by D C Ware
“Hezekiah, Jedediah hold up.” The Friar called to the Sons of Cain riding just ahead of him. Both stopped their donkeys and sat still. Friar Damian pulled his donkey level with theirs and then peered. The host had spotted them and upon doing so it had broke into a full gallop in their direction. Their leader, the large muscled rider, had drawn his sword. As if on cue, the host itself drew their arms as well.
“An attack!” Damian muttered. “We are betrayed. The Lady is betrayed!” He yelled!
Damian turned his donkey to make a dash back to the camp, “Hezekiah, Jedediah! Now is the time to make your calling and election sure! Defend The Lady! Do not let any of that host pass you upon pain of death. Either theirs or yours! May The One receive you this day my brothers and at last take away your Mark of Cain!”
With that Friar Damian gave his donkey a double kick and galloped back toward the camp.
Hezekiah and Jedediah both dismounted. They tore the upper half of their already tattered habits down to the waist revealing their horribly self flagellated chest and backs. Each then drew his preferred weapon. Jedediah’s being the morning star or “holy water sprinkler” as it was known around the monastery for its resemblance to the priests’ aspergillum used for dedication and sanctification rites. Hezekiah used the flanged mace. A simple weapon with a flanged steel head perfect for crushing and rending armor.
Hezekiah raised his mace and brought it down on the head of his donkey in a vicious splat crushing its head and covering him with blood. Jedediah did the same just as his donkey tried to bolt. The clumsy ball and chain weapon however only succeeded in crippling the donkey with the first blow. Jedediah then clutching it in both hands and bringing it down again and again in a wicked arc finally mashing the donkey’s head to a meaty pulp. He too was covered in blood. There would be no retreat. They would die here and thus had no more need of the donkeys forever.
The first Nemesis Knight came at Jedediah with his lance leveled. His horse bearing down on him without slowing. Jedediah braced himself and with both hands on his weapon swung it like a club aiming directly at the horses’ head. The spiked metal ball at the end of the chain made contact three feet before the horse reached Jedediah rending the side of its face off. The large horse reared up in excruciating pain and came down again directly on top of its rider shattering his lance and causing half of its wooden shaft to snap back into his breast. He was dead.
The Nemesis knight bearing down on Hezekiah reined his horse in and pulled it so that it was sideways to the monk. He brought his sword down but missed as the monk ducked under his rearing horse, came across the other side and bashed the knight across his helm. The heavy flanged mace doing its job part crushing the steel helmet into his face and part rending it open. The knight slumped straight back in the saddle and his horse ran off with his limp body dangling to the back and side.
“Surround them you imbeciles!” Hermunn Maxx yelled out to the three Nemesis Knights just ahead of him. “Can’t you see they are lunatics!! Surround them both and dismount and fight them on foot!”
The knights looked at each other and briefly hesitated but did as they were ordered. As the three of them dismounted Maxx pulled up short of the monks and ordered three more Nemesis Knights to attack on horseback.
Jedidiah and Hezekiah were pressed on all sides. As they would swing at the armored knights on foot, the mounted knights would ride by and slash them with their swords. When they would turn to swing at the knight’s on horseback, the dismounted knights would close in and stab them with their swords.
It was too much. They took wound after wound but would not go down. Finally, they both dropped to their knees having lost too much blood to stand any longer. As they did, Hermun Maxx ‘The Warlord’ rode through and past his men and lopped off Hezekiah’s head. He then continued on and ran Jedediah over with his massive warhorse.
“That’s how you deal with lunatics!” He hollered. “Now mount up. We ride for the camp and the lady whore!!”
Friar Damian pulled up hard at the edge of the campsite. Leaping off his donkey he looked back. Just as he did he saw the large warlord cut off Hezekiah’s head and run down Jedediah with his great horse. “Rest well brothers. May The One receive you now.” He whispered.
“Sons of Cain!!!! We battle! Come now brothers and redeem yourselves in glorious combat!”
