Here Shines the Sun (54 page)

Nuriel fixed Karinael with molten, golden eyes. Her lips furled into a snarl. She flourished her claymore.

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“I know slaves ain’t the brightest, but boy, you’ve gone mad.” said Grandon. “To win this we have to face them in the streets. Let the archers on the wall take out what they can. Whittle their numbers until they can get through this wall. Let them come for us in the streets where their numbers mean nothing.”

Rook’s grip tightened on his reins.

Callad leaned into Rook from his horse, placing a large paw on his shoulder and whispering into his ear. “Pay him no mind, son. You’ve gotten us all this far. You know what you’re doing.”

Rook grumbled something about Grandon wearing on him. Then he shouted, “Open the gate!” Behind him, Blake’s steed clomped nervously. At his other side, Saint Ertrael sat tall and still upon his.

The steel portcullis began to squeal as it came to life, rising up before Rook.

“Don’t be a fool, boy.” growled Grandon. “Those are hardened knights out there. They won’t fall for your cheap speeches.”

Rook tugged the reins of his horse and wheeled it around to face Grandon. All of the other soldiers had a crudely painted version of Rook’s mark on their armor, but not Grandon. The man stood in the middle of the road wearing the plate armor he had pilfered from a fallen knight and painted black. Over his shoulders protruded the four handles of his swords and all down his legs were daggers. “If I planned to fight them all, you would be right about facing them in the streets.” said Rook. “Let me worry about my job, and you about yours. If the fighting should make its way past these walls, then the streets are yours to command.”

Grandon scowled. When he spoke, he spoke loudly for all to hear. “The fighting will come past these walls, boy. There’s no sense in you leading three-hundred of my soldiers to their deaths. We need them here. We should pick off all we can with the archers right now.”

“Do not lead any attacks outside this wall unless I order it.” said Rook.

Grandon huffed. “I don’t take orders from a slave.”

“You’d do well to heed him,” said Ertrael coolly from his horse, not bothering to turn around. “The alternative is to take orders from me.”

Rook held Grandon with his gaze for a moment and then wheeled his horse back around. He led the way out the gate, Ertrael and Callad just behind him at either side. Blake came behind, followed by the marching of three-hundred staunch soldiers who had not so much as given pause to Grandon’s protests when Blake had asked for volunteers.

The warm, fiery light of a summer evening cast the green valley in a golden light as Rook led his men out onto the grassy field. Ahead, the King stood before his legions upon his powerful, white horse, his daughters upon theirs at either side of him. Behind the King sat his two golden-haired Saints upon black chargers, both carrying the banner of Narbereth. Even from this distance Rook could see that their molten eyes were focused on Ertrael. One of them leaned into the King and spoke something, but the King shook his head, then waved his hand.

A knight with a long, yellow cape and a helmet crested with gold came forward on a brown horse. The King spoke something to him.

“The King won’t let Cabiel or Loganiel come forward.” said Ertrael as Rook continued leading the men toward the army. “He must be afraid of what I might tell them. He must know the reason I have not been recalled.”

The knight took a flag from Saint Cabiel and galloped out to meet Rook, who stopped his men about a hundred yards out from the King and his army. The knight brought his horse to a halt just feet from Rook and planted the flag into the ground beside him. At his waist he carried a long sword in an elaborately decorated scabbard, and around his shoulder was strapped a gold-plated bolt-thrower. His yellow cape flapped lazily with the wind as his dark eyes turned to Rook. “I am Sir Rivenal, a general of this army and authorized to speak on our Exalted King’s behalf. The King orders that you and all the rebels surrender your arms at once.” said the knight. “If you do, you are promised a swift execution and all women and children within the city’s walls shall be spared. Refuse, and we shall reduce this city to burning rubble, sparing no one.”

Rook reached behind him and grabbed the megaphone from Blake. It was a large, heavy cone made of bronze and he put it to his lips as the knight paced his horse back a few steps. “I am Rook Gatimarian.” Rook’s voice echoed through the valley. “And I speak for all those with me, and all those within this city. We declare ourselves free men! We hold ourselves sovereign from the tyranny that enslaves us all! No longer will our daughters suffer mutilation! No longer will men be branded as slaves! At my side rides Saint Ertrael, and within our walls are even more Saints. They fight for us! They fight for themselves! People of Narbereth, hear my words: Today, men and Saints stand not against you, but in defiance of tyranny! And I urge you to stand with us! Together we are many and they are few. You are held by no more than glass chains! Break them and free yourselves!”

