In good weather, even a large group of civilians could keep apace of pursuing cavalry, especially when you were on a good road.
“Absolutely not!” Timur hissed.
Frances closed her eyes and let out a deep sigh. “We don’t have a choice.”
“You nearly died to my father already! And my mother explicitly said that you are not to tax your magic.” Gripping his hair, the prince paced back and forth across the width of Anriel and Dwynalina’s cosy house. “You don’t have to do this, Frances.”
Dayren groaned. “She’s the best combat mage we have. The only combat mage we have. There’s nobody else.”
“No, you could stay behind,” said Dwynalina, her airy tone making Dayren pale. “Lady Stormcaller just happens to be the obvious choice and has the best chance of survival. In any case, the decision should be hers. Anybody who volunteers to stay behind should do so of their own volition.”
Aloudin frowned and crossed his burly arms. “I could have sworn you were the one who implied Lady Stormcaller should stay behind.”
“She did, Captain but we have no intention of forcing her.” Anriel glanced at the water clock on the wall and grimaced. “Pardon me, I need to get back to the cave system. Need to lead the foremost of our Thornspear villagers to the next staging area.”
“Staging area?” the blacksmith Blazey asked.
The elderly half-goblin ranger grinned. “Yup. We’re in luck. The original builders of the tunnel hacked a number of rest spots into the route. That and it appears some of these rest spots were designed as ventilation. Very complicated story for another time so hurry up and make a decision because we got work to do.”
With that, the ranger walked out of the house at a speed that belied her short height. Frances breathed out and faced Dwynalina.
“Can you give us a moment?” she asked. “We do appreciate everything you’ve done for us, and for convincing the Thornspear villagers to help us. This news is just hard to accept.”
“Dearie, I’m sorry I had to put this on your shoulders,” said Dwynalina, a sorrowful smile on her face. She gently reached out and took Frances’s hand. “I wish I could deliver a different message—”
“But we can’t change the facts,” said Frances, her voice quiet.
Dwynalina nodded and faced Timur. “And as for the villagers, they didn’t need convincing.”
Timur blinked. “They didn’t?”
“They know you saved their livelihoods, Your Highness. Most nobles, including your father, would have left them—left us—to rebuild without aid in the rubble of that landslide. You made sure that didn’t happen.” Letting go of Frances’s hand, Dwynalina gave Timur a short bow and left.
Leaving him facing Frances, onlookers watching the pair silently.
“Timur, let’s talk outside,” said Frances.
“Alright. Aloudin, Olgakaren, Dayren, Blazey, explain the situation to the others and ask if there is anybody interested in volunteering,” said Timur.
With that, the pair left the house and stepped into Thornspear.
Although Frances wasn’t sure why two famous heroines had decided to settle in such a remote place, she suspected part of it was the vista surrounding the village.
Thornspear was nestled at the foot of two distinctive mountains. One was shaped like the saddle of a horse, the other was adorned with a rock that resembled a little like a languishing lion. The marble quarry that was the village’s main industry was cut into the saddle-shaped mountain. The lion side however was where Frances’s eyes were drawn. Apart from the terraced farmland and rock gardens that dotted the slope was a large cemetery.
Frances glanced around the village and ran straight for it, Timur hot on her heels.
“Frances, you can’t stay. You’ve barely recovered,” said Timur.
“I can’t just do nothing, Timur,” she said, not stopping in her sprint.
“We can bottle them up in the tunnel, Frances. We don’t really need a rearguard,” said Timur.
Ignoring the prince, Frances continued to thunder up the cobblestone path until she reached the cemetery’s snow-covered perimeter wall, which she leapt on to. Spinning around she took in the view of the village from the new angle.
The refugees were milling around mainly what was the village market square, the centre of the village. From where she stood, she could see Dwynalina ordering Aloudin, Dayren and the other refugees to line up behind a mass of Alavari slowly inching towards a cave mouth. To Frances’s relief, the Thornspear villagers, mostly goblins, ogres and the occasional harpy, were helping the exhausted Alavari. Whether it was by giving them warm drinks or extra clothing, the sight of such compassion warmed Frances’s heart.
