Daeron's 500

         Lawrence ascended the staircase slowly, listening to the soft clink of his steel boots on the stone steps.  His hair was matted and wet from the rain and he shivered in the cold air of Daëron's tower.  He had been expecting this summons from Sir Daëron for some time, but now that it had come, he wished he could somehow avoid it altogether.
         Sir Lawrence was the captain of the knights regimented here at Weynör Keep and now, he believed, he would be sent out to meet the Red Knights in battle.  Brave though his men were, Lawrence knew that the five hundred mounted knights could not hope to stand against three thousand of the Olluení on their barbarous manticores.  What foolishness did cause the great Beöl to overlook siege weapons when he built the defenses of the keep?, thought Lawrence.
         He stopped and paused at the door to Daëron's private quarters and took a deep breath of the frosty air.  He looked down at his boots, scuffed and crusted with mud after a hard day shoring the great door of the outer wall.  He frowned to himself and with a soulful look, rapped thrice on the heavy wooden door.
         Manticores, he thought.  What could be worse than the red-furred leonines?  Claws sharp enough to rend flesh as easy as slicing butter, hard enough to break your shield.  Fangs longer than your fingers, and two rows of the yellowed teeth at that.  To face them with so few was almost certain death, but what can be done?
         A scuffling of paper and the sound of a chair being pushed back could faintly be heard through the door.  Lawrence stood erect and adopted his usual demeanor.  Stolid face with a slight frown, dark eyebrows furrowed over his narrow green eyes.
         The door opened abruptly and Daëron himself looked out at Lawrence standing there in the darkened stairwell.  He smiled at the captain and his eyes crinkled, but Lawrence saw a distance in those eyes where once there was light.
         "Come in," he said, pleasantly.  "Come in, good Sir Law."  For that is what they called him here at Weynör Keep.  But there was only an emptiness in his gaze that left Law ill at ease.
         He knows the price, thought Law.  But he said, "Thank you, my Lord.  I am honored by your invitation to dine with you."  A kindness, if nothing else.
         Law sat at his designated chair and Lord Daëron poured wine for them both.  Daëron rang the servants' bell and then he too sat at the small round table.
         Daëron began talking about the histories of House Northolder and the people of Tarelmín, but Law found it difficult to listen.  His eyes wandered about the room.  Daëron's bed was untidy.  It was said he'd been having trouble sleeping since the siege began five days past.  His desk was cluttered with books and old-looking manuscripts.  Most likely the good Sir had been spending himself trying to find a solution to their precarious position.
         Law had known almost immediately what that was and it had not taken the men long to being muttering and rumoring.  Law discouraged the talk when he could, but still the morale was low.  He was surprised at the number of books and tomes in the small quarter.  Bookshelves lined the walls and the books overflowed the capacity even onto the floor in some places.
         Law knew that in his heart, Daëron loved the Northfolk more than any other.  He knew everything there was to know about them, where they came from, the events that shaped the culture, their greatest leaders and worst enemies even back to the beginning of time.  Daëron was not a warrior though, and though he did his best to lead the soldiers, Law knew him to be a scholar at heart.  But he was a goodly sire, and Law loved him none the less for it.
         Daëron was going on about everything that had been learned about the Red Knights during the last invasion, nearly 1000 years ago.  "It is most surprising at their technological advances since," he was saying.  "Living so far north in the unknown regions, cut off from civilization, it is a true mystery that they should employ catapults or even know of their existence."
         Law knew he was trying to take the edge off the conversation; the impending announcement.
         "Of course, when Beöl built the wall here to keep the Red Knights out of Tarelmín, siege machines were still new so none were included in the designs of the Wall."
         The food arrived, still steaming from the kitchens.  A servant came through the door carefully holding a heavy tray.  Another followed him and still another came in bearing a tray with a large pitcher of water and two goblets.  Law and Daëron sat in silence as the three boys set everything about the table and then left, leaving the trays on stools by the tableside.
         Law looked to Sir Daëron who motioned for Law to begin the meal.  So Law broke the bread and then began loading his plate with the foods set before him.  Then, as Daëron filled his plate, he began anew, talking whilst they ate.
         "You know, it is for that very reason," Daëron said, "and I mean by that, the fact that none ever anticipated the Red Knights would invent catapults and the like independently from the civilized world.  It is for that very reason that we were unprepared for this assault."
         He seems very calm, Law thought.  A very strange manner considering.  We have been under siege now for days.  The village is burning, the towers crumble.  How is it then that he is so peaceful?  And then Law thought, He has discovered the alternative!, and inwardly, he smiled.
         Daëron paused for a mouthful of pork and then followed that with a swig of the dark wine from his personal collection.
         "And so, we are caught off guard.  This, the third attempted invasion by the Red Knights goes badly against us.  They sit out there, beyond the wall, and fling their stone and fire at us, and what can we do?"  Daëron's whole face had changed.  His light hair dipped in front of his face as he bent over his plate.  His mouth twitched as he paused to collect his thoughts, and Law marked this sudden change with renewed unease.
         Daëron raised his gaze to meet Law's eyes and they became heavy and tired-looking.
         Something is wrong, thought Law, and he saw a great sadness pass over Daëron and then it was gone.
         Daëron straightened himself and said, "We have no defense against their weapons, good Sir Law."
         "No, my lord," said Law.  We have no alternative either, I see, he thought, and his hope faded.
         "They outnumber us greatly."
         "Yes, my lord."
         "And the good Lord Naëron, heir of Aeöl the North Holder, and ruler of the land of Tarelmín will not arrive with his host for another week at best."
         "No, my lord.  He is too far removed."
         "But, nevertheless, we cannot wait and let the Red Knights pound us into dust with their war machines."
         "No, my lord."
         "This leads me to conclude that I must, at the last, send forth my brave knights, few though they may be, to break their machines or else let us fall to the designs of those Alchemists and their beasts."
         There it is, at last, thought Law.  Our final task as Guardians.  He sat straighter in his chair, determined to face his doom with pride and dignity, for his people.  But before he could answer, his lord, Daëron, spoke again:
         "And so I have decided to leave the care of Weynör keep in your hands, good Sir Law."
         Law was stunned.  What does he mean?, he thought.  Where does he go?  What of the siege?  But he could not find the words to speak and only stammered, his fork raised halfway to his mouth, frozen like the rest of his body as he looked to Daëron for an answer.
         Daëron seemed to guess Law's uncertainty, for he then said, "I am not leaving Weynör Keep to its death."  He smiled weakly, the sadness returning to his face.  "But you will be needed here in the growing darkness of the coming years.  I am no warrior, nor do I have a mind to lead men in combat.  But you, good Sir Law, are my most valiant captain.  I cannot send you out to your end under the Wall of Beöl, for who shall take your place?"
         Law could find nothing to answer with.  He could not understand what his sire was saying.  The fork dropped slowly back to his plate, "My lord...I..."
         "But the Red Knights shall not go unanswered either.  And our knights, the Guardians of the North, must make their stand against them, for good or for ill.  Therefore," he raised his goblet to his lips and finished, "I will lead them myself."
         He's sacrificing himself in my place, so I can lead...what?  Daëron is Naëron's younger brother.  I would only gain control of the Keep here and the northernmost regiment of the Guardians.
         Law saw the sadness grow in Daëron and a single tear spilled down the noble's cheek and onto the table.
         "I am sorry, my good friend," Daëron said at last.  "I am sorry that times will not be better for you in the days to come."
         Law did not know what to say to that and so they finished their meal in silence.  Those would be the last words Law ever heard him speak.

