《And Thus Did Gods and Mortals Bleed》
Prologue: "In the Heavens, a Promise of Bloodshed was Made"
O nobly-born, harken and heed, that the Veil that separates the Spheres are but the playthings of the Gods, Almighty Glory Upon Them, and that the Veil is all-and-ever shifting, like the motherly river of the Kautasta. And the Gods, Almighty Glory Upon Them, guide the winds that shift the Veil. Thus, they allow the passing and coming between the Spheres, the unlife and life of all at their behest and whim.
The Diviner of Time, Book IX.48
And lo, the Goddess Laitha, the Silk Maiden, Daughter of the Angelic Path, She Who is Never-Wrought, brought the linen-plumed hero back to stand with his comrades-in-arms, spear and shield in hand to fulfil the Gods-ordained victory over the Akamites. He who had his head hewed off his shoulders a passing of the light ago, now stood as beautiful and war-like as never before.
Tale of the Nine Lands, Song 9
Praise Koinon, the Master of the High Halls, your grace radiant and eternal. Yours is the glory of all the Land, the Hollow Sphere, and the Heavens. May thy mercy shine upon this one at the moment of passing, and return this one back to the Coil from whence it came.
Prayer of Rebirth, Biblia Thea, 225.1
After the Third Great Landing, Astral King Heliander the Crosser made Tol-Antioc his great city of power and from there exerted the might of the Throne of Light across all the nearby lands of the Close Horizon. The malakiai who had inhabited these lands were thrown out with blade or words or spell, and by Year 834 of the Third Age of Kythia, the helikiai had formed a new kingdom they called Seldonia; a mark of respect of the Goddess of the Lunar Cycle that married the God of the Solar Cycle of their homeland of Helidonia. The bright light shone from their cities of Tol-Antioc and Tol-Yveria and Tol-Sankytheia, and it is said by all the sage truthmancers and godspeakers that it shall henceforth never dim on the people of the helikiai.
A History of the Close and Far Horizons, Book I.4
So it is said that it was the Great Mother Kythia and the Great Father Archeon who first created the Hollow Sphere, perched on top of the All-Golden Spires of the High Sphere, so it is said by the Old Ones, it was equally in their wisdom and in their boredom. They wished for more lands to rule, for more land for the bright images of their visions to inherit. They made the Hollow Sphere, and in it they forged Progaia, the First World, and wrought in its middle the Holy Lands, Hieras. Hieras was gifted to the firstborn sons and daughters of their Holy Visions, and they rose beautiful and strong, soon to name themselves the names the Great Mother and Great Father had provided them; the Helikiai and the Thymai.
To the far west, the Mother and Father forged the Close and Far Horizons, and to the far east, the Close and Far Expanses; and there the Great Mother and Great Father populated the lands with those who were not part of their visions, the wretched and the evil races that inhabit the First World, their malice kept at bay by the vast oceans. But the first-born children will one day inherit entire Progaia, and the Gods have ordained it so. So it is said.
The Song of the First, Stanza 4-5
A long slender arm stretched out languidly and delicate, thin fingers plucked a flower with bright blue petals that had no name in any of the Tongues, because it was not known to any of them who spoke it. The flower was brought up to a pristine face so beyond incomprehensibly beautiful that words could not describe it, apart from such objective facts that it was identifiably female, its eyes were bright golden, as was the long straight hair that fell over slender and pale shoulders. The figure was known by many names in many languages; Lamoise, Jaugandery, Lysta, Q¡¯hara, Slanashen, Kythia, and countless besides. ¡°She¡± took a long whiff of the flower, delighting in its aroma, swirling it underneath her nose¡ before setting it aflame with a single thought. Kythia let the ashes fall slowly to the floor of the pleasure palace¡¯s gardens, a menial servant-soul immediately appearing from behind the shadows of the pillars to remove it with their bare hands, before retreating as quickly as possible out of sight, hoping desperately they hadn¡¯t been noticed by the goddess.
¡°I am so unfathomably tired of this existence,¡± Kythia shouted out to seemingly no one in particular and spun around on the god-marble floor, her long white dress swirling around her, the gemstones it was inlaid with glittering in the bright light. She let herself fall backwards, a lounging upholstered bench suddenly having appeared behind her, and she landed among the cushions with a soft thud.
¡°How many eons has it been since anything interesting has happened?¡± she continued to whinge. ¡°How long a time has passed since anything that could even be remotely regarding as a worthwhile pastime? All we do in the Spires are eat, drink and frolic, and observe the mortals. How many thousands of revolutions of the Orb around the First World has there been since the last great sundering, or the emergence of a new race? Have all the ¡®kin turned to salt, but none of us are aware of it?¡±
¡°I do not know what you want me to say,¡± a ¡°male¡± voice replied from somewhere, originating from a different pleasure palace on a different spire. ¡°Affairs are as they always have been since the dawning of the Spheres, the Godskind watch over their godspawn and judge their souls, and we take care to apply ourselves with appropriate leisure while carrying out our tasks.¡± As if to underscore that last point, the voice let out a bellowing burp.
Kythia sneered, twisting her beautiful facial features into a vicious snarl.
¡°You disgust me sometimes, Tymeon, that you have no further ambition nor desire rather than to simply judge the lives of the mortals, instead of something more, something grander. Surely I cannot be the only one languishing in this miserable dearth of non-existence?¡±
¡°My dear Kythia¡¡± the godly being called Tymeon, but also Brachio, Tesk, L¡¯cosch¡¯he, and more besides, responded with a sigh, proving that this was not the first time they had had this conversation. ¡°You know what I think of the matter, but I will say it again, because you never seem to understand it regardless of how many times I repeat it. You, Great Mother, have it too good. Your ¡®ambition¡¯ stems from lack of competition. It is easy to grow blas¨¦ when you are as worshipped as you. By all the Spheres, you are the Great Mother, you and Great Father Archeon were the ones to envision the mortal realms and the Coils in the first place, all those uncountable eons ago. You two never have to claw for the mortals¡¯ favour and devotion, your gifts rain upon them not even as an afterthought, and their devotion is so strong that it is a miracle if one of your Firstborn are not returned through the Passing of the Veils.¡±
Kythia rolled her eyes as a servant-soul from one of the lesser races materialised to pour her a goblet of wine made from a type of grape that would never grow outside the High Sphere.
¡°Flatter will get you nowhere, Tymeon¡¡± she rasped, but it did, it always did, and she smiled lopsidedly.
¡°Regard some of the Godskind then, like Selena¨©s, she who is Lunara, Sellas, Nesphe¡¡±
¡°Get on with it, my patience is non-existent today,¡± Kythia said testily, sipping her wine.
A grunt from the other god. ¡°She is merely the goddess of the High Moon, Kythia, she has only a veritable handful of mortals who give her their undivided devotion. In return, she spends so much of her divine energy by granting donations in return, personally following her champions and chosen. You, by compare, spread your gifts liberally across the untold masses, and noble such actions are, it is impossible for you to maintain a personal vigil of your greatest devotees. Your plenitudes of faithful is the source of your overabundance of energy, and thereby, overall idleness.¡±
¡°You¡¯re a fine one to talk, you have chosen to include in your domain the love of drink and food.¡±
Tymeon snorted with laughter.
¡°Says the Great Mother, Goddess of Birth, Rebirth, Fertility and Nature.¡±
¡°There are no rules among the Gods and the Godskind that your gifts have to be individual or unique. And all Godskind are given the power to send souls between Coils and Spheres, which is why we are gods in the first place. Or else, any powerful being could call themselves a ¡®god¡¯.¡±
A wisp of an idea suddenly appeared in the recesses of Kythia¡¯s mind, something to alleviate the uneventful and stagnant equilibrium of the High Sphere.
¡°Tymeon, my dear,¡± she purred, ¡°I do believe I would like to call a Godsmoot.¡±
She could hear the other god spit out his own drink.
¡°By the Spires, Kythia, you cannot be serious. There hasn¡¯t been a Godsmoot since the banishment of Beskeron and Baskarion four Ages ago!¡±
¡°Precisely,¡± she smiled broadly, sipping her wine while ruminating on the embryonic idea that had formed in the back of her mind, ¡°it is time for all the Godskind to reconvene. Shake up this dreadful state of nothingness. And I have the perfect idea as to how.¡±
The Sakrosanktorion was the inviolate meeting grounds of the Godskind where they all, lesser to greater, had an equal voice and an equal seat. Within those hallowed halls of divine marble and golden pillars, where herald-cherubai flew between the grand halls and auditoriums, lofty feasting rooms, gilded androskyneions, guarded by the Immortals, the Godskind met on extremely important occasions. Well, that what was the angellos proclaimed loudly anyway, and most of that was true. What was less than honest about that was the part about important events ¨Cin truth, it also happened when some of the Godskind felt like playing factional politics, and wage their incessant personal feuds¨C, and the part about everyone being equal. Every Godskind and even their servant-souls, from the highest castellan to lowliest menial, knew there were a handful of gods whose voice bore significantly more weight than the rest¡¯s. The Grand Symposion, where the official moot was held, was a partially open air amphitheatre with tiered rows of seats, a central speaker¡¯s dais on the floor as well as a further dais among the seats where a dozen small throne chairs were placed. Those belonged to the Archontes, the twelve most powerful of the Godskind.
Power to the Godskind was a highly relative term, even the lesser Godskind were capable of feats that mortals could merely dream of, but the Archontes had, through the innumerable eons amassed divine strength that dwarfed even lesser Gods. An Archonte could create continents, even entire worlds within the Hollow Sphere, though only through the combined efforts of Kythia and Archeon had the formation of Progaia, the First World, been possible. But Archontes could raise mountains and drain seas, ignite stars and create life, all at their own personal whim. In the anarchic Far Past, some of the Archontes had done this as merely a pastime, until the Godsmoot had been arranged, and the activity of all the Godskind had been regulated under the watchful eye of an assembly of peers. Punishment for transgression was the stripping of the dominion of souls, reducing a Godskind to a mere daemon; a powerful entity in its own right, but nothing close to what it had once been. The Coil and the Spheres were lost to daemons, forced at best to roam the Hollow Sphere, or to pass away into the Nether at worst.
There had not been called a Godsmoot in nearly three-thousand revolutions of the Orb, and while time was an abstract construct to even mortals (Helikiai and Thymai often argued how the passing of seasons and years should be counted, which was in stark contrast to how the Malakiai or the Thassaoi did it, not to mention the stubborn Dwamorroi in their burrows), it was even more abstruse for the denizens of the High Sphere. Yet, there was a palpable tension among the gathering Godskind, a sense of something unique that had not happened for a very long time, and the very notion of stepping down from their pleasure palaces, sky-chariots, azure lake gazebos, and other godly dwellings was exciting and strangely invigorating. Granted, a further ninety six revolutions of the Orb had passed since Kythia¡¯s and Tymeon¡¯s mind-conversation, but Kythia had not spent that time idly. As the about four hundred Godskind that had agreed to meet started to fill the seats of the Grand Symposion ¨Cthere were about three score more who had not responded or sent the assigned angelloi back bearing harsh rebukes¨C, Kythia could not help feel the corners of her mouth creep upwards into a big smile. Perhaps the first genuine grin she had had in an Age, now that she thought about it.
