Needle Ash Book 1: Knives of Darkness

by David V. Stewart

  Needle Ash

  A Tale of the Eternal Dream

  Book I: Knives of Darkness

  By David V. Stewart

  Illustrations by Brad Lynn

  ©2017 David Van Dyke Stewart, all rights reserved. This work may not be reprinted, in whole or in part, for profit or not, without prior express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed herein are fictitious; any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by David Van Dyke Stewart

  Cover Photography by Alex Mina and Nejron Photography

  Illustrations by Brad Lynn

  Map by David V. Stewart

  Contents

  Author’s Notes

  Chapter 1: On the Battlefield

  Chapter 2: The Means of Victory

  Chapter 3: Strange Company

  Chapter 4: Turns

  Chapter 5: Ferralla

  Chapter 6: The Queen and the King

  Chapter 7: Knives of Darkness

  About the Author

  Author’s Notes

  If you enjoy this book, you can get the next in the series for free by joining my mailing list at http://eepurl.com/dfsQqH or at http://dvspress.com/needle-ash-list/

  Needle Ash is a new story that I’ve written in a universe that is not new. I published another book called The Water of Awakening that is set in the same world, but in a different geographic location with a different protagonist (However, there are several characters that make appearances in both stories, though you won’t meet them in this volume). While Needle Ash is technically a sequel to Water of Awakening¸ reading that previous book is not at all required to understand this story, though you may find value in it, for it provides a great amount of exploration into the nature of the world and the magic within it.

  Within this volume (and the subsequent ones) you will find art plates by Brad Lynn. One of the things I will point out is the accuracy of the arms and armor he depicts, which is one of the reasons I wanted to work with him (I actually found him through a HEMA group, a mutual interest of ours). You can find more of his work at https://www.facebook.com/BradLynnDrawings/

  Needle Ash

  Book I: Knives of Darkness

  Chapter 1: On the Battlefield

  The sweets of life are enjoyed seldom and by few;

  But the bitterness of death is tasted by all, and

  There you find bitterness is another relative thing

  Among many other relative, mutable things

  That make a mundane world you call immutable

  But for the honorable, there is no death;

  Only a return to the dream.

  Dreams to a living man are like gazing through a clouded mirror, whereas the dreams of death are like crystal water

  Only beyond the hazy veil of the mundane, the old dreams, shall we meet face to face and see each other as we truly are.

  -The Apocrypha of Verbus, fourth proclamation.

  This is a bad day to give to battle, Michael thought. He walked through the muddy tracks of the forward camp, grumbling as he felt mud slip between his sabatons and his boots. Water was dripping through a gap in his open visor, running along his nose into his beard, making his helm seem stifling even in the cold rain. He flexed his hands, willing the nerves that fought against death before each battle to obey his mind. As he ambled through the wagons and tents, he saw Angelico, his favorite lieutenant, huddling under a makeshift canvas tent held up by barrels of unopened brandy, a piece reserved for a celebration, the occurrence of which seemed to Michael to be less likely with each passing day and each stalemated skirmish with the Ferrallese army.

  “Ho, highness,” Angelico said from where he sat, bowing his head and thumping his bare fist to his breastplate. “I would stand to salute you, sir, but I’m afraid without my squire to assist in the effort I would knock over this lovely shelter.”

  Michael chuckled and stopped. “We wouldn’t want that. We’d risk spilling the king’s vittles.”

  “No need to upset the old man so far from the comforts of home. I’ll stay seated.” Angelico picked up a bowl of steamy stew sitting on a nearby barrel. He tore something up and dropped it in, and then shoveled some of the grey, thick food into his mouth. “As for my own comforts, I am thankful. The pallet be a fickle thing, sir.”

  "Certainly for a man from the wine country. By the end of this campaign, I think those dried peppers will be worth their weight in gold."

  “They already are to me,” Angelico said. “But I have some saved for you, in the eventuality that the stocks reserved for the royal family begin to dwindle.” He took a sip and nodded. “Where are you heading already suited up?”

  “Officers’ meeting. We’ll be going over the battle plans.”

  “Already? Are they that close?”

  “Just on the other side of the foothills, our scouts report.”

  “I’m not invited to this meeting?”

  “Top brass only, I’m afraid,” Michael said. “I expect you’ll be serving with me again, waiting for the inevitable call to guard the retreat after we stalemate.”

  “Don’t let your father hear you talking like that.”

  “I won’t. Don’t worry. Believe me, there’s nothing I’d rather do than take our cavalry into a real assault…” Michael shrugged. “I am not the commander.”

  “Good luck to us, and hold your tongue, my lord,” Angelico said.

  “I will, my friend. When your squire overcomes his laziness, make sure your company knows that the battle is likely to be fought today. I want inspections done before we have to give the order to move, understand?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “And make sure they eat hearty. And make sure the priests give them the goddess's blessing if they desire.”

  Angelico slammed his fist to his chest again as Michael walked on. The dreary rain seemed to have dampened most spirits much more than Angelico’s, but the prince, upon news of the battle council, had felt the churning anxiety of war in his stomach; the lurching and dread, and even excitement, left little room for feeling melancholy.

