by Dan Gillis
Dozens of White Guard began pouring down the wall stairwell and formed in behind the two sole defenders. A White phalanx was set and prepared to advance, while behind archers prepared a volley.
“Pull back!” Menhol shouted across to Tohm. Both men dashed aside as the archers released the volley. Several Grey fell asunder as the White spears advanced with a rallying cry. Their aim was swift and sure, pressing upon the Grey advance. The small corridor was pressed tightly with fighting men, with little room to deliver heavy blows. The counter was holding. Menhol dashed to Tohm’s side and carefully but with certain speed he assessed the gashes across the man’s body.
“You are quite remarkable, friend,” Menhol spoke as he applied a hand to the most severe wounds. With a subtle glow about the healer’s hands, the wounds bound fast, causing Tohm to draw in breath sharply between his teeth. “We may yet hold the Citadel …”
As the monk spoke, another crash broke the western wall and the stone gave way beneath the burning mass which rolled through. Grey Watch began to move through the new access to the courtyard. Menhol paused a brief moment in silent fury.
“I need you here!” he said drawing Tohm up. Tohm nodded and gripped the monk’s hand tightly. Menhol released him and looked about shouting out clear above the din. “White Guard! Stand fast! Now, all swords to me!”
The swordsmen broke away as Tohm and the spears held the initial breach. The archers fell back to the Southeast corner to unleash upon whichever line gave first. Menhol and his small party rushed upon the charging Grey advance.
Suddenly, the main courtyard was thrown into bedlam as the fog of war settled upon the two forces. Neither side suffered any quarter as the strokes fell.
* * *
Fighting from horseback was a complex art, as both beast and man served as one unit. If there was any disharmony in the partnership, the battle was over. Calista was as fierce as she had been as a foal. That was why Tey’ur had chosen her; it was something in that wild eye … something he sensed within himself. She did not permit him to ride her after her initial breaking; no, her respect was hard earned. Yet he had been patient, slowly gaining her trust. It had taken longer than any horse he had ever broken. In the end it was a mutual understanding, for her will would break for no man. Truly there was no finer beast upon the lands. It was neither her speed nor raw power that seemed to win them advantage. Rather, her sheer spirit overwhelmed her peers, as they parted before her. Tey’ur rarely needed to direct her in tight combative spaces, for she had seen enough battles to know his mind. As one, they moved amongst the enemy, his sword falling upon raised shield and Calista clearing the path.
Tey’ur did not fear the overwhelming numbers, for most were average riders at best. He had saved the broadsword for moments such as these. The war veteran struck out savagely upon the enemy honour guard. Calista snorted in disgust as a young gelding gave way, much to the chagrin of the rider.
Kurel was not one to be underestimated. Secretly, Tey’ur had harboured the desire to meet this man in combat. After so many conflicts between their forces in the past, all culminated to this moment.
Yet, that was hardly the reason for the rear flank assault. For as long as Tey’ur kept Kurel drawn from the main battle, the Grey were without their head. Soon the limbs would begin to carry off on their own, disorganized and leaderless. He gambled on Kurel’s fervour to meet in battle and had not been disappointed.
A man was pressing in, slashing upon Tey’ur with great blows. Tey’ur had no desire to end the battle, nor cause any reason to draw anymore into the conflict. Having now studied the attacks and defence of the lesser foes, they would fall quickly under his sword. But keeping them alive, with the ruse of weakness, spared him from facing an overwhelming force.
The old Master intended to carry on the foray as long as possible. He fed their pride and overconfidence carefully. He would slip in the saddle occasionally or cry out in false pain as their blows ricocheted off his armour. ‘Simpletons’ he thought.
Tey’ur could see that Kurel was beginning to see the plan, the pattern. He credited the Lord with a keen mind, and he was no slouch upon the field. The heat from Tey’ur’s goading was passing, and light was dawning across the enemy commander’s face.