Friar Damian’s call resounded throughout the campsite and immediately, almost as one, the Sons of Cain, warrior monks, rose and emerged from their tents. Each armed himself and rent his habit from chest to waist signifying the time of flagellation had passed and henceforth they could only be purged by combat.
Sir Dubois rose from his stool outside The Lady’s pavilion. Friar Damian had returned and was screaming something he could not make out. But whatever it was it had shocked the lethargic camp into action. All about him the warrior monks, some seventy five of them, were arming themselves and tearing their clothes. They ran to the Friar and haphazardly began forming up into circular bands - their fighting formation.
Sir Dubois turned to call to The Lady but did not. She was not to be disturbed. If the commotion was something she needed to take account of then she would come out and give him her instructions. Instead Sir Dubois began to secure his armor and sheathed his sword and found his shield. ‘Where was Heymann?’ He thought. Clearly the force coming to attack them was the one he had spied earlier with the Friar from Fire Castle. But why? What had went wrong with Heymann’s report? And where was Heymann?
Sir Dubois did not know what to do. He had no reason and more importantly, no orders, to fight the monks but as of late he served Fire Castle.
A large, strong monk came to Friar Damian’s side. He stood easily six inches taller than the Friar who was at least five feet ten inches tall himself. In his arms he held a massive double axe favored by Orc berserkers. One of whom he had killed to obtain it. The monk’s chest was covered in massive scars and welts from hundreds of self induced lashes. His head was bald and under his habit he wore brown breeches.
“The Sons of Cain are ready Friar.” His voice was guttural. The after effect of a long slash across his throat where someone had obviously cut his throat and thought him dead. Someone who was obviously wrong. He handed the Friar a small but compact warhammer. The Friar’s personal weapon.
“Very well Samson! Now, like your fathers before you, I charge you to slay the Philistines who hurry to do harm to our Lady. Will you do this for me brother?”
“I will.”
“Then slay them. Slay them all and do not spare. And lead your brothers with you!”
Samson nodded and said, “For The Lady.”
“For The Lady,” replied The Friar.
Turning he ran to Sir Dubois and The Lady’s pavillion. Sir Dubois was already standing, still guarding the entrance to the pavillion when the Friar ran up to him.
“We are betrayed knight and I would know your allegiance ere I take to battle with my brothers!” The Friar stood close. Face to face so that his every breath passed over the others cheeks.
“I have no part in this Friar! You know that. I have no argument with you or The Lady and am ignorant of their intentions.” Sir Dubois kept his hand on his sword but did not move back.
“Even so they come. A brotherhood of jackals of which recently you were a part.”
“Be careful how you address me friar! I am still a knight and my honor will be served!”
“Will it? You gave your word to protect The Lady throughout her vigil. Will you keep that word?”
“I will.”
“Listen to me knight. I have not known you long and I do not know how it is you have come to count yourself among men such as them. Men who would betray those who just recently they sought to call ally that they might add sin to sin. But I sense good in you. I have from the start. The Lady sensed it as well. Which is why she sent me to relieve you and The Oathbreaker when you were assailed by the one they call Sir DavenPo.”
“She sent yo
u to help me?” Sir Dubois interrupted, clearly taken off guard by the implication that The Lady had sent help to him and not Heymann.
“Listen!” The Friar grabbed him by the collar of his armor and pulled him closer.
“He who is noble does noble things and on noble things he stands! Do you understand me Sir Dubois?”
Dubois hesitated and stared into the Friar’s eyes for the first time. There was grief there and regret but great strength. And no fear. Whatever Friar Damian had done to receive excommunication from the church, there was still a part of him that sought redemption.
“I understand Damian.”
Friar Damian relaxed and let the knight go. “Good, then I give you my charge. The Lady Gabriel. Protect and defend her with your life. And if I do not return from this battle give her this message for me.”
“Speak it friar.”
