Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls

by Chris Ward

  ‘Those at the front line claim that the enemy are all Wolvers desire.’ He spoke in a voice of disbelief for he could not understand how this could be.

  ‘Wolvers Leander!’ King Petros shook his head. ‘Surely they are mistaken?’ Neither spoke but Zelfos appeared and stood with them. He too had heard this news and knew immediately what it meant.

  ‘It is as I feared Sire,’ he hissed. The skolar once told me that the Edenwhood are Wolvers or more likely the Wolvers are of the Edenwhood.’

  ‘You did not think to inform me of this Zelfos? Petros demanded angrily of his advisor who retorted immediately.

  ‘You were never interested in my dealings with the skolar sire, and I seem to remember that very recently when I suggested that the Edenwhood might play a part you scoffed at my remarks.’ Zelfos’ agitation was clear to all for he was deeply disturbed by this confirmation of his suspicion which had tormented him since the eagles were first observed circling high above their encampments.

  The whole army of the King watched in silent awe as their enemy took up position less than half a league before their front lines of lancers, for whilst they were small in number they were an impressive sight indeed.

  And when they were ready, they waited. Unmoving in the warm sunshine of the midmorn, the two armies watched each other and waited. Even the giant and ferocious scythercats stood like statues awaiting their rider’s command to charge into battle.

  The King’s lancers made sure that their weapons were secure and that the holes dug into the rich dirt beneath their feet to hold their base were strong and firm.

  *

  Rema rode his horse alone some distance out into the open ground before his strange army, where he was quickly noticed and within a moment Lord Petros Luminos, King of Revelyn, Lord of Light, knew that at last he looked upon the man for whom he had searched so long. Whilst the King swore loudly at his arrogant temerity, and cursed him with every oath he knew, Rema dismounted, and taking a single arrow from his full quiver strode further out onto the battlefield.

  ‘He comes at me with no more than three hundred men!’ The King spoke as if insulted. ‘We are six thousand strong and he would challenge me with this!’ and then in relief he began to laugh. Those soldiers standing near laughed too although their giant commander stood like stone waiting for what might happen next.

  It was the king’s steward whose keen eyes once more saw what this would be.

  ‘He is going to shoot an arrow sire.’ He spoke as though he were watching a village spectacle.

  ‘Can he reach the Lancers Leander?’ the king asked in disbelief.

  ‘Half a league, it is a long shot sire, but with luck it will land before them. They have no need to fear.’ And the Commander spoke truly; Rema was not interested in the Lancers for he could see the King and the huge Commander standing far back behind his front line. Their position was well situated to see all the battle, and so all on the field could see them.

  Rema flexed his arms and turned his body so that his left side faced his enemy. He planted both feet about the width of his shoulders apart and by moving them a little settled them firm upon the earth. The arrow which was longer than all the others he took in his right hand and placed its point between his eyes. He whispered quietly to it, as though they shared some strange bond, and so in some mysterious way he placed his mind’s eye upon the tip and it rested there.

  He laid the arrow on the bow which he held in his fully extended left arm, locked straight and firm at the elbow. Tilting the bow to a vertical position he drew until his fingers at the string reached his cheek. With a slow and mighty effort he bent the bow still further until the tip of the arrow reached the bow itself and his fingers on the string were a hands span behind his head. He aimed high above the enemy and did not need to sight beyond a simple glance to confirm his direction was nearly straight.

  And then he let the mighty arrow fly. None could see it go, although those who watched saw clear enough the string spring back and the bow straighten.

  ‘He has fired sire,’ the keen-eyed steward said.

  ‘Has he hit anything?’ The King asked of any who might have seen the arrow land.

  No answer came.

