The Usurper
A Fantasy One Shot
Once more I must thank for his Flast Fiction Friday prompts, this time from April 11th. I intended to use “sun-ripened ruins” but instead ended up writing on “my story is over.” Enjoy!
Caspian slumped to his knees, his limbs heavy, the sword a dead weight in his hand. 'My story is over,' he slurred through a mouthful of blood.
'And none too soon,' Rasagoth growled, swinging his long bladed axe.
Three Days Earlier
The King That Was surveyed the field that would decide his fate, and the fate of the realm. How'd it come to this? The ground was soft from heavy rain, the trees lush with fresh green leaves. The hills to the east would provide a good position for the archers if he could swing the cavalry through the woods to the west. Pikemen along the base of the hill would act as the anvil and, if the Usurper took the bait, the cavalry would be the hammer. He'd have to keep units back as a feint.
'The ground is too soft for a cavalry charge, Your Grace,' Garth Castron said. 'See that cart, some farmer lost it to the mud, submerged half way up the wheels. We should decamp and retreat to firmer ground.'
'We can't,' Caspian murmured through clenched teeth. He wanted to retreat but he couldn't, the Usurper had sent a force behind to siege Teraso. It was a distraction, one that would tie his main army up and give the enemy a chance to surround him. Worse than that if Caspian retreated it would open the road to Curseil, a city without walls and centre of trade for what remained of his kingdom. He could no more retreat than he could advance. The battle had to be out on the muddy field with the woods to the west and hills to the east.
'The siege at Teraso is a ruse, that army isn't large enough or well-equipped to take the city. Ignore them and make for Lorain, Duke Grenfald will greet you well and offer support.'
'Grenfald is as likely to kill me as he is to help us.'
'He has been... half-hearted in the past, Your Grace, but we can offer him –'
'The man is a coward and there is nothing I can offer a man like that. Even if he did support my claim it would matter little when the Usurper appeared on the horizon with a force greater than my own. Grenfald is no friend of ours and we do not have the time to life the siege at Teraso. We fight here. We win or we die here. Either I am King after the battle, or he is...' Caspian sloughed in the saddle. His grandfather's sword was heavy on his hip, his father's cuirass tight around his chest. Caspian was the fourth king of his great-grandfather's kingdom. If he had been the thirtieth maybe he would have felt differently, all kingdoms fell eventually but to be only the fourth, for the kingdom to not even reach a century... that was unforgivable. No, thirtieth would be equally unforgivable for a king should do everything in his power to preserve his kingdom, his nation, his people. 'Garth, summon the generals,' Caspian turned his horse and rode back to camp, he would not allow his story, his family's story, end in such a disgraceful manner.
The camp was nestled in sun-ripened ruins. Ancient Alyric columns and walls made of singular blocks of stone impossibly big dotted the field, the tents positioned between them. One wall served as the barrier to the north, as tall as a city wall, and the tallest column was where the command tent had been erected. King Caspian ran his hand along the column behind his tent wondering how it was constructed and what of. They called it stone but no stone mason could work with it, it eroded but far slower than any other stone, a mysterious material he would never know the mysteries of.
'Your Grace, they're ready,' Garth Castron's voice pierced Caspian's gloom.
The King Who Was stepped away from the Alyric column, his musings remaining in the long grass at its base. He padded into his tent, his four generals awaiting their liege, stiff and formal except for one, his brother, who ate leftover grapes from Caspian's luncheon. All four bowed their heads but none spoke. Caspian judged each man. Teros with his sea grey eyes always half-lidded, his skin crimson from long days under the sun conducting training exercises. Yunal had dark circles around his eyes, his hair overgrown and floppy. Barran was impassive, his downturned mouth making him appear permanently pessimistic. Last was Caspian's brother, Darlio, a man of infinite appetite who refused to look beyond the next hour, a curious trait for a general. He was the only one remotely joyous. Garth slunk through the tent to the strategy table, placing wooden horsemen and archers around a makeshift map of hills and woods.
