Draconis' Bane (27 page)

The entire force
halted just outside of bowshot as a large platform supported by a
hundred slaves made its way to the head of the column. A robed
figure stood next to a large impressive looking man. He spoke and
it was as though he was standing mere inches away from them, his
voice clearly amplified by the sorcerer at his side.

“Warriors of Sutten!
You need not lose your lives; I come for one among you, though not
of you.” Announced the man as a general murmuring echoed along the
defenders walls. “You have four hours to produce the dragon spawn
Tristan Vallious.” The murmuring intensified on the walls.

“Should you hand the
Prince over willingly, my force will turn from your lands and leave
you in peace.” He finished. His platform retired to the middle of
the army as the force began to light cooking fires and prepare for
the coming battle.

Knight-Captain
Robertson swore, “Oh yes. You’ll take forty thousand butchers and
just walk away. I’m sure.” He muttered sarcastically to Tristan’s
amusement.

William turned to
face Tristan; a look of deep concern clouded his features as he
motioned for the two of them to follow him back to the keep. The
soldiers they passed looked at them with calculating glares. The
women and children, tears gathering in their eyes, looked at them
pleadingly. Prince Tristans’ walk to the Heatherington central
chamber felt like it took forever, and was very uncomfortable; even
for a young man who was used to dark looks.

They entered the main
audience chamber, which was being cleared as they entered.
Soldier’s frog marched merchants, wives and children out of the
hall as Tristan was brought forward. William stood next to Tristan
at the front of the hall as the doors were closed and locked with a
deafening clang that echoed in his ears.

“So young Prince,”
Spoke the man sitting in the centermost chair. “It appears we’ve
got unwelcome guests outside our door and an old friend to thank
for them.” His dire tone carried easily across the hall.

The man appeared to
be of middle-years, dressed in much the same fashion as all the
other soldiers present, though he wore a mantle trimmed with white
fur. His serious expression slowly split into a wide grin as he got
up with surprising agility and pulled the Prince into an
embrace.

“It’s good to see you
again, my boy.” He said jovially as he patted the young man on the
back.

Sensing hesitation,
the older man pulled away, holding the young Prince at arm’s
length. “What’s wrong lad?” He asked, serious once again.

“He can’t remember
you Fred.” Robertson commented.

“I’d heard, though I
couldn’t believe it.” He said, turning his eyes on Tristan he
added. “Is it true lad? You don’t remember your old Uncle
Fred?!”

His serious
expression once again split into a wide grin that Tristan found
infectious. Fred laughed, patting the Prince on his shoulder.
“Worry not lad. We’ll soon jog that memory for you.” He
chuckled.

In spite of the tense
situation outside, Tristan felt at ease in this hall. He couldn’t
place the feeling, but thus far, his instinct about the
trustworthiness of those around him hadn’t been far off. Tristan
smiled back at his Uncle, still a little uncertain of the brewing
situation on the fields just outside this fortress.

“Now. What are we to
do about these troublemakers outside?” His Uncle asked with a
smirk.

“Maybe we should just
toss the boy over the parapet and be done with it.” Knight-Captain
Robertson joked.

“Don’t think that
hadn’t occurred to me, old friend.” Fred commented slyly with a
wink in Tristan’s direction. “But I’d hate to have to explain to
his father and his rather large brother what happened to him.” The
room burst out in laughter.

“The thing is.” Fred
continued. “We don’t often see giants around here, and even less
orcs. The bugbears, goblins and such are a constant annoyance.”

“There’s nothing for
it father.” William began. “We fight as we always have.” He said
with conviction, putting his hand on Tristans shoulder.

“Agreed.” Others
echoed throughout the hall.

“Then we’re decided,
now boy, why does that whoreson want you so bad that he brings
forty-thousand up to my walls?” Chieftain Fred of the Lion Clan
asked.

Tristan tried to
organize his thoughts as best as he could before attempting to
explain. “I assume you know of my heritage?” He asked
tentatively.

“You refer to your
mother, boy?” Fred asked.

“Yes.” Tristan
answered bashfully.

