The War of the Pyromancer

by P D Ceanneir

  They avoided villages and smaller holdings over the next week. Telmar had no wish to give away his presence, yet. Therefore, they stayed in the higher hills and pushed on through the cold nights and the steep slopes. At one point, on a clear day in the cold month of early Nectan, he could see far across the moorlands of Wyani and even the lake of the same name. Far in the distance, the smoke from the burning lands and houses of the Dulan villages smudged the sky for miles. Count Talien’s soldiers were doing their job, and doing it well.

  Once clear of the populated areas, Telmar’s host moved into the rolling hills of purple heather and marshy peat bogs of the Lucian Fells. This was by far the hardest area to push through, especially when they were constantly negotiating small waterfalls and crossing ice-cold torrents. Their hard work was finally rewarded when Cokato returned after three days away with his scouts to inform the king that they had passed by Klingspur’s host down on the open plain north of the foothills.

  2

  The enemy plodded east, darkening the grassland with their presence.

  ‘I judge he has fifteen hundred,’ said Cokato as he scanned the numbers from the small hillock he and the king lay upon, ‘mostly horsed.’

  ‘To our advantage then, we can use Kelpo’s archers to hold his horse in the lee of some valley or bog him down long enough for Count Talien to get here,’ said Telmar.

  ‘He will be well ahead of us by then, sire.’

  ‘Then we shall have to draw his attention.’

  ‘There is a small holding to the west and down close to the lowlands. Just seven stone houses with mud roofs,’ Cokato mused. ‘There are fields and pasture lands also. If we burn it then the west winds will take the smoke to the duke.’

  ‘Good, then that will be enough. What is the place called?’

  ‘One of the local scouts called it Glyn Brae, sire.’

  3

  The small hamlet of Glyn Brae lay in a sloping valley amongst ample grazing fields for sheep on its lower slopes. The king moved his Royal Guardsmen into the village to evict the extremely disgruntled locals and ordered the soldiers to fire the low turf roofs of the outbuildings.

  Cokato sent his men to burn several acres of fields and a large expanse of heath and heather, being careful to create a firebreak and leave a corridor for Klingspur’s men to move through when they arrived. Smoke, thick and grey, billowed into the air and was whipped away by the wind as the morning moved into midday.

  ‘If they do not see that,’ said Cokato to one of his men carrying a flaming torch in each hand, ‘then they are blind.’

  Meanwhile, Telmar walked south over the land for a clear mile until he found a suitable area to engage the duke should the need arise. He preferred to do this on his own. He had no time to meditate away volatile energies on the forced march here so he now used his free time to relax and concentrate, using Harlequin as a focal point to expel Pyromantic energy.

  He had nearly finished meditating on a large lichen covered boulder when Harlequin spun and started to glow. It was getting dark and the air, though cold, was still, so the sound of the Powerball’s voice startled him.

  ‘Master, I detect a presence,’ he said.

  ‘Where exactly?’ asked Telmar. He knew that Harlequin’s senses were far more attuned than his own, but he sensed nothing apart from the silence, which was eerie. No birds twittered, no rustle of small animals in the undergrowth.

  ‘Round that short spur to the north, about fifty feet,’ informed the orb.

  Telmar walked as quickly and quietly as he could, leaving the army camp far behind and his personal guards oblivious to his whereabouts. He rounded the corner to the next valley. A strange light emitted from the low shroud of shrubs and the thinly spaced trees. He instantly brought himself up when he saw the object that emitted the light standing clear as day, immovable, defiant and very out of place.

  It was the Door.

  This was no dream vision. This time it was real. There it stood right in front of him. He walked towards it.

  ‘No, no, no,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I will not allow this! I will not let you destroy us. You will not come into my realm; I will stand here and force you back into the pits of darkness where you belong, foul monster. Come and meet my wrath!’ The door opened as he ran towards it, Basilisk raised above his head, and then…

  The blue-skinned figure of Cronos stepped out, and the door slammed shut behind him.

  ‘Hello Telmar,’ he said with a smile as the king halted before the spirit and lowered his sword.

