by Wood, Andrew
A small contingent of men moved forward from the south Besemian lines of defence, making their way gingerly to the lines of their northern compatriots. Flying a large white flag, the symbol of peace, Caldar watched as they paused and waited halfway between the lines. The normal protocol now would be for a similar small party to meet them from the other side. The group waited for a number of minutes, the white flag clearly visible fluttering gently above their heads. Just as it appeared nothing was going to happen, a group did make their way forward from the North Besemian lines. A number of cloaked figures walked casually forward stopping some thirty paces away from those with the flag. Suddenly cloaks were thrown back, and the men pulled concealed crossbows out and aimed. The men from south Besemia dropped the flag and turned to run, but within a few seconds, the bolts found them, felling them in their tracks. Caldar shook his head in disbelief, though at least now he had the answer to one of his questions.
Horns sounded and several hundred infantrymen moved forward from the south. Interlocking shields in a protective manoeuvre similar to the one carried out by Caldar and his troops when they were attacked. Behind the infantry came three long lines of archers. All these moved slowly towards the northern lines before stopping halfway, at the same location where the bodies of the fallen soldiers still lay with crossbow bolts in their backs. A number of shouts could be heard and the rows of archers drew their strings. Another shout and the air filled with the sound of strings thrumming and hundreds of arrows went airborne, aiming at the Besemians who had been laying siege to Casham and Berston. The infantry marched forward another ten paces, before raising shields and the archers behind launching another barrage. The first arrows struck home, some missing, hitting nothing at all, but a few did find targets, as did the second wave that followed.
Caldar rushed down from his vantage point shouting orders. Within minutes, men of his were lining up ready to venture out past the gate. Once the gates were opened, he pushed his men out, taking positions outside of the walls. The infantry lined up with archers behind mirroring the south Besemian tactic. Marching them forward until in range, he ordered his own smaller barrage of arrows to hit the north Besemians in the flank. As he hoped, the troops that had been defending Berston also started pushing men out from their gates.
With the two Besemian armies getting closer, he ordered his archers to cease and pushed his infantry forward to hold a line stopping any north Besemian from fleeing his direction. The southern infantry line parted and what appeared to Caldar, a never-ending line of cavalry poured through. He sat upon his mount gawping at this wondrous sight, hundreds of riders, maybe close to five hundred horses and riders thundering straight at the enemy. The Lancers rode at the front, large armoured powerful warhorses thundering forward. The riders lowered their weapons as they neared their targets. An enormous crashing sound like a smack of thunder reverberated around as the lancers crashed into the front lines. Behind them came riders wielding swords, making their way through the gaps in the defensive ranks. Caldar wheeled his own cavalry, a mere fifty riders, around the edge of the battle and charged a small group of north Besemians attempting to retreat.
After an hour or more of fighting, and the late afternoon sun starting to drop below the horizon silence finally fell. Caldar rode his horse to Berston to check on the state of affairs in that town. The remnants of the enemy had been either slain, or had managed to flee northwards. The area outside the two towns was littered with bodies of men and horses. Many Besemians from the north had fallen in close proximity to each other, succumbing to the lancers of the south. Troops of the south still roamed the battlefield piling bodies for burning, checking for wounded and stripping the corpses of weapons.
Luken was glad the days ride was finally called to a halt. Riding for so many hours gave a man plenty of time to think. The problem with that was most of Lukens thoughts lately were about this power he was supposed to have. He had made his mind up early that afternoon, that he would seek out that man Father Dagon and give it one more attempt. The location they made for camp was a large area of pastureland that had a babbling brook running alongside. Looking around Luken thought in a bizarre sort of way how picturesque the setting they had selected was. For a brief moment he even considered finding paper and pencils to sit and draw, but knew such frivolities in the current circumstances may be deemed foolish.
