Chapter 18 General Killian’s Tantrum
General Killian’s Tantrum
It was late afternoon by the time Morfran settled into a chair atop the gatehouse of Redmoth, and it was early evening by the time Killian’s army trotted up to the portcullis and began complaining and rattling the grating, whining to be let in.
They looked sodden; an hour ago the black clouds that perpetually sat above the city had decided to spit out torrential rain and drench anyone caught outside down to their underwear. Morfran surmised they were all in a foul mood, most of all General Killian himself.
When Killian plodded forward with squelching boots to the closed gates, tipped his wet head back to the city guards atop the gatehouse, and announced he was General Killian of Lord Morfran’s army and demanded they be let in, as there were rebels who’d soon be arriving to attack the city, he was met with a scoff from the gatekeeper.
“Nice try.” The gatekeeper smirked. “But we know rebels when we see them. I mean, look at you. Your men can’t be Lord Morfran’s. His men always arrive in style. Not whatever…this…is.”
He gestured at Killian’s men. Many of the soldiers looked like drowned ferrets.
Some had taken off their helmets to collect the rainwater and drink it down, since their march had been quite rigorous.
Others were slapping at their buddies’ faces with their wet gloves, bored out of their minds.
Many more were moaning on their horses, holding soggy bandages to bleeding injuries or stumps where they’d suffered the wrath of boomberry explosions.
The gatekeeper was right. There was no style to this waterlogged, ragtag herd of just-defeated men who’d witnessed necromancy and watched their carefully laid-out ambush backfire.
No. Morfran would bet everything that these men just wanted to go inside, toss on dry clothes, warm up with soup, and pass out.
In other words, they had no power here.
Killian stomped his foot. The puddle he stood in splashed brown muck up into his face. “We are Morfran’s men! We were just assaulted by the Necromancer on our way here, and that’s why we look like this. Now let us in. They’ll be coming anytime now!”
The gatekeeper leaned over the wall, quickly glancing at the men. “If you are Morfran’s men, then that would mean you were defeated once already and fled. Which also means you’re no match against this Necromancer fellow. Why would I want to let in a loser like you?”
Killian went white with rage. “I’m not asking you to open the gate. I’m telling you, by the order of Morfran himself!”
The gatekeeper snorted. “From the looks of it, Lord Morfran has either lost his touch with keeping cities under his rule or he has given up caring. We’ve heard he’s not been seen in over ten months.
Not in the field, not at court. Why, there’s some suspicion that he’s actually dead, and his queen is managing everything from Castle Atrago. ”
“Such blasphemy! Lord Morfran is alive and well and has merely given many of his duties to his trusted generals like myself! Now let us in, or we’ll be forced to use…force!”
Snickers arose from those atop the gate. The gatekeeper let them die down before asking the woman next to him, “What are your orders, Captain Ambrosia? He sounds serious.”
The stout captain scratched her head and then looked to Morfran, who sat cross-legged and cross-armed in a wooden chair beneath the shelter of a roof. “What say you, General Killian?”
Morfran smiled, quite comfortable in his seat since he was out of the rain. “Tell ’em to beat it. Or we’ll bring out our archers and show them what we think of their theatrics.”
While the gatekeeper went back to bantering with the true General Killian, Morfran glanced from the gatehouse down into the city’s streets.
It was still raining, and it made the gray stone buildings and houses of Redmoth look aged and weathered and dreary.
The streets were composed of that same stone, and on those streets was the subtle gathering of many figures in forest-green cloaks and leather armor.
A group of Brim’s best men and Morfran had suited up in enemy gear, raced to the city with the magpie and marigold banner, and arrived before the rainstorm that nuked Killian and his army.
He’d spoken to Captain Ambrosia and the magnate of Redmoth, a pale, ghostly man who looked like a mortician, and managed to convince them that they were scouts sent ahead by Lord Morfran’s army to stop a rebel army masquerading as Lord Morfran’s men from entering the city, and that their main army was coming up on their flank and was just a few miles behind the rebels.
Morfran had sold the lies by providing the necessary password: “Multiple macabre murderers moseyed past seven serious superstitious soldiers,” to which the mortician-like magnate cracked a rare, ghastly smile and allowed them in.
Morfran needed just a few more minutes. He raised up a finger to those in the streets and offered to the gatekeeper and Captain Ambrosia, who were now currently being verbally assaulted by Killian, “You know, you don’t have to take this.
If they’re going to be rude, do what Lord Morfran would do: bring in your archers and shoot them in the head. ”
Captain Ambrosia loved the idea and quickly called for them to come forward. Killian began backtracking.
“Wait, wait, wait! We’re on the same side! You can’t just shoot us. Lord Morfran will vow vengeance upon you!”
No, I really won’t, Morfran thought, resting his temple against his fist. Even when I led this kingdom as its Dark Lord, I wanted you put down. You’re awfully annoying.