Rook drew forth Starbreaker and ignited it. Sir Rivenal eyed him nervously and paced his horse back another step. The blade thrummed through the air as Rook cut down the flag of Narbereth that Rivenal had planted. “Knights of Narbereth! Saints of the King! Stand with us this day, for here there can be a better dawn and not another long night! People of Narbereth, here shines the sun!”

The three-hundred soldiers behind Rook all raised their swords and roared out, “Here shines the sun! Here shines the sun! Here shines the sun!” Then, from behind the city walls the voices of some two-thousand more men and women joined the chant and it thundered through the valley.

Ahead, the King’s face twisted in anger as purple shadows dusted his form. His horse became a large, plain mule beneath him; the field around him all weeds and crabgrass. The armor and swords of the soldiers in his presence dulled into cheap iron.

Sir Rivenal looked at Rook and swallowed hard. He began to turn his horse around but Rook moved his forward and grabbed the man by the shoulder. “Join us,” urged Rook over the chanting, extending his hand to the knight. “Join us! Join your own people! Live and die of your own, free will, and not because that monster and his daughters tell you to!”

The knight regarded Rook for a moment. “I am a noble. I serve my King.”

“Tell me,” said Rook. “Do you serve him because you love him or fear him? Do you not love your own people? Should you not serve them?”

Rivenal hesitated. “I… I have a wife and children back home. If I join you, my wife, my daughters will be…”

“Give them a new dawn!” said Rook. “Have your titles saved your wife and daughters from mutilation? Join the King today and it is you who cuts the nose from your own granddaughters!”

Sir Rivenal turned and looked behind him. The King and his mule seemed larger and more terrible than they had been. “All who fail me today shall die!” roared the King, his face a cruel mask shadowed in purple light, his voice less regal and more lumbering. “I shall see this city razed and burned! I shall crush women and children between my hands so that not a whisper of defiance shall remain to haunt me!” The King now barked orders to his Saints and they spun their horses around and began shouting their commands to the army. Sir Rivenal looked back at Rook, soldiers behind him all chanting, “Here shines the sun!” as if the King’s presence meant nothing to them.

“Death is not the worst fate.” said Rook. “Look at your King and tell me that living in his shadow is better than death. Join us! Join us, Sir Rivenal! Join us for your wife and daughters! Join us for your grandchildren! Join us because you want something better for them!”

Rivenal licked his lips nervously and swallowed hard. He nodded and brought his horse around beside Rook’s.

“Here shines the sun!” roared Rook into the megaphone. He looked at the knight and slapped him on the shoulder. “Here shines the sun!”

Sir Rivenal’s voice was uncertain, but he added it to the chanting nonetheless.

Ertrael grabbed the megaphone from Rook. He raised his star-metal sword above his head and brought his horse a few steps forward, rearing up on it. “Saint Cabiel! Saint Loganiel! Join me, my brothers! Sanctuary holds no sway over us any longer! You have but to strike down your captors and you are free! Look at me and see that I stand against the King and yet cannot be recalled! Free yourselves!”

Cabiel and Loganiel hesitated. They looked at each other. The King wheeled his horse around and began shouting at them. Even in the King’s angry presence their Star-Armor still shown black and glassy, but their leather bodysuits looked like cheap, white textile.

Rook watched in anticipation as the Saints raised their swords, backing their horses slightly from the King. The King seemed confused by the Saints’ hesitation. He spun around to his army and bellowed at them to attack, but the frightened ranks only seemed to shrink away from him as their shining armor faded into brittle iron. The Sisters shrieked in anger. They moved in on the Saints, transforming into the spindly hags they truly were.

And then the Saints struck. They pushed their horses into the Sisters. Taloned fingers raised, slashing Cabiel across the cheek. The Saint caught her arm and brought his sword around, cleaving her head from her shoulders. The other Sister climbed like a spider from her horse onto Loganiel. He slashed at her with his sword and it sparked off her long talons. Her hands raised to slice him again, but then Cabiel’s sword whipped around, her body sliding apart at the chest.