  The arrow went high, way up into the air and reached its apex well beyond the lancers far below. Rema stood like a statue and concentrating deep within his mind saw an army appear below as the arrow bent back towards the earth. He was too far left for a gentle breeze had pushed his arrow a little off the course, and so with his mind he bent it back until in his sights from arrow tip to ground he saw the King, the one for whom he had sent it forth. He knew that it would land short for the distance was far greater than he had ever before sent an arrow; with all his might by mystery and power of mind he willed it on. It travelled like a blur, so fast that it was invisible to all, except one; Zelfos the sorcerer saw the merest flash as it closed upon the king. He had not time to speak but knew with a sudden realisation that the archer of the prophecy was one to be feared in the flesh, and not just in words.

  The arrow, now spent, suddenly appeared with a sharp crack as if by magic, standing in the ground a single pace before the king. It quivered once and then was still as a grim realisation dawned upon the mad ruler of the land. He jumped back in alarm as Leander swore in muted admiration.

  And then they heard the thunder.

  They felt it first but didn’t realise. The ground shook slightly as the first wave of sound reached them. All six thousand men who waited eagerly to lay waste to the small strange foe which challenged them, felt the approaching storm.

  Then suddenly the rumble turned to a great pounding roar and there before them, led swiftly by a small slight woman on a beautiful grey horse was the terrible sight of threescore horses so enormous and powerful that the battlefield shook with the falling of their mighty hooves. They swept out of the forest by the ruins of Fellonshead, and charged full and angry and unafraid towards the vast army which stretched across the plains before them. At their head, galloping effortlessly beside the woman on her smaller grey steed was a huge white stallion who seemed to glow pure dazzling white in the sunlight. All who watched froze in fear and amazement at the awesome spectacle, and then Leander leapt into action.

  ‘Lancers ready and archers will fire on my command.’ He had no time to be amazed as the king and Zelfos were, for he knew his job despite the incomprehensible force which rushed toward him.

  The command was relayed quickly to the Lancers who as one all raised their mighty spears to form an impenetrable wall of death. The archers in perfectly rehearsed unison let fly four quick volleys of arrows which went high up into the sky and then rained two thousand points of death upon the galloping horses which had almost closed upon their enemy.

  As the Equin approached the lancers’ spears Sylvion reined in her mount and cried loud,

  ‘Go well dear friends!’ and then she let them fly on without her as Thunder gave a mighty neigh which carried full and fearfully to those who waited in defence.

  The arrows hit their marks with sharp cracks and thuds all along the line of charging Equin, but as if by magic they remained but a short time within the flesh and were dislodged easily by the rapidly moving steeds and no lasting harm was done except for Sylvion’s mount Lightfoot which was hit twice, in the neck and rump and staggered round in an agony of pain. Sylvion was not harmed although Rema cursed loudly when he saw how far her foolhardiness had taken her. And she too suddenly realised that what she had done might yet cost the life of her beloved horse.

  The Equin reached the Lancers in a line, and there, as if they were as one all crouched upon their haunches without any loss of speed and leapt into the air. The Lancers had never prepared for such an attack, for such a charging mass of pure energy. They lifted their lances to meet the charge but the mighty Equin sailed clear above them and only one or two of all the thousand spears made any contact with these mighty beasts which landed amidst their enemy and crushed and maimed most fearf
ully all who were before them. And they did not halt but charged on, right through the waiting soldiers whose swords were no weapon against such as these. The sounds of mangled and dying men mixed with the thunderous hooves as they charged deeper into the ranks of an enemy who was now unsure of what action next to take.

  Whilst the bravest stood firm and hurled spears or struck out with swords, many soldiers ran in fear from such a terrifying foe. Arrows which found their mark were either quickly dislodged by the Equin’s magic protection or found a deadly mark in other soldiers unfortunate enough to be standing in the line of fire.

  Commander Leander gave orders in disbelief at what he saw, trying desperately to rally a force with which to oppose these steeds, but nothing could stand before the Equin of Wildwood, and the death they wrought that day was mighty indeed. Not a single horse was hurt in that thunderous charge except for Thunder who was confronted by one of Zelfos’ evil Shadow Hunters. This fell creature, released by the sorcerer’s command rushed eagerly into the fray and was immediately trampled by the huge stallion in a tangled mess of mighty flailing hooves and falling muscle. The Shadow Hunter was thrown violently to the ground and seemed grievously injured although it scoured huge and bloody welts clear round Thunder’s enourmous neck. But both creatures rose quickly to their feet and had no further contact for Thunder charged further on and the Shadow Hunter slunk off into the shadows of the tangled undergrowth below the Vaudim Mountain from whence it had surged forth.

