The man’s tone set Dorian’s teeth on edge. If he had been wearing a hat he might have thrown it to the ground in anger, not that he was prone to such gestures. “I am here to see the Queen! Why is this gate closed?” he shouted back.
The stranger grinned, “The palace is closed today. Come back some other time.”
“I will not come back! I was just summoned,” said Dorian, hedging around the truth slightly. “Do you know who I am?!”
“A pompous prick?” answered the gatekeeper with a snicker. Dorian could hear several other men in the gatehouse begin to laugh as well.
“My name is Dorian Thornbear, and if you don’t let me inside immediately there will be hell to pay,” he informed the men within.
The man at the window started to reply when someone tugged on his sleeve. He leaned back and low whispers could be heard. When he reappeared, his expression had changed, “Do you mean the Dorian Thornbear, as in, Sir Dorian Thornbear?”
“Yes!” Dorian answered in exasperation.
“I don’t believe you,” replied the stranger smugly.
Dorian’s eyes seemed to bulge outward, “Do you honestly think I would lie about that?” It had been well over a decade since someone had called him a liar.
“Well, anyone could say they was Dorian Thornbear, but you don’t even look like him,” answered the guard seriously.
Dorian stared at the man for a long moment, flabbergasted. “What am I supposed to look like?” he asked finally.
“For one thing you should be bigger.”
“Everyone looks smaller when you’re looking down on them from twenty feet up!” shouted Dorian. He had already lost his patience. He was now trying to decide whether to find it or do something questionable. This was the royal palace after all, and it didn’t do to assault the King’s residence, even if the gatekeeper was an ass.
“Look. They say Dorian Thornbear once threw a rider and his horse over his shoulder, so he’d have to be bigger than you,” said the man.
Dorian took a deep breath, “I’d like to speak to your commander or anyone else, for that matter.”
The fellow above seemed offended. “No need to get touchy. If you’re really Dorian Thornbear, where is your armor? They say Sir Dorian always wears shining plate, and that he carries an enchanted greatsword that can cut through anything.”
“I don’t normally appear before Their Majesties accoutered for war!” Dorian was thinking hard now. Something terrible had happened. He had decided to keep up the blustering façade but inwardly he was certain that the man at the gate was most definitely not one of the King’s men, and that led to all sorts of bad conclusions.
“Fair enough.”
“Does that mean you believe me now?” asked Dorian. If I had two of these daggers I could scale the wall easily, he pondered silently, thinking of the assault of Doron’s god-ridden warriors on Cameron Castle. Unfortunately he only had his longsword and one dagger, and while both were enchanted, it would be difficult to use the sword for climbing.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Are you going to open the gate then?”
“One moment.”
The man vanished, and Dorian wondered what would be next. Probably crossbowmen, he thought, that would be the obvious thing, and here I am without my armor. He was considering making a dash along the street. If he was going to try and scale the wall, it would be easier to do so somewhere where there weren’t people waiting inside to shoot him. He was visibly surprised when the massive wooden gates began to open. The outer portcullis began rising as well.
The inner portcullis hadn’t moved, though.
“Come on in, your Lordship,” came the gatekeeper’s voice.
It was a classic strategy for a castle under siege. The outer portcullis would be raised to allow some of the enemy into the entrance of the bailey, while the inner portcullis stayed down. Once they were between the two, the outer portcullis was dropped, and those trapped inside found themselves in a very bad place. The ceiling of the entryway had many ‘murder-holes’, openings that would allow the defenders to drop boiling pitch, molten lead, or in some cases to simply shoot their opponents.
Dorian decided it was a compliment that they felt the need to treat him as one might deal with an army. “I’ll have to decline your courteous invitation,” he announced.
“Suit yourself,” said the man above.
