The Sword to Unite

by Peter J. Hopkins

  Cedric took position with his commanders upon the second story of the wall, where the whole battlefield could be surveyed. Just outside the gates, a full regiment of Lorinian spears was placed, so the enemy could not destroy the stakes. Beorn was with the van, wearing his hangman’s mask and brandishing his heavy axe. Above them, the Rivermen not in the forest were ready, with arrow fastened to the string of their bows.

  Some of the men shook at their posts, for the wave of foes enveloped the horizon. The battlefield was silent as the enemy took their positions, only the howling wind could be heard. Both sides waited, waited for the moment to strike.

  “Alfnod,” Cedric said with daunting conviction, “Prepare the order to fire at my command, if any man shoots without permission, there will be hell to pay.” Cedric gazed out to the enormous waves of enemy that now swelled the hillside in front of him, and his heart pounded as he looked to the mudded field, his grand strategy.

  Alfnod shouted out to the ranks of captains and bowmen, “Prepare to fire! Let no arrow fly before the order!”

  Cedric gave his final round of encouragement as the enemy began to taunt and cheer, “Be brave on this day! Be heroes on this day! Do this, and I swear your names shall always be remembered!”

  Enemy cavalry began to form ranks, and they mustered out just at the edge of the field. Azrael could be seen on the top of the hill, mounted upon his black horse, with Sibi and Yellow-Eyes by his side. The taunts and cheers from both sides faded, and all became dead silent. Yellow-Eyes beckoned his horses forward and rode out to meet the defenders.

  “Shall we fire my lord, kill his second in command?” One of the captains said.

  “No,” Cedric scolded him, “Why waste arrows on one who matters so little?”

  Yellow-Eyes stopped before the gate defenders; his horse struggled through the mud, which had covered the whole of its legs. “Surrender lord Cedric! The battle is hopeless!” For a moment, it appeared there was genuine compassion in his voice, but Cedric knew it was but deception. “Let your men go home! They shall be given safe passage; my true king proclaims their innocence in this matter! If we overcome you, none shall be spared, the whole of your villages and cities burned, temples ruined, fields salted, your women made as concubines for my lord’s brave army!”

  Cedric gave but one word in reply, “If!” Cedric drew his blade and shouted at Yellow-Eyes, “Come! Let your master feel his bane for the second time!” Yellow-Eyes made a sour face and kicked his horse back towards his side. The sorcerer struggled through the mud the whole way.

  A horn was blown, and banners were raised. The enemy cavalry advanced at blindingly mad pace, ripping through the field, kicking up mud and patches of wet grass. They were well in range of arrow fire, and yet Cedric did not waver or show fear. He raised his arm, but let it hang there, even as sound of hooves grew ever louder.

  “Let fly!” Cedric threw his arm down, and the captains in unison repeated, “Let fly!”

  The first volley was devastating, wiping out in full the first riders, whose flying bodies and dying horses clogged the path for the rest. Next came the arrows from either side of the forest, their flatbows so heavy and arrows so sharp, that the cavalry armor was like cloth sheets. The enemy did not even reach the stakes before being routed back to their hill. Scores laid dead or dying on the field, littered with arrows, sinking into the thick mud.

  Cheers erupted from the Rivermen, who jeered at the enemy now exchanging unsure looks between one another. Again, a horn was blown, and a wave of infantry with rectangular shields and swords moved forward. They were mercenaries from the Elnish kingdoms, sporting brightly colored uniforms and elaborate banners which depicted unicorns and all sorts of mythical beings. Their proud songs began, and they hummed tunes of drink and hearth, strengthening their will to fight.

  Soon, this merriment died down, for once they stepped onto the field, their fine metal and cloth boots were consumed in piles of mud, bringing them to a slow struggle. “Fire at will!” Cedric commanded from the battlements. The Rivermen took another round of arrows and began to pepper their foe, who fell and screamed in the muck. Only a third of the Elnish mercenaries reached the dry ground of the gate, where they fought with the defending Lorinians. The mercenaries did not fare well, as they had already been exhausted by wading through the mud, and so they struggled to gain any foothold at the gatehouse.

  A runner came up from the back gate, bloodied with torn armor. “My lord!” He cried out to Cedric, “They’ve taken cavalry into the western forest, and begun to turn back our archers! Roderic remains there, but he cannot overcome the enemy.”