The sight of the tunnel, though, quenched that feeling. It was indeed what Dywnlina had said, the tunnel was barely wide enough to fit a cart and just tall enough that a large horse could get under it. In fact, the one thing holding up the line were villagers and refugees all trying to help their animals into the tunnel. It wasn’t like they could abandon the animals either. They carried the supplies needed to make the week-long journey to the Greenway and through Kallistos.
Timur, now standing beside her, swallowed. “Alright I take that back, we do need a rearguard, but you can’t be in it!”
Frances looked up at her prince. “Timur, who else can fight like I can?”
His eyes closing, the trogre groaned, grabbing a fistful of his hair. “Then I’m coming with you.”
Frances swallowed. “No you can’t. Who else will lead the refugees then?”
“Anriel and Dwynalina—”
“Don’t have the connection that you have to the refugees. They’re not a Prince of Alavaria,” said Frances.
“What good am I as a prince? I can’t do anything but order people around and make mistakes!” Timur hissed. Frances blinked, watching her love’s wide-eyed look, and hearing his heavy breaths.
“What good am I, Frances, if I can’t protect you?” Timur asked, his voice quiet.
Frances reached up to caress his cheek. “Just because you can’t protect me this time, doesn’t mean I will stop loving you. You’re doing your best, trying to do what you think is right. That’s all I ever need you to do.”
Timur pressed her hand to his cheek, his other hand reaching out to touch her free hand. “So how do you not understand why I can’t just let you do this?”
“No. I do know why. You love me, and you don’t want me to be hurt. I’m so glad for that, but I won’t stand by and let people get hurt, and I know you wouldn’t either.”
“Then let me join you!” Timur exclaimed.
“And what about the refugees?” Frances asked, her eyes watching Timur’s expression freeze. “They need you and you know that.”
Timur crossed his arms, and paced back and forth, on top of the cemetery wall, his half-limp tail swishing for balance. It was an amusing sight, a little bit of levity in the grimness of their situation. If only Timur didn’t look so worried.
“Is there nothing we can do? You… you might not come back from this, Frances,” Timur said, taking her hand.
She had heard those words before. They sounded far weightier though, especially with the warmth of Timur’s touch on her.
“I know, and I want to come back to you too.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll just do what I can. I won’t go all out and hurt myself.”
“Do you promise? Even if you are forced to retreat early?” Timur asked.
Frances nodded and embraced her prince.
Because yes, she had to help, but she also had people who loved her, and who wanted her to live. She had to come back to them. Most of all, she had to return to the arms of the one she loved.
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The refugees, all a hundred-and-ninety-eight of them, were assembled behind the Thornspear villagers lining up to get into the tunnel. As Timur ran down to the village square, he saw the slow-moving line of villagers watching quietly.
He looked over to the village entrance. Frances was already speaking intently with Aloudin, planning the defense. Tearing his eyes away from his love, the prince took a deep breath.
“First, I’d like to thank the villagers of Thornspear for welcoming us to their village, for sharing their food with us, and for joining us on our journey,” said Timur.
There were a few mutters of assent from the villagers. The refugees however, all turned to thank the villagers profusely, evoking some surprise and no small degree of embarrassment.
“You know the situation. We have enemies on our tail and we need volunteers to form a rearguard to accompany Captain Aloudin and his squad. It’s a dangerous job and not everybody will survive, so there’s no shame in not volunteering. Everybody wants to live, but if you do so, you’ll have not only my thanks, but the thanks of those beside you, your neighbours and family members.”
The prince bit his lip. “I want to stay behind myself and be with my Mataia, but I have a responsibility to you all, and to those that any volunteer may leave behind. If you do want to volunteer though, you have my oath as a Prince of Alavaria that your loved ones will be taken care of and will make it safely out of Alavaria.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Taking a deep breath the prince drew himself taller. “Those who would like to volunteer, please step forward.”
Timur really had no expectations on how many Alavari were going to volunteer. He was just hoping some people would.
To his relief and his sorrow, about twenty refugees stepped forward, mostly adults with family who they’d hugged before leaving. About ten were mages, the others were non-magic.
What Timur didn’t expect was that another twenty or so villagers also stepped forward.
