Forlorn Hope - Chapter 12
The End
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Lothan limped toward Tamon, thick plumes of smoke trailed into the dawn, smudging the blue sky with patches of muddy grey. Hufin led the men in searching the corpses for living allies and enemies, though one received care the other received a sword point. ‘Tamon, that was a good charge. At first I thought you’d turned tail,’ Prince Lothan chuckled. Blood dripped over his lip, tasting of iron and making him itch.
‘You wound me, My Prince, but we have no time for chatter, or rest it seems, the remaining Gör Khāni are laying siege to the palaces.’
‘Plural?’
‘They seem to think the Palace of the Lotus holds great wealth or important officials,’ Tamon said.
Clarity befell Lothan and he gripped his sword with purpose. ‘How far? How many?’
Tamon held the pommel of his saddle in both palms, ‘Nearby, the men I sent onwards have already engaged the enemy.’
‘Give me your horse. Organise the foot troops, though don’t call them that, and follow after me!’
Tamon gawped, hesitating.
‘Get off!’
Tamon slid from the saddle and before he’d even hit the ground with both feet, Lothan was mounting the horse, slick with sweat and smoke. ‘Looting can wait! New orders,’ Lothan bellowed to his men. They looked up, some confused and not understanding his words. ‘Tamon, I leave them with you,’ Lothan tapped Tamon on the shoulder. He kicked his new mount into a gallop and tore through the flames that had taken hold of the gatehouse. Xun-Ma Rei filled his thoughts, she’d be with the orphans and her maidens but would anyone have posted guards, Lothan was not confident if his father, the King, or the Grand Commandant had nor that it would be enough.
The smoke cleared when he reached Blue Dragon Pavilion. Black-clad Gör Khāni fought with the silver-clad bodyguard of the King on the one hundred and ninety-three steps leading up to the Palace. The guards were losing, if only because their five hundred were swarmed by thousands dominating the northern edge of the Pavilion. To the west side was the Palace of the Lotus, older and crumbling, with an aura of ancientness to it. There were fewer steps, a mere eighty-eight, though those numbers were deemed luckier amongst some. On the steps of the Palace of the Lotus there was slaughter. The few soldier’s ordered to defend it were slain, the ancient doors smashed asunder. Hundreds of Gör Khāni forced themselves inside while Tamon’s cavalry harassed those on the lower steps.
A drum sounded from the Pavilion and a detachment of invaders broke from attacking the Palace to assisting the taking of the Lotus. Prince Lothan guided his mount forward, grinding his teeth with each step. His heart wanted to charge, to attack, but his head told him to watch. He scoured the Blue Dragon Pavilion and a dance of light caught his eye. Bronze mirrors, hundreds of small discs, clattered in the smokey breeze in a line above the curve of moon swords. Lothan cantered into the centre of the Pavilion, a mere dozen yards from the fighting. A palanquin, here? He saw the covering ruffle and shake, the bronze discs dancing orange with the reflection of fire. The Emperor? He thought. Screams came from the Palace of the Lotus. Two women were at the door, two of the Princess’s maidens were bound and strung across the backs of two soldiers.
A clatter of steel told Lothan his infantry were behind him. He galloped for Tamon’s remaining cavalry. When he neared he circled round to the left flank and pierced the enemy line at the foot of the steps. The men were pinned between the ancient stone wall separating the Pavilion from the gardens and Lothan. The Prince swung hard, his sword chipping as it dented the helm of a warrior. Blood sluiced down his face and neck and he collapsed, dead. ‘Push them! Pressure them! Do not let them escape! Do not let them rest!’ He bellowed, hacking left and right.
‘Pull back!’ Rugad roared. ‘Let us on foot do the work!’ The cavalry began to disengage, save those like Lothan surrounded by the melee with only confusion keeping them safe. The dismounted nomads and Baku slammed into the front of the Gör Khāni defending the lower steps of the Palace of the Lotus. Armour crunched into armour and men fell on both sides in equal number.