...

When Law returned to his own quarters, he found that he could not sleep.  Instead he paced restlessly, thinking about what Daëron had said.  Now that he had the time and had fully realized that he had been spared his doom, the words of his sire were becoming more coherent.
         The little town that had grown around Weynör ages ago had taken considerable damage in the past few days and many had died under the ceaseless barrage.  Most of the peasantfolk had been escorted to safety, but there was still their homes to think of.  Already the great Belltower that once stood above the gate of Beöl's Wall had been struck by a fiery missile.  That warning bell had hung over the wall for over seven hundred years, and now...
         Law sat down on his bed and gazed out the window into the blackness of night.  He thought of his own men, his host of five hundred mounted knights: The Guardians of the North, they were called.  Strong, proud, and brave they were, and on the morrow they all would go to their graves, or worse.  The Red Knights far outnumbered them and they were sure to take no pity on the fallen.  They would show no respect to the dead.
         Law wished that he could be with them at the end, wanted desperately to lead them in this glorious sacrifice.  He did not care even were his body to be defiled in the aftermath for the unknown purposes of the cursed Alchemists.  For the war machines had to be silenced, but Law was to remain behind.  He hated it, but he would never dare to question Daëron's wisdom.
         And so he lay back in his bed, his desire relenting to a higher will.  He closed his eyes for a moment and, strangely, his mind instantly was whisked away into some deep chamber beyond sleep.

