The Affinity VI

Recap: Lord Astavar has 'slept' for twenty days and wakes to find the Litanlian fortress under siege.

The Affinity VI

©2008 Ian Hobson

13 - Siege

The gods love to play their tricks on me; making me sleep as the world continues to turn. There had been a series of battles in northern Litanlia. King Rubris had been killed and the decimated Litanlian forces had been split, with over a thousand men, including the king's son, Prince Rugert, cut off to the west, and a larger number killed or driven slowly south. And, if that was not bad enough, Romada had been attacked by a small fleet of Tirukshi ships. Whether they were allied to the Grustan forces, or just making the most of an opportunity for pillage, no one knew for sure. But the townspeople, and remaining refugees, had poured in through the castle gates as the town burned, and as the remnants of the Litanlian forces were arriving from the north.

'You chose a good time for your sleep.' It was early morning and Kello was standing beside me on the battlements as we surveyed the enemy encampment. They occupied a hillside to the south-west, but were also busy on the wooded slopes between the castle and the town, cutting timber to build siege engines, one of which looked to be complete though, as yet, they seemed to have no rocks to hurl at us.

'What do you make of our chances?' I asked.

Kello tugged on his beard before answering. 'The garrison has a well, so we'll not die of thirst, and its walls are good and thick and should withstand whatever that catapult can throw at us. But with so many mouths to feed, they could starve us out.'

'How much food do we have?'

'Enough for maybe twenty days. It's already rationed. Young Aesteban's been put in charge of the food store and he's posted two armed guards at the door. You hungry?'

'Ravenous.' As always after waking from one of my deep sleeps, I had the appetite of ten men. 'Tell me about Lord Manados,' I said.

'A pompous fool.' Kello spat over the wall. 'Lead his men into a trap, by all accounts, and then was the first to retreat. But he's in command here until an enemy archer spots his fine clothes and puts a shaft through his neck. So far, all he's done is complain about the stink from the latrines.'

'Lord Astavar.' I turned to see Layana hurrying towards me along the battlements. 'I am story I was not there when you awoke.' She gave me a formal curtsey before flinging her arms around my neck and kissing me, which engendered a few envious looks from the soldiers stationed along the battlements.

'I thought you had deserted me,' I teased. Her hair was tied in a ponytail and she no longer wore the dress that she had worn when we had arrived in Romada, but had changed into a man's shirt and breeches. 'And you seem to have stolen some of your brother's clothing.'

'More practical,' she answered, showing me a bloodstain on her sleeve. 'I've been helping the physician with the wounded soldiers.'

'So I heard.'

Suddenly there was a commotion further along the wall as a tall and immaculately dressed man, in his middle years, came striding towards us, followed by young Lieutenant Aesteban. 'I thought I gave orders that women were to keep off the ramparts!' he said, haughtily.

'This is the young lady who has been helping with the wounded,' said Aesteban with a worried frown. 'And this is Lord Astavar, the man I told you about.' He gave me a curt nod followed by a questioning look. 'I am pleased to see that you have recovered from your fever, sir.'

'Thank you,' I said, turning to face the new commander. 'Do I have the honour of addressing Lord Manados?'

'You do indeed.' Manados looked me up and down, clearly unimpressed by my dishevelled appearance, as I was still dressed as I had been on the day I arrived at the garrison. 'You are not of this country but you intend to fight alongside us, is that correct?'

'It is,' I replied.

Manados continued to look at me as though I was something unpleasant he had just stepped in, before turning to look towards the enemy encampment. 'I suppose mercenaries have their uses. Though we are in a good defensive position here and I expect that King Ungstred will soon tire of this... But even so, no women on the ramparts!' He glared at Lieutenant Aesteban, and then at Layana who gave another quick curtsey before wisely making herself scarce.

'Trouble,' said Kello. He was still gazing over towards the enemy where he had spotted a small group of horsemen leaving the encampment and riding towards us. 'And if I'm any judge of horseflesh, that leading mount is fit for a king.'

'The rider is certainly dressed like a king,' I said, noting the way his highly polished breastplate reflected the sunlight. 'A king ready to do battle.' At that moment two of the accompanying horsemen unfurled the banners that they were carrying, allowing them to stream out and flutter in the breeze.