‘What will he do?’ Tey’ur pondered amidst a flurry of counter blows upon a recoiling rider. The fellow had been overzealous and lost his grip. Falling from the saddle, the man fell hard upon the ground. Calista did not miss a step but ran the flailing man aground under torrential hooves. Looking back, Tey’ur noted the lack of movement.
“Good girl,” he said to the mare, who tossed her mane sharply. His gauntlet came away wet from patting her neck. She was sweating hard under the duress of battle, but had not slowed up. Despite the esteem he felt for his companion, he wondered how long her stamina would hold. With a quick glance upon the flaming heights of the White Halls, he wondered if there was any hope of victory.
Quickly he cast the thoughts from his mind. Such things were for recruits, green as the spring.
“Fools!” Kurel screamed out. “I will deal with him. All of you keep him from withdrawing.”
Slowly, Tey’ur watched Kurel’s guard form a rough formation about them. Kurel looked on with intense hate.
“I will have your head, Tey’ur. All of this useless meddling in what is clearly a Grey Victory. You have sullied your honour this day, lowering yourself to the cowardly ways of a saboteur. I will have no more of it! Either face me honourably or I withdraw and let you face the brunt of the rangers’ arrows!” The man’s face was clenched in sheer odium.
Tey’ur nodded slowly and raised a sword in salute.
“The time has come, my friend,” he said quietly to Calista.
Kurel charged swiftly upon the old warrior.
Tey’ur met the charge head on, and swords rang out sharply in the air.
Kurel drew his mount about and brought himself near to Tey’ur. As the beasts brushed close the riders exchanged a flurry of blows and guards.
Kurel reached up and grabbed hold of Tey’ur’s sword arm, and dragged him from the saddle with a great shout.
Calista instinctively moved away from the area, whinnying shrilly.
Kurel was charging when Tey’ur recovered his feet. The Grey commander was bringing his horse to bear upon the old veteran.
Tey’ur withdrew a small knife and shifted the grip in his hand. As Kurel came near, Tey’ur released the blade with a quick and powerful snap of his arm. The blade sunk through the armoured plates and between the shoulders into the chest of the horse. Screaming, it collapsed upon its front legs and carried Kurel over its head swiftly. The commander’s left arm wrenched and dislocated in the leather reins which wrapped about the wrist and snapped the horse’s head sharply. Tey’ur stood erect, as Kurel shifted his weight upon his good arm to raise himself. The Grey commander’s disabled arm lay limp at his side, with his sword still gripped in his right hand. Pulling up to his knees, Kurel’s face was expressionless and calm, all anger fled.
“Was this all part of your defence, to meet me here and disrupt my command?”
“No, I had to improvise. A week ago, and I would have engaged you much differently.”
“They said you were unorthodox in your strategy. Your legend has certainly proven true,” he murmured to the tall warrior as he stood slowly upon his feet.
Tey’ur nodded respectfully to his opponent. “Yours was a well-planned assault. You have proven your mettle, Lord Kurel.”
Both stood apart for a moment and then, in an unspoken signal, they rushed forward to begin the work of death.
* * *
Benel ran with the large banner in his arms, careful not to let it touch the floor. His young heart was near to bursting with pride and excitement. As he passed through the halls toward the entrance, he espied a tall spear upon the wall. He reached up and tore it from the wall, bringing it down in a clatter. Wrapping the excess cloth about him, he tied off the corners firmly
to the spear shaft. As he did so, he thought he saw a movement in the shadows slip by his vision. When he lifted his bloodied face, there was nothing but stone. He cast his gaze to the entrance and took in a deep breath. He began to run toward the open archway that spilled into the courtyard.
Chaos met his young eyes. The whole yard was filled with flashes of metal, armoured men and women struggling against each other in mortal peril. The whole ground was a quagmire of blood. Billowing smoke swept through the battle, and from the gaps in the haze, he saw the White Guard faltering. For a moment the youth hesitated.
Then something stirred within his soul, a deep understanding of his duty. Clenching the standard, he rushed from the steps crying out with all his might, the emblem of the White Guard flowing in the wind.