  He arrived at the command tent at the same time as his brother Johan, who wore a cloak over his armor and head. He gave him a frowning nod as they paused in front of the flap.

  “How is your legion?” Johan said in his calm, even voice.

  Michael thumped his chest in salute. “Ready and willing. This is a battle council, correct? Why no lower officers?”

  “The king has his reasons, I suspect.”

  “Which he will not voice to us.”

  “Be patient and more thoughtful. Such is the prerogative of his position.”

  “After you,” Michael said, lifting the flap of the tent. As he followed his brother in, he removed his helm and shook the water off of it.

  Inside, their father, King Eduardo the Black, was leaning over a large table with a newly drawn map. His hair, long since yielded from black to mottled grey, hung damp on his gilded and embossed armor. Behind him stood the wide-girth of General Butler Dolanari, the battlefield commander, and Towler, the high mage of the first army.

  “The princes are here, your highness,” said Towler. An elfish blonde man from the north of indeterminable age, he leaned on his staff as if crippled, his blue eyes trembling as he took in the princes. Michael shuddered slightly under the gaze.

  “Good. Good,” said the King, his eyes still gazing over the lines of the map. Michael stepped nearer and saw that it depicted in detail the elevated expanse to the west of their camp, where they expected to meet the forces of Ferralla in the first open battle in months. T
here was a tension in the room, acrid in the silence filled only with the sound of rain softly falling on the tent. Butler, a sweaty man in the normal heat of Artalland, seemed to be dripping like a cold pot. Michael wiped his own wet brow.

  Everyone in the tent knew, succeed or fail, this battle would be the end of the campaign. Supplies were lower than spirits, and already the army had been out in the field longer than was standard. They could return home as heroes, forcing an armistice or at least a regrouping of the enemy, or they would all be scrambling against an invasion in earnest. Conquest, the intent of the original campaign, had been all but given up on.

  At last, the king spoke. "General Butler and I have devised a battle plan. This has been well-considered for some time. Even the location of this camp." The king cast a dark eye backward to the general.

  The general cleared his throat, wiping sweat from his large pate as he did so. He produced from a small box on the table a series of wooden blocks, colored to indicate the various companies. He placed them on the map carefully as he spoke.

  “The battle plain we have selected is beyond the hills to our west,” he said in his characteristic gravelly drawl. “It gives us some distinct advantages.” He approached the war table and pointed to some shallow topography lines. “We’ll have the high ground here and here, useful for both observation by command and as a bulwark should the tide turn against us.”

  “What about those other hills?” Michael said, pointing to a series of hills further west. “Seems like that would give Ballaco and his army some of the same advantages.”

  “Listen to the entire plan before asking foolish questions, Michael,” the king said darkly, lifting his chin as if to look down on his son, who was taller than he.

  Michael bowed his head and touched his fist to his chest as he stepped backward, hoping his father did not see him blush.

  Butler cleared his throat again. “Yes, as I was saying. We have decided on this battlefield. Ballaco will give battle to us here because he sees the same advantages as the prince. It’s a good neutral battle plain. Or so he will think. He will also see our encampment as being dangerously close to the field proper, and press aggressively to force a route in the middle.”

  “Which we will give him, I’m sure,” the king said.

  Butler nodded. “We’re banking on him disregarding this ravine to the north here, as it will be impassable for cavalry moving in wider formations than pairs. We plan on putting two companies of infantry into play there, along with one cavalry platoon and a detachment of dragoons. In these riparian woods they won’t be seen by the casual lookout, and Ballaco will expect our flanking maneuvers to come from our light and heavy cavalry, not infantry.”

  Michael wanted to speak up, to counter-indicate the general. Flanking with infantry, especially that far afield, was a tactic doomed to fail. The Ferralla legions would form a shield wall on their flank before two companies of infantry could mount the hills and cover the distance to the battle plain. Even before he could open his mouth to speak, he noticed his brother gazing at him with a look that approached contempt, and so Michael remained silent.

  As if also sensing this tension, Butler chuckled and pointed to a further point west on the map. “The goal of this other pair of companies is not to flank the enemy directly, but to engage their reserves, which I expect to be stationed here, with their own forward camp further west by this creek, here. With the reserves occupied, there will be no reinforcement of their forward push.

  "Our plan, thus, is this: We will engage in a standard set of tactics after the standard failure of entreatment. Our cavalry, which is superior in number and in strength, ought to be able to intercept theirs and have room to harry the flanks of their forward infantry, as well as press on their archer companies once the fighting begins. Their mage corps will likely be operating as one unit, thinking to counter our own, which they have been successful with so far, though they shall not be this time.”

  “You have other plans?” Towler said in his deep and thin, almost brittle voice.

  Butler nodded. “Mages will be dispersed into the companies, with priority given to cavalry, of course. In that position they cannot be counterspelled efficiently, and will be a destructive asset to those companies. That will leave the rest of our men more open to their mages, but we can endure it, and they will suffer greater losses spread across the lines. Michael will be in charge of the northern cavalry companies. Johan, you will take charge of your legion as well as the southern cavalry company normally attached to the second legion, due to the practical limitation of commanding across the battlefield. ”

  “What about the rest of my legion?” Michael said. “I’m just to command the cavalry?”