  And then, having passed almost completely through the cowed ranks of the enemy, the mighty horses turned and by a different path, where the soldiers seemed to stand the thickest, the Equin galloped for home, wreaking more death and damage on their return. They never halted, but stayed together like a giant battering ram and cut a swathe of destruction through the tormented soldiers who now fled before them. All arrows and weapons seemed useless to deflect them from their purpose until by chance a single fate intervened.

  As they galloped back toward the safety of their lines, one man stood cursing angrily and in desperate frustration loosed an arrow in some final small defiance. It was Aaraghant, the First Underlourde, the one who in pride carried only silver arrows who fired, and this single shaft found its mark in Fleetfoot who galloped by Thunder’s side. The mighty steed felt the pain of flesh torn asunder as his great flank was pierced, and immediately knew that his strength had begun to ebb away. He struggled on and kept good pace with those about still bravely finding some to trample underfoot, but as they galloped back across open ground and finally into the refuge of the forest by Fellonshead which welcomed them, he fell to earth and did not move again for he was dead. And the great trail of blood which marked his passing was seen and understood by those through whom he had just passed.

  This amazing attack by such thunderously powerful creatures was so awful, that the whole army could not but look on as death worked so clearly in their midst. This great distraction meant that unknown to King Petros, or the Commander Leander and even the cunning Zelfos, another force had raced forth in attack as the Equin charged into battle. At the first sounds of the mighty thunder of their hooves, which distracted all who looked upon them, the highlanders led by Goodman Cantor and Reigin swept out from the forest on the northern flank and made speed toward the almost unprotected food supplies which sat in wagons to the rear of the army. By stealth they had ridden quietly around through the forest and were standing waiting as the Equin’s charge began.

  In quick time all threescore riders fell upon the wagons and slew those who stood there in great fear at their attack, for there was no great opposition to their rapid approach, so unexpected did it come. As the Equin cut deadly swathes through the main army, the highlanders wreaked destruction upon the food and water, so that by the time the main charge of the mighty horses was finished and they turned for home, no barrel of water was left unbroken, or sack of flour uncut and trampled in the earth.

  By chance Haflan, the Second Underlourde looked back toward the rear of the vast army and saw this action. He speedily brought his horseman to oppose it; with two score of his best men and the two Wolvers assigned to him they rode fast back through the ranks of soldiers who were all but mesmerised by the spectacle of the mighty Equin trampling all before them. The highlanders and Haflan’s men clashed in a mad and furious battle which saw many dead on each side within a short time. Reigin was their saviour for he took on the Wolvers and single handedly slew them both, such was his great skill and superiority with the sword. None around them could enter that fray for these descendants of the Edenwhood moved too quickly, but Reigin seemed able to dodge and cut and duck every blow and thrust. His quick mind found advantage in the ruined wagons and tumbled stores, throwing flour to blind and a rope to tangle, all in the blink of an eye. His sword struck twice and they fell. He felt a great pain within his heart at this for they were his kin and would have wished it differently. He did not escape without some cost for a wound upon his sword arm bled freely, but did not greatly hamper him.

  Goodman Cantor then lead his highlanders in a swift retreat and he slew three who came upon him; Clarynda the graceful fought mightily with the sword; she stood fearlessly in the centre of the battle and held her ground, her horse behind ready to carry her to safety. She wounded three and felled one man before riding to safety at Goodman’s call. But for all their bravery, many arrows found their mark and by the time the raiding party had regained the safety of the trees, ten of their number had fallen, and all their horses with them, but for one which galloped madly about, an arrow in its neck.

