Chapter 45 - Leading the Charge

From the ramparts of Cliffton, Andres continued to stare out at the battlefield that was taking shape in front of him. His father remained still, facing the enemy, his sword held aloft. Other white knights flanked him, to his right and to his left, likewise poised for battle. The enemy forces to their front continued their raucous jeering and laughter. The ghastly creatures that Andres had first seen earlier that evening seemed to be floating through the air, encircling the city, cloaking the night sky with a heavy blackness. Though it was difficult to see, Andres figured that at least fifteen ranks of the enemy surrounded the city. And as far as Andres could tell, their weapons were all aimed at him.

But yet his father, King Maximilian, remained unmoved. He was a step in front of everyone else, armed with nothing but a sword, yet he was fearless. The sounds of the enemy intensified, and it even seemed as though they’d started to advance. But Maximilian never flinched, never wavered, never cowered. At that moment, his father was an absolute giant in his mind. He’d never felt so proud of his father in all his life, staring down an enemy that had the power to crush him, yet dared not.

Then his father did move. While he kept his sword held aloft and pointed toward the enemy, he turned back toward the walls of Cliffton to face Andres and the other warriors. With his other hand, he gently beckoned for the men to come down. Above the din of the enemy’s roar, he bellowed, “Come down and join me! There is a battle to be fought and a victory to be won!”

Somehow, his words penetrated through the thick night air and penetrated to the ears and hearts of every Cliffton soldier. Slowly and somewhat hesitantly, the men left their posts and began to file out. Andres followed Thomas, the once-fearful soldier who had regained his courage at the sight of the king. As they neared the city gate, Andres noticed Thomas stop for a moment. Thomas looked up and saw a soldier still standing atop the scaffolding, refusing to leave his post and come down.

“Hey Stu, what’re you doin’ up there?” Thomas asked. It didn’t take Andres long to remember who Stu was. He was a fierce soldier who’d been at his best in the thick of the battle. He’d stood tall near the city gate, repelling every enemy thrust to try and enter the city. And earlier in the evening, when Andres and the others had made their mad dash back to the city walls after the confrontation with Dor-ko, Stu had been the one to risk his own life to open the gate. He was fearless. Why then was he so hesitant to come?

As these memories rolled through Andres’ brain, Stu continued to stand unmoving atop the scaffolding. So Thomas called out again, “What’re you waitin’ for, Stu? Let’s go!”

Now Stu moved. He turned to Thomas and replied, “Look...I just can’t do it. I just can’t leave! This is my post! I can’t abandon it!”

“But Stu,” Thomas replied, “the king is calling for us!”

Stu shook his head. “I know, I know. But he’s the king! He’s got the greatest warriors in the land by his side! Does he really need us? Does he really need me?”

Thomas answered, “Need? What does that have to do with anything? Of course he doesn’t need us. Like you said, he’s the king! But he wants us. And that’s enough for me.” Then turning back to Andres, Thomas cried out, “Let’s go and stick it to these guys!” And with that, Andres grabbed a hold of his shield and rushed out through the gates and toward his father.

When Andres came within a few feet of his father’s horse, he looked up and saw that his father was staring right at him. His right hand still held the sword high, and his left hand pointed toward Andres and waved him over to the left side of the horse. Andres slowly approached the horse, not knowing what to expect. The king then reached down to Andres and grasp his hand. He pulled upward, and in an instant Andres sat behind his father astride his great white horse.

“You’ve done well, my son,” said Maximilian, facing back toward the enemy.

“Thanks, Dad,” was all Andres could reply. He could feel a sense of fear creeping back into his soul as he stared out at rank upon rank of the enemy. All the weakness that he’d felt just a few minutes before--the hunger, the parched throat, the scars from battle--came rushing back. He felt completely inadequate to even stay atop the horse, let alone fight a battle.

Then Maximilian’s voice pierced through his feelings. “Son...reach up and take the sword,” he said. Andres reached around his father with his right hand and grabbed the hilt, just above where his father’s hand rested.

“Careful, son,” his father said. “Don’t move an inch. The men are watching you with their eyes on your sword. Be steady. Be courageous.” And with those words, Maximilian took his hand off the sword and then slipped off the horse.

