Slaves to the Sword Page 5

  Suddenly, a rider rode into the crowd. “The cavalry is returning to Aveston. The Carpenter’s Army has broken our ranks, and the Red Guard Cavalry are retreating to the safety of these walls!” exclaimed the rider.

  “Raise the portcullis, and archers to the ramparts. Take your places!” Stuart commanded.

  Sounds of galloping horses could be heard, and over in the distance, the light from the Red Guard Cavalry’s torches could be seen.

  They were riding quickly, though several cavalrymen were clearly holding on with their last bits of strength. “Ready archers!” Stuart commanded. “We don’t know if the Carpenter’s soldiers are giving chase.”

  The wounded cavalrymen returned to the safety of Aveston’s gates. “Lower and fortify the portcullis!” a voice yelled. Several of the mightiest Avestonians began turning the enormous gears that unwound the chains needed to bring the huge steel gate back down.

  When it finally touched the ground, its weight was felt by the thump it created under the feet of the people closest to it. Large wooden doors were slid into place, barred with iron, and the outer gate was now secure.

  The remaining eighty-eight cavalrymen were safe—at least for now. Stuart was assessing their ranks and demanded a report. “What was the status of the battle prior to you returning to Aveston?”

  “We tried to hold them off, but their advances were too much for our ranks, Your Highness.

  We have reduced their numbers to around half of their original fighting force, but we could not hold our position. I gave the order to retreat so we could regroup here, said the Red Guard Cavalry Commander. “I am sorry we failed you.”

  He looked toward the ground sullenly. Eighty-eight cavalrymen were left; some too injured to fight, and another estimated fifty Avestonian fighters available to defend the outer wall.

  “Dispatch a rider for Harkstead. Give word that we will be holding our position at the outer wall, and if we fail, send more cavalry and infantry to the south to protect Harkstead,” Stuart commanded.

  The sound of riders could be heard in the distance. It was the remaining fighting force of Carpenter’s army, along with the Carpenter, himself. Yet, they did not advance. Carpenter, sensing the weariness of his men, decided to make camp for the night just beyond the range of the Avestonian arrows. Prince Stuart Miles was standing on atop the twelve-foot-tall Avestonian wall seething with anger, yet fearful at the same time.

  The temperature was dropping quickly as the night went on, and the familiar mist could be seen emanating from his nose upon every breath he took. It was easy to see he was breathing hard. Thoughts of strategy clouded his mind.

  No Red Guard trickery was going to help him with this particular fight. He knew he had to rest but he was hesitant. The remaining Red Guard Cavalry had to be tended to and a status report was warranted.

  “Lord Baker!” Stuart called.

  “Yes, My Lord,” the commander responded as he walked quickly toward his prince.

  “What of our soldiers?”

  “Your Highness, the wounded are being tended to, and the rest are being fed.”

  “We need to inventory our weapons and prepare to fortify the wall. The Avestonian men will tend to the tar, and we will prepare to make our stand behind the wall,” Stuart said confidently.

  “Your Highness, what is your plan if Carpenter breaches the wall?” Baker asked with fleeting confidence.

  “We will take as many heavy items as we can find and fortify the wall—we may even set it on fire with the tar. Whatever it takes to keep them from breaching the wall is what we will do.”

  ***

  Meanwhile, back at Harkstead Castle, King Phillip had just been informed of the news regarding Aveston. “What? They are just outside of the border wall?” he bellowed.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” replied the messenger.

  “I cannot believe we are losing to Thomas Carpenter and his army of paid minions.” Phillip walked quickly into his chamber where he had already called together his advisory council.

  “What is your will, Sire?” asked one of his council members. King Phillip showed the same look on his face that his adopted son had earlier in the evening. Thoughts of losing his son and his village sent his mind racing.

  King Phillip knew he could not send reinforcements to Aveston because that would leave Harkstead vulnerable to attack. He also contemplated sending the Red Guard Infantry to aid Stuart, but their numbers were not as large as the cavalry and would be a last resort if the battle became dire.

