by Emmet Moss
Bider frowned as he watched a small group of soldiers race furiously through the refugees. Even from such a distance, he could easily denote the telltale signs of men who had recently seen battle. Standards fluttered raggedly in the wind, blood stained the armour of the riders, and an obvious desperation lay in their attempts to push through the steady stream of travelers blocking their way.
“Why do they look behind?” Bider wondered aloud.
Plaintive cries, faint but relatively clear, drifted into hearing range. Concerned, Bider scanned to the west once more. It was now apparent that Garchester may not be as safe as Captain Silveron had first believed. Barely within view, he spied the beginnings of a skirmish between defenders of the city and another company of soldiers wearing scarlet and black, their banners displaying a snarling wolf-like beast. Within moments, panic ripped through the packed throng, and refugees scattered while the battle raged furiously close by.
Bider paused to count, as best he could, the numbers involved in the battle and sprinted off. He reached his tethered horse as the clanging tones of the city alarm bells rang out over the fields. Urging his mount into action, he crouched low over the steed’s mane. He knew the captain would want answers if the Fey’Derin were to respond in enough time to make a difference.
Speeding back in the direction of his company, it wasn’t long before Lady Farraine’s slow-moving wagon came into view. Ignoring the soldiers calling his name as he tore through the procession, Bider headed directly to his superior.
“The city is under attack, Sergeant!” he reported as he pulled up hard on the reins. Ethan Shade commanded the vanguard this morning, and his Eagle Runners were currently out on patrol. This mattered little to the flamboyant sergeant, turning confidently to the man at his side.
“Aton, alert the outriders. I want the Eagles assembled here quickly. Also, send word down the line and ask the Captain to come forward immediately. Understood?”
Nodding in reply, the mercenary raced off. Ethan addressed Bider. “Seems like Yarr might have a trick or two up his sleeve.”
“Not sure, but I know —”
“Save your breath, Bider,” Ethan interrupted, “No sense in you telling your story twice. Let’s wait for the Captain.”
“Aye, sir,” Bider replied.
Captain Silveron looked anything but pleased as his mount raced to the front of the column. The company had already halted their advance, and a flurry of activity now replaced the quiet calm of the morning. Soldiers equipped their armor and checked their supplies as the alarm bells from Garchester now reached their ears.
“Report, Coren,” Gavin commanded, the remaining officers also reigning in their mounts.
“A strong force has attacked what can only be the city’s rearguard on the east road. Duke Berry can’t have more than a few dozen men out there at the moment.”
“Numbers on the attackers? Hazards?” Ossric demanded.
“Could be a whole company,” Bider replied. “Over three hundred refugees in the vicinity, with little to no weaponry. They’re panicked and scared. I counted at least fifty to sixty attackers with one standard in the mix. I don’t recognize them.”
“What is this standard they carry?” Caolte asked as the officers continued to ready for battle.
“Black and scarlet tunic with either a wolf or coyote as their figurehead,” he answered.
“Bah! That’s no wolf, Captain that has to be a hyena!” Sergeant McConnal interjected. “And we all know what that means - Khali and his bloody Reavers.”
“Reavers?” Bider queried.
“Yes, Coren,” Gavin responded, “Not good news at all to hear of them, for they are no friends of ours.” A dark look glinted dangerously in Gavin’s eyes as he continued, “Sergeant Fearan you have command while I’m gone. If anything should happen to me, make sure the Lady Farraine arrives safely in the city. Duke Berry will know what to do with her. Ossric, Ethan and Caolte, you have one minute to rally as many soldiers in your squads as possible. We ride out immediately.”
As the officers turned to leave, Bider caught a short exchange out of the corner of his eye. The captain paused to grip Sergeant McConnal on the arm, giving the big man a stern look.
“We travel light, Ossric. We need speed, not power right now. You’ll get your chance to settle your score with Khali, but I need you to be in control. Understood?” he whispered sternly.
