A Picture of the Heart

“The King is doing whatever he deems necessary, and I’d think there were more important matters for you to concern yourself with than questioning his motives,” Joran said more brusquely than intended before walking away.

The men had every right to ask questions. After all, Joran often encouraged that kind of openness. In his opinion, giving White Oak’s Defenders direct access to approach leadership made the force stronger, more confident, and more unified. Still, getting the same question about the King’s whereabouts from a dozen men while trying to reach the western tower had caused his patience to wear thin. Or perhaps it wasn’t a lack of patience but frustration that Nichols’ stunt had caused more drama than expected. Regardless, he’d answered every defender’s concerns—except the last one, which he’d deal with later—and now it was time to refocus, or would have been, had he not spotted a defender on the ground at the base of the tower.

He was halfway to the man, still in a full sprint, before sense caught up with him. Fighting against every thought that screamed, get to him now, he forced himself to walk and scan the area. The defender wasn’t wrapped in the black vines, which meant this wasn’t caused by a black arrow. Unless he was taking a nap—which he wasn’t—this was likely an ambush.

Cautiously, he approached the scene as he tried to determine where the attack would come from. The stairs, he decided. Now only ten feet away, he crouched and stealthily approached the ledge where the stairs descended into the wall. Clear. The next best location would be at the base of the wall. Remaining crouched, he moved to the edge, silently, and peered over; again, clear. Deciding he’d wasted enough time, he sprinted to the defender and removed his helmet.

What’s he laying on? Rolling him onto his side, Joran stared in horror at the familiar dagger protruding from his back. His anger rose abruptly. There’s a traitor in our ranks. He sprinted inside the tower with reckless abandon. Only two thoughts raced through his mind as he ascended the stairs. First, would he find another body at the top? Second, find the traitor and kill them.

As he rounded the second bend in the stairs, he was relieved—in one way—as he heard the unmistakable sound of steel clashing. When he reached the third-floor landing, he drew his sword and stepped through the open archway into the tower’s top room. Seeing a defender and archer engaged in heated combat was nearly unbelievable.

“Start explaining!” Joran demanded.

Both men froze, turned toward Joran, and unleashed a flurry of accusations.

“Enough! You first,” he demanded, pointing at the archer with his sword to make the point more emphatic.

“Winston—” he said, nodding to the corner where a man was collapsed, “—and I were manning our post. It was my turn to watch the window. I was scanning the battlefield when I heard a muffled sound behind me. I spun around to find Winston slumped on the ground and this traitor standing behind him.”

“Now you,” Joran said, pointing to the defender.

“Commander, you know me,” the man stated from behind his full-faced helmet. “I would never betray the kingdom or your trust.”

“Liar,” the archer blurted out.

Joran raised a hand toward him.

“I was downstairs guarding the tower and needed to relieve myself, so I went to the base of the wall. I heard someone cry out from above, and I rushed back, but it was too late,” the defender said, hanging his head for a moment. “I didn’t want to, but I had to leave my friend’s lifeless body and check on the archers. That’s when I found this man standing behind him,” the man said, pointing to the archer slumped in the corner. “I was in the middle of taking the traitor down when you arrived.”

“He’s lying,” the archer said in a tone that sounded like he fully understood the difficulty of the situation.

“Drop your weapon,” Joran commanded the archer.

“But sir,” the man pleaded.

“I said drop your dagger,” Joran said emphatically. “I won’t tell you again.”

Without further argument, the archer complied. Then, keeping him at sword length, Joran moved close enough to kick his weapon across the floor. Now, face to face with the archer, with the defender directly behind him, Joran withdrew his dagger with his free hand and extended its hilt to the wide-eyed archer.

“Wrong choice,” the defender said.

Spinning, Joran deflected the killing blow with his own sword. The defender—unprepared for Joran’s counter—had over-committed, and the deflection sent his heavy sword in a wide arch, exposing his torso. The archer reacted without hesitation. It was unlikely the man ever saw it coming.

“How did you know?”

“Besides the fact, he’s not one of my men? Joran asked, kneeling and removing the man’s helmet to reveal an unfamiliar face.

“I don’t understand.”

“I assigned Dahmed and Tillip to guard this tower. That was not Dahmed’s voice. He was likely hoping that I hadn’t been the one who’d assigned the guards or I wasn’t familiar with my troop’s voices.”

“So you turned your back to see if he’d attack?”

“Is there another traitor in the armory?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, the armor and weapons are locked up...aren’t they?”

“They are, but the man at the base of the tower—this traitor killed—was assigned to this tower with Dahmed. If I had to guess, Dahmed was the one who went to the base of the wall to relieve himself and was ambushed. This traitor likely stole his armor. That would explain how he was able to get behind Tillip.”

The archer shuddered.

“What’s your name?”

“Narief, I’m sorry about Winston. We will grieve for him, Tillip, and likely Dahmed, but not today, and certainly not while we still have a city to defend. I need you to stand guard over this post until I can get replacement archers and defenders.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to stay here where it all happened.”

“Sir, this is my post. Winston gave his life defending this city. He didn’t quit. It’d be a disgrace to his memory if I did.”

“Good man. Listen, where there’s one...”

“There could be more.”

“Exactly, and you’ll need eyes in the back of your head until reinforcements arrive.”

Laine finally reached the eastern tower after dodging another round of questions about the King’s whereabouts. He entered the wall, climbed the stairs, and sprinted to the tower where two defenders were wrapped in black vines on the ground. Their wide eyes screamed fear. Who could blame them? Being in this position with Weurgen just outside the wall would be enough to terrify even the bravest warrior.

“I'll be back for you, but I have to check on the archers.”

They shook their heads and tried to protest, even though the vines had them gagged.