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She could not wait any longer. Kythia stepped onto the speaker¡¯s dais and the chatter amongst the throngs of Godskind died almost immediately once they recognised who stood in front of them, and who had called this exceptionally rare Godsmeet. Now, divine beings were not ones for outrageous emotional outbursts, so the polite applause Kythia received was as good as any standing cheering ovation, and she internally basked in it. But she did not let it show outwardly how much she lapped up the attention. Instead she opened her arms wide to seemingly embrace the collective audience of the Symposion.
¡°My brothers and sisters!¡± she said in a loud and clear voice that carried from the first row where the Greater Kin sat, to the very back where sanctified daemons had been forced to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. ¡°For too long has this great divine realm been in the throes of stagnation and apathetic equilibrium. I cannot be the only amongst our noble kind who has sensed this, despite that such a number of ages has passed that some of us might have become numb to the sensations. Look no further than to Progaia herself, and to what the Firstborn have done in our veritable absence.¡±
¡°You speak of absence, Lady,¡± shouted Tethronous, he who is Ungyr, Maketh, K¡¯emeth¡¯ek, Sirkle, one of the Archontes ¨Cthe Archonte of Death and Undying¨C, ¡°but for my own part, I have ever been a presence in the lives and unlives of the mortals. If I was absent, or what you term as ¡®numb¡¯, the mortal realms would be overflowing with those who are overripe, and then some, for death.¡±
Kythia smirked confidently, hoping exactly for Tethronous or perhaps Nessira to speak up in protest. She affixed a polite smile and looked right at the seated harrowing pale and dark figure on the upper dais.
¡°Lord Tethronous,¡± she said in a faux-sweet tone, ¡°I would never speak ill of any of the Godskinds¡¯ continued effort to exert their domain over the Hollow Sphere, for we all have our all-important part to play, from grandiose to seemingly meaningless. Your work is indeed important, and I thank all of you for your diligent care for your duties. But we are Godskind for a reason, and where even a single mortal prays to one of our kin, they have a reason to expect at least a part of our divine attention.¡±
With a flourish of her white and golden dress, Kythia stepped quickly down from the dais and instead walked barefoot onto the amphitheatre¡¯s floor.
¡°But I do not bring you all together today for the first time in countless revolutions to discuss the respective hardship of each of the ¡®kind, but therein lies the crux of the matter. The Firstborn and the Lesser Races have mingled in such great numbers, that the sheer amount of devotees and followers each of us must care for, have reached such numbers to become a faceless mass.¡±
¡°For some of us more than others,¡± Ambarr, he who is Morgond, Veilhammer, Geruth, shouted from somewhere in the middle of the rows of seats, producing chuckles from the crowd, some of them sounding more than a little envious.
Kythia rewarded the jest with a thin smile, before continuing.
¡°And that is why I this day come bearing the suggestion of a contest. A contest of the likes of which the High Sphere and the Spires have never seen the likes of before.¡±
Murmurs broke out amongst the seated Godskind, confusion written in their myriad of chosen projected faces. A few sneers and a couple of disapproving sounds came from the direction of the upper seats. Eumegaia, she who is Laitha, Oriella, Cecadene, Isteth, the Archonte of Transcended Beauty, Music, Poetry, and Tales crossed her arms on the elevated dais, and her piercing grey eyes became suspicious slits.
Kythia held up her hands in a both a placating and silencing gesture.
¡°We have existed for uncounted eons as veritable equals,¡± she continued with a calm but loud voice, ¡°with no one claiming lordship over the High Sphere, joined in mind as a single collective body since the raising of the Hollow Sphere and the First World, together since the formation of the Godsmoot. It is true, what some of you are thinking right now, that me and my spouse did create Progaia and were the propagators of the Hollow Sphere. But that was nineteen-thousand revolutions ago, and we both now find ourselves among our kindred in the Archontes. None of us claim the overlordship of anything outside our own Spires.¡±
Kythia looked quickly up at the towering figure of Great Father Archeon, dressed as he was in golden armour and holding the Sword of the Kindred by the grip, tip down on the marble floor. His long hair was as golden as hers, but held back from his forehead by a diadem of royal purple, and his large beard shrouded his mouth, no doubt forming a suspicious grimace right now. Kythia and Archeon had been spouses at the time when they forged the Hollow Sphere, but the lives of Gods are long, and they¡¯d fallen out of each other¡¯s favour more than five-thousand revolutions ago. Yet they still kept up the charade of being the only paired Gods in the High Sphere, a perceived image of the physical meeting the divine more than anything. Thus, they normally sat next to each other among the Archonte thrones, but they had almost no interaction beyond the few times the ¡®kind met outside the Godsmoot.
¡°I thereby propose,¡± she continued in that same strong voice, reaching the ears of not only of all the Godskind, but also the angellos, the cherubai, and every servant-soul in the Sakrosanktorion, ¡°a contest of fate and faith among all the Godskind. We derive our power through the faith of our followers, that is the Great Truth of the Gods, and should that wane, we lose what makes us special and exalted. Let us turn that into a challenge amongst all the Godskind. An Age from now, we will meet again here in the Sakrosanktorion, and compare the worship of each of the ¡®kind, either in terms of number of devotees, or the amount of mortals gathered under the spiritual or physical leadership of a chosen mortal or champion.¡±
Silence stretched out. Then the amphitheatre burst alive with questions, enthusiastic declarations of support, shouted derision, and accusations. All of the Archontes, with the notable exception of Archeon, rose from their thrones and joined in the chorus, quite loudly in fact. Just the reaction Kythia had hoped for. She raised her arms in a silencing gesture once more, and gradually the shouts died down, but many ¡®kind remained standing, all eyes focused intently on Kythia¡¯s tall and slender figure.
¡°I will explain the rules and rewards of this contest. The being with the most followers, devotees, or the strongest champion with the most souls bound to their will, shall become the ever-first Hierarchonte of the High Sphere, ultimate master of all Godskind, Lesser Kin, Firstborn, and all other mortals. They shall rule in conjunction with the Archontes, but will be the ultimate first amongst equals, their say shall weight the highest of all Godskind. This title shall be theirs for a full Age, and will remain so during this Age while the rest of the Godskind compete in a new round of contest. Thus the High Sphere shall once again be a realm of creativity, creation, competition and¡¡±
She was interrupted by excited whispers and mumbling, but it disappeared as soon as she started speaking anew.
¡°If I may continue, the rules are quite simple. First, a Godskind cannot bestow upon their chosen, their champions, or their followers divine gifts that are unobtainable by means of any Firstborn or mortal, gifts they would have no chance to control if not for divine interference. Second, a Godskind cannot manifest in any Firstborn or mortal as an avatar; the actions of any faithful must be of their own free will, and any tampering with such will be severely punished. That is all.¡±
Horyx, they who are Lamin, Dreygorath, N¡¯akath, put their arm in the air in polite askance, and Kythia nodded towards them, and the God of the Umbral stood up.
¡°I have three questions, Lady, if you¡¯ll permit me.¡± The Lord of Night¡¯s tone was polite and their words mellow, but it was impossible to discern any sort of gender, as they were shrouded in a cape of willowing darkness, only the thin and pale lower half of their face could be seen. Kythia made a welcoming gesture with an arm, offering the god to continue.
¡°First is the obvious, Lady, that of the Archontes and their immense following. The Archontes are the prime Gods, bringers of gifts that all mortals seek, and as such have the largest flock of devotees. You will, if you¡¯ll excuse me, start this contest with a very unfair advantage. Two, you speak of punishment, might I ask what this entails? And three, is there an opt-out for those who not wish to partake?¡±
The Night Lord sat down again, the crowd applauding politely at the positing of questions on all their tongues.
¡°I have two answers to give, Lord Horyx,¡± Kythia said, her smile growing even larger. ¡°The Archontes will, in our good graces, sit out this first round of the contest. When we reconvene after an Age, the winner will come from those not seated on the exalted thrones.¡±
If any of the Archontes disliked what Kythia was proclaiming, she had to admit they were hiding it very well, though she knew that Eumegaia, Strateia (she who is Iokasta, Anshi, Akko-Neri), and Akmarchos (he who is Sidvaa, Cu-Eidhan, Hvr?dhoggr) would be burning with fire-hot anger on the inside.
¡°As to the punishment and decision not to join are the same: The rescinding of one¡¯s godhood, removal of their power to control the Veils, and the reduction to a daemon, albeit a sanctified one if merely not joining.¡±
The silence this time was one born from astonishment, but instead of shouting, there was instead an intense murmuring between the ¡®kind seated next to each other. Kythia¡¯s smile started to hurt. Yes, she thought, this will be an interesting Age, the most interesting since the Raising of the Spheres, and make no mistake. Let the Blood Games commence.
A set of blue-painted lips split into a small smile, revealing perfect white teeth, some of which were in fact fangs, and eyes as grey as the moonlight veritably glittered with fascination, and one could almost see the machinations being considered behind those lunar-like eyes. A death-pale hand came up to support the resting head of the goddess, hair as pale as her eyes cascading down from her head.
¡°How very interesting,¡± she murmured, and her smile grew a little wider. Ambarr turned to look at her, as she was seated next to him.
¡°You look like you enjoy the idea of Lady Kythia¡¯s challenge, Selena¨©s. Might one ask the High Moon and Star-sister¡¯s mind on this?¡±
Selena¨©s, she who is Nesphe, Khasuia, Nazasarte, Ilmathaia, Goddess of the High Moon, the High Beasts and Blessed Light, also commonly called Lightdrinker and Starmaiden, turned to the other God and spoke in her usual hushed voice which was somehow never drowned out by other sounds.
¡°It is a most excellent scheme, I think, dear Forgefather. Lady Kythia is suggesting, nay carrying out, many things at once. She is creating sport and excitement among the Godskind to an extent never seen before by pitting us up against one another in one great all-against-all battle, and giving the Archontes the privilege of staying above the din of the competition by oh-so-gracefully backing out because of the size of their flocks of followers. It would have been no sport competing against the Goddess of Love or the God of War for instance, it is enough that the emotion of love and the partaking in warfare to exist among mortals for them to be among the strongest of the ¡®kind.¡±
¡°Fair point, and it did strike me as odd that they would sit out, especially since they should be veritably bursting at the seams with pure, unrefined divine power given by their faithful. The Great Father should add ¡®self-restraint¡¯ to his repertoire.¡±
Selena¨©s smiled, but not at the poor jest from the God of Smithwork. Another took notice of their conversation.
