Sky of Blue

Sky of Blue

         As the army crested the hill, its banners were caught in a brief gust of wind that blew across the scene before it. The field was littered with the bodies of the fallen -- men, elves, and horses lay scattered -- most had been mangled by battle, some by looters, individuals desperate to resell anything for, well, anything. The desolation stretched from one side of the pass clear to the other, with an occasional broken cart jutting up from the debris.

         The mounted army gave pause as it looked over the carnage of war. It is led by an individual with an eagle upon his shield, and his banner is the color of the sun with an eagle brilliantly embroidered upon it, so that it appears to be swooping down on its unsuspecting prey. A golden gauntlet reaches up and lifts a visor that looks like the eagle’s beak, and underneath is a face that is as golden as the metal glove. Two sea-green eyes survey the field, and a lock of snow-white hair catches the wind as it blows across his face.

         Without speaking a word, his force of some thousands fans out to search for survivors with his generals in the forefront. He sees that the Lady Alliyana, his sister, rides beside Lady Marie of Aquitaine. And, in the lead of all of the searchers, rides the Baron Alec de Ravin, his flaming red raven shining boldly out from a banner so black that it looked to have been torn out of a nightmare’s nightmare. All were desperately seeking, searching, hunting, trying to find anyone alive in the pass.

         The pass…

         The pass of Ulthir, an artery between nations. A field of the dead. A commotion.

         “My Emperor!” a Dragon Knight shouts. “You must come quickly! The Baron has found Lord Alren! And he LIVES!”

         “Take me to him,” the Emperor commanded, barely waiting for assent before he spurred his horse forward. They picked their way carefully across the field, the Emperor, his guide, and his entourage, slowly headed through those that had passed on from this life. That is, until they came upon the Baron, and the two Ladies, who had made room for him and for the apothecarion who was actively treating the fallen Lord’s wounds.

         “What is his condition, Apothecary?” Without looking up, the medic merely shook his head, and used a cloth to wipe up the blood that had dribbled out of the Lord’s mouth. Then, raising himself up from his kneeling position beside the dying elf, the apothecary began to take his leave, heading towards one of the other survivors that had been found, perhaps even to save that one.

         “Apothecarion! Answer me!”

         “Honestly, I don’t know how he survived this long. He should have died long ago.” That said, the apothecarion passed by and as he did, Emperor Menta looked him in the eye and saw only regret. Regret for a failure to serve his Lord, regret for a failure to save a future, and regret for his inability to save an individual that he had undoubtedly treated since that person was but a child new to the world.

         On the ground, Lord Alren lay with his back resting upon the carcass of a dead horse, his horse, if the Emperor saw the heraldry right, with his head supported by the beast‘s belly. One of the Lord’s hands lay upon the gilded hilt of a sword at his side, but the hand must have been placed there because the gash that ran the length of his arm was deep. Besides that, his tunic was in shreds, and the dents in his breastplate were quite prominent. The helmet of the House of Alren lay beside its hereditary Lord, with its yellow and green plumes stretched out across the ground, soaked in blood. Ragged breaths were all that issued from the Lord’s mouth, but his eyes registered the Emperor’s presence. Unfortunately, a bloody gargle was all that came out when he first tried to speak.

         Concern was written all over the Baron’s face, and Princess Alliyana was leaning so hard into Lady Marie, that she was forced to support them both by leaning against her own horse. Then dismounting, the Emperor approached the fallen Lord, crouched, and rested his hand upon Lord Alren’s brow.

         “My friend, can you tell me what happened?” The yellow eyes that were as sharp as diamonds not ten days ago, when the Emperor had last seen them, had dulled and faded to a mere shadow of their former selves. But still, they had life, just as a fire still burned in their core, a blaze roared in the heart of Lord Alren. Then, after coughing blood for what seemed like an eternity, he spoke hastily in a rasping whisper.

*****

         “Lord Alren, take your banner down the left flank. Lord Hamon, take your flag down the right. I shall lead my Templar down the middle. And remember! We fight to defend this land, and the people in it! So we shall either celebrate tonight in the halls of the Capitol, or we shall weep for those not yet allowed into paradise!”

         Lord Hamon and I looked at each other, both our faces hidden by the war-helms that we wore, but even so, the displeasure in Lord Hamon’s eyes was like a knife to my heart. Letting a shake of my head answer the unasked question in those eyes, I turned my steed towards the left side of the army and cantered off. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Lord Hamon do likewise. He did not like following the Grandmaster’s orders, but he knew, better than I did, that the fate of the Empire of Ellessa hinged upon this battle.

