by Brian Murray
The idea to water the south-facing side of the ditch was Urkin’s. He had explained that the water would freeze overnight and be a slippery iced surface by morning. Dax liked the idea and ordered the men to water the ditch. The duty was cold and thankless, but the men who completed the task received double rations of hot stew when they finished and a tipple of liquor “for medicinal purposes” to keep out the cold.
The fighting square could not retreat due to the wall of fire nor could they progress due to the iced ditch. From the wall, Urkin gave another order. Because they had destroyed the wagon in the fire, there was no longer a threat to the gate. But the enemy had to be defeated. The gates had been opened and the mighty axe-wielders streamed through led by Dax and Thade. The long spears pushed out from the sides of the square skewered the first axe-wielders. That did not stop the formidable Rhaurns. They slapped the spears aside and smashed their axes into the shield walls. With the fighting square stationary, the Rafftons locked their shields and pushed down against the ground for extra leverage. But with the longer-reaching axes, the soldiers could not use their short stabbing swords effectively. The axe-wielders smashed into the outer ranks of the fighting square. Swiftly, they breached the outer shield wall. Brutal and bloody fighting followed.
***
Zane’s charge reached the Rafftons at the northern end of the pass. With lances level, his heavy cavalry ripped through the foot soldiers before they knew what had hit them. Gory carnage swiftly followed. The horsemen carved their way through the Rafftons’ ranks, hacking and slicing at the soldiers who scattered in their path. The enemy started to panic.
The Rafftons were caught between the Rhaurien cavalrymen and a wall of fire. Many soldiers turned to fight, but the cavalry charge was murderously too swift. More and more Rafftons fell under the horses’ hooves to be subsequently crushed to death.
Zane had lost his lance when he bayoneted two men, causing the long pole to snap. Now he chopped and hacked with his sword. His horse was cut from under the king and he just managed to jump clear. On his feet, Zane drew his second sword and attacked the enemy. He blocked a blow to his head, ducked, and stabbed his adversary in the groin. He turned quickly to stop another thrust to his belly. Slashing backhanded, he smashed the Raffton’s nose guard, crushing the man’s face. Around the king, a ring of horsemen swiftly gathered to protect him. A rider brought a spare horse for Zane. He sheathed one of his bloody swords and vaulted into the saddle. He looked around at the battle. The Rafftons were beginning to panic and racing to the north.
Zane waved his other sword in the air and the Rhaurn herald blasted two notes with his horn. This signalled the Rhaurn cavalrymen to make a space for the Rafftons to flee. Seeing the gap, the enemy soldiers poured through, most dropping their weapons and shields. They did not want to be mistaken for charging the horsemen and die. Some of the Rafftons fought on but it was futile as the Rhaurns had all the advantages. The bloodshed was appalling. The Rafftons knew they had been defeated and so streamed from the pass, heading north. When they were out of the pass, the light cavalry made sure the men did not regain their courage and rode amongst the men ensuring they kept moving north, away from their camp.
***
Fierce and frantic fighting filled the southern end of the pass. The Rafftons probably believed that their countrymen would come to their aid. They had no idea they were breaking and fleeing from the pass. The axe-wielders mercilessly continued to take the fight to their enemy. They had been told to give the Rafftons a bloody nose and they intended to do so. More axe-wielders joined in the battle as the Raffton fighting square collapsed.
Urkin remained on the wall and waited to see if extra men were needed. None were. One thousand axe-wielders battling in the pass were enough. Soon, the ground became slippery with blood and men on both sides lost their footing.
Then Dax saw him. The traitor.
He hacked a murderous path to him. He killed a Raffton, crushing his skull. Swiping his axe backhanded and using his spinning momentum, he hacked down another, burying his other axe into the man’s chest. Dax stepped forward, getting closer to his prey.