  ‘Why? Why have you come here now, in this place? This time and location is all wrong. The door needs a populated area, doesn’t it? That is why it always appears in the centre of a city.’

  Cronos inclined his head as if watching a puppy performing a new trick.

  ‘That is true, but I only come with a message,’ he said, ‘and to tell you my master is upset with you Telmar, he misses your little visits.’

  ‘I am not at the whim of your wrathful god, Cronos. You can tell him that! He has only one power out on the surface of the planet and that is his followers, the Brethac Ziggurat, and I intend to crush them and his chances of escape.’

  Cronos shook his head. ‘That is unwise. Do not underestimate the power of the Earth Daemon, my friend. I was once human and this is what happened to me when I resisted him. Now I am his slave and must do as he wills.’

  ‘Even you are not totally without morals, Cronos, I still remember my dreams. Even you plot against Him. Help me to win this fight.’

  ‘Perhaps, though I cannot escape him without my flesh.’

  Telmar frowned. ‘Flesh?’

  Cronos indicated the Door. ‘The Earth Daemon does not need the Brethac, Telmar; he needs power and energy to grow. The one piece you see of him in the Nexus is but one of many that he needs to become complete. It is only a matter of time before he is strong enough to escape the Earth’s core and release his larger essence trapped inside the Gredligg Orrinn. Then he will merge with it and become all-powerful. But before he can do all of that, he must use my flesh to find the wayward strands of himself and bring them back together.’

  Telmar was beginning to understand. Each time he had seen the Earth Daemon it was always larger. Something was feeding it.

  ‘The Helbringer,’ he said.

  ‘That is one name for it, he has many more,’ Cronos nodded thoughtfully. ‘I only announce its coming and stand helpless as he consumes all life. Nothing can stop it. Many great civilisations have tried and failed.’ Cronos turned around and walked back to the Door.

  ‘The Helbringer will come, Telmar, and soon. But I think you had already figured that out, haven’t you?’

  ‘I thought you had a message for me?’ asked Telmar, changing the subject.

  The door opened. The soft groans of despair saturated the air as Cronos turned back to the king.

  ‘I do. Give away your Black Seed.’

  Telmar frowned in confusion.

  ‘The seed that will birth the Blacksword, the true enemy of the Lonely God; give it away so he may live to give us all hope.’

  ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘I may be a slave to the Earth Daemon’s will, but I do not wish anyone an eternity in his dominion whether it be in the Earth or upon It.’ With that, he stepped through the doorway and darkness descended as the Door completely vanished without a sound.

  Telmar did not sleep very well that night. He had much to think about and little time to make plans. Besides, he would have a battle to fight in the morning.

  4

  The great General Elkin, Lord of Storridge, was but a young cavalry officer in the Dragorsloth Legion when the War of the Pyromancer begun. In his book Battle Strategies and Tactics, Volume 1, he says very little about the Battle of Glyn Brae. Which is a shame because it is, I feel, the battle that shows Telmar’s tactical genius to its full potential. Although, to his credit, he did mention that Telmar’s amazingly quick march over the
Tarridun Ridge that ending up outflanking Klingspur was one of the most audacious of the whole war.[12]

  Klingspur did indeed see the smoke. Fearing that the enemy had moved behind him to lay siege to his fortress at Duncattrine further to the west, he turned his men about and marched them towards the smoke. When he happened upon the locals of Glyn Brae, they told him that the mad baron himself had sacked their village. This information shocked Duke Cambrian, who had suddenly realised that Telmar had been sane and wily enough to find a way to outflank his march east.

