A Lonely Reign Ch. 05

Note to Reader: This Chapter contains some graphic description of violence/death, in the context of a medieval battle. If you will find this upsetting or is just not your thing, feel free to skip this Chapter. For everyone else, please read on!

Caera threw on clothes in a rush, then took the stairs three at a time to reach the castle below. She saw two grim-faced guards loitering uncertainly in the corridor leading to the main gate of the keep.

"Guards, what in the name of the Divines is going on?" asked Caera frantically.

"Barbarians, Princess." Replied one of them, his voice trembling a little. "It sounds like some of their war-bands have grouped together under the leadership of some big fucker- I mean, fella -- called Grisha the Foul. We've heard rumours about him, but Captain Vannice never imagined he would be bold enough to attack us here in the castle."

"And where is the Captain now?"

"Dead, Princess. Skewered in his tent this morning. The two of us barely made it back to the castle. The few guards on duty this morning are holding the Gate as best they can, but I don't know how long they can hold. We were...just about to go there." His voice trailed off, betraying that perhaps they were not the courageous soldiers their Princess would expect them to be.

"So, who commands our forces now?"

"Nobody, Princess."

Caera glanced at the other guard, who had been silent up until now. He looked barely seventeen, with a wispy moustache and acne on his chin. Caera met his eyes, ignoring the shake in his hands that jangled his sword against the rim of his shield. She dredged up their names from somewhere in the back of her racing mind.

"Kurt, isn't it? And Vynar?" They nodded in affirmation. "Both of you, come with me to the Gate. I must see for myself what's going on. I need two good men to guard me, and I know I can trust the two of you."

Their bearings straightened, and they gripped the hilts of their swords more firmly, unwilling to show their fear now their courage had been challenged by their Lady. Caera turned and walked towards the battlements, without looking behind her to see if the two faltering men behind her were following.

Caera graced the battlements and was met with the roar of the pitched battle about the walls of her castle. Men were howling in rage and pain, and the air rung with the scrape and clash of iron and steel. She hurried over to the central fortification atop the gatehouse, appraising the scene below. The tents from the Festival were mostly aflame, with several bodies lying unmoving in the grounds. Leather clad warriors with ragged beards and giant swinging axes were crowded around the foot of the gatepost, at least 200 strong. A thin line of gleaming armoured knights had formed a wall of shields, battling desperately to keep the savage barbarians away from the foot of the gatehouse. As Caera watched, an enormous invader shoved his way to the front of the attacking throng, swinging two giant axes as he ran forward. The defenders' shield wall buckled, then crumpled inwards.

More barbarians followed their champion into the breach, some of the dragging a huge tree trunk behind them.

"That's Grisha," said Kurt at her elbow, leaning forward to cover her body with his shield. "They've brought a battering ram too, not much our lads can do now."

He appeared to be right on both counts. The savage band of interlopers lifted the trunk and started to swing it against the gate, sending splinters raining down with each hefty swing. As his warriors pounded at the door, Grisha the Foul turned to the remaining defenders and lashed out with his axes, splitting shields and spitting vile insults. Now their line had been breached, the surviving guards seemed to lose their spirit, huddling together with their backs against the castle wall. Once they realised the men on their flank posed little threat, the attacking horde turned their attention to the men on the wall above the Gate.

Caera saw the threat to her gate, and her heart quickened at thought of these spitting savages rampaging through her castle. No. These people looked to her for protection, and she was failing them. Looking to her left and right, she saw her remaining guards standing around disconsolately. Their swords hung limply at the sides, bows thrown aside. Her men had given up hope; they simply stared down as the gate shook in its hinges, their doom imminent. She took a long breath, steeling herself for action.

"Men! Take up your weapons! The day is not yet lost! Archers, take aim at the men with the battering ram. If you have no bow, throw your spears, throw anything, tear stones from the walls if you must. This gate has stood for hundreds of years, today is not the day it falls."

After a minute pause, her men jumped into action. They launched a ferocious barrage of missiles from the walls of the castle, flinging several men away from battering ram and stalling its assault on the gate.

She turned once more to the men closest to her. "Kurt, you are my shield, protect me from anything they throw at us. Vynar, I have a vital task for you. Our men are trapped outside the walls, I need you to bring them back inside through the garden gate. Form another shield wall inside the gate. If they make it through the gate, you will be our final defence. Go."

The attackers below soon grew wise to the renewed resistance from above. The men with shields protected the men hefting the ram, which had been quickly picked up and was once more smashing against the gate. Others were picking up spears and hurling them upwards. Caera gasped as an archer nearby took a spear to the chest, and slumped forward with a small moan. Caera took up his weapon and nocked an arrow as her Father had taught her many years ago.

The bow was larger then her hunting bow, and her first shot went wild, skittering far over the heads of her foes. Breathe. Stretch. Aim. Release. Her Father's voice still carried in her ears, as her arrow flew forwards and found its mark. The man below toppled forward with her arrow in his chest. The spear he had been poised to throw tumbled down onto the grass.

She gaped down at the men she had just killed, almost unwilling to believe she had taken his life. Her reverie was broken as there was a crunch of wood and metal from below. Caera watched helplessly as the gate wrenched out of its hinges and fell inwards into the courtyard. The raiders were inside her castle.