As the sun started setting, picket lines were set up, camp fires lit and the horses watered and fed. Guards were set around the camp in addition to further scouting parties being sent forth. Large cooking pans were unloaded and the nights meal was started, groups of women peeling and slicing vegetables whilst others fetched water. As usual, the younger members of the travelling group were fed first, as the older children were asked to stack firewood and help with brushing down the horses. The wagons were lined up to form some temporary barrier around the camp, just as they had done on the trip to Forwich.
Levin had been excused his guarding duty for the evening, and was being put through his paces with a sword by Jak. The older man had salvaged some practice weapons from Forwich. While they awaited the evening meal, and whilst they still had some amount of daylight, he thought it worth helping Levin by giving him a few lessons. The youngster held his own quite admirably, though was never in any danger of besting his tutor. Levin listened keenly to the words of the experienced soldier, making a slight alteration to his stance, and listening on how to improve his block.
Luken walked with Taylor at his side to find Father Dagon. The young boy did seem unperturbed by everything that had gone on of late; in fact, his smile and apparent optimism appeared to rub off on others, always cheering up those with him. They found the man they sought easy enough, sitting on his own away from the hustle of the camp. "I am willing to give it one more attempt," Luken said looking over to the seated man. Looking up, he nodded and gestured for them to be seated. Luken sat and Taylor did likewise beside him, sitting cross-legged as children always appeared to do. Explaining he had read some of the book, and apologising for his rashness on their previous meeting they prepared to start. Dagon instructed the prince to clear his mind of all distractions, to feel at peace; if he wanted this to work; he had to have calmness in his thoughts. Once he was in a suitable frame of mind, he was to try work the small fire around which they sat.
Luken sat for what he thought must have been half an hour, he felt enough was enough. Although Dagon did not in any way pressure him to get a move on, he gave up. "I do not think this is working Dagon, perhaps I am not the man you expect me to be" he sighed, having really tried his best to do as he was asked. It was obvious to all, that he had as much ability to wield magic as his horse did. Although he was quite certain magic did indeed exist, unfortunately he was not one able to do utilise it. Standing to leave he noticed how disappointed the elderly man looked. He held out a hand, Taylor dutifully clasped it, and the two turned to leave. Dagon stood, quickly remembering he still had yet to inform anyone of the information Sandred had given him on the enemy soldiers. Taking a couple of steps after the prince he shouted out, "Your highness, I must..." Luken had had enough and turned, raising his hand in a stopping motion as if to prevent Dagon following him.
Before Dagon had a chance to finish his sentence he was suddenly whisked of his feet and thrown some ten paces or more backwards. Taylor jumped for joy, "you did it father" he shouted with some glee. Luken stood stunned, looking at his hand as if it did not belong to him, then at the poor old man struggling to get to his feet some way further back than he had been a few seconds earlier. Luken could already hear the few people who had witnessed his actions, gasping and whispering. It would not be long before the entire camp new of his exploits. Feeling somewhat remorseful for his actions, he ran over towards Dagon, enquiring on his well being as he offered a hand. Waving the assistance away, and dusting himself down, "I am fine, a little shaken and probably bruised but I don't think it's anything serious."
Dagon actually smiled, "You see your hi
ghness you do possess the power. I believe we have just been going about it the wrong way." Luken and Taylor resumed their previous seating arrangements around the small fire waiting for Dagon to join them. The man then began explaining his new theory. His new reckoning to why the power had not been working had been their assumption it needed a calm clear mind for it to manifest. Now he had seen the circumstances first hand in which the power had been used, it was apparent it needed to be willed forcefully. Using the recent show as example and then referring back to the evening Luken had managed to set fire to the Darekian, in the circumstances he would have been fearful, angry and concerned with self-preservation. Even Luken was, for the first time beginning to believe, though he was still not sure how he had managed to send a man backwards with just a wave of his hand.
Dagon started chuckling to himself, "I just realised, I am very much glad you hit me with air and not fire like you did with that Darekian." Luken faked a laugh, thinking how very fortunate the circumstances had been, in all honesty, he had no idea of how he had done either, it could quite just as easily been the other way round and Dagon fried to a crisp and the Darekian soldier thrown back by the blast of air. "Did I glow?" Luken suddenly thought of the question, to which both Taylor and Dagon shook their heads in the negative. The latter explaining it was perhaps not yet dark enough to see any sign of light around him. It may have been there, just not visible in the current level of daylight.