¡°I noticed Lady Kythia mentioned a crucial detail,¡± the high voice said from behind, leaning forward in his seat, head resting on tented fingers, making Ambarr turn his head around to look at the one who had spoken, while Selena¨©s did not, enraptured as she was in her own thoughts. Lacuil, he who is Bar-Hadon, Aidinhain, Han-Mohan, the God of Low and High Arcane, presenting himself in long green robes inlaid with gold, nodded his bald head in appreciation.
¡°She said the Godskind with the most followers, or with the most souls bound to a chosen. She specified this was in both or either a spiritual or physical aspect. I quite like the word-play of her little game. It makes my humours tingle for the first time since the mortals discovered the Arcane. Quite interesting indeed.¡±
¡°Kythia is also purging the Godskind, dear Forgefather and dear Loremaster,¡± Selena¨©s said, acknowledging the comments made by the newcomer in the conversation. ¡°There is a lot more that Lady Kythia did not say, but which lies beneath the words she did speak. If all the Godskind start vying for the mortals¡¯ favour all at once, there will be over five hundred of us in direct competition for only so many mortal souls, many of whom will be impossible to sway from the Archontes, especially among the Firstborn. One strategy is to return every faithful soul back to the Hollow Sphere when Passing the Veils, but then the Nether would wither and the High Sphere and the other worlds of the Hollow Sphere besides Progaia would suffer as well.¡±
Ambarr had clearly not thought of this and was becoming more and more enraptured by the Lunar Goddess¡¯ words. Lacuil simply nodded, further slipping into his own planning and divinations.
¡°So that means we will in essence be vying for the loyal devotion of the souls of the Firstborn, Those Gifted Upon Passing, and a relatively low amount of other mortals and Lesser Races, since those make up the servant-souls in the High Sphere and the Nether. And if a Godskind does not have enough faith to sustain their divine powers, they automatically become daemons, despite not forfeiting the game or break any rules. This is nothing but an orchestrated blood sport among the divine beings, with a very enticing prize.¡±
Selena¨©s¡¯ smile grew wider, and her fangs caught on her lips hard enough to draw blood. The pale blue liquid slowly dribbled down her chin, before a long, pale pink tongue emerged from her smiling mouth to lap it back up.
¡°A prize I very much intend to win.¡±
Tou Dramatos Pros艒pa - First Kelgwayn War (1241Y 3A - ?Y 3A)
Eulaoi
Selenike Startears, daughter of Antyakhos of House Starborn, A?s
Lymethissa "Lyssa" Argenstream, daughter of Thapsion of House Troadtowers, A?on
Rhythalion "Rhylin", son of Panthalion, of the Order of the Bloodied Lily, A?on
Aliastheira Drakesblood, daughter of Laotheis, of the Order of the Serene Ivory Dragon, A?kan and First Sword
Eukration, son of Sylpherion, Magoarkhon of Lower Seldonia, Anthypatos of Tol-Antioc, Blood Prince of Seldonia
Valiodoros Mageslayer, son of Xyphodoros of House Greenhawk, Diarkhon of Emerald''s Hold
Pharanikos Kallistration, son of Makharion, A?r and knight-mage
Dekleon, son of Korleon, a Picked
Selymakhos Brightblade, son of Nikomakhos of House Goldtharion, A?r
Kharaspeira, daughter of Lokaron, A?s
Kelpharon, son of Kataleon, a phalangite
Typhakos, son of Etamakhos, an archer
Laispheira, daughter of Kallinike, a mage and healer
Thaliene Shinestar, daughter of Menthakos of House Starborn, A?kan
Sylpherion Spearbreaker, son of Heliander, Astral King of Seldonia
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Laispheira Goldengirdle, daughter of Thalipteia, Astral Queen of Seldonia
Humans
Korastian, son of Antilius and Rowena, brother of Ermengarde, Prince of Archtouria
Malentian, son of Antilius and Olivia, brother of Ermengarde, Duke of Riquelle and Prince of Archtouria
Erkenwald, son of Tarwald of House Cathendron, King of Kelgwyn
Lisette, daughter of Bernadette of House Reginard, Queen of Kelgwyn
Ermengarde, daughter of Antilius and Rowena of House Valdrysus, Queen of Archtouria
Elan Valka, son of Oleg and Manda, a farmer''s son
Irina Valka, daughter of Oleg and Manda, a farmer''s daughter
Folcard, son of Bernhard, a ridder
Eufroy, son of Sinoric, a knekt
Melsine, daughter of Roudwald and Hilde, a nobleman''s daughter
Iustin, son of Iustin of House Alberic, Duke of Lys-Tyras
Roland, son of Manphred of House Lancaire, Duke of Fal-Tyras
Sigismund, son of Fulbert of House Romisel, Duke of Arquenon
Roudwald, son of Ricfried of House Regisel, Duke of Laronque
Ornmund, son of Gilmund of House Berthaire, Duke of Keronque
Godskind
Kythia (Lamoise, Jaugandery, Lysta, Slanashen, Q''hara, Malanna), Archonte, Goddess of Motherhood, Birth, Rebirth, Fertility, Nature - Great Mother, God-Queen
Archeon (Koinon, Angelon, Ca-Cogan, Mangfardr, Zah''rir), Archonte, God of the Heavenly Halls, the Veil, Fathers, Strength, Compassion - Great Father, God-King
Strateia (Iokasta, Anshi, Akko-Neri, Edelvarg), Archonte, Goddess of Strategy, Horse-riding, Noble Warfare - Spear-Maiden, Girded One, Lady of Blades
Eumegaia (Laitha, Cecadene, Isteth, Oriella, Veliadrys), Archonte, Goddess of Transcended Beauty, Poetry, Tales, Music - Silk Maiden, Angelic Daugther
Tethronous (Ungyr, Sirkle, Makalar, Maketh, K''emeth''ek), Archonte, God of Death, Undying, the Nether - Lord Death, King of Shades
Ambarr (Geruth, Morgond, Veilhammer, J?rnbror), God of Smithing, the Forge - Forgefather, Ironarm
Selena¨©s (Nesphe, Nazasarte, Khasuia, Lunara, Sellas, Ilmathaia), Godess of the High Moon, Blessed Light, High Beasts - Lightbringer, Starmaiden
Lacuil (Bar-Hadon, Aidinhain, Han-Mohan), God of Low and High Arcane - Loremaster
Beskeron, a daemon
Baskarion, a daemon
Chapter 1: "Oh Nobly Born, Waves Beget Waves"
O nobly-born, harken and heed, entomb in your soul¡¯s soul that the Gods, Almighty Glory Upon Them, are the blood-essence of life upon the First World, as the Great Mother and Great Father, Highest Glory Is Theirs, wrought it from the nothingness of the Hollow Sphere. Praise the Gods, Almighty Glory Upon Them, for it is the right of the supplicant to give its immortal soul to the glory of the Lords and Ladies of the High Sphere.
The Diviner of Time, Book III.21
As year 1241 of the Third Age commenced, Erkenwald, the king of the Kelgwayn, on seeing that the power of the Elves was increasing and that the whole war was being directed against Kelgwyn, became much alarmed about the future. He therefore sent envoys into Lower Seldonia to King Sylpherion, asking him to come to terms with him. But when Sylpherion replied that he recognized only one basis for a settlement ¡ª Erkenwald''s surrender of the princedom of Lys-Tyras with all its steadings and people, ¡ª Erkenwald was made afraid and summoned Queen Ermengarde from Archtouria to take concerted action in regard to their highest benefits.
When these monarchs had taken counsel together about their common interest, they sent envoys to Roland, the duke of Fal-Tyras, and to Iustin, the duke of Lys-Tyras, revealing the arrogance of Sylpherion''s answer and showing that the danger arising from such a war was common to all. For they said, if Sylpherion should gain control of Lys-Tyras, he would at once be able to attack all their lands; indeed he had given proof many times that he was covetous and regarded any borderlands of Mannish nations not to be shared but taken. It would therefore, they said, be advantageous for all to make plans in fellowship and jointly undertake war against Sylpherion, before the full strength of Elves from Lower and Higher Seldonia could be mustered. Now Roland and Iustin, believing that the statements were true, eagerly agreed and arranged with Erkenwald to assist one another with strong forces.
History of the Old Continent in the Third Age. Book XXII.47-58.
Erchonboldos, called Ercenfald in the tongue of the malakiai, was a man of striking appearance and remarkably skilled in warfare, and also in character he was not at all like a malakios; for he was for the most part sober, and one noticed in him a certain gentleness and depth of sentiment that could be mistaken for one of proper birth.
Cytheron¡¯s Histories of the First World. Book ¦Ð¦Æ?:¦É¦Å?
Some of the first beams of the Orb found its way through the flaps in the tent, reflecting on finely polished, bright metal plate laid out on a wool rug. One such reflected beam stabbed outwards and hit Selenike right in one eye, and she hissed and recoiled by instinct, baring her white teeth in an annoyed grimace.
¡°Lyssa,¡± she said angrily, ¡°close that flap and return to your duties.¡±
¡°Yes, noble A?s,¡± a youthful female voice replied and the offending, non-covering piece of tent-cloth was secured back with a pin. ¡°Though it is said to be a good omen to be kissed by the Orb directly thus before a battle,¡± the squire said in a nervous tone as she got back to laying out her mistress¡¯ armour.
¡°As if,¡± Selenike spat, rising from the stool she had been sitting on and stood up to her full height, and held out her arms horizontally, ¡°who is saying such nonsense, and what fool are you to be listening to them?¡±
Lymethissa of the Troadtowers swallowed before she started strapping a belt around Selenike¡¯s waist.
¡°A truthmancer in the train¡¯s camp said so, Mamzel,¡± she said as she finished tying the inner belt fast around the long leather tunica Selenike wore, before moving on to pick up the mail hauberk which had been lain out the previous night. She almost dropped it, forgetting in the moment that she had oiled it thoroughly so the rings would not catch.
Selenike bent slightly to allow her squire to slip the long hauberk over her head, and adjusted her arms into the sleeves, the long split skirts of steel rings slapping against her shins.
¡°You know better as an A?on from the house of an Anthypatos to listen to some drunkard who claim they can commune with the Gods,¡± Selenike replied in a less sourly tone, and accepted the thick leather sword-belt Lymethissa offered her, tying it tightly over the hauberk. Lyssa made a quick sign in honour of the Sun God.
¡°Where is Rhylin anyway? He should have been up by now, assisting the both of us. By the Seaspirits of Ouranos, if he is off getting drunk on the morn of battle, I will hide him, noble blood or not.¡± Selenike finished her angry comment with tightening the knot of the belt.