         ***

         Law found himself standing on a plateau, thin and towering over a vast desolate wasteland.  The sky was red and dark with black thunderclouds fast approaching.  A bolt of chain lightning struck the ground and a great fire rose up, burning the whole of the land.
         A man who looked very much like Farron, greatest of all the Guardians, appeared next to Law and said, "Be not afraid, Lawrence of Tith, for I am with you brother."

         ***

         Then Law found that he was not standing on a plateau, but rather floated in a haze.  When the fog cleared he stood in a rolling field.  Everywhere his eyes could see there lay soldiers bearing countless banners and colors, choking the land with death.
         He saw two men approach each other atop a mound of the fallen and embrace.  Their mouths opened and their faces were filled with victory but no words could Law hear.  Behind the two men Law saw their armies standing still in the distance, glistening in the radiant copper sun.

         ***

         Again Law realized that he was elsewhere and now was enveloped in darkness.  He turned about, this way and that, to no avail, then lost his bearings.
         A light appeared, and as it dispelled the darkness, Law saw strange and large creatures slugging over the walls and ceiling of this tunnel he stood in.  From the light, four figures approached, not seeing Law, and passed him by.
         Law followed them aways and watched in reverent silence.  Three wore white robes and Law could discern nothing else about them.  The fourth was stern and upright, wearing a soldier's armament, and he seemed downcast somehow and Law wondered who he knew him to be.  The four did not speak.
         The tunnel ended in a doorway or portal of some sort which Law had never seen.  There were odd arcane markings all over the wall in which it recessed.  The three in white beckoned wordlessly and the fourth nodded assent.  The man entered the portal and Law felt a strong urge to follow.
         A lone mournful horn sounded, muted as if by stone or great distance.

         ***

         Law awoke with a start to find it still dark.  It must be early in the morning or shortly past midnight, he figured.
         The lone horn sounded again, far away, and Law hung his head.  Daëron is leaving.
         He dressed quietly and descended the few flights of stairs to the ground entrance of Weynör's western tower.  Outside it was unnaturally cold and Law wondered at the weather.
         The paths between the town buildings were deserted as Law walked toward the Wall.  Everyone must be there.  And Daëron would not have summoned me for this farewell.  Law could hear the sound of the horses trotting slowly in the processional as he approached Beöl's Wall.
         The way of the march was lined on both sides by the foot soldiers that would remain behind; knights and sworn swords yet to be titled.  Here and there stood a lone peasant that had refused to leave their home in the face of war.  Their bravery gave hope to Law's heart but in his mind he was still uncertain.  After these five hundred Guardians depart, we are left with maybe a thousand and a half fighting men.  That against several thousand manticore riders?
         Law stood next to and old woman in tattered cloths holding a basketful of winterflowers.  She was tossing them one by one under the hooves of the passing destriers.  Law took one of the flowers and held it to his nose.  Nostalgia and a bittersweet smell filled him.  The tangy aroma created a tingle in his throat as he inhaled and his mouth watered for a moment.
         Watching his men pass him by, Law beheld the valor and honor of each knight and his heart welled in his chest, trying in vain to burn its way out and join them.  They, each of them, held their heads high and looked neither to the left nor the right.  But Law saw that their mouths turned down and their eyes were hollow as they passed.  They have no doubts as to where they ride.  They hold no hope to return.  The old woman began to sob softly.
         A wet drop touched Law on the forehead and he looked up to see a flurry of white.  A light snow began, the first of the year and uncommonly early.  The white fluff slowly amassed on the heads and shoulders of the stoic onlookers, but, somehow, seemed to not touch the marching knights.  The old woman turned to leave, unable to control herself any longer.
         Just then Law noticed that there had been no fiery barrage for the duration of Daëron's march.  It was so quiet and peaceful, a strange twist of fate that the siege would lull for this event.
         The last knight rode by and then everyone turned to leave, having paid their respects with finality.  Law remained there, staring at the trodden earth, churned up in twin lines before him.  He lowered his hand to his side and let the flower fall from his fingers, unheeded, to rest on the snow.

...

