Company of Laghorne 1

         Drums, emphatically struck, like a beating heart in melody and tone. Never increasing in pitch or tempo, but the sensation of the speed ever rising grows on those who listen closely.  The fields of Falindraught stir once more with the rumbling of war. In the rough steppes where the fields and soil mixes with rock and stone, where the earth is scorched by the wind and sun and many a farmer has lost their livelihood to the seemingly barren, timeless and tameless land. Nearly five hundred years ago this land was under the dominion of the Aurum Horde, great horsemen and traders whose empire collapsed at the end of the fourth age which led to the fifth, the age of the Republics. The dwarves were the latest to adopt the Republic as their form of ruling power and that was but three hundred years ago, now they stand at the apex of trade to the south, they have chief dominion of the silver and iron mines which they trade for silks and spices. The oldest families of dwarves call themselves Falinsereb “Falin’s People,” after their first and last monarchical dynasty, the Clan of Falin and those that served under them.

Camarron Ullo, Lord of Ullon Manor kept running through his mind, racking his brain for clues about this force which marched bannerless and straight forth down the wide dirt road that led through the land. They both rode heavyset Destriers and were for once altogether silent as they followed this army, watching them through the thick brush of the deep forest off the road.

The army marched out onto an open field where a village could be seen in the distance and began forming ranks and positions, Cam and his apprentice came out from the forest towards the heights, a small bluff that overlooked the army, and just now Cam saw the full size of the force and audibly gasped at the sight. He placed his hand over his heart to check that it was still beating and quietly whispered to himself.



“Dirren Sor em Vultri, Niem Mettel Courn.”



             Cam gazed out at the approaching army, banner-less, and prepared in their ranks and columns, they seemed ready for battle. The vanguard were formed in lines of five and were wielding mostly pikes center, and voulges of various shapes and designs to the flanks. Crossbowmen followed suit, with armor that shone in the midmorning sun, ranging from expensive plate to chainmail or thick leather gambesons. The rest of the army consisted of several ranks of cavalry wide out to the deep flanks and swordsmen in the concentrated mass of the army. 

             Cam’s Destrier bellowed at the sight of so many horses and reared up before Cam could stable him back down. He turned to his apprentice with concern deep in his eyes; “you must go to the Company of Laghorne and send word of my coming arrival”. His apprentice, puzzled, shuffled through his pockets for velum or some scroll of which to record, “what would you like me to tell them my lord?” Cam placed his hand on the young lads shoulder. “Tell them war has come again, and I fear the worst may not come to pass as it has before. Tell them to prepare.”

             The apprentice searched his bag for a hunk of coal stone to scribble the message before the back of his head was sore from Cam’s hand “Go you fool! Time is of the essence here, do not daddle with notes or messages just tell them what I told you!” The young man fiddled and threw his things back in a hurry before riding off the small bluff overlooking the field and back into the forest and straight east to the city of Buffington where the Companies’ hall was founded.

             As he rode off Cam climbed off his horse and hitched it over to a nearby tree and went back to the edge of the bluff and knelt down putting his focus back on the army, who was now meeting an opponent on the field opposite them. A much smaller force, a local militia armed with crude shields and a few blunt swords but mostly they wielded axes and hunting spears. All they had of note were the longbows of which the northern Mountain Kingdom of  were famous for. Carved from strong yew which was plentiful, but in this band of hunters and foresters it seemed insufficient. There were no delegations, at least not at this moment; it was probably the day before or earlier in the morn when such talks were had. They obviously bore no fruit, like the crushed wheat which both sides stepped upon during this late autumn day.

             The militia moved first, the force of around five hundred men formed ranks slowly and without practice, eventually they created a shield wall at most fifty men wide and six ranks deep and stepped slowly and surely towards the enemy with their hundred or so archers in rear. The opposing armies pikemen lowered their weapons in tandem row by row until the entirety of the front 6 ranks had pikes readied, then they moved. The militia did not expect this, keeping to the disjointed idea that pikes were stationary weapons, but what they saw was a forest of pikes marching for them trained and ready. The militiamen stopped and waited for them to hopefully get in range of their archers.

             A call was made behind the marching pikemen, then suddenly hundreds of dots filled the sky, like a flock of sailing birds that then dove like falcons with claws extended and at about the same speed. “Shields up!” yelled what Cam assumed to be the captain of the militia. The shield wall rose to meet the flock and held their positions, the archers ran forward to take cover with them. And when the bolts made contact at least fifty fell in one flurry, bolts broke through the shields rapidly and killed the ones who held them. Splinters sunk to the ground in piles and the storm would not end till the pikemen were close from the militia’s line. When that happened they lowered their remaining shields again to meet them, battered and broken they held until the pikes were upon them and then they stopped, both sides waited maybe thirty seconds in silence, and while the pikemen were reasonably calm the militiamen were nearly broken from two volleys alone.

             With one word from the pike formation they lunged forward in unison, breaking the weakened front row instantly, dozens fell and the next row formed in their place. Then that line fell, and so on until less than two full rows were left. The archers began to rout first then the last line and those who were within the pike formation began to run or be cut by pikemen who handed their main weapon to the man behind each one and went at the closest stragglers with small hatchets normally held around their belts. Cavalry moved in to wipe up the rest and the entire force began moving behind the pikemen’s line.