It was about then that Dorian heard the sound of boots. It was a sound he was quite familiar with, the noise of a large company on the march. Looking behind, he saw a large group of soldiers approaching along the street following the same course he had. There were at least eighty of them, if not more. His eyes narrowed as he saw they wore Lord Hightower’s colors, but his hope was short-lived. Years of experience with soldiers, and more specifically with Lord Hightower, had taught him what disciplined armsmen looked like, and these were anything but.
These were mercenaries, and the fact that they were hiding behind his father-in-law’s livery sent a chill down his spine. I can’t let those men enter the palace, he realized, and then he heard the sound of fighting from within the palace itself.
It all began to fall into place then. Someone was attempting a coup, they already had men within the palace, and they controlled the gate. The men approaching were their reinforcements. All is not lost, or they wouldn’t still be fighting. At least until those men get in there. Dorian suddenly wished the gate was closed. They’ll be opening the inner portcullis once I’m dead.
He was wrong on that count, for the inner portcullis now began to rise, opening the way for the oncoming soldiers. I guess they don’t think I’m that dangerous after all, he noted.
The new arrivals were still some fifty yards away, and Dorian knew he had little time. Glancing around he spotted only one thing that might be useful, a large wagon parked across the lane, directly opposite the palace gate. Moving quickly to it, he dragged the empty vehicle to the palace entrance, parking it halfway in front of the entrance before turning it over to rest on its side.
The fighting within the gatehouse seemed to have intensified and his tormentor was no longer available to question him about his actions. The wagon now blocked nearly half of the ten yard wide entrance, leaving Dorian with only a fifteen or sixteen foot opening to guard. Dorian drew his sword. It seemed small in his hand as he examined the large contingent approaching him. I need something bigger, otherwise this will take forever.
The man commanding the disguised soldiers called out as he got closer, “You there! What do you think you’re doing?”
Dorian faced the underside of the wagon, inspecting one of the heavy iron axles. It consisted primarily of a six foot rod that spanned the distance between two of the wheels. “I’m planning the defense of the palace. What does it look like!?” he shouted over his shoulder.
“Don’t be foolish. Get that rubbish out of the way,” ordered the mercenary captain.
Bracing himself, Dorian took two rapid swings with his sword, putting his entire body into them. Even with an enchanted sword, it wasn’t easy cutting through an iron rod that was an inch in diameter; if it had been any thicker he might have reconsidered. The two wagon wheels fell away, and with a few more casual swings Dorian freed the axle from the hardware that secured it beneath the wagon frame. He sheathed his sword and hefted the iron rod, testing its weight. “I’ll be with you in a moment,” he told the impatient captain.
The rod weighed something less than twenty pounds, which would have made it far too heavy to use as a weapon for any length of time—for most people. It suited Dorian and his current needs almost perfectly. He gave his full attention to the mercenary captain now, who had just begun to give orders to his men.
“You should think carefully about this,” he told the man.
The captain backed up, edging away from the iron staff. “If you don’t drop that ridiculous weapon and stand aside I’ll have you cut down,” answered the scruffy officer.
The leader of the
Knights of Stone measured the captain with his eyes before deciding to ignore the man. Raising his voice he spoke to the soldiers directly, “My name is Dorian Thornbear! Some of you may have heard of me, or not, it really doesn’t matter. Today your master, whoever he may be, has sent you on an ill-considered mission. Inside the palace is a battle, and you have been sent to help consolidate some lordling’s unlawful scheme to dethrone our King. You should turn back now if you wish to survive to see the morrow.”
The soldiers responded with a mixture of laughter and whispers, although some of them looked vaguely uneasy. Their captain spoke again, “I think most of us have heard of Dorian Thornbear, not that it will do you any good. Where are your men, Lord Thornbear? Do you regret leaving them at home? Why don’t you surrender?”
The unarmored knight looked at him sadly. “I do regret their absence, since without them I cannot offer you any quarter or mercy.”
“Kill this lunatic,” said the captain.
