The King's Blood (64 page)

An exhausted wrist leaned against a long dead tree, which creaked under the General's weight. He froze, watching the girls who didn't seem to notice the fresh sounds out of the forest. But still he felt it, that innate cloying fear of being watched that kept so many prey alive. He shielded his own eyes against the sun to stare out into the undulating hills at a woman leaning down and staring back at him.
 

She rose rickety, and his eyes spotted the small shine of silver around his exposed wrist. Marciano cursed at himself when a scream broke across the fields. The two girls turned their heads about, as if dragons were about to swoop out of the sky yet only fluffy clouds answered back. But that bending woman knew what was up, and she waved her kerchief about shouting something in the Ostero tongue.

"Fuck!" Marciano cursed and whistled low, calling to Peter and his men who swarmed like determined squirrels out of the trees. Mounting himself quickly, he unsheathed his sword and gave his quickest battle speech, "The bastards have routed us. Attack!"

The General spurred Peter on into a gallop, blazing past the girls who'd dropped their basket and were running towards the sound of the scream. At first Marciano was as well, but something turned his eye, the flash of red from both the bending woman's hair as well as her kerchief as she raced towards the gates. His heels dug deep into Peter's side and he chased after the woman.

Behind him his men burst free from the greenwood, their armor slowing them as they tried to overtake the girls. Killing the servants hadn't been part of the plan, confusing the enemy into the direction of the attack was. But watching their own get slaughtered on that beach by these kin whetted the rage bubbling inside every soldier. Marciano shifted his sword to his left hand, drawing closer to the red haired woman. He had no intention of killing her, unless necessary. She was in better shape than the aged General was, but no man or woman could outrun a horse. Peter churned up the wet ground, slipping under his footing, but shattered the distance between the two.

She only looked back once, a face frozen not in terror but rage. A rage she was using to try and outrun a warhorse. The gates were mere feet from her, but Marciano knew he could catch her before she found safety in the walls. He shifted the reins to his sword arm and dropped his other hand, intending to either knock her down or scoop her up as a bargaining chip or informant.
 

The woman didn't look up or back, just kept running even as the smell of sweat and horse overpowered her gasping breath. As Marciano's hand was about to clasp around her dress an arrow buzzed millimeters above his arm.
 

The shock was enough to throw the General off as he subconsciously pulled back on the reins to get out of range and the woman escaped, dashing behind the palomino horse of a man blacker than Empire armor. His eyes glowed with indignation as he raised the bow once more and took aim. Marciano yanked Peter hard to the right, but the arrow wasn't meant for him. Instead, it stuck deep into the armpit of his man as he was about to cut down one of the girls. The black man dropped his bow and unsheathed his own sword before calling out. Behind him poured ten mounted knights, most still trying to adjust their armor pieces as if they got dressed in a hurry.
 

"Fall back!" Marciano shouted, trying to get his men's attention, but they were scattered and divided, chasing and slaughtering the servants who'd been easy pickings.

He raced towards the men, calling out his codewords to try and break them from their own blood haze. "Assemble!" he knocked his sword against one's shield and then swatted another in the backside. They looked at their General and sat bolt upright before falling into position. A few others turned at the commotion and followed suit.

Only the priests, trained in the art of killing-by-proxy failed to heed the General's orders. They were chasing about like dogs let off their lead, one so far gone he dashed right in front of the General's horse. Peter barely paused as the holy man squished beneath iron hooves. But the men started to round about, lining up to form a wall against the enemy's forces. Marciano used a three-point turn to spin Peter about, and came face to face with what had to be the Lord of the Tower. He had a feather that would look outlandish in most of the court lady's wigs peacocking from his helmet. An embellished "A" graced the shield tucked safely at his side, but gave no other hints. Someone important enough people should already know who he was.
 

"Why have you come?" he called out in Ostero.

Marciano had a passing grasp of the opening ceremonies, never bothering to learn the local garbled tongue, only pointing in vague directions and grunting until the battle commenced. He pointed his sword skyward and said, "Tower of Ashar."