  Cedric was quick to act, “Saddle our remaining knights, I will lead the counter-attack in the forest. Lafayette! You have the command of the castle. To the woods!”

  Cedric mounted his stallion and took off through the back gate of the castle, hidden by the dense forest so that the enemy could not know of its existence. He led a band of some hundred knights through the forest. Accompanying him were Alfnod, Eadwine, and Leopold. They rode fast to the aid of the Rivermen, who they could already see fleeing from their position.

  Their charge flanked the enemy cavalry, bring swift blades down upon their bodies. Cedric was thrown off his horse; a lance had struck his right shoulder and nearly broke through his now bent pauldron. With Geanlaecan in hand, he lit the blade with his will, striking terror in the eyes of both rider and horse. His sword had no equal in precision of cut, making whole men seem like firewood against a woodsman’s axe.

  Esmond, the captain of the Red Gyrfalcon, was slain as he rode, a lance drove deep through his upper chest, and he was dead before he fell off his horse.

  Eadwine rode swiftly through the forest, scoring many hits with his bow, while Leopold stalked by tree roots and hidden crevasses, ambushing any he came upon. Rivermen grouped with the companions and their king, forming tightly to ward off the horsemen.

  Alfnod fought with only one of his blades, the other hand occupied with Cedric’s banner. In half an hour’s time, the western forest was secure with the enemy routed, though they themselves had taken heavy losses. Only a few knights were still on horses, making them ineffective as a charging unit. The Rivermen too were badly bloodied, their bows lay broken on the dirt, left with only daggers and short swords. Roderic was alive amongst them, his leg had been driven through with a lance, and his boar crown had been bent out of shape.

  Cedric grabbed at his shoulder and struggled to the edge of the forest; he could see now that another wave of the enemy had reached the stakes. It was as Cedric feared, the Rivermen atop Broken Fang had now run short of arrows, there was now nothing to stop Azrael’s forces from reaching the castle. The bent metal of his pauldron rubbed harshly against Cedric’s aketon, so he removed it, leaving him with a single piece on his left shoulder.

  “Hurry! Back to the side gate, they will need us at the gates!” Cedric gathered up his men and hurried back to Broken Fang. They had only just reached the side gate as they heard clanging swords and sharp battle cries pick up in the wind.

  Another wave of the enemy, Hirdmen, had thrown themselves upon the gate, burning down the old and dried wood with torches. The Lorinian forces outside the gate had been wiped out, and now the defenders mustered inside the gatehouse. From the top, Aderyn aided the Rivermen throwing down rocks and pots of boiling oil through the machicolation. She called out to Cedric, “They’re near through the gates! Call the archers back a level!”

  And so, Cedric ordered the Rivermen flee upward, towards the second level of the citadel, while the Lorinian men at arms and last of the Vine Guard held the gatehouse. It was hot work once the gate had been burned, men were thrown against one another in such tight conditions, blades and spears could scant find space to swing. Cedric stuck was towards the back of this mosh pit, and he feared he would be trampled under the massive weight.

  Beorn was towards the front; the man struck fear in all the foes who dared look him in the eyes through his mask. H
e made room for his axe, shoving even his allies so he could properly swing. He scored many kills in a mad rage, sending Hirdmen scurrying back to the field.

  Soon, Beorn tired, and his guard began to falter. A spear was thrust through his side, and he screamed in agony before breaking it off with his arm. Beorn was then cut at the upper thigh, and he collapsed onto his knee. Just as a Hirdmen intended to finish him, Beorn rose and cut the man in two with one swing. Again, Beorn was pierced, this time on his shoulder, and once more in his side.

  Finally, the lumberjack fell again to the floor and was struck in the neck by a blade. Yet Beorn still, by magic or will, was alive. He struggled to his feet, only to be met by Sibi the Brother, who had pushed through and even killed ranks of his own to reach Beorn. With a terrible cry, Sibi pierced Beorn’s heart with his sword. Beorn had breathed his last.

  Cedric cried out with unintelligible pain and rushed through the ranks with reddening eyes. He tackled Sibi to the ground, and the two beat against one another as their armies fought above them. Cedric was on top of Sibi, beating his face into the mud, but soon, Sibi’s brute force knocked Cedric on his back.