The words had barely left his lips before Dorian leapt forward, whipping his iron staff across in a powerful swing that struck the captain’s helm before continuing on to break the arm of the soldier next to him. The mercenary officer collapsed, dead from the shock of the blow, while his aide screamed and fell back.
The soldiers already had their weapons out, and they tried to close on the lone warrior, but Dorian moved too quickly for that. His iron weapon was a blur of deadly momentum as he charged forward, sweeping men aside like broken dolls. Armor was no help against the crushing blows, and the weight of his weapon made it impossible to stop once it was in motion. One man tried to block his strike with a shield, only to have his forearm shattered by the force of Dorian’s attack. Men cried out in pain, arms and legs mangled. Only those whose skulls were broken remained silent.
Break their morale first, thought the veteran knight, then force them to come to me. His forward charge had left the gap undefended, and some of the soldiers had shifted to bypass him. He retreated, taking those from behind, clearing the entrance once more. The battle paused as the now leaderless mercenaries stared at him from ten feet away. Nearly twenty men were down in various states of injury, six of those were dead, and the rest had broken bones. Almost a quarter of the enemy soldiers were no longer able to fight, and the rest seemed uncertain. No one wanted to approach the palace gate.
“Lose your taste for the fight yet, boys?!” shouted Dorian, taunting them. “Come closer and I’ll give you more!” The mercenaries drew back at his ferocity, and Dorian stepped forward to bring the heel of his staff down upon the chest of one of his wounded opponents. An audible crack was heard as the man’s ribs broke, and his moans changed into a sickening gurgling. “I told you, no quarter,” said Dorian sadly.
A crossbow bolt flew by without warning, passing so quickly that Dorian was only aware of it from the feeling of air as it narrowly missed his nose. I knew it was too good to last, he thought ruefully. His eyes spotted several crossbowmen in the back readying their weapons, one of them having obviously just fired.
“Now you’ve done it,” he announced loudly and charged forward.
The men standing before him fell over themselves as they scrambled to move out of his path, leaving the bowmen defenseless. Dorian’s staff crushed the skull of the one that had fired and swept the weapon from another’s hand as it passed. He glared at the others before walking back to his position at the gate. “I’ll kill the next man who fires a quarrel at me!”
Dorian’s shoulders itched from the weight of their eyes as he walked back. Several men pointed their crossbows at him, but none of them fired. They had lost their nerve, thoroughly intimidated by the seemingly unstoppable warrior. The only thing holding them together now was the safety of numbers.
“As I said a moment ago, since I’m alone, I don’t have the luxury of offering you mercy or allowing you to surrender, but my duty is to guard this gate. That means if you choose to run, I can’t give chase,” declared the stalwart knight. “That’s the only advice I can give you.”
The mercenary troop had lost its will to fight and without their leader they were uncertain what to do. They retreated fifty feet while their squadron leaders spoke with each other, trying to decide the best course of action. Dorian smiled as he watched them arguing.
“Dorian is that you?”
It was a woman’s voice, coming from the direction of the palace wall. Looking up he spotted Ariadne standing atop it. “Your Highness!” he shouted when he saw her. “Are you alright?”
She gazed at him curiously, “I’m the one guarded by a stone wall while you fight in the street and you ask if I’m alright? We control the gatehouse now. Get inside so we can close the portcullis!” A crossbow bolt nearly found its mark while she talked, forcing her to duck behind a merlon.
The Knight of Stone whirled back to the mercenaries, furious. “What did I tell you?!” Taking his staff in hand like a javelin, he drew his arm back and launched it toward the man who had fired the shot. The heavy metal rod struck the unfortunate fellow squarely in the chest, breaking his sternum. The crossbowman collapsed as Dorian turned his back on them and walked through the palace gate. The outer portcullis descended behind him.
The princess met him inside the gatehouse, motioning him in through one of the inner doors. “In here,” she told him, “It isn’t safe in the courtyard.” Her dress was torn and bloodied in several places, and she carried a heavy carving knife in one hand. A large group of men and women were with her inside the building.