“Tell her that I hope one day to be one of the Host.” A single tear ran down his cheek.
“I will Friar.”
“Thank you, now I must join my brothers. May The One keep you knight.”
With that the friar turned and ran toward the ranks of his warrior monks. Where already the battle with the Nemesis Knights had begun.
Sir Dubois stood still for a long moment after he had departed. The friar’s charge to him echoing in his head, ‘He who is noble does noble things and on noble things he stands!’
Sir Dubois secured the last straps on his armor and drew his sword. At last he knew what side he was on. He knew for what cause he fought and at that moment he vowed that whether the king accepted him or not, he would once more be a knight of the land. He still had his honor. All who knew him knew that and the friar had given him back the one other thing he could not regain on his own to make him a knight again…a cause that was just.
He would defend The Lady. Forever.
Warlord Maxx was disturbed but tried not to show it to Morcai’s knights. If it had taken six knights to bring down just two of those lunatics how could his host of forty - now thirty eight - stand against seventy five.
Maxx could see up ahead that one of the monks had got away from the parley and made it back to the camp. The entire host was now arming and preparing for the battle to come. There would be no ambush and slaughter as he had hoped when he had rode out with the rising of the sun. He needed a new plan.
The Nemesis Knights were knights indeed and would acquit themselves well but if the battle broke down into a score of little skirmishes he could easily see them dying one man for every man they killed. And if that happened he would lose this battle.
Maxx raised his right fist signaling the charging knights to halt. Lieutenant Rendahl rode up to him.
“Warlord, why do you halt? They are roused. Let us fall on them before they get into formation or escape.”
“That’s exactly what I am waiting for Lieutenant.” Maxx sat on his horse and observed as the Sons of Cain formed into three circular formations of roughly twenty men each with two or three men in the middle of each formation.
“What is your plan then Warlord?” Rendahl asked still not sure why letting the monks get into formation was a good idea.
“Simple. Do you recognize those formations knight?”
“They appear to be some form of the hedgehog.”
“Indeed. The Sons of Cain are a foot unit. And they are used to fighting on foot and being surrounded by larger numbers of foot troops. Those hedgehogs protect their flanks and allow them to fill in and condense the circle as men fall. They could fend off a battalion for hours with each one.”
“But we are cavalry.” Lieutenant Rendahl observed finally beginning to understand the Warlord’s plan.
“Exactly. Have your knights form into two fourteen men lance formations. Have the remaining men stay with me in reserve. On my order charge.”
“As you say Warlord.” Lieutenant Rendahl signaled to his sergeant and rode off to take command of one of the formations.
The ‘lance formation’ was a wedged shaped formation like a ‘V’ with the bottom of the ‘V’ or tip of the wedge being the head of the formation. The formation had the effect of essentially turning a mass of lances into one large lance head. In medieval warfare it was considered unstoppable.
Friar Damian made it back to Samson just as Warlord Maxx halted his host. Samson had gotten the Sons into their standard circular formation known as the ‘brotherhood formation’. The formation allowed them to keep their backs to each other and fight an opponent attacking them from all sides. Samson had formed the men into three separate formations instead of one large formation which was the standard tactic when cavalry was present on the field of battle. In most large battles cavalry would fight cavalry and foot troops would fight other foot troops but as the battle deteriorated or if their leader was more daring the cavalry would sometimes break off to engage certain elements of the opposing infantry directly. In these instances one of the ‘brotherhood formations’ would reform into what was known as an open skirmish formation where the men spread themselves out over as much space as they could making it difficult if not impossible for a concentrated cavalry force to engage them without breaking off and fighting them man on man. Which was where the Sons of Cain excelled.
Friar Damian kept staring waiting to see how the Warlord would react to the Sons’ disposition. At last he saw movement and the knights cantering into a large wedge or ‘V’. The lance formation!
“Samson they are concentrating. Which of your circles has been commanded to open when the knights charge.”
“Mine brother.” Was all the reply Samson gave as he continued to stare ahead.