“Wait, but you don’t have to—”
“We kind of do,” said one of the harpies, ruffling her wings. “We have family too and they’re invading our home.”
Timur forced himself to smile. It wouldn’t be princely to look sad in front of the crowd.
“Thank you for your sacrifice,” he said, just managing to keep his voice level.
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“So what’s the plan?” Timur asked.
Fully armored for battle, Frances and Aloudin turned from where they were looking down the mountain. The orc captain even made a bow, but the prince waved him off.
“Aloudin, you’re my friend, one of the few that I have. You don’t have to bow,” he said quietly.
The orc captain grinned briefly before nodding. “Of course, Your Highness. As for the plan, our goal is to keep them at range while the evacuation takes place. Since we have the high ground and they have to come to us, we’re blocking the road and making it so that if they try to go up the slopes, they’ll face a barrage of arrow and mage fire. The villagers were also kind enough to set up some rock piles we can push over.”
Timur narrowed his eyes at the set up. Thornspear’s road turned right and cut down the side of the mountain, which made it a rather good defensive position. This road was now blocked by a ditch, followed by a log barricade twice Aloudin’s height. Walking to the edge of the road and beside one of the several rock piles set up by the villagers, the prince peered down.
The slope over the road’s edge wasn’t a sheer drop, or even that steep. There were snow-covered pine trees growing on the slope. Yet, the angle would be enough to make the approach difficult. Still…
“A wolf can climb this, though,” said Timur.
“Yes, but it’s what we got. We don’t want them to get into the village proper where they can fight us in melee range,” said Aloudin.
Frances stepped in beside Timur. “They also have combat mages and the height is probably our best defense against them.”
Nodding, Timur stepped back from the edge. “Alright, this makes sense. What’s your escape plan?”
“We retreat back to the tunnel mouth where Aloudin and I have asked Dayren, Blazey and one of the quarry masters from Thornspear to set up a rock fall that will seal the tunnel. First the villagers and refugees will go first with any wounded. Meanwhile, I’ll be conserving my magic so I can cover us with a large spell that will allow the last of us to retreat through and close the entrance.”
“What if you get overrun, though?” Timur asked. “The enemy could push past you.”
A knowing smile made its way to Frances’s features. “Ivy’s Sting and I have a few spells that will allow us to withdraw. Don’t worry, Timur. We only need to hold them off long enough for the refugees to get into the tunnel.”
Timur pursed his lips. “They could be on us in any minute and most of the refugees are still outside. You might have to hold this for an hour.”
“Yes, but you have to trust us, Timur. Trust me.” Frances reached out to hold her prince’s hands, rubbing her thumbs over his knuckles. “I promise I will come back and I will bring them back.”
Timur closed his eyes and grabbed his love in a tight hug. After stiffening for a moment, Frances relaxed, embracing her prince.
“I will, Mataia,” Timur whispered.
“Thank you, Timur,” said Frances.
Aloudin coughed. “Your Highness, Lady Stormcaller, they’re coming.”
Standing on her tiptoes, Frances planted a quick kiss on his lips and let her prince go. Timur, his heart heavy, walked backward, waving goodbye, before turning on his heels and running to the tunnel.
Frances waved him goodbye and turned to Aloudin, who was standing at the slope’s edge. “How many?”
“Looks like the fifty wolf riders you mentioned. They’ve stopped at the moment. I think they’re trying to figure out if they can get past the barricade,” said the orc.
Frances pulled out her spyglass and took a look. The path to Thornspear zig-zagged partly up the slope. The fifty wolf-riders were standing before the first bend in the path and so were looking up towards their observers. As they were so much closer, she could also see their grey flag and their emblem of a sword pointing downwards.
“Captain Aloudin, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take command for this one,” said Frances, stowing her spyglass.
“Please do milady,” said the orc. “Should we get everybody ready.”
“Yes. Bows and mages to the ledge!” Frances called out.
Refugees and villagers, most in only cloth gambeson, ran up to the edge of the slope, bows and magical devices at the ready. Meanwhile, Aloudin’s squad of ten were at the barricade including Epomonia, who was checking her pistols.
