Last week in the read through of my Very First Novel, our heroes continued preparing for the climactic final battle until finally their leader, the Lost Prince himself, decided to just get on with it and led his army out of the Southern Forest and straight on towards the capital city. This week: the battle you’ve all been waiting for! [This is going to be a long one, folks, so buckle in!]
To explain the Prince's sudden move, we must realize that the Prince had been waiting for this moment to come for twelve years. Patrick had finally reached his limit with the seemingly endless logistical details and had decided to act. The Prince had ordered his army to leave the Forest and march on the capital city. It was his reasoning that when Taradash learned of their advance, the tyrant king would rush to defend the capital. There were still many questions that had not been answered, hut the Prince was at an end of patience. He had decided to strike now and make up the rest as he went along.
Sean Christopher marched proudly in the front ranks of the Prince's army. Sean was almost overwhelmed by the sheer adventure of the whole thing. He was in the front lines of an army commanded by a lost prince, a prince he had helped to find! Even now, they were marching to confront the false king and challenge his stolen authority once and for all!
Sean looked around at the determined army. On the far left flank, Dwayne Bushfield strode proudly at the head of the Sirian jackrabbits. The jackrabbits marched along fearlessly, twirling their leather slings and scowling grimly, for all the world like a mob of Texan cowboys about to fight a gunslinging duel at high noon.
Just to the right of the jackrabbits marched the Canine Commandos, as the dog warriors preferred to be called, and leading them was none other then the Canine Commander, Basil Montmorency. The massive St. Bernard had turned up on the third day after the Prince had sent Rathwing to call the Sirians to him. Basil had strolled casually into camp, bearing a gigantic broadsword, with a blade as wide as two playing cards set on end. "What ho!" he hailed the surprised companions. "I say, is there a jolly old Prince chappie anywhere near here? Cause I want to know what's the meaning of sending a whopping great falcon around, disturbing a chap's midday repast and ordering him to rendezvous with the jolly old Prince like an infantry-type private chap! Bad form, sah, bad form!"
The companions were so taken aback by the bold Canine Commander that for a moment, they just stood there gaping at the St. Bernard. Finally, Conrad recovered his presence of mind enough to get the Prince. Prince Patrick welcomed Basil like a long-lost friend. Basil, for his part, greeted the Prince jovially, then got right down to business, taking charge of a small group of poodles that had wandered into camp the day before. "I say, you there! Yes, you lot! Where d'you think you are, at the daisy chain parade? Form up, dress off to y'right! Aten-hut! Straighten up those lines! Chin up, chest out, shoulders out! Shoulder weapons now! C'mon, you chaps, show these other fellahs how it's done!"
Needless to say, Basil was a natural at command. He soon managed to whip the Canine Commandos into shape, and in the process won the respect and admiration of the entire army. It was almost impossible not to like Basil, with his jovial ways, his friendly style of command, and his insatiable appetite.
In the center of the Prince's army marched the human squadrons, under the command of Lord Evan Ramsey, who had journeyed all the way from Rocklawn as soon as he heard the news from Rathwing. Lord Ramsey had enjoyed a happy reunion with his two sons, Alexan and Shenan, on the day when he had arrived at camp. He was greatly interested in the adventures of the other five original questors. The Lord of Rocklawn was overjoyed to meet the son of his old friend King Lawrence. "At last, the Legend is fulfilled! It doth rejoice my heart greatly to meet thee! For now that thy royal Highness has been found. verily, the final deliverance of Sirilan will surely come to pass!"
Behind the human squadrons were mixed those few Tara Raiders and Feline legionnaires who had deserted their corrupt leaders, led by Covalek. Most of them wanted to stay behind and out of sight of the others, who weren't too thrilled about fighting with soldiers who'd once fought for the enemy. Patrick had given a stern speech addressing this subject, and most of the Sirians had welcomed them, but still they preferred to march at the rear. Part of the reason for this decision was that many were still afraid of their old masters, and didn't want to be noticed by them if they could help it.
To the right of the humans marched the burly, mace-wielding beavers. The beavers had unanimously elected Burrtail to command them, after much rough debate. Burrtail, being the modest beaver that he was, had blushed, scuffled his paws in the ground, and burred and urrrrred uncomfortably for several minutes, quite overwhelmed with the honor. Once he got his wits back together, the homely beaver proved to be quite good at commanding the beaver brigade. Burrtail, like most beavers, was full of common sense and simple country wisdom, which helped him greatly in leadership.