“Listen, we haven't figured out how to get the vines off yet. I know you’re scared, but I’ll return for you; I promise.” With that urgent assurance—for what it was worth—Laine left the men and sprinted into the tower’s stairwell. Spiraling up to the top floor, he popped through the archway to find an archer, and Nichols engaged in combat.

“No!” Laine shouted, desperately trying to stop the inevitable as the archer thrust his dagger. It was immediately evident the man had overextended himself.

Nichols parried the dagger, sending it wide and countered. The archer crumpled.

“You murderer!” Laine shouted.

Standing over the archer’s body, Nichols looked at Laine, not with the self-gratification Laine expected but with a look of remorse; however, it only lasted a moment.

“I told you that you hadn’t seen the last of me,” Nichols said.

Laine looked from Nichols to the archer lying at his feet. Fear, disbelief, and anger raged within him. Hold it together. If you allow your emotions to control you, he’ll win.

“This man’s death is regrettable,” Nichols said and lunged at Laine, who jumped backward and narrowly avoided the tip of the blade. “Don’t expect me to feel the same way about yours.”

That first attack was nothing more than Nichols testing the water, and they both knew it. He wasn’t even trying yet, and Laine had narrowly avoided his blade. It undoubtedly told Nichols he’d easily win this contest, precisely what Laine had wanted. Nichols hadn’t used all his speed, and neither had Laine. He might stand a fighting chance if he could ensure the man fought from a place of overconfidence.

Regardless, he’d hold out as long as possible, and perhaps someone would come to check on the archers, or maybe no one would, and he’d die here today. In either case, he wasn’t going down without a fight.

“What’d you do with my other archer?” Laine asked, circling Nichols.

“What I’d intended to do with this one,” he said, pointing at the archer’s body.

“So, you murdered him?”

“Unfortunately for him, he caught me sneaking up behind him,” Nichols said and thrust his sword.

Laine jumped back, unexpectedly smashed into the wall, and narrowly parried Nichols’ follow-up attack, sending the blade into the stone at his side. Diving to his right and shoulder rolling, he reached his feet and spun to face Nichols, fully expecting to dodge another attack, but it didn’t come. Instead, Nichols was working his blade free from a crack in the wall. Laine wanted to attack, but if Nichols’ blade wasn’t truly stuck, Laine would be within Nichols range. Deciding it was better to kill some more time, he kept his distance and waited.

“You’re not angry that your plan to stir up trouble didn’t work, are you?”

“Who said it didn’t work?” Nichols asked over his shoulder before quickly spinning and slinging something.

A glint of silver was Laine’s only warning to duck, which he did a fraction of a second before a blade careened over his head and smashed into the wall. Laine looked up. Nichols hadn’t moved but did have an amused look on his face.

“Admittedly, I was hoping for more enthusiasm among your ranks, but no matter. Once I’m finished with you and your precious Commander, the Weurgen will pick your men apart.”

Laine wanted to argue and tell the traitorous former lieutenant that the Weurgen army didn’t stand a chance, but the reality was far from that. Keep him talking. Just keep him talking as long as possible.

“You know, this isn’t a very fair fight,” Laine said. “After all, I only have my dagger, and you have a sword.”

“I wouldn’t worry much about sportsmanship. The only people who will know how this went down are you and me, and soon you’ll be dead. So, it’ll be my little secret. I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed toying with you because I have, but I do have some important matters to attend to.”

This time, Nichols attacked with purpose and deadly intention. Laine wasn’t going down without a fight, but he was outmatched. He feigned, dodged, parried, and deflected; however, an archer’s armor wasn’t made for direct blows, and both of his gauntlets were already useless against another strike. Finally, out of desperation, he attempted an offensive strike, which proved as futile as he thought it might. After that, the battle lasted a few minutes longer before Laine found himself cornered near the stairs. Nichols closed the distance and delivered a vicious blow that knocked Laine’s dagger from his hand.

“I hate to admit it, but I’ll enjoy this.”

God have mercy upon my soul.

“Nichols,” Joran exclaimed, rushing into the room and deflecting the death blow.

“Joran!” Laine yelled excitedly.

With Laine distracted, Nichols delivered a vicious kick to his chest and swept Joran’s legs. Laine fought to catch his breath and regain his feet as Nichols moved toward Joran, but he wouldn’t make it in time. Leaping with his sword high overhead, Nichols sliced downward to finish Joran. But with surprising speed and agility, the Commander rolled away and popped up onto his feet. Nichols’ blade smashed into the floor, but he didn’t let that deter him. He slashed sideways, but Joran was ready for him and used his gauntlets to deflect the blade with so much force it caused Nichols to spin full circle. The moment Nichols spun around to face him, Joran kicked him squarely in the chest, sending him staggering across the room into the wall beside the window.

“It’s been fun,” Nichols said with a smile. “I’d love to stay and play, but the odds have tilted slightly out of my favor.” Hooking the window ledge with a small grapple, he jumped.

Laine made it to the window as Nichols landed on the narrow part of the wall that formed the front part of the tower. As reckless as Nichols was, he’d have to take his time if he didn’t want to risk falling twenty feet to the ground below the wall. If they hurried, they might have time to cut him off at the first-floor entrance.

“Let’s go after him,” Laine shouted and turned to leave, but Joran grabbed his arm.

“It’s no use.”

“If we hurry, we can still catch him,” Laine said, tugging against Joran’s grip.

“No, we can’t; besides, he accomplished what he came here to do.”

“Distraction,” Joran said, pointing out the window.

Laine leaned out, and his breath caught in his throat. During what had felt like a brief scuffle, the Weurgen had begun moving the towers. Whether by coincidence or by design, Nichols had, in fact, provided the perfect distraction.