The King flung his steed around, his face twisted in horror and disbelief. He let loose an abominable roar and he and the mule he was on became monstrous giants, twenty-feet tall. Behind him the army descended into chaos. Men shouted and screamed. Some started to run off. The Saints looked at the King and backed their horses away.

Rook dug his heels into his horse and charged forward, Starbreaker humming its deadly tune in his hand. “Attack! Attack! People of Narbereth, free yourselves!” screamed Rook, coming up on the King quickly. Behind him, he could hear the beating hooves of Blake, Callad and Ertrael.

The terrible King fixed Rook with his eyes. The King took his sword from its scabbard, and it was a cruel, cold length of iron. With a shout the King charged forward on his colossal mule, hot breath smoking from its nostrils. Rook heard Callad scream at him from behind—something about how he was going to get himself killed—but Rook already knew he didn’t stand a chance against the King in a head-on charge. He was but a dwarf to that giant. Still, he thought he had one chance, though he wasn’t sure what was going to happen once he was within the King’s aura of influence. He just hoped Starbreaker would hold up.

Rook raised his sword as he looked down the tip of the King’s massive blade. The King let loose a monstrous discord that was something of a battle cry, something of a laugh. And then Rook leapt from his horse.

Rook hit the ground rolling as the King’s blade impaled its way through his galloping stallion, shearing it in half. Rook’s vision was a spinning disarray of grass and sky and blood as he rolled. He felt the King’s aura on him; felt his leather armor turn to threadbare rags and felt the grass beneath him turn to weeds. But Starbreaker still thrummed, the power crystal within it granting it immunity from whatever corrupting influence the King exuded.

Rook tumbled up to his feet, whirling the resonating blade around. As the mule’s body passed over him he felt a slight give each time Starbreaker melted through tissue and bone. One of the creature’s hind legs hit him in the side and Rook felt the breath knocked from his lungs as he was cast to the ground. In that same instant the mule toppled, screaming as its body skidded and tumbled across the field, all but its one hind leg severed. The King was thrown and the earth shook as he hit.

Rook scrambled to his feet. To his horror he saw the gargantuan mule writhing on the field, its one remaining leg scraping up trenches as it pushed its way toward Callad, Blake and Ertrael. Yellow teeth snapped at them from a mouth large enough to consume each of them in turn. Then an eerie shadow fell over Rook. The King towered over him, his face a mask of twisted anger darkened in a terrifying, purple light. His royal robes were but burlap now, tattered and torn as they stretched across his muscular shoulders and arms. His distended belly was bare and as bald as his thick, round head. The sword he once carried was now a club hewn from the very trunk of some ancient tree. He was an ogre; a brutish King whose crown was but tin.

The ogre snarled, drool pouring out from tusk-like teeth. Round, white eyes stared wildly and then fixed on Rook. With a volcanic cry the ogre whipped his giant, wooden club around and Rook leapt back just as it smashed down into the earth where he had been standing.

Dirt and stone were thrown up from the crater but Rook let it wash over him as he danced in, his sword buzzing. The ogre brought his club back around and Rook’s sword met it. Gold sparks flew and he was pelted by sharp splinters that easily cut their way through the cheap rags he wore in the King’s presence. For a brief moment Rook could see that the King’s club had a crude bite taken from it, but was otherwise untouched. The giant brute swept his club again and Rook raised his left forearm.

The energy disc burst to life in an explosion of yellow electricity and ozone. The impact was so powerful that it knocked his arm right into his face and he went sailing across the field. He hit the earth hard and rolled onto his back, skidding across the grass.

Slightly dazed, Rook shook his head as he got to his feet. Behind him, the King’s army was in shambled ranks, none of them daring to move forward and get caught up with the monstrous ogre. Ahead, Rook’s soldiers, along with Callad, Blake and Ertrael, fought against the giant mule, its head thrashing wildly at them, its hind leg churning up the field as it tried to push itself toward them. Callad came in at it, his sword out as his stallion charged. The creature turned its neck just in time for Callad’s sword to strike its black nose. The mule squealed and a hot puff of breath washed over Callad as he drove his sword at it again.