Law ascended the staircase slowly, listening to the sounds of the world awakening around him.  His hair blew back in the dawn breeze and he looked up at Beöl's Wall above him.  He had not expected this turn of events and now that morning was here, he wished that it had never come at all.
         His marshals would be rousing the men now, but Law wanted to be the first to stand on the Wall this day.  If he could not die with his knights, then he'd be sure to pay respect before any man.  Law looked down at his hands, remembering the years and the battles and all the good men he'd lost along the way.  There was always danger awaiting when ranging beyond the Wall and there had been many times when, by some ill chance, one of his men had died in his place.
         How did it come to this?, he thought as he neared the top of the ancient wall.  Who am I to be given command of all this?  He turned to look back as he stood on the walkway of Beöl's Wall.  Weynör Keep lay nestled in the gentle hills typical of the Northlands.  The three great spires of the Commander's Tower, the Library, and the Aviary reached upward to the skies in stark contrast to the barren and flat landscape around the town.  And most of that once beautiful town now lies in ruins.
         And Law thought, Why must we always lose that which is most precious?  That which is so innocent and beautiful?  He turned and looked out over the Wall into the barbarian's encampment and the wild lands of the Unknown with hatred in his heart.
         The sun came up over the horizon and Law's eyes were filled with a golden haze.  The clouds above lit up in brilliant splendor and the frozen earth sparkled.  But the air was cold and there was no warmth in the day's first light.
         Law looked and saw that the Red Knights had changed their banners since last he had viewed them from the wall top.  To his left he saw fliers with yellow fields and to his right they were all red.  They were makeshift banners, not at all as pristine or dramatic as the ones they had been flying before.  Law did not know what to make of that and he let it pass.
         Then he eyed the catapults, all in rows by the tree line of the forest.  Law noted, once again, how they remained silent and he could see that they were unmanned.  He smiled, weakly.  That we should be given such a stroke of luck.  It is truly gracious of the gods to give us this gift in exchange for our brave few.
         Behind him, the sounds of the men of Weynör amassing rose up in turns.  More had begun to climb the Wall and the noise of armor and metal clinking and grinding forced itself in place of the early morning's solitude.  Law leaned against the parapets, bracing himself with his palms.  The songs of war, he thought.  Ever shall death and decay haunt our doorstep, and bring with it the promise of tumult and discord.  Peace shall never endure in the presence of lawless men and their wayward hearts.
         Law's mind shifted then to thoughts of how he might defend the Wall once the catapults had been destroyed.  The Red Knights would not attempt to scale the Wall, and surely their Alchemists would turn their devious minds to a fouler solution.  Law had no knowledge of that subject, however, just as most of the civilized world, save maybe a paltry few in the academies of the First City.  And perhaps those of the mythical Votus Order.  But even then, they could not give aid here, and Law had a mind only for the placing of his archers, not for charms or enchantments or whatever devilry those fantastical entities delved into.
         He began to pace as the men of Weynör gathered on the Wall.  Daëron had not said when they would strike, but the men seemed interested, or perhaps concerned, with their lord's fate.  Law realized that they would see his fate as influencing their own, and that, if things went badly, then despair could set in very quickly.
         There was no order to anything on this day.  Their leader was gone, without any pomp or speech.  He had simply left in the void of the night with well-wishes.  It will be up to me to organize them, he thought, when the day is done.
         And so Law paced the Wall, speaking to the captains of the footed men, preparing to deal with the fallout, inevitable now.  And the sun rose higher, brightening the land but not warming it.  Midway through the morning the winds began, whipping the white cloaks sideways as the soldiers stood in attendance.
         The sun rose, and then it began to fall.  No sign could be seen of Daëron or his five hundred, and the men began to grow hungry.  But none desired to leave their place on the wall, for even the lowest soldier in the ranks loved Daëron as fiercely as did Sir Lawrence.  Bread was passed and the men ate standing, and the day began to die.
         The winds did not relent, even as the sun neared the far horizon.  With the darkening of the approaching twilight the air became even colder, but still the men refused to leave.  Law was proud to see their devotion so tested and in this he took solace.  These men are brave, too, he thought, and it would be just as honorable to die commanding them.