  Haflan did not give pursuit into the forest fearing that others waited, and so they escaped, bloodied, with many wounded, and grieving their losses; and yet they had succeeded in the task which Rema had set them. The enemy had no water, and the day was hot; the heat of battle, the thirst of the men and the needs of the wounded must now become a millstone around the neck of the King.

  Sylvion was tending Lightfoot when the Equin returned. They cantered wearily into the forest from which they had charged less than two spans before.

  She left her wounded friend and rushed deeper into the trees to where the Equin had finally stopped to rest. She was immediately distressed by what she saw. The mighty horses were no longer standing tall and proud but were lying and writhing upon the ground. Only Thunder stood, but he too was in clear discomfort. She raced to his heaving side and placed a hand upon him. She felt a great heat as though he were burning with a fever, and she knew then that the magic which bound them had begun its work.

  The Equin were dying.

  They had left the forest and broken faith with the law which allowed them to live.

  ‘I am sorry Thunder, I am so very sorry.’ It was all she could say and it was not enough. Nothing that could be said with words was enough at that moment. Thunder hardly seemed to know her presence but as she stood and rubbed his burning flank the Equin seemed to recover a little, as though once more within the forest, the magic spell which sought to destroy them worked more slowly.

  Out on the plains the Edenwhood still stood like statues and waited. Rema stood with them and they looked with awe upon the damaged enemy which in the shadow of the Vaudim mountain seemed to writhe and move like a beast struck by a venomous snake. Many dead could be seen upon the ground and far more in number who were wounded called and cried out in agony. The Lancers had laid down their spears and were helping to tend the fallen. Far to the rear, where the swathe of destruction had finally ended, the King and his Commander and Zelfos stood quietly absorbing the terrible defeat which the Equin had visited upon them. Leander was the first to act and called for reports and gave orders to fill the lines and deal with the dead.

  A soldier came up and told them of the loss of their water and supplies; news which had an immediate impact upon the Commander, for he understood the peril this placed them in. Whilst the King and Zelfos argued about the possibility of further attack from the mighty horses, he immediately gave orders for a troo
p of soldiers to leave with whatever wagons were still useable and bring water back from the village of Alstun a dozen leagues to the south.

  Another soldier ran up bringing news that Aaraghant had slain one of the giant horses with a silver arrow.

  ‘That man cannot help but put himself forward!’ the King muttered. ‘He sees answers to every problem in a silver arrow.’

  Leander ignored his king and spoke directly to the soldier.

  ‘Tell Aaraghant to issue his silver arrows to the archers. If they attack again we cannot survive another charge unless we take some down. Tell him I will personally come and slay him if he disobeys this order.’

  ‘Surely Commander,’ said the king sarcastically,’ you do not believe that such a simple device could stop one such as we have just witnessed. No spear or iron arrow had any effect. Why should Aaraghant’s shafts be any different?’

  ‘If there is the smallest chance then we must use it.’ Leander spoke now with a deep fury in his voice for he had run out of patience with his king and his bald advisor. His men were dying and he had nothing to lose.

  ‘Go now soldier why do you linger!’ He yelled.

  A cold mood came over those who heard this for they suddenly realised the peril which faced them, and that their usually implacable and fearless commander was deadly serious in his threat to Aaraghant.

  The soldier gulped, saluted and hurried off, with a 'Yes sira!’ thrown back over his hastily departing shoulder, but he knew that Aaraghant would resist the command and in any case there were not more than a hundred such arrows in the whole army.

  In the end he was able to convince his Underlourde that Commander Leander was deadly serious and so the best archers were given three score of arrows but Aaraghant kept the rest for himself, to shoot at men not beast for that is how he preferred to use them.

  Sylvion watched as the Equin recovered some of their strength and were able to stand once more, all except three which could not rise. Thunder was unreachable and all the great creatures seemed now in a world apart. She stepped aside as Thunder suddenly neighed to his kin and led them to the drinking trough by the well in Fellonshead to drink. All did so as though they had not drunk for many days, and then without warning Thunder reared high and all the Equin responded in the same way.