Chapter 8: King and Cadet

The afternoon had been busy for Lamas. Distributing the available soldiers, cadets and guardsmen to cover the most vulnerable parts of their defences had taken him hours. Fortunately, Ronan with his vast experience had helped, and the King had taken command of the main gate in person.

Now Lamas tried to pierce the darkness with his eyes. He had heard the clinking of steel on steel repeatedly and shadowy figures had run along the walls of Tanitsar. The traitors, if they were out there, were careful not to show any lights. Neither did the defenders give away their positions. The twenty guardsmen and twelve cadets that manned the Northern gate sat huddled together, trying to keep warm without the benefit of a fire.

At the Main Gate, King Odar kept his vigil. Although he began to feel his age at fifty-eight, he was still a strong and active man, and he looked impressive in the gleaming steel armour. He saw the awe-struck looks from the thirty cadets who reinforced the half-column of guardsmen under his command. Among them were two girls, young women really, one of them Ronan's own daughter.

Odar watched her idly in the weak light. She had grown up for sure since that evening when Ronan had brought her to the Palace. He seemed to remember that Macro had told him about her passing ritual, when Ronan had declared her his offspring and he hoped fervently that she, like the other young cadets, would live through this night.

It was getting close to dawn when a whistle sounded from below the gate, urgent and demanding, followed by a curse.

"Damn those mercenaries! We have to chance it. Move, you men, bring the ladders!"

Odar looked around. The guardsmen and the cadets rose slowly and silently and took position at the wall. A lantern was opened to shine a light to the street below. Another light answered. The second half-column of the Guards was alerted. Satisfied that all he could do now was fight, Odar silently picked up his unsheathed sword. He was ready. Already, things were turning to their advantage. The rebels had wasted hours waiting for the traitors and the mercenaries to open the gates from within, and Odar expected Macro with his re-enforcements any minute now.

Scraping noises from outside told the defenders that ladders were lain against the walls. In fact, Odar could see the tops of four or five ladders against the dark sky behind the battlements. The tops swayed as men were climbing up. Then the first head appeared above the battlements. As soon as the man gained a foothold on the wall, Odar cleaved his helmet with a mighty blow of his sword. He yanked the blade free and kicked the man back over the battlement. Another two men appeared and were quickly dispatched by the guardsmen.

"We're discovered!" somebody yelled outside.

Above the ensuing tumult, Odar heard the stentorian voice of old Botho of Clonal.

"Scale the wall, scale the wall! Up there! It's only three or four guards on those gates."

More men appeared over the battlements, and the engagement grew heated. On Odar's orders, the defenders kept a distance from the wall. There was the temptation to tilt the ladders, but that would expose them to the enemy archers who would doubtlessly scan the walls from below for the silhouettes of defenders.

With just seven or eight ladders, no more than eight men could scale at a time, not enough to pose a danger to the guardsmen and cadets; the latter just watching the struggle.

Suddenly, from their left, a group of over twenty attackers came running out of the darkness to attack their flank. They must have scaled the walls at another point. Two guardsmen were caught unaware and struck down before the defenders could confront the new attackers. Odar was in the front, wielding his razor-sharp sword with all the dexterity of a born fighter. More men came running from the left. Subconsciously, he became aware of a high-pitched voice giving commands.

It was hard work, but slowly the defenders gained the upper hand. The cadets had joined into the fray and helped to push the attackers back. More than half of the attackers were already down and Odar had just engaged his next enemy when, from the corner of his eye, he saw movement to his right. A huge old man wielding a battle axe rushed him, his mouth wide open.

"Die, Usurper!"

It was old Botho. Odar saw him but he was unable to turn to defend himself against the charge because the other enemy was still pressing him. Suddenly, young Anais stood between him and the rushing Botho, brandishing her javelin.

"Whelp of a foreign bitch, take this!" Botho screamed, his axe arching down at the girl's head.

The slender girl was too fast for the old warrior. With catlike agility, she glided to the left and evaded the axe, and when Botho was pulled forward by the momentum of his own blow, Anais dropped her javelin. In one fluid movement, as she had practised untold times, she unsheathed her sword, Macro's gift, and struck at the man's neck with all her speed. Momentum and the quality of the fine Nipom blade won over Botho's armour, and the sword severed his spine.

At the same time, Odar finished his opponent and he could take a look around. Firebrands had been lit. In their flicker he saw that a group of guardsmen were fighting off the last scalers and apart from that, there was no immediate danger. Three of his guards lay dead, two were wounded, but well over thirty attackers were dead too.

Odar inspected his old adversary Botho. There was no question as to his fate. Anais' sword had all but severed Botho's head from his neck. Odar looked up at the girl.

"A fine blow, Cadet, by the Gods! And right in time to save my own neck! Anais, daughter of Ronan, your service will not be forgotten. Did you lead the cadets into the fight?"

The girl nodded. "I beg your pardon, my King. It was not my station to do so."