'Have our archers make ready,' Lord Manados ordered Lieutenant Aesteban. 'If King Ungstred has a death-wish, I'll be happy to oblige him.' At this, Kello let out a huge belly-laugh and slapped his sides as though he had just been told the funniest joke ever. 'What is this man laughing at?' Manados demanded in an angry tone.

'The banners,' Lieutenant Aesteban answered.

'What about them?' Manados, looking perplexed, stared towards the riders.

'The green and grey banner is King Ungstred's, but the other one is red.' Aesteban looked expectantly at his commander, who slowly turned pale as he realised the red banner's significance.

'You mean?'

'Yes, sir. He is challenging you to armed combat.'

14 – The Red Banner

'Ha!' Lord Manados tried to make light of his predicament. 'As if Ungstred would abide by the rules of such an engagement. His archers would use me as target practice the moment I left the safety of the castle. He must believe I'm a fool.'

'I think not,' I said. 'More likely he believes he can win. I which case your men would have to stand down and surrender the castle.'

'There will be no surrender!' exclaimed Lord Manados indignantly.

'But if you were to win the fight, my lord,' said Lieutenant Aesteban, with enthusiasm, 'then his men would have to withdraw; they would have no alternative.'

'He's right,' said Kello. 'To do otherwise would anger the gods and risk each of them being cursed forever.'

Manados began to chew his lip as he stared towards the approaching riders. Before they came within range of our archers, King Ungstred took the red banner from his aid and waved it to and fro. There was no need for an exchange of words. The age-old challenge of armed combat, between the commanders of two opposing armies, was known to all: it was death to the vanquished, and to the winner went whatever was at stake. In this case, the castle and everything in it, though the defenders, or aggressors, would be free to go.

Unless, of course, the winning side reneged on the agreement, as happened when the commander of the Dralman army killed the king of Salamnan and then went on to slaughter his followers. That had happened centuries before, but the story, in one form or another, was known to all fighting men, especially the part where each man in the Dralman army was made to suffer the pain of their victims until, in despair, they all took there own lives. Such was the curse of the gods.

'You must reply,' said Kello gravely, 'with the red flag of acceptance... or the white flag of cowardice.'

'Bring a red flag,' I said to Lieutenant Aesteban. 'Quickly.'

'But!' Lord Manados was almost pissing himself with fear. He knew that if he took up the challenge it could easily mean his death, but if he were to refuse to fight he would be branded a coward for the rest of his life. He stopped chewing at his lip and, though his eyes still showed his fear, he pulled himself to his full height. 'Very well,' he said. 'I will accept the challenge.'

I was impressed; he was more of a man than I’d thought. 'Brave decision,' I said, placing a hand on his arm. 'But perhaps the wrong decision, unless you truly believe you can win.'

'I am not a coward!' he said, shrugging off my hand.

'Indeed not,' I replied. 'You have proved that by your own words, just now. But what is important, above all else, is that our side should win. Stand down as commander and let me take your place.'

'You?' For a moment, his eyes showed some of the contempt they had shown me earlier but, rapidly, a look of relief spread across his face. 'Do you believe that you can win?' he asked.

'Yes,' I said. 'But only if you step down. And I urge you to do so for the sake of all these people.' I gestured towards the soldiers and townspeople who stood below us in the courtyard, every pair of eyes straining to see, and ears straining to hear what was taking place.

Manados was clearly torn between avoiding the fight and giving up his command, but common sense, or his sense of self-preservation, prevailed. 'You show true bravery, sir,' he said, as he unsheathed his sword and offered it to me. 'Please accept my sword, and the command of this castle.'

'I accept command,' I replied. 'But please forgive me if I do not accept your sword, for I have one of my own and will trust no other in combat.' At that moment, Lieutenant Aesteban returned carrying a flag pole hung with a small, but bright red, flag. Lord Manados opened his mouth is if he was about to speak, but remembering that he was no longer in command, he remained silent.

'You may give the reply, Lieutenant,' I said. 'But then please be kind enough to allow my servant to bring me some food. I cannot fight on an empty stomach.'

