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  “Aye, I do, sire,” said Mace.

  Jad nodded, tapped the quill on the edge of the inkpot, and began writing again.

  “Sire, tonight we lost twenty-nine citizens.”

  Jad stopped writing. He was frozen, staring at the mostly blank page before him. “Please tell me I just misheard?”

  “I’m afraid you did not, my lord. Twenty-nine citizens dead, along with seven of my own soldiers.”

  “This will not do.” Jad snarled, teeth flashing in the dull light. He dropped the quill, his hand moving in a blur as it swept through the hair, slamming onto the table with a crack. “This will not bloody do!” He took a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “What the bloody hell happened?”

  “Spiders again, my lord. There must have been forty of them. No wolves or ravens this time. Just a swarm of bloody spiders.”

  Tork stared at Blake and leaned towards him. The diplomat remained silent, his face devoid of mocking laughter.

  Good!

  He returned his attention to Mace.

  “They took us by surprise, sire.”

  A dry chuckle erupted from Jad. “How? Were you not prepared?”

  “We were, my lord. But these things attacked further down the wall. It was almost as if they knew we were there waiting near the gate.”

  Jad sighed. “Gods. I shall speak to his majesty immediately.”

  Tork nodded. Time for the King’s Own to step up. Excitement swelled in his chest.

  “If he is in agreeance, the King’s Own will deploy in support of your soldiers this evening.”

  Tork was not oblivious to the relief that flickered in Mace’s eyes. “Thank you, my lord.”

  “There is to be no more loss of life, do you understand?” Jad’s glare burrowed deep into Mace.

  “Aye, sire.”

  Jad’s piercing stare flicked to hold steady upon Tork.

  Tork nodded again. “Understood, my lord. If his majesty agrees to deploy my forces within the city walls, we shall end this tonight.”

  Jad made to stand, then paused. He looked at Blake. “Do you have anything to add?”

  Blake smiled his crooked smile Tork hated so much.

  “Nothing else, Blake?”

  The diplomat sat in silence, smiling.

  The advisor to the king shook his head. “I thought not. As for you two,” he gestured at the commanders, “I shall speak to his majesty presently. You will know more by noon.”

  Tork stood and bowed his head. “Sire.”

  VI

  Tork swallowed cool water and placed the steel cup upon the long table where he sat. Down the lengths of the table were his officers. It had taken less than a half hour for them to respond from every corner of Lisfort to his call for an emergency briefing at the unit headquarters in the centre of the city. After he’d finished instructing them on what had taken place, and what might occur that night, they appraised him with concerned, yet hopeful stares. Some of them whispered amongst themselves. He allowed them to converse or sit silent with their thoughts. It didn’t matter. Before long, they’d know for sure exactly what would be expected of them. The tangible electricity of excitement pervaded the room. Every one of them had trained so hard to become members of the elite unit, and for the younger soldiers in particular, this would be the first opportunity to test their steel.

  Figuratively and literally. He grunted at the thought and reached for the cup once more, but refrained as he felt the faint need to piss.

  “You think his majesty will grant the use of the Unit?” Beel asked.

  Throughout the kingdom, the two thousand strong elite force was known as the King’s Own, but the soldiers referred to themselves simply as the Unit.

  Tork shrugged. “Time will tell, Captain.”

  Yes is my bet, but I’m not going to let them know that. With a city under siege and the Watch on the verge of being unable to contain the threat, his majesty would be stupid not to commit his most powerful force.

  “Of course he will!” called a captain further down the table.

  Other voices added their chorus to the symphony of opinion until Tork held up his hands.

  “Shut up!” he yelled.

  Captain Beel’s voice broke the silence. “What’re your thoughts, sir?”

  Tork sighed. “Captain, you’re smart enough to know my thoughts. Our army, whilst capable and large in number, will be too cumbersome to organise and deploy inside the city walls within several short hours.”