No longer than the time it had taken him to turn his head, Friar Damian could see the large wedge shaped formation of lances bearing down on his brothers. The sun glistened on the spears giving them the appearance of a large blade shining in the sun. The dust kicked up by the hooves of their horses billowed all around them like mist coming off the blade’s edge. Together, the reflection and the dust made it impossible for Friar Damian to see that it was ‘two’ not one lance formation heading toward his men - one behind the other.
The first lance formation was led by Lieutenant Rendahl and he went directly for the center circle, the one with the large warrior standing in the center. As he closed in he could see the old monk who had come to parley standing in the center as well. Their leader! Rendahl’s heart leapt. He would kill their champion and their leader and all the glory of this battle would be his. Neither Heymann or the Warlord would share it.
He yelled out, “You who call yourselves Nemesis Knights, if you would be knights indeed, then I order you now to attack!!!”
Rendahl’s call spurred his knights forward even faster the rush of battle filling their hearts. But just as their formation should have struck the circle held by Samson and Friar Damian it seemingly evaporated into a mob of twenty to twenty five men swarming about their ranks. Two or three unlucky monks who could not escape the charge were impaled and another half dozen were thrown down and trampled as they tried to run or dodge out of the way at the last minute. But the mass of the monks in that circle had gotten clear and were now swinging and pulling at the knights in Rendahl’s squadron trying to pull them from their horses.
At their fore was Samson and Friar Damian. Samson hit one knight so hard with a two handed overhead blow from his double axe that it tore through the knight’s armor, the knight and his horse beneath. Just as he did so another knight bore down on him, lance at the ready but Samson picked up the dead carcass of the massive warhorse and threw it at the knight with such force his spear shattered and the weight of the carcass broke his neck and back.
Friar Damian fought with more skill than strength. He calmly stood and as knight’s would come toward him he would deftly kneel or step to the side and break their horses legs with a blow of his great hammer. Finally the knights refused to come at him mounted and dismounted to fight him on foot. They came at him two at a time but he swung his hammer with
such fury that even when it caught their blades it would either break the sword or send it ricocheting into their faces or heads.
Friar Damian looked around the battle and was pleased with what he saw. The monks in his circle were taking a terrible toll on the knights in Rendahl’s troop. Even now Rendahl and four other knights were trying to corner Samson who had wrought terrible destruction among his men.
But then the Friar looked further afar, at the other circles, his heart sunk. There had been two - not one - lance formation. The second had been obscured behind the first and broke off at the last minute toward the second of the three brotherhood formations. The one led by Brother Macchias one of the newer excommunicants. He had not opened into skirmish and the second lance formation had literally ran into and over he and his brothers. Almost all twenty were killed in the first charge and the rest were moped up where they stood next to where a brother monk used to be.
The third formation led by Brother Lucius had come out of their ‘brotherhood formation’ and come to Brother Macchias’ aid but Warlord Maxx then committed his reserve and along with the second squadron outnumbered and overpowered them. Friar Damian watched as his lifelong friend, Lucius, a former knight and abbot who had been excommunicated for secretly marrying a mayor’s daughter, was cut down by the Warlord himself.
The Friar tore his gaze away as a young knight came toward him. Without pausing the Friar walked right up to him and brought his hammer down upon his helmet crushing it and the head inside it. He had to make his way to Samson.
Rendahl had failed. He had been beaten by priests and lunatics. This shame, unlike the shame of failing his first quest, could not be lived down. He would not face his peers with this shame upon him. Gathering two other knights who appeared to know how to actually deal with the lunatics he made his way toward the giant. The one he heard the others call ‘Samson’. If he could kill Samson maybe he could break the freaks’ morale and cause them to flee. He doubted this. He had witnessed their fervor and they seemed to glory in being killed more than they did in the killing. But even if he did not prevail against the giant he would fall at his feet. There would be some worth in that, maybe even a story.
