Aderyn rushed to his side and embraced him, she held back her tears for the king old man, for there was no time for proper mourning of such a man. Cedric felt himself slip back into reality with Aderyn’s touch; she was like a lighthouse guiding a weather-worn ship to port. Beorn unlogged his great axe from the skull of one of the Belaewan, ripping out pieces of flesh with it. Alfnod and Eadwine watched the doors, while Leopold searched the bodies of the fallen traitors.
Suddenly a steady click of boots was heard from outside; each companion drew their blades expecting the worst. Cedric’s mind went numb once more; he raised his sword in a fit of pure rage, ready to take on Azrael himself. Gaspar slid into the doorway, carrying his satchel and walking staff, he jumped back when he saw his allies with their weapons drawn, expecting to be struck down in confusion. “Oh by the gods you are all alive!”
Gaspar’s mouth widened into a smile at their fortune, but was quickly turned somber when he entered, stepping in a puddle of blood, he realized what had happened. “Oh…oh no. Cinder preserve him. But we must hurry there is no time left for mourning, as we speak Arrington gathers his forces near the palace. He has won here Cedric.” Cedric stared into space as Gaspar grabbed at his arm to get his attention. “Today may be marked as a defeat, but if we fly now, we can defeat Azrael in the end, rebuild what was lost.”
Cedric answered as if he had not even heard Gaspar’s voice. “What of Lafayette? Where is he, and his captains?” He said, holding his hand at his side, the wound from the dagger at the bathhouse had begun to sting. “They have been gathering their supporters all night, I shall not quit the city, not while they still draw breath, not while the last bastion of Lorine still lives.”
Gaspar was disappointed in this answer and explained. “I have not seen a soul loyal to the king in the burning streets. Lafayette and his captains are no doubt dead, thrown into the harbor or gutted on the streets, the end is the same for Wulfstan. We must not dally if you insist on waiting, be my guest, but I will leave without you if we wait for too long for this hopeless cause.”
Cedric and his group hurried to the base of the palace steps, looking in every direction for Lafayette and his loyalists. The streets were empty, save some scattered dead bodies. Cedric began breathing heavily; he paced round and round in a large circle. His face was illuminated by the burning buildings nearby, showing his distress. He collapsed on his knees and sat on the steps of the palace, breathing heavy and holding his face in his hands. All hope of victory had faded from his tried and tested heart. It felt as though he was not awake, as though all the terrible things to happen were only an illusion.
Cedric closed his eyes, hoping to escape this wretched nightmare of reality. Behind the darkness of his closed eyes, he was assaulted with the images of fallen friends, Galdwin, Oswine, and the villagers of Orford bounced in his mind. He once more felt the warm ash of his fallen villagers between his toes, as though he was there again, in that hellish time and place. Cedric felt tears forming in his eyelids as he heard infantry marching. He wiped the salty mixture from his eyes, accidentally rubbing some of Oswine’s blood onto his eyes as he stood to face whoever came this way. Partially blind from the blood, he pulled out his blade and pointed it towards him, the footsteps were from an unburned section of the city, meaning no face nor body could be seen through the night’s shadow.
The steps grew louder and louder, and from the distant fires, the faces of marching men were illuminated. At their front was Lafayette, along with his captains from the bathhouse. They had traded their towels for full suits of armor that clanged with their steps, each breastplate with the crest of the ram upon the center. Lafayette wore his signature steel plate, with a tunic with three golden lions at his upper chest. In total, they numbered near one hundred, each wielding a painted shield. In some hands, the two vines of Deering, representing the twin vineyards planted in their sacred home of Cafold, a famous city filled with gallant knights and tournaments. On others, the symbol of the sacred ram, and still others had the red fox, turning from their master’s service to serve their king. In each hand, they wielded swords, axes and pikes, the traditional weaponry of the foot soldier of Lorine. Some used bows, undoubtedly loyal guardsmen stationed upon the wall at the time of the betrayal. Their gambesons and chainmail were painted with the blood red of those traitors unfortunate to cross their path to the palace.
