Battle of Keletand

Garth urged his charger up the slope at a leisurely pace, making his way through the throng of mounted soldiers. He looked back every other second to stare beyond the sea of shining helmets, at the hilly lanscape framed by forests on the horizon, almost mesmerized by the swaying of the long grass in the distance. If he kept his view of the small army that surrounded him in the periphery, the place almost seemed empty, and the quiet was soothing. The metallic clank of armor and weapons as the men drilled and prepared themselves faded into white noise.

He gave solemn looks to his fellow riders, and was either ignored or spurned. Most of the men he was riding with today were knights, some of them high nobles. A squire such as Garth was below their notice, even if he belonged to their lord and liege, Erig. Garth avoided their gaze as he sped his horse past the rest, up to the top of the hill where his lord stood with his lieutenants. Lord Erig was sitting atop his charger, looking over the battlefield, his eyes fixed on the distant army. An almost hopeful anticipation was in his eyes, as though he was looking for someone. Garth rode to his side, and looked with him.

A field of iron-tipped lances swayed in the breeze just in front of them, like long leaves of uncut grass. Garth counted them to at least 600. Half of the mounted might of Remsord Keep was summoned to the battlefield. Just enough to match the force of horsemen that the Lenkists had assembled. It was the wish of his lord’s king and brother, Helvaras, that he assemble every spare man against the Lenkists to crush them from all sides in one stroke… But Lord Erig wouldn’t have it that way.

“I fought with the Lenkists in the battle for Remsord ten years ago,” The lord murmured, almost to himself, though Garth knew whatever information he was giving had to be for his own benefit. His lieutenants were well aware of all of their lord’s exploits. “We took it from the Reignots and their gun masters. I saw the worth of Lenkist cavalrymen on our last charge that day, on the Field of Gulton. I listened to the sound of bullets hitting our armor, watched as fully armored men fell to their projectiles. We all smelled the fear as it leaked from our braies.”

“The mounted gun masters were fast, with no armor or barding to weigh them down. They loaded their damnable contraptions and laid man after man to waste. Their aim never failed, even at a distance.” Erig went red in the face as he recalled the horror, “They took three hundred each of the Lenkists and my own men before we caught up to them, when the outriders came to cover their flank. After the battle was won, we drafted an alliance with the Lenkists, to ensure that the Welsord would be well guarded from the Reignots and their gun masters. Now that alliance is at an end, because of my brother’s blood lust. This is why we must match them man for man. The Lenkists deserve a fairer fight than they had in Gulton.”

Garth was appalled by his lord’s decision to bring only his two lieutenants and three hundred mounted soldiers each. He could have assembled up to forty thousand on the field that day if he wished it. It was a chivalrous gesture, to be sure; a show of respect to their former allies that would probably get them all killed today, if it didn’t come down to matching up with the other army, man for man, as Lord Erig intended. They’ll have a fair fight, my lord… more than fair. Garth looked at the woods to either side of the Lenkist ranks, reflecting that they probably had armed peasants waiting to do some mischief. Even Lord Erig with his prickly sense of honor would probably forgive them even that move. They were fighting for their lives and land, and this was war.

A horn blew from the other side of the field. The sound seemed to stir something in each man in Erig’s army, like a vagrant breeze swirling through the fields. The upright lances swayed this way and that, each rider wondering what would come next. Lord Erig strode forth a few paces on his charger, sniffing the air superficially. The cavalry of the Lenkists was assembled at the bottom of a downward slope, with a large copse of trees to either side of them. That was where the peasants would be, Garth guessed.

“We’re fortunate that they would meet us in the open field,” Lord Erig said, almost as much to himself as to his his squire, “We should charge now, before they have second thoughts and go back to their castle...”

Garth nodded, though he knew the timing of their charge didn’t make much of a difference. The trap was set, and everyone could read the enemy’s plan as easily as if they’d been to their war council. The Lenkists didn’t do much to hide it, seemingly resigned to their fate as they were. It was almost too simplistic. Garth watched gloomily as his lord reached down to the side of his mount, and pulled out a flask, which had been fastened to the barding.

“My lord,” He spoke up, “I think if they had wanted to retreat to their castle they would’ve done so by now… They’ve had some time to think this through.” At least that much should be obvious to you.

“True enough. They must know that their only hope of repelling us is in the open field.” Erig pointed out the positions of the troops and gestured as he explained the situation, “The Lenkists will make a feeble feint backward as our charge is made, giving the axemen a good view of our backsides as we go to meet the cavalry. They mean to distract us, to draw us into the woods and slaughter us, then cut off our retreat with their cavalry.”

“How do you know their men in the woods are axemen?” Garth asked dubiously.

“They are untrained wood folk. What other weapons would they know how to use?”

Garth could think of a few: Bows to take down game in the forests and spears for boar-hunting. The young squire would take careful note of those peasants as they descended the slope. Suddenly he wasn’t so confident in his lord’s judgement. “What’ll we do then?”