  Young Harold was awakened by his father’s bellowing voice and made his way the kings chambers to see what was upsetting him. However, he did not enter—he hid around the bend in the hallway, just close enough so he could listen to the group of official-sounding men inside. “Suggestions?” Phillip said stoically.

  “What of Stuart, Sire?” said one of the council members.

  “I am afraid he will have to fight this battle without me. I have to trust my years of training him has prepared him to lead his men into battle,” he said while sitting on his throne.

  “If we lose Aveston, Sire, Carpenter may go after Derron in the East or head south toward Neally,” said another council member.

  “Indeed, those are all possibilities, and we must ensure their safety. Send riders to Derron and Neally immediately with orders to fortify their perimeters,” Phillip ordered. He turned to one of his advisors and bade him to follow as he rushed his way out of the chamber, speaking softly, “Have word sent to my son in Aveston to return to Harkstead if the Carpenter breaches those walls.”

  ***

  The night sky was clear, but it was cold in Aveston as the Carpenter stood next to a tree urinating.

  As he voided, he was almost dancing to himself—pleased and amused by the day’s fighting. His hips were rotating in a circular motion as he laughed out loud.

  His lancemen commander saw his actions and hastily interrupted, “Sire, the men are resting, and we are waiting on your orders for the morning’s fight.”

  “Orders? I have no orders. My only order is to take the city. They will have fortified their gate by now, and are probably counting on gathering all of the muscle and hands they can find. We will not advance on their gate, that’s too easy. We will, in fact, make them come to us.”

  “Forgive me, Sire, but how are we going to make them do that?” said another commander.

  “Dear child, I do not want Aveston in order to claim it as my own. The city itself holds no value to me. There are far more valuable places within King Phillip’s Midland Kingdom.” The Carpenter sat beside the fire, took a drink of mead, and smiled as his commanders—cavalry, infantry and lancemen alike—looked bemused. “Children, we will burn Aveston down from out here. Have the archers prepare their longbows for a fire assault on Aveston in the morning. Before the sun rises, we will have riders arrive with more supplies,” said the Carpenter as he drank more mead.

  “Sire, you knew we would break the ranks of King Phillip?” asked one of his commanders.

  “No. I knew we would either be dead at this point, or we would be here. Either way, I wanted to have resources in case we needed them.” said Carpenter.

  “Besides, if I were to perish on the battlefield their orders were to find me and to take my body away. I would never give those Midlanders the opportunity to desecrate my body.”

  “So, when the morning light shines on the Aveston wall, we will make fire rain down on the Midlanders as if the sun was punishing them for their insolence!” exclaimed one of the Carpenters commanders. The grouped laughed heartily as the cool night continued on.

  ***

  Atop the barbican of the Aveston gate, Stuart Miles was troubled by the next morning’s looming battle. “Your Highness, are you well?” asked Earl Baker.

  “No, Commander Baker, I am not,” Stuart replied.

  “What is troubling you, My Prince?”

  Stuart took a moment, then responded, “I’ve been reviewing the day’s fig
ht in my head, and I feel like we are missing something.” He continued, “Carpenter pushed most of his soldiers through our cavalry ranks and took many casualties.” The Midland Prince leaned on the Aveston battlement overlooking the clearing below that would become the battlefield in the morning, staring at the Carpenter’s camp in the distance. Why would he risk so many soldiers to get to this point? Stuart thought to himself.

  “Commander Baker, see to it that all available men are atop the battlements with bow and arrow. We will try to use our archers to strike them from a distance.

  The Avestonian archers will be used to strike the Carpenter’s men as they advance on the gate. I have a feeling we are in for a long fight at the first light of day—a long fight, indeed,” said Stuart softly.