The maidens screamed again, their captors half way down the steps and struggling to fight through the ranks of invaders. Lothan reared his horse, the beast kicked out, braining two men. Surging forward the horse leapt up the stone steps, trampling men. Lothan skewered the first captor through the armpit, his arm went limp and the maiden rolled off his shoulder. This was foolish, Lothan thought as he felt the bite of a sword graze his thigh. A gash bled from his arm, a knife was stuck through his boot and into his calf. ‘I’m going to need you to lash out a bit more,’ Lothan slapped the rump of his steed with the flat of his sword. Men tumbled back, whacked by the horse, and landed on men below them. As the Gör Khāni were piling up Lothan reached down for the first maiden and hoisted her onto his horse. The second captor was on the steps above him, his eyes flickering with uncertainty.
A moon sword arced towards his neck. Lothan ducked and raised his sword catching the blade as its curve sang over his head. The captor ran, taking the woman with him as she kicked and thrashed over his shoulder. Behind, Hufin had joined Rugad and were pressing the enemy yet they would not break. The Prince broke off from his attacker and pursued the man fleeing down the steps. His horse stumbled and his own legs had gone numb.
‘My Prince! Fall back!’ Rugad bellowed. He carved a path through the trio of ranks that stood in his way. He grasped the reins of the Prince’s horse.
‘Rugad! The woman!’
Rugad didn’t hear, too busy hacking right and having his left shoulder gashed. Lothan thrust and skewered the man through the cheek, teeth and muscle came free when he removed the blade. The man’s jaw gaped wide, his eyes blank, as he swayed from shock or death. Then he was gone, replaced by a younger man screaming for blood. Hufin’s moon sword took his head. ‘Lothan! We will get inside, no need to risk your own life so foolishly,’ Rugad scolded. ‘If you die, hope dies with you.’
Lothan remembered to breathe. Pain seared his arms and legs, a cut on his cheek stung most of all. He opened his mouth and could feel a notch on his tooth through the cut. His lamellar hung from him in ribbons, his deel little more than a tattered rag held together by the embroidery. His sword was chipped and black with blood. He swayed in the saddle, a wave of dizziness overcoming him. He caught glimpses of Hufin helping the woman off his horse, it wasn’t Xun-ma Rei. ‘Get me off this horse,’ his words muffled by blood and swelling. The taste of iron was inescapable. A sharp pain shredded the dizziness and Rugad dropped the knife from the Prince’s calf to the dirt. He put an arm round him and helped him slip from the saddle. Lothan landed on his knees, unable to feel one foot and the other plagued with pins and needles. ‘Get me up,’ he spat blood. Rugad sighed and hoisted the Prince to his feet. ‘Thank you. Have we broken through into the Lotus yet?’ He squinted across the Blue Dragon Pavilion to see the Emperor’s palanquin jostle in their direction, though it was so slow that it seemed it would take days to reach them. Piles of men lay on the steps of his father’s Palace and a stalemate had formed with the remaining bodyguards up top and the Gör Khāni on the lowest steps. ‘Does nobody have a bow and arrow?’ Lothan spat another mouthful of blood. ‘The flowers that grow here will be the reminder of our dead and our struggle. Feasting on our blood, and theirs, I cannot think of a hardier flower to come.’
‘Yes, My Prince,’ Rugad directed the prince to Lotus steps, ‘We are out of arrows but our men are almost through. Will you be joining them?’
Rei, the pain subsided and he marched toward the steps. Rugad and Hufin were beside him, so close they could have been propping him up.
Lothan shuffled between the splintered doors, he felt blood dribbling down his legs and a tightness setting into his muscles that would need days to loosen. The Palace of the Lotus was caught in a gloom, black armour clad men lay along the walls and between doors, groaning and sporting injuries as severe as amputated legs to deep wounds across the abdomen. None where in a state to fight but they were the enemy.
‘We’re letting fate decide whether they live or die,’ Rugad said.
Lothan nodded, his interest further into the Palace. Echoes of fighting in distant corridors, from the shouting it sounded like only a few men remained. The side door to the great hall was barred, like the main door. He rapped his knuckles against it, ‘Princess Xun-Ma, it is Lothan son of Lobahan.’
A long silence stretched out and made the air cloying.
‘Is there another way inside?’ He asked Rugad.
‘Main doors are sealed shut but there’s probably something else, a secret tunnel or servant’s entrance. I don’t know it if there is.’