“If you insist.” Ossric grunted his reply.
Adjusting his leather armor as he turned to meet up with his fellow Eagle Runners, Bider considered the men he would soon face in battle. Khali’s Reavers were well known to those who had been following Captain Silveron for years. The feud between the two companies was quite interesting, but Bider knew he must deal with the matter at hand. Survive the battle before you, or you will become history, he chided himself.
Finished with his preparations, Bider rode out with Sergeant Shade and Orn Surefoot. They raced west with less than one hundred mercenaries. Surely it was enough men, the scout hoped, to turn the tide of the skirmish near Garchester.
Leaning low over his mount, Gavin was angry for underestimating the capabilities of his enemies. It was a rare mistake, but the gnawing guilt of the error hit him in the pit of his stomach. He remembered all too well the last time he had been overconfident. There were far too many gravestones belonging to his friends to easily forget.
Dispelling the painful memories, he caught the hard stare of his most senior officer; Caolte Burnaise knew exactly what he had been thinking. The veteran campaigner gauged the thoughts of others with an uncanny surety that bordered on the arcane. The only thing Caolte loved more than his wife, was battle; and into such a fray, the Fey’Derin now rode.
Giving his companion a confident nod and adding a shout of his own, Gavin bore down on his horse while surveying the men clustered tightly around him. They wore looks of grim determination, with eyes focused on the terrain ahead, and anxious to wield sword, axe, and bow. His gaze paused momentarily on any soldier with a nervous expression. With a simple glance and brave nod, he projected to each man his overall confidence. Gavin believed with certainty in the great value of each and every man.
With deadly speed, the lightly armoured Eagle Runners under Ethan Shade’s command engaged the enemy. Following closely behind and bracing himself for the first blow, Gavin drew his blade and wielded it with a tight grip. Even as it cut deeply into the side of a scarlet clad rider, he was quick to assess the tactical situation.
There were many soldiers, mainly on foot, circling the terrified refugees, shielding them as best they could. Duke Berry had reacted promptly to the incursion made by Khali’s Reavers. Yellow clad soldiers continued to pour forth from the city gates, defiant as they struggled through the mass of people desperately seeking the protection of the high city walls.
Blocking a slash from a nearby attacker, Gavin spun to his left and whirled his blade skillfully across the assailant’s unprotected throat. Turning away from the torrent of blood that followed, the Fey’Derin captain rode to the defense of three men who fought beside the fallen body of one of their own. Charging two enemies from behind, Gavin and two of Ossric’s Axemen broke through the ranks, giving one of them time enough to sling the fallen man over the side of his horse. Barking orders, he sent the wounded man towards the city, one of his comrades leading the escort.
The Fey’Derin pushed forward, connecting with what remained of the city’s rearguard. Exhausted soldiers fell into step behind a wall of Fey’Derin steel. Realizing that they would soon be overwhelmed, the scarlet and black clad attackers hurriedly formed deeper ranks. They fought on, and slowly began to give ground as their wounded were shuttled to the rear.
As fresh Fey’Derin continued to ride hard into the clash, Khali’s men turned and fled, their opportunity to inflict any more punishment on the refugees was now lost. Caolte and Ethan led the
Eagle Runners after them at pace, inflicting few casualties, but ensuring a full retreat.
Acknowledging his men with sword held high, Gavin raised his voice in a triumphant shout. A roar of approval erupted from the soldiers. Noticing the powerful Ossric at the edge of the field, Gavin dismounted and joined his officer.
“A good accounting of ourselves, Captain!” the big man clasped forearms with his commander.
“That it was. Khali won’t soon forget the blood debt we owe his men,” Gavin paused to wipe his long sword on the hem of a fallen Reaver’s cloak.
Ossric smiled through his thick, braided beard, “The lads and I will see that it is paid. They’re fortunate I got off my horse or I’d still be hounding them with Ethan and the Lieutenant right now.”