Lymethissa, Lyssa to those who knew her, hastened to reach for the cuisses and poleyns, and bent down to tie them to her knight¡¯s legs and knees. There were sounds coming from outside the tent now, Selenike and Lyssa both could hear the quick rapping of drums and the trilling of pipes, here and there cut through by the blasts of silvery trumpets. Shouts could be heard as well, urging warriors to rise and ready themselves.
¡°He said he went to see to the horses, Mamzel,¡± Lyssa mumbled while struggling with the laces of the leg armour. ¡°Rhylin wanted to make sure Pixie and Ghost were properly watered and fed before they donned their caparisons and armour.¡±
¡°I thought that was Hyck¡¯s job?¡± Selenike reached for the scabbard of her longsword, leaning against the central tent-pole, and fastened it to the metal clasps of her belt.
Lyssa grimaced before wiping her brow clean of sweat. It was barely dawn, but the heat of summer was making itself keenly felt, despite the Orb just barely having cleared the low mountains in the horizon.
¡°Wyck, my A?s,¡± she said delicately, trying not to sound like she was correcting Selenike, ¡°and yes, normally it would be his job, but he was hanged last night for stealing from the provision wagons belonging to Strateron Maglor¡¯s chiliarch.¡±
Stolen story; please report.
Selenike blinked a few times.
¡°Huh, what a moronic thing to do, stealing victuals belonging to Helikiai troops, even if only commoners. Well, he was only a thyfilai, so no great loss in the grand scheme of things. Hope he was faithful to his Gods and was diligent with his prayers. But that still leaves me short a groom, by the Spirits. Where¡¯s Gage then, did he do something equally stupid, like get drunk and cause mischief or some such?¡±
¡°No, Mamzel,¡± Lyssa replied, while attaching the tassets to the front and back of her mistress¡¯ brightly polished cuirass, ¡°Gage is probably over at the smith¡¯s party by Strakomas Eleuseia¡¯s camp, gathering up your reserve lances and your coif. It was missing a few links, remember?¡±
Selenike was about to answer that she did not in fact remember, when the entrance flap to the tent opened, and another young Helikios entered, this one a male.
¡°My apologies, noble A?s,¡± Rhythailon of the Order of the Bloodied Lily said quickly as he immediately went to a hitherto untouched cloth bundle in the opposite corner of the tent. The tent the trio shared was quite spacious, with a large central pole that held up a metal ring from which lines of rope ran that was attached to the grassy ground by solid iron pegs. There was a foldable wooden bed with a mattress of packed down for Selenike, and a pair of bedrolls of coarse linen for the two A?onai. A small wooden table, three stools, three wooden chests ¨Cone quite sizable and two significantly less so¨C, a pair of lanterns mounted on iron poles, and a glass mirror set in a golden frame hanging from the central pole rounded out the furnishings. It was about the expected minimum for a high-born Helikios knight and her pair of squires on a campaign.
Selenike sat down on the stool she had been sitting on earlier and whistled at Rhylin, who turned around, dropped the bundle he had started to unpack with a loud metallic clatter, and rushed over. He dug out a gilded comb from the large chest and went down on his knees facing Selenike¡¯s mailed back. Gently, he started to comb the knight¡¯s long, luxurious hair, taking a hidden delight in how it felt like silk in his hands. The Firstborn of the Great Mother and Great Father were given many gifts, some of them deemed unnatural, some such being their controllable hyper fluctuating metabolism, and lack of some bodily functions like sweating or the build-up of fats in their skin and hair. They regulated body temperature by raising or lowering it depending on outside influences, and were impervious to nearly all known diseases. Longevity was a given; there were sages, nobles, sorcerers, artists, and great knights who had walked the sacred ground of Hieras before it had been united under the Celestial Throne, who still walked the same ground this day. But the Gods touched those they regarded with especial favour, and Selenike Startears of House Starborn was one of those.
Had someone wanted a commission of a picturesque noble Helikios from a Highborn Stratoi-House blessed by the Lords and Ladies of the High Sphere, Selenike would have made a perfect model. Selenike Startears was just shy of seven feet tall ¨Cas Men counted lengths¨C, her figure deceptively slender, hiding wiry muscles underneath her leather doublet and hauberk, common for most of the Helikiai Knight-Nobles. Her face was long and narrow, but with the ever-so-slight pudginess of pre-maturity, a thin rosy mouth, and her eyes were the tell-tale lilac of House Starborn. But her hair made her out to be touched by the Gods themselves. It was long enough to reach beyond the small of her back, but it bore the unnatural colours of silver-grey and royal purple intertwined. When her Lady Mother had brought her into the world, the first sprouts of hair were already showing, deemed a very favourable portent by the godspeakers who oversaw the birth, and the whole Starborn clan made sacrifices that night for favourable omens from above. That very night, a star was born and within two hours and two minutes it was rendered apart, showering the night-sky with bright cascades. Thus, Selenike was awarded the given name of ¡°Startears¡±.
¡°Rhylin, what is the matter? Braid my hair, quickly I might add, I need it ready before Gage returns with my coif.¡±
Rhylin caught himself, and with an excuse muttered under his breath, he started to comb and fashion his mistress¡¯ hair into a thick braid so it could better fit underneath the leather cap and mail coif Selenike would wear under her theostali helm. Rhylin was not much younger than Selenike and certainly not younger than Lyssa, his fellow A?on, but it was hard to judge the age of Firstborn. Rhylin was about as tall as Selenike, with close-cropped chestnut hair and copper eyes that shone like embers when he was agitated. Lyssa lived up to the name of her clan, and was probably just over seven feet tall, despite still being a youth who had not yet flowered. Her eyes and hair was both golden, and her face would be considered slim by the standards of Men, but Helikiai were as a rule seemingly much slimmer than males and females of Men, and to her kin, Lyssa still carried the facial pudginess of youth that their mistress was about to shed. A?on was their title, which could be translated as ¡°squire¡± in Mannish tongues, but to the Firstborn it was more akin to ¡°Knight-Aspirant¡± or ¡°Knight Youth on Their Martial Path¡±. Selenike was a full A?s, female nominative singular declension of what might be translated to Common Tongue as gender-neutral ¡°Knight Banneret¡± but in the implied understanding of the Helikiai and Thymai, ¡°Proven Knight Who Flies Her Clan¡¯s Crest¡±.
¡°It is ready, Mamzel,¡± Lyssa said with a noticeable twinge of pride in her lilting voice. She held up (arms trembling slightly due to the combined weight) of Selenike¡¯s cuirass with affixed tassets, lower lames, pauldrons and gardbraces all affixed. It was a splendid set of armour, and no mistake about it. It was wrought by the chosen masters of the forge-lord of House Starborn, all of whom had experience of forging arms and armour for more than seventeen-hundred revolutions of the Orb under their proverbial belts. As Rhylin and Lyssa joined to fit their knight-mistress in her final armament, they could not help but admire the craftsmanship. It was what men called ¡°white plate armour¡± in regards how it looked unadorned, but due to Helikiai craftsmanship, each set of folded theostali metal fit the knight perfectly, adorning Selenike in not as much as a set of armoured plates, but a suit made to fit her perfectly, that just happened to be crafted of some of the strongest metal known to all the Higher and Lesser Races. As the Gods had dictated, Men could not craft metals like the Firstborn could, and while Selenike¡¯s armour could, at a distance, have been mistaken for one wrought by a Mannish mastersmith, no one who appreciated it up-close would have assumed so.
Rhylin clacked the gorget into place over the top of the cuirass, and Selenike was starting to look like the noble warrior that she indeed was. Lyssa tied the greaves fast on the noble A?s¡¯ shins, and Selenike herself tied aback the vambraces that would protect her lower arm from harsh blows.
¡°Grant the Gods mercy¡¯s favour on the field that will soon be spilled,¡± Selenike started to pray; Lissa and Rhylin looked at each other and prayed in their own versions of the same prayer.
¡°Greatest of Glories is Selena¨©s, she who grants the most choice of all the Godsgifts,¡±
¡°My ancestral gift has been spent as such, and will ever thus be like this.¡±
The rapid drumming outside the tent was closing on incessant.
Chapter 2: Baptism of Blood - Part 1
The Orb had finally risen over the mountains in the east, and glinted fiercely off of Selenike¡¯s armour as she strode out into the organized chaos of an army preparing itself for battle. She finished tying her secondary weapons to her two sturdy leather belts ¨Ca mace with a head of flanged black steel and two thin-bladed stingswords¨C and finished tying her pale blue half-cape to rest over her right shoulder. The grass her armoured boots trod on was still wet with dew from the night, the light of the orb not having reached so far down as to dispel it. She looked around the camp for the first time in daylight and was impressed by what she saw. Ordered rows of rectangular tents for the rank and file were organized along cleared routes for easy transport and access to the central smithies and horse lines, as well as the victual wagons. The pavilions and tents of the nobility and the knights stood in small clusters, although Selenike had been forced to pitch hers where she had found room the previous evening, her party arriving late. The paths between the tent clusters were filled with Helikiai and Thymai soldiery moving with purpose, phalangites donning their scale armour and tall plumed helmets, and slotting the halves of their long pikes together, archers stringing their bows and adjusting the feathers of their arrows, and grooms barding horses before leading them to their knights and squires. There were quite a few Thyfilai in the army Selenike noted, seeing many of their number pass by wearing mail and surcoats issued to them by the royal armouries in Tol-Sankytheia and Tol-Nilethos. The air was filled with the sound of drums, pipes, trumpet blasts, and the smell of a camp of thousands of soldiers; sweat, cooking meat and bread, excrements from the many animals, and a constant whiff of uncleanliness and filth. Selenike¡¯s nose twitched, and she had to concentrate on holding the meagre contents of her stomach in place.
Rhylin came out of the tent and handed Selenike her helmet, a tall-crested close variant, with a visor that mimicked the gaping maw of a lyndwyrm, her House¡¯s celestial-bond animal. She nodded her thanks, but did not put it on; she was still waiting on Gage to return with her coif.
¡°Have you emptied your body completely, my A?s?¡± Rhylin asked in a tone that brokered that he was awkward with asking the question, but it was his duty as Selenike¡¯s A?on.
¡°I went to the latrines before you joined, Rhylin,¡± Selenike replied, irritated at herself for feeling the tips of her long ears flush with heat. If Rhylin noticed, he had the good graces of not mentioning it. Instead he held out two water sacks to her. Selenike hiked up a silvery eyebrow.
¡°Surely I would only need the one, Rhylin?¡±
¡°The first is water, Mamzel, the second is strongwine. I heard from my upbringer, a full A?ros with sixteen glories and twenty-nine kindlings to his name, that it was a prudent stratagem for any warrior, regardless of age and experience, to start the morn of battle with the bravery of hard drink in their hearts.¡±
Selenike considered the offered sacks for a few moments, her stomach and hearts roiling with the imps of anxiousness, before taking both. Not wanting to seem like a waif in front of her squire, she took a hefty glug from the one containing the strongwine. Sharp, burning liquid made its way down her oesophagus and she could feel as it landed in her stomach. Immediately she could start to feel its effect, and she looked an unspoken question at Rhylin, who shrugged with an accompanying small smile.
