"Truly, the king was thinking of cleaning up in this year's tournament," one man could be heard commenting wryly to his companion.
"If we can just survive this siege, the king is welcome to all of this year's winnings and more," said another.
The second man's sentiments appeared to be in accord with those of many in the room, as evidenced by a number of grim nods as the men finished their suiting up. The king's elite troops then headed to their center of command by Captain Vrelin's quarters, the knights proceeding to a destination unknown to Sorn.
"Where are the knights headed?" Sorn asked curiously of Vorbin.
"To the stables, no doubt. Lord's men that they are, they were probably told in no uncertain terms to show themselves with distinction, should fighting occur this night, so as to make up for the lord's own folly in regards to Vorstice."
The smith sighed. "Potent and deadly a force as they may be, narrow streets where they could be ambushed by scores of enemy soldiers could be their downfall. Fortunately, our roads are straighter and wider than most. Still, I fear ambush points, and if warehouses really have been overrun by an infestation of those Empire cockroaches, they could be sitting ducks. Hopefully not too many will be killed before dawn."
"Truly, it is as bad as all that? I thought a knight's armor made him all but impervious to bolts, arrows, and I imagine most sword blows as well."
"Well, lad, their armor, for all that it is significantly thinner than your own, can indeed stop most missile fire, as I said. But I took a look at the exotic weapon Captain Halence had seized from that cursed Vorstice's residence. Far different from most crossbows, those arbalests have a recurved steel bar for a bow prod, with a draw length of well over a foot, the silk string cranked back by a windlass."
The smith shook his head grimly. "A recurved steel prodded crossbow, shooting bolts that could pierce mail with ease, perhaps even light plate as well. Save for my master's records of ancient smiths, I have never even seen the like, save mounted siege crossbows, yet this weapon is mobile and light enough for a man to carry. The tempering of the steel alone to assure the steel prod won't warp or break even with that much tension is beyond what most forges can produce.
"To find that there were half a dozen or more of these weapons just in Vorstice's residence is beyond disturbing. The thought of an army equipped with thousands of these weapons, even if they take minutes to reload... Truly, lad, it is a chilling thought. I fear a fair number of our men will fall to them regardless of what else happens, and we'll need every man to survive this siege, of that I have no doubt."
Sorn nodded. It was much as he had thought, his worst fears verified by the king's own smith.
Face now set in a grim expression, Vorbin finished adjusting Sorn's armor, giving a satisfied thonk to Sorn's helm when finished. "A good fit with our adjustments, Sorn. Now tell me true, can you move comfortably in that much steel?"
Sorn smiled at this, though Vorbin was unable to see it. Nonetheless, Sorn's well-crafted visor gave him a very impressive range of sight, though his hearing was, admittedly, slightly muffled. The full plate itself was indeed excellently tailored, angled to deflect bolts, as if the thickness and quality of steel wasn't enough, and the adjustments the smith had made allowed for a near ideal center of balance, despite Sorn's differing frame. In truth, it was no more burdensome for Sorn than what he imagined a full mail hauberk would be for any normal man.
"You need not fear on my account, good smith. I am sure I shall be able to manage." With that, Sorn gestured somewhat impatiently toward the door. "Lead on, sir smith. Lead on."
Soon enough they were before the armory proper, and upon his admittance, Sorn was near awed to see the various multitude of weapons contained therein. There were, as would be expected, racks upon racks of broadswords, backswords, arming swords and shields, such as used by the king's elite troops. Yet there were as well numerous racks of differing weapons, many quite individual and unique in terms of the others, almost as if it were a collection of sorts. It reminded Sorn somewhat of his grandfather's collection of weaponry. If anything, it was larger, though of course the weapons themselves were not as finely crafted, nor of any substance save steel, iron, or wood.
Sorn slowly perused the contents of the more exotic racks, picking up numerous large scimitars, two-handed blades, and pole axes of a heft to cause devastation in the hands of a strong knight, carefully examining each and every weapon that caught his eye.