“In any case Sergeant, you have wounded to attend to,” Gavin commented. “And remember, I need your temperance in command on the field, not vengeance.”
“Aye, sir,” the sergeant mumbled his reply.
“I’m heading directly to the keep. I need to inform Duke Berry that his prize will be arriving soon. With the enemies encroaching, he’ll want to know that his bargaining stake is safe. Organize the men, and I’ll meet you at the gates as soon as I can,” Gavin said as he pulled himself back into the saddle.
“Should I inquire about our lodgings or assume we’re in the northern quarter as before?”
“Assemble at the gates and escort the lady to the keep if I haven’t returned.”
Ossric chuckled, “I’ve never had the privilege of being a noble’s escort before, Captain.”
Gavin waved to his sergeant, turned his mount, and rode towards the chaos clogging the roadway into Garchester.
Furnael Berry was one of the last remaining nobles of old blood in the south of Caledun. That he had attained the title of duke, honoring a tradition long abandoned by the present leaders of Kal Maran, was unexpected and made him something of a firebrand.
With the Shattering of Nations had come swift persecution against the conspirators involved in the assassination of the High King. Most of the nobility, once a generous complement of dukes, earls, viscounts, and barons, were stripped of their titles and simply disappeared.
In that terrible time of anarchy, not even the men who had orchestrated the king’s downfall wished to give the appearance that they meant to lord their power over the common man. The men of the north had eventually lapsed in their persecution, naming in the present-day many of their city leaders after the codes of the old nobility.
In the Protectorate, the alliance of southern city-states governing the resources of their rich countrysides, remained opposed to the dictates of a forgotten era; except, of course, for the erstwhile Berry family.
As Gavin made his way through the winding streets of Garchester, he noted the preparations the duke had taken in protecting the city. Soldiers wearing the soft yellow tunics of the House of Berry were numerous and alert. Large stacks of arrows could be seen leaning against almost every crenel along the outer wall, and the harsh clangs of the smiths surpassed even the raucous cries of hagglers and shop owners. Duke Berry had not been idle these past summer months.
Deeper into the city, he determined that the gates to the keep were well guarded. Sharp-eyed soldiers manned the walls and flanked the gateways. Ignoring the dangers within could also spell disaster. It would not be the first time a siege was averted if the reigning nobleman was to fall to an assassin’s blade. The leaders of Caledun, north and south alike, used whatever means necessary to increase their territory and wealth. Little trust existed between these men of power across the land.
The guardsmen were cordial as he gained entry to the audience chamber. The duke had obviously given word that Gavin was to be allowed entry immediately. Although based near the northern town of Briar, Gavin had spent enough summers down south to have garnered his company some amount of favoritism. He had fought for Duke Berry during the past two seasons, which meant that his infrequent visits were mostly tolerated by the house guards.
Gavin entered the long greeting hall with its beautiful tiled marble. Banners of old hung from the rafters, depicting the various Houses that had once proudly ruled over the region. Garchester had an illustrious and bloody history. Continuing with the reign of the Duke Berry, the city had seen its walls stormed six times, yet breached only twice.
Conscious of his ringing footfalls, Gavin entered the cavernous meeting room and recognized some of the men and women gathered near the large chairs from which the duke usually conducted his business. In the far corner of the room were two beautifully carved ebony thrones, their likeness once adorning every city within the land of Old Caledun.
The High King’s thrones were stunning to behold, immaculately carved, and possessing an exquisite ebony polish. Sadly, they were fewer in number than they had once been. Once again, following the breaking of the nations under the High King’s rule, many cities threw down the seats of their one-time leader, a final defiance to his rule. Others though, left them alone, worried about old wives tales that spoke of curses against those who would further defame the rightful king.
In any case, Gavin knew that few now waited for a rebirth in the kingship, few even cared. With only the mad King Serian Rhone of the Drayenmark a true descendant of the old line, there remained little hope for change.