Andres didn’t dare to move. He held the sword up, even though it felt as though it weighed a hundred pounds. He then said, still staring at the enemy, his voice wavering just a bit, “What are you doing, Dad?”

“Andres, you have been a great warrior today. I know what you did to Dor-ko. You were the only one who was able to fight through the fear and attack the enemy. Now it’s time to finish them off. You’ve earned the right to lead the men. Now when the time comes, you must lead the men to battle.”

“But Father--I can’t do this! I’m too weak, and too small, and too young. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking that your whole life has prepared you for this moment.”

“How will I know when the time comes?”

“Don’t worry, son. You’ll know. Your brother will let you know.”

Andres thought about that for a second. He asked, “What does Cable have to do with this? Is he okay? How is he going to let me know anything? What are you talking about?” The questions started flowing, and the more he thought, the more questions he had. But he received only silence in return.

Finally, Andres allowed himself to turn his upper body around, being careful to not move his right arm. He saw his father walking away, back toward the city gates. With what little strength was left in his voice, Andres cried out, “Where are you going?”

His father stopped and turned. Evidently, he was willing to answer this question. “I need to see your sister, Andres,” he replied. “She has been brave, and she needs me as much as you do. Now face the enemy and prepare to fight!” And with those words, King Maximilian turned back toward the village.

Andres obediently faced the enemy once again. Hundreds of thoughts flooded his mind. If I need you as much as Remma does, why do you leave me to fight? Why am I the one that has the impossible job? I’m just a kid--how am I supposed to lead an army into battle? Does my father have any idea what he’s doing?

Andres wanted to crumble under the weight of self-pity. Yet as he looked to his right and to his left, he saw that everyone was looking at him. They needed him to be strong; they needed him to lead the way. Andres realized that if he faltered now, hundreds of others would fall with him. That realization alone kept him atop the horse and facing the enemy.

Then--after what seemed like a few minutes or a few hours, Andres couldn’t tell--a flash of light in the distance caught Andres’ attention. Andres felt a rumbling under the feet of his horse, as though the ground was rocked by a great explosion, or by a gentle earthquake. Seconds later, a great trumpet sound filled the air. The sound started quietly, but gradually rose till it completely drowned out the sound of the enemy. As the trumpet’s blare grew louder, the ground began to shake even more. Andres’ anticipation grew; it was all he could do to keep the sword held high. Finally the sound stopped. A silence gradually descended upon the battlefield.

Andres then realized two things. First, he noticed that the enemy’s noisy jeering had completely stopped. Second, as he stared up into the night, he noticed that the black veil that had seemed to cloak the night sky was lifted. The air seemed lighter, and the stars seemed brighter. The crescent moon, which had been barely visible earlier, now cast a glow over the battlefield. As Andres looked out, he thought he noticed a trembling in his enemy.

Andres didn’t know what his brother had to do with it. But he knew it was time. He swallowed hard, lowered the sword and spurred on his horse. He took a step forward. The white knights to his right and to his left moved forward in unison. Mustering his courage, Andres cried out, “Charge!” The other knights, in full-throated yell, echoed Andres’ call. Their cries not only filled the battlefield, but they filled the men with courage as well. As one, the army of Maximilian--following Andres’ lead--galloped toward the enemy.

Chapter 44 - The Trumpet's Call

Cable’s eyes remained fixed on the second captive that was sitting on the log below him. And just as he couldn’t seem to move his eyes, he also couldn’t seem to move any other part of his body. He knew that he should grab his trumpet, leap to the ground below, and blare into the fearsome door that provided entry into the smoking, flaming mound. But Cable dared not move an inch. After all, he’d just barely been able to drag his trumpet up to the top of the mound. The last time he’d touched the instrument, it felt like he was carrying a boulder the size of Jimbo himself. How could he hope to even pick it up, much less jump with it, put it to his lips and blow, all the while fending off two hooded creatures who would like nothing more than to take a sword and remove his head?

So Cable stayed where he was and watched. He saw the first hooded creature walk over to the captive and grab the captive’s shoulder. The captive, whose vision was still obscured by the hood that remained over his head, seemed to jump at the creature’s touch. The creature laughed eerily into the night. “Ah-ha!” he cried out. “You are as fearful as the coward that went before you!” The second creature then joined him for another round of ghastly laughter that persuaded Cable even more that he should stay right where he was and not move an inch.

