On the appointed day, Lillian mounted her father's stallion, and prepared to lead the cavalry forth in the sally. She was an excellent rider, even in armor, and she was as deadly with a bow from a horse as she was standing. Lillian was nervous, but excited, too. For better or worse, today would end the siege and a winter of fear.
When the first fingers of dawn became visible over the eastern forest, trumpets were heard in the distance, frantically sounding the call to arms. The Prince's troops were visible on the south road, marching quickly north. Dragart was rallying his men to face them. There was no sign of the cavalry that should have been coming from the east.
The sun, hidden for days behind the clouds, was rising in full glory above the trees when they were were finally spotted, a long line of horsemen following the Redsluice. Dragart saw them, too. His men were holding the south road successfully, but he knew he could not withstand an attack on his flank. He gathered his guard and prepared to flee.
Sir Edward gave the order to open the gate. It had withstood battering rams, axes, and fire, and only now opened with a groan. Lillian spurred her horse forward, bow in hand, arrow notched, thunder in her ears and wind in her face.
She saw Dragart's banner in front of her, cutting across the field between the castle and the river, galloping towards the bridge. He was surrounded by his guard, but she recognized him even so, how could she not, after so many days of cursing him?
They ignored her charge... the guard would turn to fight at the bridge, allowing Dragart to escape, but they didn't know Lilly had a bow.
She knew she had time for two shots. The first would be for Dragart. The second, if the first missed, would be for his horse. He would not get away.
Lillian loosed her arrow and watched it fly. It did not miss. It struck Dragart cleanly in the cheek, and his body jerked to the side, pulling his horse over with him as he fell.
Her men let out a great cry and spurred their horses forward.
Dragart's escort wheeled and Lillian knew there would be a bloody battle fought over the body, until it was determined that he was truly dead.
She slowed, allowing her men to pass her by. Sir Canfel reigned up beside her as a guard. But she could be of more use elsewhere, and turned her bow towards the flank of Dragart's infantry. She dropped one, two, then three before they realized she was there and turned to defend against her. Sir Canfel cried out as two of their own archers took aim, but he was on the wrong side to shield her. Lillian kicked her spurs into her horse's flanks. The first arrow went wide, the second struck her horse in the neck. He reared, then landed, then rolled, sending Lillian flying out of her saddle and over his shoulder. Only the mud saved her from being crushed as he landed on top of her, kicking in agony. Finally he rolled free, towards Dragart's men, shielding her from their view.
Lillian lay in the mud, stunned, dimly aware that her helmet was skewed so that her nasal was now painfully jabbing one cheek. Her right leg hurt badly, and her left arm was so numb she could not tell if she still held her bow or not. She could feel her quiver of arrows twisted beneath her.
She rolled over and tried to push herself up to hands and knees, and found she could. Her left leg protested, but held; her right arm, tingling, still held her bow, but its string had broken in the fall. She tossed it aside. No matter. She sat back on her heels, wiped the mud from her eyes and nose, and pushed her helmet back into place, looking around.
Sir Canfel had charged the archers; she had no doubt that they were dead, but she watched in horror as he was pulled from his horse by a swarm of infantry. She turned away, sickened, as he was killed.
Behind her, Dragart's guard and her cavalry were engaged in fierce fighting, some still mounted, others now on foot. She couldn't tell where Dragart's body was, but no one seemed to have the advantage. In front of her, her horse still kicked, broken arrow still protruding from his neck. An arrow shot away, Dragart's infantry had turned away again, and Lillian could see banners approaching from beyond, and she heard horns blowing on the wind. More horns answered from her castle towers; welcoming, celebratory blasts.
Prince Randal's cavalry had charged.
She watched in horror and fascination as Randal's cavalry crashed into Dragart's defenses with a roar. They crumbled rapidly into scattered, disorganized groups of fighting men. The line in front of her collapsed under the first charge, some retreating slowly, some running blindly in fear, others holding their ground. Her elation at their eminent defeat, however, turned rapidly to alarm when she realized that those who were running away were heading right towards her.
It occurred to her that she might fall back into the mud and simply pretend to be dead, but she was afraid that a passing spearman might decide to make sure that she truly was, just out of spite. She would rather die fighting standing up than be skewered like a fish lying down. So she climbed to her feet and ignored the screaming pain in her leg, and drew her sword, wishing she had a shield as well.