Lafayette smiled as he approached and spoke while taking a deep bow. “Your army master Cedric, Wulfstan has not fallen quite yet!” Cedric embraced his dear First Marshall; the night still had a faint glimmer of hope.
Lafayette was taken aback when he saw Cedric’s blood covered face. The Marshall’s face expressed the question, whose blood is it? Cedric gave no response with words; he only placed his hand on Lafayette’s shoulder. “I’ll address the men, Lafayette. For what you have done tonight I cannot thank you enough. If neither of us lives to see the sunset, let them remember us for our courage in the face of death.”
Cedric climbed a small barricade on the steps and spoke with his men. The blood of the dead king still smeared across his face, his eyes were filled with a burning rage. He lifted his sword high above his head and called out to each man still brave enough to stand against the tide of darkness.
“Let all men here know that they are the sons of Adalgott. Each man here has already proven himself in every capacity by answering that most sacred call to arms. Tonight, we reclaim what was once ours; we shall take back this city stone by stone, step by step we shall take it back! I am the Seer, the heir of Adalgott, Lord of Orford and future king of Lorine!” He wiped some of the blood from his face onto his hand, and showed the men his palm, shaking from nerves. “This is the blood that was spilled in the name of their evil master, now then men, let us spill some of theirs!” Cedric looked to Aderyn, and her reassuring presence calmed him. Cedric looked back out to the Lorinian infantry and raised his sword into the night.
The men struck and battered their weapons against their shields, crying out the names of all the gods to gain their favor on the battlefield.
Cedric then joined his party at its center and barked his orders. “Men into schiltron formation, no spear or blade shall break through our shields!” The men braced their shields together in a great circle, so that they covered the whole length of the street, letting no foe outflank them in the rear. The pikemen, one rank behind their counterparts, raised their weapons high above the shield wall. Behind them, the archers took up their positions. They had become like a moving fortress, with their shields becoming likes the great stone walls of Wulfstan. They marched forward towards the docks, where the enemy was most concentrated.
Cedric rested in the middle of their moving formation, his blade and mind were steadied and ready for battle. Upon each flank, the swordsmen held their painted shields, ensuring that no strike against them went unnoticed. Enemy scouts could be seen in the narrow alleyways and streets along their route; they were being led to a trap, though Cedric had his own cunning plan brewing in his mind.
Cedric ordered that his pikemen lower their towering weapons of metal teeth. The sharp edges of the spears, pikes, halberds and banner lances of the troops were hidden along their sides as they marched, ensuring enemy scouts could give no report of them to Arrington.
They advanced further and further into the enemy-held territory; each man grew more disheartened as they went, their eyes peering into the fire filled night with such fear and uncertainty. At last, they came upon the last streets before the docks, thereupon an enormous pile of discarded wood and stone, Arrington’s forces had amassed a barricade.
At its front, a full line of shield and swordsmen, three ranks deep, with the elite and coveted armor of Lahyrst, so flawless and bright in design. Their shields were painted with the Red Fox, often depicted with a herring between its sharp teeth. Arrington stood atop the barricade, giving him sight over the whole of the battlefield. Cedric and William’s eyes met, within each man a great burning rage boiled
over. Cedric breathed slowly; he was ready to kill. Arrington only looked forward intensely; his very look was a challenge for Cedric to approach his ranks.
“Forward all! Kill the traitors!” Cedric shouted with a fiery conviction booming from his lungs, his scream like that of crackling thunder. Altogether his men marched forward, their shields proudly raised to their chests. They beat their swords, axes, and other weapons of war against the edges of the shields, creating a rhythmic call to battle. The archers in Cedric’s deeper ranks began unleashing volleys as they approached, with Arrington returning fire all the way. Cedric knew it was a trap, for it to be anything else was foolish.