The captive leaped to his feet. “I am no coward!” he yelled.

Two things about the captive’s statement captured Cable’s imagination. First of all, the statement was very unconvincing. The man seemed to be sobbing even as he said it. But second, Cable was sure that he’d heard this voice before. Of course, the voice was muffled somewhat by the hood. But all the same, it sure did seem familiar...

Cable felt something grab his arm, and he immediately recoiled. He turned to his left and saw that Jimbo had slid up next to him. “Easy there, Herc,” he whispered. “That voice...I’m almost sure that I know who that is.”

“You’re kidding!” Cable replied softly. “I thought it sounded familiar, too. Who is it?”

“I don’t know, mate,” replied Jimbo. “I said I’m almost sure who it is, not that I knew who it is. There’s a big difference, chap.” And with that, both of the onlookers resumed watching the scene that was unfolding below them.

The first creature guided the captive over to the entrance to the flaming mound. The smell of smoke again rose and enveloped Cable. The rippling orange glow of the flames almost seemed to grow in brightness and intensity as the helpless captive neared the doorway. The second hooded creature assumed his position behind the captive, the tip of his sword pointed into the man’s back. Cable felt pity for the man, but not enough pity to do anything. Once again, the twin emotions of shame and fear washed over the sixteen-year-old boy.

The first creature now spoke. “I am about to remove your hood,” he declared. “When I do so, regard your fate with courage! Don’t back away in fear, but run to your destiny! Leap through the door and live forever! Don’t back down and join the ranks of the useless slaves, as your pathetic comrade did. Shed your cowardice and embrace immortality and power and service to Lord Dor-ko and Lord Slumbutter!”

With that verbal flourish, the creature pulled off the hood. And Cable couldn’t believe the face of the man that stood below him.

It was Mitch.

Cable started to turn to Jimbo, but before he could say a word, Jimbo stood to his feet. “I never thought I’d see him again!” Jimbo declared, no longer whispering. He then looked down at Cable and said, “Look, Herc, I’m done playing the part of the coward. I’m going down. If I don’t make it back, it’s been good knowing you. But it’s better to live in power than to die in fear.”

As Cable stared at Jimbo, by the light of the flickering flames below, he saw a look on Jimbo’s face that he’d never seen before. Gone was the goofiness and the good humor. Those expressions had been replaced by a look of sheer rage. Jimbo grabbed his knife and ran over to the edge of the hill. Leaping off, he cried out, “Brother! I’m coming!”

At that point, the world seemed to move in slow motion for Cable. He saw Jimbo hit the ground and roll. He saw Jimbo run toward Mitch. He saw Jimbo grab Mitch by the waist and wrestle him away from the hooded creature’s grasp. He saw a look of utter surprise come over Mitch’s face when he saw Jimbo set him temporarily free. It must have all unfolded in a matter of a couple of seconds, yet to Cable it seemed like hours.

And still, Cable couldn’t move. He just watched the great drama unfolding below him.

Jimbo cried out, “Brother! Take this!” as he handed Mitch his own weapon. Mitch grabbed the knife. But instead of facing the creatures and fighting, Mitch turned and started to ran.

Jimbo now stood powerless against the creatures. The first creature reached into a hidden pocket and pulled out a knife of his own. He then drew back and let the knife fly toward Mitch. Jimbo instinctively reached up into the air. The knife that was meant for Mitch’s head pierced Jimbo’s hand instead. Jimbo rolled to the ground, writhing in pain.

Cable saw the second creature approach Jimbo with his sword upraised. Jimbo cried out, “Cable! Help!” And at the sound of his cry, the two hooded creatures turned and looked up toward him.