'As you are no doubt aware the rain has only now stopped after three days. The mud is knee deep in places, our strategy must change,' Caspian prowled to the table with the wooden soldiers.
'Move on, pick up camp march on Teravanto and pretend to siege it. Set an ambush for when the Usurper comes to fight, scatter his army to the four corners,' Darlio chewed a handful of grapes as he spoke.
Teros snorted and shook his head, arms folded tight across his chest, biceps bulging.
'You have a thought on that plan?' Darlio spat the seeds out into a bronze pot, each one pinging the metal.
'Shit plan from a shit general. Soon as you spring the ambush the garrison at Teravanto is going to charge out and ram you up the backside, may as well hog tie ourselves over a fire pit.'
'That is some imagery, general,' Darlio smirked, sauntering over to the map table. 'Teravanto has no more than two thousand men, old and weak men at that. The Usurper can't spare good soldiers defending a walled town on the road to nowhere.'
'Then why would he come to lift the siege?' Barran asked.
'Because his grain store is there.'
'How do you know this?' Barran said.
'It's obvious. Look at the Usurper's movements, he marches in a zigzag across The Delft going from lake, to Teravanto, to the river, back to Teravanto, out to the Pits, then back to Teravanto. We know this, it is in every report from spy and scout a like. There are no sign of supply trains, his grain is there, for certain. Threaten it and he will come to protect it,' Darlio had a smug grin painted across his face.
'If that were true then he would leave more than two thousand greybeards to defend the place,' Barran said.
'Not necessarily,' Yunal's voice was barely a whisper. He tucked his hair behind his ears, 'Assigning a contingent of elite troops to defend Teravanto would reveal something was there, by leaving weak soldiers he reveals nothing.'
'Precisely,' Darlio said.
'However,' Yunal continued. 'The Usurper is shrewd and it could be a trap, his movements designed to make us look to Teravanto as a legitimate target. Bait, as it were.'
Caspian groaned, the venting was necessary but too much would splinter his generals. 'Then we are back at the beginning, nowhere to attack and nowhere to retreat. We have to fight and break Rasagoth's army here and now.' It was the first time he had uttered the Usurper's name in weeks. The name soured the atmosphere further, adding the smell of sulphur to the air.
'What's the ground like, Your Grace?' Teros asked.
'Mud. Cavalry would be impossible, the pikemen would be stranded in it too I reckon,' Caspian said.
'Then we lure the Usurper to it, his heavy sword would suffer too in mud like that. Position archers on the hills and in the forests and we pick apart his crack troops one at a time. His own cavalry won't be able to advance anymore than ours would, victory is assured,' Barran said.
'I wouldn't be so sure. He will have had scouts out just like us.'
'It's possible. Do we not outnumber the enemy?' Yunal asked.
'Barely but his troops have seen more battles and skirmishes. Veterancy trumps numbers,' Caspian said. On a whim he looked to his brother, 'Darlio, send your scouts out to confirm whether Teravanto is home to the Usurper's grain. They have two days. On the third we advance on his camp or siege the town, whichever is more promising. If the rains hold then the ground will have dried enough for infantry but still be too soggy for cavalry, we can win that engagement. Dismissed.'
The four generals saluted and made their way one-by-one out of the tent. Garth Castron remained, 'Your Grace, if I may...'
'Dismissed, Garth.'
He bowed, 'Your Grace.' and ducked out through the tent flap.
Caspian reached for a jug of wine, soured from too many days undrunk, and slumped into a chair to drink his sorrows.
