THRONE AWAY
Battle.
The catapults were the key to victory in any siege.
Everyone knew that.
So when the Armies of the southern kingdom reached the edge of the field surrounding the castle and they were without catapults, the occupants of the city breathed a collective sigh of relief.
They held out hope that there was indeed enough grain in the towers to at least make bread to keep the citizens trapped within the thick granite walls from starving.
The army manning the walls had plenty of arrows and fletching to shoot across the open fields when the southern army decided to march.
They had stones to drop on top of their armored heads, and oil in cast iron kettles ready to drizzle and burn on top of any who made it past the rain of arrows to the cover of the wall.
To even make the wall they must navigate a series of trenches filled with axe sharpened stakes and covered with feces to poison the blood of anyone who so much as scraped the sharp edges.
The General of the SAXON kingdom advised the King that they were well set and safe, especially in light of the lack of catapults lining the edge of the thick forest like the border to a shadow world.
Their confidence lasted until morning when watchers on the Tower brought word of giants among the men in the woods.
The General, a dour man with a giant scar on his big bald head huffed to the top of the tallest tower because he had never seen a giant in his many years of travelling and battle.
He felt a small sense of satisfaction in his skepticism when the giants in the shadows turned out to be the catapults of their nightmares.
His satisfaction melted into a sense of dread and doom because even he could see how the men mistook them for giants.
They were monstrous constructions, larger than any he had every encountered before.
The General, whose name was Holt, called for the King’s wizard to join him on the tower.
Batrick rushed across the courtyard and smacked into the side of the horse.
“Watch your damn head,” the man astride the warhorse bellowed.
Batrick the wizard held a hand to the knot on his head and swiped at the trickle of blood that oozed from the scrape.
The Knight gave a booming laugh and yanked the reins of his horse to turn it toward the gate.
“I don’t know why you bother,” Batrick muttered as he staggered back into his rushed pace and headed for the stairs that led to the top of the tallest tower in the keep.
He did not know much of battle or tactics or strategies of war, but he knew that the gates were closed, barred and locked and would remain that way so long as the enemy was outside of their gates.
A knight on his mount could do little good in the closed confines of the courtyard within the walls.
Better to be on foot and ready to defend the gates should they be breached, he thought as he mounted the steps and chided himself.
The gates would hold.
He had seen to the spell himself.
Batrick reached the wide platform at the top of the tower and stood as far away from the edge as he was allowed without seeming to be too afraid.
“You called for me,” he bit back the Sir.
Technically, as an adviser to the King, he was the equal of the General, but Batrick was still new to the post, new to his position and years junior the man in charge of the Kingdom’s armies.
“Come,” Holt motioned the younger man to the edge of the shallow wall that topped the platform.
He pointed to the shadows moving in the woods.
“Catapults,” he uttered the dreaded words and Batrick couldn’t say which scared him more.
The drop to certain death or the feared instruments of destruction they were convinced the invading army did not have.
“Your spies,” he started to say, but Holt cut him off.
“Lied,” he spat. “Bought off or fooled, it makes no matter. Can you get the measure of them with your magic?”
Batrick didn’t bother to correct the older man. He wouldn’t need magic for this particular trick.
It was simple mathematics the man asked for, a calculation he performed quickly in his head. The length of the arm would determine how far the catapult could launch a rock or boulder, and with the size of the behemoths rolling through the woods.
“Dear gods,” he muttered.
“Exactly as I thought,” Holt spit over the edge of the platform. “Sons of dogs and whores.”
He spun around and marched down the stairs.
“Come along,” he growled and didn’t wait to see if the man in the billowing robes followed.
He was used to giving orders and being obeyed.
It never occurred to him that someone wouldn’t.
CHAPTER TWO
“Sons of whores and dogs!” the King cursed when told the news.
Batrick nodded as Holt’s scowl of anger seemed to grow deeper.
“You’ll have your spies hung and quartered?” the King asked and turned toward his Queen as she sat a throne beside him.
He didn’t expect Holt to draw and quarter anyone, even though he said it. The siege engines would see to all of their destruction soon enough.
The Queen took his hand and held it in her own.
“Is there still a way?”
The King turned to Holt.
“You know what she asks.”
The General nodded.
“A small force, perhaps. A sully through the front gate as a distraction as they ride away.”