“I’m not sure. Mayhaps I’ll have Sir Selemere and Larlach feint backward just as we’re closing the gap and the axemen are moving forward. They’re only peasants, with little discipline. It will be hard for their commanders to keep them from overextending themselves.” At least, that’s what Erig was counting on. “Then we will crush them, and have men to spare against the cavalry.” Of course, Lord Erig would save the honor of leading the vanguard for himself. He would never consent to a feint. His honor was too, ridiculously strong.

Erig began riding along the perimeter of his army, making his way to the fore as he shouted out orders “Queue the riders! Wedge formation! The Lenkists are moving…”

Garth glanced anxiously at the distant army as he attempted to keep up with his leige, “My lord, are you sure it’s wise to charge them so quickly? Perhaps we should wait for them to settle an hour or so?” The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon. If they charged at night fall, it make it harder for the commanders to call an accurate volley, supposing they had bowmen in those trees.

“They’ve had days to ‘settle’ themselves, squireling.” Lord Erig traced a finger along the woad tattoo on his face. The king’s brother, while honorable and pious, had a strange habit of painting himself like the ancient barbarian hordes that had once inhabited Gulmark. He felt it gave him his strength, just as his flask gave him his courage. “Today they will die with honor.”

Someone will die with honor, that’s for certain. They were cunning, those Lenkists, and resourceful where Lord Erig’s knights were impetuous and strong. For all they knew the peasants might be armed with crossbows, ready to pepper the cavalry ranks with missiles. That would be costly for Remsord, especially if the knights, in their passion, were inclined to follow them into the woods. He watched hopelessly as his lord drank deeply of his moonshine.

“I’ve had enough of thinking, sitting and talking.” He took another, hearty swig of his flask and threw it to the ground, spent. The lord’s warcry resounded to both ends of the field for all his lieutenants and knights to hear as he charged down the slope, closing the ground between the two armies.

“Remsord!”

Garth could do nothing but ride along with his lord, lest he be trampled by the crowd that was pouring in behind him. The inertia of their charge gathered as they made their way down the hill. To either side, he could see a wedge formation of some 200 knights, and was impressed by their discipline and how well they held together. Perhaps there was hope afterall. The triple wedge glided closer together, until the back ranks were side by side. They were coming up to within fifty yards of the gap between the trees, when the Lenkists began to fade backward, as predicted.

Garth suddenly saw movement in the copse to his left, and knew that the peasants were going into action, but there was little he could do about that. He watched then, with a strange sense of relief, as Sir Selemere and Larlach broke away from Lord Erig’s wedge and made to charge into the wood.

Lord Erig gave a cursory glance to the side, looking at the trees as he passed but seemed to see nothing. He gestured to his lieutenants to follow him forward with their knights. Perhaps the peasants are losing heart?. Garth wondered. It wasn’t so unbelievable, given Lord Erig’s superior numbers. The three pronged trident descended on the Lenkist cavalry. The sound of swords on shields, cracking bones, and clashing of blooded blades filled the atmosphere. Garth covered his lord’s back as Erig and his lieutenants plunged into the square formation of the enemy.

Then, the sound came. Garth thought of an arrow when he heard it, or a bolt, only this noise was much more acute, as though the missile had been traveling at the speed of a lightning bolt. Then another arrow came, and another, though Garth could see no shafts in the air. The next thing he heard almost made his heart freeze over.

“Guns!”

A torrent of hissing bullets erupted from the forest. The collapse of the knights and horses behind him was so palpable that he could feel the ranks fall without even looking. A stray bullet nearly took Garth in the head, and he looked around with an agitated mien. The battle was over, the mounted gun masters emerged from the woods and cut off any hope of retreat the knights might have. Bullet after bullet found purchase beneath a suit of mail. The Lenkist cavalry was putting up a wall of swords and shields to their front while gun masters covered the rear of Lord Erig’s troops. Suddenly Garth realize he’d lost his lord in the tumult.

“Lord Erig!”

“Gathermane!” Came the Lord’s voice. “Gathermane, to me!”

Garth blocked a sword as it came sweeping toward his face and returned the blow as he knocked it to the side with his shield. He glanced frantically about, trying to find the source of the voice. He could tell it was coming from deep within the enemy ranks but as he looked in the direction of his lord’s voice, he couldn’t find him atop his monstrous steed.

The young squire disengaged himself from the knight that was assailing him, forcing his lighter charger through the horde of enemies and allies. Garth turned aside every attack that was directed to him. As the blood lust was took over, his shield and sword arm began to move of their own accord. Blocking to react to the slightest flash of metal. Still, the gunshots and shrieks of fallen horses sounded behind him as the rear ranks were began taken down.

Garth found his liege entangled in battle, on foot, with another man, a commander by the look of him. But he was took late. Not a moment after Garth arrived and moved to interject, the enemy commander raised his great sword and brought it down to sever Lord Erig’s swordarm.

Suddenly, the world went black and red, and a numbness spread across the back of Garth’s scalp. The last things he remembered as he hit the ground were the cries of victory, and those terrible gunshots.