Frances took a sip from her flask when a thought occurred to her. “Captain, do you recognize that banner by the way?”
“No. It does seem familiar. I’m sure I saw it when I was a Royal Guard in Minairen, but I can’t recall it,” said Aloudin.
Pursing her lips, Frances quickly ran up to Epomonia.
“Epomonia, can you come over and look at the flag the goblins are carrying? Aloudin thinks he might have seen it at Minairen,” said Frances.
“And you want to see if I might have seen it there too? Good idea,” said Epomonia, trotting up to the edge of the slope. The centaur raised a hand to shield herself from the blinding winter sun and peered down. There she stood for a long moment, still as a statue.
“You recognize the flag,” said Frances.
“Yes, but that’s impossible,” she whispered. “He’s dead.”
Aloudin sprinted over. “Who’s dead?”
Epomonia turned to her captain, her face pale. “General Helias. That’s his personal flag! He doesn’t bring it out often, but I’ve seen it in his tent! But he’s dead!”
Frances felt an unnatural chill up her back. General Helias was the one who had ordered the Erlenberg Massacre, the one who’d forced Epomonia to kill innocents. She could remember now, the moment she’d heard the news, and a flash of searing fury twisted her lips into a snarl. Screwing her eyes shut, she shook her head, trying to regain her focus and composure.
“We always suspected he faked his death with King Thorgoth’s help,” Frances managed. She opened her eyes. “Epomonia, you say he’s always had a standard with a grey background? I thought that was reserved for royals.”
“Helias has royal blood, Frances. He’s the son of Thorgoth’s aunt Princess Marta Bortroll. Technically he’s a bastard but there were rumors that Thorgoth had secretly legitimized him,” said Aloudin. The orc captain gripped his wand tighter. “What did you mean when you said you always suspected he was alive? I heard he killed himself after the Siege of Erlenberg.”
“We always thought he faked his death because in the negotiations that took place after the siege, Erlenberg demanded he be handed over in exchange for the safe passage of General Antigones’s army. When we heard he killed himself instead, I and others, including Timur and Titania, found that rather convenient and suspicious.” Frances pinched the bridge of her nose. “He must have been laying low ever since Erlenberg, but now that the peace conference is well and truly sabotaged, Thorgoth must have thought there would be no consequence to him reappearing.”
“Epomonia, you said he was cruel and dangerous. What is his preferred strategy or tactic?” Aloudin asked.
“Helias doesn’t have a preference. He tries everything, including fear tactics. You should be most careful about his soldiers, though. We feared him more than the enemy,” said Epomonia.
“Then why did so many soldiers desert at Erlenberg?” Frances asked, frowning. “I think I remember one thousand of them left his army during our attack.”
“Good way to escape him,” Epomonia said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Nobody would know who was killed, captured or ran away. That and you caught us so flat footed we knew we were going to be killed if we stayed and fought.”
“Quiet. Do you see that?” Aloudin asked, pointing to the wolfrider party.
It was a small squad of horse-mounted Alavari riding up. Putting her spyglass back on her eye, Frances could see that they seemed to be made up of some trolls and ogres, an orc, and a centaur. As they dismounted, Frances frowned because the troll at the head had hooves and he also seemed to be the most richly dressed. His armor was engraved with gold decoration and he had a broadsword with a brilliant emerald pommel at his side.
The tauroll, half-troll half-centaur, was directed by his goblins to look up. She couldn’t quite make out the details of his face, even though his visor was opened, but as he started to give orders, Frances felt herself tensing.
“Epomonia, did Helias have a broadsword with an emerald pommell?”
“Yes. Oh no. He’s here, isn’t?” Epomonia whispered.
“I believe so and it looks like they’re withdrawing?” Frances frowned. The wolf riders and the Alavari were all pulling back. They continued down the path, until the second bend in the zigzag, until they were so far that even with her spyglass it was hard to see what they were doing. “Why are they withdrawing?”
“Their riders just got here. Helias must have wanted more time to rest his soldiers and get reinforcements before he attacks,” said Aloudin.
“But we’re escaping. More of us will escape if he doesn’t attack,” said Epomonia.