Lothan let the silence embrace him. He stared at the architrave of the door. The waterlily motif carved all the way round with each third being adorned with a lotus flower. As he arced his head to the carving above him there was a sound beyond the door. Something clattered to the floor and the door swung open. A boy in armour, but missing a helmet, and wielding a straight-edged sword, dripping with blood, grimaced at the Prince for a few heartbeats. He softened, his eyes widening in recognition. ‘Princess,’ he called and stepped backwards to allow Lothan to enter.
Rei was huddled in the centre of the room, her arms spread wide around seven young children while the elder ones clustered on her arms and dresses. Three Gör Khāni lay dead in the middle of the hall, two Silicians, on the short side, lay with them. Another six protected the orphans and Princess in a circle around them. ‘Prince,’ she breathed, her cheeks pink with tears.
Tamon was limping and panting down the corridor, ‘My Prince. My Prince. The Emperor has been seen out in the Pavilion. His men have failed to breach your father’s Palace. The Emperor is attempting escape.’
‘Rei! You’re all safe, I will return when I can.’ He dashed from the hall, Rugad and Hufin in his wake. ‘We can finish this now and forge a peace for our children.’
Bronze mirrors danced and glistened in the burning ruin of the citadel gatehouse but it wasn’t through yet. Gör Khāni soldiers tossed sand on burning timbers and hurriedly threw them aside so the palanquin could fit. Fifty or so soldiers encircled the back of the litter, their moon swords thick with blood, their faces black with soot. Lothan leapt down the steps two at a time, his pains subdued by the desire, need, to sever the head of the snake. He neared as the two front carriers of the palanquin fled, the remaining six collapsed under the weight. A woman, the kidnapped maiden, rolled out from beneath the curtains and ran, her deel torn and her shoes missing. A curdled screaming roar came from inside the palanquin. Broken words boomed from the palanquin, the mirrors jostling from harried movements.
The soldiers hesitated and then, finally, broke ranks and fled.
The few Silician’s able to fight cheered. Lothan approached the palanquin, sword in hand, shaking. His heart thumped in his ears as he parted the curtains with his sword. The Emperor’s leg was as fat as a boar, his foot bare and swollen, the toes like grapes. A man, one of the carriers who’d fled, lay dead on the other side, a knife in hand. Lothan drew the curtain back to see another man, sword up to the hilt in the Emperor’s bloated, rippling belly that dropped over his boar-sized thighs. The Emperor had one hand around the man’s neck, his plump fingers almost forming a complete fist. The man was dead, no question about it, the veins on his neck and forehead purple from the effort, his eyes streaming blood from the pressure of the Emperor’s fist. Lothan drew the other curtain back to catch a glimpse of the Emperor’s visage. Three more swords had been plunged up to the hilt in his belly but Lothan was uncertain the blades were long enough to pierce the fat. He traced the mountainous outline of the Great Sack of Lard sitting in his palanquin and decked in a thick purple wool and silk deel with green embroidery of dragons. across the shoulders and gold embroidered horses galloping about his midriff. The Emperor’s beard was down to his ribs, black and like a bird’s nest in its unruliness. His face was ruddy, like a farmers, but the veins of his bulbous nose spoke of excess wine. Two ferocious eyes stared out and his mouth was open, mid-word. Lothan leaned in and saw a jewelled dagger wedged into the Emperor’s hanging sack of a neck.
The Prince reached for the dagger.
The Emperor snarled, blood trickled over his teeth and down his beard, his arm reached behind a pillow and with unexpected speed he stabbed Lothan in the gut.
Lothan wheezed and staggered backward.
‘Prince!’ Rugad ran and caught Lothan as he fell to the ground. Lothan shivered as he held Rugad’s hand with a grip of iron. Words stuck in his throat. He felt blood in his lungs. His left leg refused to move. The pale blue dawn, marred by clouds of smoke, faded to blackest night.
Lothan felt a hand entangled with his own, soft with painted nails. Opening his eyes was worse than after a hard night drinking. The light stung, every muscle ached, and he struggled to move anything. The image of the Great Sack of Lard flashed in his mind, the sword entering his gut. Lothan jerked up and growled in pain. A gentle hushing guided him back to the pillow. His eyes locked with the Princess’s.
‘You have a long recovery ahead of you. No sudden movements, no strenuous ones either,’ Rei smiled, sadly. ‘I’m glad you’re awake, Prince.’ She leaned over and kissed him.