  10

  T he morning’s light was an uneasy sight in Stuart Miles’ mind. If Carpenter could see all of the activity going on behind Aveston’s walls, he might think they were afraid of him. This was an extreme contrast to Carpenter’s camp. His cavalry, infantry, and archers were already lining up and getting prepared for the morning’s fight. The Carpenter was still asleep. The Avestonian Midlanders were busy preparing their armaments and gathering available fighters. Soldiers from the previous day’s battle that were too injured to fight rode back to Harkstead Castle under the safety of the night’s darkness. The Red Guard Cavalry were not going to receive any additional men this morning. A rider from Harkstead presented word from King Phillip Miles to his already nervous son, Stuart. “Your Highness, I bring word from your father,” said the rider.

  “Go ahead,” Stuart responded.

  “His Majesty says he cannot risk any further men to Aveston due to the losses that have already occurred. He needs his remaining soldiers in the Midland villages for their fortification.”

  “Then we are on our own.”

  Long after the sun had crested the horizon, the Carpenter was awakened by the rhythmic beating of his soldiers’ swords on their shields. He rose, donned his battle armor, and addressed his men before initiating the attack on the Aveston gate.

  “Children, bear witness to the day at hand. Today is the day we take Aveston. We will not claim it as our own. We will not search every space that we can for valuables.

  We will not take any of the Avestonian women for ourselves, nor will we take any prisoners today.” He smiled joyfully. “Today is the day we do what we were made for—what we are destined to do. Today we will drown those bloody Midlanders in a rain storm of fire from the sky.” He paced side to side as he spoke to his army. “To victory!” yelled the Carpenter.

  “To Victory!” said his army in return.

  “Ready the archers!” the Carpenter commanded.

  ***

  Back at the Aveston gate, Stuart Miles and his small army—standing ready on top of the battlements—could see the Carpenter’s men. They heard the rival army’s war cry, which led to a sense of concern amongst the Midland fighters. Prince Stuart could feel the tension in his men. He went to the center of the barbican and looked toward the Carpenter’s fighters before he turned to speak to his men. “Today we either defend this place, or die trying to. The fear you feel is genuine, and it is a good thing. It is something that should be respected. Use it to fuel your will to fight. Use your fear and your emotions to give you the strength to fight,” he said confidently as he paced the barbican.

  “Think of your families that were forced to leave their homes. Think of those we have already lost. We cannot let their deaths be in vain. Let us strive to end the villainy of Thomas the Carpenter right here, right now, today!” Stuart bellowed triumphantly.

  The Midland fighters made a raucous cheer as their prince gave them the increase in confidence he sensed they needed.

  ***

  The Carpenter heard the Midlanders cheer, and without hesitation commenced the day’s fight with a simple statement to his archers, “Make your flaming arrows feel like the sun itself is crashing down upon them!”

  Carpenter’s soldiers were lined in formation and his archers—with sights set above the battlements—released their arrows toward Aveston.

  There was a problem though; the arrows were not clearing the Avestonian wall. The archers were too far back. Carpenter took small satisfaction in seeing several Avestonian infantry struck and set on fire with the initial targeting shot.

  “Oh dear, someone was hurt. My heart will shed many tears for them,” he said sarcastically before bellowing, “Advance fifty paces and fire again!” His soldiers responded and started the advance.

  ***

  Back at the Aveston wall, there was much confusion. Men were screaming as their flesh burned off of their bodies. The Avestonian fighters were visibly disturbed. Prince Stuart could see his fighting force was not prepared for the battle they were about to encounter.

  Hundreds of fiery arrows rained down on Aveston that dreadful morning. The Carpenter ordered his archers to advance within a few yards of the Avestonian arrows reach. His arrows were not meant to kill the men on top of the battlements; they were meant to destroy the city from the inside out.

  Carpenter was sitting joyously under the shade of a tree with his trusty carving knife, whittling a small crown. He stood and bellowed, “Pressure! We must push them to fight us on open land.

  They will eventually tire of trying to save their beloved city from our flaming arrows and raise their portcullis. That is when we will strike with all of our might.”