¡°A noble had already ridden off to join the van, and leaving behind a barely touched cask of blessed strongwine, by Tymeon¡¯s Favour if the label is to be believed. I simply helped myself before some fool thyfilai sneaked off with it.¡±
Selenike smiled and took another sip.
¡°Good work, A?on, I appreciate it. Now run along and help Lyssa with her armour before you bring Ghost and Pixie over. Furthermore, where did you store my truelance? I cannot be seen riding to battle without my truelance and banner.¡±
¡°Of course, Mamzel, the truelance should be with the rest of the gear in the guarded baggage train camp. I¡¯ll send Gage to get it for you once he returns.¡±
¡°No need,¡± a perky voice in very dubiously accented Hiaigl¨tta piped up, and a malakiai lad of about sixteen of the lesser race¡¯s years, rounded a tent corner, carrying in one hand a mail coif, and over his shoulder a long tilting-spear tipped with a foot long spike of theostali, and a furled pennant attached to the tip¡¯s base. The boy, Gage, was significantly shorter than any of the three Helikiai that made up the rest of Selenike¡¯s very modest lancie, now that Wyck apparently was no more, but he was a stocky and heavyset youth that would with time surely grow into a formidable man. His nose was slightly crooked which suggested he had broken it at some point, and his hair was a poorly cut mess of shockingly orange curls. He wore a long-sleeved tunic that had at one point been white, but was now a dirty beige, and a pair of baggy grey trousers, as was apparently the fashion of the malakiai race, and wrapped sandals on his feet. Despite being slightly uncomfortable with having a malakias as a groom, Selenike, Rhylin, and Lyssa would ¨Cif asked directly¨C admit that Gage was a capable and industrious part of their small lancie. He did the tasks that A?ons were too elevated to be performing, such as grooming and feeding their mounts, clearing away their refuse, acquire food from the supply train (but not cook, that was Rhylin¡¯s responsibility), and run errands like he was right now.
Selenike held out a gauntleted hand and accepted the lance while Rhylin snapped the coif from Gage, who simply shrugged and took a few steps back to look at the knight in all her martial glory, while Rhylin went to put the coif over Selenike¡¯s head, tucking her white-purple hair underneath the leather-ringmail headdress. Selenike¡¯s armour was made by the forge masters in personal employ of House Starborn, and the months they had spent crafting Selenike¡¯s suit of plate had not been wasted. Tight-fitting plates of shining theostali covered most of her body, with the ringmail of her long, underneath hauberk polished and oiled so well it shone with the light of dawn, giving protection where plates did not. As was the fashion for the scions of the great arestratoi houses, their armour was designed to tell a visual story in addition to provide excellent protection, mostly through its shape, inlaid detailing and carefully crafted ornamental pieces. Selenike¡¯s told of the great lyndwyrm Val-Thrakax as he burst forth from the Golden Glade of Eunome-L??n, the armour plates of her legs partly shaped like flowers and spring blossoms, gradually giving into the vast, dreadful shape of Val-Thrakax over her torso, her shoulder pads being the top of the beast¡¯s wings, the fingers of her gauntlets its claws. The gorget imitated the drake¡¯s fire-belching thorax, her helmet its fearsome head, with fringe-wings of polished steel protruding from the sides of the visor. Gage never grew tired of looking at the insane forge-craft the Elven master smiths were able to create, forgetting at times that the worn works of art were in fact heavy plate armour.
Rhylin completed Selenike¡¯s armour by tying on the mail coif, ensuring that her braid coiled comfortably down back of her neck as to not get in the way. She left her helmet hanging by a hook in her belt.
¡°I¡¯ll go get the horses once I¡¯ve helped Lyssa, Mamzel,¡± Rhylin said and hurried off.
A white hand reaches out and touches a bright-dim light of both shimmering gold and consuming darkness, alabaster fangs dripping with a single perfect drop of crimson blood.
¡°Mamzel, are you ill? Should I call a healer?¡±
She didn¡¯t know how she¡¯d fallen to a knee, but Selenike was suddenly looking up into the surprised and slightly concerned brown eyes of Gage. She managed to stand up, her armour creaking, but finding that her legs were shaking ever so slightly.
¡°It¡¯s nothing, Gage,¡± she managed with what she hoped was seen as an air of confidence, ¡°just a combination of little sleep and excitement, I would wager.¡±
¡°Doesn¡¯t help that you haven¡¯t broken your fast,¡± the groom replied in a tone that suggested that his concern might have been more for his own empty stomach than his knight¡¯s, but Selenike¡¯s forming reply died in her throat.
Worry not child, for you have the Blessed Light within you. Listen to your inner heart, and know always I shall be there to guide you. Blessed are those who walk in the Light of the Higher Voices. The voice was almost a whisper, but Selenike heard every word as clearly as the shining light of the moon on a calm summer night.
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No, Gods please, I cannot hear the Voice now, not while I am awake, not on such a day. Please, Voice, have pity and return later, tomorrow even. Just let me be at peace with my mind today, you can haunt me all you want on the morrow!
The Voice didn¡¯t answer and Selenike let out a deep sigh, realising she had been holding her breath. New trumpet blasts filled the air, and Selenike¡¯s long, thin ears twitched as she recognised the signal for the host to form up into their companies, and Selenike realised that she had no idea where to report.
¡°Gage,¡± she said, turning to the thyfilai groom, ¡°what lords¡¯ s¨ªgn¨n have you seen?¡±
The expression on the lad¡¯s face told her she could just as easily have asked why the Orb rose in the morning and set in the evening, and she rolled her eyes.
¡°Banners, Gage, have you seen any large banners with iconic heraldry on them? Animals or symbols in striking colours? The lords and knight-captains make their presence known by having their herald-knights carry their large standards in battle.¡±
¡°I¡¯s seen more than a few banners, Mamzel,¡± Gage said, seemingly trying to remember, ¡°but it¡¯s all a mess of colours and symbols for me, I cannot tell one elf lord from t¡¯other.¡±
¡°Don¡¯t use that word in our Mamzel¡¯s presence,¡± the cold voice of Lyssa interjected as the squire joined them. Lyssa¡¯s armour was far from as ornate and elaborate as Selenike¡¯s, but it was superficially similar in being a suit of close-fitting plate armour with a long split-skirt hauberk underneath. Over her plated cuirass she wore the surcoat of Troadtowers, three crenelated spires argent and a silver wispwing rousant on a field azure, the linen cloth reaching past her knees but was split-skirt like her hauberk to enable her to seat a mount. Under her plated left arm she held her helmet, a cavalry version of the ones common among the First Shields of the phalanx, with a tall apex leaning slightly forward rather than backwards, with a long, lobstered neck and cheek-guards so tightly placed that it did not require a visor.
¡°Ap¡¯logies if I¡¯ve offended, My Lady,¡± Gage stammered, his Hiaigl¨tta slipping a bit, but Selenike waved an armoured hand at Lyssa in a disarming gesture.
¡°Let it be, Lyssa, it is what malakiai call us anyway, just the same as we call them ¡®malakiai¡¯ instead of ¡®Men¡¯.¡±
¡°Well, it is an apt name, is it not?¡± Lyssa protested and crossed her armoured arms over the chest of her cuirass. ¡°They are ¡®blacklings¡¯ in heart as well as in act, if not necessarily in appearance. ¡®Elf¡¯ carries no inherent meaning but as a name from ancient malakiai myths.¡±
¡°As fascinating a discussion on etymology of names is,¡± Rhylin shot in, walking up to them, leading three barded chargers by their reins, ¡°maybe the focus should be on something else entirely, like the prospect of rapidly approaching battle?¡±
Rhylin was a junior Aspirant-Knight of the Most Noble Order of the Bloodied Lily, and as such his armour was only slightly more elaborate than what the First Spears of the astoi phalangites wore. He wore a sky blue linen cuirass inlaid with salmon-steel scale bands and the cuirass joints fashioned in the likeness of lilies, plus a further long, mounted-split steel scale hauberk underneath, as well as full steel greaves, pauldrons, gauntlets and a gorget. Rhylin¡¯s helmet was similar in pattern to Selenike¡¯s, but without the wings and ornate visor, a simple all-enclosing close helm with a tall crest, with a small stream of lilies-of-the-valley running down the crest¡¯s back. Neither Lyssa nor Rhylin had theostali armour like Selenike; only their truelances were tipped with that blessed and enchanted metal, their armour instead made of ¡°mere¡± steel forged and tempered by Thymai warsmiths.
Selenike took the reins of Ghost, her large grey Nemeian charger, barded as he was in a caparison of House Starborn¡¯s blue, white and royal purple, a steel chamfrain on his night-grey head and a coat of steel scale covering his front under the caparison. She gently ran her armoured glove over the horse¡¯s barded neck, to which Ghost snorted and lowered his head as he recognised her scent.
¡°Nothing different from any other ride, friend,¡± she whispered as she leaned in towards the horse¡¯s ear, ¡°disregard the noise and smell, and focus on the ground under your hooves, let me take care of the rest.¡±
Gage held the reins of Ghost, Pixie, and Lyssa¡¯s charger Nekmos in turn as each rider, accompanied by the clatter of armour, seated their mounts, and adjusted their saddles and their leafshields ¨Cpanoplied with their individual heraldic charges¨C hanging on saddle-hooks. Each rider had their truelance in their right hand, their personal weapons (mace, longsword, and two stingswords for Selenike; battle-ax and longsword for Rhylin, and an arming sword, warhammer, and no less than three stingswords for Lyssa) attached to their multiple belts, but in addition they also had two or three further lances attached by hook to their saddles. Those would be used once their truelances had found their marks in the initial charge and abandoned to be picked up after the battle. A warrior¡¯s truelance was as personal as the crafted armour they wore, being enchanted weapons, and in eulaoi culture it was common courtesy to ransom truelances back to their owners if they should fall into enemy hands. The other lances were the regular kind, made of wood and steel and were disposable.
The trumpets blew again, seemingly more insistent this time, and Selenike had to rein in Ghost, the charger threatening to rear up as the blasts scared the horse. To the shouts of First Spears, First Shields and Tall Helms, helikiai and thymai phalangites streamed past in their hundreds, holding their long pikes upright in two hands or resting them on shoulders as they double-quick marched towards the plains beyond the camp, archers following the heavy infantry in unorganised clusters. Mounted officers and knights joined the cacophony of orders with their mounts¡¯ steel-shod hooves. A herald-knight in shining blue-tinged plate and with the tell-tale banner with doves sable on field argent fixed to the back of his armour, stopped his horse in front of Selenike and her little lancie, and dipped his helmeted head in a bow as he recognised the Starborn heraldic lyndwyrm charge on her truelance banner.
