Surely it was, wasn’t it?
Captain Krell’s mouth billowed with cold mist as he spoke. “Whatever distraction you hold, cast them aside, as they are not worthy. Lord Kaide desires to witness our training. Depending on how we perform, we will be declared a cohort of House Vinganz; or, we will wither beneath failure’s onslaught and fall by the wayside. We will stand men! None shall fall!
“We will move, and if we make contact, the Brutes will form a wedged phalanx with the Grunts knitted close behind. The Cav Squad will then charge our enemy, shattering their ranks, thus allowing the Sneaks to wreak bloody havoc. Questions?”
There were none.
“Excellent.” Krell turned and said, “Get them moving, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, Captain.” Gentle as moonlight, Pell traced his stitched gash. “Squad Sergeants on me!”
Four men — Grandfather, Rydir, Vies, and Boor — bustled to the lieutenant. In hushed tones, Pell relayed the captain’s orders.
Before dismissing the sergeants, Pell whispered, “For a year, we have trained for this moment, as brothers. This is no different than running laps around that damnable pond. Today we move, and we will be a real cohort! See to your squads, and we’ll get through this. We will not fail. We are ready!”
◄►◄►◄►
Astride his destrier, Lord Kaide watched the cohort’s movements in silence. Dun orbs analyzed every action, from the greatest echelon on down. As a whole, the cohort sped across the ice-crusted field only to halt.
A clangor erupted, reaching the Lord Commander’s ears, and he saw Staff Sergeant Beets’ Brutes gather together like congealed blood. The shield-brothers formed a phalanx, acting as the focal point of the cohort.
The Grunts, the cohort’s light infantry, loitered behind their larger brothers, yearning to lash out. As always, the Grunts struck swift and lethal as a panther. With Sergeant Boor at the head, the Grunts ran rampant ensuing a chaos-honed, bloody melee. Encompassing their foes with confusion, fear, and anxiety — Boor’s Grunts thrived among the blood, sweat, and wails of the dying.
The mounted nobles of the Cav Squad charged. Lord Kaide felt the earth tremble with the roiling thunder of stampeding hooves. At the lead of the spearhead formation, designed to break an enemy’s flank, Sergeant Rydir advanced. With razor-sharp lances leveled and kite shields held loft, the Squad stormed through enemy lines. The lightning strike of these nobles was undeniable, and the enemy could not withstand the might of the tempest.
As the eye of the storm moved into the epicenter of combat, it was accompanied by an unseen, yet lethal force. Men trained in the arts of subterfuge and exploitation worked their way into the fray. The Sneak Squad mopped-up the remaining survivors. Almost as shadows, these wraiths were led by a man always enshrouded in a cloak of death.
Sergeant Vies and his squad took what remaining life the enemy had to offer. Such was their silent menace that the foe had no heart for the fight. The Sneaks had their say, and it was Death’s final whisper. No quarter was given, and the snow drank the blood of the fallen.
Or would have, Lord Kaide assumed if true enemy forces stood before them. Splayed across the ice field, Captain Krell and his soldiers fought simulated enemies with the might of the Old Fathers. Crisp images flashed inside Lord Kaide’s mind. He envisioned the slaughter created by the cohort.
The fluidity of movement, along with the swift action of the squads, pleased the Lord Commander. Yet, like granite, no emotion would touch Lord Kaide’s face.
“An elegance enfolds them, my Lord,” Hess muttered. The swarthy vassal sat astride his own warhorse, his gaze locked on the mock battlefield.
Holding his tongue, Lord Kiade nodded once, his blood-red pony-tail jostling. Tawny orbs flicked over the scene, absorbing everything. Indeed, there was a grace to the cohort.
Yet, Lord Kaide couldn’t help but think, They attack phantom foes. How then, would they fare against battle-hardened warriors?
Vandyr was no stranger to death and killing, nor was he immune to losing those he cared for. He knew that the most well-trained men, as well as the most well-laid plans, rarely survived the initial assault of actual combat. The Flakes were trained to never yield, never stop fighting. The Lord Commander knew this, just as he knew they were not ready to lose brothers in battle.
The warrior’s ethos was one precariously teetering between death-dealing and compassion. It was impossible to know how a man would react when the decision had to be made on the battlefield. Swing a sword, hold that shield wall, deal death in close ranks, continue the charge, take the enemies last breath. Or, turn and give over to the last moment of a fellow warrior's life, to hold him as he dies and the battle rages on.
No man could genuinely say how he would act until at last, his mettle was tested and struck. The question assailing Lord Vandyr Kaide could not be answered in training.