The Lord chuckled as if he told an amusing anecdote. Even the knights pulling up beside him laughed as if they were all about to enjoy a round of fox hunting. Marciano didn't risk a look behind him, but he felt the confused glances about his men. The General never told a joke.
 

"What makes you think she is yours?" The Lord probably responded with. Though Marciano was thrown off by the gauntlet fists trying to cover escaping giggles.

Not wanting to garble and risk the most humiliating triumph by killing his enemy with laughter, Marciano pointed to his chest and the symbol of the Empire. Normally this was when the enemy would either square off, shout something intelligible while wrenching their shirt off to reveal a very blue torso beneath, or quake in fear and sign over all their territories and their mothers just to be sure. Instead, the knights howled with laughter. Some slapping their horse's withers in entertainment, which caused the animals to whinny along with their masters. Even the Lord had trouble trying to swallow a wide grin.

Marciano dropped his head into his hand to massage his temples. He wasn't paid enough for this. That's when he spotted a lone horse moving to the west. At first, he thought one of his own men had disobeyed his orders when he glanced at the white faces of each knight. The black one was missing.

As the General sat upright, every Ostero Knight shifted, the laughter falling as quickly as it began. Marciano waved his sword as if he were about to curse the grounds upon which the knights walked before pointing it towards the black knight trying to herd the surviving servants back to the gates. "Kill them," he cried, releasing his men.

But the Ostero man had been predicting this, and a handful of arrows were drawn and aimed before the Empire could take a step, bounced off the invading armor. One found its purchase through the helmet's gap, the rider tumbling off his horse's perch. The animal, released from its tightened grip, broke free and ran mad through first the Empire's line and then the Osteros. The men were scattered, some falling off their own horses in the congestion and confusion.

Marciano; however, spotted a very dark shadow rounding on the bald-head of the Emperor. He dodged the hastily swung sword of the Lord and spurred Peter into a gallop, chasing after the Black Knight. The man kept racing his horse between the fleeing servants, who were clutching onto each other and crying, and the few priests who'd managed to hang onto their slender lives. He'd try and block their poorly aimed arrows as best he could and threaten to trample any that dared get close, but never went in for the kill.
 

Still, Marciano could see a bad situation growing into a monumental disaster if the Emperor did something foolish, which was his Lord's entire reason for being. His fingers tightened around his still notched sword, a fact he kept forgetting to remedy, as he closed the gap between himself and the Black Knight.

The man inched his horde closer to the gate, they were nearly at the start of the stone walls, when he finally locked eyes with Marciano.
A bold man to wear no helmet into battle
, they each thought of the other as they weighed their options.
 

A sword shaped like the crescent moon appeared in the Black Knight's hand, a permanent red sheen to the blade. Marciano'd only ever seen such things in bazaars in Avari, stacked high with ancient weaponry pulled from forgotten graves. No man ever figured out how to wield one without cutting his own backside. But the glint in the Black Knight's eye warned him otherwise.

Squaring off as if he were about to enter a joust, Marciano shifted, trying to drag his sword arm back. The Black Knight smiled and followed suit, two men running head on into each other, only the quickness of their reflexes the deciding factor. All of the battle drifted away as the General slowed his breath, his eyes on the overdrawn blade of the opponent's sword. It raised itself high, preparing for an attack. Just as they were about to meet, the General took advantage of his taller horse and swung first, only to bounce off the Black Knight's shield.
 

He'd tied his reins to the saddle horn and quickly used the free hand to block the General's blow. As Marciano reeled, the Black Knight brought his blade down deep into Peter's side. The horse screamed as the man rode on, circling back around his charges. Marciano screamed out, summoning the power of every order he'd ever given, every out of control soldier he'd talked down, every slammed teenage door he'd kicked down, and pulled Peter to a stop. Before the horse had a chance to realize what was going on, the General jumped off, the bow already in his hands.

