Alistair stood motionless, scanning the vast empty plains of the battlefield. His eyes straining to pick out the smallest movement before the red skyline. War would soon be upon them all. The rook was suddenly startled by the soft treading of Sir Clifton’s large mustang. “Time you got back, don’t you think?” Asked Clifton.
“I suspect so.” Alistair replied.
“Don’t worry.” Said Clifton reassuringly, “We’re all a bit nervous.”
Then Sir Clifton trotted away as silently as he had come.
“The only thing is,” Said Alistair quietly. “I’m not really all that nervous.”
The day came too soon when they were to start preparation for battle. Alistair sat alone. His silver eyes as piercing as steel swords, his face as solemn as a heavy rain cloud, and his determination as strong as the stone walls of a great fortress. He dreaded what was to lie ahead. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a wise looking bishop going over a complicated battle plan with several higher ranking officials. The time was near and he could feel it. Men were rushing around making sure that everything was ready to go. They were to attack first.
Alistair sat as still as a frozen stream, fingering the handle and guard of his sword. Someone approached him from behind and laid a hand on Alistair's shoulder. It was the knight, Sir Clifton.
“I have come to deliver a message directly from the King himself.”
Alistair couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “From the… King?” He asked thoroughly confused.
Clifton handed him a small envelope which he tore open slowly. Inside was a piece of parchment inlaid with gold leaf. He Unfolded and began to read the graceful, lacy writing.
Sir Alistair,
His majesty requests your services at the
palace this evening. Please arrive by the
early shadows of evening.
Sincerely,
Lord Brom
Alistair read the letter once more, going over the words in his head. It must have been a mistake. It looked too official, too important to have been addressed to him. But there he was; a letter from the king in his hand, and a look of astonishment on Sir Clifton's face. The knight had been peering over Alistair's shoulder, reading the message that lie in the rook's trembling hands. "What services could I possibly offer?" Asked Alistair, almost in a whisper.
"I myself, have never been called to the castle in all my years of serving his majesty." Clifton said with a note of envy in his voice. "It is important you go now. This must be quite urgent to have had to call you right before a war."
That must be it! Of course. It has to do with the war! There could be no other explanation. Alistair had been swept up in the moment and almost forgot what lay ahead.
_______________________________________________________
The castle loomed above Alistair's head like a savage beast waiting to spring. His heart in his throat, he approached the great oak doors. They were at least twice his own height and nearly four times as wide. Alistair spotted a large golden dragon with ruby eyes resting on the door above his head. He reached up, took hold of the dragon’s long tail, and rapped the doorknocker three times. There was a short pause before Alistair heard footsteps approaching. The doors swung open slowly to reveal a sight so spectacular it left Alistair breathless. Before him stood large oak tables and chairs incrusted with gemstones of all colors, red and gold wall hangings that reached from floor to ceiling, and servants rushing about with huge platters of food for the King’s elegantly dressed guests.
A short man with red hair nearly ran over to greet Alistair. “You must be the rook that the King sent for.” The servant asked in a small voice.
“Well I suppose I am.” Alistair replied.
“Good, good. Follow me please.”
Alistair had to break into a slow trot in order to keep up with the small man. They passed various hallways and flights of stairs, but the servant never stopped scuffling forward.
Finally they came to a halt before a door that wasn’t really very spectacular in itself. In fact if it were only a few inches shorter, Alistair would have bumped his head upon entering. What lay inside was far more spectacular. To Alistair’s amazement it looked as if he had been brought to the King’s personal quarters. His eyes scanned the room trying to take in as much as he possibly could. The velvet drapes, the elaborate writing desk, and then suddenly his eyes froze on a sickly looking figure curled up under a beautiful red silk blanket atop a massive bed.
An older women approached him with a grave look on her face and ushered him over to the bed. A small framed man was laying with his eyes closed and wearing a quiet, peaceful look on his face. For a moment Alistair thought for sure that the man was dead, but quickly dismissed the thought. The old man’s eyelids began to flutter open and after a few moments his deep gray eyes began to bore into Alistair. The man looked remarkably familiar, but Alistair was sure that he had never seen this man before in his life. An old thin hand lifted off the blankets toward Alistair. Alistair wasn’t sure if he should take it or not. Then in a shaky voice the man said, “The time has come for you to know the truth.” The man muted a few sharp coughs with the silk blanket and began to speak again. “You will now have to take over my duties as I will soon begin to fade away. You are the next and only heir to the throne. My son, please take care.”
