The Shorn Princess watched from the high wall as the population streamed out of the gate. She put her hand on Faust’s arm while the river of people trekked out on the hardpacked dirt road. “Do you think they’ll make it, Princess?” Faust asked.
She kept her face carefully neutral as the peasants walked. A handful of guards, no more than a hundred, walked with them. ‘No. Not most of them.’ War was a popular time for brigands outside the walls, and thieves inside the walls. Refugees were easy prey, and she knew from reading that only one in every fifty had what could be called a ‘favorable end’. Already in her mind’s eye she could see the inevitable. A few brigand groups would get together, they would lay an ambush, and attack in the night. Inexperienced city guards had no experience in laying field camp, it would be chaotic. Fire from burning tents and wagons would give the bandits light, the peasants would be like ants whose nest was suddenly kicked over.
Scattering. Running. Blood and screams, howls of greed from malevolent figures would search for whatever they could take. A few would fight back, most would die. If the brigands were worse than usual, they’d make sport of a few captives before blessing them with death.
The surviving refugees might reach a town, spread the story, and fear would spread over the Kingdom like a plague as people sought safety that didn’t exist, and the more wicked minds would turn brigand themselves, and the cycle would repeat until stability was regained.
Then the survivors would rebuild.
“Yes, Faust. They have to.” She said with a quiet little voice and squeezed her hand over his armored bicep. “After I die here… the Kingdom will have to rebuild. I hope my father and my brothers are up to the task.” She gave a sweet, sad smile up to Faust and inched closer. “When you’re out there, with… whatever lucky woman you find, name a daughter after me, would you?”
Faust swallowed the lump in his throat and put his arm around her body, it would have been an inappropriate gesture at any other time. But standing alone at the top of the city’s greatest gate, nobody could see the gesture for what it was, nor hear their words, and even if it were possible, everybody was far too busy.
He wanted to tell her, ‘You won’t die. I’m taking you out. I won’t fail you.’ He wanted to tell her a lot of things, seeing her resigned to her death with her beautiful golden hair cut short, she was still as beautiful as ever in his eyes. Her unflagging courage was giving the city the will to resist, rather than to simply fall apart.
“Your father will get here, or your brothers, the capital won’t fall easily. Once the city is relieved, you won’t have to worry about anything.” Faust insisted, but part of him knew this was not the most likely scenario. He’d been on campaign with the Princess’s father before, he’d seen the poverty of skill first hand. Knights in Gelia were rare, they relied on large peasant levies able to carry out simple maneuvers, to show up, receive a charge, and just stab while trying not to die, that was about the extent of their skill, with only a few minor exceptions.
Household troops were better, but the feudal model of Gelia meant that equipment quality was wild in its variations, with the wealthy nobles able to easily afford the best equipment and training and a standing host for security… while the poorer nobles had barely anything, some reliant on swords older than themselves, or even simple wooden clubs and a few peasants that got one day off every two weeks to train.
Whatever support the King could muster had to be given voluntarily. “Traitorous bastards.” Faust uttered with guttural anger. It was far more likely that the nobles would simply negotiate terms with the Emperor’s representatives rather than risk losing what they had.
‘Even if it means trading their King, their Princes, and the Princess over…’ She wasn’t the only daughter of royalty, the others were scattered in far flung regions of the Kingdom, those would support their father-in-law. But most nobles would not.
“Faust… it’ll be all right.” She said, her luminous green eyes held his own, “I promise. The Kingdom will come back from this. We will survive. Auxkos might be able to take the country, but they won’t be able to hold it without a legitimate claim. A rebellion will rise up, or my brothers will gather support…”
This much of what she said was true, in her own private calculations, she’d already worked out the relative ease with which the capital could be held. But those same calculations revealed that the Emperor would attempt in Gelia what he attempted in Auxkos, a purging of the old nobility and a forced centralization of power.
She’d paid many a bard handsomely to sing the story of the Slaughter of the Scarlet Robes everywhere she could, detailing how the Emperor gathered all together for a grand feast, executed them all at the height of the meal, imprisoned their sons, and married the daughters off to a new nobility. The only ones to survive the purge were those so weak that killing them would have been pointless. Those only lost their lands, titles, and connections.
The end result of her work? ‘Nobody will go to give him homage, and they’ll resist change at every step. The army will have to stay here to keep order, that will be expensive, taxes will rise…’ The cascade of events ran through her head and the trace of a smile ran over her face.
“Princess?” He asked when he saw the smile form.
“I’m just glad to be with you.” She said, “Come, why don’t we check the defenses, it’s good for them to see that their Princess is invested in their work, and in themselves.”