  “Your infantry and archer company will be in the critical position of reserve,” Butler said. “Which I was about to say.”

  “Critical position?” Michael said, raising his voice. He stepped forward, feeling sweat burst anew on his face. “How is waiting for the battle to go sour a critical position?”

  “Silence,” King Eduardo said firmly, holding up his hand to Michael

  For a moment, Michael was silent, but it only gave him time to feel his anger more thoroughly. “We’ve always had our own reserves for each legion, father. Why do my men have to stand on the sidelines? They will be ashamed to wait out the last battle.”

  “Isn’t it enough that you aren’t sitting it out?” Eduardo said, straightening up. “Your quest for glory is in no danger, leading your cavalry.”

  “This isn’t about glory!”

  “Silence!” Eduardo’s face grew taught. “Or I will relieve you and hire a new high captain. He may be of lesser blood but brighter mind, and thus more worthy of my grace.”

  Michael wanted nothing more at that moment than to shout down at his father, make plain his favoritism and foolishness, but the threat contained him. He was not the crown prince. He needed to have a military command to have a future in the court, and his father knew it. A sickening feeling in his stomach told Michael his father would likely always lord it over him.

  “Forgive me,” Michael said.

  “Forgiveness is earned through diligence and penance,” the king replied, his eyes turning back to the map. “May the gods speak true.”

  Butler cleared his throat again. “Yes. Well, our light cavalry will perform its normal role, engaging weak points and withdrawing, as well as disrupting the enemy charges. Heavy cavalry will wait for my command to hit the infantry lines. Michael, your dragoons will need to be working their way across the northern lines, which will inevitably form in response to our cavalry. This will stretch out the greater part of their fighting force.”

  "Our primary goal is to stretch out their infantry, making it harder to contain our mages. Johan, make sure you lieutenants know that they may fold their lines backward. A slow retreat East is what we wish to create, keeping as many of our men on their feet and healthy as possible. As our lines fold back, I expect Ballaco, or his officers, to push for the route.” Butler pushed a few thin blocks of wood forward, and Michael could see his intent. The enemy legion’s infantry, rather than maintaining the great blocks necessary to hold a shield wall, would essentially have formed a large hollow ring surrounding the Artalland army.

  “Your reserves, Michael, will relieve the first legion’s front lines and prevent the route. Once they stall out, we will use our archers to attack the middle of the field. A few good volleys, and then I will lead the king’s elite heavy cavalry, supplemented by heavy horse from each of your legions, to punch through the lines here. We’ll push west and crush their reinforcements and put the whole west end of the field into a route, which the light cavalry will then ride down. After that it’s just a matter of cleanup, taking prisoners, and accepting Ballaco’s sword.”

  “You are sure it will work like this?” Johan said.

  Butler nodded. “I’ve spent the last few months getting to know Ballaco the way only a general can know a fellow warrior. He’s as
thirsty for a victory as we are. The morale of his army is likely as bad as our own. He wants a route in the front lines, to give his men the courage to push for victory. He will not think twice about pressing an advantage he thinks we have overlooked.”

  “What of our own morale?” Johan said.

  “Discipline will act in place of confidence,” the king said. “As long as each of you has maintained it in your men.”

  “We have, sir,” Michael and Johan said together.

  *

  Michael paused beside the eternally grim-faced Gadero, his sergeant major, on the hill and looked out over the battle plain. Calot, as he called his destrier, was anxious and padded the ground beside Gadero’s lighter horse, which was placid, almost sad. The rain was lighter now, a mere sprinkle, and though the sky was leaden he could see clearly the main infantries of the Artallan and Ferrallese armies as they played their lines in the mud. He watched a shield wall fold in the Ferralla line, watched as Johan’s infantry pushed into the gap, only to fall back as they were surrounded by the rear lines.

  The battle, oddly, was going too well for his side. The Ferrallese were not pushing hard enough, and though their infantry had proved subtly superior in previous engagements, it was not advancing as planned, but instead pulling a series of formation maneuvers that left the center of the field empty but made their shield wall stronger against the light cavalry and dragoons that harried the north and south sides of the field. The Ferrallese cavalry had proved inadequate, and Michael’s knights had found little sport in the chase of the Ferrallese knights back to the archery lines.

  The best Michael could guess was that General Ballaco, favored commander of Queen Alanrae (who Michael recalled was rumored to be a mage), was betting heavily on his mage corps, formed of a small line of mounted units in light armor, to do the work their light cavalry could not. There were some ten staffmen that Michael could see through his spyglass, more than half of them possessing the light frames and height of women. Ten was a serious force, even if most of them seemed by display of skill to be novices rather than adepts. The unit of mages moved about between the infantry formations, attempting to lob fire, upend the earth, or otherwise confuse and disorient the Artallan infantry. It was working, but not well enough to push the Ferrallese army into a solid advance as Butler had predicted. Somehow, watching them work made Michael uneasy, giving him a feeling that he was forgetting something important.