CHAPTER XVI
THE FINAL STROKE
The next day was clear, as was the following. It was certain that those defending the fortress were grateful for the break in the siege, but for those upon the ground it was a time of much preparation. Craftsmen laboured day and night for days; the blacksmiths likewise. Crono himself wandered about ceaselessly, shouting words that gave courage and strength to his people. They in turn praised him as much as any king was ever praised, and in those days they surnamed him the Magnificent; those more learned took to calling him Meredior, which signifies 'the man of glory' in the old tongue of Zeal (though none there were save Janus and Schala that knew the strange chance of this, for Meredior had been the very name that the first king of Zeal had taken for himself, more than twelve thousand years before.)
So it was that the fifth day came quickly. All too quickly for most. This was the day upon which the fate of the entire land would rest. If it was lost so, too, was Guardia.
And on this day Crono was arrayed in his full battle dress, such as Serge had never seen him; for Crono now wore armour truly befitting a king: to guard his body was a hauberk of silver rings over which was set a breastplate of gold inlaid steel. Upon his right and left shoulders were fastened pauldrons of silver and bronze, and gauntlets of embroidered leather were on his hands. Even his feet were shod in iron hemmed boots. Upon his head sat a magnificent helm crafted of silver and gold that appeared nearly as a crown itself. And at his side his matchless sword gleamed from a gold enwound scabbard that alone would have been a prince's ransom. Indeed, he seemed now as both king and general of his people, lord and champion, titles he had been loath to accept until the past day.
"Today is the day of victory, Serge," he said, fastening a kingly dagger to his side as Serge approached.
Serge shook his head, not trusting much to the truth of those words.
"Maybe. That, or some fey charge like the poets always write about. I've seen too many battles lost that seemed way more sure than this one is. I'm not sure what exactly to think of it."
Crono leaned over so that only Serge heard, and said:
"What do you think, that I am a fool? Certainly I know that all too well. I was speaking out of hope rather than reason. For you speak truly: it may well be that our doom this day is defeat, and our only reward for our struggles and death will be to be remembered in the tales of some skald. And little comfort will they be to us, indeed. I do not fear my own death, nay, I would not account that a great loss. But, rather, if we lose the day, I mourn for the death of my land and the freedom of its people."
"But if there's something I've learned in all my adventures," Serge answered, "it's that nothing really disappears in this world, not good or evil. Not till the End, at any rate. Someday, somewhere, even if it's a thousand years from now, there'll be another country like Guardia. Remember the story you told me about how it was founded: a centurion of Rome sailed westward to be free. Even then, when the Romans ruled, a free and peaceful land was born. And if it could happen then, under Rome, it could happen during the age of Porre."
Crono laughed at these words.
"Serge," he said, "I knew you to be bright-eyed, but did not think you had such a joyful outlook on the world. What you say is true, most surely, but it is in my charge to ensure that Guardia does not fall, and endures as long as it may. I will take your words to heart, however, and remember: even though Guardia shall fall, it shall not be the end of virtue or goodness. That dark fate only Lavos brought about, and him we have destroyed for eternity."
Serge glanced once more at the fine array in which Crono was dressed, so unlike to that which he had worn before. Upon the field it had been dull mail and the like, so that he looked to be no different than a petty king or captain; this, however, was armour far more glorious than any Serge had ever seen before. Crono saw his wonder, and laughing said:
"This is my true armour, such as I have not worn since Guardia fell. In the last battle upon the field I was a brigand, and did not count myself worthy to bear such trappings. But now I am King, Serge, and array myself accordingly."
From the earth he bore up a mighty shield, emblazoned with the signs of both Guardia and of his house. A black dragon, the symbol of his land, was at the chief, above the emblem of his family: a sword, which was his, and the silver flower of Marle Blancheflor.
He nodded in the way of Serge.
"You should take some thought to armour yourself, Serge. I daresay your mail shirt will hardly be of use today."
Crono cast his hand in Schala's direction, who was some way off in the way from which Serge had come. Surely Serge had wandered past without thinking it to be her. Even now he hardly knew her. For she was dressed, as Crono, in full battle-array of mail and steel, gilded and etched with elaborate designs traditional of Guardia. From beneath a helmet of silver her long golden hair flowed free as ever, and a bronze breastplate was fastened across a coat of fine mail rings that fell down nearly to her knees. Draped across her back she wore her flowing azure cape that caught even the slightest of winds. Upon her wrists were vambraces, her hands were gloved, and upon her feet were leather war-boots. Even her legs bore greaves. And her weaponry was even more warlike: both dagger and short-sword sat low at her sides, and a third greater sword with a broad blade lay in a scabbard across her back. Crono continued, to Serge's turned back: "An assault on a gate is not to be taken lightly by any measure. We shall be in the open field, overlooked by the battlements, and I do not care to trust to chance alone."