And so they did. They walked the wall, the Princess clung to his arm, normally he would have refused such a familiar gesture, it would have even been counted scandalous. But as she drew pitying looks from those who saw it, he understood. ‘They think I’m keeping her strong, that she’s showing courage through fear… they underestimate her. She’s sensitive, and kind, and gentle… but she's so fearless that a thousand knights couldn’t compare!’ He was too proud of her to refuse the gesture, and others too misguided to understand it.
And so as the last of the thousands of refugees left the gate and the portcullis began to lower, they walked away. Faust looked off to watch them shrink in the distance, only to feel the soft hand of his Princess on his cheek, compelling him to look away. “None of that. Keep your eyes on me and me alone, or look straight ahead. There’s no point in looking back, there’s no future behind us.” She said, and with a resolute step, she kept him moving.
The sun was high and shining down on them as they walked the stone path of the wide city walls. It was almost like walking the garden, only instead of looking around at flowering plants, they were seeing the city itself.
Houses and businesses, edifices of wood and stone alike sprang up like countless flowering plants, bright rooftops and canopies were as common as not, and the streets below had the people scurrying around like untold thousands of tiny ants.
It seemed impossible to think of it, really, when Faust pondered it, that he was just like all of those, tiny dots far away, unaware they were being watched. ‘What kind of lives do they live? Who are they all?’ A part of him wished to know… but it also brought a pang to his heart. He recalled lying alone in the alley, limp, cold, the icy air caressed him like a mockery of a mother’s touch, his bones felt so frozen back then, his eyes sunken, every bit of himself was far too weak to move, save for his lips.
Then seeing her, he wanted to call for help. To cry out his misfortune and call for aid. He’d done that many times to those who walked the streets, and each one pretended he was not there and hastened away lest pity pull them back to force them to see him.
‘There she was… my golden Princess, the carriage, her face poking out the window, the open door…’ He still remembered the word he’d said. It wasn’t ‘please’ or ‘help’.
It was…
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‘Beautiful.’ It wasn’t so bad to die looking at something lovely beyond measure.
Knowing all the people down there would have meant knowing the ones who left him to die…
Protecting the city, protecting the people in it… ‘It’s all because of her. It’s all for her…’ He couldn’t hate those he’d never known, but if he couldn’t properly love someone far beyond his station, he could give that to what she valued.
His thoughts were interrupted when they reached a catapult stationed at a spot on the wall that was likely to be approached during the siege.
“Princess!” The crew shouted and knelt to her as she approached.
“Rise.” She said and raised her dress up a little with her hands to allow her to walk forward. The clothing she wore was properly royal, of the purest white save for the colors of the Kingdom running down the front, and a band of gold around her forehead. The dress made walking quickly impossible, and walking gracefully required that she adjust the dress a little with her hands.
Thoroughly impractical in every sense, ‘Such absurd designs… I’d banish the designer if I knew who it was!’ She thought, not for the first time as she made her way forward. Still, it was popular, and therefore necessary.
“How are the preparations?” She asked the headman, the only one to wear a cap, he quickly doffed it as he got back up to his feet. He was a dirty man in brown clothing, and had only a short knife on his belt along with a few pouches, one of which might have had a few coins in it from the way it jingled when he stood.
He smiled, his teeth were yellow and had big gaps in place. “It’s goin right well, Princess.” He said and pointed over the wall. “Got Jord out there,” he leveled his hand toward a person, “We’re just measurin the distance, see? We count the turns on the wheel here,” he tapped the wooden spoke style wheel beside him, “and then fire, where the rock lands, he marks. We do more turns, fire again, and repeat. That way as them Auxkos fucks come closer, we know how many turns of the wheel to give ‘em before we fire. It’s not exact, but it’s right close and we’ll get a bunch of em!” He then pointed to a pile of stones on the other side of the catapult. “We’ll give em about a shot every half minute until we run out, then get down from here on that.” He pointed to a wooden ladder. After that, it’s the turn of the militia and city guard.”
“Good work, crewman.” Deirdre said with a sweet smile on her face. “I’ll sleep better at night, knowing you’re working so hard to keep us all safe, thank you, all of you. The whole city is proud of what you’re doing, I’m sure of it.” She said, and watched their faces light up as their courage was acknowledged.
That was how they spent the next few days. And then the next few weeks. Princess Deirde Fomorisa and her bodyguard left most of the planning of the city’s defense in the hands of palace nobles and soldiers with siege experience, while she rallied the people’s morale with gatherings, speeches, and daily walkthroughs of defensive positions along the wall and within the city.
The population threw itself into defense, and short hair became the common look of women, such that it was a public sign of shame for a woman to have long hair rather than turn it into a sling to hurl lead bullets or rocks with.
Garden tools were melted to make swords and spearheads, animals were killed to make meat that would be salted and preserved. The city’s hens were gathered together so that their laid eggs could be fairly distributed. Ration points went up around central buildings that the few magic casters of the guild enchanted against fire damage to protect their food supplies.