Sorn ultimately forwent the two-handed greatswords and axes. Though he appreciated their inherent power and durability, such weapons would be awkward to wield one-handed, despite his strength. This was an unacceptable flaw, as he had it in mind to use a shield as well, as sturdy a one as he could find, for the odds seemed high indeed that he would be facing any number of deadly crossbowmen focused on his demise.
"You had told me, good smith, that the good king for whom the armor I am currently wearing had been made, had designed it with the thought of it stopping crossbow bolts. Would it truly stop a rain of bolts fired from these arbalests at point blank range?"
Sorn's voice sounded almost bemused as he said this through the visor, but Vorbin seemed to pale slightly despite this, eyes focused intently upon Sorn's effortless swings.
"By the gods, lad, just how strong are you?" Vorbin murmured under his breath, before shaking his head and addressing Sorn once more. "Honestly, the armor you wear so casually could stand up to most anything, but there are weak points in every suit of armor. One of this suit's strengths is its wide range of vision, skillfully designed so as to require minimal sacrifice to the helmet's protective capabilities. Nonetheless, a lucky shot to your visor is always risk if charging crossbowmen on foot at point-blank range."
Sorn gave a nod to show he understood as he continued his perusal of the various weapons. He found it faintly amusing to find that just in the space of the fitting he had moved up in estimation from squire to that of full knight.
"Well said, Vorbin. In which case a shield would serve me well, would it not? Should I need to charge through a line of crossbowmen. Indeed, so long as I can see where my feet move and what objects are to my sides, it is not too difficult to charge, face covered, into a barricade of men. And once I've smashed into and engage the front ranks, the battle becomes a matter of melee weapons alone."
"Indeed, sir knight, this is the case, as any decently trained soldier knows. Yet the bolt from these arbalests could easily pass through a wooden shield, and few men have the strength to carry one faced in solid steel."
Sorn nodded, turning to face the sweating weaponsmith. "Then perhaps it would be best if you showed me what steel shields are available, after I am finished here."
With that Sorn continued his perusal, finding at last, to his satisfaction, a rather large curved weapon the smith diffidently referred to as a full scimitar. The balance was ideal, allowing for tightly controlled, powerful arcing slashes when wielded one-handed or two, transferring only slightly less power to the blow than the greatswords had. Sorn smiled in satisfaction at the well-crafted blade, only then making note of the exquisite etching running down the spine of the perfectly balanced scimitar.
Sorn was, if anything, taken aback by how light the blade felt in his hands. In fact, nothing that he had worn or wielded this night seemed to be quite so heavy as he had expected it to be, even considering his unusual strength. Yet when he reflected on the anger he felt for both Vorstice and the Empire and their intrigues against the welfare of Caverenoc, as well as the panic he had experienced upon coming across Elissa but moments from certain death, he realized that he should not be overly surprised by what was happening to him.
It was normal, during times of stress, for one's true form to try to manifest itself. And as Sorn resolutely fought against this, the net effect was that the energies generated as Sorn and Elthsiss squeezed ever tighter together were infusing Sorn's present form. This realization gave Sorn a moment's pause. For though it ultimately resulted in gre
ater strength and resilience, it chilled him to contemplate what might happen if he was flooded with more power than his form could hold.
After selecting his scimitar, Sorn paused long enough to choose a backup weapon, should the first be lost or shatter in the heat of melee. The smith, meanwhile, hurriedly fitted Sorn with the sheath for his blade, designed to fit comfortably on his back. A few cursory draws and sheathings convinced the smith that Sorn would have no difficulty with the well-oiled silk lined sheath, split as it was halfway up to make drawing the scimitar even easier.
It was not the scimitar's original sheath, explained the weaponsmith, but still one that suited the weapon quite well.
Being a historian of sorts regarding his favorite subjects, Vorbin went on to explain that Sorn's chosen weapon had been taken as a prize of battle from an ancient expedition far in the south. The imposing blade itself had been wielded to devastating effect by a powerful figure, a leader of the opposing forces, who had himself felled over a dozen of Caverenoc's men with that very blade. The fearsome warrior had finally been taken down by a surprise flanking maneuver that had split the man's forces in half, overwhelming them with Caverenoc's well-disciplined cavalry.