Now only near twenty paces from the front of the shieldwall, Cedric ordered to his men. “Kill them all!” Each man broke into a mad sprint, crying out in both prayers to gods and frantic noises like that of a wild beast. Cedric drew forth his blade and prepared to strike hard against the wall of wood and steel like waves upon the rocks of the shore. They crashed against Arrington’s men with the sounds of cracking wood and the clinking of steel. Men on both sides were kicking and pulling at the shield walls, anything to break it down piece by piece. The battle was even, with neither side able to show absolute superiority in combat.
Cedric slashed and gutted at many Arrington’s men; his blade Bayeux moved through the air with the swiftness of a great bird in flight. He terrified many of the untrained on Arrington’s side, his frantic war cries and bloody handprint gave him a certain madness upon the battlefield. Forward Cedric pushed his men, driving them into their foes’ shields. All of this while Arrington just gazed upon the barricade, though he was now somewhat smirking. Cedric was repelled in surprise and expectation as he heard horns behind him.
Behind his schiltron, the cavalry of Lahyrst, the noblest of steeds and rider, adorned in steel armor and bannered lances rode in a full charge, their hooves beating hard against the cobblestone street. Cedric was ready for this; he showed no sign of fear, just tactical cunning. His ranks further back were unoccupied with the shieldwall, and more importantly, they carried the polearms and heavy weaponry of his outfit. Breaking away from his intense combat,
Cedric pulled his pikes back towards the flank, now nearly set upon by the Knights of Lahyrst. Cedric could hear the heavy breathing of the horses by the time his men were in position, he shouted his command and let loose his secret plan.
“Pikemen! Tear them apart!” All at once the swordsmen placed at the front of the flank kneeled, revealing three rank deep pikemen, with each sharpened end pointing directly at the charging cavalry. The horses and knights and skewered and torn to shreds upon the metal ends, the steel piercing them like the jagged teeth of a ravenous wolf. The cavalrymen were sent flying through the air as heavy hits halted their steeds in their chest. The knights in the rear of the charge buckled and stalled, hoping to avoid the carnage just steps in front of them, but there would be no hope for them this day.
“Forward!” Cedric shouted, the cavalry became like pigs led to the slaughter, their charge had failed, and now they stood in the streets, their advantage had been sorely stolen from them. Cedric and his soldiers on the flank drove through the ranks of cavalry, pulling off riders and sticking them on the ground with their blades. Beorn wielded his mighty axe, slicing knights across the abdomen, sending them flying from their saddles. Eadwine with his longbow picked off any retreating knights; his aim rang true and none who attempted to flee made it out alive. On the other side of the brutal street war, Aderyn, Leopold, and Alfnod were preoccupied with Arrington’s shieldwall, trying to gain any footing they could steal from his treacherous army. Gaspar was towards the middle of Cedric’s forces, hoping to avoid any physical confrontation.
With the cavalry dealt with, Cedric pressed his men back into the front of the battle, pushing hard against the wall of wood and men. Beorn was swinging his axe like his days as a lumberjack, splintering the shields of many of his foes, slowly but surely, Cedric army broke down the wall.
Eadwine spied Arrington from across the battle, drawing back his bow, he began firing upon the once-chancellor. His aim was marred by the fight around him, causing him to miss with his elvish arrows, though by chance he struck at the guards around William. The battle now favored Cedric, even with fewer men than Arrington, his army fought with more conviction and had scored a major moral victory with the destruction of William’s flanking cavalry.
The shieldwall finally collapsed, allowing Cedric’s army to pour onto the barricade and overrun Arrington’s forces. They put each man on that barrier to the death; their swords were made dull from the intense combat that ensued.
Cedric moved about like a wild man, his face and hair were now both soaked in blood. With each man he slashed, a wave of blood was opened upon him. His eyes became blurry from the red liquid, and they stung with each droplet entering his eye. A spear had pierced Cedric’s abdomen during the battle, and only by his armor was he still alive. His arms were sore and tired. His left arm was torn like tissue paper from repeated blows from a sword’s point.
Cedric, at last, reached the top of the barricade, Arrington’s forces had been broken and began a retreat through the streets, and Cedric let out a great cry upon the barricade, holding his sword proudly above his blood-soaked head.