Alistair took two quick steps backwards and muttered something about this all being a mistake. But there was no mistake to speak of. The two men faced each other for a few moments. A small smile crept onto the King’s withered face before his eyes closed forever.
In a matter of only a few hours Alistair’s life had taken a total shift for the better. Or was it for worst.
The time had finally come. The plan was to attack first and gain the advantage. Alistair still wasn’t use to being treated like a king (even though he was one). No-one was able to explain exactly why he had lived his whole life not as royalty, but as nothing more that a commoner. He did however know that the King had felt that it would be best for him not to have attention directed at him. Why this was, was never entirely clear. People looked up to him now, and he was determined to show how capable he was.
The day that they set out to war was nothing more that a great blur to Alistair. He seemed to be shouting orders subconsciously, watching the preparations that were being made. Before long he was ushered to a spectacular white horse nearly four heads taller than himself. Several armed guards rode beside him on horses of their own as they set off towards the battleground.
Alistair remained at the back of his men, watching with pleasure. Their plan had worked! The enemies were now just beginning to emerge from tents scattered everywhere. They weren’t prepared.
“Perfect! We have them right where we want them.” Alistair smirked to himself.
There was a pause as the rest of Alistair’s army appeared over the surrounding hills. The enemies were outnumbered nearly two to one. Of course there was one thing that Alistair was lacking… a queen.
There was a small pause as the enemies seemed to realize what was happening. Then to Alistair’s amazement at least half of their men turned and fled.
“Attack!” Yelled Alistair, and his own men quickly sprang into action trailing the fleeing soldiers. Alistair drew a great sword from his waist and raced forward at top speed. His men were shocked. They tried everything they could to persuade Alistair to remain in the back and out of danger, But the King was as determined as ever and nothing could stop him from achieving his goals.
Alistair's army was slowly weaving their way toward the other end of the battlefield. The enemies were dropping like flies. It was too easy. A small pawn was struggling to fight off a powerful bishop. Alistair rushed over, freeing the pawn from the clutches of the bishop. The enemies were regaining strength. Alistair looked around bewildered, he was sure that they were in the lead. Then he saw it. Slowly enemy soldiers were streaming into the battle. They weren't retreating! They were merely requesting backup. Now heavily outnumbered and without a queen Alistair thought that their chances for victory looked slim. Then out of the corner of his eye Alistair spotted something that would completely shift his outlook.
A rook of little importance was charging forward with a fiery determination. There was a familiar look in his eyes as he pushed forward into the raging battle. He didn't miss a single beat. Countering every attack that came his way and delivering a devastating blow to each of his attackers.
Alistair raised his sword once again, and charged forward into the maze of soldiers. They were losing their hold on the battlefield. The sound of swords smashing into each other rang in Alistair's ears. Then he spotted what he was looking for. Strait ahead of him a man sat upon a great black horse. He was surrounded by several knights, also atop black horses. He raised his sword above his head and bounded forward. The enemy knights rushed forward to meet him. Their was a small pause as Alistair's eyes locked with the knight closest to him. Then he thrust his sword forward knocking the knight to the ground. There was a slight look of panic on the faces of the other knights before they too plunged at Alistair. In a matter of moments they were all disarmed and sprawled on the ground.
The two kings sat facing each other for a long moment. They raised their swords above their heads and sprang at each other. There was a loud bang and Alistair found himself on the hard ground without a sword in his hand. Above him towered the black king, a look of triumph on his face. Alistair watched as a sword was plunged towards his chest. He closed his eyes and waited for the cold steel to drive into his heart. An unbelievably large amount of time passed before Alistair opened his eyes. There was no pain in his chest. He looked up and what he saw astounded him. No other than the small pawn, who Alistair had saved earlier was crouching over him. His sword blocking the blow that should have been the end for Alistair.
Alistair jumped to his feat and grabbed his own sword. before he knew it, the black king lie at his feat.
They had won. Alistair couldn't believe that it was over. The small pawn sat panting at his feet.
Alistair knelt down and thanked the pawn for his services. Then he grasped the worn handle of his old sword, and knighted his son.
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