And so Crono's final strategy was set. The two score of siege weapons, the ballistae and trebuchets and the like, were wheeled, through much labour, to before the front gate, though left well out of bow or gunshot. These all were to be a great diversion, to draw the eyes of the defender to the gate, rather than to where Janus would work his secret spells. And how could it fail? The entire army, strengthened to seven thousand now as new warrior-peasants flocked in from the countryside, would stand at the gate as well: a great bait that the enemy need surely take.
In truth, however, none but the captains knew of this plan. Spies were a fear, and the strategy would fail utterly if any wind of it was caught by the enemy. Crono thus trusted to the speed with which he could march his army about the castle to the breach that Janus would make.
And so it began.
The first assault was with the siege weapons. Rocks were hurled and great arrows fired, and all the while Crono looked keenly upon the battlements in hope. Yet, though the missiles they fired shattered stone and, on occasion, slew a defender, the eyes of the enemy remained yet fast upon all sides. To his far right, in the woods at the eastern edge of the castle, Crono new that Janus waited with no less sharp an eye.
But for all the fury of their weapons, the defenders would not cease their vigilance. Their captain was certainly wise, and it was a great fear to Crono that they would never succeed in drawing the attention of their foes solely to the gate. And so he lifted high his hand, and gave the cry that they were to advance full upon the fortress, to the very gate.
And at this the captains, taking up the same cry, led forward their companies in the assault. It was a most impressive charge, moreover, for the full count of the army was at least seven thousands, and they filled the entire of the approach before the fortress. The archers and riflemen that held post above the gate and upon the near battlements struck at once, and all through the ranks many brave men fell. But there were too few to stem the onslaught, and with near undiminished force the soldiers gained the gate.
And this then succeeded. The gate was shaken, and the defenders quaked in sudden fear. What men there were ringing the battlements all made haste for the forward defence, and their vigilance was broken. As swift as a runner off the mark upon hearing the starting shot, Janus rushed forward across the field. There being none to espy him, he came unharmed to the walls, and laughed grimly to himself at the foolishness of his enemies. Now they would see the power of the one they faced, and fear the might of Janus the magician.
He knelt beside the great wall, his eyes transfixed unerringly upon the stone.
"Fall now, become dust and crumble," he whispered, his will working against the strength binding the stone.
Inë es aichos paraia il nemoth Jeriko
Ios wed fala
Ientad lom es methoset chelema ema amerad valparaia imo,
Inë es paraia il meredet Ilium eli nemoth dachai
Nechamad ost sol ost uth läishad mel
Ientad lom es ros il es tera ar nerusa es Danaoio
Ient ine es fala il aichos Ilium
Chedal elth nimuret fala ar aichios ost tim tor sai
Inë es paraia il methoset Tel-Jebus lom es Shinarlim.
Inë es fala il Astrad lom es aichosith il Selevroth.
Crumble, and be dust.
And even as he finished it was so. Spell-bound in command to such mighty words, the stones shattered as though they were stricken glass. From the topmost battlement to the very foundations a mighty fissure wound its way, and all the walls about crumbled to pieces, flying apart in a storm of dust and stone.
Janus stepped backward, his dark eyes in joy over his success. His power was mighty, indeed. From the walls astonished cries rang, calling all men to the alarm. Soldiers ran about, some readying arrows, and others firing aimlessly at the ground, in wonder over what had chanced. Not one could believe that a lone sorcerer had taken down the walls that they had thought immortal. Janus laughed, seeing their fear, and revelled in his power.
And now the battle at the gate was abandoned. With both speed and zeal that drove terror into the hearts of the defenders, the host of the army, some seven thousand men on foot, was set upon the breach. Some few fell to arrows in the march, but the dismay of the defenders was such that the toll was less than it could have been. And then it was set: the army of Guardia was arrayed before the breach. It was a great rally, and the spears of Guardia were like a forest growing from amidst a field of shields.