Thade defended his mentor’s back. The former gladiator used his two short swords, made by Platos from Kal-Pharina, with deadly efficiency. A Raffton attacked Thade. Coolly, Thade blocked a sword aimed for his neck with his left sword and sliced down backhanded with his right. The Raffton screamed, his bowels spilling from a gaping stomach wound below his ill-fitting breastplate. Thade blocked another arch hack aimed for his head. He crossed both of his swords and bent his knees slightly to cushion the chop. Steel clanged against steel. The Raffton stood close to Thade, who pushed up and drove his knee into the man’s groin. The Raffton loosened his grip on his sword and doubled over in pain. Thade, without mercy, stepped forward, reversed one of his swords, and stabbed the man through the neck, between his helm and body armour. He continued to follow Dax deep into the fray.
***
Conn desperately fought with his back to the fire. The flames started to die down, but his men still could not cross without being severely burnt. He had lost his helm, knocked off when an axeman smashed his weapon against it. Conn killed the wielder. His head bore a cut, but he had no other wounds. Then he heard a roar and through the fracas saw Dax, with Thade at his side, making his way effortlessly towards him, killing all who stood in his path.
The axe-wielders formed a protective shield around the two warriors who stalked towards the traitor. All around them, the axe-wielders started to unarm surrendering Rafftons. It became apparent to them that their comrades could not cross the blazing soil to come to their aid. They were alone and outmatched by the warriors and their awesome axes.
Dax reached the traitor, his axes dripping with blood. Conn raised his sword, but Dax hacked it out of the man’s hand with his axe. Dax stepped forward. Conn saw pure unadulterated hatred dancing in the man’s violet eyes while steam rose from the man’s sweaty body.
“Turn and run,” hissed Dax, his voice as cold as the icy wind.
Conn looked over his shoulder and saw the pass behind him was still ablaze.
“RUN!” roared Dax, raising his crimson-coated axes.
Conn spun on his heels and ran through the flames. They were no higher than his waist and Conn thought he could make it if he sprinted quickly enough. The ground was wet and heavy. His feet slipped and the burning mud bogged him down. His legs started to burn and his cloak caught alight. Without breaking stride, Conn unclasped his burning cloak that fluttered away behind him, quickly becoming engulfed in flames. He ran on. The hairs on his legs had singed and his armour started to heat up. He continued to run. His legs were in agony and each stride added to the pain, but he ran on. When his feet hit the ground, fire oil would splash up onto his legs and ignite. White blisters growing on his calves and thighs bubbled and burst, oozing liquid that instantly evaporated in the heat, leaving crystallised flakes. Conn could see the end of the blazing ground. I can make it, he thought. But his legs failed him. His left leg, brittle from burning, snapped just below his knee. He screamed. Conn fell face first into the blazing soil and his armour began to glow, his flesh began to sizzle. He tried to struggle on, but his body gave up and smouldered, his fat sizzling. His gurgling screams died along with the traitor.
Dax watched until the man fell, then turned back to see all of the surviving Rafftons on their knees with their heads bowed.
He walked back to the gates, his anger raging. Of all the people, they had put their trust in, Conn was one. Everyone had trusted him and this was how he treated his friends. Dax hawked and spat. “May your soul rot,” whispered the old warrior.
Thade strolled up next to Dax. “I cannot believe it,” he said, shaking his head. “Conn!”
“Neither can I,” replied Dax, his anger receding. “Neither can I.”
It started to snow.
***
Urkin ordered the Raffton prisoners to use their cloaks to beat out the flames as they
returned north. Once they had cleared a path through the fire, they were told to carry their dead and bury them in their own lands. The Rhaurien cavalrymen made sure they continued moving north.
Zane walked his horse across the scorched ground towards the wall. He passed through the gateway and made his way to the camp. Men cheered him as he passed. His escort of heavy cavalrymen cleared a path for him and his horse. At his tent, Zane saluted to his men in all directions and then dismounted. The men continued to cheer when Zane entered his warm tent.
“Not a bad plan,” said Dax when Zane entered his tent, his face blackened with soot and smoke.
“Aye, it was good, but the loss of life was high.”
“Like you said yourself, Zane, they needed to get a bloodied nose and I think you have definitely achieved that.”