         Turning to watch where I was going, I felt honored to fight my first battle alongside the Grandmaster, he of the Knights Templar. He who wore the white mantle that flowed over his polished armor. My own tunic was far more splendid than his, but the simplicity of the white tunic and the red cross embossed upon it struck me as beautiful. Then there was the shield that he bore. A diamond shape, it was longer on one side, so as to protect the leg and foot, and rounded on the top, so as not to gash him on his arm. His red cross stretched out upon it, with arrowheads grasping the edges.

         Seated upon his mount, he was easily discernable, sitting head and shoulders above even the tallest elf. However, most of that height was due to the horse that he rode, a Clydesdale I believe he called it. His great-helm resembled a metal wash-bucket, and as he turned to make sure I was in position, I saw the golden cross that went from the top to the bottom of the helm with the arms of the cross just above the eye slits. This vision of the perfect warrior filled me with admiration, and I felt invincible.

         With Lord Hamon and I now emplaced with our commands, the Grandmaster’s banner dipped, and we marched to the crest of the hill. The sight before me caused my legs to tremble, and my heart to race.

         “My lord, there is no way we can triumph against an army of that size.”

         Looking at the bodyguard that had just spoken, I replied, “Have faith in the Grandmaster, and failing that, have faith that the gods will lead us to victory. Besides the Grandmaster has lead us to victory in the past.”

         “But, never against such odds!”

         “Yes well, remember what he said after the massacre at the Merden Fields: ‘Even a defeat can be a victory if you cause your enemy to pay far more for that victory, than you lost in defeat.’” I honestly hoped that I sounded more confident than I felt, but I had never seen battle before and I was, well, veterans say that those who go into battle are always afraid, and those that aren’t are either insane or stupid. So, I guess I was afraid.

         Standing before the army were the pale green cliffs of the pass, with the field between just packed with soldiers from the Empire of Atria. Their banners waved in the wind, their supply carts creaking along. We had caught them by surprise, just as the Grandmaster had hoped. He believed that they believed that no major force remained in the lowlands to oppose them, and as such, they would not move with the caution that they should have. He was right, but so were they. We were just six hundred strong, no match for the army of ten thousand filing through the pass.

         Still, with another dip of the Templar banner, we charged. Six hundred horses thundered down the road, spears leveled, swords drawn, and helmets bent into the charge. My own hand found its way to my blade, and my own mouth let loose with the battle-cry of my house: “Death before dishonor!” A cry taken up by the host of elvish knights that followed me.

         Lord Hamon’s host answered with its own calls, but the Templar cry could be heard even above the racket of the charge, “In the name of God!” they bellowed. And I knew, just knew why they were the most feared of our Frankish allies.

         The charge had started no more than three hundred lengths from our enemy, and as such they had barely enough time to form a battle line. Not that it mattered.

         We crashed through the line that had formed, swords flashing, spears dancing, banners waving -- oh yes, we crashed through. All of the fear that had built up inside of me at the outset, was expelled, not by hatred, or vengeance, but by the cold military training that I had received since I was a child.

         With my sword flashing in my hand, and my shield deflecting blows that came at me, I could see the battle line of our enemies waver, and then crumble. The fear took them and they fled. My command followed me, and I pursued. We all pursued. The Grandmaster had said that if the enemy was to break, we should follow and that we should allow none to survive because if any did, then they would just live to threaten us again.

         That is, however, just the moment that the Atrian cavalry chose to arrive. They stormed through their own forces, running down those who did not move out of their way. Their horses were fresh, ours tired. Their riders were young and healthy, many of ours were those that had been wounded at the Merdan Fields, even the Grandmaster was still recovering from a gash to his side. Any hope of a quick battle faded from me as the Atrian cavalry crashed like a tidal wave into us.

         We were scattered, all but the middle. I…I…I panicked, and fled. I felt nothing, and heard only the thunderous roll of sword on sword, arrow on shield, and hoof on dirt. I was at the crest of the road before I realized it, and only then did I glance back upon the battle. Lord Hamon’s banner had also fled the field, and I…I saw that the only force remaining were the Knights Templar.

         Virtute et armis…

         By courage and arms.

         The thought struck me and I saw that not one of those that follow that credo
had fled. The Templar had to know the battle was lost, why did they not flee?

         By courage and arms.