Captain Krell and his cadre, as well as the candidates, accomplished more than could be expected in training. These Flakes achieved a level of cohesion Lord Kaide was forced to admire. The Lord Commander had fought many battles, with many men, and none showed the tight-knit bonds of brotherhood displayed by these men.
Yet, the question still remained, gnawing in the pit of Vandyr’s stomach. How will they perform when the red-hot blood of their brothers flows in battle? Are they ready?
Spurring the massive destrier’s flanks, the Lord Commander advanced at a canter. Speed built as the warhorse reached full gallop. The distance closed like the maw of a beast, and Vandyr unsheathed his longsword. Hoof-beats echoed from the glacial-crusted ground, heralding his charge.
Widening their situational awareness the four Squads pivoted and, fluid as dancers, formed ranks. They steadied, preparing to meet the Lord Commander’s assault.
Despite being a one-man charge, Vandyr was fearsome. Unease weaved in between the ranks. Yet, before the destrier struck, the shield wall knitted together. A resounding clangor split the air as Vandyr barreled through. His longsword clouted a shield. A shrill whinny escaped his destrier, as the steed crunched into armored men. The force flung them to the ground in a teeth-clattering jerk. Vandyr surged into a somersault, rolling to his feet.
The candidates stood far more stalwart than he had anticipated; several rushed him, weapons drawn.
Dirk ready, Vandyr faced down the rushing Grunts and Sneaks, battering away attacks with the flat of his blades. His elegant dance of blade-work withered as he refused killing blows. Instead, Vandyr yielded as the Cav Squad thundered around him, lances poised at his chest.
Lord Kaide replaced his weapons. Captain Krell weave through the sea of flesh. The captain saluted, Lord Kaide nodded in silent reply.
“My Lord, your horse is injured.” Krell’s voice was thick as sludge.
Lord Kaide heard the shrill bleats of anguish. Like a rushing river, sadness flooded him as he followed the captain. Forelimb jutting, the destrier’s bone had snapped on one of the Brutes’ shields. A sorrow-filled sigh escaped Lord Kaide as he studied the break. He only wished to test the cohort’s mettle. Such an injury fostered regret within the Lord Commander; leagues from proper care, a single course of action lay before him.
“I’ll do it, my Lord.” Krell unsheathed a karambit.
Lord Kaide’s head jerked. He had forgotten the Flakes. Warriors encircled the wounded horse; it thrashed, shrieking in agony.
“No.” It wasn’t harsh, but it was finite. “He was my steed and bore me into battle many times. He suffers from my lack of constraint. The responsibility rests upon my shoulders, and mine alone, Captain.”
Lord Kaide drew his dirk. He lowered to a knee; a compassionate, comforting hand stroked the pained beast. And then, he plunged the blade to the hilt, as he softly whispered his apology. The light faded from the warhorse’s eyes as a small amount withdrew from Vandyr’s own.
Standing, Lord Kaide looked to Captain Krell. He asked, “Was anyone else injured in my reckless charge?”
Krell shook hi
s brown locks. “Negative, my Lord. Bells severely rung, but Herb’s initial assessment indicates no critical injuries.”
“Very well, Captain.” Lord Kaide spoke, somber as the graveyard. “Gather your troops, I would speak to them.”
“Aye, my Lord. Form ranks!”
◄►◄►◄►
Like a blizzard, a flurry of movement spread over the four squads arraying before Lord Kaide. Motionless as stone, he regarded them.
“I have received a missive less than a fortnight ago, from Lord Aldon Vinganz himself.” Despite Lord Vandyr Kaide’s soft voice, it carried with the wind; everyone heard. “My last report pleased our liege. Per his dictum, once I find this cohort fit as a combat-mission-ready unit, we are to patrol around the Crown of the Realm. We are to ensure Lord Aldon’s law is upheld and provide his Province with a modicum of safe-being. Upon our return to Hevnkalt, should our debriefed actions please him, Lord Vinganz will sanction this cohort.”
Applauds cut the crisp winter morning like a knife to meat.
Lord Kaide continued, his gentle voice demanding absolute silence.
“One and all, you began the Quest alone and unsure. Yet, now here you stand, united and firm. Ready, you are ready!”
Like a valve unable to withstand the mounting pressure, cheers erupted with joy.
“Look to the man on your left, then to your right,” Lord Kaide called, his voice slicing through the emotional ambiance, “these are your brothers. And you, together, are the COLD ONES!”
Thus ends The Cold Ones: A Tale of the Realm Cycle
The Cold Ones Page 7