         And then, just as the last rays of day faded in the west, the Horn of the Rangers was heard, sounding from the forest beyond the Red Knights' encampment.  Daëron and his knights materialized from the greenery and charged across the hills toward the unprepared Olluení.  Law spotted Sir Daëron himself, his sword flashing in the dusk, at the tip of the spearpoint formation.  In all his fine armor, he looked glorious, the look of battle on his face, devoid of any fear or doubt.  No one on the Wall moved, lest the slightest noise should shatter the majesty of what was to unfold.  Torches lit up all across Daëron's line, and the knights held them high overhead as they neared the array of catapults.  Then the dots of fire flew in crisscrossing arcs as the torches were cast into the wooden contraptions.  And the knights continued the charge.
         Law had not once looked at the encampment since espying his sire.  He saw now that the whole area was in mass confusion, and they were not prepared for the first sweep of the charging knights.  As the catapults were engulfed in flames, Daëron and his knights broke into the lines of the Red Knights and made to charge straight through.
         A sea of the Red Knights could be seen, lying prostrate, in the wake of the charge as the knights made their way through the mass.  Law saw the manticores, tethered in groups, straining viciously against the chains that held them in place.  Law sighed heavily as he saw the first of his men fall.  He rode too close to the chained beasts, and with one fell swipe of a paw, his horse had been tripped and he had flown from his seat into the midst of the beasts.  The man didn't even have the time to raise his shield.
         And on the knights galloped, some falling by, having been bested, and still more scoring hits on the footed Olluení.  They were a testament to the Guardian Order; the intense training and suffering they had all endured.  These knights were the best horsemen in all the Northlands.
         But as Daëron's knights regrouped on the near side of the encampments, the Red Knights were becoming more organized and they formed up, awaiting the second pass.  Daëron was the first to ride forth for the second sweep, his sword flashing again, arcing over his helmeted head.  Half the men spurred their horses onward after him, and the other half halted, retrieving their bows.  They timed their shots perfectly, and the volley struck the front line of the Red Knights just before the charge hit.
         Law saw Daëron push through the stunned line, but their progress was slowed by the now-readied Olluení.  And then the second group charged past Daëron, having stowed their bows after the first shots.  With this surge they pressed into the heart of the amassed Red Knights.
         The catapults were now in full flame, and the light from the fires cast an angry aura over the scene.  Many of Daëron's knights had now fallen, but somehow, the survivors escaped from the encampment again and regrouped under the fires of the machines.
         Law saw ripples of red tearing through the mass of Red Knights that had collapsed into turmoil a second time, and he realized that the manticores had been released.  And as the remaining Guardians, less than half of the original five hundred, came around for a third pass, they were met with a thousand arrows raining down on them.  Most of the horses collapsed or keeled sideways, throwing the knights into each other and down the steep hills of the no-man's-land beyond the Wall.
         The last of the knights, a scant hundred if even that, met the manticores head on and were overwhelmed by the mass of fur and teeth and claw.  Law tensed beyond hope as a handful actually made it through the red devils, and Daëron at the lead!
         Daëron's hair flapped wildly behind him as he charged into the Red Knights yet again.  He had lost his helm somewhere and his brow was covered in blood.  Law gripped the stone parapet till his knuckles whitened and his fingers grew numb.  One by one the Guardians around Daëron fell, until at the last, he was the lone horseman in a wave of red.  And then it happened.  His horse reared and was hewed, and he fell to the side.  A man with a great warhammer closed in, but the surge of the crowd blocked Law's view.
         To the north, the last of Daëron's five hundred was racing his horse erratically, trying in vain to outrun the manticores.  The fires of the catapults were dying and the light waned sadly on the solitary soldier still left out there, daring to the bitter end.  Law watched, crestfallen and suddenly cold, as the man broke free and was quickly surrounded again.  He was very near to the onlooking Red Knights, and as the manticores closed in, his horse reared in terror, and the Red Knights released their bowstrings.
         His sword, flashing in brilliant arcs, suddenly flew tangent as he was pierced in many places, and he too, fell.  The whole of the Red Knights fell silent as the last Guardian slowly slipped from the saddle, and Law thought he could hear the soft thud as the body crashed into the ground.  The manticores swarmed the body as the last embers of the destroyed catapults died and the flickering lights went out, casting the killing field into darkness.
         By morning, the earth will have drunk all the blood of the fallen, Law quietly mused to himself as the men on the Wall silently filed down the stairways.  By morning, the bodies of our brave few will be gone, desecrated and devoured by these cursed, foul...treacherous...  His shoulders slumped, finally, and Law was unable to take his eyes off what he could no longer see.  And by morning, they will be at our door.