House of Cards Contributions Log

Long Live the King

posted by Blake at 06:36 PM, October 14, 2003 | Filed under : Fiction | Comments and Followups

At the Battle of Kolvir

The sharp twang as the blade snapped seemed to reverberate, catching the demon unawares. It slowed perceptibly as the other arm came around, the claws of the first opened to let the sword blade fall to the ground. Too slowly though. Enough of the blade remained for Jerod to block and spun into the creature’s guard to lash out, a fist striking cranium and the sickening crunch that followed before the enemy crumpled.

“Crap…” Jerod thought, tossed the useless blade away as he grabbed the wounded soldier, torn and bloody in his grip and dragged him back to the defensive line as it reformed. “Dad’s going to be pissed that it’s broke.”

****

“The northern flank is still vulnerable to ground troops and flyers.” Eric said, pointed to the sand model in the middle of his tent. “The majority of the archers will be in the central formation. They’ll have coverage with shield troops and flankers. That’s where the flyers are expected to be the strongest. You’ll have two companies of archers with you, though no shield protection.”

“We shouldn’t need as much.” Jerod observed. “We’ll have tree line formations and copses to help break up the flyer formations. They’ll have to come after us piecemeal. The archers can concentrate their fire to bring them down. I’ll cover them with regulars on the edges to funnel any enemy skirmishers. The auxiliaries can help too.”

“You won’t have the auxiliaries.” Eric replied. He pointed to a formation on the southern side of the center. “Gerard’s got them. He needs them to cover the ground.”

Jerod looked at the model again, noting the reduction of his forces. Nearly a third. He looked back at his father for a moment, not saying anything, then back to the model. His father said nothing, waiting. Eric knew his son could figure it out. So did Jerod.

****

“Diamond formation!” called the sergeant. The troops rushed into position, lances and polearms at the ready, archers awaiting the order to fire. The enemy line poured from the treeline, approaching the defensive formation like a flood, oozing across the ground. Men shifted position nervously, the smell of fear heavy as officers stiffened the lines, orders sharp and clear.

“Steady…” Jerod called, kept his eye on the line, the captain of archers at his side. “They’re still too far.”

“There are too many, Lord. We must cut their ranks now or they’ll close and punch through us.” the captain replied.

“No! Hold your fire.” Jerod ordered, spared him a bare glance. “We can’t reload fast enough. We need maximum effect at the moment of impact.”

“We need more men, Lord.”

“We don’t HAVE more men. Steady…” Jerod rebutted, the captain’s fear silenced. He looked at him, put a hand on his shoulder abruptly. “I’m sorry…but he doesn’t need you anymore.” Jerod said, but did not look at the fortification behind them. Did not want to remember the body he had returned with, a captain’s son. “They need you now.” and he motioned to the line. “They all need you.”

The captain looked back, the haunted look of death and loss that could not express itself in words. Fear and rage and sorrow and regret. Too many words not spoken soon enough between father and son. Jerod knew that expression, all too well.

The captain nodded, gripped his sword tighter. As the enemy line surged forward, the captain called out. “Steady…steady you dogs…hold the range!” Then, as the demons leapt up, he yelled. “For the King…for our sons…Fire!”.

****

“Jerod.” Eric called out, stepped from his tent, the guards snapped to attention as Jerod turned from his horse, his supplies secured.

“I want you to take this with you.” Eric said, handed him a scabbarded sword.

Jerod took the blade as Eric proferred it, turned it over, noted the inscription. “From grandfather?” Jerod asked curiously.

“It was mine. Rather, it is mine.” Eric said. “My father gave it to me after my first campaign against raiders pillaging in Karime. I want you to use it.”

Jerod looked at the inscription again, then drew the blade from the scabbard, hefted it, felt the weight. He looked back at Eric. “I haven’t finished a campaign on my own.” he said.

“After today, you will have.” Eric said, the unspoken future on his lips.

Jerod nodded, replaced his own sword with the new one. “I’ll take good care of it.” he said as he climbed into his saddle.

“Take good care of your men.” Eric said. “And yourself, my son.”

****

“The King’s standard!!!” yelled the flankers.

The expression of disbelief in their voices was enough to draw Jerod from the skirmish that was finishing, the enemy line that collapsed under the counterattack of his men. He turned to look down into the distance, saw the mass of black in the center position. Here and there he could make out the desperate melee of man against beast, the crushing attack of Gerard’s men as the southern flank thrust forward, leaving a trail of enemy corpses behind.

But the mass of black surrounding the standard dominated his attention. None of Amber’s troops were in range for reinforcement.

“My lord.” said the sergeant breathlessly. He motioned to a detachment of men with his sword, the sword he had retrieved from the captain, now dead. “We can take them from the side, my lord.” and he began to motion the men forward.

“Hold your position sergeant.” Jerod ordered, his gaze still on the standard. “Reform in the fortifications. Two men deep on all positions.”

“My lord…the King is surrounded. We must aid him…” the sergeant said, confused and not hearing Jerod’s words.

“Hold your position!” Jerod said. “We need to maintain the perimeter. Prince Gerard will reach the standard.” And he paused, watched as Gerard’s men halted, a thickening in the enemy line holding them in position, leaving the standard surrounded and alone. A fear gripped at Jerod as silence surrounded him and he watched for a few moments, as the men watched.

He shook himself, listened…the silence deafening. “Shit!” Jerod shouted. “Reform on the fortifications, sergeant. Now!”

The sergeant started, hearing the silence now and realized the danger, shouted the men out of their stupor as they were rushed to the barricades. Jerod turned to watch the standard a moment, heedless of the danger as hiss of the flyers came from the forest. “Forgive me…” he whispered, and turned his back on the standard, raced back to his men, back to the bloodletting, back to the gore and the terror…

****

Jerod started awake, sweating, short sharp breathing accompanied by the sound of the sea in the distance. He looked around for a moment, breathing heavily, not recognizing where he was, as the realization came to him slowly. He sat up, seated himself at the edge of the bed for a moment, ran his fingers through his hair to still their shaking.

After a moment, he stood up, walking to the desk, and poured a long drink. He drank it slowly, looking out the window at the city, flickering lights and the sounds of people vague and insubstantial, like his dream. Only he knew better. Dreams were never insubstantial.

He held the glass against his chest, turned to the table to lift the cloth cover. He lifted the broken sword up, moved to the window to look at it in the moonlight, gazed at the blade’s edge, remembered the twang as it broke, remembered his father as he handed to Jerod. Remembered the captain as he died, killing four before he fell at last. Remembered the captain grieving but a moment, no proper time for a son now long gone. Remembered…

He looked at the sword again, took a drink. “I should throw it away.” Jerod thought to himself. “It just keeps reminding me. Gotta put it behind me.” and he turned the blade over, looked at it, remembered.

“I should throw it away.” he thought, as he put the sword back on the table, wrapped it in the leather again as he had done every day since it had been returned to him. He drank the rest of his drink, turned suddenly, whipped the empty glass out through the window, watched it sail out into the distance. “Maybe tomorrow…” he whispered, before climbing back into bed.

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