***

Shortly after waving the red flag in reply to the challenge, Lieutenant Aesteban had ridden out to meet one of King Ungstred's aids who had come forward to agree the time of the engagement. Seeing no reason to hurry, I had ordered Aesteban to delay until after dawn the next day. This would give me time to eat, and to gather as much information as I could about my adversary. Apparently King Ungstred of Grustan had a fearsome reputation, both as a warrior and as a king, as he treated his own people almost as severely as he treated his enemies. He was a tall, well built man, as I had seen for myself, and in the most recent battle, in northern Litanlia, he had, according to one of the survivors, taken on both King Rubris and his bodyguard, killing them both with two-handed swings of the great sword he carried, while remaining astride a great warhorse and trampling their bodies underfoot.

'You will need a good horse,' said Kello as he sat and watched Layana bathe me. Luke warm water in an old iron bath in the officers' quarters was a poor substitute for Curab's hot springs, but I was feeling much refreshed.

'And one for Miglio,' I said. It was customary for two aides to accompany each of the duelling commanders. Lieutenant Aesteban had offered to be one of them and I had asked Miglio to be the other.

'Any horse will do for the boy,' Kello answered. 'But you need a strong fighting horse.'

'Do you have one in mind?'

'Aye. While you were sleeping, and before this place filled up with retreating soldiers and people from the town, three riderless horses returned, and one of them was King Rubris's stallion, Bloodraven He had a couple of nasty cuts on his neck and shoulder, but I've treated his wounds and fed him well, so he'll be fine. Do you want to see him?'

'Later,' I said. 'But for now, perhaps you would excuse us? Though you may as well acquaint Miglio with his horse.' As Kello left the room, grinning, I seized Layana by the waist and pulled her, screaming, into the scummy water. After all, there was an outside chance that I would be killed the next day, so I wanted to make the most of our time together.

15 – The Meadow

Soldiers lined the battlements, and more soldiers and a crowd of townspeople jostled noisily in the courtyard as I prepared to ride King Rubris's black stallion, Bloodraven, through the main gates, accompanied by Lieutenant Aesteban and Miglio, both mounted on grey mares. Perhaps wisely, Lord Manados had remained in his quarters, but he had loaned me his spare coat of mail, breastplate and helmet - not wishing to risk damage to his best ones, I noticed – and also a fine, emerald-green cloak which, according to Layana, gave me a princely look. 'Take care, my lord!' she shouted over the cheers of the assembled townsfolk and soldiers. 'And you too, Miglio!' She was smiling but there was a glint of a tear in her eye, though whether through pride or fear for our lives, I was not sure. But soon she was out of sight, lost in the throng of waving and cheering people, as we rode through the gateway.

We rode single file down the track towards the town, soon veering off to the west towards a meadow that lay between the castle and the enemy encampment. As we entered the meadow, to more shouts and cheers from the castle battlements, I halted Bloodraven to allow Miglio and Aesteban to come up beside me. Miglio carried a newly made red banner of acceptance, and Aesteban a Litanlian banner depicting a silver horseman on a green background while I, of course, carried my sheathed sword and a circular shield, given to me by Kello. At the other side of the meadow, flanked by his two aides, was King Ungstred, his breastplate shining brightly as it had the day before; though he sat astride a different horse, a large chestnut stallion that pawed at the dew-laden grass as though impatient to begin while, behind the three horsemen was the Grustan army, shouting and cheering as vigorously as our troops.

A warm south-easterly gust of wind washed over us, lifting our two banners and flapping them vigorously, before it moved on to do the same to King Ungstred's and, as if that was a signal to do so, both parties rode on towards the centre of the meadow until we stopped, fifty or so paces short of each other.

Close to, I could see that my opponent was indeed a big man, and that he was studying me just as closely as I was studying him. But he must have been every bit as keen as his stallion to begin as, with a wave of his hand, his two aides were dismissed and they turned their mounts away and rode back to the edge of the meadow where the Grustan troops crowded and jostled for a better view of the fight.

For my part, I saw no reason for haste, as having lived as a mortal for over a thousand years, and fought in countless battles, I was in no hurry to take another life; which may sound like bravado, but I knew that the gods would decide my fate and I doubted that today was the day that they would have me die at the hands of another. I smiled at the king and wished him good morning in what I thought was faultless Grustanian, but he chose not to reply. His mount began to nod and shake his head impatiently, and I noticed then that the stallion's head and flanks were battle scarred, and that his eyes had a wild, untamed look.