The Day of the Final Battle
The King That Was, a title given to him by his own subjects and sung in taverns by bards near and far at least those who had been conquered by the Usurper, had busied himself for two days on the minutiae of his army. He had checked the quantity and quality of the arrows, whether swords had been properly sharpened, whether chain mail had been oiled, and every soldier he came across with cracked boots or a missing plate in their armour he'd sent to have the problem repaired. All the while in the back of his mind he played through each scenario on the field, how the mud would trap his men, prevent the use of cavalry, or how if he did siege Teravanto when and how long for, where the ambush would be, how many men would be needed, did he use a fire attack or not. One by one, as tasks around the camp were completed, scenarios wrapped themselves up in his mind the options shrinking until he had two, one for the field and one for the siege. Now all he needed was for Darlio's scouts to report back.
It was sunrise, the bustle of the camp bubbling up. Smoke rose to the reddened sky as soldier's porridge was being prepared, the last watch were turning in as the first were heading out. The sun peeked over the horizon, bright and promising rain for later in the day. No fire attack, he ducked back inside his tent to tend to his breakfast of porridge, wrinkled grapes, and a wedge of hard mouldy cheese. Caspian knew it wouldn't be long till he was left with only soldier's porridge. Then he would have to start plotting a course to a city he controlled for resupply but if it came to that then the road to Curseil would be open and Caspian's main tax revenue at risk. Curseil, the glass rose in his hands, a city without walls on an open plain, indefensible and invaluable. Once a mere cluster of farm houses at the junction of three major roads, once one merchant smelled opportunity they all did and the hamlet grew to a town then to a city far quicker than the construction of stout stone walls would have allowed, a curse of peacetime.
Garth Castron, Adjutant of the King's Army, arrived armed and armoured. 'Darlio's scouts have returned, well one of them at least, the others are still out there. He is on his way here.' Neighing pierced the air, Caspian's tent guards shouting for the horse to be controlled.
Caspian emerged ready to shout but was shocked to find a man, bloodied from neck to hip, fall down at his feet. 'Your Grace, the Usurper's grain supply is at Teravanto. There are, roughly, two thousand men garrisoned in the city, mostly old men and young boys,' the scout collapsed, his face a smear of dirt and blood.
'Get this man to the surgeons. Garth, summon the generals.' Caspian ventured back to his tent and began constructing the map to Teravanto at the strategy table.
Darlio was first to arrive, all smiles and smugness. 'I told you, brother, I told you.'
'You did,' Caspian leaned over the wooden horses and spearmen wondering where to place the men inside the woods that surrounded the city of Teravanto. 'We want to take the city.'
'Burn it,' Darlio said, already with a grape between his teeth.
'We need the grain and if other cities hear of such a thing their people would rebel.'
'Burn it.'
Caspian was about to admonish his brother for his casual tone but the three other generals arrived with news of their own.
'The other scouts are dead, did you know that, Darlio?' Teros scowled.
'I did not.'
'Have you even gone to see your man with the surgeons?' Teros said, his skin peeled off his cheeks, red and raw from too many days under the sun.
'Not yet, more important matters to attend to.'
'Well I have and he had more to say but he fainted before he could tell Your Grace,' Teros turned to the King and bowed his head. 'The road to Teravanto has been tampered with, hard to ride over, impossible for carts or siege engines but there is a secondary road, winding, indirect and through the woods but it's Alyric, smooth as polished marble. The city itself is under curfew and there appears to be a secret network of commoners smuggling people out which means there are tunnels or something else which we can use to make our way inside. We can get men inside, burn the provisions, and be out with no need to siege the city.'
'How long will that take?' Caspian asked.
'A week, at most.'
'We don't have a week. Our provisions might last three weeks but it's at least five days march to Curseil and further to somewhere with walls that we can comfortably call our own. We are in enemy territory and do not have the luxury of a week.'
'Teraso is three days march,' Yunal said, but his tone was hollow because he knew the problem there.
'Teraso is under siege. If we wait for our men to sabotage Teravanto, march on Teraso, fight, and recover we will then be attacked in the rear by the Usurper or find Curseil threatened. Teraso will likely be diminishing their supplies already, our best bet is to seize the food at Teravanto. Two thousand poor fighters won't stop us once we scale the walls,' Caspian said. He pinched his bottom lip and moved a trio of wooden bowmen into position between the model walls of Teravanto and the woods, predicting where the Usurper would appear.