¡°Apologies, Mamzel,¡± he said in Andrasyian-accented Hiaigl¨tta, ¡°but might I assume you have not received a placement in a battle yet?¡±
Selenike smiled lopsidedly, and tucked a lock of hair back underneath the mail coif.
¡°Is it that obvious that I¡¯m new here?¡± she half-joked, to which the herald-knight smiled politely.
¡°Most of the men-at-arms are already on the field, Mamzel, only the reserve and the Picked of the Purplemanes remain in the camps to round up the last of the infantry and the thyfilai auxilia, and direct them towards the battle lines.¡±
¡°I see,¡± Selenike replied, stretching up in the saddle in an attempt to see over the tops of the tents, and try to discern where the infantry was headed.
¡°Well then, can you direct me to where the Prince has placed his banner, Kyr?¡±
The herald-knight¡¯s polite smile disappeared as quickly as the morning dew.
¡°Mamzel, begging your pardon,¡± he said in a tone bereft of all emotion, ¡°but if you do not know where His Royal Highness has made his s¨ªgn¨n flow, then in all likelihood you¡¯re not supposed to be in His Royal Highness¡¯ company.¡±
He made to ride away, tugging at his horse¡¯s reins, but Rhylin interfered by urging Pixie forwards a few steps.
¡°If not His Royal Highness¡¯ s¨ªgn¨n, Kyr, what other great lords are leading battles on the field? Perhaps my lady can find a place amongst them?¡±
The knight seemed to think for a moment, while looking Selenike up and down, apparently making note of her exquisite armour and the fact it had no scratches or dents.
¡°His Grace,¡± he said at length, looking Selenike directly in her lilac eyes, ¡°the Diarkhon of Emerald¡¯s Hold has command of the left wing, and the majority of the cavalry has been allocated to that flank. Your lancie might find a spot in the line there, Mamzel.¡±
Without waiting for Selenike¡¯s reply, the herald-knight spurred his horse and rode off past a row of tents, narrowly avoiding running down a trio of thyfilai archers who shouted invectives back at him.
¡°Remind me, Lyssa,¡± Selenike asked, turning to face her squire, ¡°who is the Diarkhon of Emerald¡¯s Hold again?¡±
¡°That would be Valiodoros of House Greenhawk, Mamzel,¡± Lyssa replied, a slightly sour tinge to her voice, and Selenike cocked her head quizzically, but her squire simply didn¡¯t follow up on it.
¡°Well, might as well try our luck there,¡± Selenike said at length as another group of phalangites jogged past, their scale armour clinking rhythmically, ¡°seeing we actually just arrived last night and haven¡¯t been attached to a lord¡¯s battalion yet.¡±
She turned towards Gage, who had remained at a respectful distance during the exchange with the herald-knight.
¡°Go grab a blade from the common armouries, Gage,¡± she said sternly to the groom, speaking slowly so he could grasp the importance of what she was saying, ¡°and protect our baggage. If the enemy breaks through, you are to form up with the rest of the grooms and the camp guards and help defend the camp and the followers. If you see the battle is won, I want you up on the field with one of the pack horses and the baggage cart to help with assisting the wounded. Do you understand, Gage?¡±
The thyfilai youth nodded emphatically.
¡°You can trust me, M¡¯zel, I¡¯ll guard your tent and possessions with my life.¡±
He came to a facsimile of attention and slammed a closed fist over his chest. Selenike couldn¡¯t help but smile. The thyfilai lad was clad in dirty peasant clothes, but still acted as he thought a soldier should act; Selenike felt she warmed a bit to her groom at this ridiculous sight.
¡°We¡¯ll see you after the battle, Gage,¡± she said and spurred Ghost forward. Instinctively, the two smaller horses of Rhylin and Lyssa followed the large charger. Lyssa put her helmet on over her coif, fastening the straps tightly. Rhylin bowed his head and rattled off a prayer to Strateia-Iokasta, the Great Goddess of War and Strength of Arms.
Chapter 3: Baptism of Blood - Part 2
10th Day of the High Flower Moon, Year 1241 of the Third Age of Kythia
[¡] First marched the Khrysaorians, Men of fierce countenance and tall of build, their left sides protected by long shields which shone with remarkable brightness. White cloaks draped their shoulders, and on their right they brandished fearsome swords. Next to the Khrysaorians stood the other Mannish auxiliaries, their armour and costume diversiform according to their respective nations; and among these were some Lyaronians but also Men of the outlands of Tol-Antioc and Tol-Nilethos; filai these were called by Elves, Alonians by themselves, and these were for the most part armed with great bows given to them by the Elves.
Next came a formation of the Elves themselves, which they called the phalanx of the Phoinospidai. These were selected for their strength and valour and were more conspicuous, shining in gilded armour and scarlet cloaks, and armed in the Elven manner: this was the middle of the army. These were succeeded by those whom they called Haimaspidai, for their blood-red shields. This phalanx was placed next to the other on the right wing. Besides these two phalanxes, which constituted the chief strengths of the Seldonian army, the knights, who were also Elves, and carried lances not very unlike those of the phalanx, but in other respects more heavily armed and draped, were distributed on the wings advanced, and projected beyond the left of the line. The plain was illuminated with the brightness of their arms, the neighbouring hills echoed with their shouts, as they mutually cheered each other on, and the music of their war instruments was thunderous.
History of the Old Continent in the Third Age. Book XXV.13-16.
It proved easy enough to find where Diarkhon Valiodoros had chosen to form his battle, since the low incline where he and his personal retinue was placed was awash with a veritable forest of banners and standards, flying a hundred and one different heraldic symbols. As soon as Selenike, Lyssa, and Rhylin cleared the perimeter of the army¡¯s camp, rode past the series of ditches and sharpened stakes ¨Cdug and set up by the astoi infantry two days ago, when the camp was pitched¨C, they simply followed the few straggler groups of men-at-arms and herald-knights headed for the diarkhon¡¯s position. The ride gave Selenike an opportunity to actually appreciate the field where the Prince¡¯s host was assembling on. She did not know the name of the vast plain, nor the low mountains far to the east, but she could recognise it was superb ground to wage war on. It stretched on for several miles in all directions, verdant and virginal green grasslands that had never seen a ploughman¡¯s tool, only the flat teeth of livestock and wild grazers. There were a few undulating rises here and there, but none big enough to be called even a low hill, and a few small streams just barely large enough to carve out a path through the greenery. The grass was summer-grown, smelling beautifully fresh, and the water that trickled down the small becks was as clear as the skies above.
Boots splashed into the water, sending up silt from the bottom to cloud the stream. To the steady rhythm of the drums and pipes, the helikiai and thymai phalangites found their formations, hundreds forming into rectangles of armoured warriors, led by their First Spears and First Shields. Tall Helms and Picked shouted orders for the formations to form in specific locations and in relation to each other, with trumpeters and standard-bearers communicating those orders down the lines, the argent single-winged bleeding crescent on a field purpure banners of Seldonia waving everywhere along the rows of armoured pikemen. Bands of drummers kept beating the same cadence over and over, their music so persistent and mesmerizingly repetitive that the phalangites marched to the tune without thinking, pipers joining in intermittedly with jaunty, martial melodies. Behind the forming phalanxes, archers ¨Cboth eulaoi and thyfilai¨C were ordering themselves into lines, the taller and stronger thymai standing behind the smaller thyfilai, all armed with longbows made of strong aster-oak. Eschewing their mounts, many plate-armoured men-at-arms formed into smaller units between the phalanx synados, favouring heavy poleaxes, halberds, and long-bladed two-handed swords called lakhairos. Selenike could barely make out a huge figure standing a bit clear of the Saiphaforoi, the ¡°Swordbearers¡±, a plate-clad giant of a thymai with no helmet, a massive long-ax resting on their pauldron.
¡°How many do you think we have mustered here?¡± Lyssa asked, her voice struggling to be heard over the din of the marching infantry, the drums and the pipes.
¡°Hard to tell,¡± Rhylin answered, struggling a bit with Pixie¡¯s reins as the horse jittered, scared by all the unfamiliar noises, ¡°a phalanx is normally supposed to be around 4,000 strong, but there appears to be more than one here. Look at the shields and the officers.¡± He pointed towards two synadoi of phalangites who had crossed a nearby stream and had come to a halt, planting the steel counterweights of their pikes in the grassy soil.
Selenike squinted to make out what Rhylin was pointing at. The phalangites were all eulaoi, and for the most part seemed to be almost exclusively helikiai, with only the odd thymai among their ordered ranks. Mostly clad in linen cuirasses and long scale armour hauberks ¨Cthough not uniformly¨C, the phalangites carried on their left arms long leafshields, shaped like upturned ebonrose leaves, the form of the leaf lending it naturally to adoption as a shield, with grooves that could hold the shafts of their pikes. The pikes themselves were twenty-one feet long, composed of two halves of aster-oak slotted together before the battle in a steel band, and the spearpoint was a full foot long, shaped like a leaf to be able to both stab and slice; once the order was given, the soldiers would wield the pikes with two hands, the shield held upright by leather straps that looped around the left arm and neck of the phalangites. The phalangites favoured steel helmets decorated with plumes of dyed feathers or horsehair with large chin-guards that protected the face, without the need for a visor that restricted vision. Many of their chin-guards resembled mesmerising facemasks when tied together, and with sharp angles that deflected enemy spear-tips or slashes from blades away from the wearer. But Selenike noticed the differences Rhylin was pointing out; one of the synados ¨Cformations of around two-hundred and fifty warriors¨C had their shields painted in a deep red, with either the likeness of the masque-wearing Blood Prince or his bleeding single-winged crescent argent painted on their shields. The shields of the other synados were painted a lighter scarlet, with the winged moon of Seldonia in cream the most frequently recurring symbol.
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¡°The Haimaispidai and the Phoinospidai then,¡± Selenike said a last, ¡°the full strength of foot from Tol-Antioc, plus auxiliaries and arestratoi, the Blood Prince isn¡¯t taking any chances.¡±
She pulled the skin of strongwine from her saddle bag and took a long draught, wiped her mouth absentmindedly with her blue half-cape and handed the skin over to Rhylin who accepted it with a grateful nod and took a swig.
¡°Ju-hallo!¡± a voice suddenly shouted from behind them, and the trio turned in their saddles in confusion. A party of men-at-arms (it was risible that the Eulaoi had adopted a Mannish term for mounted warriors, a distant part of Selenike¡¯s brain surmised) came riding up behind them, mounted on white korseiroi, tall and strong warhorses that hailed from the sacred island of Chor-Hieras. The party were mostly armoured in long ringmail hauberks, demi-plate and armoured feather-skirts, and had long linen streamers of red adorned by numerous small white dragons instead of tabards or surcoats. However, their leader wore full plate of shining theostali, and held a helmet fashioned in the shape of a snarling jaguar under her arm, complete with a painted band of yellow and black spots along the upper half of the helmet, in addition to the red streamers of the others.