For their part those that held the fortress were still distressed, though regaining their wits even as the armies of their foes reformed themselves. They knew that if they could not hold the breach, all would be lost, and so every man that was able to fight was sped there. Those that bore guns readied their flint and powder, preparing the first shot and making certain that those that followed would be swift and deadly. The bowmen, such as they were (for there were not many here in the fortress, most having been slain in the battle on the fields), strung the sinew fast on the wood, and stood ready with a single arrow upon the string. The mercenary swordsmen and axemen brandished about their blades and shook their shields, in practice for the affray that was sure to follow the first exchange of arrows and shot. And, finally, those that had any skill in sorcery, whether in healing or in war, held the back line, preparing to make their foemen pay a dear price if they came so far. It was a remarkable order, masterfully arrayed to throw back whatever assault might occur, and Crono, had he known it, would not have been much astonished to know that it was the captain of the Imperial Guard garrison there, Norris himself, who had commanded it. Or, rather, it was he who commanded the entire defence of the castle on behalf of his empire; the general had been slain, and he alone yet lived of the military commanders that had embarked upon the crushing of the rebellion, for the lives of the other captains had ended upon the field days before. Indeed, though the defence of the fortress had seemed insurmountable to those that sought to take it, it was mostly a play, for those that held it were ill-supplied and despairing. Had it not been for Norris and his steadfast legion, it might well have been that the fortress would have surrendered itself willingly long before. But Norris was a masterful man and stern captain, to whom men would listen and entrust their lives; he had ordered a stout defence upon the walls day and night, and had spared no shot in making it seem as though all was well with those holding it. All of this Crono did not know, but even had he, it was unlikely that his course would have been greatly altered.
But Norris was clever. Though in numbers, and through virtue of the fortress he held, he had enough force of arms so that the battle could swing to victory or loss, he knew his enemies perceived that he had far more strength than he in truth had. And so it struck him to play this to its fullest, and perhaps through fear and dismay cause them to abandon the siege. To this end he mounted the highest of the eastern battlements, and cried down at the army:
"I appeal to your reason, brigand Crono. Lay down your arms, and sue for the mercy of Porre. Enemy though you be, I swear by God I shall spare your life if you surrender yourself with sword undrawn."
This all he said with a stern resolution to his voice, though his heart misgave him, and he feared that Crono would not be taken by this bait.
"Say, Norris!" Crono cried back in return. "It is you, is it not? Look upon my array, and mark me well: I am no longer a brigand. See my sword, and know that a king reigns in Guardia again! You give me terms for mercy? The brigand would not have taken them, how much less can the king. I, too, offer you mercy: the same that you would offer me. But if you reject these, then must this day be decided in blood."
"Lord Crono, then," Norris cried in return. "You say that you cannot by reason of your kingship accept my mercy. Then know that I, too, cannot accept yours, through reason of my oath-bound loyalty to my empire. So this day will indeed be decided by blood. Let then justice be judge!"
And as he said this he left the battlements, and for a moment all was silence in both ranks. But only for a moment. For with a sharp cry the front line of the army of Guardia pressed forward their assault, and as they marched the front line held their shields firm in front; their spears they held before them. A phalanx even as Alexander of Macedonia had marched with, as some few knew, and it was a good counsel. Or, rather, should have been against an army such as theirs was. But Porre was not as the ancient armies were, and as soon as they began the march, all the front line of the archers and musketeers fired their first volley. Now, the shields were strong, of many layered ox-hide and wood, and the arrows stuck fast to them and were halted; but the shot from the muskets was dire, and most often splintered through both hide and wood, and deep into the man behind. Five score of men fell in the first volley; with the phalanx broken, twice that many in the second. One might have guessed that two hundred might have been slain in the third, but it never came. Though the archers were swift and their arrows came like sleet, the musketeers were slow to load new shot and, before their third was prepared, the first of their foes had leaped into the fortress.
And so the battle began in full. The archers that had no other weapons other than their bows ran to the battlements where they could shoot in safety, and those that held swords drew them. Axes were swung, armour was cleft, and shields were shattered. Into the fray Crono himself leaped, arrayed in gold like a ray of sunlight, his sword shining and eager for blood in his hand. Behind followed Serge, clad in his dull steel mail, but with the Masamune flaming in his grip. Together the two pushed back all defence from the breach, and the enemy broke and ran.
Yet still Norris looked for victory, and he was cunning. From many windows, from the belfry of the cathedral and a score of other high places, archers that he had kept prepared now took aim. A storm of deadly darts went flying upon the king and his host. So now the tide began to turn for Porre, and those that had begun to flee turned and held fast defence in the outer keep, before the inner gate.
"Look to the archers!" Crono cried desperately, swinging about his bloodied blade, "Bowmen, take aim at the towers!"
But Crono had few bowmen with him. Cursing his ill fortune he gathered his strength for sorcery, and raised his sword. A great vein of lightning swept to him from the sky, and at once he sent it swiftly to the belfry. The archer who had stood there fell with an unheard cry as the noisome sorcery lanced through his heart. Twice more Crono did this, and two more fell. But it was a perilous thing, for his mind needed be on many things at once: with his left hand he parried those who attacked, and with his right he fought with both sword and magic. Serge, nearby, was struggling, and could not aid with his own spells: caught in a corner by several foes, he was fighting merely to live.