Now they started the practice once more, this time Luken was asked to think of something that riled him. He knew that would be easy enough, so many things of late irritated his mind. He had always considered himself a reasonably calm, mild mannered person, and quite the peacemaker. Recent occurrences however, added to by the pressures of leadership had started making him a little ill tempered. Once he felt the rage inside he willed the fire before them. They were all forced to dive for cover as the flames proceeded to shoot some fifty feet or more skywards for a few seconds before the fire died back down to its previous state.
Dagon dusted himself off once more, "perhaps we need to work on how much anger and will you focus, or at least some way of controlling it." Deciding it was probably best they did not yet try another attempt, until they had had time to think about ways that gave them control, they called an end to their meeting. Dagon was at last satisfied he had in some small part fulfilled his task. Getting the prince, at least to believe, was for now, a start. As an afterthought he realised he still had yet to mention the information on the enemy forces. Thinking now was as good a time as any he started explaining to Luken before he went. This for some reason caused the prince to become quite angry, "You have had me sitting staring at this damn fire and now you decide to tell me this. How long have you known all this?" He did not wait for a reply, but turned and walked off in search of General Skalton. Taylor dutifully fell in beside his father as he went. Although he knew the news was no worse than before, they did already have some idea of enemy soldiers roaming around, he was very annoyed that Father Dagon had withheld such important information.
The General was stood around a table, with several other men looking on as he pointed to various points on a map before them. On seeing the prince approach, they all stood to attention, until a nod from Luken stood them at ease. He waited for the General to finish his briefing before he insisted the man go talk to Father Dagon. He, after all, would be able to make better use of the information than Luken could. Feeling his stomach rumbling, he thought it was probably time to return to their own area of the camp, and find something to eat.
Taylor walked slightly ahead of his father, "do the magic again" he said jumping excitedly at the prospect. Luken was not so sure, as impressed with his own abilities as he was, they did appear to be somewhat haphazard. His son pleaded again, and gave him a sorrowful look, and eventually bowing to pressure, "alright I will give it a try. I suppose you want the whole fire thing again," he added gesturing upwards in imitation of the flames. Taylor gave him a big grin and nodded profusely, and the two turned to try to find a campfire that was unattended. They did find one, although it did have a large cooking pot hanging over it, but Luken thought it would be sufficient so long as he was careful. He held tight to Taylor's hand, making sure the youngster did not try and venture to close to the fire and closed his eyes to set his mood. Thinking of something mildly annoying, Father Dagon he thought, that man could certainly make him exasperated.
Running and ducking for cover as the large metal cooking pot came clanging back down to the ground. Its contents spread out over a wide area. Taylor seemed impressed by the show, "you glowed!" he yelled with shear excitement as he jumped up and down for joy. The women who had been preparing the stew for the evening meal were not quite so joyous. He had once more willed the flames upwards as he did in his earlier attempt, this time though they not only went higher, but as they soared upwards they had taken the cook pot and its contents, with them.
General Skalton found them later, Luken thinking it probably an update from the chat the man had had with Father Dagon. What it was in fact was an admonishment, the second time the General had seen fit to do so in the last week, though this time it was not quite so severe. "Your highness" he started, "it seems pointless to me that I set camps in depressions as to hide our fires, when a certain person appears intent on sending flames souring skyward for everybody in a fifty mile radius to see. Not only that, but this person sees fit to cover his General in stew." Luken grimaced, realising it most likely was not just the General who was covered, and he had no doubt a great number of others were as well. "Did you see it General?" Taylor asked with gusto, "whoosh it went" he added waving his hands upwards in representation of the flames. Thomas Skalton did give a smile, albeit a small one, but a smile none the less, turning to Taylor, "yes I did, and look I even got to share the stew" he added sardonically pointing to several wet patches on his tunic.