“Put that away! No, put it— Don’t you nock those arrows on me! Wait— All right. Fine. We’re going. We’re leaving. And when the rebellion comes to knock down your walls, don’t come crying to me about this. We tried, you ungrateful jerks!”
Morfran waited until he heard Killian’s army stomp away, splashing up water and muttering about a lack of quality leadership around these parts, and only when Captain Ambrosia and the gatekeeper were prancing together in giddy glee at having successfully evaded an attack and how Lord Morfran would be so pleased did he rise, unsheathe his sword, and prop the tip right against Captain Ambrosia’s throat.
“Celebration time is over.” He smiled.
Ambrosia blinked in utter confusion. “What is the meaning of this?”
“This, my dear dumb captain, is a coup,” Morfran replied, and in that instant the two soldiers atop the gatehouse with them turned and tore off their hoods to reveal Brim and Gueldefore.
They raised their own swords, encircling the gatekeeper and captain.
Both looked terribly betrayed as the thunderous pounding of boots against stone and the clashing of steel erupted in the streets.
Brim’s men must’ve let Bronwen and the others in through the underground tunnels, which meant the battle for the city was swiftly underway.
Captain Ambrosia realized this at once and tried to go for her sword. Morfran knocked her arm away with ease. “None of that. You’re going to tell your men to stand down, and then we’re going to take the city with no more bloodshed than what has already been spilled.”
The gatekeeper threw his hands up in surrender. But Captain Ambrosia glowered. “I am a follower of Lord Morfran. I do not yield to his enemies. I do not give up on a fight against those weaker than him. I will hold this city for him, and my men will defend it.”
Despite being able to easily fool her, Morfran had to admit he was touched by her loyalty. That was hard to find nowadays.
She shouted to one of her soldiers below, “Open the gate and send out Eruk and Payne to fetch those soldiers we just sent away. They’re the legitimate soldiers of our Dark Lord.” She glowered at Morfran. “Not these rabble-rousers.”
Morfran countered by telling Gueldefore, “Shoot those men down.”
Gueldefore swiveled his crossbow off his back. But Captain Ambrosia sucked in a breath as she truly looked at him. “Sir Gueldefore? The Magnificent?”
He paused.
“Yes, it is you. We’ve heard of your courage even here. Lord Morfran has a troop of the finest knights in the kingdom at his side. He’s always looking to accept more, if they choose to fight under his banner.”
Gueldefore tossed her a venomous look before aiming the crossbow at the men at the gate crank.
“You think he doesn’t have honor because you consider him evil, but he has more honor than anyone,” Ambrosia continued blurting.
“He treats his men well. He treats his subjects well. He cares about economy, and the health of his subjects. His honorary knights uphold that. And they are beloved.” Gueldefore still hadn’t loosed a bolt, and she seemed to realize she’d caught his attention.
Even Morfran was stunned by her passionate speech—it’d been so long since he’d heard anyone speak his name with such devoted love.
It almost made him wish the rebels would praise him like this, even knowing who he truly was.
“They’re beloved, and celebrated as knights ought to be. They—”
Her words were cut off as Brim rammed his sword through her chest. “Your Lord’s honorable knights cost me my wife,” he growled into her face, right before ripping his blade back out.
She let out a surprised gasp, but it was nothing compared to Morfran’s surprise at seeing cheery Brim slaughter her with such savagery.
She sputtered blood, her mouth moving as if she was still trying to preach the qualities of her Dark Lord.
Then she wilted like a sad, dead flower to the ground.
Gueldefore’s attentions were still on the woman, and the gate was almost open. Morfran ripped the crossbow from his hands, fired a shot at the back of one soldier, then yanked out a dagger and hurled it into the other’s head. The gate came down with a crash.
Morfran spun at Gueldefore. “If you don’t use this crossbow when I order it, then what use are you here?
” he snapped, shoving it back against the knight’s chest. Gueldefore’s expression went sullen and dark, something rippling across his face, and for the briefest of seconds Morfran expected the man to turn the crossbow on him.
Then Gueldefore slung it over his shoulder and muttered, “I’ll make sure they’re dead.
” He slunk off, leaving Brim and Morfran to gape at the battle over the city.
It was bloody and violent and deadly, and in the gray gloom of the rain, Morfran felt like a blade had gone through his chest instead of Captain Ambrosia’s.
“How did she die?” Morfran asked, unwilling to look Brim in the face.
He felt the bearish man’s eyes on him before they flickered away. “One of his knights demanded free room and board in our homestead. She refused.” He hesitated. “He clocked her in the head with a mace.”
Morfran released a breath, but it didn’t get rid of the tight knot in his gut. It was yet another thing to feel guilty about. He kept his gaze on the streets as he said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Brim held his bloody sword out towards the rain. “It wasn’t your fault.”
He left Morfran atop the wall, joining the fight below.