[BF22] The Night of Treason

[Dienekes22]

“Whereas the Realm remains in great danger to foes both great and terrible, and the people do tremble at the horrors crouching at the doorstep to this Kingdom, so it is ordered that all men and women capable of wielding the terrible weapons of war and glorious tools of defense shall present themselves before their sheriff to determine their worthiness for battle. And the sheriff, examining all, shall draft a suitable number of strong citizens for the army according to the population of their county such that the military rolls of the Kingdom shall swell with great strength to break the foes that dwell without with hostile intent.”

And so the decree was drafted by Her Majesty Queen Margaret d’Alentois of the Château du Lion, Protector of the Realm, and ratified by the Council and so passed to the people to be announced by the criers and put into motion by the sheriffs and knights.

In some months the people did so pass before the sheriffs and were arrayed before Her Majesty for service. Many were sent to their garrisons in the interior castles while more were stationed at the sprawling border forts, and still others were marched into enemy territory to do battle with all manner of foes. Among those garrisoned was a man with the name Anselme, young and heedless, though strong in arm and in spirit. He found himself upon the walls of a stout fortress atop a hill day after day, lacking in intelligence of both the movements of the enemy and of friends.

In those days Anselme became bored with the monotony of garrison life, the slowly ticking hours drifting away slowly with no military action or liveliness if any kind. The commanders were all stone-faced and serious, permitting none to leave for anything less than the most grave circumstances.

It happened that a mate of Anselme’s, a lass his age by the name Joyse, called to him in secret during the changing over the watch.

“Anselme!” she whispered in the gloom, “You must come with me straight away!”

The boy jumped out of bed, the promise of mischief rousing him quickly. He followed the girl out of the barrack after snatching his sword to his waist, though he left his shield and mail in their place beside his bed. They dashed into the dead of night, hiding among the shadows of the walls cast by the watch fires above. She led him beneath the keep by a secret route: a hidden door completely unfamiliar to Anselme despite living in the castle for months.

The way was darker than the deepest part of night, though ahead flickered a soft torchlight. With Joyse leading he stumbled down the hall and as they neared the light of the torches Anselme saw his trusted friend was splattered with blood and fully armed, only her helmet missing, and he saw her hair was matted with sweat and blood about her shoulders.

Joyse led him around a corner and Anselme stood agape at the sight. The hall, lit by numerous torches, was littered with the dead. Joyse, not phased by this discovery, stepped quickly through the chaos, bidding Anselme to follow, which he did with a countenance of fear and disgust. Many questions he had, though Joyse gave him no chance to sound them, and he followed her through a maze of passages as bloodied as the first.

Soon she brought him to a door, battered but holding strong, a pile of bodies against it. The armor was like his own, red cloth bearing the golden lion of her majesty.

“Who has done this evil thing?” Anselme said.

“I,” Joyse answered, “and some others, and soon you, as well. Behind this door is a great treasure that we may share and profit greatly.”

Anselme looked at her with great despair.

“These are our countrymen, kinsmen and friends!”

“Nay, they are men, and nothing more. Aren’t you my friend? Aren’t you the one who promised me help in time of need?”

“Indeed!” Anselme said, “but I made this promise not knowing you would rouse me from my sleep to commit dire treason!”

“My companions have all fallen or proven false, but you have been by my side through many troubles and trials. Assist me, now, and live in comfort for the rest of your days.”

“What treasure could be worth this crime?”

“Help me inside this door, locked and barred, and I will reveal the object of my mission, but there is no time to discuss now. Soon we will be discovered, and your lot is already thrown in with mine, so stop delaying and help!”

Joyse beckoned Anselme to the door, herself tossing bodies aside with ease to free their feet to purchase upon to stones to force open the door. The boy followed, sheathing his sword with difficulty and with a pale face. They heaved for minutes, finding no success, and so Joyce began searching the dead for an axe with which to rend the door in pieces. For his part Anselme watched in horror, not knowing his friend capable of this violence against friend for vainglorious purpose.

Joyse found such an axe and set herself upon the door, and Anselme heard cries of astonishment from inside. They shouted as Joyse made her assault, no longer believing themselves safe from attack. The blows of steel upon wood echoed in the narrow hall and Anselme’s ears rang with the each strike. Joyse hacked through the door and stepped quickly inside. Anselme could scarcely move and did not follow. He heard the sounds of battle and the voices inside dwindle to eerie silence.

“Anselme!” Joyse shouted from within.

He looked inside and saw the aftermath of great violence, and at the center of the room was a pedestal. Joyse stood before it, fresh blood dripping down her armor and the stolen axe in her hand. He crept toward her, each step interrupting three perfect silence that hung in the absence of battle. Upon the pedestal was a sword, though entirely unlike any sword he had ever seen. The air around it shimmered with heat, as if afire, though entirely dark and cold. Joyse carefully seized it and lifted it into the flickering torch light. It was of great size and weight, even proud and capable Joyse struggled to lift it.

“See, Anselme? What great wealth this will bring us…”

She turned to him, the wicked blade reflecting the torchlight and appearing to be made of flame itself.

“Can’t you see what this is?”

“A sword, my lady,” Anselme said with a quivering voice.

“My dear Anselme, how many nights have we lain awake and dreamed of liberation from our station? Of a life that opens with opportunity and freedom? We make our destiny tonight, with this…

This artifakt.”