Luken decided he best not try anymore of his magical abilities, at least not until Dagon had given some sort of instruction on how not to destroy the evenings meal. After eventually eating, the last of the daylight long since gone, he had managed to acquire a small lamp. Underneath the glow of the lamp, he had decided it was time Taylor continued with his reading, and although the current conditions were not ideal, they would have to make do. With only a couple of books in their possession, unsurprisingly Taylor picked the one about the magical wizard. The reading lesson was continuously interrupted by questions of "can you do that as well?" or "will you be able to do that?" His reading was improving, he was able to point out certain words and pronounce them, but he preferred it when Luken read to him. The story of the wizard seemed to catch his imagination, especially now his father could himself cast magic, even if not quite as prolific as the protagonist could in the book.
Chapter 13.
Although the gates of Casham were open, as a gesture of welcome to the group heading their direction, Caldar still ensured two rows of infantry were on hand if needed. Not that he expected trouble, but he thought it wise to air on the side of caution. In addition he also had archers positioned strategically around the tops of the walls and buildings, not only to target outside but down into the street by the entrance. The group gathering was from the army of south Besemians. It was not a huge number that could be deemed as a threat, but about some twenty in number, one of whom held a large white flag. The light morning breeze hardly enough to lift it from the pole.
Caldar stood tall, with more than a touch of nervousness; he waited with his officers flanking either side of him. Watching the group slowly walk their mounts, they eventually stopped them about ten paces shy of the gate. One man dismounted and stepped to the front. Elegantly dressed, tall and lean with a sword and dagger hung from his waist, dark haired and clean-shaven he walked forward to announce himself. "I am Lord Willem, representative of the council of South Besemia. I wish to speak to the commander of your forces" he spoke in a clear well pronounced voice. Caldar took his turn and stepped forward himself,
eyes looking upwards to his men around the wall, hoping they were alert enough to intervene if needed, as well as sensible enough not to do anything rash.
Clearing his throat before speaking, "Welcome, I am Prince Caldar of Corlan. Please step forward you have my word and guarantee of you and your men's safety." Lord Willem straightened himself up, somewhat shocked by the fact a member of the royal family was in the town. The two closed the gap towards each other, "your highness" he bowed, conceding that a prince stood far higher in standing than he did. Caldar dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of the man's subservience then held out his hand. After shaking the princes hand, Lord Willem gave his own men a nod as if to tell them to stand down and turned back to join the prince walking in through the gate and into the town.
Caldar led his guest into a nearby building that had been tidied and cleaned, and set with a table and chairs for their meeting. As they sat, a serving woman bought refreshments and placed them down on the table. The first words hit Caldar like a brick wall, "I wish to express my deepest sympathies your highness, for the loss and devastation of your capital city and its people." Sitting as if frozen, Lord Willem realised his host had not heard the news and so went on to explain. He himself had only received word that very morning from his associates working undercover in Bashek. Caldar had not been in touch with Hamalin or had any reports from there in some weeks, and now, told it was gone. Caldar did not know how to feel, confused, concerned as he listened further to the events that had wiped the city from the map. Of the dark magic used, the buildings crumbling, of not knowing if anyone survived, and still the news got worse. He heard reports of both Darekian and Besemian troops running amok across the north of Corlan, destroying everything that lay in their path.
The first question from Caldar was "My family? My parents and brother, do you know if they...?" Lord Willem did not for certain, but by his reports, it did not sound likely. His brother, surely he could not have perished, he had thought him safe and away from danger being in Hamalin. It was supposed to be he that was at risk, him on the front line fighting. He felt as that his heart was systematically being wrenched from his chest; he was finding it difficult to keep his emotions in check. Ultimately, he felt the tears start building and he let them roll down his face. Lord Willem looked genuinely sympathetic, and sat patiently as the prince struggled to come to turns with his grief. Hoping it may at least give him some hope, "Highness it may have been possible that some people escaped, and perhaps by chance your family were amongst them." Caldar nodded, hoping beyond all hope it could be true.
