“Very good, my lord.” Gaius nodded to the tall, red-haired knight by his side and together, they split off from the group.
“The rest of you, on me.” Otto pointed forward with his sword and dug his spears into his horse’s side. The animal broke into a canter, moving quickly over the drawbridge and out into the unknown. Otto led his small band of knights as he had done on countless occasions. He sat tall in the saddle, knowing that all warriors, however strong and experienced, take courage from the one in the front.
Show no weakness; show no mercy.
The knights’ code had been writ for occasions such as this. Darkmoor must prevail, especially against such dishonorable opponents who struck without just cause or fair warning.
Somewhere to their left, a dog howled in misery and a gust of wind brought a splatter of rain through Otto’s visor. He blinked away the raindrops, pricking his ears for clues as to where the enemy were situated.
A clue came with the piercing whistle of overhead arrows. Otto had no sooner shouted a warning than he heard the sickening thud of one of them meeting its mark. From the corner of his eye, he saw the knight diagonally behind him clutch at his chest, then fall to the side, heavy as a rock. As he tipped over, his helm came off to reveal a shock of brown curls.
Otto’s heart sank into his leather boots.Not young Benedict.
He yanked hard at the reins, but his horse had already carried him far from the fallen boy, and Otto knew that this could well be the first of many casualties amongst his men. Still, sorrow for the senseless death washed over him as his horse bolted forward. Just days earlier, he had spared young Benedict in the joust, only for the young squire to take a fatal arrow the first time he rode out to battle.
His burgeoning grief hardened into fierce resolve as the shouts of fighting grew nearer. He would wield his revenge on Sir Leon of Kenmar, whatever it took.
Soon he was amongst a sea of bodies, thrusting with his sword and battering would be attackers away with his shield. His horse snorted and reared as the deafening clang of steel on steel filled the night air. He clamped his thighs around the saddle, holding himself steady as he bent low over the horse’s neck to deliver a fatal blow to an enemy knight. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the earthy scent of wet mud and hot horseflesh assaulted his nostrils as he pushed through the fray. Otto’s mind was fixed solely on the task in hand, and he carved up the encroaching army with deft flashes of his sword. He had been raised to fight like this. Man on man. Sword on sword. A splintering whinny broke through the battle cries as a horse crashed onto its side. His own horse stumbled, and Otto knew a thrill of alarm as the muddy ground rose up to meet him, but he drove down into the saddle and shifted his weight backwards, allowing his charger to recover her footing with seconds to spare. Otto plunged his sword into the chest of a man on a magnificent towering beast beside him. In another moment, the man would have swung his sword and sliced straight into Otto.
High overhead, the clouds shifted, and a sudden burst of moonlight illuminated the battleground. Otto had forced his way through the melee to come out on the other side, where Gaius and Edmund, as instructed, were making short work of taking out the straggling Kenmar soldiers.
He twisted around in the saddle to survey the scene. Billowing red outnumbered the purple. Darkmoor had the advantage.
His sword arm throbbed, and his ribs ached, where someone had jammed the hilt of their sword into his side before Otto swiftly dispatched them. But it was not yet time to rest. He knewhe must ride back into the heat of the battle and help his knights finish the job. Before he could turn his horse around, a glint of steel far off in the distance caught his eye. Focusing his gaze onto the rolling hills to the east, he spied a lone figure on horseback, a plume of purple helmet feathers giving his identity clear away.
Sir Leon of Kenmar.
His wife’s father.
Otto gathered his reins, hatred boiling in his gut. The man was a no-good coward, attacking would-be allies under the cover of darkness and sending his men off to fight while he stayed safe atop a distant hill.
How Otto would love to gallop over to him, right now, and challenge Sir Leon to one-on-one combat. His pulse raced with temptation as the sour taste of malice filled his mouth. The idea of slicing into the man who had ordered his father’s death was hard to deny. But he must. If he rode away and abandoned his knights to pursue his own ambitions, he’d be little better than a coward himself.
Channeling all his rage into a roar of determination, Otto pressed his horse back into the blood-soaked throng.
No more than an hour later, the skirmish was over. What remained of Sir Leon’s army had fled into the hills. The Darkmoor castle guards rounded up a dozen torn and bloody prisoners and Otto ordered them to the dungeons; he would question them tomorrow.
As Robin led his tired horse back to the stables, Otto tossed his helm aside and sank down onto a low wall. He tilted back his head to look up at the magnificent fortress which had successfully withstood yet another assault. The familiar granite stone was illuminated with pools of light from numerous flaming torches affixed to the pillars. He had defended his home, his lands, and his title today, but had his instinctive trust of Ariana brought danger to his people?
His heart ached more than the bloody gash in his side, and he waved away the physician when he came bustling over to tend his wounds.
“It is nothing but a scratch, Merek,” he stated calmly. “Others need your ministrations more than I.” The memory of Benedict floated through his mind, and he put up a muddy hand to scratch at his scar. “Have the bodies of our dead been recovered?” He forced out the question.
“It is underway, my lord.” Merek bowed his head.
“See they receive the proper rites.” Otto sighed. There was still much to be done out here in the courtyard, but he could not properly dedicate himself to his duties before he had confronted the woman who had brought such treachery to their gates.
“Of course.” Merek hesitated. “If I may say, my lord, you appear out of sorts. Shall I prepare you a restorative draught?”
Otto waved his hand. “Perchance later, Merek. I need my wits about me for now.”
On tired legs, he walked through the darkness to the back of the castle. His mind played a spool of images from the short time he and Ariana had spent together. He saw her tremulous smile and her cascade of dark hair, he recalled how they had ridden down to the river, conversing easily as friends, then coming together instinctively as lovers. He had been impressed by her courage from the first; but her nerves of steel had been employed to the betterment of his enemies.
How could she have betrayed him so?
At the bottom of the tower, Otto paused, leaning an elbow against the rough stone. He closed his eyes and felt his body sway like the trunk of a young tree. He was bone weary and despairing. Most bitter of all was the realization that his cold-hearted uncle had been right all along.
Perchance Althalos was right about everything, not just Ariana. Mayhap the men questioned his leadership, thinkinghim soft. The events of the past day had certainly given credence to such allegations. His father’s earlship had never been challenged from within, never so much as queried.