The Black Knight circled back around the servants as they filtered into the gate, trying to hurry the last few as they called back to the battle raging on their front lawn. An impossible shot; the man was well enough armored, and prancing about wildly, but Marciano let the rage bubbling under his skin aim for him.

He drew back the arrow and followed the Black Knight, his movements erratic, when suddenly the man stopped, turning to look at his master. Marciano released before his mind registered what happened. The arrow cut over the lines of the battlefield and stuck deep into the folds of the Black Knight's thigh. A curse far more foreign than anything the Osteros could cobble together broke across the battlefield.

But the man wouldn't fall, instead the Black Knight grabbed the ends of the arrow and snapped the shaft off so it wouldn't pull in the breeze. Another cry came from the Ostero Lord and the Black Knight spurred his horse to his master's side.
 

The Ostero Knights began to break free from their attack, falling back towards the gate. Marciano cried to his men, racing towards them on foot, "Press them! Press them harder!"

His beleaguered men gave it their all, but wherever they tried to cut around the Osteros, the Black Knight was there, his curved sword breaking wrists and shattering weapons. He culled through the enemy's lines to his Lord and drove his sword right through the neck of Marciano's soldier. The Lord didn't say anything to the Black Knight, only turned his horse and ran for it.

Still the injured Black Knight, a dribble of blood following his every step, circled around the Ostero Knights, not giving up until each was free before turning behind to follow. First, a handful of the Ostero archers made it through the gate, then the injured and shaken knights. As the Lord broke through he shouted out an order that even Marciano could understand, "Close the gate!"
 

"Press!" The General ordered, but his men hesitated, afraid of the black demon who'd diced through them.
 

A grinding of the portcullis gears reverberated around the battlefield and the metal door crashed to the earth right before the cutoff face of the Black Knight. He kicked his heels into his horse, trying to get her to stop before she rammed into the immovable door. His horse appeared as wise as her master and she spun quickly, turning to face an army of twenty or more very angry soldiers.
 

He raised his sword and cried out. But Marciano, limping slightly as he chased up to the gate, cried out, "No one move!"

His soldiers froze, their eyes following their grounded General as his jogging slowed to a steady walk. The Black Man eyed Marciano, not letting his arm waiver. The General tried to fight through the catch in his breath from the run and commanded in his diplomatic tone, "We finish this like gentlemen."

Either the Black Knight could speak avari or deduced as much of battle etiquette as Marciano, for he slipped off his horse, only glancing back briefly at the red headed woman whose venom spewed at the Lord. When that didn't have the affect she wanted, she took to beating the man with her balled fists. The Lord took it without saying a word, silently watching his Black Knight prepare for a duel.

Marciano walked into the circle, his own sword lifted. One of his knights tossed him a shield, and he fitted it over his arm. The Black Knight bowed lightly before charging at the General. He'd been expecting it and dug his legs in, putting his force into the shield.
 

As the Black Knight bounced against it, he rolled to the side and spun down, the end of his sword slicing along Marciano's shield arm. "Ah!" the General cried, but didn't drop his shield, already expecting the second attack as the Black Knight cut back.
 

The two broke apart, Marciano trying to take stock of his wound without looking at it, the Black Knight still limping from the arrow in his thigh. Slowly the general looked up and smiled, "My turn," and he ran straight at the Black Knight, who flipped his shield up in time.

Marciano took the shattering blow to his own shield and rolled, trying to find an open spot on the Black Knight but the man was quicker than he looked. He'd already curled away from the slash of Avari steel, it only tasted a bit of leather strap.

The General staggered back. "Sir," one of his men whispered to him, "we can finish the job for you."

"No!" Marciano ordered.
There was a good chance I won't survive this fight,
he thought as he watched the Black Knight rolling back his shoulders,
but it would be a satisfying death.

The Black Knight screamed again, running at the General. Again, Marciano blocked with his shield, this time raising it up to meet the descending sword. The blade bit through hard wood and then stuck fast. With as much strength as remained in the General's arms he wrenched the weapon free of the Knight's hands and tossed it and his only shield away.