“You will take responsibility?”

“Yes! Yes, gladly!”

The gatekeeper waved his men forward and produced a ring of keys. “Here, with these it will go faster.” And he proceeded to loose the shackle-bolts while his men threw off the heavy chains binding the timbers that had been jammed against the gates.

WITH EVERY ounce of strength remaining, the King’s troops threw themselves at the walls, planting their ladders once more and struggling to mount them. But wherever they attempted to gain a foothold-choosing a portion of unprotected wall, or establishing themselves within the protection of archers-always that attempt was repulsed. The enemy rushed to the edge to hurl stones and beams down upon them, or archers darkened the air with arrows and drove them back.

The Dragon King rode fearlessly through the fray, arrows glancing now and again from his armor and shield, shouting to his men, heartening them, urging them on. But the tide of battle was against them.

“Sire!” Quentin turned to see one of his commanders riding up. The knight threw open his visor, saying, “We have lost the left flank. Too many men have fallen, and we cannot continue alone.”

“Join with Sir Heldur’s men in the center!” ordered Quentin. “We must hold the center.” The knight rode off again, and Quentin was hailed from the other side. The report was the same; the right flank had been weakened and was in danger of falling. His army teetered on the brink of defeat. In only a few minutes the rest of his soldiers-overcome with fear and futility-would retreat, and once in flight would not return again to the field.

Even as Quentin thought this, the first ranks broke and fell back, shrinking from the fight. “Hold!” he cried, riding forward with upraised sword, though in his heart he knew that there was no good reason now to hold on. More and more troops were falling away as others, looking about and seeing their comrades withdrawing, joined the retreat. Soon soldiers were streaming from the field by the score.

Just as the foremost ranks of footmen faltered and fell back, someone shouted, “The gates! The gates are won!”

Quentin looked up to see the castle gates swinging open, pushed from within by figures he vaguely recognized. Then, as they were thrown wide, one of the figures sprang out and beckoned to him with a sword. “Gorloic?” shouted Quentin as he rode for the gate.

“Sire”-the nobleman dropped to one knee-“forgive me for my faithlessness. Allow me to earn back your trust with my sword.”

“And I,” said another.

“And I, as well,” replied another coming close.

“Denellon, Kelkin, Gorloic-yes!” shouted Quentin as already his knights surged through the gates and into the outer ward yard.

Those in retreat, seeing the gates swing open and their King standing in the breach, halted, turned, and came running back with a tremendous shout and pressed forward into the castle, sweeping their King and comrades before them.

“We are betrayed!” bellowed Ameronis. He stood with clenched fists and pounded the rough stone of the crenel as he saw below him the King’s army flooding in through his gates.

“Rally! “Rally!” cried Lupollen beside him. “We can match them blade for blade. We have superior numbers now.”

It was true. The assault on the walls had weakened the Dragon King’s forces, depleting their ranks severely. “Yes! We are far from lost!” said Ameronis. “And I will welcome the chance to exchange blows with the King and best him with his own sword.”

In the space of a dozen heartbeats, Ameronis’s troops came flying down from the battlements to engage the enemy in the outerward yard. Instantly the air was shattered with the clash of arms as sword beat upon shield, and axe and mace smashed steel armor. “For the Dragon King!” cried the King’s warriors as they forced their way forward through the press.

But Ameronis’s men were tough and well-trained. They held forth and did not give ground. Fierce battle raged on every side. Quentin dodged here and there into the fray, striking again and again, until he seemed to be everywhere at once. Those of his men who were pressed hard to the point of breaking, those who slipped and were about to fall had only to raise their eyes to see the Dragon King’s blade swinging to their aid. And if it was not the Shining One that men had learned to fear and respect, it was at least a sword in the strong hand of a deliverer.

The archers on the battlements threw down their longbows, ran to the armory, and took up crossbows-a weapon better suited to the close infighting of hand-to-hand combat -and began hurling deadly bolts into the thick of the melee’, driving the King’s forces back. For none could stand against the lethal missies which pierced even the heaviest armor, and none could get close enough to strike at the assailants.

High up in the turret above the northern tower, Ronsard and his knights, who had cheered wildly when the King’s men shoved through the gates to win the outer ward yard, now stood mute while Ameronis’s forces turned the bank once more against them.

“We must help them!” cried one of the knights-

“Here!” shouted Ronsard. “Take up the prisoner’s bows-all of you! Aim carefully, sirs-there are friends among the foe down there!”

With that, the trapped knights loosed a volley into the chaos below. Ameronis’s men, so confident only seconds before, now drew back as death came whistling after them from the skies.

“That has helped, but unless we receive more substantial aid soon, the day is lost. See? Ameronis has our forces outnumbered two men to one.”

The words were scarcely out of Ronsard’s mouth when there rose a cry from out on the field before the castle. Ronsard dashed to the far embrasure and stared down upon the escarpment and at the host of knights and footmen running forward.

“Who is it?” asked one of the knights. “I do not recognize the blazon.”

“The crest is Lord Edfrith’s, I’ll warrant.”

“An enemy! We are lost!” It appeared that Lord Edfrith and his men were swooping in behind the King to cut him off, thus crushing all hope of victory or even honorable retreat.

“No, wait!” said Ronsard. “He rides before the King’s troops!” For an instant the lord was cut off from view as he passed beneath the curtain and into the gatehouse. “Look! He has come to our aid!”

“We are saved!” shouted the knights, and the turret erupted in shouts of jubilation as Edfrith and his knights came pounding in through the gates, swords flashing, voices raised in a battle chant for the King. And all who heard it took heart.

“For Mensandor! For honor! For the Dragon King!”

Ameronis, who at that moment was cutting a swath toward the King with Zhaligkeer, glanced up and saw the army of Edfrith streaming in through the gates. He heard the chant and turned to Lupollen who labored beside him matching thrust for stroke. “Edfrith rides for the King! We are twice betrayed!” Despair rushed upon him, and he staggered back.

“We are not vanquished yet!” Lupollen said, grabbing him by the arm and shaking him. “You hold the sword-let us escape while we still may. With the sword we may raise an army elsewhere.”

“Good counsel. Let us fly! Ameronis turned and fled back through the thronging soldiers and into the castle with Lupollen after him.

Surrounded and disadvantaged by now-superior forces, Lord Ameronis’s commanders threw down their weapons and begged for quarter. Cries of “Mercy! Mercy!” and “Give quarter!” rang out in the castle yard where before the shouts of “Hold forth! We win!” still hung in the air, so quickly had the battle ended.

Pym and Renny, astride Tarky, peered fearfully in through the gate. Lacking weapons and armor, they had hung back from the battle at Edfrith’s command; but upon hearing the cries of the vanquished they had come close to see the struggle ended and carried the day!” shouted Renny. “Hooray! The Dragon King has won!”