On the far right flank of the Prince's army, an entire division of Sirian mice marched to the steady beat of several mousedrums. Fully one hundred mice marched in perfect unison, no one breaking rank or falling behind, each one fully equipped with shortsword and arrows. Lukewil Sabrepaw was given command out of respect to his father, but he soon would prove that he was a great Mousewarrior in his own right.
As Sean scanned the army, he noted again the unusual absence of the Raccoon Brethren. Just before the Sirian army had set out, Sean had seen the Prince talking earnestly to Zakkle, and also to Chidale, the short, husky leader of the squirrel and chipmunk bands. Shortly after, as the army had set out, the Raccoon Brethren had disappeared, along with the squirrels and chipmunks. There was much speculation about where they had gone, but whenever anyone asked the Prince, all he would say was, "Secret plans are best kept a secret. You will see the plan when the time arrives!"
Sean finished his quick review of the army and looked up proudly at the Sirian flag, flying high over the army. The flag bore four stars, one black representing the Northern Mountains, one yellow for the Eastern Plains, one green for the Southern Forest, and one turquoise, representing the sea which formed Sirilan's western border. The stars were on a blue background, which stood for the three rivers of Sirilan, and in the center was a white shield, which bore an elaborate letter S.
As Sean stared up at the flag, he suddenly narrowed his eyes and looked harder at the sky. A tiny black speck was gliding far above the army, and what was even more alarming, the speck was drifting lower, down towards them! Sean hurried forward, to where the Prince was striding boldly out in front of the army, to warn him about the speck.
The Prince had already noticed it, however. He stared hard up at the rapidly descending speck for a moment, than Patrick smiled. "No bird in all Sirilan flies like that. I is the Skyking, Rathwing Feathertalon!" The Prince motioned for the army to halt, as Rathwing swooped down and landed near them.
The majestic falcon approached the Prince. "Creeh My work is done! The dwellers of the air have gathered together the hosts of Sirilan, and moreover my hosts have assembled ahead. waiting on my command. When I give the word. they will fall down upon the Tara Raiders like rain from the clouds!"
"Good!" the Prince congratulated the Skyking. "Well done, Rathwing! I will indeed need your feathered hosts in our attack. Our army marches north now, towards Navina, where Taradash will surely meet us, as he will desire to hold the capital."
"Caraah!" Rathwing exclaimed. "It was not only for your praise upon completing my task that I came, but to also bring you warning! Taradash has already set out to meet you with his horde! I was watching, far above him, as he and the Catqueen left Navina and marched west, towards Mirk. They clearly intended to sail down the Sapphire and intercept you!"
"You say, he `intended' to do so." observed Patrick. "What is his plan now?"
Rathwing looked sober as he answered the Prince. "Careeh! I saw a rat runner come to meet him as he marched. The rat made his report to Taradash inside a cloth tent, so I could not hear what happened inside, but I do know, that shortly after he arrived, the army suddenly turned south. Even now, the Tara Raiders are marching southwards towards us, and within this very day, he will be upon you!"
The Skyking's announcement caused much dismay among the Sirian army. Gasps and shocked whispers ran up and down the army like an autumn wind through fields of grain. Many Sirian warriors had fear in their faces. For although they had been talking about and planning for this battle for days, many had not really considered the full meaning of the battle, and many still had the fear of the tyrant king upon them. One or two looked like they might desert the army, so great was their fear of Lord Taradash.
Only the Prince seemed undisturbed. "So be it." he said calmly. Then, turning to his army and speaking in a louder tone, "Sirians! Where is your faith? Was it not because of our noble ambition to finally defeat Lord Taradash that we set out upon this advance? Why then are you afraid? I say, forward! Forward, to meet the false king, so that we may destroy him and his evil hordes and save all Sirilan!"
The army cheered wildly, the mouse drums beat out thunderously, swords waved, pennants flew, the flag dipped as the collie flagbearer rushed forward, and the entire army surged ahead like a mighty wave, screaming aloud with one mighty voice, "Sirilaaaaaaan!"
As they rushed onward, Luther, who had launched himself into the air alongside Rathwing, gasped out, "Pardon me, but could you enlighten me as to the approximate locality of the fateful encounter between these twain onrushing armies?"
Rathwing called back, "It will be in the valley of Carmii!"
Luther dropped down and relayed this information to the swiftly running Prince.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "From what I have seen, Carmii is an excellent place for a battle!"
As Luther swooped up again, he mumbled quietly to himself, “Oh dear, it certainly does appear as if the conclusive contention has unquestionably commenced!”