'Burn the city, it's the quickest way, then march double time to Curseil for resupply,' Darlio swilled the sour wine in the jug, sniffed it, and set it down with a grimace.
'What? So we can arrive to a wall-less city exhausted and pursued by our enemy? Do you wish for death so?' Barran's baritone rumbled slowly onward like a crawling mountain.
'Curseil has a garrison and plenty of fighting men we can hire,' Darlio said.
'It's a merchant town not a mercenary company,' Barran said.
'Enough,' Caspian raised his hand. 'We will siege Teravanto, seize the provisions, and set an ambush for the Usurper. See to the soldiers, gentlemen, we march in one hour.'
The five of men bowed and set about their tasks. Caspian peered into the map table as if it held the secret formations he needed to emerge victorious. Either he would be King or he wouldn't and the tales the bards told of him being The King That Was would become true.
On the Road to Teravanto
The Alyric road was as smooth and meandering as the scout had suggested. The woods on either side of the road rose the embankments thick and lush, conkers littered the undergrowth of currant bushes and brambles. Darlio had scouts hacking through the woods on the look out for enemy forces but none had reported anything of note. The trebuchets trundled along it without issue, the horses clopped happily and the infantry complained of boredom it was so easy to march. Caspian had the various captains and lieutenants remind the men of the upcoming battle and to steel their hearts ready for a fight that would be sung about for generations. The Usurper was sung about with trepidation in Caspian's land and he would see it that the songs had an ending, a good one where evil was vanquished.
Trumpets sounded left and right. A hail of flaming arrows peppered the column and within seconds an inferno blazed around Caspian. Men, horses, carts, the fire seemed to leap from one to the other. Four of his Kingsguard gathered around, their tower shields held high, and attempted to gallop forward, out of the ambush, but it was too late. A wall of spearmen wearing twigs and branches, some with berries on, emerged from the woods either side of the road and blocked Caspian's advance.
The King That Was wrestled his way out of his guards, 'Form up! Form up!' he cried. Two arrows slammed into his steed's flank. He fell, knocking one of his guards to the ground too, his mount crushing his leg. His horse whinnied, tried to stand, fell again. Caspian scrambled out from under the horse before it pinned him to the Alyric road. He drew his sword as the three mounted Kingsguard surrounded him. The world was a serious of narrow peepholes showing fire and blood. Smoke clogged the air above him, thick and black. Men screamed and the whistle of arrows was deafening.
'Brother! We have to go!' Darlio galloped up, peering between two of the shields. 'No good staying here,' he yelled at the Kingsguard, but the man wouldn't move. 'Get the King a horse!' he barked, loud enough to make the guard flinch. Darlio took his place, 'Caspian, we're surrounded. Only hope is to go into the woods, get lost in the confusion, use the smoke to our advantage.'
'Where's Garth?'
'Don't know. Don't have time to find out. We have to go.'
'Better to go on foot, easier to flee.'
Darlio raised his buckler, deflecting a flaming arrow. 'You're right,' he dismounted, grabbed Caspian by the arm and sprinted for the trees. The Kingsguard balked, yelled, then chased. Three arrows bloomed from one and he toppled off his horse, dead. The other slid from his saddle and ran after Darlio and Caspian. They crouched in a blackberry bush.
The Usurper rode his white horse through the carnage, slow and ponderously, his eyes searching. Caspian fixed his gaze upon his enemy. 'I kill him here and now and it's over,' he leapt up.
Darlio lurched, catching Caspian's shoulders, and slammed him to the ground, 'Not a chance you get within fifty feet of him. We've lost this one, best thing we can do is retreat and regroup. Live to fight again.'