The word seemed a dagger in Anselme’s heart. It echoed unnaturally in the small room, a tiding of malevolence. Joyse could scarcely look away from it.

“Yes, many nights have I dreamed this dream with you,” said the boy, brow stained with sweat and anguish, “but just a dream it was! Never had I purposed to commit treason or to set upon our countryman nor our queen!”

“The queen?” Joyse spat, “The queen cares not for us, why should we for her? I curse the queen and all her serve her, which I find includes you, my closest friend.”

“Were I your closest friend why did you never confide in me if this night attack? You did not deign to speak of it until you were soaked in your bloody treason and needed help pushing a door,” Anselme said.

“And yet I had to break through this door alone! A fool I was to seek you out! I was right to doubt you while we planned this deed, but when my need was great I sought for you and you would sooner break my heart than join me and be free at last.”

Joyse tossed aside her axe and made to leave the vault, but Anselme stepped in front of her.

“I cannot stand by while you steal this treasure over the blood of our kin.”

Joyse pushed past him, “Oh, Anselme, if only you were as noble as you dreamed, instead you cower before danger and risk nothing. If the queen saw this display she would send you right back to the barrack to slumber hungry in the cold like every night in her service with not even a hand clasped in thanks.”

In that moment, stung by the words of his friend, Anselme grabbed for the sword. His hand closed around the hilt and his body shuddered with a great transference of power. Joyse pulled against him and they struggled for the weapon, he to return it to its place and she to steal it for her own designs. They fought a bloodless stalemate, each unable to wrestle the great sword away from the other. Joyse pulled them into the hall, backing slowly through the bodies and blood.

“Release me!” Joyse shouted, ready to unleash another harangue on her friend, when in an instant her speech was cut short by a crossbow bolt through her throat.

The blood splattered over Anselme and he tumbled backwards, sword in hand, as Joyse’s strength failed. She fell to the ground, the bolt protruding from her neck, limp and drained utterly of life. In moments Anselme was hauled to his feet in shock. Before him, over the body of his friend, stood men of the garrison, armed for battle.

“My boy, Anselme!” The sergeant said in awe, “What are you doing here, unarmed and in possession of this blade?”

For his part Anselme could not speak. It appeared his gaze was stuck upon the floor in shame though in truth he was searching for the corpse of his fallen friend.

“He was stopping the traitor from leaving,” said he who wielded the crossbow, “He was fighting her with great valor and so I was free to aim my shot with sportly leisure.”

All eyes turned to Anselme.

“Speak, lad. Is this true?” said the sergeant.

Anselme nodded, tears trailing through the blood and sweat upon his face.

“Yes,” he managed to say, “though the treason was led by a most dear friend.”

“I believe him,” said a proud voice from the second rank.

Into the fore stepped a figure in the strongest armor, and from his great helm he spoke again, “I believe we owe our friend a great debt, for much trouble would be had if the traitors had succeeded in making off with this blade.”

“Olivier…?” Anselme said, recognizing the hero.

Olivier, a great knight emblazoned with a black falcon upon a blue field, then took the sword, and Anselme grew faint as the power retreated with the suddenness of lightning. He was carried out into the night with some fanfare from the grateful troops, with promises of great rewards and even titles, though he could only think of the fallen body of his friend that had been crushed underfoot and her memory that soured with each step away.

As the boy was led away to comfort and warmth, Olivier gently carried the blade back to its vault.

“I’m sure the smell has you quite excited,” he said to the sword as he set it back in its place, “you’ll have more soon enough. The enemy marches here, even now, to steal you away.”

The sword, hearing this, twitched upon the stone.

Olivier frowned gravely and left with haste, shutting the door and sealing the room once more.

[Scratch]

Concept and Theme -- 9/10
Form -- 9/10
Voice -- 10/10
Style -- 10/10

TIEBREAKER CATEGORY--Presentation -- 10/10

Total 48/50

Very well done.

[MadMario]

Concept & Theme - 9
Form - 10
Voice - 9
Style - 16
Presentation - 8

Great style of writing (though as a non-native speaker I had to look up some wording), immersive to the setting. Good characters and a diverting story. Good work!

[Kommander Ken]

JEEEEEEEZUS This was a doozy.

Concept and Theme: - 10 - Easy 10 points. The sudden transition to Anselme finding all the dead bodies of his countrymen and learning it was Joyse that did all that somehow did all that had me hooked. What made her so damn powerful?
Form: - 8 - I was a little confused at first. Like I understood you were trying for a Medieval dialect but it took me a minute to reread some of the intro, where its most important to hook the reader's attention. That's a minor gripe, because the rest of the flow goes on as it should and kept me guessing.
Voice: - 9 - It's east to tell between Anselme and Joyse's dialogue. Anselme's horror to the situation he was lead into and Joyse's matter-of-fact and dismissive of the whole act was a great conflict before the real conflict began.
Style: - 15 - Took away some points for the intro as described in the Form category, other than a couple of spelling mistakes that are easy fixes. Really loved the twist though, very Red Wedding-esqe.
Presentation: - 8 - I feel like I'm beating a dead horse when I mention the intro, but it's the intro! Nothing else jumped out at me mechanics/grammar/punctuation wise.