All throughout the city, the banners of the ram began to fly once more. Lafayette’s men made quick work of the smaller barricades and holdouts; soon no street was deemed safe for Arrington’s men.
Aderyn rushed to Cedric’s side as he collapsed from his victory. His army attempted to let out a shout to honor their success, but it had been a brutal battle. Everyone panted heavily to catch their breath, and they clutched at their wounds. Gaspar next surveyed the top of the barricade; he was checking each body he passed.
He knelt next to a collapsed Cedric and spoke. “Arrington is not amongst the dead Cedric.” He placed his hands on Cedric’s shoulders to steady him. “Cedric, we need the book, no doubt Arrington has it in his possession. If the forces of Azrael escape, this victory here tonight will count for naught, we must slay those who follow him.”
Cedric looked around. His men were celebrating, chanting the great songs of their ancestors as they swung their swords high. He then turned his head and gazed onto the docks, where many innocents had died. There a ship had set sail and was fleeing the inflamed city.
With the speed and fury of Godric, god of the hunt, Cedric bolted after the ship, Gaspar and Aderyn were the only ones to see him do this and quickly followed. He ran with his blade unsheathed; his blood-soaked boots beat hard against the rough surface of the street. Cedric slashed and swung at the enemies they passed, but his feet did not stop moving towards the docks. By the time the three had reached the docking area, the ship was out of reach. It was a cog of simple design, with a single mast at its center and raised platform towards the back.
Upon this platform, Cedric saw Arrington, the henchman to greater evils was staring out into the city, thinking of what was in his mind rightfully his. Cedric had not given up yet, he gained his footing on the wooden dock and lifted off into the water. Aderyn and Gaspar could not follow suit; they could not swim, nor could Cedric. He beat his arms hard on the water in a flailing motion, unsure of how to proceed. Cedric began to breathe in water, his lungs flooded with the sea. From the cog, Arrington laughed at the sight of his foe brought down by such a trivial enemy, his escape was assured.
Slowly Cedric’s vision faded as his head submerged below the surface of the port, the light of the burning city illuminating the waters around him. Suddenly, a great strength surged through Cedric, by powers of gods or of man he did not know. He felt the immense determination to live and began pulling himself back towards the surface.
Cedric caught his arm on one of the ropes hanging from the ship as he gasped for precious life-giving air. He steadied himself along the wooden hull of the ship and began to climb, using his feet against the creaking port ship of the ship. The water weighed heavy upon his armor
, and his arms grew tired from the weight, but nevertheless he continued to climb. After much effort, he reached the railing of the deck and pull himself over, collapsing on his knees for breath. Cedric lifted his head to survey the ship; he had attracted the attention of a trio guards making their way towards him, a skeleton crew of sailors hurried along with their tasks, hoping not to be dragged into the conflict.
Cedric panted and spat up water as they approached and unsheathed their weapons. Cedric waited on the floor until the proper time, slashing his blade across the first guard’s chest as he rose from the wooden deck. With the speed that propelled him, Cedric went at the second guard behind the first, lifting his blade high and then cutting low, practically butchering the man in two. The third guard stumbled backward, blood from his comrades had sprayed across his eyes, before he could even fully react to what had happened, the cold and wetted steel of Bayeux had pierced his chest.
Cedric steadied himself on the deck and saw the sailors nervously running below deck or jumping off. A group of soldiers on the bow did not move; they were watching their master at the back of the ship. Cedric turned his head to see Arrington walking down the steps of his wooden platform; he was draped in a long bearskin cloak. He seemed annoyed rather than threatened by Cedric’s display as he removed his coat, revealing an elaborate set of armor, both of steel and stiff leather, and his blade unyielding. And so, the two men and two blades prepared for combat, for in their minds, only one pair would live to have its name be said again. They began circling each other, their steps precise and without mistake. All the while they poked and prodded at one another’s blade, testing for weaknesses in form and position.
The Sword to Unite Page 10