Dawn of the Valiant (The Valerious Chronicles: Book One)

by Julian Saheed

Guthrum de Lamina unhooked the last latch from his breastplate and let it fall with a loud clang to the floor of his house. He stretched out his muscles and dropped heavily into his favourite chair. The weight of his rank was wearing him thin. For so many years he had served his country, watching friends and family fall in what seemed a never ending struggle. And now that war was once more imminent, further turmoil and death loomed on the horizon.

  The General rubbed his aching eyes and poured himself a glass of his favourite spirit. He sipped at it but found that his mind was too troubled to fully enjoy the exotic taste this bottle had to offer. Guard Marshal Coppercloud had been left in charge of the watch and, though he hated to leave the city's defence to that arrogant fool, he could not carry on much longer without a solid night's rest.

  The last few days had been spent finishing the defences at Lake Moonsong. Guthrum had overseen the construction of a thick stone wall at the base of the skeletal bridge that would hopefully delay large siege weapons from being brought within range of the city wall. His soldiers had then erected a wooden barricade at the base of the lake that spanned its entire length. Arrow slots were cut into this for the city's bowman. It wasn't a formidable defence, but Guthrum was satisfied that it would serve its purpose. The city's troops would need enough time to reach the wall before the enemy forces could.

  In the room behind him he could hear the soft breathing of his wife, Nallia. He had tried everything in his power to get her out of the city, but she was just as stubborn as he was. Taking another sip of his drink, Guthrum began to tap his fingers against the finely carved arm of his chair. It was a habit that he had developed which helped to calmed his mind. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and for a moment tried to forget about the city's defence.

  Slowly the General began to drift into sleep, his hand falling from the chair arm. He was only roused out of his sleep when he noticed that he could still hear the rhythmic tapping that his fingers had been making. He looked down and, when he saw that his hands were lying in his lap, stood up. The noise was getting louder. Listening carefully, he realised it was coming from outside. He walked to the front door and opened it. Poking his head outside, he saw several other men standing in their doorways heads turned to the east. The noise was coming from Lake Moonsong. He turned his ear to make out the noise, then came to realize what he was hearing. It was the rhythmic beating of drums.

  A loud horn blew two shrill notes into the night.

  The colour drained from Guthrum's face and several of the men in the street dropped the cups that they had been holding. They had all known that this day would come, yet they had held some small hope that it wouldn't.

  Moments later the horn sounded again, this time even louder. The world began to spin around Guthrum. This was it. The horn of Precedin sounded for one thing only; an attack on the city.

  The General ran back into his house to find his wife standing in the room. "Did I just hear the call to arms?" she asked, white with worry.

  Guthrum could only nod. He ran over to his breastplate and picked it up. Nallia watched as he rushed around the room and whispered, "I need to go to the surgeons, they will need my help."

  Guthrum nodded once more and moved to embrace his wife in a tight and meaningful hug. There was no need to say what was on their minds.

  As she left the room, Guthrum ran into his bedroom and opened a large wooden cabinet. From it he pulled the rest of his armour. A suit of mail, dyed gold to match his breastplate, with ornate bracers and greaves to cover his arms and thighs. Finally he reached for his helmet, designed to resemble a swooping raven which left his face visible. He then moved to a chest and found the red scabbard that held his family's sword. The hilt was encrusted with rubies and was fashioned with a pommel in the shape of spread ravens wings.

  Grabbing his black cloak, he stormed out of the house, finding the city in chaos. The soldiers that had been out were running back to their quarters to gather their equipment. Those who were ready to fight were tackling their way through the crowd, trying to reach the wall. He moved as quickly as possible down the packed streets and could see that the hundreds of men climbing the stairs to the top of the eastern wall wore looks of horror.

  Guthrum reached the wall and looked back to the city. His soldiers were swarming from their homes. Slowly, with a discipline inherent to their training, the city's forces were organizing themselves.

  He climbed the narrow stairs to the top of the wall and then began to look for Guard Marshal Coppercloud. He spotted the Marshal leaning against the battlements head turned towards the Lake. Guthrum moved over to him, noticing that the Marshal had his hand on the hilt of his sword. He had never seen the Marshal use that sword and was confident that when the battle began in earnest he would not be of much help.

  The Marshal jumped when Guthrum's hand clasped his shoulder. "Oh, General, thank the gods," he breathed.

  Guthrum did not reply. He stepped up against the barricade that rose up to his chest and peered into the distance. What he saw shattered all hope that he had held of keeping his city safe. On the far shore of Lake Moonsong stood the army of Dargon, gathered together from all corners of the cold nation. Now united under the banner of Zephra Hermagoras. The pale skinned cousins of Feldom had finally come to take the City of War.

  The common infantry that stood at the front wore a mix of dark black leather and hardened hide. All wore helms, cast in menacing expressions. Behind them stood the elites, each unit of five hundred men trained for a unique purpose. Despite the dull moonlight, the General saw the glint of light on sharpened axes, swords and spears. Heavily armoured men, covered in plated steel stood besides the shock infantry who wore dyed black chain byrnies.