Cable now realized that he could hide no longer. He had two choices--remain where he was and be killed, or move and be killed. As he stared below, he saw the first creature take a step toward him, while the second creature turned back toward Jimbo. While Jimbo cried out in pain, Cable finally resolved to act. He reached down and grabbed his trumpet. Amazingly, it felt as light as an onion in his hands. It was as though, having resolved to act, he was filled with power to fulfill the task that he had once felt impossible. Cable then held the trumpet tight to his chest and hurtled to the ground below, aiming toward the second creature who was preparing to slay Jimbo. Cable hit the ground and rolled. He struck the second creature’s legs, causing him to fall. Cable then rolled to his back and looked up. The first creature was now moving toward him, a knife in his hand. The creature again prepared to throw. Cable tried to roll away, and as he did so, he happened to catch a glance of Jimbo. Moving with unimaginable speed, Cable saw his friend draw the knife out of his hand and hurl it toward the first creature. It struck the creature in the face and caused him to collapse.

Cable got to his feet, just in time to see the second creature rise to his feet, his sword raised high in the air. Cable heard Jimbo’s voice one last time, bellowing out, “The trumpet! Blow the trumpet!” Cable then ran away from the second creature and approached the entry to the fearsome mound. And while his mind was full of doubts, and while he braced for the blow of the sword that would surely come at any moment, he put the trumpet to his lips and blew.

And, somehow, the majestic sound of that horn filled the air. The ground trembled and flames burst forth from the mound. Then Cable was struck on the side of the head. The boy fell to the ground. Yet in his last moment of consciousness, Cable was strangely reassured.

His mission was accomplished.

Chapter 43 - The Last Stand

Once again within the village walls, Andres stood on the scaffolding, taking his place beside the brave Cliffton warriors who still remained. By the dim light of a crescent moon dangling overhead, Andres surveyed the landscape around him. What he saw, and what he heard, filled him with dread.

The ghastly creatures that had emerged earlier surrounded the castle. They came within about 50 yards of the walls and then stopped. Rather than attacking, they just stood and laughed. It was an eerie laugh that pierced the air and made the souls of the men of Cliffton tremble. Their laughter droned on and on and on. Occasionally, the laughter would fade away, only to be resumed moments later at an even higher volume.

Behind the ghastly creatures, more of Dor-ko’s warriors assembled. They did not press the attack either. They simply stood back and yelled and clanged their swords and shield together. Occasionally they would chant Dor-ko’s name in unison, repeating it over and over and over. They took their cue from the ghastly creatures that stood before them. When the creatures were silent, they were silent. When the creatures laughed, they joined the relentless cacophonous roar.

Andres reached up and rubbed his left shoulder, grimacing as he did so. After slaying Dor-ko, Andres had led the charge back into the village. It hadn’t been easy. A group of about 20 of Dor-ko’s soldiers had assembled in front of the village gate and attempted to keep them out. Andres and his companions--Samek, Legs, Pipes, and Annala--had fought their way through in a violent clash of swords and spears. One of the enemy’s spears had made its way into the back side of Andres’ shoulder. Andres shook his head, realizing that such a wound could only come when the enemy attacked him from behind. What kind of coward attacks like that? Andres had been taught to enter combat face-to-face with the enemy, but these soldiers of Dor-ko were, in Andres’ estimation, both brainless and spineless.

As the soul-shaking din from beyond the city walls continued on, Andres heard footsteps behind him. It was his sister, Remmaline, running around with a jug of water. Very little water remained in the village, and the throats of Andres and all his comrades were parched. But Remma had taken what little water she could find and was offering a swallow to each of the soldiers.

Andres marveled as he saw his little sister doing whatever she could to help. What had happened to that annoying little girl that used to shriek whenever she saw a drop of blood? What had happened to the girl that used to yell at Cable whenever he made too much noise and kept her from sleeping? Here she was, in the midst of battle, running around tirelessly with a gentle smile on her face. Andres figured he’d never understand that girl. But, for just a moment, he was immensely proud of her.

Andres turned his attention back to the field in front of him. The forces that surrounded the castle seemed to grow in number. Dor-ko’s forces seemed to keep pouring out of the woods and lining up behind the ghastly creatures. Though Andres couldn’t see very well, he guessed about 30 ranks of Dor-ko’s men had assembled. Their continued arrival made the spine-tingling noise even louder. Their continued arrival also convinced the soldiers of Cliffton to hold onto their ammunition. If they used all their arrows at this point, they might bring down the first couple of ranks. But then they would have nothing left when the attack finally began.