  Fuck it. He lifted the cup to his lips, drank the rest of the water in several gulps, and slammed it back upon the table.

  “So that leaves we few.” He swept an arm around the long table and grinned.

  As if on cue, the far doors paving the entrance to the King’s Own headquarters were held open by two guards, allowing Jad to stride through.

  Tork climbed to his feet, watching as the officers around the table fell silent and sat ramrod straight in their chairs.

  Tork nodded. “Afternoon, sire.”

  Jad acknowledged the greeting with a tilt of his head. “Sit easy.”

  The officers of the King’s Own relaxed in their seats, although Tork remained on his feet. “What news, sire?”

  Jad smirked. “I think you already know, Commander Tork.”

  Tork was wise enough to remain silent, waiting for the king’s advisor to continue.

  “His majesty has agreed to release one hundred of his most elite unit to assist the Watch.”

  Tork’s jaw muscles bulged through his beard. “One hundred?”

  “One hundred.”

  Tork placed his hands on the table and looked at his feet. “I thought he’d authorise far more than that.” He sighed and supressed a curse.

  “Why? You think one hundred incapable of taking care of this threat, Commander Tork?”

  “No, sire, not at all.” He straightened and swept his arm around the room. “Take a look at the officers sat around this table.”

  He watched Jad turn to take in the young men staring back at him. The king’s advisor shrugged. “What of it?”

  “Each of these officers commands one hundred soldiers. Only one of these nineteen men will see battle tonight.”

  Realisation dawned on Jad’s face, but he hesitated. “Wait. Nineteen? Shouldn’t there be twenty?”

  “Indeed, sire. There is a patrol currently away in Huronian territory.”

  Jad nodded.

  “Sire, welcome to the elite unit of the King’s Own. These men have spent years training their bodies and minds for just this opportunity.”

  “Oh.”

  He gestured at the silent captains sitting at the long table. “They want to serve their king and their country. If it means fighting to defend their empire, believe me, sire, they’ll climb over each other for the chance.”

  Jad nodded slowly. “I see.”

  “So it’s not a matter of not having enough soldiers on the ground to defeat the threat. The threat itself isn’t the issue. I now have to choose one man out of nineteen to serve his king and empire.”

  To Jad’s credit, he stepped back and held out his hands. “I’m sorry, Commander Tork.”

  Tork smiled. “Oh, it’s not your fault, sire. Both our hands are tied, and I’ll certainly not question his majesty’s command. You have my word that inside the hour, one hundred of the King’s Own will be patrolling along the inside perimetre of the western wall.”

  “Thank you.” Jad walked away but stopped before he reached the door. He turned back towards the table. “It may be that tomorrow, more of your soldiers will be needed.”

  We can only hope.

  Tork smiled and nodded. “Yes, sire.”

  “Good day.” Jad swept through the door.

  “And to you, sire.”

  Tork slumped back onto his chair, hearing the dull thump as the door closed and locked in place. When he was sure he could no longer hear Jad’s departing fo
otsteps, he hammered a fist upon the tabletop.

  “Fuck!” the word echoed around the room.

  He clenched shut his eyes and ignored the stares he knew were boring into him. Off the cuff, he knew thirteen officers present had seen battle, albeit mostly minor skirmishes, but at least it was something.

  Waert? Has he seen battle? He allowed his eyelids to part, and he sought out the young man. As he expected, the officer glared at him with impatience. Yes! He saw battle last year. A Huronian Border Patrol from memory. Klorf saw battle earlier in the year.

  His eyes closed once more. One by one he ticked them off the list. All of the men present had seen battle as soldiers of the King’s Own, but Tork was whittling down the men who had not yet led soldiers in battle. Only one newly fledged captain hadn’t led troops in battle.

  I’m sure of it!

  Tork’s eyes snapped open, he stood and leaned forward on his fists. “Captain Beel with me, everyone else, dismissed!”