  ***

  Indeed, his flaming arrows were causing much damage within Aveston. Several portions of the small city were on fire, and Prince Stuart could see that they were expending too much energy trying to save the city. He knew he had to do something. He had to devise a plan. Should I command a retreat, and let Aveston fall into the hands of the Carpenter? he thought to himself. Or should we bring the fight to him, which is probably what he would prefer?

  Stuart knew he could not waste any more time trying to save the portions of Aveston that were not on fire.

  It would only be a matter of time before the Carpenter’s arrows would find their way toward the un-scorched areas. “Men! To arms, we will bring the fight to them! Clear the path to the barbican and assemble. We will rush the Carpenter’s army once the portcullis has cleared the tallest man’s head,” Stuart commanded, the Avestionian’s large, ornately carved war horn under his arm.

  As the heavy portcullis raised, Prince Stuart gazed down from the top of the Avestonian battlements as dozens of Midland cavalrymen prepared to lead a large group of Avestonian men into battle. The more the portcullis rose, the louder their war cries became.

  As the portcullis cleared the tallest riders head, the Red Guard and Midland Cavalrymen raised their weapons and charged the battlefield. The Carpenter had the outcome he had desired.

  “May God grant us favor on this day,” Stuart prayed quietly to himself. “We will need a miracle in order to be victorious today.”

  ***

  Carpenter heard a thunderous noise as the Aveston gate raised and dozens of horsemen poured through the city walls as if it were bleeding riders. Their swords were raised and their battle cries could be heard all the way to the back of the Carpenter’s Army ranks. “Dear Lord, they actually think they can succeed today?” he said to one of his commanders.

  As the Red Guard and Midland riders approached, he could see the hope in their eyes and it incensed him. Insulted by their bravery, the Carpenter, without thinking, made to run fervently toward the fight, but was restrained by his commanders. His face was red as fresh berries as he bellowed to his soldiers, “Let their bones crack from the weight of our steel and their blood soak the land beneath us!”

  ***

  They rode into the midst of Carpenter’s Army, and the sounds of metal crashing against metal rang in all of their ears. The chaos was immeasurable as weapons swung, and in such close quarters, didn’t always strike the enemy, but anyone near blade or bludgeoner.

  Many horsemen were thrown from their m
ounts—one of them being an Avestonian warrior by the name of Fitzgerald.

  Extracting his unscathed leg from under his massacred stallion, the warrior quickly rose and re-set the hilt of his falchion in his palm. It was a beautifully crafted single-edged sword, and he was a lethal expert in wielding it.

  Fitzgerald was prepared as a Carpenter soldier attempted to strike him with a downward thrust. He easily dodged the strike and countered by ramming his boot into the soldier’s knee.

  As the Carpenter’s soldier knelt in pain, Fitzgerald swung his mighty falchion across the back of the enemy soldier’s neck and killed him instantly. He quickly raised his sword to block another strike from an enemy soldier, reached for his stiletto dagger, and fought with both hands. They exchanged violent blows, neither man giving any ground as both of them were wearing light-duty battle armor. The two were evenly matched, and their energy was leaving them with every missed and blocked strike. Fitzgerald was growing weary of the swordplay and knew he had to make his move soon.

  He took a step back to wait for the Carpenter’s soldier to make a reaching strike with his two-handed broad sword. When he did, Fitzgerald charged and rammed him with his shoulder, knocking the enemy to the ground. He dropped his falchion, leaped onto the soldier’s chest and drove his stiletto into the eyehole of the helmet with both hands. Captain Fitzgerald was one of few skilled Avestonian warriors and the Carpenter’s soldiers killed many riders from the first wave.

  Once the riders left the gates, the Avestonian infantry stormed onto the battlefield. An over-confident Thomas Carpenter commanded his army, “Advance on the Aveston wall. Dispatch the remaining Red Guard Cavalry, and march on toward their foot-soldiers!”

  Suddenly, a horn sounded, one Fitzgerald recognized well. He killed another enemy soldier and used the body to cover him as a torrent of Avestonian arrows darkened the sky.