by Keith Ahrens
We are a bit surprised by some changes to the field as we look out and about the courtyard in the dull sunlight.
The first noticeable difference is the rocky field is now divided up into large grids, every space about 15 square yards in size. Each squad's banner has been placed in the center of each grid square.
Now, without a compass or any better landmark to go off of, we just consider the castle to be to the north. By that orientation, all the squads are set up at the west end of the yard, facing the eastern wall. The yard fills up fast, though with a bit of confusion, as everyone tries to find their place. We're a lot more compressed than usual, and it begins to feel a bit claustrophobic. They have everyone squashed together in less than half the width and about a third of the length of the entire field.
Our spot is in the second row, near the center. Two squares over and to our right is Colt’s crew. The members of the squad between our two groups all have grass pins on their armor, so that makes me feel a little better.
A small commotion erupts behind us, and I turn to look. Grayson and his Berserkers are having a quiet discussion with another squad. By quiet discussion, I mean one of the Berserkers launches the other group’s banner across the field and replaces it with their own black and silver standard. They use their huge bodies to crowd and compel the other group into leaving. I notice that not one of the departing squad had a piece of grass anywhere visible on their visors or armor.
Haynes must have noticed as well. “Great to have you at our backs, Grayson. Glad you brought your Berserkers. Can't think of anyone else I'd rather have there!”
“Well, Sergeant, trouble seems to follow you and yours, so we couldn't figure on a better place for some real action!” laughs Grayson.
“Oh, I can. But better standing next to trouble than standing in front of it!” calls a thin, blonde woman from the squad to our left. This draws more laughter from a few groups, including our own.
“Good to see you, Olivia.” Haynes sketches a quick salute to her with a grin that she returns.
“Good to see you, too, Sergeant. Hi, Caleb.” I meet her gaze and smile also. She holds the look for a few seconds, and I feel my heart speed up a little. I quickly douse my feelings. Sadly, this is not the time nor place to pursue that… whatever that may be.
Yet, I look around, continuing to smile to myself. All the groups surrounding us are sporting a subtle piece of grass, nothing obvious, but you know who they are if you know what to look for.
A loud, deep horn sounds out over the field, loud enough to drown out any more conversation.
A double line of seven-foot-tall ogres trots out the gates and down the center of the field. Their armor is better quality than we usually see on them. It rattles and clamors enough to almost give me a headache. They stop, facing us when their line has stretched from one end of the yard to the other, studded clubs held at the ready in front of them.
A quick glance up at the walls surrounding us reveals they are lined with more crossbow-wielding goblins than I've ever seen before. There's got to be at least two hundred of the little bastards. That’s a lot of bolts aimed at the ninety or so of us.
A different set of horns now blare out a brassy fanfare as the eastern gate swings open in a ponderous arc. A group of mounted elven knights trots out on to the field in a 'V' formation, lances held with points high, armor gleaming even in the muted sunlight.
Haynes snorts in derision as he seems to recognize them.
They spread out, facing our lines until there is one knight per every two squares. The center mount, a unicorn by the obvious horn, is a pure, snow-white and covered in heavy chainmail barding. The next flanking set, normal horses by casual observation, are darker in color, but still lighter than the next set flanking them. All the way down to the final mounts that brace the line, which are coal black with midnight-hued plate armor. These have spikes on the foreleg armor, as well as shoulder and skull plates.
The knights on horseback have brought their mounts to expert, precision halts and hold them motionless. The crowd of us shifts with impatience, wondering when they are going to get to the point of all this fanfare. These guys sure like their pageantry.
The center knight slowly raises his full-face visor. Piercing blue eyes, set deep in a fine-boned, chiseled face, surveys the assembled slave warriors. He looks unimpressed. He stands up in his stirrups and begins to speak in a loud, stentorian voice, “I am Captain Darcasson of the Terram Caeruleum House Guard. It is my duty this morn to explain to you sorry lot what is expected of you come the sunrise hence. Some of you are veterans of previous 'Mortis Causa Ludicio Exercitus,' but most of you are not. Those of you who have survived in the past, pay close attention as the rules are somewhat different this year.” He pauses and scans the crowd with a poor effort to conceal his contempt.
“To begin with, you must remember that you are just pawns, game pieces to be used and discarded by your betters. The most you can hope for is to live to see another battle or to die in the service of Lord Dullahan. The newer ones among you may be thinking that you can simply refuse to fight when you are called upon. That is your choice, but know this… your entire squad will be teleported, unarmed, into the enemy ranks, where normal rules cease to apply. You will all be butchered by the enemy and left for dead. Remember this, for there will be no second warning.
"For the rest of you who are brave enough to fight for your very lives, the rules are simple: The Lords of the two houses will have three set moves, each in place before the battle begins. These predetermined moves will be put in motion by an independent arbitrator. These can be magic strikes, artillery launches, troop movements, or anything the Lords wish. After that, each Lord is afforded a single turn at a time. If the square that your squad occupies begins to glow, you will, without hesitation, attack the corresponding glowing square of the enemy. You will not attack any other square nor may any other squad from another square attack you. This would be a breach of the rules. The mages and archers from atop the walls will cut down whoever does so, eliminating any further trouble.