  * * *

  Tork adjusted himself in the saddle and patted Might’s powerful neck. They faced the western gate, waiting and watching as the sun kissed the horizon and the afternoon began to meld into dusk. Reds and pinks bled across the sky, mixing with the pale blue of what little remained of the afternoon light.

  A small patrol of the Watch were sat just as silently upon their steeds, although their horses were decidedly more skittish than Might. The soldiers often had to pull on the reins, or touch heels to flank to try and push a horse forward that was edging away from the gate. Tork could feel the massive horse, without a care in the world, completely relaxed beneath him.

  Is he dozing?

  He craned his neck to see the animal’s face, but from the mounted position, it was too difficult.

  “Safe travels!” the distant voice of one of the guards at the gate echoed across the area.

  A merchant rumbled through the gate and out into the world beyond, offering a wave and a nod in response. Then the giant gates were closed for the night. No one would be allowed in or out until dawn. The massive crossbeam locking the gates closed was craned into position.

  A horse from the group of soldiers nearby broke clear, crying out in fear. Despite his master’s best efforts, the animal continued to flee until another Watchman was able to ride alongside and take hold of the reins. A few quiet words of reassurance and the horse was back amongst the Watchmen, silent and waiting for what the night would bring.

  Tork clicked and squeezed his legs. Might responding immediately. He walked the destrier over to the group of Watchmen. The tallest of their horses, almost sixteen hands tall, was still dwarfed by Might.

  “Is everything in order, here?”

  Tork directed the question to a young man in the front row. A golden epaulette was welded onto his shoulder, signifying he was an officer and more than likely in charge of the group.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Very well, I am going to patrol along the wall for an hour or so, but I shall return later in the evening.” Tork paused before he turned Might away. “Or sooner.” He smiled. “Depending on what takes place between now and then.”

  The officer swallowed and wiped his brow with the back of a gloved hand. “Yes, of course, sir. And, sir?”

  Tork pulled gently on the reins bringing the warhorse back to the halt.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He nodded. Might took little urging before he was striding along the cobbled streets at a rapid pace. Captain Beel had deployed his men in twenty groups of five. He passed the first tiny group of elite soldiers mounted in a brick formation, the sub-unit commander of the small team sitting in the centre of the square the remaining four soldiers created. An elderly woman stood nearby, holding a shawl around her shoulders, talking to them.

  “You won’t leave us tonight, will you?” Her voice quivered with terror.

  Tork passed within hearing shot and watched in his peripheral vision as the sub-unit commander turned to the old lady. He looked down at her from his mounted position. “Ma’am, the only way we’re leaving tonight is dead.”

  Tork suppressed a grin as Might walked on. He passed the second, third, and fourth group of mounted soldiers, all keen-eyed and ready to not only fight, but defend their people, their city, and their king. They were formed up between much larger clumps of nervous Watchmen. Pride swelled within Tork. The King’s Own was such a unique unit, tiny in comparison to the general army, but the ranks were made up only of the finest warriors, trained to an exceptional standard and unflappable in even the most horrendous circumstances.

  Beel trotted towards him, closely followed by his bugler, and reined in alongside. “Evening, sir!”

  Tork nodded in response. “Beel. Have you briefed your men?”

  “Of course. Thank you for this opportunity! We’ll not disappoint you.”

  “I have no doubt, Captain. And you’re welcome.” He looked at the bugler mounted on a horse beside Beel, although it was difficult to make out his face. Buglers, whilst not strictly soldiers, were still highly respected members of the unit. It was their duty to recall every command listed on the ledger of the King’s Own tactics and formations and be able to play the requested command during battle without flaw. Only the senior officers were allowed personal buglers. Throughout the lower ranks, the sub-unit commanders carried their own bugles, which they used to control their soldiers during the thick of battle should their unit become separated from the main force. “And you, bugler, are you ready?”

  The man nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  “Good.” He returned his attention to Captain Beel.