“Courage! Strength! Honour! Remember your vows! Remember your friends! Courage!” Benel cried out as he rushed through the White Guard lines, flourishing the banner. As he passed the diminishing ranks, shouts of renewed fervour rose up. They echoed the high voice of the lad, who moved about the field swiftly. The White Guard began to press onward, fueled by a desperate energy.
“Courage!” came a cry from a bloodied spearman in a desperate struggle against the advancing enemy at the southern breach.
“Strength! Form lines!” a captain sang out as she rallied her wavering swordsmen. The line reformed.
“Honour! Drive them! Drive them into the abyss!” The archers called out in unison as they brought death from the heavens. Their arrows flashed bright in the ascending sun.
* * *
Kurel slumped down to his knees. Tey’ur stepped back a stride and bowed to his enemy. Kurel sunk his sword into the short grass and watched as his life blood escaped his body. Slowly, his eyes faded to grey, and his body collapsed upon the ground heavily.
All was silent for a time.
Calista came near and nuzzled her friend as he took long breaths, the breastplate shifting under his rising chest. He looked to the others who held the battle circle.
“Have you seen enough or do you wish to contest further with me?” The Grey Watch honour guard lowered their weapons slowly, the unsullied metal flashing in regret under the fading sun. “Convey Lord Kurel back in honour,” Tey’ur commanded. “Such is his due.” The other horsed warriors nodded and Tey’ur withdrew slightly as they set the body across the back of a mount. They turned from the old warrior and moved from the battle in silence.
* * *
The Grey began to falter as the White Guard began to press upon them, with cries of brotherhood and duty. The effect carried over the opposing forces as a great plague. Slowly, the Grey Watch began to lose nerve under the renewed vigour of their opponents. Every White Guard engaged the battle with new intensity.
The captains of the Grey Watch called out desperately to their ranks to hold the ruptures in the courtyard wall. Whether out of fear or of duty, the Grey Watch rallied an offensive and halted the White Guard to the breaks in the stone barriers. The air was filled with the sounds of battle, of terrible heart wrenching screams of the wounded and the clamour of steel upon steel.
Time was taking its toll upon the warriors on both sides; the strength was ebbing with every downward slash and every bowstring drawn taut to the mark. Then the archers, with quivers depleted, dashed forward and, whirling, crashed their bows heavily across the helms of their enemy. It was a desperate moment, where both forces stood poised upon the brink of victory or shame and death. It was amidst this terrible chaos that one clear voice arose from the din. Loud and piercing it was, into the heart of every man and woman.
“White Guard! The day is within your grasp! Take it!” Menhol’s empowered voice, like a herald of mercy and doom, began to shift the flow of the tide of war.
With no rallying cry from the enemy command, the Grey began to lose heart.
The White Guard could smell their fear, like a wolfhound upon the hunt. Teeth bore through faces drenched in sweat and blood; the White Swords brandished and moved the advance. The Spears charged as one, sealing off the southern gap and began to drive the enemy across the ridge, even over the steep ledge. All the while, Benel carried the heavy standard aloft, the effectual life force of the defenders.
The catapults fell silent as the Grey Watch fell back with increasing rapidity. The enemy soon abandoned the fighting, withdrawing and turning about in fear, falling away from the advancing White Guard. They broke into hasty retreat, some running in sheer terror. Captains shouted at them to stand, but their words were empty. As their troops ran past, the White Guard hewed down the hapless officers. The effective panic carried though the remaining Grey Watch who waited below in the valley to suppress any counter attack. They soon fell in with their comrades in fear and fled the field. They took to the paths and main roads, anywhere away from the charging White Guard that caught many within their reach. They passed by the lone figure and his horse as he withdrew from the path of the slaughter. There was no compassion written upon the faces of the White Guard; never would there be again for their enemies.
The day was theirs.