  Looking down upon the army standing in strict ranks sapped the spirit of every man on the wall. The horizon was awash with enemies and, amongst the standing soldiers, drummers were beating their slow, dreadful song, filling the night air with a rhythmic tune.

  Guthrum turned to the Marshal and was speechless.

  After a few seconds Coppercloud asked, "What are your orders, General?"

  The General kept his eyes on the Marshal without blinking and asked, "How many men do we have by the lake?"

  "Three hundred, maybe twenty more. They are mainly militia archers."

  Guthrum looked back out at the Dargonian army. In the far distance more soldiers came into view. Cavalry formed up on the back of the army in the hundreds, soon the army would number close to twenty thousand, and yet he knew that it was still not the entire might of Dargon. This would not be the only attack on Feldonian ground. Other cities to the north and south would soon feel the force of Zephra's strike. To the right he spotted carriages moving towards the bridge. "Ladders," he muttered.

  Guard Marshal Coppercloud cast his gaze out and saw the carriages holding the ladders that would soon carry the first lines of troops up and into the fray as they struck the high eastern wall. He turned and counted how many men stood on the wall. Close to two thousand were already assembled and another three thousand would be ready soon. Yet too many of his men were militia. Even with the strength of Precedin's mighty wall, what could they do against twenty thousand battle hardened Dargonians? It would be near impossible to hold out forever.

  As if reading his mind, the General turned to Coppercloud and said, "How can it be that there are so many? I did not think that we would ever face an army so vast!"

  The Marshal shook his head. "Never would I have thought it possible for Zephra to amass such a force."

  "Had we known, we would have done more. We would have summoned more men," added the General in despair.

  "At least I see no siege engines," commented the Marshal.

  "They will come," returned the General with a resigned nod. "They cannot expect to take the city without breaching this wall."

  Several shouts came from the soldiers and the General looked out to see what was stirring his men. From the midst of the Dargonian ranks came boats. Square
in shape, they would carry close to fifty soldiers each, and had high sides and fronts to provide cover.

  "Should I call back the militia from the lake?" asked the Marshal.

  "No," replied the General. "Send the bowmen from Dunhelm to the fortifications at the base of the water. Order them to target the boats as they cross the lake. They are to pull back into the city before the Dargonians reach our shores."

  The Marshal saluted and turned to carry out his orders. Guthrum peered down to the base of the lake and spotted some of the militia archers setting up at the wooden barricade. With the bridge over the lake, they would serve little but to delay the Dargonians for a time. Yet once the enemy had taken the fishing village the true battle would begin. They had to hold them at the wall. If the fighting entered the streets of Precedin there would be no way to conduct a strategic defence. Not even the city's own soldiers would be able to navigate the labyrinth of streets in the midst of battle. There was only one chance to outlast this battle, and that was to ensure that the enemy did not breach the wall.

  Guthrum pushed away from the ramparts and ran north looking for a soldier of rank. He found a man he recognised, wearing a blue cape that signified his rank as Sergeant. "Sergeant Hanlit," called Guthrum.

  The Sergeant turned quickly and standing upright said, "Yes General."

  "I'm putting you in charge of the gate," said the General. "I want you to close it once the crossbowmen from Dunhelm pass through. It is to only open once more after that, and that is to let those soldiers back into the city. After that you will guard that gate with your life and if the enemy manages to get through it I will personally find you in the Third Plane."

  Hanlit saluted and moved to climb down the wall. The men near the General stood awkwardly next to him, fear etched into their expressions.

  "What are you all doing?" he roared at the top of his voice, catching the attention of the men close by. "I want every bow and arrow in this city brought up here in the next hour. You will all take positions and stand ready. If I don't see every one of you at the wall with some form of weapon you will be sent into the fishing village to join the men at the lake."

  The soldiers instantly moved, now more afraid of the General than the opposing army. Half of the soldiers ran back to the city to retrieve weapons whilst those remaining took up positions along the battlements.

  A soldier wearing a red cape ran up to the General and saluted. "What is it, Commander?" asked the General.

  "The ballistae have been hoisted to the wall, Sir."

  "Good," replied the General. "Set them up at regular intervals." The Commander saluted and was about to walk off when the General clasped him on the shoulder. "One more thing. When you are done, I want you to move along this wall and make sure that there is an officer within earshot of every soldier. These men are going to need encouragement in the next few hours. Do you understand me?"

  The Commander nodded and moved off to help unpack the ballistae.

  Guthrum let out a long breath. This was going to be his hardest test yet, and he wasn't about to make it easy for Zephra. Of the men under his command, over two thousand were untrained militia who would need the support of the officers to keep them fighting. He had enough trained officers in the city, yet he knew that too many of them were incompetent in the heat of battle. He could rely on his captains and sergeants who had gained their ranks through deed, but the counsel officers, such as the marshals and commanders, were all spoilt nobles that had achieved their positions through political power. Such was the army of Feldom.

  The General sighed. Was there hope? He had to believe. Then for a moment Guthrum silently wished that Errollan was here to help him.

  Catching himself, he quickly turned and began shouting orders.