Andres craned his neck to the left. There was one portion of the castle that wasn’t surrounded--the portion that faced the Great Swamp. Then Andres realized Dor-ko’s strategy. When they attacked, they would force the vastly outnumbered people to face a horrible choice--surrender to Dor-ko, or flee to the swamp. If they surrendered, they would no doubt be made slaves--or worse. If they fled, the only path of retreat was through the swamp. But only Spartacus, the great horse of Gregorex, knew how to navigate through the great obstacle. So the people would face a grim choice--be enslaved by Dor-ko, or be devoured by the swamp.

Andres looked to his right and to his left. The soldiers next to him were shaking, as though losing their nerve. He tapped the shoulder of the man to his right, whose name was Thomas. The man immediately dropped his bow and arrow and turned to Andres in wide-eyed fear. He tried to jump down from the scaffolding, but Andres grabbed him and kept him from leaping. “Thomas!” he yelled. “What’s wrong with you?”

Thomas couldn’t respond right away. He just stared at Andres, his head shaking, his hands trembling. He then said, above the roar of the soldiers of Dor-ko, “Pardon me, Your Majesty! I...I just can’t take it any more! If they are going to slaughter us, I wish they would just get on with it!”

“But Thomas, don’t you see what they’re doing?” Andres replied. “They are just doing this to make us scared! They want to defeat us before they ever even attack us! They want you to fill you with fear. You’ve got to fight it! My father wouldn’t have sent us here if it was hopeless!”

“But don’t you see?” said Thomas. “It is hopeless! I don’t know what the king was thinking. What are so few of us, against so many of them? We are about to get slaughtered, Prince Andres! And I will stand and fight by your side, but my eyes don’t lie. And my eyes say, that the fifty soldiers that remain can’t stand up against an army of thousands!”

Andres then realized that his enemy’s strategy was working. The men of Cliffton had waged a brave battle, but the men were now too tired, too hungry and thirsty, and too fearful. Any attack on the part of the enemy would be brutal and short-lived. The soldiers that remained had fought the good fight, but they didn’t have the strength to wage war any longer. The only reason that they didn’t flee right now was because they didn’t have the strength to leave their posts.

The thought of imminent defeat now started to weigh Andres down. He stared out at the enemy that was arrayed before him, and he began to envision the assault that was about to unfold. Would he draw his sword and fight till his last breath? Would he lay down his weapon and beg for mercy? Would he try and run away, hoping that for some reason he could defy the certain death that awaited him in the Great Swamp? None of the options were particularly good. Andres shuddered as he continued to stare out, his hope dwindling by the minute.

Suddenly, Andres was jarred out of his reverie by the arrival of someone on his scaffolding. It was Samek, whose broad girth made the planks tremble beneath him. Samek had brought a stool with him which he placed down on the scaffolding. He then stood on top of the stool, his body towering above the walls. Andres feared for him. His whole body was exposed to any assault from the enemy’s archers. But Samek was apparently not intimidated by the thought of any such attack. Instead, he cupped his hands and bellowed out, crying--

“SILENCE!”

Samek’s cry echoed across the plain. Andres had never heard a human voice sound so loud. The cry seemed to shock the creatures and the men that were assembled around the city walls. For just a moment, the eerie laughter and the annoying rattle of swords stopped. Samek then spoke again.

“Here you are, an entire army against a tiny little village. Yet we’ve been fighting all day, and still you cannot conquer us! You assemble here in battle array, yet you do not attack! You attempt to scare us, but YOU are the ones that are filled with fear! We defy you! We will not bend our knee to you! We will stand against you to the last breath of the last soldier standing! You may conquer our village, but you will never conquer our spirit. And you shall never conquer our great king. Hail to the king! Maximilian reigns! Maximilian reigns! Maximilian reigns!”

As Samek repeated himself, Andres started to shake his head. What good were a few words in the face of so great an enemy? But then Andres noticed that the few soldiers that remained started to pick up the cheer. “Maximilian reigns!” they shouted from the depths of the parched throats and heaving lungs. “Maximilian reigns!” At first, Andres just couldn’t join in. He was too discouraged and too exhausted. But he noticed that soon the entire village of Cliffton rang out with the cheer--”Maximilian reigns!” Over and over the people said it. The women and children that remained said it. Thomas, who just moments before was ready to flee the battlefield, now held his weapon high and joined the shouting chorus. “Maximilian reigns!”