Frances stiffened. “He doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know about the tunnel. On any map, Thornspear looks like a highly defensible position, but it’s a dead end. He doesn’t realize we’re escaping.” She quickly looked back to the tunnel. “We have more time, let’s make the most of it.”
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The defenders didn’t have much time. About an hour later, one of Aloudin’s archers, Joa, called out that she saw movement. Frances, having been at the tunnel checking their preparations there, ran through the village.
As she tore past overturned carts and scree-filled barrels meant to serve as roadblocks for the final retreat, Frances skidded to a halt. She’d seen something or someone, hiding behind one of the houses. Drawing Ivy’s Sting, Frances marched toward the house and rounded the corner.
“Hattie? What are you doing—” Frances took in the young girl’s makeshift wooden shield and clearly oversized gambeson. “Get back to the other refugees right now!”
The half-troll glared at Frances defiantly. “You need volunteers. I don’t have any family left so let me join!”
“You’re fourteen!”
“You’re only eighteen!”
Frances grimaced. “If you head up there I will order someone to drag you back.”
The crack of gunfire cut Frances off. Putting the issue of Hattie aside in her mind, the young mage ran back toward the slope.
Bullets were whizzing up, striking trees and forcing mages and archers back from the slope edge. Already, Captain Aloudin was ordering the few harpies they had to take to the sky with rocks in their claws.
Calling up a shield, Frances peaked over the edge, flinching at bullets pinged off her blue magic.
The wolf riders couldn’t exactly race up the slope. Instead, the goblins were making the wolves make short sprints between trees, using them as cover to reload their pistols, which they discharged as they charged their mounts to the next tree.
A bolt of magic struck Frances’s shield, driving her back. Her eyes found the caster, a goblin mage ducking behind a tree with his mount. Using her diamond ring to keep her shield up, she began to sing her familiar lightning aria.
Bullets pinged against her shield and another bolt of magic, from the second goblin mage, almost shattered Frances’s shield, but she completed the spell.
The bolt of lightning cut across the winter air, smashing into the tree the goblin had been hiding behind. Only the goblin’s hastily casted shield saved him from the splinters that cut through the air. Still, the blast from the lightning slew the goblin’s wolf and hurled the mage down the slope where he rolled over and over on the snow.
Pulling back, Frances released her battered shield and took a shaky breath. Aloudin handed her a spare flask of water. “Good one, Frances. By the way, who’s your friend?”
Frances looked up to find Hattie standing a little ways away, chin turned up defiantly.
“We can’t spare anybody to take her back can we?”
“Nope,” said Aloudin in a grim tone. “Kid, you don’t want to be safe, that’s your funeral. Start piling those rocks by the slope again! Hurry!”
Hattie nodded and quickly started using her magic to do just that. Frances, unable to watch any longer, tore her eyes away and took a deep drink of water. She had a battle to fight.
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General Helias stroked his chin. There used to be a goatee there but he’d had to cut it short ever since he had gone into hiding. At least he could grow it out again now.
“General, you were right. The Stormcaller is with the refugees,” said a soldier.
“Thank you, but it was those highway sentries at the inn who told me,” said Helias. He frowned as a showet of rocks tumbled down the hillside sending goblin wolf riders scrambling for cover on the snow covered slope. Dismounting from his horse, Helias took cover behind a tree.
They were making progress but it was slow. His troops were suppressing the defenders but they were hurling magic, arrows and even the odd bullet at his troops. There were even several harpies that were dropping rocks onto his soldiers.
Once again, Helias wondered what had led Prince Timur and the Stormcaller to lead their refugees here of all places. There was nowhere to go and the Stormcaller was not a fool. It was her and her friends who came up with the strategy that defeated his army.
That must mean they had a plan to escape or at least retreat from this. Helias grimaced. He had no proof but there was the fact that he could see far less Alavari shooting down on him that expected. If the refugees were making a last stand, he’d have expected to see far more of them.
Drawing his sword, Helias trod through the snow and up the slope, muttering a sentence of Words of Power to summon a shield.
“As soon as our second company arrives, order them to assault the barricade!” Helias snapped. With that, the tauroll charged forward.