“Two distractions?” Batrick added. “If one group is spied fleeing, they will give chase, but two can serve and they will think it a warning to neighboring kingdoms.”
The King nodded at the wisdom of the suggestion.
“Can your magic create a third distraction?”
“Your majesty?” Batrick tilted his head in confusion.
“An illusion of a larger army, perhaps or something to confuse and befuddle our enemy?” the King clarified.
Batrick nodded.
“I live to serve.”
“We will all die in his service, so save the boot licking and get on with it,” Holt barked.
“How many will you send?” the King asked.
“A dozen should do,” Holt considered.
He snapped his fingers and a guard near the door leaped.
“Get Sir Roderick.”
The guard hustled through the doorway to retrieve the Knight.
“A good choice,” said the King. “Do you approve?”
The Queen gave a regal tilt of her royal head and graced her husband with a smile.
“He is the best choice,” she said. “If it were not for his charge, I should wonder at the wisdom of sending your best knight away from the fight we are to have.”
“You did not see the trouble they have in store for us, my Queen,” advised Holt. “Our best knights will be of little use buried under a pile of stone and rubble.”
The King and Queen both gasped, though he was better at hiding it. The bluntness of their General’s words left them both shaken.
“Could we surrender?” she asked in a soft voice.
“We could,” Holt said. “We will. If only to save the citizens locked in here with us.”
“And when we do?”
The King shook his head.
“You will go with Sir Roderick and Kimber,” he said.
“I will not abandon you,” she said, and the set of her firm chin told the King that an argument would be wasted on her.
“Our daughter needs you.”
“Our daughter needs both of us.”
“Your King commands it,” said Holt. “They will not go easy on those of us who remain.”
The clamor of armor clanked across the stone outside of the great hall.
The doors opened to emit Sir Roderick, the mounted Knight who Batrick bounced off of in the courtyard.
The man held his helm under one arm and glared at the robed wizard as he marched across the long runner leading up to the raised thrones.
“My King,” he knelt in front of his ruler. “My Queen. General.”
The Knight nodded to each in turn and bowed low.
“Sir Roderick, rise,” the King commanded. “We have a task for you and you alone.”
Sir Roderick used one hand to push off his bended knee and stood in front of the throne.
“I serve,” he answered.
“You are charged with the safety of Princess Kimber and her escape to our ally and neighbor, Arboryard.”
“My King.”
“You will lead a contingent of twelve Knights of the Brotherhood to protect your Princess and deliver her safely to her new home.”
Roderick glanced at the Queen and Holt.
“Majesty,” he agreed.
“You will accompany him Batrick,” the King turned to the wizard.
Batrick bowed his head.
“Wouldn’t your wizard be better by your side?” Roderick glared at the man in the robe.
“My wizard goes where I command, Sir Knight.”
Roderick bowed.
“My King.”
“You will be accompanied by the Queen,” the King said.
“Husband,” she snapped.
“I can not vouchsafe your safety here.”
“My place is at your side.”
“You can better protect our daughter and legacy, the heir to our throne.”
“I will be by your side,” she said again the finality of her tone suggested to the King and other men in the room that she would not be swayed nor argued from her position.
The King stared at her for a moment, his face a tumble of regret and confusion, fear and determination. He felt pride at the woman who wished to stand with him against their enemies, and fear that she was facing certain death.
It had never occurred to him until just that moment that he would be dying before the morrow came.
The leader of the Southern armies would surely put him to the blade as soon as he surrendered.
He hoped his sacrifice would earn his people a reprieve, and worried that his wife would receive the same punishment as he.
The King glanced at Holt, and sighed, a grim set to the old man’s face.
Perhaps there was one more thing he could do, if the woman would not go with their daughter to the safety of his alley.
“Batrick,” the King said. “How long to ready your distraction?”
“I can be ready in the hour, Sire.”
“And Sir Roderick, how long to prepare for your journey?”
“We will be ready in the hour as well,” Roderick shot a glare in Batrick’s direction.
“Twelve Knights to accompany you,” the King commanded. “And your retinue. A dozen more to go in the opposite direction. Make it so.”
He waved a hand to dismiss everyone from the room and held his Queen’s hands to his lips.
“I hope we are doing the right thing,” he whispered into her skin and she shivered.
She had no answer for him as he helped her rise so they could go say good bye to their progeny.
Chris Lowry Books 