The laughter and jeering of the enemy grew silent in the face of this defiant cry. And Andres noticed something else as well. The soldiers of Cliffton stood taller than they had just moments ago. The trembling and quaking of the soldiers had stopped, replaced by firm-footed resolve. Andres thought he could even see a smile start to creep over Thomas’ face. And soon the shouting grew even louder: “Maximilian reigns!” It echoed across the field of battle. Each cry seemed louder than the one before. Eventually Andres joined in the chorus, unable to help himself, “Maximilian reigns!”

It was crazy, Andres thought. Here we stand against an overwhelming enemy. We our outnumbered, we are almost out of ammunition, we are famished, we are thirsty, we are--in a word--powerless. Yet here we stand, acting as though we are on the winning side, sounding as though triumph is imminent. It made no sense, yet it was real. And as Andres thought about his father, and remembered how good he was, and how he’d never disappointed them, and how he’d never asked them to do the impossible unless he went with them to help, Andres now knew what this battle cry was all about. It was the ridiculous, invigorating, rebellious cry of faith.

Minutes passed. The weakened soldiers of Cliffton couldn’t shout forever, and soon their volume started to diminish. As their voices started to quiet down, the jeers and laughter of the enemy started to emerge from the battlefield. It wasn’t long before the voices of the people of Cliffton were drowned out once again. Yet the people continued to shout: “Maximilian reigns! Maximilian reigns!” Soon Andres felt a tug on his arm. It was Thomas. “Look over there! To your left!” he said, pointing. Andres followed his finger. He saw a stream of men, riding on horseback, emerging from the area of the Great Swamp. They were clad with white armor, with a shield in one hand and a sword in the other. They silently made their way around the walls of the village, facing outward against the enemy. The people of Cliffton cheered their arrival, yet the white knights never turned and waved. They simply took their posts and silently faced the enemy, a single rank of horsemen poised for battle. The taunts and jeers of the enemy didn’t stop, but the knights were undaunted and unmoved. The simply stood shoulder to shoulder against an enemy that easily outnumbered them ten-to-one.

Andres saw Samek, who was still standing to his left atop the stool. “How is this possible?” Andres asked. “Only Spartacus knows the way through the Great Swamp! How did these men get here?”

Samek squinted his eyes and surveyed the field. He looked to his left and to his right. Andres tried to follow his gaze; he found it difficult to make out anything clearly in the dim moonlight. But then something off to his right caught Andres’ eye. It was a majestic white horse, topped by a tall man in a white robe, galloping in their direction. “Samek, look!” he exclaimed. “Isn’t that Spartacus?”

“Yes!” replied Samek. “It is indeed! And that must be Gregorex atop him! He lives after all!”

But as the rider approached, Andres realized something. “Samek, that’s not Gregorex! It’s...it’s...”

Andres didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. Everyone within the gates of Cliffton, who had seen the great white horse approach, knew who rode atop him. It was the one man they had all longed to see, the one man that held the hope of escape, the one man they would follow to the death whether he was there or not.

It was Maximilian.

Yet the king made no grand entry into the village. He didn’t even look at the soldiers that cheered his arrival. He just took his place in front of the row of white horsemen and faced outward. He raised his sword in his right hand and held it aloft, unmoving. Andres expected that at any moment, he would lower the sword, point to the enemy, and lead a charge of deliverance. Yet he held his arm in place, sword pointing to the heavens. Everything else continued on--the white knights silently waiting behind him, the ghastly creatures and black knights jeering and taunting before him.

Andres was dumbfounded. He turned to Samek again. “Samek, what is going on?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” replied Samek. “It’s as though he’s waiting for a sign, for a signal of some sort.”

Then Thomas chimed in. “But I’ll tell you this much. When that sword drops, I’m finding the nearest horse, charging through the village gates and following. I’d rather die by that man’s side than live a life of cowardly comfort.” Andres could hardly believe this was the same guy that had tried to run away just a few minutes before. Then Thomas cried out at the top of his lungs, “Bring it on, O King! We’re ready!”

And still the king sat atop his horse, his white robe rippling in the light night breeze, his body unmoving, sword held aloft. Waiting.