  The savage Hirdlander, with wild eyes, began beating Cedric’s face inward. The first. Cedric tried to grasp his sword, but his hand was stomped on by passing feet. A blow was shattered across Cedric’s eye socket, and the pain was so stinging he thought he had lost his eye. He could no longer see from his right eye, either it was gone or filled with blood. Another fist to his face, this time across his cheek. Sibi then wrapped his hands around Cedric’s throat and began to squeeze. Sibi’s face turned bright red as Cedric purpled, and bits of violent spit dripped onto the king’s face.

  With one last effort, Cedric struggled to his feet and knocked Sibi backward into the enemy. Sibi could not rise, for he was consumed like a rock in a rushing wave. The chieftain of Azrael screamed as he was crushed from all sides, his men did not even notice, for the battle had made them numb to hearing. He fell deep into the mud, so deep his face submerged fully, and he drowned beneath the boots of his comrades.

  The king hurried backward through the ranks; he was bloodied all over his body, both of his own, and of others. His face was severely beaten, and his nose bled, along with a large gash in his forehead. He supported himself against his sword and spat out blood.

  Cedric collapsed against the battlements, his heart in a deep pain and his head ringing. The battle seemed to grow more hopeless by the second, as more and more of his troops fell at the gates, while the enemy continued to pour throughout the hillside. Suddenly a small battalion of Rivermen came through the back gate, and were brought to speak before Cedric, “My lord,” a captain of them said, “The eastern forest has fallen! With many stalking swords and rushing riders, they tore us apart! None but us were left alive, and we fear they may have followed our trail back to the hidden gate!”

  Cedric felt the weight of Azrael’s power closing fast upon him, like the clamping of a beast’s sharp and mangled fangs. “To the second level, all! We can hold that gate a while longer!” Cedric ordered his men back up the curling stairs of the castle, leaving a few braves to keep the gate long enough for them to make their way. He did so with no light heart, for he knew he had condemned his men to die, only so there might still be a chance of victory for all.

  Even with this sacrifice, it was not enough to save all his companions. Azrael ordered his men to fire upon them, for much of his force carried javelins and bows, unused until now. As they climbed the stairs, Cedric heard the sound of an arrow tear through armor and flesh. He turned and saw Alfnod’s surprise face. The armor that covered his heart turned red, and he began to spit up blood.

  Alfnod collapsed into Cedric’s arms; there was an arrow sticking out of his back. Cedric felt numb, and he almost lost the strength to carry on up the stairs. Propelled by his remaining companions, they pushed upwards.

  Alfnod was laid down in the upper courtyard, and Gaspar, who had up until this moment been tucked away in the hall, appeared with an assortment of oils and medicines. The magi acted faster than he had ever, quickly tearing open Alfnod’s armor and removing his chain shirt. The arrow had narrowly pierced through the other side, a good sign.

  Gaspar took the arrowhead and broke it at the tip, all while Alfnod screamed. “Put this in his mouth,” Gaspar said without looking up, he handed a long piece of cork to Cedric, “for the pain,” Gaspar said as he went to his surgeon’s work. Cedric did as he asked, and held Alfnod down from thrashing about.

  “I need something to stop the bleeding,” said Gaspar as he struggled to pressurize the wound. Cedric looked at his sword and hatched an idea.

  “Hold him down for me Gaspar,” Cedric flickered his blade alight, and took the metal to Alfnod’s chest, singeing the wound. It smelled foul, but it would do for cauterizing the wound. Alfnod screamed as the hot iron touched his skin, and he fainted from the pain.

  “Smart thinking,” Gaspar nodded to Cedric, “I will take him into the keep, see if I can give him something for the pain, and clean up these burns.”

  The defenders huddled against the walls and battlements of the second level; their brothers lay dead just feet below. With bellowing chants the enemy flooded the castle, turning some to tears and others to final prayers to the gods. The whole host of the enemy entered the castle, Azrael himself rode in, his men offering favors and praise as he went. Cedric clutched his blade in hand, ready to die with blood fresh upon it. Aderyn was next to him, and the two were prepared as one.

