his strength and will were defeated. His hands he pushed forward in pain and blood came with his sweat.
Then, he could move no more. He pulled back an arrow and found its prey, but could not release it. Instead, it fell limply to the floor. A faint moan escaped his lips; he was powerless to do more. His mind was imprisoned within his worn body, but the latter could not be forced to continue. A tear fell from his eye like a star from the sky. He drew his sword as if he drew the earth. He held it before him, shaking violently, and surrendered himself to death. He fell forward, pivoting at his knees. His upper body swung over the side and began descending to the ground. He fell, swiftly and without noise. He fell, his face a mountain, his fate a valley. He fell, but his eyes were already lifeless, empty, without form. For even as his body charged the ground three hundred feet below, Osbert was dead.
Chapter 84
Meanwhile, a mile to the east, Alfonzo rode horseback along the rampart that bordered Thunder Bay. The rebel forces were positioned there in strength, prepared to prevent the landing of the enemy fleet. Oren Lorenzo was at his side, on a mule, and each was armed with a sword.
“The signal!” Lorenzo cried, his fiery mustache quivering.
“Yes, the signal,” Alfonzo returned, “Let us hope Blaine and Osbert prove themselves once again.”
“Gylain’s soldiers will have an early taste of eternity, either way,” Lorenzo said soberly, “And may they repent beforehand.”
“May they, indeed! But it is too late for such things now,” Alfonzo shook his head.
As he spoke, a horn sounded from the rebel fleet, straddling the channel into the harbor.
“They call the charge!” Alfonzo cried, “But why? Have they seen the soldiers?” He spurred his horse and galloped down the line until the trees no longer obstructed his view of the harbor. Then, “Can it be? The fleet arrives early! To arms men: the enemy is upon us!”
The combined fleets of Gylain and Lyndon could be seen charging the rebel lines, over two hundred ships in all.
“Gylain has always had a devil’s heart,” Lorenzo said, “But now he has a devil’s cunning. Could any man bring his troops to bear with such deadly, inerrant perfection? Alfonzo, this bodes ill for us!”
“We will see,” was the only answer.
By now, the land contingent of Gylain’s force had passed from the forest to the plain. Behind them, the dark forest and the arrows of their enemy; before them, the open air, albeit stormy. Yet this is not what made their hearts rejoice, for they saw very clearly before them the rebel lines. To the south, the castle was secure and to the north the ramparts stood strong against the landing force. But only a dirt road stretched between them, with unwalled guard posts along the way. And, above all, the ramparts were open in the rear. There was no defense from the east, from the plain. It was as if the rebels had not prepared for their arrival, as if they did not know they were coming. A loud cheer went up from the men, even from the officers. From five thousand, they had now only four. But in the end, it seemed, their troubles had not been in vain: for they caught the rebels unguarded. The soldiers were more worn than the rebels, having marched several days in heavy armor in addition to their narrow escape, but still they came forward – by duty and by drill. They came forward to break a hole for the fleet’s landing.
Alfonzo galloped to the edge of the ramparts nearest the forest and the soldiers, then stopped, his face set against them like a stone wall. His icicle eyes pierced the air. His hands did not even tremble as he raised them to his mouth, for he was beyond a conscience in his role as general. “Fire!” he bellowed, and was silent.
It was not a legion of archers that arose to attack, but a single man, stationed in one of the guard posts. He stood ready, and on the order let loose a single, flaming arrow. It sailed across the horizon of the midnight noon like a miniature sun making its daily route, finally erupting into twilight at the feet of the advancing soldiers. The ground also erupted: in flame. The grass of the plain had been mowed near the forest and the castle, and the dead grass piled in the center of the plain, where it still grew high. A flammable liquid had been poured upon this. It was consumed with fire within the minute.
The soldiers were overcome in their weariness. Some fled back into the forest; but there was no respite to be found in the bosom of the archers. All that was left to them was fire or flight, and they chose the latter. The officers huddled the men together, forcing their way through the fierce flames.