The first man swerved out of sword reach as soon as he saw her, but the next came straight at her. He punched at her with his shield, trying to knock her over, but Sir Edward had showed her how to step aside, redirecting the force of the blow. The man slipped in the mud even as he tried to swing, and Lillian swung at his unprotected back as he fell. Her sword hit his helmet, and the man went face first into the mud with a grunt.
She recovered quickly, trying to keep her balance in the mud, and then the next two were upon her. She blocked a hastily thrown blow from one with her sword blade, the shock of which stung her hand and wrist, then the second man slammed into her with his shield, knocking her sideways. She tried to plant her foot and slipped, falling awkwardly to one knee. The first man threw another blow and it glanced down her helm, striking the mail on her shoulder. The rings held, but she felt them driven into her flesh despite the gambeson beneath. She threw herself up at him, swinging her sword in desperation, but he blocked it with his shield. The second man struck, then, hitting her back. It was probably her quiver of arrows that saved her life; the blow cut them and the quiver in two, and sliced through several rings of her mail. The force of the strike sent her flying forward into the first man's shield. She hit it with her chin and face and was momentarily knocked senseless.
She came to again, falling sideways. She felt another blow strike her side and then she landed in the mud again. She fumbled numbly for the sword she had dropped, thinking that she was about to die, and wondered how long it would take them to find her body in the mud.
The blow she was expecting never landed. Instead she felt, more than heard, her assailants take flight again. She lay there for several moments, basking in the joy of still being alive, until she heard more approaching feet, and her searching fingers found the hilt of her sword. She was pulling it towards her when a booted foot stepped on the blade.
"Dragart or Wymer?" a man asked.
Lillian tried to look up, but mud dripping in her eyes prevented her from seeing anything clearly.
"Dragart or Wymer?!" the man asked again, impatiently.
"Wymer," Lillian answered, finally. She'd not lie, even to save her life.
A mailed hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet.
"Out of the mud, then, lad!"
A second man picked up her sword and handed it to her as she tried to blink the filth from her eyes.
"Are you hurt?"
Lillian hurt in places that she hadn't known she'd had before, and yet, she did not think she was badly injured. Her left leg ached terribly, but it was still supporting her weight, and while she could feel her lip swelling, she counted herself lucky to be alive. She shook her head. "No, I'm all right... I think."
The men laughed knowingly.
"Your first battle, eh lad?" the tallest asked.
Lillian nodded. "In the open field, at any rate."
"It was a bad siege then?"
Lillian nodded again. "Aye."
"Well, now's the time to take revenge. And it looks to me like the best hunting is that way!"
He gestured towards a group of Dragart's men who were engaged with some of Randal's infantry on a low earthwork to one side. Apparently, the Prince had broken through the south road, as well.
The two men took off at a trot, but when Lillian tried to follow, pain shot up her left leg, stopping her short.
She couldn't run like this. She certainly couldn't fight like this. She looked instead towards her own cavalry and her own people. Walking was painful, certainly, but not impossible.
The battle over Dragart's body was still going on, but even as she approached, another group of cavalry galloped past and joined the fray. Lillian recognized the Prince's banners, but couldn't tell which of the riders, if any, was the Prince himself.
The fight didn't last long. Badly outnumbered, Dragart's guards either fled or surrendered. Those who fled were pursued by the Prince's horsemen.
Lillian hobbled forward, looking for Sir Melkirt. By the time she reached the group, most of them had dismounted and were circled around Dragart's body. She spied Melkirt at the front, and tried to push herself forward.
A tall man with a serious face and a dark beard whom she didn't recognize was holding up Dragart's now disembodied head by the arrow protruding from his face.
Lillian wretched at the site.
"I would meet the archer who did this," the man said, and Lillian realized with a shock that he was wearing a surcoat emblazoned with the royal arms. This must be Prince Randal!
Lillian stumbled to the front before her men could say anything, barely catching herself before falling on top of Dragart's headless body.
"I killed Dragart, your highness," she stammered, thankful that the mud no doubt hid the paleness of her face.
The Prince grinned. "Tis not a nobleman's weapon, but it was a fine shot, indeed, lad. You have slain my father's greatest enemy, and if you come find my Steward of Horses tonight, you shall have great reward for it." He tossed the head to her, and she caught it reflexively.