“That’s true,” answered Zane, his mood melancholy. “Now help me out of his damn armour. And Thade, can you get us some food? I’m famished.”
One thing pleased Zane; the battle had ended very swiftly. If it had been a drawn-out affair, then he may have been caught out on the wrong side of the mountains with his men during the snow. But thankfully it was over. Yet the young king still had to face another war and this time the enemy was formidable. Much more formidable.
***
The scouts returned later that evening to report the Raffton army had dispersed. Zane had sent a company of heavy cavalrymen north to destroy the camp. By doing this, he hoped the army would not have time to reorganise themselves into any sort of order. His idea proved right. The destruction of the camp ensured the enemy marched on. The scout informed Zane and Dax that the Rafftons had obtained supplies but they did not stay, they continued to move north.
Dax thanked the men and told them to get some rest. That evening, scouts were continually sent through the pass and all of them reported that the enemy was not re-grouping but retreating.
During the night, the snow kept falling. In the early hours, the snowfall became heavier and heavier, settling gently within the valley and finally extinguishing the flames.
***
Zane woke just after dawn and pushed his foot from under his blanket. The icy temperature grabbed his foot and he pulled it back in quickly. He turned over and groaned.
“Morning!” bellowed Dax, entering Zane’s tent, grinning broadly. “It is too much of a lovely morning to be wasted in bed.”
“Leave me alone, Dax,” moaned Zane forlornly.
“Ah, our king speaks.” Zane heard Thade chuckling in the background. “Now, it’s time to rise.”
Zane pulled the blanket over his head and cursed.
“That is not the kind of language I expect from our liege,” scorned Dax, his voice full of mischievous humour. Dax walked over to Zane’s cot, lifted the blanket, and shoved in a handful of snow which he rubbed on Zane’s back. Zane jumped, screamed, and swore at the older warrior. He turned over and sat up. Mistake. Thade threw another snowball that hit Zane in his open mouth. Zane spluttered and wiped his mouth. A grin replaced his scornful expression, then he laughed.
“I’m up,” he announced, still grinning.
“Good. We have brought you some coffee, some bread and cheese.”
“Ah, a meal fit for a king,” replied Zane, rising and donning his clothes as quickly as possible. He moved too swiftly and tripped trying to put his foot into his leggings. Zane landed on a thick rug, rolled, and pulled on his leggings. His two friends roared with laughter at the king’s antics.
They sat around the table and Zane slowly broke his fast. “Been snowing,” he suddenly said.
“All night and it looks as if the pass may be blocked off. No major force can march through it until the thaw.”
“That’s good to hear. Is it still snowing?” said Zane, nodding.
“Aye,” replied Thade, sipping his goblet of tisane.
Zane finished his breakfast and was preparing to leave his tent, when he heard a ruckus outside. He lifted the flap to his tent. In a sea of white virginal snow, he saw the red-faced baron, beaming a smile, walking among the men shaking hands and patting backs.
“Well done,” he heard Baron Daviton say repeatedly.
“Baron Daviton!” roared Dax, raising his hand and beckoning the baron over to Zane’s tent. The baron made his way to the tent, continuing to shake hands and pat soldiers on the back—congratulating one and all. He arrived at the tent winded but still beaming a delightful smile. He bowed to his king.
“My congratulations your Highness on your victory,” he said, stepping forward and shaking his liege’s hand overenthusiastically.
“Thank you, baron,” replied Zane, his shoulder and head bobbing as the baron pumped his arm. The baron turned to Dax.
“Thank you, Dax, my friend.”
Then it was Thade’s turn for his arm to be pumped continuously. “Thank you too, Thade.”
“Come inside, baron,” said Zane, stepping to one side.
“Thank you,” replied the baron, stepping into Zane’s tent. Once inside, the baron shook off his cloak in a corner and faced the three companions, his face still beaming. He sighed theatrically.
“I did not believe it was possible to complete this mission as quickly as you have done, sire. I have heard you are a master on the battlefield and all the stories are true. I am here to ensure you will accept my gratitude and dine with me tonight. Your friends are of course invited as well. Mandeville would like to thank you for your assistance.”