Lothan stared into her hair for a heartbeat before kissing her back. ‘And I’m glad to be awake.’
Rei blushed.
Someone cleared their throat at the door. Princess Xun-Ma glanced over her shoulder, rose, and curtsied, holding her sky blue dress out wide, the sleeves grazing the floor. ‘Your Grace.’
‘If I may have a moment with my son,’ King Lobahan entered the room, Grand Commandant Kabok and Grand Secretary Si Loma a step behind.
‘Of course, Your Grace,’ Rei averted her gaze and glided out of Lothan’s bedchamber. The door shut behind her.
‘You survived,’ Lobahan started. His cheeks were sunken, the skin wrinkled and darkening in splotches, a greyness had overcome his eyes.
‘I did.’
‘And you saved the city.’
‘It seems so.’
The King fiddled with a gold chain hanging from his neck, then with the sleeve of his deel. ‘Thank you, you… have earned yourself,’ the words stuck in the King’s throat. He coughed, ‘You’ve earned great honour and proven yourself to be a worthy Prince,’ the King nodded to his son, chewed the inside of his mouth and turned to leave.
‘Father, where is Jifan?’ Lothan croaked.
Kabok and Si Loma glanced to each other but kept mum. The King sighed, ‘Jifan is missing. He was last sighted at Lahun Waystation, heading north-east.’
‘Towards Gör Khān,’ Lothan surmised.
‘Yes, well. He’s gone, we are here. The Emperor is dead. You are fortunate not to have to endured the stench when we burnt his body,’ Lobahan balked and marched out. Si Loma in his shadow.
Kabok shook Lothan’s leg. Lothan winced. ‘Good work on recruiting tribes and villages and securing all those Ostalori. Sad to see most of them died, the horses I mean. Though a lot of men too. Anyway, recover quickly. I have work for you,’ the Grand Commandant rushed from Lothan’s bedchamber.
Prince Lothan closed his eyes and willed himself to recover as slow as possible, preferably accompanied by Xun-Ma Rei and her kisses.
Tebin son of Tegar stood atop the battlements surveying the road and plains beyond Silicia’s walls. Grass had returned to the plains, the last of the burnt siege towers torn down. The road had been uncovered from the layer of corpses, blood, and mud that had covered it. New roads were being laid, heading south along the coast to towns and villages that had assisted the city “beyond duty.” It was said the road would eventually reach the Temple of Sel on the far southern edge of the peninsula but Tebin didn’t believe it.
‘Tebin, I’m here to relieve you of your post,’ Jatan son of Jaran squinted, the sun in his eyes.
‘Oh good, I was bored stiff counting the same patches of grass for six hours,’ Tebin loosened his shoulders. ‘Anything good to eat?’
‘Rice. Dumplings, prawn ones today. Not very good though,’ Jatan took his position at the merlon. A train of travellers had begun to gather on the road awaiting entry. Some had carts, which meant traders. ‘Wonder if they’ve anything good.’
‘Well you can find out in six hours,’ Tebin slapped Jatan on the back and hurried back to barracks. He passed new watch coming up the stairs.
The prawn dumplings were awful, chewy and burnt at the same time. He filled his bowl with five and helped himself to an extra ladle of rice. Though he didn’t eat it there, instead he hurried up to the Palace of the Lotus. The Princess continued to care for the orphans, as best she could, and many new ones had appeared in the aftermath of the siege. Tebin reached the main hall with its flaking walls and aged and cracking columns to find Chuli playing pitch pot with a group of other children.
‘Tebin!’ She cried and ran, throwing his arms around his waist.
‘I got you lunch,’ Tebin handed her the bowl.
‘I’ve had lunch.’
‘Well have a second one, you need it,’ he pinched her cheeks which had started to thin out. She had grown but he wanted to make sure she wasn’t hungry.
Chuli tried one of the dumplings, then a second, before saying, ‘They’re too chewy. Ma made them better. Can we go home?’
Tebin scratched his ear, ‘Maybe, one day but for now, this is our home.’
‘Chuli!’ One of the other children, a couple years older than her, shouted.
Chuli nodded and set the bowl of rice and dumplings down before running off to take her turn in the game.
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Outstanding conclusion!