             So much preparation for such little time fought in this so called battle. The forces marched into the small hamlet, the city of Falinsar was their goal, no other reason could be found for the invasion of the county and push through this unconnected village but that reason alone. Smoke plumed above the houses but no screams were heard, the women and children fled hours ago towards the city seeking refuge. The soldiers had broken ranks for anything worth of value to plunder. The Cattle was slaughtered in their pens and cooked over the immense hearths of the house-fires and the men drank and ate to their health and battles won. Singing was heard as tents were made outside the village down the glen below the village next to the river that followed the length of Falindraught’s northern border.

             Cam had documented everything. Most was easy enough to remember but the details were written in his personal journal of which he wrote little. He had enough and walked away from the bluff, the sun was low in the sky, it was nearly noon when this had started and its end was not as quick for such an outmatched force of men. Cam peered through his journal one last time, he examined the fine leather cover and expensive embroidery along the spine, and he placed it carefully inside his bag which hung snuggly on the back of his horse.

Then a squawk of a voice came from behind “Can I help you?” Cam turned quickly to face three men. The center of which wore a bright red cowl and a sallet helm in hand adorned with three plumes of red feathers, probably to identify rank or status. The other two wielded crossbows with bolts ready, they watched Cam quietly as the Captain spoke.

“I may reflect that question unto you, my good sir.” Cam turned, his hand stayed upon the back of his Destrier as he spoke.

“Well, I’m not sure you noticed, but this ‘ere is a warzone friend, can’t ‘ave people mucking about on its sidelines you see?” Cam walked away towards the edge of the bluff and gazed out at the oak colored field, at the smoke pillars that rose into the air and looked back at the Captain glaring.

“You wield neither banner nor standard of any recognizable company or army.” The Captain stood straight and lost the sly grin that hung beneath his nose like a thin moustache. He had no hair to speak of and his entire face would wrinkle and squirm when he would gesture or smile or frown, he was clean shaven and round in every aspect.

“Furthermore you attack this disconnected hamlet of no allegiance for what reason may I ask?”

“Listen, I’m the one’s gonna ask the questions ‘ere, and if you don’t answer I’ll have me men here put two war bolts into your chest right? Won’t you boys?” The two men shook their heads immediately and raised their crossbows to Cam “Who are you and what are you doing ‘ere mate?”

Cam turned from the edge and stared back at the Captain, his stature was average but shaped like an oversized pumpkin, round and slow and his chest plate did not help the image. He was balding at the top of his forehead and the sun that’s remained in the sky beat down upon him badly, sweat formed around the padding at his neck and his temple was damp from the climb. The other two men were hard to see or recognize under their bright sallet helms. Cam had been playing with the back of his belt loop during the conversation and The Captain took note.

“What do you have behind your back boy? Show me now dammit!” The Captain ordered, his hand hovering over his gold embroidered scabbard. Cam’s hand came around and presented a closed fist to the three, the two bowmen raised their crossbows in anticipation while the Captain stepped back, stumbling a bit before almost falling down the hill behind him. He looked back at the strange man with fist enclosed and barked loudly, “Open your hand. Open your hand or I’ll have you killed in an instant.” Cam listened and open his fist to reveal the sight and sound of burning vellum in his now open palm. The Captain confused, stepped forward past the two bowmen trying to better see the scroll.

Cam breathed deeply, allowing no air to escape his lungs, and then in an instant he gave a quick puff with all the air he collected and the ash and embers flew into the cool autumn air and lingered before sparking violently against the orange sky and burst brightly, blinding the three men. Cam leapt forward and grabbed the sword from the Captains scabbard as he winced, holding his eyes. With his sword he wheeled around and bashed the pommel into the side of the flat part of his head and knocking him over.

He jumped to the two others quickly and took the sword in both hands, one on the grip and balancing the other on the tip of the pommel and gracefully swept across the blinded men, slashing accurately under the helmets where the neck was most exposed. They fell straight away onto the ground and lay there silently.

The flash was gone; the embers reached the ground and were puffed out as they did. Cam returned to the Captain reeling like an oak barrel on the fresh green grass holding the red in his nose, hoping that would stop the leak. “Bastard,” he spoke in between breaths as you would with any grievous wound “I’ll get you for this, you dirty bastard.”



“Oh calm yourself, you act as though you ended up like your comrades,” Cam crouched next to his victim, still rolling in pain. “No I would need of you for but a few minutes more.” He began to speak with more tension and his eyes locked onto the Captain, “Where does this force hail from and why are you heading towards Falindraught?”

“Fuck off, and go shove your blasted magick’s.” Cam stood calmly and took a small handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned the blade and looked it over once before collecting the scabbard from its owner.



“Eh, give that back ya bastard.” The Captain fought over it before promptly being smacked on the head a second time with his own sword thus releasing control.

“Tis a well-made sword, perhaps it will provide me with better protection than it has for its previous wielder, perhaps someone who would not lose it so quickly.” The Captain sighed heavy and weary, bringing one hand that held his nose up to his temple where he was struck.

“Yes, you disarmed me, now you’re just being a right dick about it. Either kill me or leave me, but do not harp on my ineptitude.”



“Very well, Captain Locke, I will do just that” The Captain looked up, still dazed,

“How di-,” Cam held the scabbard up and presented the Golden needlework near the neck with its owner’s name. Locke laid flat on the ground and went back to holding his nose shut, “It was such a good day ‘til you came along.” Locke sank back into the soft dirt while Cam climbed atop his horse and looked out at the fires once more; he hoped they would not spread to nearby fields or woods and risk more devastation from their embers. He turned and traveled down the path his apprentice took several hours ago. Towards Buffington where the Hall of Laghorne was located, and his comrades hailed.