  The sun broke through the gray clouds, and its radiance shined upon the muddy battlefield and tinted the color of puddles of blood. The beams of light revealed the corpses in the muddy field and drying their tomb. Cedric looked up for a moment and saw a red figure race across the sky, the old friend from Orford was observing the battle. He closes his eyes, breathed a deep breath, which did more to his soul than to his lungs, and willed his blade to light with flame.

  Cedric cried out, “Let them see the King of Lorine, Midland, and Belfas yet stands proud against this evil! With me men! Now is the hour of our death, let us face it like the men we are!” The last defenders huddled at the entrance to the final level, bearing war faces and battle cries, they made ready.

  Chapter 34

  The Horns of the Ithon

  From the hill, a horn was blown, causing both defender and attacker to pause and look. It was no horn from either camp; it came with a rustic tune, unsung in green fields of Midland for many, many years. With the sun at their front, Cedric spotted Miro, accompanied by his band of few knights. They rode hard, as though they had the strength of the whole world at their backs.

  Azrael burst out in a deep laughter, “Ha-ha! The fools, to our bloody work my braves, leave these worms to fester in the castle a while longer! We’ve a proper foe in these foolhardy knights.”

  Azrael ushered full ranks out of the castle, and well into the field, which had finally dried since the sun’s shining. Yellow-Eyes smirked widely as the knights approached. He was sent out as the emissary to them.

  “Knights of the Eternal Dawn, have you come to renounce…” Yellow-Eyes tried to begin.

  Miro spoke with swagger, “Surrender now you impudent vagabond, for you and your men will be given no quarter in battle, for the justice of Cinder waits for no man or foul beast! I say again surrender, or you shall be destroyed!”

  Yellow-Eyes could not contain his laughter, “Ha! You come before us, a band of road-weary knights, and ask us to surrender? No.”

  Miro did not falter, “Very well.” Miro took his knights and rode back, while the enemy jeered and swore at them. The knight took his horn from the saddle and blew it. It was not the same tune as the one that had rung just moments before. From over the hilltop, a force of shapes and sizes appeared. They came with horns and hooves and screeching voices that rang true through the cold air. They had all manner of banners under their command, unity among many different peoples.

  At their head, the
proud king of the Ithon, bearing his dark plated armor, and metal horns now encrusted with gold. It was Pike, he came with a host of nearly forty thousand of his forest, of all races, satyrs, Minotaurs, centaurs, and many other beasts now far from their woodland realm.

  Pike rode out in front of his lines, mounted on a brown steed with white spots, who had been outfitted with horned blinders. He himself was crowned with a golden wreath, which sat snug between his horns. In his hands, he held a horn, carved from the root wood of the oldest tree in the Ithon. He raised the horn high above his head, and its iron mold shimmered in the sunlight. With all his breath, he blew life into the horn. It was a high pitch thing, sounding like the cry of an animal.

  The Hirdmen were shaken, but they remained in their formation upon the field, hoping the same muddled fate would befall the beasts as it did their brothers. The men formed up in three ranks, brandish pikes and spears from a wall of long shields.

  Pike rode back to his ranks and dispatched orders through the number of his warchiefs. Pike’s forces moved forward, with a brisk and steady pace, chanting and beating their shields as they went.

  Slowly, Pike’s forces began to pick up speed. By the time they were halfway across the field, they were in full charge. The Minotaurs came first, screaming in mad bloodlust, with their hooves beating hard against the ground, their crude weapons of club and axe ready for battle. Behind them, centaurs raged like cavalry, moving quick, some carrying lances and others, bows and javelins. Further back, where Pike commanded, the satyrs moved as infantry.

  Then they came to the mudded field, and Azrael felt confident, letting his enemy go through the same hell his man had waded through. But when Pike reached the mud, he found it as dry as sand. The sun had dried the field since the morning rain, and now Pike had free range to charge.

  Azrael’s forces were filled with a great fear, and locked their shields together tightly, bracing for the charge. Minotaurs beat their chests and went down on all fours, breaking directly for the frontal lines. The front line put down their pikes and braced for impact. At the last moment, the Minotaurs broke off to either flank. For just a single moment, the front lines were distracted, all Pike needed was a moment. Directly following the Minotaurs, the Centaurs came rushing with their spears, plowing through the ranks that had raised their spears in confusion.