Beside me, Aesteban and Miglio's mounts had become restless. 'The king's horse looks mad, master,' Miglio whispered.

'Bread for fighting,' I replied, while unfastening my cloak and handing it to him. I sensed that King Ungstred was growing impatient, so I decided to delay no more.

'Thank you,' I said to my aids, and they too turned their horses and rode away. King Ungstred's right hand went to the hilt of his sword, so I drew mine and, standing up into my stirrups, kissed the blade. This seemed to amuse the Grustan king and he drew his own sword without doing the same; not because he was not subject to the same superstitions as all fighting men, I thought, but because he wanted to show me his contempt; that he could beat me easily, with or without the help of the sword gods.

The shouts and cheers from both armies had tapered away, and we faced each other in silence, with not even the sound of birds, or insects, or of the wind in the grass, just the soft breath of our horses. Then, with sword held high, King Ungstred charged. What signal he had given to his mount, I could not say, for the two seemed to move as though man and beast were one. I had not sat astride a horse for a number of years but I reacted instinctively, digging my heels into Bloodraven's flanks, and he responded beautifully, almost instantly matching King Ungstred's charge and, within a few heartbeats, we clashed: sword against sword and man against man. The king's tactics were clear: he had aimed a weak and easily parried blow at my head, and then smashed his mailed elbow in under my raised right arm, trying to unhorse me.

Thankfully I remained in the saddle and rode on, turning Bloodraven around for a second charge. This time King Ungstred came at me with his sword arm outstretched and, as I prepared to parry once more, I was surprised when his mount veered straight into Bloodraven's path, with eyes wilder than ever and jaws agape. With little help from me, Bloodraven swung away, avoiding the head on collision that might have resulted, and though both the king and myself lashed out with our swords, our blades did not even meet. I turned Bloodraven again, thinking that if we continued to fight this way, the contest might last all day, and I now found myself becoming impatient.

Meanwhile King Ungstred seemed to be having difficulty controlling his stallion and was probably regretting his choice of mount, for as he charged again it was with less speed and uncertain direction. Deciding that now would be a good time to take the lead, I leaned forward and whispered the Litanlian word for 'faster' into Bloodraven's ear, and he sped forward with such speed that I was thrown back into the saddle. As we bore down on the king, his stallion seemed to recognise the threat, and he leapt forward matching Bloodraven's rapidity; but again veered straight into Bloodraven's path leaving him nowhere to go. As the two horses collided, I saw that King Ungstred was as taken by surprise as I was, and we were both thrown forward with such force that our heads clashed with a skull-jarring impact that sent our helmets flying, before we both tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs, swords and horses’ hooves.

King Ungstred was on top of me, but he must have been more dazed than I, because I was the first to recover my wits. I shoved him away and started to get to my feet, but it was then that my head was stuck by a shod hoof and I was knocked to the ground again with disastrous consequences.

I tried to stand, but I could only manage to crawl on hands and knees, and my vision was blurred and my head spinning or - at least everything around me was spinning - but worse than that: I no longer knew who, or where, I was.

A horse whinnied loudly before cantering past, and then I heard someone behind me groaning and what sounded like cursing, but in a language I did not understand. I kept on crawling. I needed time to think. Who was I? Then the realisation struck me: I knew who I was. I was Michael Collington!

16 - The Sword

I could hear more horses now and they seemed to be galloping towards me, so I forced myself to stand, as I feared that I would be trampled. My vision was still blurred but slowly becoming clearer, and I saw that the horses were not riderless. One of them stopped just a few feet away and its rider leaped from the saddle and came to my aid.

'Master! Are you alright, master?'

I knew that voice, and understood the word master. It was the young servant, Miglio, but I was not his master. There were unintelligible shouts coming from across the field, and nearby there were more voices in heated argument.

At last my vision cleared and I saw the young officer, Aesteban, stoop to pick up a sword and shield that lay in the grass, and then come striding towards me.

'It is agreed,' he said. 'There is no winner, so the fight will continue on foot. Are you ready, Lord Astavar?'

He stared at me while I stared back, for I had understood only the word Astavar.