“I am aware of your
lineage boy.” Fred said calmly. “I miss my old friend Socolis.”

Tristan’s eyes
widened in surprise as an image of a white dragon flashed in his
mind’s eye. He could recall a conversation on the beauty of trees
with the elder dragon. Tristan fought to grab a hold of the memory,
though the harder he grasped at the edges, the faster it was lost.
Sill, perhaps not all of his memories had betrayed him. He
continued to try and recall the details of the conversation, but
even the details of the dragons features faded away like aged
parchment.

The Prince tried to
force himself to remember other dragons he may have met, but to no
avail. He was confused that he could recall with clarity a white
dragon but seemed unable to remember the bronze one that had helped
him just days ago.

Shaking off the
irritation of his failed memory, he focused back on Fred as he
composed his next words. “There’s a group out there hunting me and
what they call
my kind
down.” Reaching into his pocket he
pulled out one of the many dragon pendants he’d acquired and tossed
it to his uncle.

“They wear these and
call themselves;
Draconis’ Bane
.” He concluded.

“I’ve seen this
before; a magician visited us some time ago.” Fred began, handing
the pendant over to William. “Come to think of it, he asked about
you quite a bit. After learning that we didn’t know where you were,
he left.”

“I’m willing to bet
he’s that robed one out there.” William spat.

“Great. Well, I don’t
want more lives at my feet.” Tristan began.

Fred waved him off,
irritation clearly etched on his face. “Never mind that dramatic
non-sense lad. I’ll not hand you over, I know what’s at stake here
and I’ll be damned if some group of grannies is going to control
my
actions.” He grunted.

“How did that bastard
get all of them to band together though?” Robertson asked.

“It would appear that
the
Bane
has more influence than we first were led to
believe Captain.” Tristan replied.

Fred waived off
further discussion. “It matters not. We’ll met them in battle,
drive them back and make them wish they’d never set foot in my
country.” He winked at Tristan.

“He’s going to need
some proper siege training then?” William asked with a crooked
smile.

“Aye, we can’t have
him waving that scythe about on the walls.” Fred muttered. “Get him
a room, a bow and start working with him, son.” The old man
commanded.

William nodded before
grasping Tristan by the shoulder and steering the Prince out of the
chamber. Laughing he patted the young Prince on the shoulder as
they walked through the town.

“Well brother, let’s
find you a room.” He chuckled.

“I’m sorry.” Tristan
replied, stopping as he turned towards his cousin.

“For what man?”
William asked in a shocked voice.

Tristan motioned
around them. “All the trouble…not knowing you…take your pick.”

“Bah.” William waved
off. “You’ll remember things soon enough, and if not, I’ll count
myself lucky for making the same friendship twice.” The Prince
smiled hesitantly, as Williams' infectious laugh echoed throughout
the market square as they made their way towards the barracks.

~

The alarm bell
sounded as Tristan and William quickly ran up the stairs to look
out over the wall. Fred and Captain Robertson were already there as
the young Prince rested his new bow against the parapet. The
platform was once again moving forward with both men still on it.
Once it had reached just beyond bowshot it stopped and the
magically amplified voice cut through the oppressive silence.

“Your time has passed
my friends. Hand over the Prince or we will be forced to burn your
lovely keep to the ground.” He announced.

Tristan turned to his
Uncle Fred.

“If I may?” He asked
motioning to his Uncle’s longbow.

Over the last four
hours Tristan and his cousin William had spent their time having an
impromptu archery contest. The Prince had shown uncanny knack with
the short bow and his cousin had challenged him to a longbow
contest. His skill had impressed everyone, but most of all William
who swore the Prince had always been a barely average archer.

His Uncle nodded, as
Tristan pulled an arrow from his back quiver, tied one of the many
dragon pendants he possessed around the shaft and drew back.
Carefully taking aim he let the arrow fly in a high arc. It flew
through the gap between the wall and the army and landed with an
audible wooden thump on the platform, in front of the speaker.