“What? Come, Initiate, your face speaks plenty, even though you lost your lungs. Don’t presume your petty attacks had any chance of success. I will tell you a truth. Overconfidence is a dangerous ally. You thought because you attacked an unarmed man with a sharpened lump of metal that you had an advantage? You lost the engagement before your first stroke. Every conflict is that way. You will know when it is your time to win. Come now, get up from there. Of all the miserable luck. Aragil! This one buckled like a three-legged stool.”
Tey’ur: Master of Arms
An Introduction to Martial Warfare
The Conferral
TEY’UR SURVEYED THE FORMS of men moving amongst the ruins of war. The Citadel had held, but not escaped significant damage. It would take time to recover the numbers of fighting men lost, not to mention the man-hours of labour to repair the Citadel, walls and interior structures.
He shifted the cloak’s hood over his head. He had appropriated it from one of the fallen. It was not his intent to become a spectacle with his return. There were words he would have with Menhol, who remained his trusted friend. He had no desire to resume his associations with Corbin. Somehow, the ambitious lout had won the day and preserved the Citadel from being overrun. It would be best to remove himself as soon as he could convey to Menhol all that had transpired the night of the hunt.
He made his way up the rise which had conveyed the great ram and attacking forces mere hours ago. In his peripheral vision, he caught the movement of his wild companion in the trees upon the high Southern ridge, near to where they had stood and devised their risky ventures. His friend appeared to want no part of the spoils of war, neither honours nor grief. Tohm had departed quickly but his movements indicated to Tey’ur his intention to remain as long as the old Master needed.
The aging warrior passed by great heaps of the dead, in preparation of a funeral pyre. There were simply too many to bury, and the White Guard had not made a practice of burying the dead following the many conflicts over the years. This one had been the bloodiest and most costly.
Upon reaching the broken siege engines, Tey’ur examined the best way to make a silent entry. Most were working at clearing rubble from the breach. The difficult labour was essential to prepare the way for makeshift bulwarks to cover the space - until stone could be worked to restore the wall. With two breaches, most manpower was dedicated to this task. Tey’ur made his way through the massive open doors of the exterior walls next to the gaping collapse caused by the second breach. As he stepped through, his eyes caught upon his former comrades. His deeds upon the far field were yet unknown to them. All they knew was that he had abandoned them to the inferior commands of Corbin.
Then something stirred deep within his battered heart.
Despite his desire to see Menhol, Tey’ur stooped down and took up a large stone and joined in the weary work of the victorious.
* * *
The small gathering of men leaned heavily upon the wreckage of war machines. There was little time to rest. The Great Assembly was to come before the evening's close and the Drink to the Day. Each was weary from fighting and the great labour which followed. One by one, they had come together to rest for a merciful moment. One man, with bandaged forehead and arm took a long drink and gasped for breath as he lowered the water skin. He glowered as he passed it onto a cowled man beside him.
“Lot of nerve, that’s what he’s got,” he murmured aloud. “Wha’ business d’he in comin’ here?” The others nodded slowly at the comment.
Another man, brandishing a full beard, raised an eyebrow. “Now just a minute, fellows. I heard from Jeryn, one of the scouts who was patrolling the Eastern reaches, about when the attack came. She says that he went toe to toe with Lord Kurel. Saw it with her own eyes.”
An audible gasp was made by some, others scoffed openly.
The bandaged one spoke again in a sarcastic tone. “Wouldn’t tha’ be something? The once-great-leader storming the rear flank? Tha’ sa rumour. There ain’t no truth to it.”
Another man shifted his weight and groaned from a bruised hip. He grimaced as he spoke. “Only Menhol could say, and he won’t betray him. I guess we will never know. I just wish he would leave us in peace. Go his way.”
The others nodded silently.
The bearded man stood up slowly to his full height. His eyes glimmered slightly when he spoke. “I know Tey’ur. I bled with him on Tamers March last Shadowveil. That should be enough to know someone. I know he would have left with good reason. I have been watching him; his heart has not been in the fight for some time. I’m tellin’ you, there is something up in this land, driving the will and heart from everyone - Tey’ur included. What I would give to know his mind.”