Pilgrims' Progress

Arianelle, Nolen and Prince Lee arrive in a strange kingdom in the middle of an uprising.

19.

Pilgrims’ Progress

 

There was a long moment of the sensation of falling, and then the three royal heirs found themselves riding out into the middle of a battlefield.     Immediately they were surrounded by a surge of footmen, thrusting spears, pole axes and pikes at them from all sides.

Arianelle was nearly pulled off of her horse by a bill-hook, but she could do nothing but struggle to stay in the saddle as her companions fared no better.   There was no time to formulate any plan or suggest any route of escape, for they had apparently appeared in the midst of a rag-tag, but fierce peasant army.

Swarming around them were half-emaciated men and boys, wearing raggedy clothing with bits and pieces of improvised ‘armor’ strapped to them.    There were old rusty helmets, home-made shields, leather aprons worn to protect the chest and legs and farming tools converted into weapons of war.  It was the equipment of a civil war, of an uprising against a king or nobleman by those who fought with almost frantic desperation that made up for a lack of proper equipment and training.

They certainly had numbers on their sides, for they were all around them and Arianelle could not determine where their other foes were - or if there were any around.

At any rate, they seemed to view the three of them as adversaries that they were determined to eliminate.

 

Arianelle screamed out to her cousin and Prince Lee, but her voice was lost in the roar of the peasant army.   A spear was swung like a club, the rotten wood splintering as it slammed against her helmet.    The blow sent her tumbling off her horse, into the middle of the beggar forces, knocking two of them down as she fell.

Panic gripped her and the Sylvan princess was on her feet almost at once, her long sword free from its scabbard.

One of the beggars thrust a pole-arm at her, which she knocked away with her sword.    Another one, behind her, swung his pole-axe at her head.    Her helmet absorbed the blow, but it sent her stumbling forward.    Her helm slipped off her head from the impact and she spun around to face her attacker, her sword ready to fight for her life.

Yet the attack never came.  She stood there angry and terrified, glaring at them, but they stared at her with such absolute horror that they all backed away in fear.    Arianelle knew why; it was clearly her appearance.    It amused her, imagining what they thought when they saw her with her ghostly white skin, blood red lips and red glowing eyes.

She had an advantage now, and the Sylvan princess wasn’t about to waste it.    They were backing away from her with guarded unease.    Bearing her teeth, she did her best impression of an enraged wolf, growling wildly as her eyes darted from foe to foe.

It was too much for the younger members of the peasant army.    They simply broke and ran.   But not all of those surrounding her were young superstitious lads.   A handful of older men watched her from a safe distance, and one rather mean looking man decided to test his bravery by advancing upon her.

She had to call his bluff or be overwhelmed.

With a howl of rage, she flung herself on the man.    He was no match for her speed, for she easily spun his pole-arm aside, swinging her sword purposely with enough delay to give him a chance to move his hands back.    Her enchanted blade sliced through the shaft of the poorly made weapon as if it were a thin twig.

The man’s brave demeanor was cast aside and he shrieked and backed away from her, falling over his own cloak as he retreated.

With lightning speed, her hand shot out and grabbed him by one of his leather harnesses like an eagle snatching a fish out of water.     Aided by the Gauntlets of Ogre Strength that Amala had given her, it was easy for her to lift him up, holding him above her head with one hand as she stared banefully at him.

“Help me!    Let me go!    The demon’s got me!   Help!”  he cried out to his companions, but they did not share his degree of bravery and stepped backwards, wide-eyed at her super-human strength.

“Help!”  he called after them, nearly hysterical with fear.   Arianelle shook him once to get his attention.

“You will tell me what I want to know, or you know what I will do…”  She left the threat open, but it worked, for he broke into child-like whimpering.

“Where are we?”   she yelled at him.   His reply was lost in his emotions and she repeated her question.    An arrow, fired from somewhere, hit her square in the center of her breastplate, but her magic armor was more than a match for it, shattering it without as much as a dent.

Her perceived invulnerability only fuelled the man’s fear of her.

“D-D-Don’t kill me, please!   We have no quarrel with you or any of your kind!”

“Why are you armed for war then?   Why did you attack us?”

“Aren’t you minions of The Fisher King?”   The man asked, clearly confused, “Didn’t he summon you to assist him against us?”

“No-one summoned us, we have come here on our own accord, for our own reasons, and you attacked us, unprovoked!”

“You appeared out of thin air!”

“We are not your allies or your enemies, we don’t even know why you are fighting each other.”

“But-“

“I’m not going to debate with you.    Call to your fellows and have them cease their attack on my companions.”

“But-“

“CALL TO THEM AT ONCE!!” She screamed into his face and the man put two fingers to his lips and gave a very distinct and shrill whistle that seemed to hang on the air for a moment.