Alfonzo pondered the scene without emotion. Though the others looked away, he did not. For it was his duty and men will do anything in allegiance to that word.
“The rain!” Lorenzo gasped, reaching out his hand to see if it were truly so. But it was, and as he spoke the rain fell harder and faster and the clouds buried the sun.
From the bay, the sounds of an engagement rang out. It was clear that the fleet had begun the attack. But Alfonzo could not turn his attentions to that quarter, as the ground troops were beginning to emerge from the flames. The rain – while not stopping the fire – subdued it and gave the soldiers time to escape. They began to form into ranks again, preparing to charge the rebel lines.
“March out the castle troops,” Alfonzo commanded Lorenzo, who rode off to carry it out. Alfonzo turned and rode down the line, yelling out as he went, “Shift ranks, we must fight the rear!”
The rebels poured out of the tunnels and earthen works, making ranks in front of them. Still, it did not take them long to file out, for there were only a thousand of them. When they had assembled, Alfonzo put himself at their head.
“Men,” he said, “The time has come: not for vainglorious speeches, but for blood.”
With that, he kicked his horse and began the march to the castle. Its gates had opened: a large force was coming to meet them in the center. By this time, the enemy soldiers were assembled: still over three thousand strong. A knight rode at their head, with a plume of feathers sticking from his helmet and an iron broadsword in his hand. The rebel forces converged, turning to the advancing regiment. Each group stopped fifty yards from the other and waited, unwilling to be the first to bathe in bloodshed.
Alfonzo sat firmly on horseback: his stature erect, his face stern. His long hair was back and it made him seem noble. Yet he was still a man of the forest, and his beard – no longer a mere goatee – took root firmly on his face. His eyes did not burn; his heart did not hate. It was not his desire to go to war, but he thought it his duty; and thus, he went.
Beside him rode Oren Lorenzo, no longer in a monk’s frock but a suit of armor. His hair was as fleeting as his temper, his face as severe as his oaths, his mustache as wide as his convictions. He was a churchman, and thus a man of impatience and strange ideas. But he was also a loyal man, if not to God than to Alfonzo, his old comrade of the forest.
“Woe to us, that it has come to this,” Lorenzo said, “Our land marred by fire and war. Is freedom worth the price of death? Or is liberty so sweet if none are left to eat of it?”
“I cannot say,” Alfonzo said slowly, “But I know that it has been put to us to win it, and so we must. If not for ourselves, for those who trust us to secure it. Would any man choose war? Not I, at least. But it has come. We would be wrong to flee from it.”
“Indeed, but look: our precious land is aflame. Even now the forest is threatened,” and he pointed to the field behind the enemy ranks. The wind had begun gusting over the plain and had blown some of the flames toward the edge of the forest, where it was beginning to take hold.
“It has come to the end,” Alfonzo sighed, “And that which does not burn will be doused forever. Perhaps it is true what was said long ago, though it is mocked by the ways of this dreary land.”
“Many things are said, most of them in foolishness. What of it?”
“Nothing, perhaps; but perhaps everything – I can no longer tell in this land of destiny.” He paused, and, drawing his sword, “Do not return evil for evil, but with goodness. The guilt is upon me, if we are wrong, and I cannot say that I am fearless in its face.”
His own face fell. Its innocence was lost. Alfonzo had climbed the mountain of rebellion; and now, on the precipice, he was condemned. Yet still he cried out, “Charge!”
Chapter 85
With Oren Lorenzo at his side and fifteen hundred rebel soldiers at his heels, Alfonzo led the charge toward the enemy. The latter did not rush to meet them, but took their position and made ranks. Some held spears without swords, others swords without spears, and still others had neither – for in the flames much of their equipage had been thrown aside. They were veteran soldiers, however, and possessed the carriage and control of such.
The two forces met as a wave upon the shore. Alfonzo’s face was drawn, as was his sword, and he held both