And then it was that Janus and Schala leaped in through the breach.
At their coming the tide at once left from Porre, and returned to Guardia. The archers fell like flies from their high posts to the twain's terrible sigaldry. Soon not one remained to harry the armies and, though they had taken a dire toll, the king's men now saw that the host that held the fortress was not so great as they had thought it to be. Heartened by this, they felt victory was near.
Or, so it appeared. Norris was no fool, and ever held another trick ready to counter the turning fortunes. Now he loosed his magicians he had kept at bay, and these came as a storm upon the Guardian armies. This new assault struck fear into every heart, and even Crono was aghast at the sudden onslaught, made all the more dreadful by the nearness that victory had seemed only a moment before. Here came the Swart Elves with their cunning spells, even as they had so lately in the field battle. But more terrible than these were the sorcerers of the Black Wind. Dark robed and bearing an array of steel armour and weapons, both swords and rifles, they were perilous foes. The first hail of magic was heralded with a storm of shot, and many a brave warrior perished at that moment, and many were wounded. Serge himself was nearly slain, for a sharp iron shot rang off his steel helm; had he not worn it, as had been his earlier wont, he would have surely been dead at once. Janus and Crono were both struck, though neither mortally so: Janus fell to a knee as a bullet that pierced his greaves shattered his bone, and an unlucky spell burned like hellfire through his breastplate; Crono tore his helm free from his head even as it writhed and burned to ashes under some evil curse.
"We shall die here," Janus said with a fey-touched laugh, and he fought to rise. He stood, but found that much of his strength had left him. But even at that moment he looked up to the sky with narrowing eyes, and cried: "And yet, perhaps that hour is not yet upon us!"
Crono turned about and looked at him with wonder, for it seemed that foresight had come upon Janus. Even the enemy that were now nearing their victory paused for a certain moment at his chill voice.
"What do you say?" Schala asked of her brother, leaping at once to his side.
"Listen, and hear!" Janus said. "The north-wind brings news upon its wings!"
And even at that time, when hope was growing dim, a horn sang. It came from the north, though its ringing note was ever rising, as if it were nearing.
At once Crono knew what this portended.
"The riders from the north!" he cried. "Four hundred to our aid! Guardia shall victor this day yet!"
And with that jubilant cry he rushed forward, heedless of the foe's sorcery. Seeing this dauntless charge, all the warriors of Guardia that stood near to him, and both Schala and Serge, followed behind. The sorcerers of Porre were holding the last gate to the inner keep and tower, and stood in front so that none could near it. But hearing the sudden horn, and fearing the onslaught of the king, they faltered, even the mighty among them. With haste they built a wall of enchantment, and opened the great gate so as to retreat to the final defence. But even as they did so Norris, in wrath and despair, called to them from the keep wall:
"Halt! Do not run! You are handing them victory!"
But they would not stop, for the fear of defeat was in their hearts, and not even the fiery and commanding words of their captain would sway them. Yet had they known all of what was chancing, it would certainly have been otherwise.
The gate was open, and the last of the sorcerers had found their way inside. With haste they pushed at the doors to shut them, but were too late in doing so. Their spells had been quick and weak and, many though they were, the wizardry of Janus was far stronger. The unseen walls had shattered at his call, and with this last thing he retired of the battle, needing all his strength to heal his own hurts. He swept his cape about and, with a faltering pace, left through the breach, there being none to bar his way of escape.
As he went through, however, Sigurd passed inward, drawn sword in hand.
"Alas, the battle is near over!" he cried to Janus as he saw the dead that littered the courtyard, and marked that there were none save at the inner gate who yet fought.
"Yet some swordwork at least, Sigurd," Janus said. "Go now! You are needed. You, and the riders you have brought."
At that moment Crono, as he lead the endeavour to take the gateway, looked backward. He saw Sigurd and Janus speak a space; then Janus laughed greatly, and Sigurd ran forward to join his father.
"Sigurd, you come in the very nick of time!" Crono said to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Lord Janus has been sorely wounded, and we are in need of your sorcery and following company. Your riders, are they swift behind you?"
But Sigurd shook his head.
"No, father, there are no riders. The horn was mine alone. If any warriors were in the northern forests, they have surely perished."
"Alas," Crono cried, "and yet your horn could not have come at more apt a time! This may well turn the tide for the final time, and put victory into our hands. Come!"
And having said so he leaped forward of all the warriors, and led the assault into the inner halls.