Meanwhile, to the north of the rapidly advancing Sirian army, Lord Taradash had changed his mind about his battle tactics. Taradash had called a halt to his advancing army, and had ordered them to take up defensive positions on the northern edge of the valley of Carmii. The valley was a beautiful place, covered in small delicate buttercups, daises, and bluebells. At its southern edge, a large outcropping of rock reared up like a primeval colossus from the deep, massively looming over the surrounding fields and flowers. The valley's gently sloping sides ran down towards its northern edge, a thick grove of fir trees, in the center of which was an abandoned cottage, which had been desolate ever since a Tara Raider attack many years ago. The cottage was old and crumbling into ruins, but despite this, it was the perfect headquarters for Lord Taradash and the Catqueen.
Taradash ordered the Tara Raiders to take up their positions at the edge of the fir grove. He turned and remarked sarcastically to Cavanessa, "I suppose you'll be wanting to post your soldiers there too?"
The Catqueen smirked with undisguised scorn for the tyrant king. "Oh, really, what a novel idea! And what happens when the Sirian army gets here and your soldiers are all standing out in the open like a bunch of ninnies waiting to be slaughtered?"
Taradash smiled coldly. "Ah, but I never said they would be out in the open, did I? No, my soldiers will be concealed in the edge of the trees, waiting for the Sirian army! When they arrive, they will charge right up the valley like the fools they are! And when they do, they'll walk right into a shower of javelins and spears! Now, would you like to post your feline rabble at the edge of the trees so they can share in the surprise with their arrows?"
Cavanessa glowered dangerously, knowing that Taradash had the better idea and hating him for it. She spun to one of her lieutenants and gave rapid orders for the Feline Legion to join the Tara Raiders at the front. Then she turned back to Lord Taradash. "You may smirk now, Taradash, but soon, these rebels will be dispersed, and when that happens, you will wish you'd never crossed me! Soon, you, and all of Sirilan, will see the wrath of Cavanessa Montashleigh!"
Taradash ignored the enraged Catqueen and turned his attention back to the front, as the Tara Raiders and Feline Legionnaires waited for the arrival of the Sirian army.
That army was rushing in a mad charge closer and closer to the valley, and now they were joined by swarms of birds. There were so many of them that they blotted out the sky! Sean was reminded of the innumerable multitudes of passenger pigeons that had once darkened the skies over the United States. Rathwing Feathertalon rose to the fore of the hosts of the air and shrilled out his war cry, "Careeeekaaaaaaaaaaah!" Like the thunderous sound of a mighty earthquake, the reply came screaming back from multitudes of feathered throats, "Chirrrrrreeeeeeekaaaaaaaaah!"
The Sirian army roared out their own war cry and speeded up their pace. Gripped by the frenzied excitement of the charge, Lucy saw Sean sweep by her, waving his rapier and yelling out wildly, "Sirilaaaan! Sirilaaaan! Eyaaaaahooooooo!"
In the front lines of the fir grove, the Tara Raiders heard the sound of the Sirian war cries rumbling over the horizon like rolling thunder. Many of them shivered and gripped their weapons tighter with fear. Taradash showed no trace of anxiety as he ordered, “Weapons ready! Fire on my command!"
The Sirian armsy broke over the crest of the valley's southern edge like an ocean wave, thundering past the rocky pinnacle and charging pell-mell towards the northern edge. Rathwing dipped and swooped down to the Prince, calling out as he did. "Sire! The Tara Raiders lie hidden in the grove! They will surely launch a counterattack from the trees!
The Prince waved his sword aloft and reached for an ivory horn at his belt. "Then it is time to spring my surprise! Forward! Forward, and on them, Sirilan!" So saying. Prince Patrick put the horn to his lips and sounded a short blast. The sound of the polished horn rang clear and valiant over the melee of the charge!
In the trees, bowstrings strained tighter, javelins pulled back ready to throw, and spears hefted level with the Sirians. All eyes were upon Lord Taradash as he raised his sword! "Ready ....aim..."
At that moment, another war cry rent the air! "Eyah chakka chakkaaaaaaa!" From the tops of the high fir trees hurtled the wild bands of the Raccoon Brethren! They tumbled, screeching, down upon Taradash's horde like a thunderbolt, waving their corkscrew swords aloft! The Tara Raiders screamed in terror as the gray and black warriors fell down on them.