"You will continue to battle until you've won the square or until your squad is killed to the last man. Otherwise, you will remain in your designated area, waiting to be called to fight again. This will continue until one side cedes defeat, and a victor is declared.” He pauses once more, scanning the crowd anew. For the first time, a glimmer of humor, or perhaps zealotry, is clear on his face.
“Fear not, slave warriors, your deaths will not be in vain. Each soul released on this field of battle will be absorbed by the Aether and added to Under the Hill’s source of magic, deepening its pool and making our Fief and our Lord Dullahan stronger. In this way, you mortals may, in fact, live forever. This is a chance for your insignificant lives to achieve immortality!”
Dead silence answers his speech. I don't know if he thought the last part would cheer us up or give us hope, but damn, was he mistaken. Read the room, man.
I glance around me at a sea of grim and angry faces. A few have looks of despair or resignation. I can relate to all these emotions; I feel them happening to me all at once. But the overriding feeling is just anger. Plain, unadulterated anger.
It seems to occur to the elf that his speech is not going well. He finally discerns the crowd and doesn't like what he sees. He clears his throat and continues, “The second and third ranks will be issued 'Simuli Uti' just before the battle. Each will have a single use of a large fireball spell and a healing spell. It will be up to your discretion when to use these gifts. You will simply need to point it at your target and say 'Fire.'
"And lastly, a final warning. We will deal with any thoughts or actions of mutiny or uprising severely and without further warning. You will not be able to harm your Lords or your betters with magic or with your steel, and you can easily be cut down where you stand, like wheat in a field. That is all! Be prepared to assemble before first light on the morrow. Dismissed!”
He closes his visor as he reseats himse
lf in his saddle. Shouting a loud order in Elvish, he whirls his steed about. The rest of the knights follow suit, galloping back across the field in a 'V' formation once again. They thin to a single line as they pass through the gates, the sounds of hoofbeats fading into the distance.
The horn blows again, but this time it’s the sound that signals the end of the practice day. I guess we get a day of rest before we get to fight to the death. Yay.
We all begin to make our way back to the arming rooms. From the west, I notice heavy, black storm clouds beginning to drift rapidly in. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Everyone starts to move a little quicker to the tunnel entrance. The lightning attack is still fresh in my mind. And probably most of ours.
“This feels like a natural storm, folks, no worries,” Des answers to our unspoken fear.
“Not entirely natural, but 'tis going be a nasty one at that.” We are surprised when Thorn falls into step with our group. “It seems the Terrestris Laminis is aware that you all are being given Globus Ignis spells. The heavy rains will lessen their effect. This storm has blown in from their direction instead of where it should have originated.”
“Great. There goes our slight advantage. I'm guessing they're gonna have something that works well with water or mud, then,” I say.
“Hmm, maybe ice spells or some kind of earth spell involving mud, possibly?” Des offers.
“Thorn, not that I'm not glad to see you, but why are you here?” asks Haynes, changing the subject.
She smiles through her veil, her eyes seem to glow a little brighter. “Grá2, I need to make sure all of my charges are in fighting shape.” She lowers her voice and leans into Haynes, speaking softly, “And I wanted... needed to see you, just in case things don't turn out well tomorrow. There is so much left to chance and so much more that could go wrong.”
“And nothing we can do to change any of it at this point. We planned as much as we were able and trained as hard as we could. It’s all up to fate, luck, and your friend’s scheme now. Any further news on that front?”
“Yes, but not out here. I will meet you all in your cell. I have other coteries to go to as well, but spread the word—look to the eastern wall for the sign to act; the time will be apparent.” She squeezes his hand and moves off into the crowd.
The tunnels are damper than usual when we get out of the rain that had already begun to fall on us. Rivulets of water are forming and running down the grade toward the cells, making the footing a little slippery.
We split up into the crowd, sharing what little info we have, apprising anyone and everyone wearing a visible blade of grass. Of course, this just leads to more questions, none of which we are able to answer. I tell them more details are coming, though I don't know when. This doesn't satisfy anyone, least of all, me.
Personally, I'm beginning to hate this entire plan even more. The less organization, the more likely this is gonna go bad for all of us. 'Look to the east’? What kind of cryptic crap is that? Like there's just gonna be a line of taxis idling outside the gate and waiting to take us home? Are we just supposed to stroll out of the yard during the battle and jump on some bus? Tomorrow should be interesting, to say the least.
The hallway to the arming rooms is more crowded than usual when we get there. Not everyone here has earned their right to be here, but so far, those I can see sport a blade of grass. The hall quiets when our group walks in, everyone turning to look at us.
Haynes stops and surveys the crowd for a moment and then nods to himself. “All squad leaders and their seconds, come with me. Everyone else, go about your business. You will all know what you need to as soon as the leaders have met. Dismissed!” He stops at the door to our arming room and pitches his voice low just for us, “Des, you’re with me. The rest of you, stand guard; let no one in but those I just called. If there's any trouble, hit the door three times. Caleb, you'll do all the talking out here. Jesse and the Gnolls will back you up. Any sign of an ogre, goblin, or elf, you hit that door three times. Got it?”