It turned out that the man had been the very king of the small city Caverenoc's forces had then sacked, bringing slaves and silk both in abundance to the north. Remnants of that very silk could be found in various dyed wall hangings and finery present in the palace even now. As for the captured populace, echoes of those people could still be seen in the occasional sloe-eyed, glossy-haired beauty, skin the color of burnished bronze, to be found in Caverenoc's populace to this day.
Sorn nodded absently at this bit of historical lore, information which in a less terrible time and place, his heart far lighter from care, worry, and wrath, he could have listened to for hours. As it was, he simply turned to Vorbin upon selecting a second weapon. It was a long three-sided steel rod, the edges of the rod facing outward further sharpened so as to allow for truly savage blows. Its shape and considerable weight, heavier even than that of the weightiest battleaxes Sorn had held, made it nothing so much as a massive warhammer in function, despite the lack of a metal head. It was a weapon that could be wielded with terrifying force by someone as powerful as Sorn, and the speed with which Sorn whipped it through the air as he got a feel for its heft and balance left Vorbin visibly chilled.
"By the gods, lad! Even the strongest of men would be heaving after swinging that warmace so fiercely, and none could do so that quickly! And you haven't even broken a sweat, lad, have you?"
A few moments later Sorn stopped his martial dance, finding the balance sufficient to allow his use of at least some of the forms inherent in his grandfather's katas. There would be little grace and no finesse, but the speed and power with which he could wield the warmace, in truth no more than a very heavy edged steel rod, left him little doubt as to what the outcome would be.
With this weapon, best wielded in a two handed grip, a purely offensive stance would serve him well. Yet for his primary weapon, the scimitar, a shield was definitely in order. Most importantly, it would help to protect him from crossbow bolts during a charge, for unlikely as they were to penetrate the thick steel of his armor, his visor was still vulnerable and Sorn saw no reason to take unnecessary chances. Additionally, it would help to parry any blow that could possibly land before his own scimitar did. Unlikely, he thought, were it not for the fact that he could well be charging into a half dozen men or more.
"This will do," Sorn said, giving the weapon a satisfied nod. "Now be so good as to show me your strongest shields."
Vorbin only gave a cursory nod as he finished securing the leather loops on Sorn's back, parallel to the sword, that would secure the edged rod till Sorn pulled it free in battle. Sorn aptly demonstrated that freeing the war mace in the heat of battle would be no problem when he negligently tore the weapon free from its straps with a yank at the gentle urging of Vorbin, who nodded his head approvingly as he retied the now sliced leather loops securely to the weapon once again, confident at least that Sorn would have no problem reaching for it, should he need to do so.
Soon enough Sorn was led to a number of solid looking shields of bronze and steel that were resting, as if in a half slumber, against the far chamber wall. The reflected torchlight flickered upon their well-polished surfaces, and the resulting shadows against the wall caused Sorn to think of nothing so much as restless spirits hungry to be summoned to battle once more.
Vorbin's well-intentioned history lessons drowned down to a background buzz as Sorn carefully looked over each of the shields. His gaze almost immediately fastened upon the second to last one leaning against the far wall. It was unique, like his armor, both in its thickness, though it was not so wide as a number of others, and in what appeared to be numerous fine holes interspaced evenly through the top third of the shield, save the rim which, curious enough, was itself an edged affair. Sorn felt a delightful moment's anticipation as he picked up the shield, slipping his arm through the elbow straps and gripping it tightly.
His anticipation turned to a moment's exultant satisfaction as he looked through the numerous perforations and saw that he could, indeed, make out a rough approximation of the environment through it. This was particularly true when he rapidly moved the shield fractionally side to side, such as he might when, say, charging an enemy line of crossbowmen.