  The early morning found them at the foothills, still wreathed in black acrid smoke. His forward scouts stumbled upon Cokato and his men hiding in the untouched lane that was to be the unfired corridor to the village of Glyn Brae. Cokato and his small band of only sixty-eight Berserkers charged the scouts and slaughtered half their number before retreating from the Wyani Heavy Horse that arrived as part of Klingspur’s vanguard. The tall white stallions of the Wyani were well padded with heavy quilted blankets depicting their livery, while their riders wore mail, steel breastplates and helms. They were a formidable sight even to lowly foot soldiers, but the Berserkers drew them into the valley as they feigned escape. Cokato ordered a retreat, skilfully orchestrated to look like a clumsy panicking flight. The Berserkers used the village dwellings as protection. This broke the formation of the first rushed cavalry charge, and they had to reorganise formation into a second charge when Berserkers, hidden in the tall grass, attacked the static and disorganised horse as they tried to move beyond the buildings of the village and through scattered wooden blockades that Telmar had constructed the night before.

  The Wyani horses backed off in disarray. They reported to Klingspur that only wild barbarians defended the village. The duke urged his host onwards to flood the narrow valley and he equally encouraged his foot soldiers to charge the rebels when they saw the Berserkers, up on the valley heights, turn tail and run from the village heading south through the Glyn itself.

  King Telmar and the balance of his men positioned themselves about a third of a mile south of the village. The end of the Valley opened out onto a wide field of heather and marsh. He had found a low embankment of undulating earth and white boulders at the end of the field with enough space behind it for Kelpo’s archers to spread out along the low ground. Kelpo had about

  four hundred men at his command. Each had composite bows made of wood and goat horn that curved out from the tips, making them powerful, yet shorter and lighter to carry.

  Telmar stood in front of them with his Royal Bodyguards of around three hundred and ninety heavy infantry in padded coats and light leather helms. Not their usual attire for battle, but they had to march light and move quickly to outflank the duke’s host.

  He watched from the embankment when he heard the sound of fighting in the distance. He hoped Cokato was doing his task, but feared for the young man’s safety. He had to admit the Berserkers were very brave and fearless fighters.

  The minutes ticked by. A breeze blew over the soft ground, whipping through marsh moss and heather. Everything was quiet apart from the distant twitter of warblers. Telmar found himself contemplating the stillness in the air, and knew it would burst into the fractious screams of battle fairly shortly. Eventually, someone in his unit of bodyguards pointed out the first of Cokato’s men. He saw them sprinting through heathery brush as they passed the narrow mouth of the valley. Telmar he ordered his soldiers to crouch down below the crest of the embankment that formed a natural defensive wall should he need to use it as such.

  He indicated to Lord Kelpo behind him, ‘get ready.’ Kelpo nodded and used hand signals to his men to stay in formation and prepare. Each had white swan fletched arrows, about a dozen in all, embedded point first into to the ground in front of them, and their hip quivers were full to bursting. Because of the crest of the embankment, and some tree cover to their left flank, the enemy would not be able to see them until it was too late.

  A large charging mass of Klingspur’s Horsemen broke out of the narrow valley and rode at speed behind the Berserkers. Cokato and his men nimbly ran through the heather while the cavalry behind them found the ground difficult to traverse so had spread out into the wider area of the field to find breaks in the deep vegetation.

  Telmar watched as hundreds of frustrated horse men found themselves slowed by the terrain, most finding the boggy ground underneath the heather hampering any forward momentum. Cokato halted his men just short of the embankment. They were panting furiously, but still able to taunt the enemy in loud jeering voices, waving spears and shields.

  Behind the cavalry, Wyani foot soldiers now ran from the valley and through the heather, unhindered by weight like the chargers. They quickly made their way through the mass of horse. Cokato formed his small band of warriors in a line, but urged them to move back towards Telmar’s position. The walked slowly, spears levelled.

  Hidden behind the embankment, Telmar turned and nodded to Kelpo.

  ‘Take the strain,’ Kelpo shouted to his men and the archers’ notched arrows and drew back.

  ‘Forty-five degree angle,’ said the king, ‘no wind.’

  Kelpo repeated the order and the archers angled their arrows skywards slightly. He never took his eyes from the king who held up his arm ready to drop it to give the signal.

  Over on the heather field, a rider moved out of line from the others, broke onto firm clear ground, and charged towards Cokato’s right flank. A Berserker on that end shortened the distance to the equestrian at a sprint before the horse could break into a canter. He hefted a heavy falchion and brought it down on the horse’s right foreleg. The leg buckled and snapped under the heavy blade and the rider was pinned to the ground as the horse fell. The Berserker left him and rushed back into line just as Telmar dropped his arm.