'You must fight, my lord, or you will lose by default and be put to death.' He held out the sword and shield as if he expected me to take them. But I could not comprehend what was happening. Why was I here? I was wearing a breastplate and chain mail, but I was Michael Collington from England, not a fighting man. What had happened to the part of me that was Lord Astavar? I looked over towards the other men. One of them, a big burly man, was staring malevolently at me, and he had a huge sword in his right hand and a shield on his left arm. Of course! He was the enemy king that Lord Astavar was to fight, but...

'Something's gone wrong,' I said to Miglio and Aesteban. 'I'm not who you think I am.' But they both stared at me as though I was speaking a foreign language which, of course, I was because I was speaking English, a language from another world. I didn't know what to do. I was no warrior. My grandfather's letter had said nothing about me being put in danger. This couldn't be happening.

I took a step backwards, almost shaking with fear.

'Take your sword, master.'

Miglio had spoken again, and now he had taken the sword from Aesteban and was offering it to me.

Of course! The sword! Everything that had happened to me revolved around the sword. I took it from Miglio, raised to my lips and kissed the blade. Nothing happened; at least, not at first, but gradually I began to feel more confidant, and the weight of the sword in my hand felt right. I was still Michael Collington but I was no longer afraid. Aesteban offered me the shield, and I took it from him.

'Thank you,' I said, surprised to find myself speaking Litanlian. 'You can both leave now.' King Ungstred's aids were already riding back towards the Grustan army and, with obvious relief on their faces, Miglio and Aesteban mounted their horses and rode away.

I cannot easily explain the way I felt. I was still Michael Collington and yet, with one kiss of the sword, I was fearless, a warrior, and before me was an enemy, a man intent on killing me. As he strode towards me he discarded his shield and, taking his sword in two hands, he ran at me, swinging his sword like an axe.

Some instinct made me drop my own shield and block the blow with a two-handed swing of my own, and our swords came together with a mighty clash that should have loosened my grip, but didn't. Marvelling at my own strength, I knocked the king's sword aside and then swung my blade diagonally upwards forcing him to take a step backwards and swing his sword in an arc to parry the blow. I fought on, feeling that now I might have the initiative because, though the king was matching my every stroke, he was slowly giving ground. All around us was the sound of the two opposing armies, shouting encouragement like fans at a football match. From the castle I could clearly here the name Astavar being chanted.

King Ungstred changed his tactics, stepping closer as he parried one of my sword strokes and barrelling into me. I stumbled, loosing ground, but then redoubled my efforts, and when he came close again, without thinking, I smashed my elbow into his jaw, forcing him to lurch backwards. I couldn't believe my own skill and strength, it was as though every time our swords clashed, an electrical charge passed through me, giving me even more strength. Then suddenly it was all but over: King Ungstred failed to effectively block a vicious blow that I aimed at his left shoulder, taking the worst of it on his left arm, and I clearly heard a bone in his forearm break. To his credit, he did not cry out, but tried to fight on with his one good arm until, with all the strength I could muster, I weekend his grip and sent his sword flying, before putting the tip of my blade to his throat.

Still, I could not believe what was happening. I was Michael Collington, office worker turned warrior. A warrior with a true affinity for his sword. And there before me was a beaten enemy, waiting for the one last sword thrust that would take his life.

Epilogue

Two thirds of the twenty-first century has passed, and I am an old man now, father of three and grandfather of seven, and when I tell my grandchildren the stories of how I was a great warrior in a land beyond our universe, they believe that is all that they are: just stories.

Except for David, my youngest grandchild. 'Why didn't you kill King Ungstred?' he asked.

'Because I agreed to spare his life in exchange for him leading his army back out of Litanlia,' I replied.

He though for a moment. 'But how did you become you again? I mean when you were you instead of Lord Astavar.'

David, still only seven years old, had an eye for detail and a way of seeking out any flaw in a story, and I had to think carefully before replying, as my memories of that time had faded. 'There was a huge celebration in the days that followed my victory over the Grustan king,’ I said, ‘and a lot of wine was drunk.'

'I bet you got drunk, didn't you, Granddad?' said David with a grin.

'I did,' I replied, 'and I fell asleep and awoke as Lord Astavar again. But before long, I was back here in this old house.'

'You were Lord Astavar, here in your house?'

'No, I was Michael Collington again.'

'But you did go back, didn’t you, Granddad, to fight more battles?'

'Oh, yes,’ I said. ‘Many times.'

THE END(?)