"Ah, an interesting choice, sir knight, and well suited to you, it seems," Vorbin enthused. "It was originally made for a knight who, much like the good king whose steel you wear, sought to find an ideal counter for even ballistae bolts. The armor he wore was light field plate as comfortable as it was durable, so he sought to have designed an unusually sturdy shield that would simultaneously allow him at least limited sight should he need to use it as cover against enemy fire. That shield is over a quarter inch thick steel, and indeed is more than strong enough to stop any quarrel, even should the bolt hit one of the many fine perforations through which you can see, as you can note even here." He chuckled softly. "As to whether or not it could actually deflect a ballistae bolt, the knight was prudent enough never to test that claim."
With that, Vorbin directed a now interested Sorn's attention to one of the perforations, marred as if a second drill had tried to drill yet a larger hole over it yet failed to do so.
"Even when a bolt hit the perforation dead on, it could neither crack it nor pierce through. Indeed, the good sir knight thought it a most remarkable feat of armorcraft, and would have been glad to take it to battle that very day, were it but half the weight his grand designs had necessitated!" The smith let out a good-natured chuckle.
"So what happened to the knight? it sounds as if he was around during a period of intense conflict, and he didn't use the shield after all, did he?"
"No, he didn't," Vorbin said. "He ended up using his old shield, made of steel but considerably thinner, and free of perforations. He did quite well, as I understand it, even surviving a few crossbow bolts besides. He retired from the field and lived to a ripe old age, training the younger sons of lords in the knightly arts. Arts which in later more peaceful decades became nothing so much as the highly regimented jousting and sword competitions Caverenoc and her neighbors use to this day to resolve most disputes and contractual fine points, without resulting to the butchery of war."
Vorbin sighed. "At least, such was the case until the Empire came along. Before she sunk her vicious claws into these lands, this part of the continent had only known two wars in two decades that could not be resolved by contests of chivalry."
Vorbin smiled at that point. "For that, you see, is why the knight is still valued so highly, despite the fact that his preeminence in the field is somewhat mitigated with the massive pike regimens that used to do such a thorough job of protecting neighboring city-states.
"For knights, as you well know sir, serve as our champions, proxies for battle to solve minor disputes, and those trials by combat are all enforced by the d
ecree that all of the city-states in common accord with the agreements will wage war on any territory which does not abide by the results of those trials. Thus, our knights, for all that some might consider them a bit aloof, even, dare I say it without offense young sir, arrogant, have in fact served as champions that have perhaps resulted in thousands of lives being saved, that would otherwise have been wasted in numerous bloody conflicts. For not only would the lives of men have been lost in tragic abundance, so too forests and fields would have been burned and starvation run rampant resulting in further deaths from hunger and exposure for several years to follow." Glancing at a sight only he could see, Vorbin's expression turned grim. "Indeed, it was only twice in the last twenty odd years that the accords were themselves put into dispute, resulting in bloody conflicts so savage that one city was destroyed entirely in the chaos that ensued. The resulting deprivation had been so severe in the following years for all of us that we agreed unanimously to refine the accords and give up all tertiary disputes, so such destruction would never again touch this part of the continent." Vorbin sighed. "And then the Empire came. And those massive regimens of armored but shieldless pikemen that countered knightly charges so very well were butchered, I imagine, by skies blackened with a hail of quarrels piercing through their armor like death itself, the bowmen accompanying the pikemen no doubt the first to be fired upon and butchered, if that crossbow's range is anything like I think it is."
Shaking his head, a now very grim Vorbin led Sorn out of the armory.
"But of course you probably know all this history yourself, so you'll forgive my lecture, I hope. The shield suits you, lad, and in truth, you are perhaps the only man I have ever seen wield it so comfortably."
Sorn smiled. "It is a fine shield indeed, and even I respect the weight of it."
Vorbin laughed. "I should hope so, seeing as how our strongest knights refuse the weight of it, for all that it would give them an edge in the jousts! How you are even able to bear the weight of that is as much a mystery to me as how you manage to carry so much steel on your hide without falling over! And frankly, lad, I don't think I really want to know."
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