“5x53, Sarge,” I reply, making sure my mace is loose on my hip and my shield is tight on my left arm.
A small stream of men and women pass us as they walk into the room. I recognize Grayson and another Berserker, Colt, and Steve, Olivia and one more tall man with long hair. Another ten or twelve folks that I know by face, but not by name, walk past, most nodding greetings to us. The door closes, and I stand in front of it. Jesse plants himself to my left, Nian to my right, and Thirax takes a place across the hall, facing me.
Over the next few minutes, the hallway slowly clears out, the remaining groups heading to their own arming rooms or back to their cells. A few don't seem to take the hint and mill about, looking suspicious as hell.
I clear my throat to get the remaining bystanders' attention. “Move along, everyone. You'll call attention to us now, and we'll end up paying for your stupidity.” I make eye contact with a few of the closest men, and they seem to get the message. They shuffle away, dejected and maybe a little scared. All except two men standing to the side a little ways down the hall. Both wear hooded cloaks over their armor, concealing their features and any weapons they may have. They couldn't look more like trouble if they had a flashing neon sign hanging over their heads announcing it.
“There gonna be a problem here, gentlemen?” I ask in a neutral tone. I already know there will be a problem; it’s up to them as to how big a problem it will be. Another little tidbit from my eclectic work history—I worked as a bouncer at a pool hall for a few months for a couple summers some years back. Add that to my midnight shifts in EMS in one of the toughest cities in America, and you can see why my 'trouble meter' is honed to a razor’s edge.
“We're just looking for some info, just like everyone else. We know something is going down tomorrow, and we want to know what.” The speaker's hood casts dark enough shadows over his face that I can't see any details, but his deep voice, with its calm and menacing tone, lets me know this is about to escalate. His answer is too smooth and too confident for someone who should be scared, or at least nervous.
The two of them are about ten feet to my right and standing about four feet apart. Plenty of room to draw a weapon, but not close enough to get between Thirax and me. I notice no visible blade of grass on either of them.
“Why don't you take them hoods off, and we can talk like men.” I turn to face them fully forward as I say this. I shift my feet so my weight is evenly balanced, ready to move in any direction.
“Well, arrogant little human, perhaps because we are not all men, eh? Lord Dullahan is aware of your attempts to unite the slave army, and he is most displeased. We are here to discourage that.” The speaker reaches up to draw his hood, and the long brown sleeves fall back from his hands, revealing yellowed talons tipping each of the five fingers on both of his hands.
The claws seem to retract into the pads of his fingertips as they touch the hood. The cover drops back, revealing pale white, short fur surrounding a blunt muzzle with whiskers sprouting from either side of its black nose. Green eyes with vertical slits flash yellow in the torchlight. Its hair grows longer past its forehead and is bound up in a top knot pulled away from its pointed ears that sit just a bit high on the sides of its head. His cloak parts, revealing blackened plate-mail. The cat-like creature stands on reversed legs like the Gnolls. It smiles with malice, showing very sharp fangs on its upper and lower jaws.
The Gnolls begin to growl, hands on their weapons, but not yet drawing them.
I realize maybe just a fraction of a moment too late that all our attention was fixated on this little bit of showmanship. Great. In a split-second, I lift my shield in front of my chest before I even shift to look at the other cloaked figure, her robes flying open as she underhandedly flings a dagger at me. I'd almost missed her sidestep as she'd set up her shot.
The dagger deflects off the edge of my shield and takes a wild spin, cutting a deep laceration into my right cheek. Blood flows and runs hot down my neck.
The Gnolls react with lightning speed, loud growls and blades flashing. Both strike at the feline-like creature at the same time. Cat-thing parries their attacks with two short swords it whipped out from under its cloak in a desperate move.
I know better than to get in the way of the Gnolls when they are pissed off, so I pull my mace out and approach the wounded figure with caution. So far, I only know it's a female human and a little taller than average. She's doubled over on her knees, face down on the ground, not moving.
“Gutshot, so she's not likely dead yet,” Jesse says from behind me. I agree with his assessment and take his warning seriously.
I plant a front kick to her left shoulder, just hard enough to roll her over before I leap back. Just as Jesse predicted, she was playing possum.
With a screech, she spins around, slashing with a wicked sharp blade right where I would have been if I'd gotten any closer.
She lands on her back, her right hand across her chest, still clutching the dagger in her hand. With no hesitation, I bring a powerful overhand smash of the mace down on her forearm. Her bones crunch and crack between the mace and her breastplate. The dagger flies from her spasming hand, and all the air rushes from her lungs. I'm pretty sure I cracked her sternum as well. Blood wells up around the wooden handle of Jesse's throwing knife, still sunk deep in her gut just below the edge of her cuirass.
I take a good look at her face and recognize Linda, Liam's psycho girlfriend. She is deathly pale and sweaty. It doesn't look like she has much fight left in her. Good, 'cause I have no interest in killing her.