The enemy commander had decided on a simple tactic; he would drive his forces straight at the Mercerian line. In other circumstances, it could have been disastrous, but here, with such a numerical superiority, it was the logical thing to do.
The Norland soldiers advanced to within shouting distance and then halted. Axes and arrows were flung but most simply bounced off the Mercerian shields. Several Norlanders walked up and down in front of their lines, trying to taunt their opponents out into single combat. Gerald put an end to it by ordering a volley of arrows. The challengers retreated, and the two lines stood facing one another, waiting.
He observed his own forces; a solid line, unmoving, and then shifted his gaze to the enemy line. It was sloppy; their shields weren’t interlocked, and many were not even held up high enough. Clearly, their adversaries were ill-trained.
He turned his head to view the flanks and caught a glimpse of the baron returning to his position. Gerald noticed him wave his sword and gave the order they had arranged. Moments later, the first volley of arrows flew from the archers towards the enemy’s line.
A small number of their men, stricken by arrows, fell to the ground, while the survivors raised their shields in front of them to protect themselves from the barrage of missiles. There was even a man in the front rank with an arrow through the tip of his helmet. Gerald couldn’t help but laugh, the man was yelling orders, obviously unhurt, and yet the presence of the arrow made it appear ludicrous.
He rubbed his hands together, trying to warm them. His gloves were almost frozen solid, and he tapped them on his saddle to break the ice.
The enemy horse had withdrawn behind their foot soldiers. Now the two lines stood, literally staring at each other as arrows flew back and forth. There was only a small distance between them, but they dared not advance. They hadn’t the nerve, Gerald thought.
He heard the baron ride up to him. “They don’t appear to be taking the bait, my lord,” he said.
“Yes,” replied Fitz, “and our arrows don’t seem to be having much of an effect.”
Gerald watched the arrows fly. A stray shot went almost straight up. Perhaps the archer had been shot by an enemy arrow, but a thought suddenly crossed his mind. He turned to the baron, who was intensely watching the exchange, “My lord?”
The baron, startled out of his concentration, looked at his Sergeant-at-Arms, “What is it?”
“What would happen if we shot the arrows high?” he asked.
“What, rain down on them from above? They’d just put their shields over their heads. That wouldn’t get us very far.”
“What would you say is the distance between the two lines, Lord?”
Fitz stared at the Norland line for a moment, “Not more than twenty paces or so I would say.” He paused for a moment, “Do you think you can do it? The soldiers would have to be quick.”
“We’ll do it, Lord. The men are cold and hungry; they’ll want to close the range as quickly as possible.”
The baron turned his horse about, “Send the word. I’ll gather the knights to back you up. Start advancing when you judge the moment to be right.”
Gerald rode to the flanks to give the archers their orders. Timing would be everything, if he miscalculated, the tactic would fail and, quite possibly, spell doom for this small Mercerian army.
He returned to his position behind his men and took a breath, examining the line to his left and right. He drew forth his longsword and twirled the tip in the air as a signal. The archers on each flank commenced firing their arrows on a high trajectory to rain death down on the enemy’s heads. A small number struck home causing the enemy to move their shields into an overhead position. He let them concentrate on the incoming fire for a moment more, then gave the order.
Slowly the shield wall began to move forward, keeping its line intact. Now the months of training paid off as the troops advanced like a wave. Closer and closer they got as they decreased the distance between armies. He saw individual soldiers glancing their way. There was a shout of alarm, and some of the Norlanders started pointing in their direction. Gerald ordered the attackers into a trot, breaking the shield wall to allow them to move faster. The gap between the two lines was less than ten paces now; this would be the defining moment!
The torrent of arrows stopped for fear of hitting their own warriors, but the damage had been done. A handful of the Norlanders struggled to reposition their shields to oppose the oncoming Mercerian line, but it was too late.
The Bodden troops hit the enemy line with a giant thunderclap as shields and weapons struck for the first time; then combat erupted across the field like a vicious thunderstorm. One moment there were two lines, only feet apart; next, they were replaced by a giant maelstrom writhing across the field.
From his seat on his horse, Gerald witnessed men coming together in single combat, each using their weapon of choice. Some of them preferred the shorter blades for stabbing while others swung the longer Mercerian longswords. Each individual conflict was a separate scene within a much larger tableau. One of his men fell, an axe chopping off the top of his head while his attacker was taken down by a flurry of blows in retaliation. A brave Norlander somehow leaped over the line, propelled by an ally’s shield. The acrobat fell amongst the Mercerians, his bravery rewarded by being hacked to bits like a carcass at a butcher.
