The Siege of Alcaldera

By Stefan Babich

William Lancely is a knight haunted by the memories of his lost love and his own dark past. Now he fights for the Order of the Swan, a group of crusaders dedicated to destroying the dark, the sorcerous, and the undead. His latest and most difficult task is to lead an army of his brothers deliver God's justice to Lady Liliana of Alcaldera, an undead sorceress who murdered the lord of a nearby castle.

Before she was Lady of Alcaldera Castle, Liliana was just a simple farm girl, determined to cheat death. Now, with an army of enemy knights on the doorstep, she must once again face her darkest fears and fight with all she has to protect all that she holds dear.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stefan Babich
• Release date: Sep 10, 2012

Book preview

The Siege of Alcaldera

Stefan Babich

The Siege of Alcaldera

Stefan Babich

Copyright 2012 by Stefan Babich

Smashwords Edition

Edited by Michal Sagal, Sarah Hanly, and Megan Robinson

Cover Illustration by Nadya Primak

Always the dream was the same.

It was her eyes he remembered, always. Beautiful eyes, blue like the river when sun shone on the water. Blue as the sky just before sundown, when the light slanted sideways through the leaves on the trees.

He remembered how those eyes had stared, in the end. No blinking, he remembered that clearest of all. And no tears, the way a true woman's eyes might have filled with tears had she stared so long and so hard at nothing. He had looked into those eyes as he held her in his arms, that last sundown while the river glittered below them, its shine like the shine of her eyes.

He had stared into her eyes, but they hadn't stared back.

Marisa, Marisa, Marisa. Do you remember?

The light through the branches had caught her and her shadow had stretched out before her, twisting snake-like on the rocks as the trees swayed. A black banner, a broken thing. Marisa. Do you remember?

Hard hands shook him awake. He opened his eyes to the feather-touch of mist on his skin and an ache in his legs that went bone-deep. Sir Joseph Carradine was leaning over him. It had been his hands that had shaken him awake.

Will. Will. Wake up.

Carradine. Sir William Lancely of Westmarch Abbey blinked his eyes. Blue eyes, like the woman's in the dream, but lighter blue, almost gray. Like steel in the winter morning. Now those eyes were caked with yellow crust and black grime.

You were yelling again.

Sorry. William sat up and pulled his cloak off. Standing up, he rubbed his legs to force the ache away. It only partially worked.

The Kolack was up already, staring towards the east where the sky was lightening. It was a thing he did, each morning. William had asked him about it once. He said the sun was god's cleansing fire, men's reminder that out of darkness there was always the hope for light. It was the longest string of words William Lancely had ever heard the Kolack speak, in all the time they had known each other.

The world was still blue gray and filled with clinging mist, but the sun was coming up. They broke their fast on bread and nuts and cheese as the camp came to life around them. Horses and men, the clatter of hooves, the rattle of steel, the rustling canvas as the sleeping rolls were packed up for the day's march.

It was time to head off. They still had a long way yet to travel.

First they said the prayer they uttered at the start of each day with the rising of the sun. The threee of them, leader of the army of the Swan. They locked hands and waited while the gold light crept over the empty and silent hills. The warmth of the sun's touch was feather-light on William's skin. He took the Kolakc's hand in his left and Carradine's hand in his right

William led the prayer. May our blades find the heart of the lich. May God give strength to our arms and courage to our hearts. We shall rejoice at His side in heaven when our deed is done. The lich had to die.

Lady Liliana of Alcaldera sat on the edge of the bed and watched the dead dance.

The man had been one of Lord Bolton's soldiers, the woman, Lord Bolton's wife.

They were naked and oiled, skin glittering in the candlelight.

Lord Banche of Alcaldera sat at her side, his eyes hungry. He liked the show as much as she did. His cheeks were flushed, his breathing ragged as he leaned forward in his seat. His eyes glittered like the skin of the dead.

She envied him that. The pleasure he got from it. She could only distantly recall feeling such pleasure herself. A different time. A different age. A different woman.

Lord Bolton's soldier was on his knees, his