Grisha strode into the courtyard flanked by his warriors. He looked up at the top of the Gatehouse and let out a wild cackle. Ignoring the thin semi-circle of men that ringed the courtyard led by Vynar, he called out mockingly to his warriors.

"You see. These castle-dwellers can't fight for shit. They have a woman doing their fighting for them. I am sorry Princess, I will be taking the castle from you now."

Grisha grabbed a wickedly barbed spear from one of his men and hurled it upwards at Caera. Kurt shoved her aside and took the impact of the spear on his shield. The spear drove through the boards and buried itself in his chest, pushing him back against the stone wall.

"I'm sorry, Princess," He coughed weakly, splattering his tiny moustache with blood. "We will fight them to the end, my Lady. Don't give up hope." He fell back, eyes unblinking.

Caera felt tears pricking her eyes, with the weight of so much death crushing her down. She fired her bow blindly, sending an arrow clattering into the cobblestones below. Grisha just smirked at her and turned to face the thin line of shields that was all that stood between him and a lifetime of riches and plunder.

The invaders plunged forwards ferociously, battering down the shields ahead of them. Caera kept firing, but her quiver was running low and there were just too many of them in the courtyard, with yet more of them forcing their way in through the broken gates. She cursed to herself, gritting her teeth in desperation. She looked around but she could see no way out. Her men would be overwhelmed soon, and nothing would stand in the way of the inevitable pillaging.

Caera turned away from the coming slaughter, wanting to take one more glance at her lands before she was robbed of her kingdom. She gasped in surprise.

Marching across the grounds towards the gate was a group of armed men, some with armour and weapons, some wielding little more than a stout branch. The man at the front was in full shining armour, almost a head taller than any of the men around him. She recognised his confident stride, even with his head encased in a helmet. It was Torven. Somehow, he had gathered the survivors of the early morning ambush and rallied them to defend the castle.

Torven's improvised army poured through the breach and crashed into the raiders in one devastating rush. The jubilation of the barbarians turned to panic, as they found themselves surrounded by vengeful swords and spears. His men falling around him, Grisha roared and stepped towards Torven, intent on taking one more enemy to the grave.

Torven took the first axe blow on his shield, and swung back with his sword, the blade jamming against the blade of his foe's other axe. Grisha swung again, bashing Torven's shield aside and catching his thigh with a savage blow. Blood welled and Torven stumbled, yelling in shock and pain. Caera raised her bow and fired on instinct. Just as Grisha's axe swung down towards Torven's neck, her arrow took him in the shoulder. The impact of the arrow checked Grisha's execution blow allowing Torven to sidestep, his injured leg almost buckling. With the last of his strength Torven thrust his sword upwards and speared the wild warrior in the neck. Grisha grunted, then blinked in surprise. He gawped at the weapon protruding from his body, then slumped onto the courtyard floor.

Seeing their leader slain before them, the once ferocious warriors threw down their weapons and sullenly knelt before Ceara. She furiously appraised them from atop the gatehouse, her hands trembling at her sides with the rage she felt at their violent intrusion on her lands.

"I will spare your wretched lives. But let not a man among you ever enter my Kingdom again, or you will find there is a limit to my mercy. Be gone!" Caera allowed a few moments to pass as the surviving would-be conquerors dashed out of the courtyard. She then hurried down the nearby steps to the courtyard, calling out for help as she ran.

"Summon the Healers, and bring out as much clean linen as you can find. Tear down the tapestries if you must, I will not let another life be lost needlessly today."

Pages and servants materialised from the Great Hall, where many of them had taken refuge once the fighting had begun. She marshalled her subjects with a steely command that felt unfamiliar to her. She directed the lightly wounded to be helped back into the Great Hall, ordering makeshift tents to be erected over those who were too injured to be moved.

It was a while before she found time to see to Torven. She knew he was not at death's door; shortly after she had banished the barbarians she had spotted him leaning against a cask of ale, sharing a joke with two nearby soldiers. However, she could see taut lines of pain in his face, and the bloody patch on his thigh was steadily getting larger.

"Sir Torven! Stop sprawling around as if you are at the tavern, and get that wound taken care of. I can't have my Champion dropping dead of an infection from the cut now can I?"

"Your Champion, my Princess?" he smirked in that all-too-familiar but maddeningly attractive way.

"Yes, your timely counterattack saved all of us. If you hadn't come to our aid, then we would surely have been overrun." She was talking louder now, so that nobody could miss her proclamation. "I pronounce Sir Torven of Huntsmark as Champion of the Realm. He is also appointed the new Captain of my Guard, once he has recovered from his wounds sustained in defeating the Warlord Grisha. I owe a great debt to Sir Torven, and to all of you who have fought today."

Torven for once appeared lost for words, so he attempted a bow, which was slightly spoilt when his injured leg collapsed, and he fell back against his friends. Caera caught his arm and helped upwards again.

"Bind his wound and take him back to my quarters. I will tend to my Champion myself. It is the smallest thing I can do to repay the realm's debt of gratitude to him."

She then quickly turned to talk to another wounded man before anyone could question the wisdom of taking a wounded man up three spiral staircases to her room.