He urged his horse forward and almost fell from the saddle when the steed slipped on some entrails. He passed a soldier who was clutching his stomach as his life poured out of him. Enemy arrows whistled by his head causing him to instinctively duck, but one lodged in the shoulder of his cloak, barely missing his flesh. He dislodged it by chopping at it with his sword.
The struggle before him was one of pure chaos as if the very doors of the Underworld had been cast open. A group of Norlanders appeared directly in front of him, and suddenly his horse reared up unexpectedly. He struggled to control the beast, but the reins were ripped from his hands, landing him roughly on the ground, the air knocked out of his lungs. He turned his head to spot an axeman looming over him, giving him a mere moment to throw his shield up and block the impending death blow. The blade dug deep into his shield, and he rolled with the impact, pulling his attacker off balance. He jabbed with his sword, and the blade pierced the axe wielder’s armpit. His enemy howled in pain and then collapsed to the ground, unmoving.
Gerald rose to his feet, trying to absorb his surroundings. His horse was gone, likely run away while groups of Mercerians and Norlanders were locked in clashes all over the battlefield. He ran toward the closest such group and swung low, taking out an invader’s leg, using a short, efficient stab to finish the man off once he fell to the ground.
The din of the melee drowned out everything else. The two lines were intermingled into a mass of hacking and slashing. He wondered where Fitz was, but soon he was too busy even to think, and his training took over; a slice to the left, with a backhand swing to the right. He used his shield, not just to block, but as a weapon, its steel ringed edge dealing damage as he went. Warrior after warrior fell to his blade and then, just as he thought there was no end in sight, the crowd started to thin out. There was a momentary lapse in the fighting, and he took in great gasps of the frigid air. He was no longer feeling the chill in the air, but the blood from corpses around him still steamed in the snow.
They had routed the enemy; some of them dropping their weapons as they attempted to flee. The thunderous crashes of battle had died down, and he picked out the sound of horses nearby, thankful to know the knights were doing their work. He cast his eyes about to determine how he might best continue and through a gap in the crowd and recognized the enemy leader. The tall man was wearing a fur-lined cloak and silver mail, topped by a richly decorated helmet with a dragon motif. Surrounded by half a dozen men, he was swinging his warhammer, and Gerald watched, fascinated, as the head of the enemy army struck down a Bodden foot soldier, the hammer crushing the man’s helmet with ease.
The fighting arou
nd him began to renew as the Norlanders took inspiration from their leader. Pockets of resistance started to form, and suddenly the Mercerians were in danger of failing. The enemy commander must be stopped, he thought, action must be taken! He called out to the soldiers around him, and as he broke into a sprint, they took up the call and followed his mad dash.
His ragtag band of soldiers closed the distance to their target, but the enemy was busy, too intent on their immediate danger to see a new threat approaching.
Gerald studied the rhythmic swing of the great warhammer and checked his pace; he would have to time his attack perfectly to strike just after the enemy’s swing. He watched closely, waited for the hammer to arc over the man’s head and then rushed.
His timing was just right; as the hammer swung low, he stepped forward, leading with his shield. It struck the leader’s arm, pinning it against his body, forcing him back several steps, creating an opening for the Mercerians behind to charge into the enemy commander’s bodyguard. Now was the time for screaming, now was the time for madness to take over.
He drove the sword forward, penetrating his adversary’s mail; he could feel the grating as the armour scraped up the blade. A shield smashed into him from the right, and he felt the rim dig into his sword arm, knocking his weapon from his grasp. He grabbed his shield with both hands and pushed with all his might. The ground was wet with snow and blood, and when his opponent slipped, Gerald fell heavily onto him, trapping the warhammer between them.
Again and again, the Norlander struck with his shield in an effort to free his weapon. Gerald could feel the crushing weight of it with each blow. For the second time today, a thunderous sound flooded his ears, and then there were horses everywhere. He kept pushing down, pinning the enemy’s arm in place, willing himself to take the shield blows until his opponent tired.
Finally, the blows stopped but as he started to relax and take a breath another opponent loomed overhead, and he struck out with his fists.
Baron Fitzwilliam flinched as Gerald, covered in blood, turned on him. He stepped back, held up his arms and his sergeant stopped, staring in disbelief.
“It’s over, Gerald,” he said. “You’ve captured the enemy commander. The battle is over.”
“Lord?” he replied.
Fitz was elated, “We’ve won, Gerald. Against all odds, we won.”
“You said we’d win, Lord,” a confused Gerald said.
“I know I said that, but I didn’t actually believe it.”