Glancing around, Arianelle found Nolen, still mounted, his greatsword in hand, fending off the pole weaponry of the peasant army.    Prince Lee was nowhere to be seen.

At the whistle, the men surrounding Nolen paused and looked toward them.

“Tell them to lay down their arms, that we want to parley with them,”    Arianelle said in a low voice to the man she still held aloft.

“Put your weapons down!”  He called out, “They want to speak to us!”

“It’s a trap!   A demon’s ruse!”   Someone yelled out.

“Do it!”   Arianelle’s captive replied, “They have great magic and power, they’re holding back using it!   They claim to not be on the King’s side!    They don’t know why we’re fighting him.”

“It’s a trick, you fool!”   Someone else warned.

“We can at least hear what they have to say, and then decide.”

“One of them has escaped already,”   another voice informed.

“Then he may return with more of their kind!   Let’s listen to them!   For the love of heaven, this girl is as strong as an ox, she’ll kill me if you don’t put your weapons down!”

“We won’t harm any of you if we can speak to you for a few moments.”   Arianelle added, hoping that would convince them, “We are not for or against you - in fact, we don’t know why you are fighting.”

“Alright,”   An older man’s voice called out, “Put Bolius down and we’ll call a truce to hear you out.   You have my word.”

“And who are you?”  Arianelle challenged.

A tired, middle-aged man carrying a two-handed axe and wearing a suit of worn splint armor, walked slowly over to her, “I am Calvin Daub, leader of the rebellion, and my word is solid and faithful.”

Something in the way that Calvin said this convinced Arianelle of his sincerity, so she gently lowered Bolius (as the leader had called him) to his feet.   Bolius quickly retreated out of range.  

Thankfully, Calvin’s word seemed to have power over the peasants, for they all lowered their weapons.    Nolen dismounted and quickly pushed through the soldiers without giving them as much as a glance.    His face was scratched and cut from several near misses with the pole weapons, but he seemed more concerned about her.

“Aria, are you hurt?”   he asked as he scanned over her, searching for injuries.

“I’m alright.”    She pointed to Calvin, “This is their leader, Calvin Daub.”

Nolen quickly extended his hand to the man, who looked at it  for a few seconds, before hesitantly shaking it.

“Sir, I am Nolen, a knight of Yesh.   This is Arianelle, Princess of Tarmard and the other one, who broke free, is Prince Lee of the Hutcaiah Empire.”

Calvin just looked back at him blankly. “These are titles to places I have never heard of… what manner of beings are you?”

“We’re elves, my father "“

“Elves?!”  Calvin interrupted, as his men mumbled and whispered among themselves, “They are the stuff of children’s fairy tales!”

“Well, that is what we are, sir.     You have no elves in this world?”

“None but in old folk’s tales and bedtime stories.”

“We’re not of this world,”   Arianelle added, though she doubted this would help him understand.

“Then why are you here?”  the leader asked, seeming to be somewhat apprehensive of their answer.

“We are seeking healing for our relatives,”   Nolen replied cautiously, “We were told that the curses afflicting our kings and queens could be removed… by visiting this place.”

Calvin grinned a knowing smile. “You’ve come seeking his healing, haven’t you?   You’ve heard that the great Fisher King will heal those who seek him in desperate need during desperate times.   You’re seeking to take his cup of healing back to your world, where all will be made right again, aren’t you?”

Nolen and Arianelle looked at each other, then back to Calvin.

“Well… yes, actually, that is why we’re here,”   Arianelle admitted.

“Then you are neither our allies or our enemies, you are merely fools!”   the captain said with a disgusted sneer.

“Sir, I assure you, the events that lead to our appearance here were extraordinary and clearly of divine guidance.”

“Divine guidance?”   Calvin snorted, “Yesh, I suppose?   We’ve heard a lot about this so-called all powerful Lord from our dear monarch, but he’s as much fairy tale as you are.    Just a made up story from a fairytale world that Braen assures us is a real place.    But where is this ‘god’ in this world?    Do you see my army, elves?    They are King Braen’s subjects, poor, sickly and starving.    Since he came here and became our lord and master, this land has been cursed!” 

“Once we were fertile and blessed with ample food and healthy animals.   Our women gave birth to healthy, strong babies and most grew to adulthood.   It was a good land, a place of peace and prosperity… until ‘The Fisher King’ came and proclaimed himself ruler of us all.”

“But where is this world?”  Arianelle asked, confused, “The Fisher King was from our world.   We knew of no other world.”

Calvin held his arms out wide. “Well, this is all the world that we know, and he came here and took our lives from us.    We were once free men and women, now we are his serfs.    We can’t even eek out enough food from this damned cursed soil for our families, yet he demands a quarter share of what we manage to raise, just to feed his court!”