“That’s most kind,” started Zane. He was about to say “but,” then looked at Dax who shook his head slightly. “And I will be happy to accept your gracious invitation. Shall we say at dusk?”
“Dusk it is.” The baron shook everyone’s hand again and exited the tent, leaving the three friends in shock.
“What was that?” asked Zane.
“That, my friend, is one very happy man. You have saved his outpost and tonight the whole town will turn out for you.”
“But we need to travel to Kal-Pharina.”
“We will have Urkin dismantle the camp and start the army marching south. You have a duty to see your countrymen. And they need to see you and hear you speak. You have won a great victory against Rafftonia and these people will carry your saga far and wide. Let them have their joy and tonight you WILL enjoy yourself.”
Zane heard Dax emphasise the word “will” and smiled at the older warrior. He was quite right and he did have to share his people’s joy. Then and only then would he think of the trials they would face.
“I need to go and see my men,” said Zane, his face stern.
Dax stepped in close to his young king. “You know I am right, so why the grim face?”
“I don’t like to see my injured,” answered Zane honestly, bowing his head.
“Then the two of us will go with you.”
As the three men stepped out of the tent a huge roar went up around the camp. Across the fresh white snow, more and more men emerged from their tents and started cheering. Zane punched the air, feeling the men’s delight, and screamed: “RHAURNS!”
The camp chorused. “ZANE!”
Zane, Dax, and Thade waded through the snow and visited all of the injured men during the morning. They were delayed as soldiers all wanted to congratulate their king. One of the first people he visited was the scout Jayson. The man’s wounds were healing well and he glowed when Zane sat on his bed, asking about his wellbeing. Dax stood beside Zane, while he spent several minutes talking with the scout. Jayson had not known until that moment that it was Zane who had led the charge that saved them. He thanked his king.
“Well you see, I know Dax and Thade, and when they go missing for an evening they’re usually in trouble and need my help.”
Jayson chuckled and winced as his stitches pulled. Zane left the man to rest and visited others who had actually taken part in the conflict. Zane ensured he knew every man’s name before he sat down next to him. That gave the soldiers an extra joy—their king knew them personall
y. When he reached the axe-wielders, Urkin joined the group. As they approached the injured axe-wielders, Urkin seemed to know exactly how each man was injured and what heroic act he had achieved. One injured man had stood over his fallen axe-brother. Another was injured helping a comrade who had fallen in the ditch. Throughout his visit, small pieces of heroism were told to Zane. His pride for his men grew. He sat next to and spoke to each man. No one complained about their injuries and all congratulated Zane on his victory. At noon, Zane returned to his tent with Dax, Thade, and Urkin.
Once inside, fresh tisane was served to the four men. When the men had settled, Dax turned to Zane and nodded. Zane stood opposite the huge, flat-faced warrior.
“Commander Urkin of the Axe-Wielders, it is my pleasure to promote you to First General of the Rhaurien army.”
Urkin choked and spluttered, sending his tisane spraying over Zane’s tunic. He looked up into Zane’s stormy-grey eyes to see if any jest was there. He saw none. “Sorry, I mean . . . Pardon me. . . I mean, sorry. . . What?” he whispered.
Zane looked at Dax, who just smiled and shook his head suppressing laughter.
“I would like you to be my First General,” added Zane, wiping the liquid from his tunic, but creating a stain.
“That’s what I thought you said.”
“Well?” asked Zane, suddenly feeling unsure the man would accept.
A smile slowly grew on Urkin’s scarred face and he bowed low on one knee and pledged, “My liege, I accept the promotion and hope I can live up to your expectations.”
“Rise General,” said Zane softly. Then Zane recognised the man. “Now I remember you. You were the commander who guarded Rayth’s Tavern back in Teldor.”
Both Thade and Dax stepped forward and congratulated the big warrior, who looked close to tears.
“Aye, that was I. We do not leave one of our own,” explained Urkin proudly.