         They stood, faithful to their master, with courage, and their arms were bent to the work of death. Turning my horse, I raised my face guard and then brought the ram’s-horn bugle that was slung upon my saddle to my lips, and I blew. The noise was deafening, but effective and the words of the tactician Sivak Aurak echoed in my mind:

With a lever to go from the low to the high,

The Earth as its pivot, a star as its guide,

Then maybe a baby could move the sky,

And even a minnow might turn the tide.

         The troops that had fled the battle took heart in the sound of the horn, and they all rallied to my banner. Even Lord Hamon’s flag ceased its rearward charge and came to me. In my wonderment at what a simple horn could do, I did not forget the battle, but I was not as attentive as I should have been. Had I been, I would have seen the Templar waver, and retreat.

         Many had fallen, but they did not flee pell-mell as I had done, they fought for every length lost, and only one did not move in the rear-ward direction. His helmet gave him away, and even from a distance I could see the Slayer of Kings, parrying and thrusting in his hands, dealing out death to all those that came within reach.

         I was determined not to let the Grandmaster lose, and in doing so, not to let the kingdom lose as well. Raising the horn to my lips, I blew again, leveled my sword, and charged. The rallied troops charged with me, and it could not have been planned better.

         The Templar had fought ferociously, but they had been but one hundred men, and no one hundred could stop the rallied ten thousand. Even so, we charged, three hundred soldiers and horses, charged and three hundred soldiers gasped when the Grandmaster fell.

         He had been surrounded by the Atrians, and as great a warrior as he was, he was no match for their superior numbers. However, not only my forces saw him fall, but the remaining Templar saw it too, and even though they could not reach him, they stopped falling back and pressed forward in an attempt to do so.

         Just as the Atrian cavalry had done before, our charge smashed into their forces, and just as we had done with our first attack, we broke through. Word travels fast in an army, but panic travels faster, and their infantry which had been rallied before, broke for the second and last time. I remember seeing their backs as they fled from us. Then I was flung from my horse as a pike found its mark in my horse’s neck. Partially stunned, I lay on the ground gathering my wits, only to be hoisted up by the Grandmaster himself!

         He had been stabbed in the side, and from the amount of blood staining his tunic, it was obvious that he should be dead, and yet he lived and fought on. The black Slayer of Kings blade waved in his hands, and he rushed into a cluster of opposition cavalry, swinging and thrusting and stabbing until all had fallen.

         Unfortunately, a battlefield is no place for sightseeing, and I was soon fighting for my life. When I could next steal a glance, I saw the Grandmaster standing upon a pile of bodies, and beyond him, a new banner! A fresh force of Atrian cavalry had ridden up behind us! Even above the clangor of battle I could hear their war-horn call, and I could see their charge.

         As they bore down on us, I raised a spear from the ground and attempted to hold my place. They were but a force of a few hundred, but we had been spent in a day of fighting, and we had been reduced to isolated pockets of warriors. Their charge overran the outermost fighters, and a knight in gray mail with a black tower emblazoned upon his shield came charging at me. I braced myself and held the spear so as to stick his horse, but at the last instant he turned aside, and another knight that I had not seen coming, sliced through the spear and into my arm.

         The pain overwhelmed my body, and I collapsed. After a few moments, though, I was able to drag myself into a leaning position against a horse’s corpse, and I had a clear view of the knights that took down the Grandmaster. The same gray knight that had been a distraction to me was cut down by the Slayer of Kings, but the Grandmaster still fell to the other knight, clad in green and brown.

         Then, then I guess I passed out.

*****

         “My…Emperor…I…failed you…”

         “Nonsense,” the Emperor said. He was still bent over his fallen friend, caressing his forehead. The tale had been short, but it was long enough that he was concerned that he would not have heard it all. Then he bent down to hear the last words of his childhood friend.

         Raising himself up, Emperor Menta walked a few paces off in a patch of snow and stood. The Baron came up next to him and handed him the hilt to a black bladed sword. The blade had been broken a hand span from the crosstree, but even so, it was quite clearly the Slayer of Kings.

         “He is dead then?”

         “The Grandmaster’s body hasn’t been found yet, but yes, I believe he is. No one, not even my brother could have survived this.”

         “Your brother was a tenacious man, Baron. And he gave us the time we need to recover from Merden.”

         “That he did.”

         “The pass is now sealed?”

         “As the snow still falls in the mountains, it will be closed in a few days. What did Lord Alren say to you before…?”

         With a nod to the fallen, Emperor Menta looked at the noon sky and said, “He said that he had never such a beautiful sky of blue.”