew he had done it again; they were losing all respect in him … if they ever had it to begin with. Kristian was growing less concerned with their feelings, though, and more concerned about Allisia’s welfare. He did not talk to anyone again after that. He simply packed his things and took care of his horse.

  Kristian suddenly came out of his deep thoughts as an Erandian scout approached the column. The young cavalier quickly spotted Alek and rode directly toward him and the prince.

  Saluting, the scout said, “Sir, Lieutenant Hanson sent me to report that he has pushed his men all the way to the capital. The road is clear, and he has a patrol constantly moving up and down the road checking for ambushes.”

  “He’s at the fortress already,” Kristian cursed under his breath. “If he has ridden that far then surely Ferral knows we’re coming.”

  “Excuse me, but I don’t think there were any problems. He concealed his men on a small wooded hill that overlooks the city. No one saw us move into position because we moved into the woods while it was very dark, and I’m the only one that has been allowed to leave.”

  “Very good,” Alek replied. “Thank you for your report. Get some fresh water and something to eat. I’m sure you rode as hard as you could to reach us. Go rest a bit and wait for us to get close to Hanson’s position. Then I want you to guide us in.”

  “Yes, sir,” the scout replied as he saluted and
left for the rear of the column. Turning toward Kristian, the captain looked somewhat disturbed.

  “What’s wrong? Haven’t we surprised them as we hoped? Everything seems to be working out. Now should be the time to spur the men on and secure the high ground before they mount a counterattack,” Kristian said.

  “Surprise is exactly what we wanted, Your Highness, but this is just too good to be true. We have sailed the largest army anyone has seen in hundreds of years into the heart of our enemy’s lands. Now we march toward his capital with the intent of bringing down his walls around him and, yet, not a single person has been alerted to our presence.” Alek shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Something isn’t right. A plan never works out this well. No matter, we’ll be there by nightfall, and at first light we will see what the King of Belarn has in store for us.”

  “Maybe we overestimated him. Maybe the demon was his only weapon, and he has already played out his hand,” Kristian suggested.

  “I hope so. But just remember, hope is not a plan to cling to. We should be ready for whatever comes,” Alek replied.

  As dusk approached, the Erandian cavalry slowly climbed the wooded hill overlooking Belarna. Kristian guided his horse to one side of Alek’s men and then suddenly dropped the reins as he stared in amazement at the size of the city. Built from massive blocks of some black rock, the walls were over fifty feet tall and stretched to his left and right beyond his vantage point. A deep moat, more like a river, encircled the fortress and tied into another river that opened into the Utwan Sea behind the city. Four towers protected the massive walls from siege and scaling. Each was easily large enough to imprison all of the cavaliers. Kristian shook his head, impressed by the magnitude of the walls and towers, but what caught his eye more than the walls was the city itself. No one ever told him about the size of Belarna. He assumed it was a small city, probably not much bigger than one of the southern Erandian provincial capitals and certainly not as big as Brekia. Belarna was much bigger then he realized; it was just as big as Brekia. It was a city-state in its own right, and its defenses looked formidable. Beyond it all, at the far end of the city, Ferral’s palace with its twin towers rose into the evening sky.

  Kristian’s mood quickly changed as he stared at the distant, dark palace. Allisia was somewhere in that evil place. Dark thoughts entered his mind, and he thought of what Ferral might have already done to her. The prince anxiously turned back toward the circle of men that were discussing the next morning’s plans. Two soldiers, carrying a limp form, approached as soon as he joined the gathered officers.

  “We captured this man at the bottom of the hill. He was wandering around aimlessly. He claims he was looking for us, that he wanted to warn us,” one soldier reported to Alek.

  Kristian looked the man over. He was weak and elderly and his ragged clothes hung from him in torn strips. The old man appeared to have been severely beaten. He rocked back and forth as he tried to remain standing before the cavalrymen. His eyes were sunken, almost empty, as if they had been pushed back into his skull. One of the soldiers that escorted him complained that he was ice cold. He seemed very near death and Kristian wondered what was keeping him alive.

  “How did you know we were here,” Kristian demanded.

  “My name is Fekalier. I was one of the priests serving as an advisor to the Royal House of Belarn … before Ferral killed his father,” he said haltingly. His focus was distant as though he had seen much pain recently. He continued to speak, oblivious to his audience. “I have come to warn you. Tonight the army will leave the city and ride for Erand. You must go and warn your people or they will be killed.” He stopped talking abruptly, letting his head sag forward as if it were too heavy to hold up any longer.

  “I don’t like this,” Mikhal said staring at the beaten man. “How did he know where we were? How was he able to make it here like he is?” Mikhal looked to Alek and then at the prince, shaking his head in disagreement. “There is something wrong here. I don’t believe what he is saying.”

  “I agree,” Kristian said, looking back to Alek. “He doesn’t seem right to me.”