¡°I say,¡± the tall helikiai leader said as she pulled up alongside Selenike, ¡°good day for it, is it not?¡±
Surprised by the nonchalant comment, Selenike¡¯s jaw worked.
¡°I suppose it is,¡± she managed to eke out, flummoxed, ¡°though I¡¯m entirely sure what ¡®it¡¯ you¡¯re referring to, Kyra¡?¡±
The helikiai knight was taller than Selenike, with extremely pale skin, much sharper facial features, and long unbound pale blonde hair only fractionally darker than Selenike¡¯s own. Her eyes were a strange hue of brown that seemed to Selenike¡¯s to cross over into red. The knight held her truelance upright in her right hand, the banner showing a drake salient argent overlaid a fountain on a field sanguine.
¡°Where are my manners,¡± the knight said, smiling lopsidedly, and tossed her head to make her long hair fall back over her shoulders, ¡°truly you must think me raised in a peasant¡¯s hut. A?kan Aliastheira Drakesblood, of the Most Serene Order of the Ivory Dragon, First Sword to Our Sacred Lady Stratod¨ra.¡±
She managed a bow in the saddle of her barded and caparisoned korseroi, even while wearing full plate, which impressed Selenike, though she hoped she didn¡¯t show it outwardly.
¡°And by it,¡± Aliastheira continued, ¡°I refer to the honourable glory about to take place on this field. You wouldn¡¯t per chance happen to catch the name of this place? My squires seem to have concentrated more on lightening the load of our baggage train¡¯s supplies of liquor last night, rather than gather battlefield knowledge.¡±
The words might have been judged as insulting, but Aliastheira¡¯s tone was jovial, and the six accompanying riders simply smiled sheepishly, or chuckled softly at their knight¡¯s light barb. Selenike sat a bit straighter in her own saddle.
¡°I only know the Blood Prince¡¯s host crossed into the duchy Men call Lys-Tyras three nights ago, but I sadly do not know the name of this valley, I only arrived this night. My party was waylaid on our route here by a rampaging beast which we had to deal with.¡±
One pale eyebrow hiked up a bit, and Selenike was starting to think this Aliastheira never stopped smiling, at least one corner of her mouth was always ever so slightly pulling up.
¡°Oh? Well, you seem to have come away from it handsomely, if judging by the state of your armour¡¡± Aliastheira¡¯s voice tapered off and Selenike could feel her cheeks warm up.
¡°Though what matters,¡± the red-liveried knight said after a brief moment to spectate a company of thyfilai archers taking their places behind a phalanx synados, ¡°is that you made it here in time. By your disposition, I trust you¡¯re to be in Diarkhon Valiodoros¡¯ battle?¡±
¡°That was where we headed towards, Kyra,¡± Lyssa said on her knight¡¯s behalf, and Aliastheira¡¯s smile grew larger.
¡°Excellent, let us make our way over there together, Kyra¡?¡±
¡°A?s Selenike Startears, daughter of Antyakhos of House Starborn.¡± Selenike waved her truelance to make her banner flutter, and Aliastheira¡¯s smile gave way to pursed lips and a low whistle.
¡°Then my apologies, Kyra, I was unaware that someone as youthful in appearance like yourself could be a full A?s already, if you can forgive me for saying so. I would rather not make an enemy of a scion from an arestratoi house right before battle is joined.¡±
Again, this Aliastheira¡¯s tone was laden with good-natured humour and Selenike found herself warming to the knight she had known for all of four minutes.
¡°No offence taken, Kyra,¡± she replied with a small smile of her own, ¡°and we will gladly accompany you to the Diarkhon¡¯s battle.¡±
Aliastheira beamed.
¡°Why, excellent, and if we find the time, I¡¯ll even introduce you.¡±
¡°You know the Diarkhon?¡± Rhylin blurted out in surprise and Aliastheira¡¯s squires laughed.
¡°Why of course, young one, this isn¡¯t my first Glory, and by reputation alone the Diarkhon should know my bearing and name. Come along, and you¡¯ll see.¡±
With that, the dragon-knight gently nudged her horse with her spurs and she rode off at the trot, the half dozen squires following close behind. A synados of phalangites marching in steady rhythm stopped at the shouted order from the Tall Helm leading the formation as Aliastheira¡¯s party rode right past them, and at another shouted order they presented arms by holding their shields over their chests and slammed their pikes into the shields. Lyssa and Rhylin looked at each other in slight apprehension before looking at Selenike. The scion of House Starborn tried to push back a sudden sense of dread, quickly brought the wine-skin back up to her lips and swallowed a big mouthful, before spurring Ghost to follow her newly acquired ¡°friend¡±, riding quickly past the phalangites, wordlessly watching her ride by behind their helmet face-masks.
Chapter 4: Baptism of Blood - Part 3 & Beginnings
O nobly-born, heed and harken, I will tell the tale of the how that shaped the now.
Common opening of The Songs, date & origin unknown.
The great sign¨n fluttered in the surprisingly sudden gust of wind, and the knight given the honour of bearing it into battle struggled to keep it upright.
¡°If my family¡¯s crest even so much as comes close to the ground, it will be your head, Baliophoros.¡±
The harsh rebuke was delivered by a voice that was used to being both heard and obeyed over the din of war, and the knight who had been directly addressed straightened up in his saddle and couched the standard¡¯s lance in his stirrup.
¡°Now, where were we? Ah yes, add another thousand foot to their deployment of the left, plus a further dozen or so of what passes for spellcasters among the malakiai. What does the disposition read at current standing?¡±
¡°Twelve-thousand foot, some twenty-five-hundred horse, and in the vicinity of a hundred war mages, Your Grace,¡± Selymakhos answered, scribbling down the numbers on a piece of parchment stretched out on the neck armour of his warhorse Tekhneia. It was awkward to use an ink-reed when your hand was covered in layers of steel ringmail and theostali plate, but the figures and drawings were at least somewhat legible.
Diarkhon of Emerald¡¯s Hold, the Honourable Valiodoros, commonly called Mageslayer, snorted in derision, apparently unimpressed by the numbers.
¡°A pitiful assembly the malakiai have managed to scrape together to check our progress, would you not say, Kyr?¡±
¡°Yes, Your Grace,¡± Selymakhos dutifully replied, and put the ink-reed back into the small scribe¡¯s pouch he carried on his saddle, next to the saddle-hooks holding his shield and extra lances.
¡°Unless the Duke of Lys-Tyras is hiding a significant portion of his force somewhere, this will be a very short and one-sided affair.¡±
¡°One-sided indeed, one would have imagined the good duke would have mustered a greater part of his warhost than this,¡± the diarkhon scoffed, seemingly amused at the notion of malakiai being able to put up any sort of spirited fight or concocting any sort of stratagem to counter the eulaoi host.
Valiodoros, son of Xyphodoros, was very large for a helikios, passing eight feet tall, and he filled out his armour to the point where the rings of his mail hauberk was taut against his under-tunica. True to the name of his domain, his theostali plate armour was tinged a deep green, and was fashioned to look like it was made up of hundreds of wolfhawk feathers, his armet helmet like the head of the same animal with rapturous wings spreading back and out from the sides. Tied to all three of his belts was the sheath of the large godforge sword which had been his family¡¯s heirloom ever since the Firstborn had trod on the sacred soil of Hierias. Where other knights these days showed their strength with maces, lances, or poleaxes, Diarkhon Valiodoros heralded to the old ways, the ways of war from long before King Heliander the Crosser had made his Great Landing and re-forged the ways that the Eulaoi had wrought for untold centuries, and therefore he chose the straight blade as his main weapon. But these days the greater part of the royal force was made up of lowly astoi phalangites and archers, and the less said about the inclusion of the thyfilai, ever the better, and the arestoi and arestratoi had allowed the sacred blade to become commonplace and secondary weapons, adopting cruder instruments of war. No, Valiodoros could still remember the days when the monarchs of Hierias led their armies composed of nothing but arestratoi, and they had conquered all the lands from the extremes of Chor-Hieras to the end of Las-Anthelma and all the lands of the Thychora.
¡°The phalanxes are in position, Your Grace.¡±
¡°What?¡±
¡°My apologies, I said, the phalanxes are¡¡±
¡°I heard you the first time, Selymakhos.¡±
Selymakhos, sometimes called Brightblade in mocking derision behind his back, bit his tongue and did not reply. The steady trickle of knights and their mounted lancies up to the knoll where Diarkhon Valiodoros had placed his great banner was thinning out, and the arestratoi chosen at the start of the campaign to be First Lances were organising the hundreds of mounted warriors into wedge formations. Selymakhos, like most of the mounted host around him, wore his own colours and heraldry, and it was a most impressive sight, he had to admit. Flags and banners flew everywhere, the lance-poles held by squires and non-noble kantorforoi, and knights with their heraldic shields slung on their back or on their saddles created a spectacle of colours and figures. He judged there might be as many as three-thousand men-at-arms and about the same number of lances all told on the knoll, most of them half-hidden by the low slope away from the no doubt prying eyes of the Men on the field opposite.
Erytharion came up to him on his own charger, Brasas, and handed Selymakhos his true-lance and Selymakhos accepted it from his a?on with a smile. His shining white theostali gauntlet closed around the handle of the lance, its spell-reinforced aster-wood painted ivory white and his mauve pennant flapped lazily in the mild breeze, just barely stretching out enough to show his family¡¯s crest, a golden panther passant. Selymakhos¡¯ armour was less ornate than what was expected given his noble birth and rank of a?r, the only major ornamentation was the winged moon of Seldonia carved into his cuirass over the chest, jutting out slightly at an angle to deflect blows. Instead of mail of rings under his tight-fitting plates, he wore a very long hauberk of steel salmon-scale which reached his greaves. In his belts he wore the heirloom weapons of his family, four, thin-blade enchanted stingswords, and an arming sword as insurance. His grey eyes squinted a little in annoyance when he ran his one free hand over the swords¡¯ sheaths to insure they were fastened properly, reminded of why many of the more pompous of eulaoi warrior society called him ¡°Brightblade¡±; stingswords were a weapon born of battlefield necessity, there were no duels and no honour to be won with instruments of war that was wrought to pierce the most vulnerable parts of an enemy¡¯s armour when they were caught unawares. It mattered not that these were enchanted by the Magos Ironsinger of Veilhammer from Yal-Kyvala, they were still unseemly in the eyes of the arestratoi. He put his helmet on to hide his expression, a high-crested apex helmet with three silvery plumes of faeriedron hair and a facemask visor resembling the stern visage of Great Father Archeon. It helped focus his thoughts for battle, but he did not lower the visor for obvious reasons.