Gerald regarded his baron in a new light. He had served Fitz for many years, had trusted him completely, had never doubted his ability. He was about to curse the man, but as he looked upon his mentor he saw the wide grin and couldn’t help himself, he started laughing; only Fitz could convince him to win a hopeless fight!
About the Author
PAUL Bennett emerged into this world in Maidstone, Kent, England at the beginning of the 60’s, then immigrated to Southwestern Ontario with his family six years later. In his teen years, Paul discovered military models, leading him to serve in the Canadian Armed Forces. Around the same time, he was introduced to role-playing games in the form of Dungeons & Dragons (D & D). What attracted him to this new hobby was the creativity it required; the need to create realms, worlds and adventures that pull the gamers into his stories.
In his 30’s, Paul started to dabble in creating his own role-playing system, using the Peninsular War in Portugal as his backdrop. His regular gaming group were willing victims, er, participants in helping to play test the new system. A few years later he took his role-playing system and added additional settings; including Science Fiction, Post-Apocalyptic, World War II, and the all-important Fantasy Realm.
The beginnings of Servant to the Crown originated three years ago when he began a new fantasy campaign. For the world of Merceria, he ran his adventures like a TV show; with seasons that each had twelve episodes, and an overarching plot. After the campaign ended, he was inspired to sit down to write his first novel. He knew all the characters, what they had to accomplish, what needed to happen to move the plot along. 124,000 words later, Servant of the Crown was written!
Paul has mapped out a whole series of books in the World of Merceria and is looking forward to sharing them all with his readers over the next few years.
Authors Notes
NO story exists in a vacuum, and it is important for a world like Merceria to feel three dimensional. I have to developed extensive notes on all manner of topics for this series, from military organization to religion to the structure of the nobility. These can all be found on my website.
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Visit my website: pauljbennettauthor.com
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Thank you for reading 'Battle at the River'. If you enjoyed it, please visit your favourite retailer to see a preview of my first book ‘Servant of the Crown’. Check out the Synopsis that follows on the next page.
Released Books
Heir to the Crown, Book 1: Servant of the Crown
Gerald Matheson yearns to serve the Baron of Bodden. Nothing more.
For years he fought in the Northern Wars, until the day he nearly died defending King Andred IV from raiders. Sent to the capital for healing, Gerald quickly discovers that a man without influence is beneath the regard of a wizard, and he is ordered to serve in the garrison, despite his crippling injury.
Fate intervenes while he is in the slums of the capital, changing the course of his life. Caught up in a failed military action, Gerald becomes the scapegoat of the ensuing massacre. Saved from death by his mentor, he is banished from the capital, sent into obscurity at a forgotten Royal Estate.
As he struggles to adapt to his new lot in life Gerald uncovers a secret the king has carefully hidden away from prying eyes. His discovery will have repercussions, changing the fate and future of the entire Kingdom of Merceria!
Follow this unlikely hero in a new fantasy adventure that mixes military battles, mystery, and magic with a dash of humour to create a compelling coming of age story!
Upcoming Books
Heir to the Crown, Book 2: Sword of the Crown
Beverly’s greatest wish has come true; she’s a knight! Now what?
As the only daughter of the Baron of Bodden, Lady Beverly Fitzwilliam could have lived a life of ease and comfort, but from an early age she had only one burning desire; to serve as a knight. Her hopeless dream becomes a reality when against impossible odds she saves the life of King Andred IV, and he knights her on the battlefield.
It doesn’t take long for Beverly to realize that being a knight is not quite the fantasy she thought it would be. From the capital, Wincaster, to the great city of Shrewesdale, she is faced with obstacles that she must overcome while searching for a noble to swear fealty to.
Just when she has almost given up hope of ever discovering a worthy patron, she arrives at Uxley Hall to meet a mysterious Heir to the Crown, beginning an adventure that takes her from one side of the realm to the other with the fate of the kingdom hanging in the balance.
Follow this unusual knight in an action-packed medieval fantasy adventure that mixes desperate battles, dire prophecies and dangerous enemies in a gripping coming of age story!
Heir to the Crown, Book 3: Heart of the Crown
For hundreds of years the Kingdoms of Merceria and Westland had been at odds with one another. Now, their cultures will clash with the spectre of war hanging in the balance as the tyrant king of Merceria sends an emissary to the court of Westland.
World of Merceria, Book 1: Mercerian Tales
En route to the kingdom of Westland, the emissary of Merceria stops to rest at Bodden Keep. Here, gathered around
a roaring fire, each member of the party shares stories of their past.
Visit the author’s website at www.pauljbennettauthor.com for release dates and more information.
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