From the sides of the valley, yelling mobs of squirrels and chipmunks appeared, waving crude hatchets and chattering wildly! They dashed headlong into the astonished horde!
The Prince threw back his head and laughed wildly, as he thundered towards the trees. Like a wave crashing on the shore, the Sirian army slammed into the Tara Raiders! Patrick hit the terrified horde at least ten paces ahead of the others, waving his jeweled sword aloft and smashed through the Tara Raiders as easily as a cannonball through paper. The final battle was in full swing!
Rathwing Feathertalon shrieked in wild joy as he plunged downwards towards the trees! The hosts of the air slashed into the Tara Raiders with beak and talon, and many of the feathered companies fastened tightly onto an enemy soldier, lifted him high into the air, then dropped him with a thud onto the ground. This tactic usually finished off the Tara Raider.
The mousedrums boomed out wildly as the Sirian mice formed a rolling circle, swordsmice on the outside, archers on the inside. The mice slashed neatly with their shortswords; up, down, across; but none fought more skillfully than Lukewil Sabrepaw! The Mousewarrior fought like ten mice, felling a Tara Raider or Feline Legionnaire with every stroke, for the memory of his father was in his mind, and vengeance was in his eyes!
Many Tara Raiders fled in panic from the fearful Mousewarrior, but they found themselves confronted by mobs of husky beavers, who chanted roughly in unison as they swung their maces, “Burr! Twourr! Threurr! Furr! Burr! Twourr! Threurr!. Furr! Surrilurrrn! Surrilurrrn! Burrurrrrrrurrrr!”
In the center of the roiling melee, Lord Ramsey stood back-to-back-to-back with his two sons, fighting like mad, in a whirling threesome of steel! The Lord of Rocklawn swung his long rapier left, right, with long sweeping strokes that felled anyone that touched; Shenan flicked his scimitar around skillfully, with short, hard strokes, and Alexan traced deadly patterns in the air with his gleaming blade! Around them. the human warriors of Sirilan fought madly, avenging themselves on the Tara Raiders after years of oppression and tyranny.
To the left of Lord Ramsey. Basil Montmorency led his Canine Commandos into the battle with appropriate expressions of quiet dignity, as befitted their British-like natures. "I say, what ho there! Looks like a jolly old battle, chaps! Stand out of my way, you Raider fellows, `tis death to stand before me! `Specially in line for tea. what! Forward, chappies! Sirilaaaaaan!
On the far right flank, the jackrabbits, bounding high into the air with their long legs, wielded their slings with all the ease of Wild West gunslingers, roaring wildly as they did, "Yeeeehaaaaw! Yaaaahoooo! Sirilahn forevah!"
Everywhere Lucy looked, the Tara Raiders were falling back before the Sirians. Suddenly, she heard a loud clash of steel from the center of the turmoil. Whirling, she saw the Prince, standing face-to-face with the Commander of the Tara Raiders, the tyrant oppressor of Sirilan, Lord Edmund James Taradash!
Taradash laughed mockingly as he skillfully parried the Prince's thrust, "Hahahahaaaa! Now, I will make an end of you, and your line, forever! Your fighters may be winning now, but when they see how I deal with you, your `army' will dissolve in fear! Then I, alone, will be ruler in Sirilan!"
As Patrick deftly thrust, sidestepped, and thrust again, he gritted out from between clenched teeth, "You're wrong, Taradash! It is not I who will die this day! And even if it was, my people will never cower in fear of you again!"
"Oh, yes, they will!" Taradash exclaimed. "When I'm through with them, they will fall on their knees and beg for mercy like the cowards they are! They will learn what the penalty is for defying me, the King of Sirilan!"
Patrick laughed aloud! "King? You are no king, Taradash! Your tyranny is crumbling! Your Fox Captain Rakkla was slain by a mere boy, and his soldiers surrendered! Now look around you! Your armies are beaten, your allies are fleeing, and even the Catqueen has deserted you!"
Taradash shot a quick look around. It was true! When Cavanessa realized that victory was impossible and defeat was imminent, she had seized a quick opportunity and slipped away, out of the valley, and out of Sirilan, vowing to herself that she would return someday and make the Sirians pay for her defeat. But meanwhile, she was gone, and with her, Taradash's last hope of victory.
Taradash wheeled back to face the Prince. There was a crazed look in his eyes. "Just because that pussycat has fled does not mean the war is over! You may think you've won, but you have not seen the last of me! I'll slay you, then the throne of Sirilan will be mine by right!"