Caspian scowled at his brother and then saw the bodies covering the ancient road, the blood spilled, of friends and loyal subjects. He found Garth Castron, Adjutant, blankly staring at him. Beside him was Yunal, his hair burned to the scalp, his face black as coal. The Usurper's spearmen blocking the road advanced slowly to entrap Caspian's army. Heavily armoured swordsmen tore through the loyalists killing ten for every one of their own.
'How would I recover from this?' his voice was a whisper.
'What?' Darlio yelled over the men shouting and screaming, the roar of the fire, the purr of bowstring.
'Save yourself. Run. Make for the coast, beyond it. Don't look back,' he removed his grandfather's signet ring and shoved it into Darlio's hand. 'Do not look back,' Caspian kissed his brother on the cheek and drew his sword.
'What? You--' Darlio, for once in his life, had nothing to say. 'I will see you again, brother.' He ran into the woods, crouching low to avoid the smoke and arrows. The Kingsguard did not go with him.
'Go, your duty is fulfilled.' Caspian assured the soldier.
He hesitated, bowed his head, then fled after Darlio.
Caspian strode onto the road, his armour glistening in the flames, his cloak billowing about him, the white of it stark against the black smoke. 'Usurper! Thief! Here I am! Face me if you dare!' Caspian spread his arms wide, sword in one hand.
Rasagoth spun his horse around, 'Hold! I accept, King That Was!' He jammed his heels into his steed and galloped through the chaos, swinging his long axe in big looping arcs. When he was ten feet away he leapt from the saddle, grabbed his axe in both hands, and crashed into Caspian. Axe met sword in a shower of sparks. Caspian was forced to one knee, his sword bowing. Rasagoth raked his axe down the blade and across the hilt. Caspian twisted to save his fingers and jabbed the twisted end of his sword at Rasagoth's shoulder. The Usurper spun away, axe spinning around his waist. 'Surrender and you will live out your days far, far from here.'
Caspian yelled and charged at the Usurper, sword gripped in both hands. He swung, chopped, hacked, but met only his enemy's axe. Men had begun to gather around them in a ring, all of them were Rasagoth's. Caspian gave space and caught his breath. 'Our story ends here,' he snarled. Knowing that when, if, he managed to kill Rasagoth that his soldiers would rip him to pieces moments later.
'So be it,' Rasagoth's face grew dark. He strode forth holding his axe close to the blade in one hand. He swung, teeth clenched.
Caspian blocked the blow and felt his bones rattle, his sword bent more. Another swing came, heavier than the last, and Caspian's sword shattered. The third swing struck the crossguard and drove Caspian to his knees. Rasagoth slammed the butt of the axe into his chest. Caspian was thrown backwards, sprawled out on the Alyric road surrounded by dead loyalists. He wheezed as he rolled onto his front and pushed himself to his knees still holding the hilt of broken blade. He knelt upon the stone, swaying and coughing blood. 'My story is over.'
'And none too soon,' Rasagoth aimed his axe for Caspian's neck.
Ten Years Later
Darlio disembarked The Mermaid eager to find the nearest tavern that served ale and meat, he didn't want to see a fish for the rest of his life. He spun his grandfather's signet ring round his middle finger as he stepped ashore in Marasel, a port town whose only road led to Curseil. His skin prickled as he walked off the dock and into the town proper, people looked but did not recognise at least he hoped they didn't. It had been ten years, long enough for a face to be forgotten even a royal one.
He reached the edge of town and saw a sign that read, The Suckling Pig, and hurried inside. Sure enough people were eating sausages, pork pies, whole piglets. Darlio rushed to the bar, barging past a number of day drinkers gossiping. The tavernkeeper was busy with someone else so he waited, listening.
'You here the King died.'
'When?'
'Last moon I heard, news was slow to travel. Kept hushed up on account of him having no heir.'
The other speaker groaned. 'Bad times coming I tell you.'
'Aye, probably.'
No heir, Darlio thought, spinning his grandfather's signet ring, hoping his visage had not changed too much.
Thanks for reading!
Check out my serial The Atlantean’s of Proxima b if you haven’t already.