The man stared wide
eyed at the pendant, clutching his chest reflectively. On the wall
many of the defenders, privy to the details of this force, narrowed
their eyes as Tristans assertions were proved true. William began a
war cry that echoed from each of the soldiers lined along the wall.
The sorcerer waved his arms sending forth a ball of lightning which
crackled and spread as it sped across the field towards the high
walls. It hit mere inches from its target and dissipated along the
wall.

Shocked, Tristan
looked questioningly at Fred and William. The chieftain shrugged as
he casually said; “Donated dragon blood mixed into the mortar.” He
chuckled.

Tristan burst out
laughing, followed by the others within earshot of the old man’s
flippant pronouncement. For reasons he couldn’t verbalize, the
young Prince felt as though he could fight and die here and never
regret a moment of it. A warm feeling spread through his body as a
single purpose coalesced in his mind. He would fight and destroy
the
Bane
and this would be a grand start.

In anger the sorcerer
cast a fireball which completely engulfed and destroyed the arrow
and the pendant attached, leaving an angry circle of scorched wood
in its wake. The defenders laughed at the childish display, which
appeared to irritate the man as well as the sorcerer.

The magically
amplified voice cut through the laughter. “I am King Roger of
Terum, your walls will fall before me and your bones will be ground
into powder at my feet!”

Prince Tristan and
William smiled at one another, drew arrows in their longbows and
let fly. The two arrows crossed the distance between the walls and
the army catching two of the slaves baring the platform in the
chest. The rest of the slaves tried to re-adjust their hold on the
platform, but it was no use, the fallen slaves’ death throws
knocked down many others around them.

Slowly but surely the
platform began to dip forward. The King and his sorcerer lost their
balance and unceremoniously rolled down the front of the platform
landing in a tangled heap. The slaves holding the platform were in
full route as they tried their best to escape the collapsing
structure.

The defenders were
beside themselves with glee and many who were already laughing
themselves hoarse began to cheer. Tristan smiled at his cousin,
nodding his head they both drew another pair of arrows and let fly.
Just as the sorcerer and the King had worked themselves free, two
arrows pinned the sorcerers’ robes to the ground sending them both
crashing down again.

The laughing on the
wall died as horns sounded from the enemies lines and their forces
began to slowly move forward. Porters came rushing up on the
Heatherington walls baring braziers brimming with hot coals for
lighting arrow heads. Tristan handed Fred back his longbow, picked
his short bow and drew a bead on the closest orc running ahead of
the mobile barricades.

“HOLD!” Fred
called.

The foolish orcs ran
closer to the walls baring their teeth and carrying scaling
ladders.

“HOLD!” Fred
shouted.

All of the orcs were
now uncomfortably close and yet he called again.

“HOLD!”

Still more orcs
closed in, the mobile barricades were now within bowshot, as Fred
finally shouted.

“LOOSE!”

Hundreds of bows
along the battlements snapped as their deadly missiles quickly
closed the gap taking down scores of attackers.

“LIGHT!” Fred
shouted.

Tristan looked down
to find special long arrows with heavy tips covered in hide jutting
out at odd angles from the braziers at their feet.

Tristan grabbed a
hold of the nearest one and drew back, aiming for the center of the
closest barricade to him. He aimed carefully, waiting for the order
to fire.

“LOOSE!” His uncle
shouted.

Hundreds of lit
arrows crossed the field, some found their mark as ladders and
barricades quickly caught fire while others hit orcs and men
holding them.

“FIRE AT WILL!” Fred
shouted.

The remaining
attackers fell as even Fred unlimbered his longbow and began
picking his targets. For an hour or more the defenders killed Terum
soldiers and their allies. The men worked themselves into a rhythm
of never ceasing shooting, taking turns in three’s. One defender
would fire and then step back to allow another to fire as they
pulled another arrow, stepped forward and fired again. The men and
women of Sutten chose their targets well, driving back the hordes
of Terum soldiers.

Porters came rushing
by after the first ten minutes bringing fresh supplies of arrows to
fire death down on the attackers below. Tristan’s arms were
becoming numb as a horn sounded from the attackers’ lines, calling
their forces back. The Prince leaned his bow against the parapet
and rubbed his shoulders trying to get blood flowing back into them
as he swore.