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.