“Captain Silveron! It is good to see you once more,” boomed a loud voice. “I owe you my thanks for your timely arrival.”
“There is no need, my lord,” Gavin replied with a short bow. “Your men had things under control, even as my company arrived. Khali incurred casualties that will delay the coming siege.”
“You know you are a tough man to please, my young Captain. One day I’ll get you to accept when I offer you my thanks,” Furnael Berry declared with a smile.
The duke had seen well over forty summers, but still looked a man half his age. His family line was long-lived and his thick mop of raven black hair showed not even a streak of grey. Furnael was tall and sturdy, his stature owing to the soldier he professed to be. Gavin respected Berry’s ability with the blade but it was his tactical genius that had garnered the boisterous nobleman much acclaim.
“So tell me, was Pier’s Brigade where I hoped it would be?” the duke inquired knowingly.
“Aye, my lord,” Gavin replied. “We attacked at night and slew as few as possible.”
“And the Lady Farraine?” The duke asked in a whisper.
“She is well. One of my officers will be arriving with your guest later today. She is unharmed, but extremely disagreeable,” Gavin reported.
“Hmmm, yes.” Furnael retorted. “That woman is a snake even on the best of days. I owe you a great deal, Captain.”
“The bounty price will be more than sufficient, my lord. And we have already agreed upon the fee for retaining the Fey’Derin’s services for the duration of the siege, have we not?” Gavin asked.
“Always the mercenary, right Silveron?” the duke commented. “Everything is ready, and the documents are awaiting your signature. They are in your quarters.”
“The same arrangements as before?”
“Of course.”
“And my men?” Gavin added.
As the question was asked, a squat man with only a few remaining wisps of white hair left on his head, touched the duke lightly on the arm. “If I may, my lord?” he asked.
“Of course, Gerant, of course.” Duke Berry smiled agreeably.
“They are to be billeted in the eastern quarter. There are new barracks there that should easily accommodate your soldiers. If they need any medical assistance, just send word to Captain Morase at the central gates.”
“Thank you, Chancellor Gerant.”
“You are most welcome, Captain Silveron,” the older functionary replied. Frowning, he continued, “I’ll remind the servants to set out a clean set of clothing for you, si
r.”
Gavin nodded politely in the man’s direction. “You are too kind, Chancellor, and it would be doubly appreciated.”
“Now, I’ll expect to see you at dinner,” Duke Berry stated. “There are a few men I want you to meet, including a few captains whose services I have managed to procure in the last few days. I’ll want your assessment at the war council later this evening.”
“Understood, my lord,” Gavin replied with another slight bow. As he left the hall, he gave a nod to a few officers waiting to see the nobleman. Three northern companies, in addition to his own, were already in attendance. It seems that friends in the south are becoming harder to find for the flamboyant Duke of Garchester, Gavin mused.
That evening, Gavin stifled a chuckle as he entered the keep’s council chamber. Duke Berry was rubbing at a bright red imprint that had recently appeared on his right cheek. It was apparent that the Lady Farraine had met with the resident Lord of Garchester. That the tall noble had been on the receiving end of another one of the woman’s tirades was no secret. More than a few of the hardened soldiers in the room had trouble focusing on anything other than the fresh mark while addressing him that day.
Duke Berry valiantly ignored the looks and concentrated on the collection of maps covering the immense wooden council table. As Gavin entered, the noble looked up and motioned him over with a wave of his hand.
“Captain Silveron, thank you for joining us,” he said as he gestured towards the two men at his side. “I would like you to meet Alvin Draven, captain of the Helmsmen and Duncan Sledge, captain of the Red Falconers.”
Gavin greeted both officers with a vigorous handshake. “Pleased to meet you, gentlemen.”
“Along with the Fey’Derin, and my house soldiers, we are currently the leaders of close to eight hundred men,” Furnael Berry commented.