“But the Fisher King was said to be righteous, after his meeting with Yesh!”    Nolen protested.

Calvin snorted again, “He must have backslid, then, because he is not righteous by our standards… or anyone’s standards, I’d say.”

Arianelle shook her head. “This does not make sense at all!    Why were we allowed to come here if we couldn’t get a cure for the curses?   Surely a man so selfish could not possess the power to remove a curse so powerful.”

“Perhaps you were misled as well,” Calvin responded, “If Braen is indeed from your world, maybe he is trying to pull more of his people into this world to serve as his allies.”

“We’re not his allies… we have never met him,”   Nolen said, “From what you have told us, I am not sure I’d wish to meet him now.”

“Oh, he’d probably be charming and gracious to you, as some of his own people.”   Calvin frowned, “I don’t believe he is an elf, but he is a wicked sorcerer, so who knows exactly what form he actually takes.”

“So your people are trying to overthrow The Fisher King?”  Nolen asked after a moment of silence.

“Yes, it has been building for many, many years.    Years of unhappiness and suffering.    This has been a year too wet and dark to grow healthy plants.    There is almost no food left.    Yet Braen demands that we provide our tithe to him, as our ‘Lord and Protector’.    How can I allow my wife and children to starve just to feed a cruel master?”

“Have you brought your concerns to him?   Perhaps if you spoke-“ Arianelle began to ask.

“There is no speaking to him!   He will not allow any peasant into his presence.    We are nothing but slaves in his eyes!”

“So you’ve rebelled against his rule?    This is why you’ve raised this army?”  Nolen questioned.

“What choice do we have?    We cannot feed our families and give him all that he requires.   We’ve marched out here to challenge him and his forces for two days, and he has avoided us.   He hasn’t responded to our protests, though we sent messengers each day to loudly shout out our challenge to him across his castle’s moat.”

“He has locked himself up in his castle and has not even sent any of his soldiers to confront us.    Yet we expect something diabolical from him - something unexpected, for he is a wizard of considerable power and will certainly not allow this challenge to go unchecked.”

Arianelle slowly shook her head. “This is not at all what we were told about The Fisher King.   How could he be so different?”

“You’ve heard legends; we live under his iron fist.”

“Perhaps if Nolen and I… and Prince Lee if he returns, go and speak to him?   We could plead with him to treat your people fairly.”

Calvin snorted. “You are aliens here and would no doubt join his forces against us, merely to gain his aid that you seek.”

Nolen held his hands out palm first, indicating their innocence. “Sir, we are followers of Yesh and we know that our Lord demands that we protect and defend the poor and needy.”

“Never-the-less, you will not support our cause if it conflicts with saving your family.    You are aliens, elves with strange skin colors and eyes that glow red.  Perhaps you are demons or devils, sent to trick us.”

“How can we convince you otherwise?”   Nolen pleaded.

“You can’t.”   He turned and gestured to his men, who came forward and surrounded the cousins with a circle of pole-arms and weapons, “You will be my prisoners for tonight at least, until I can consider all that you have said and decide how I shall respond.”

He spoke now to his men, “Take their weapons, but leave their armor, for if they are truthful in what they say, then they could be in danger if Braen suddenly attacks.    They shall be treated politely, but under no circumstances are they to be allowed to leave.”

“You are making a terrible mistake,”   Arianelle replied as hands grabbed her wrists and pulled her sword from its scabbard.   She could have easily thrown them off of her and attacked, but it seemed to her that they needed to win their trust before anything else.   

A glance to Nolen confirmed that he had the same thoughts, for he did not resist as they took his sword or began to lead him away.

“If you are true in what you say, you will remain passive,”   Calvin called to them as his men pushed them forward, “There is a greater chance of me believing your words if you comply with my wishes.”

Without saying another word, Calvin turned his back on them and met with his army’s commanders.    Arianelle and Nolen were hurried forward across the battlefield and then down a muddy dirt road until an old, half-ruined stone windmill came into view.     The yard around the building was crawling with soldiers.    Clearly this was the encampment of the peasant army.    

As they were pushed nearer, Arianelle could see that the old windmill had been roughly modified by the rebels into a make-shift prison.     The windows were boarded up except for a few highly set ventilation slits.    They were pushed inside the structure, which had been cleared of anything marking its former service as a mill. 

It was one large circular room, with a stone floor and a rickety staircase that led up to what had once been the millworkers’ quarters.   It was into one of these rooms that they were pushed, and then the thick, iron-banded wooden door slammed shut behind them, followed by the sound of it being locked secure.

Reviews

[Elina]

"...the three royal heirs found themselves stepping out into the middle of a battlefield." This give the reader the impression that they are on foot, rather than mounted on their horses.