  “How did you escape old man?” Mikhal asked.

  Fekalier slowly raised his head to stare at the prince. Kristian stumbled back as he looked in the man’s eyes and saw … a penetrating darkness. They were intact and looked normal, but there was no glint of life in them. There was no spark that would signal hope, resistance, vitality, or life.

  “His eyes … look at them,” Kristian exclaimed.

  Alek leaned forward looking into the man’s eyes and shivered. “They’re strange, but maybe it’s because of the suffering he’s endured.” Alek paused thinking of what to do about Fekalier. “We’ll wait. The rest of Aphilan’s men will be here by midnight. We’ll wait and see if this army leaves the city before we take any action. Until then, make sure every man is ready to ride at a moment’s notice. Keep this man under close guard; I don’t want him going back to Ferral to warn him that we’re here.”

  He looked at each of his officers to make sure they understood, and then he added, “We also need to make sure the Duellrians are guided into our hiding place. Now is not the time to tip our hand to the Belarnians.”

  As an afterthought he turned to Hanson and said, “I want you to send a rider to King Justan and warn him there is a possibility the enemy is heading toward him.” Hanson nodded and hurried through the dark to find his men.

  Kristian watched Fekalier closely as he was taken down the hill to receive aid. The old man’s limp form was dragged away by the two soldiers; the strength Fekalier had mustered in order to speak had left him again. The prince turned back toward the walls of the city, trying to forget about the tortured man and his haunting eyes. He stared down at the massive city, wondering what would happen in the morning. A cold wind pushed him back from his vantage point, forcing him to wrap his coat tightly around him.

  He looked up at the sky and saw dark clouds slowly rolling in from over the Utwan Sea. Kristian guessed at what those clouds brought with them and shuddered. He only hoped the impending storm waited a few more days before it hit them. Hopefully, he thought, a few days is all we’ll need. Kristian turned from his view of the city and the dark storm clouds and tried to find a place to get some rest, though he knew sleep would be slow to come.

  At the bottom of the hill, the two soldiers guarding Fekalier let their hold on him loosen. They did not like their task. Something was definitely wrong with the old man, and neither of the guards wanted anything to do with him. Finally reaching one of the supply wagons, they motioned for their prisoner to sit while they found him a blanket and some food. Fekalier stood motionless, his head hanging lower than before. One of the cavaliers hesitated a moment and then stepped over to the old man to help him sit.

  The guard quickly turned away from him as the stench of death reached his nostrils. The smell was so awful that both men wretched as they stumbled away from Fekalier. The old man turned his head toward the hastily departing guards and watched them disappear around the wagon before he fell lifeless to the frozen ground. His head made a sickening sound as it hit the wagon hitch. Within the black city, Ferral smiled, knowing his enemies were near and that he was ready for them.

  Kristian abruptly awoke from his slumber. Alek was shaking him urgently. The captain leaned close and whispered into his ear. “Something is happening in the city.”

  Kristian’s grogginess quickly left as he stood and followed the cavalry commander back toward the top of the hill. It was still dark, and Kristian guessed he had only slept a few hours. The wind was colder now, and a definite breeze had sprung up out of the northwest. The prince knew that the storm was not going to wait a few more days. They would be lucky if it waited till dawn.

  Kristian stumbled through the cold, dark woods along with Alek to a vantage point where they could all see what was going on below. “Now I understand what you were worried about,” Kristian commented to Alek.

  Easily a thousand
torches burned near the northeast corner of the city, close to Ferral’s palace. The sound of men and horses could be heard preparing for battle.

  “Have we been discovered?” Kristian asked as he looked at the mass of torches burning just inside the walls. The Duellrian forces under General Aphilan’s control arrived sometime while he was sleeping, and he wondered if they were ready to defend against an immediate attack.

  “I’m not sure,” Alek replied. “They’re too far away to discern their intentions, but I don’t think they are going to attack us.”

  “Why?” Kristian asked as he and the other officers turned to look at Alek.

  “They make no attempt to disguise their actions. If I were attacking an unknown force, in the dark, and on a wooded hill, I would be more cautious. Also, they are at the gate furthest from our position. If they were going to attack, why not use the gate directly below us? From where they intend to leave the city, they will have to ride almost twice as far to reach us, exposing themselves longer to arrows and spears as they round the hill.”

  Alek hesitated looking back at the blur of motion in the city. “We’re ready, in case they move against us, but I don’t think they will. They may be riding to attack King Justan near Singhal.”

  “Could this be the army the old man spoke of? The army that intends to attack Erand?” Romlin asked, concern showing on his face even in the dark woods.

  “Possibly, but as we said before, we aren’t sure the old man was telling the truth,” Alek answered. They all stood among the trees waiting to see what would happen. General Aphilan and his commanders also came up to their vantage point to see what was happening. They did not have to wait long.