Taradash lunged at the Prince, slashing wildly. The Prince defended himself skillfully, but Taradash suddenly sidestepped, leaped forward. and struck at the Prince’s unguarded side. As the Prince wheeled around to face him, Taradash struck hard at the Prince’s wrist and with one quick twist, neatly disarmed Patrick. The Prince backed up slightly as the maddened Taradash closed in. “Ahahahahaaaaaaaa! At last, my vow to destroy the house of the Montisles is fulfilled! Prepare to die, Patrick Montisle!”
Taradash raised his gleaming sword aloft, but just as he started to bring it down, an arrow zinged in and thwacked into the blade! Lucy stood nearby, with another arrow already loaded and ready. "Don't even think about it, Taradash!" she warned.
She only distracted Taradash for just a moment, but that was all the Prince needed. He snatched his sword from the ground and advanced on Taradash, calling to Lucy. "Stand back! This is my fight!"
The Prince suddenly feinted at Taradash's shoulder, and when the tyrant king whipped up his rapier to block the thrust, Patrick whirled and brought his sword down on Taradash's blade with all the force he could muster. There was a sharp clang as the gleaming blade snapped in two.
Taradash gaped, amazed, at the short jagged stump of the blade. The Prince struck another quick, hard blow and dashed what was left of the sword from Taradash's hand.
Taradash quickly reached for his belt, but with another slicing blow, the Prince cut the dagger concealed there to the ground.
The Prince stepped closer, aiming the sword right at Taradash's evil heart. "Surrender now, Taradash!" he thundered.
Taradash looked frantically left and right, but his army was beaten. The once mighty Tara Raiders were now either captured or slain. The Feline Legions had tried to keep on fighting, but once they realized that their queen had forsaken them, they surrendered en masse. Taradash's army was no more.
Taradash finally realized that he had run out of options. He hated with every atom of his being what he had to do, but there was no other choice. Taradash lowered his head, and gritted out through bitterly clenched teeth, "I ...surrender."
A mighty cheer went up from the Sirians. Patrick lowered his sword. "Go now, Taradash. You can go where you will, and do what you like, but never return to Sirilan again, neither you nor any of your villains who do not choose to surrender and live in peace. The day you do will be your last."
Taradash turned and started to walk away. Then, just as Patrick had sheathed his sword and was turning to congratulate his warriors, Taradash suddenly whirled upon a former Tara Raider and snatched his spear. With a fierce yell, Taradash charged towards the Prince. The Prince started to draw his sword, but Taradash was upon him. The maddened tyrant knocked the Prince flat with one furious blow and raised the spear high.
There was a sudden whirr and a loud smack, as a heavy river pebble came flying in out of nowhere and clobbered Taradash right between the eyes with staggering force. The tyrant was knocked backwards, toppling to the ground. Dwayne sniffed loudly as he returned his sling to its place on his rugged belt. "Ah just hate cheetahs.”
The Prince quickly looked the fallen form over, then gave a great sigh. He turned to the waiting Sirians. "The tyrant who slew my father and oppressed Sirilan for twelve years is dead!"
A mighty cheer went up from the Sirians. The Prince cut them short with a wave of his sword. "Silence! Let the celebration wait until tomorrow. Although Taradash possessed no great virtue, he was still a Montisle, my father's brother, and the onetime King. Let us give him the respect of his family and crown, at least!"
The Sirians obeyed, with a quiet hush of reverence. Although they all had hated Taradash. thev respected him. if only for the sake of his nephew, Prince Patrick. Besides, there was other work to do. Lucy helped the other Sirian healers as they went among the army, tending to the wounded and burying those who been slain in the battle.
It was several hours before their sad task was done. When they had finally finished, the Prince led them out of the fir grove and into the valley. He turned and spoke to the Sirians.. "Friends, let us leave this place as a memorial to the battle we fought, the freedom we gained, and the comrades who remain here. I know many of you are yet sad and weary, but take comfort, Sirians! At last, after twelve years of oppression, the quest for the Lost Island is fulfilled. Sirilan is free!"
Notes: This is already way beyond the usually length, so I’ll let you take it all in for yourself. The cliches, the awkward phrasing, the overuse of exclamation points, etc., etc., etc. Anyhow, next week, the epilogue!
I half expected Taradash to exclaim, "A sword, a sword, my kingdom for a sword!" when his broke.
The Prince's actions at the end of the battle reminds me of the similar way Ulysses S . Grant wanted his soldiers to show respect for the fallen after the Civil War ended.
Great man, U.S. Grant. Great man.