  “Sir, I was talking to Commander Mace of the Watch earlier, and he’s noticed the townsfolk are more nervous for our presence.” The captain shrugged. “I thought we’d have the opposite effect.”

  Tork nodded. “I understand your thinking, Beel, but think of it from a civilian’s point of view. When was the last time the unit was deployed inside the city?”

  Beel hesitated, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “Forgive me, sir, I know not exactly. Certainly not in my career.”

  “Not in my career either, Captain. In fact, not in living memory. It has been nearly two hundred years since the King’s Own were deployed in a warfighting role inside the city walls. That was during the Third Great War, when Huronian forces held the city to siege. Had the unit not been deployed, the city would have been sacked inside a day.”

  Silence overcame the trio as they made their way along the waiting, ragged formations of Watchmen, occasionally interspersed with tiny units of the King’s Own.

  “The people remember. So, while the Watch might be reassured by our presence, the fact that the king thinks it pertinent we be deployed suggests to the people who live here that things are becoming much worse.”

  “Ah,” Beel said. It was too dark for Tork to see the realisation dawn on the young captain’s face, but the tone of voice in his reply was enough to suggest he understood.

  Distant shouting erupted from ahead, followed by several musket shots in quick succession. Tork brought Might to a halt, Beel following suit simultaneously. A frown creased Tork’s brow.

  “Obragarda!” the word cut through the faint shouting and screams.

  Tork felt his heart rate increase. At least one sub-unit of the King’s Own had advanced to battle. Still, the two officers waited, as did the tight brick of mounted King’s Own who stood nearby. Then the bugle erupted, its song cutting through the roar of battle like a knife.

  Tork’s eyes closed as he concentrated on the wailing blasts. Only when the bugle faded to silence did his eyes snap open. “Seventeenth Street forward of the western gate!”

  The three men kicked their warhorses from the halt into a headlong gallop.

  Tork pulled back slightly to allow Beel to take the lead. Whilst he was the overall commander of the entire King’s Own, this was Beel’s unit and, as such, it would be up to Captain Beel to control his s
oldiers throughout the battle.

  Have at it, Captain Beel. Let us see what you can do.

  “Bugler!” Beel shouted.

  “Sir?”

  “Even numbered sub-units, advance to battle, odd numbered sub-units, hold position!”

  The bugler brought the instrument to his lips and, at full gallop, distributed the command.

  Tork grinned. After all these years, it still amazed him how skilled the buglers were.

  Casting a look over his shoulder, he watched in the dim torchlight as sub-units peeled out of side streets behind them and accelerated to the gallop, and whilst maintaining speed, melded together into three neat ranks, eight deep.

  Tork returned his attention to the front, the wind once again blasting into his ears. He saw King’s Own soldiers streaming out of side streets before them and had formed up, advancing towards the fight. As they thundered past a mile marker, indicating they had covered two miles, Tork noticed a large group of Watchmen milling about in the middle of the road ahead. They were obviously trying to work out what to do. Even at such distance, it was easy to see they were nervous and hesitant to join the fight.

  One of the soldiers, probably a sub-unit commander in the formation galloping ahead, fired a musket shot in the air. The huddle of Watchmen split asunder and made way for them to pass.

  No sooner had the first group swept past, Tork, Beel, and the bugler galloped amidst the stationary Watchmen, closely followed by the formation behind them.

  “Leading group, open file, at the trot!”

  The bugler reacted instantly, and Tork watched as the group of King’s Own before them slowed and opened apart to line each side of the street, allowing the trio to pass through to take the lead.

  “Join up!”

  The bugle blasted into life, and Tork glanced over his shoulder, watching as the group who’d initially led the charge became part of the formation directly behind.

  Well done, Captain Beel!

  He expected nothing but exceptional standards from the King’s Own, but Tork constantly found himself impressed by the warriors and leaders who made up the ranks of the elite unit.