  The Belarnian army was leaving the gate. The mounted force rode fast, their armor and tack jingling, as they headed away on a road leading to the northeast, away from their hilltop position. If they were planning to attack them the Belarnians were heading off in the opposite direction. Only a few minutes passed before the mounted army was out of the gate, and they still continued off towards the Forsian Sea. It did not take long before the sounds of the army could no longer be heard above the increasing howl of the winter wind. Soon the torches themselves could no longer be seen. They were left standing on the hill looking down into the, once again, dark city.

  Kristian was the first to speak. “The old man was right after all. Now is our chance. The army is gone and the entire city lies before us unprotected.”

  “You’re wrong, Prince Kristian, look again at the walls. I can see sentries from here,” General Aphilan pointed out quickly.

  Mikhal was glad someone else disagreed with his prince’s assessment. The Duellrian leader had already proven himself a capable military officer and planner. His experienced leadership was demonstrated by the exceptional way his large force of men entered the woods at night without making noise. His words were spoken quickly but there was a hint of sensible caution in them.

  The cavalry officers looked at him admiringly. Aphilan’s hauberk and chain mail glinted even in the moonlight. His helmet, like the ones the rest of his soldiers wore, was conical with long protruding guards for his nose and ears. His hands rested casually on the traditional leaf-shaped short sword of Duellr. The general was much older than them, his silver hair hanging down to his shoulders, and his brow was furrowed and wrinkled, but the general of the Duellrian Army carried himself like a true leader. He had that relaxed but alert stance that showed he was ready for anything.

  “He is right, Your Highness, this could be the advantage we need, but we must be sure. If this is a trap and we attack now, we will be as exposed as the Belarnians would have been if they had attacked us here.” Alek looked around at the other officers to determine what they thought. Some agreed with proceeding with caution while others sided with Kristian.

  “This may be our only chance to save our princess, general,” one Duellrian officer said to everyone.

  “The supplies the Erandians requested were brought forward. It could work,” another commented.

  “If we don’t seize this opportunity, even if there is the possibility of a trap, it may be the only time their army is outside the walls,” Kristian argued, looking directly at Alek in anticipation. “If we don’t attack right now, we could be looking at the prospect of a siege, which could last months. I don’t think Ferral will wait until we bring down his walls before he threatens Allisia. We must act now.”

  Mikhal looked at the prince in disbelief. He did not understand why the prince was so eager to rush into battle. Mikhal was not afraid to fight, or even die, but he was afraid of letting his men down. He was afraid of uselessly wasting their lives for Kristian’s glory and honor. He could not believe Kristian was suggesting they attack before even the majority of the Duellrian army arrived. King Justan and two thirds of the Duellrian army was just leaving Singhal. They would not be able to help them for another few days.

  “Captain Hienren, I …,” Mikhal began.

  The young officer was cut off by the prince, “Well, what is it then general? I speak for my countrymen, and we are ready. Can we count on the Duellrians?” Mikhal looked in shock at his commander. The prince could not do this. He had no right to throw away the lives of his men like this.

  The general hesitated, looking at each of his officers before saying, “We are ready. We will attack within the hour, but I ask you, Prince Kristian, to inform our king that we are not waiting for him and that we will surely need his help if things do not go well.” Kristian nodded anxious to begin.

  As the officers left, Mikhal approached Alek in anger. “Why didn’t you say anything? How could you let him usurp your authority? He has no right to ….”

  “Stop, lieutenant. Remember to whom you are speaking. I am your commander and will not allow you to ever speak to me like this.” Mikhal took a step back. He had never seen his commander this angry before. He knew he had crossed the line, but Mikhal had always thought the two of them were closer than this. Mikhal did not know what to say.

  Seeing the hurt look on his face, Alek continued in a more comforting tone. “Mikhal, you are my best officer. We’ve known each other for two years, and I trust you more than anyone else. But you don’t understand our true duty.”

  The commander paused placing a hand on the younger officer’s shoulder. “We serve Erand. That means we serve the royal family, including the prince. I can no more tell him what to do then you can give me an order. I didn’t say anything because it wouldn’t have helped. The decision was already made in his mind before the discussion began. To have started an argument would have only served to discredit us all. The Duellrians would have seen that we lack discipline and that the prince does not have control.” The cavalier let go of Mikhal and walked off toward his horse.

  “Besides,” Alek added, “maybe he’s right, this time. Maybe we do have a chance.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Mikhal countered. “I can see it in your eyes.”

  Alek did not say anything as he checked his sword and spear.

  “What happens if he kills us all?” he tried one last time.

  Mikhal stared at the diminishing shadow of his commander as he walked down the hill toward the rest of the company. Mikhal knew, as well as his commander, that there was little chance of the prince ever being right. He swore, under his breath, and started down the hill toward his own horse, hoping he was the one that was wrong this time.