Lillian felt faint.
Sir Melkirt took the head from her shaking hands. "I'll find a platter for it, later," he smiled wryly.
"Thank you, Commander," she whispered.
"Commander," the Prince said upon hearing the title. "What news of the Duke?"
Lillian knew it was a polite way to inquire why her father was not out there fighting himself.
"The Duke is dead, your Highness," Melkirt said flatly.
Several of the Prince's men cried out in grief, and the Prince himself shook his head in what appeared to be genuine regret. "I'm sorry," he said. "When we saw Dragart's troops outside the castle, we rejoiced that we'd come in time to save him. I grieve that we were too late, after all. And what of Lillian?" he asked.
Melkirt looked at Lillian questioning, but she was too surprised by the question to respond.
"What of Lillian?" the Prince repeated, this time with greater urgency.
"Well enough, your Highness," Lillian answered finally.
He smiled. "That is good," he nodded. "My trip north, then, may yet be blessed, though I regret her father will not be able to share in the joy."
"Blessed, your Highness?" Lillian repeated, wondering what he meant.
The Prince laughed and slapped her shoulder with his mailed hand good naturedly. "All shall reveal itself in time, lad!"
Lillian staggered slightly under the blow, but another idea was forming in her head. "Your Highness!" she said before she lost the courage to do it.
The Prince looked at her curiously. "Yes?"
"You have promised me a reward for killing Dragart?"
The Prince's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded evenly. "Yes, I did."
"May I claim my own, instead, if it be in your power to grant it?"
Several of his men scowled at the boldness of this, but the Prince laughed. "I'm intrigued. If it be in my power to grant it, lad, aye. Now, what would you ask as a reward for ending an eight year war with your arrow?"
"Wymer."
"What?!"
"I'm of the Duke's blood, and I would ask for Wymer." She continued quickly when he frowned, obviously displeased. "Ask these men, I have led them since the Duke's death. They will support my claim."
Lillian held her breath, afraid that she'd erred terribly, but the Prince looked at Melkirt. "Is this true?"
Melkirt grinned. "Aye, your Highness. I'd support the claim with my life."
Finally, the Prince shook his head. "I'm sorry, even if it were my prerogative to do so, and not my father's, I would not grant such a request without first consulting Lady Lillian. By way of explanation, I should tell you that at the request of her brother and her father, it is my intention to propose to her, though I'd beg you not to tell her that. You must understand that I would not want to anger her before we'd even met," he laughed.
Lillian was dumbfounded. The Prince intended to propose to her?! But she didn't want to marry the Prince!
"Surely there must be something else that I can grant you," the Prince continued.
Lillian was at a loss. "Oh... oh.... oh my.... oh, please..." she whispered, swallowing.
"Go on, spit it out, lad!"
Lillian collapsed to her knees because her leg could no longer support her. "I just want Wymer, your Highness. Nothing more. Oh please... this is where I belong! These are my people. I want to rebuild... the villages are all but destroyed... The castle needs repair! This is my home, and I am needed here!"
The Prince snorted. "Begging will do you no good! I've explained already why I can't grant this! Now stand up! Be a man, lad, we're all warriors here, and I'll not have you groveling at my feet."
Lillian tried, but gasped in pain, falling back down again.
"My Lady!" Melkirt said in alarm, catching her arm. "You're hurt?!"
"My leg! My horse was shot!"
"Lord's mercy! And your face is bleeding, too!"
"Lady?" the Prince repeated.
Lillian pushed Melkirt away, irritably. She took her helmet off and set it carefully in the mud beside her, pushing back her coif and pulling free her braid of hair. She looked up at the Prince. "It is not my intention to beg, your Highness. I am Lady Lillian, and I am but asking a boon of you, that in exchange for killing Dragart, you support my claim to inherit my father's lands, which I have kept safe since his death, so that I may rebuild them, and keep them safe in the future."
Now it was the Prince's turn to look dumbfounded. He stared at her in amazement until he let out a great laugh. "I understand now why your brother and father loved you so much," he said. "Very well, Lady Lillian. I will grant your request, though I do so at the cost of losing my consort and future Queen. I believe I can convince my father to let you keep Wymer. Certainly, I can tell him it will stay in good hands."
He offered his hand to help her up.
Lillian smiled, and took it.