"But it was the right thing to do! You have added honour to your father's name tonight. Now rest, all of you, and let us wait what the enemy is up to. With their leader dead I suppose there will be some confusion," he ended with a grim chuckle.

Odar watched Anais as she joined the ranks of the cadets again. What a cool-headed and brave girl! Odar was torn from his reverie by a messenger.

"My King! Compliments from the Prince Lamas. There was an attempt to scale the Northern Gate, but it was repelled with no loss of men on our side."

"Excellent! Tell the Prince we had to repel the enemy too. Tell him that the traitor Botho, Noble of Clonal, met his fate at the hand of Anais, Ronan's daughter."

The messenger ran off again. Odar sat on a stone bench to rest. He withstood the temptation to take off his helmet but he quaffed two large cups of water. There was another hour to dawn he guessed. He was curious how the insurgents would react to the death of their de facto leader, Botho. The nominal pretender, Elbar, had no military credentials.

For the next hour, Odar engaged in the difficult art of resting without getting sleepy. His old body ached for the comfort of a bed, but there was no way he would turn in with the insurgents literally before the gates.

Dawn was already breaking when Ronan made his appearance. He came under the guise of making his report in person, but his eyes searched anxiously for his daughter. The news that the young cadet had slain Botho of Clonal in hand-to-hand combat must have spread over the town already, and Ronan was suitably proud of his offspring. Odar excused him after just a few words after praising the girl once more. Ronan spent only a few moments speaking to his daughter, but obviously a lot was conveyed.

When the grey of dawn replaced the solid black of the moonless night, Odar stood and glanced quickly over the battlements, wary of showing himself for more than a few scant moments. The insurgents were still in place and there was bustling activity in what constituted a hastily erected camp. With grim satisfaction, Odar saw that they had not brought any siege equipment other than the handful of ladders that had proven so ineffective in the night. They must have relied on the mercenaries to open the gates from within.

Odar wondered if and when Macro could arrive with the reinforcements. It would be neat to catch the Nobles with the fortifications in their back. If Macro could bring the Lancers and the Archers, those two-thousand men would tilt the balance. Odar's only worry was the lack of a regular cavalry. That was his own mistake. He had allowed the Nobles to form the cavalry of Tanitsar, and now that cavalry was part of the rebellion.

The sounds of men getting to their feet made Odar look down from the wall and into the street. Two carts had appeared, and Odar recognised some of his own household servants. They had brought food. The question who had thought of that was answered when Odar saw Regula and Javila among the guardsmen, handing out bread and hot tea. He smiled at the sight.

The two queens appeared on the rampart over the gate a few minutes later, three servants with baskets in tow. Regula gasped when she saw Botho's almost headless body, perched against a battlement. She was related to him, a few times removed. Javila put her hand on Regula's shoulder.

"Better fallen in battle than hanged as a traitor," she said calmly.

Regula nodded. "He was a brave man, but he could not accept the change of times." She turned to Odar. "May I have him prepared for burial, Odar?"

Odar nodded. Botho had been a pain in the neck, but he had been an upright and brave opponent. No need to exact petty revenge beyond death.

Regula regarded Anais who was putting away a meat-filled bread loaf like a half-starved wolf.

"The irony! He always ridiculed the girls at the Academy. Now he died by a girl's hand."

"He was arrogant. He did not acknowledge her as opponent, and he paid the price," Odar smiled. "Having four wives taught me to regard women as worthy opponents."

Javila laughed brightly. "Look at him. One night on the ramparts, and he gets as cocky as a young troop leader."

"Watch out!" one of the sentries cried. "Archers!"

With his deeply ingrained presence of mind, Odar wrapped his big arms around his two wives and pressed them down, covering them both with his bulk. The swarm of arrows that came flying over the battlements found no upright targets. Most arrows bounced harmlessly against the walls of the houses next to the ramparts.

The guardsmen of the Queens' detail came running to bring their charges to safety before the next shower of arrows came flying.

"Keep a good lookout!" Odar yelled. "They may try something while we hunker down."

But nothing further of note happened, and after the fourth volley, the enemy archers stopped their ineffective attack. Then the lookout saw something else.

"My King! New troops arrive behind the traitors!"

In a flash, Odar was up. He thanked fate that his eyes were still good for seeing at a distance. Two large bodies of men were approaching. A grin spread over Odar's face. He could make out a forest of lances with the left body of men. Macro had succeeded to bring experienced field troops to the relief, and the rebels were caught between those fresh units and the walls of Tanitsar.

The enemy must have noticed the approaching loyal soldiers, for Odar could see the Noble Horsemen mounting their chargers. With their gayly coloured mantles and plumes, they looked like the fabled knights of old. From the rampart, Odar could hear their hooray as they galloped off towards the slowly approaching foot soldiers.

Odar shook his head. Whoever commanded the cavalry was a fool and knew nothing of tactics. With barely two-hundred horsemen against a thousand trained lancers, there could be no question about the outcome. As the riders charged uphill against Macro's troops, Odar saw how the Lancers formed three staggered lines and planted their lances. Behind them, the Archers positioned themselves in four lines.