Buildings were brought down to create fresh building material for impromptu inner walls or to turn into ammunition. Fletchers worked for hour after endless hour making more arrows, and quivers filled with them were laid out in strategic locations.
Little by little, the city of Gel turned itself into a giant armed camp.
Slingers practiced constantly as the hours slipped by and the tension rose a little bit with every coming and going of the sun.
“Do you really think we’ll fall even if your father relieves the city, Princess?” Faust asked as he stood at her side. In her hands lay a scout report. He already knew what it said. ‘General Godrin Malraga is one day away.’
It was faster than she’d thought. ‘I felt sure we had at least a few more days…’ She pondered, but then again there were some things that couldn’t be predicted properly. Individual drive, the willingness to expend magic to create a flying column able to move with haste, weather, unknown opposition or unlooked for allies, even the spirit of the invader. The message, other than telling her which of the Four Knights would reach the city first, had no real value.
The distant birds in the air and the rising smoke in the distance the night before had told her it was time.
“I’m afraid so.” She finally answered her bodyguard. “Father isn’t incompetent, but he’s not a military genius. Whatever he’s gathered will arrive tired and have been hastily assembled. He might make it into the city, but even if he does, the Four Knights are as strong as our strongest adventurers, a powerful adventurer can potentially shatter a wall if they’re of the Heroic class of adamantite. One of them is worth a thousand common men.”
She shook her head, “Father in his prime might have been powerful, but he’s not that man anymore. And my brothers…?” She shook her head.
She didn’t need to say it. Faust knew.
‘One is weak of body, one is weak of spirit and character. Even if we weren’t about to fall, I doubt the Kingdom could last under either one of them.’ Faust hated the reluctant thought, but he’d seen the two of them often enough, he’d grown up bowing to them as the princess’s companion, servant, and eventually, personal guard.
It was a foolish question for him to have asked in the first place, and he knew it.
“They’ll be here tomorrow, you know…” Deirdre said it quietly and brushed the letter aside, it fell off the table and swayed back and forth as it drifted slowly to come to rest on the floor.
“Yes, my Princess.” He answered, his hands tensed behind his back, he was suddenly very conscious of the fact that they were alone in her bedroom behind a locked door.
“Stay with me, tonight.” Deirdre said and blinked her emerald eyes up toward him.
“Princess. I’m-” She cut off his objection.
“We used to share a bed.” She pointed out and stretched out a hand toward his. She stopped half way, but he did not reach his hand out in return.
“When we were children.” He said, his face burning bright red at the implications of her words.
“Faust…” She said his name, but filled it with far more than just the sound it made.
“I’ll stay.” He answered, but to her dismay, he did not take her hand.
Night could not come soon enough for her, each minute, each hour, the tour of defenses and walls, of sling makers and smiths forging swords and shields, the inspection of peasant volunteers drilling in formation to prepare for the inevitable.
But even she could not remember any of it, except for the faint smell of oil and sweat.
She was freshly bathed, scented with perfume that cost more for a few drops than a peasant could earn in half a year, and waiting in bed for her knight to come to her. ‘Faust! Faust! Faust!’ His name came to her mind and ran like wild horses through her, this was the perfect opportunity, even with her golden crown of hair shorn away, she knew herself to be beautiful and in the flower of a youth that would never die.
She heard him knock at the door, “Come in.” She said, her nerves were settled, and she was ready. Many times she’d heard stories of young women who were nervous, anxious, or even afraid of their first time, of crossing the truest threshold from youth to adult. But that was not her way, she was clear eyed and eager as she watched the brass handle of the door to her room turn with such languid slowness that it seemed she might age a hundred years before the door could open.
Seldom in her life was she surprised by anything, she’d wondered many times what her Faust was like beneath his armor now that he was a man, in principle, she knew, listening to gossiping maids and women of some maturity, not to mention looking at some of the more frank artwork of the palace.
But none of those were her Faust, so she was prepared for anything, she thought, hard muscles, bruises, even scars from battle with the Auxkos Empire’s knights.
What Deirdre was not prepared for, however, was for Faust to step through the door not just fully clothed, but clad in armor as if for battle. He took a chair from beneath the table, carried it beside her bed, and sat down in it. He then reached out and took her unmoving hand and said, “As you command, Princess, I’ll stay with you, all night long. You don’t need to worry about anything, I promise, I’ll protect you.” He vowed, and smiled, the candle light flickered and cast shadows everywhere, he was as handsome as ever, at least to her.
Right just then however, for the first time in her life, she gritted her teeth behind her smile and even while she said a gentle, “Thank you, Faust.” behind her smile was one single thought.
‘Faust, you idiot! This is not what I meant!’