“It isn’t safe outside either,” remarked Dorian as he ran his eyes over her motley assortment of servants and cooks. Most of them carried various implements from the kitchen; rolling pins, heavy pans, and assorted cutlery. Some of them had weapons that had probably been looted from the enemy, and a laundress carried a heavy wooden rod normally used to clean clothing; it might have seemed a laughable weapon, except for the bloodstains now adorning the wood. “When I saw you atop the wall I hoped you were in control of the palace. Why are you in the gatehouse?”
“The palace is swarming with soldiers, most of them in Hightower’s livery,” she informed him. “This seemed to be our only path to escape.”
“Where are the men who were holding the gate against me?” asked Dorian.
Alan broke in, “Upstairs, in the room over the entrance, we left them where they died.” He ducked his head as he saw Ariadne’s annoyed glance. “Forgive me, Princess. I spoke out of turn.”
Dorian led them up to double check the condition of the enemy. There were six of them in the small room, and they were very dead, stabbed and bludgeoned by an odd assortment of weapons. He spotted the man who had been taunting him from above the gate. “Shame he had to die,” he observed aloud.
“Did you know him,” asked the princess.
He shook his head, “No. He just reminded me of Mordecai, an excellent sense of sarcasm.”
She gave him an odd look.
He shrugged, “I’ve been a fighter most of my life. After a while you learn to separate the violence from everything else, otherwise you go mad. He was my enemy, but he was probably also an interesting fellow to share a mug of ale with.”
Evan interrupted then, he had been looking out one of the arrow slits, “Beggin’ your pardon, Highness, but there’s still a crowd of soldiers outside.”
Dorian frowned. “I think I had them cowed but they’ve had some time to regroup now. They’ll probably give us some trouble if we try to take you out by the main gate, Princess.”
Ariadne looked worried, “There’s also the matter of my mother and father.”
And my mother, Dorian added mentally. “Do you know if they are still alive?”
“I have no way of knowing, but I fear the worst. I would probably be dead myself if it weren’t for a message your lady mother sent to me. I was heading to meet her and Mother when we were nearly captured,” she replied.
“She must have discovered something when she came to visit your mother this mor
ning,” supposed Dorian. “How did they take the palace?”
“Most of the palace guard took ill. Hightower’s men came to replace them until they could recover. It appears that they were put in place for the express purpose of murdering my father,” Ariadne informed him.
“They aren’t Hightower’s men,” Dorian told her immediately. “These men are barely soldiers. The discipline of those I encountered in the street is deplorable. I suspect most of them are mercenaries, or the disguised servants of a degenerate lord.”
“I never believed they were Lord Hightower’s,” she said, easing Dorian’s fear. Lord Hightower was his father-in-law after all, so he was understandably worried. “The real question is who is behind this?”
“I wish I knew.”
Ariadne looked thoughtful, after a second she spoke again, “I need your advice, Sir Dorian. How do you think we should we proceed from here?”
“At this point your first priority should be finding safe haven and it doesn’t look like there are many options. I would suggest you aim to reach the Illeniel house. Penny is there, and once inside the enchantments should keep you safe. Hightower’s residence may not be reliable by comparison.” In fact, my father-in-law might be dead at this point, worried Dorian, but he didn’t verbalize that sentiment. After a second he continued, “I may be able to get you safely past the mercenaries outside.”
The princess seemed suspicious, “And what would you do after that?”
Dorian moved away and began stripping the armor from one of the dead soldiers. “My duty, Princess, to King and Country.”
“Please be more specific.”
Dorian thought the largest man’s armor might be big enough to fit him, although it wasn’t easy undressing a corpse. He glanced up at the princess. No matter what their circumstances she still remained Marc’s younger sister in the back of his mind. “After I get you clear, I will return. Your mother and father are still here somewhere. I cannot abandon them if they may still be alive. If possible I will rescue them. There is also the matter of my own mother.”