  ‘Loose!’ shouted Kelpo and four hundred arrows darkened the cold grey winter sky. The first volley went over the heads of the line of enemy horse and struck the foot soldiers that were running behind them from the valley. They spun and twisted like rag dolls when the arrows fell amongst their ranks. Yells and screams filled the air as the arrows thumped into soft flesh and bone.

  ‘Ten degrees down,’ ordered Telmar.

  Kelpo gave the order and now the arrows fell among the plodding horse that had nowhere to turn and run from the hard hail of death. They fell in their droves. Men screamed. Horses whinnied as arrow after arrow peppered them, and the ground around them. The hard barbed rain fell in a constant downpour pinning soldiers and horses to the ground. The thick screams of pain and fear rent the air between volleys until another hail of arrow-fall silenced the wounded.

  Cokato held his line. Those of the enemy that were on foot, and well forward of the arrow fall, now had no choice but to attack. They ran forwards at a stumble as they negotiated the heather and met the wall of fierce barbarians holding shield and spears. Cokato’s host were merciless as they hacked down Klingspur’s outmatched infantry.

  Telmar stood up and so too did his heavy infantry. They crested the top of the embankment in full view of the battle. Down on the field the ground was littered with arrows and the bodies of both humans and horses, some formed high mounds. Behind them, the enemy had pulled out of range of the arrows.

  Telmar raised Basilisk. ‘TRESSEL!’ he yelled, and charged with his men flanking him. Cokato had quickly vanquished the small group of enemy infantry that remained and now took up the chant running with the king towards Klingspur’s host.

  Enemy officers tried in vain to hold their men in line, but they were too eager to fall back. By the time the Wyani foot found a cohesive formation, Telmar’s charge had hit them with a mighty crash and pushed them back into a tightly packed formation that could find no momentum. The Vallkyte king’s host had them massed in the narrow mouth of the valley.

  Shields slammed and swords struck. Telmar swung Basilisk blindly and smiled when he hit something soft. Cokato was at his side, he had thrown away his broadsword, favouring a battle-axe
for close combat. He sliced and hacked like a maniac and Telmar found himself laughing uncontrollably as he thrust his blade into an enemy soldier’s chest. A spear point jabbed towards him over his shield and grazed the mail on his shoulder; Telmar grunted and dug his feet into the ground to apply more force. Enemy infantrymen along the row stumbled and fell under the feet of the Berserkers and the King's Guard as the momentum continued, ploddingly slow, but deffinetily moving forward. Blood misted the frigid air to the kings right as Cokato embedded his axe into a soldier’s neck. The line stepped forward over the fallen, thrusting and jabbing, and all the time the duke’s men fell back. The king noticed that more cavalry were behind the front line of infantry urging them forward, but Kelpo’s archers were now firing at will into the enemy from behind Telmar’s line and unseating riders and downing soldiers inside the packed defence as they crowded the valley entrance.

  The incessant push by the king’s men was having a strong effect on the enemy, and at one point Telmar felt the pressure to his front slacken as the Wyani soldiers began to rout.

  ‘Push on,’ he shouted, ‘run them down!’

  The roar of victory rose from Telmar’s men and echoed throughout the Glyn as they surged forward. The chase was on as the Berserkers, clearly the fastest runners on the field, overtook the enemy infantry and hacked them down as they fled. Telmar himself ran at a sprint trying to get ahead of the enemy. The whole formation of men, his included, broke into tatters as sporadic fighting and desperate acts of survival broke out along the route back to the village. He and his bodyguards had a hard job crashing through the hastily organised lines of enemy foot that blocked the route back to the village, and presumably Klingspur’s mail headquarters. Telmar used the Arts to blast away defenders with a strong hurricane that allowed his armoured bodyguards to push through openings, which they held open to let the king’s infantry to charge in and reap destruction on a massive scale.