Surely the battle was won then, but the sorcerers believed that only death could be their fate, and the Black Wind would not willingly surrender, even to save their own lives. They fought to the last and least, and so hardy was their defence that it was not without the price of blood was every hall and stair won for Guardia. Yet in the end the king had the mastery, and at last only Norris, and two of his guard, remained alive in the final chamber. Then Crono stepped forward, saying:
"Much blood is on your account today, Captain Norris. Had you yielded the fortress, many lives would have been spared from death."
But Norris shook his head.
"Yet I may say a like thing of you. You, too, could have surrendered, yet did not. The guilt of blood belongs to us both."
With a nod Crono affirmed it, but added:
"And yet small joy will that dividing of guilt bring you, for the victory is mine, and not yours. Look at this tale: you, who for so long yearned to capture me, are now my prisoner."
But Norris shook his head.
"I will be no prisoner. Set me free, or I slay me. I will have nothing else."
Crono laughed grimly, and his hand went to the hilt of his sword.
"Then death will be your fate," he said, and drew out the blade. "What of your two captains? Will they share in it?"
The one laughed grimly, saying:
"So you think, northman, that the courage of the south is weak? We are of like mind, and will not betray our duty."
And the other nodded in silent agreement.
Crono stepped forward, but at the very moment in which he was to strike off Norris' head, Serge came forward into the room, bloodied and spent. For he had ever been at the thickest and worst of the fighting, and that had taken him to the deep dungeons and the last defence.
"No, don't kill him. Set him free," he said wearily, leaning greatly on the haft of the Masamune.
Crono sighed shortly, but withdrew his blade for the moment.
"Serge, why? Three more only need die; with their blood will Guardia be cleansed of the rule of Porre. You may wish me to free him, but remember that he is enemy to my people, and a foe to us all. He serves Porre."
Serge nodded. Indeed, he understood that well enough. But he even so remembered a bygone time in which Norris had been a dear friend.
"Yes, I know he's our enemy. I'm not going to fool myself about that, Crono. But I know a thing or two about enemies and friends, too, and about well-meaning people caught on the wrong side. Norris is a better man than you think. And I'll have you remember that mercy's considered the trait of a good king. And that's what you are now that we've won this battle. It's your choice, but I'd ask you not to kill him, if not for his sake then for mine."
As he said this, Norris looked in wonder at Serge.
"You, child? You are the same that I dismissed in Termina months ago. Did you then play my mercy against me?"
Serge shook his head.
"No, Norris, I didn't," Serge answered, somewhat pained by Norris' harshly spoken words. "But it all made sense to me later. I was once something of a hero, and still am, I suppose. Porre is an enemy to the people, here and even at home, and I had to fight them. Someday maybe you'll see this," and Serge nearly added 'again', for it had been in noble anger at the cruelty of his empire that had, in some forgotten time, made Norris break his oath-bond and join Serge; here there would be no such thing, Serge knew, but only hoped that their parting, which would in likelihood be final, could be without enmity. "But just believe me when I say that I'm not your enemy, here."
"You counsel your companion to free me," Norris replied. "Through this I suppose you can have some claim of friendship, though I do not know why you should care for my fate. So now, Crono, what shall it be? Do you release me, or do I die?"
Crono paused for a moment, then he bore up his sword again as if to deliver the deathstroke. But even as he did so he relented, and dropped the point to the earth, saying:
"Marle, forgive me," he muttered, then raising his voice to Norris said: "You are my enemy, captain. You always will be that. But on the behest of Serge, who followed me most graciously upon my now fulfilled quest, I will free you. If ever we meet again, it will be as enemies, but here, at least, we may part in truce."
Crono bowed a formal farewell, and spoke a word to the nearest of his guard. Norris gave a sharp salute after the fashion of the Empire and, without a further word, he and his two remaining soldiers departed from the room and fortress. That day they left on the homeward road, leaving Guardia and defeat behind.
But when Norris had left, Crono turned to Serge and said:
"But perhaps it is not solely for you that I allowed him to go. A brigand needs be merciless, but a good king thrives on mercy. Had I not granted him that, I should have shamed myself, and Guardia through it. I thank you for reminding me of this. And now, we mourn; but after, we celebrate victory. Come!"
Then Crono went to the highest tower, and cried aloud:
"Hail Guardia, that arises from the ashes! Hail the black dragon!"
Then, even as the sun flashed its last golden rays upon the towers of the fortress the banner of the chimera was torn down, and the gleaming standard of the black dragon was raised high, its embossed emblem blowing gloriously in the chill twilight wind for the first in fifteen years.
(Last Edited September 21, 2004)