¡°Are you of a mind joining the va¡¯ward, Selymakhos?¡± the Diarkhon asked over his pauldron in a tone that made it sound like he did not care what answer the junior knight gave in reply, so Selymakos held his tongue. Instead he turned to his squire Erytharion.
¡°Did you see the tents off properly? Have you informed Klothon and Menithos about their duties once the glory is joined?¡±
The squire, as brightly red-headed as his name suggested, nodded firmly, the steel rings of his aventail clattering on his cuirass. The squire¡¯s armour was white plate, unadorned but for fluting on his cuirass, pauldrons and vambrace; he denoted his affiliation to Selymakhos¡¯ house by way of wearing his knight¡¯s heraldic charge on a halfcape that he wore over his lance arm.
¡°Klothon has been told to join the reserve wing as soon as he is dressed and fitted out, and Menithos to second him as squire. The servants have all been instructed to assist with carrying arrows to the archery lines, and then act as stretcher bearers when the melee ensues. Nylthakion has been put in charge of the servants and the camp guard for a hundred paces of the camp perimeter, but I very much doubt that will be needed, Kyr.¡±
Selymakhos nodded, satisfied that his orders had been transmitted and hopefully understood and would be carried out. His mind would be too occupied to think of what his lancers and servants were doing half a mile to his rear once the charge was sounded. More and more nobles of prominence were coming up to the top of the knoll where the diarkhon stood, the presence of his banner seemingly attracting them like flies to honey. It was not long before Selymakhos was on bordering of being blockaded from access to the lord of the arm- ah, but he is not lord of the army, is he, Selymakhos thought with glee of the diarkhon¡¯s irritation colouring his thoughts blue-yellow, he is merely lord of the left wing, the honour of the right is the prerogative of the Blood Prince.
¡°My lords,¡± he found himself saying out loud as another strateron and his immediate retinue threatened to block him completely out, ¡°I am the Diarkhon¡¯s aspil¨n for this campaign, I would most appreciate access to His Grace.¡±
A few knights and nobles around him looked like they wanted to protest, but instead pulled back the reins of their chargers and allowed Selymakhos and Erytharion to lead Tekhneia and Brasas respectively through to return to Valiodoros¡¯ side. Valiodoros for his part seemed to not have noticed Selymakhos¡¯ absence and instead scratched the tip of one of his long and thin ears.
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¡°If this is all Men of this land can muster in defence of their home and hearth,¡± the Diarkhon said in a loud voice so he could be heard by all the nearby nobles, ¡°then I pity what they would do if they faced the full might of Seldonian arms.¡±
He was answered by laughter and same-sounding comments on the warhost assembled on the field opposite. Selymakhos chose to remain silent. He had learned over the revolutions since his time as a podling that was often the keen mind¡¯s soundest approach. He watched as more of the Mannish formations prepared, having chosen a long reverse slope to place their banners. The main strength of Lys-Tyras foot had amassed in a chequerboard of smaller blocks of infantry armed with spears and shields, but very unlike the synadoi of the eulaoi phalanxes, much smaller in number and much shorter spears. Like the Seldonians, the Kelgwayn ¨Cto use the name the Men had chosen for those of these lands¨C had placed their horse on the wings, but seeming to favour their right wing, opposing Diarkhon Valiodoros¡¯ flank. A prudent move, Selymakhos mused, but it was an exercise in futility; their much smaller body of horse ¨Cliterally and figuratively¨C would be pushed aside with ease. Which was why¡
Selymakhos was interrupted in his musings as was Valiodoros interrupted in his boasting as a party of men-at-arms on white korseroi and dressed in red streamers loudly made their arrival known. No, I stand corrected; one of the men-at-arms is responsible for all the noise.
As if on the drill ground, affecting no care in the Sphere, Aliastheira simply rode up towards the Diarkhon¡¯s banner, the horses of the other nobles and lancers instinctively giving the sacred mounts from Chor-Hieras room to pass through, their riders too stunned by the insolence to their stations to respond, though their thoughts immediately turned red-purple-green. Almost unnoticed, a trio adorned in light blues followed in their wake. The bright colours of thoughts made Valiodoros turn his head before the hissing and angry mutterings became loud enough for him to notice. The newcomers were still a few yards away, but they were practically within the circle of the diarkhon¡¯s own retinue, and he looked them over two or three times. His eyes fixed on the white dragon on field sanguine, and a loud laugh escaped his lips.
¡°Tell me, dragon knight,¡± he said as he turned his warhorse around to face the lead knight, the one with the long white-blonde hair, ¡°are my eyes growing poor having seen so many revolutions, or have dragons shrunk in size since I last espied them?¡±
That drew a lot of laughs and chuckles from the nobles within earshot. The dragon knight Aliastheira simply drew back her reins a bit, her seemingly fixed half-smile never even wavering.
¡°It would seem, Your Grace, that both your eyes and your mind have become cloudy with time if you mistake a warhorse for a dragon. Every podling knows dragons are hard to stir to war these days, and they are fickle about the company they keep around them. A glory like this, sadly, is underneath their stature and dignity.¡±
Many around them drew in their breaths, and the thoughts of the diarkhon turned almost instantly red-purpure-midnight. It was all Selymakhos could manage to suppress his smile and the colours of his own thoughts.
¡°Your order,¡± replied Valiodoros through gritted teeth, ¡°and its high station and honour, precludes me from cutting you down where you stand, dragon knight. Yet I will have your name and rank so that I can make formal complaints to His Grace the High King.¡±
She did the same impressive bow in her seat she had performed earlier.
¡°A?kan Aliastheira Drakesblood, First Sword to Lady Stratod¨ra of the Order of the Ivory Dragon, at your service Your Grace. I carry with me the best wishes of Our Sacred Lady, and her sincere hope that great honour is achieved in this glory. Great portents sent by the Spyregoddess Ceithnir She-Of-Fire-and-Wings, have been seen and felt by the Scalewhisperers of our order, promising the deeds of heroes and chosen on this day.¡±
¡°Please spare me the bluster and ramblings of half-mad truthmancers, if I desired that, I would simply stroll into camp and toss a hepth-silver to any old drunkard.¡±
The squires in Aliastheira¡¯s retinue bristled visibly at the insult, but their leader let it wash over her, thoughts as white as her hair with a tinge of maroon.
¡°Well, what the gods decide is scarcely up to us, is it now.¡±
¡°And who¡¯s the ones in the rear? Sold-lances you picked up along the road-of-war?¡± Baliophoros, the diarkhon¡¯s sign¨foros asked, nodding in the direction of Selenike¡¯s party who had up until now remained completely still, their thoughts grey-green-salmon. Valiodoros grunted.
¡°Curse mine eyes, who has dressed a barely-weaned waif in plate and put her on a warhorse? By whose loins¡¯ efforts are you sprung from then, little war-pup?¡±
Selenike sent a quick prayer of thanks to Selena¨©s, Kythia, or any other god who cared to listen, that she had already donned her cap and coif so no one could see her long pink ears at that moment. It took all of her emotional energy to suppress the thought colours as she tried to sit straight in her saddle.
¡°Your Grace, I am A?s Selenike Startears, daughter of Antyakhos of House Starborn, of the first familial line, and I will not stand my noble father and mother addressed in such a manner.¡±
She hoped that she at least sounded dignified and not merely a youth¡¯s attempt at putting on airs. She even managed to put a little purpure in her thoughts. Ghost stamped the grassy ground a few times and nodded his armoured head a few times in sympathy with his rider.
Valiodoros looked her up and down a few times, actually taking care to look properly now. And scoffed. But with a smile.
¡°So you are, Kyra. How you got your title so young I can but speculate. But would you not find a more suitable place among the Purplemanes, under the Prince¡¯s sign¨n, rather than with the main host of horse? I have heard he likes to collect young and pure things such as your noble self and the dragon knight here to his royal banner.¡±
The laughter among the knights and nobles was open and raucous this time, thoughts coloured mirth-hurting.
¡°Aye,¡± Strateron Vourneous laughed, using one armoured gauntlet to hide his wide smile in a faux-courteous manner, ¡°you are just as like to find your way into court riding with the Purplemanes. Or stand, I should say, as the Blood Prince is said to have never lowered a lance.¡±
¡°Oh, but he sits the saddle so well,¡± A?r Iakthalion Gildthistle quipped on, ¡°and he wears his splendid armour like any fine knight. Shame that is all he does, and he never graces anyone, be they courtier, arestratos, archer, thresker or courtesan with the honour of showing his face. He always hides his eyes and thoughts behind that silver archlekin-masque of his. And who said anything about lowering his lance, with that many fair and comely maids and parthenes in his Purplemane retinue, he must be raising his lance well and often.¡±
Selenike¡¯s thoughts were screaming pink-crimson now, as was Lyssa¡¯s and Rhylin¡¯s as the cruel laughter surrounded them. Even Aliastheira¡¯s white was taking on a tinge of salmon, but unlike Selenike, she was not showing any physical reaction to the cruel mockery. There were only a few surrounding them whose thoughts were not notably coloured cruel. In fact, as Selenike fought with all her emotional energy to ride this storm of thoughts, she found one who burned a fierce crimson-midnight, and she looked right up to a knight stood just by the mocking diarkhon. Her lilac eyes found his grey ones directly despite the fifteen or so yards separating them.
He rode a dark grey charger of Nilethos origins, adorned with a mauve caparison and plates of burnished steel on the flanks, neck and a chamfron shaped like the snarling head of a panther. His armour was mostly white theostali plate, but for a chiselled winged Seldonian moon on the concave of the cuirass and couters in pauldrons shaped in the same wing-shape. The only decoration was on his truelance¡¯s banner and the mask-visor of his plumed apex helmet. The face inside the helmet was not old at all for a Helikios, no more than twenty revolutions more than Selenike herself, and his face was slightly less triangular than was normal for a eulaion, but with the same high cheekbones and long nose. A single lock of brown-blonde hair had managed to escape the knight¡¯s cap and coif and hung unrestricted just over his right temple. She stared longer than was polite in any sort of social setting, before she hurriedly nodded her silent thanks to the knight. Suddenly flustered, the knight adjusted a strap on one of his stingswords¡¯ sheaths.
The single silvery blast of a trumpet could be heard in the distance, its call picked up and repeated down the line of the gathered eulaoi warhost.
¡°Ah, we will have to dispense with the merriment until after the glory has been won,¡± Diarkhon Valiodoros said in a disappointed tone that betrayed ¨Cwithout needing to read his thought colours¨C that he could have gone on for a lot longer. He straightened in his saddle and looked around him.
¡°What are you all still here for? Find your places in the formation and prepare for the sound to call the beginning of battle. I wish you good luck in this glory, and hope you earn great honours and rekindlings.¡±
As the nobles and their retinues started to move away to take up position at the vans of the great wedges of men-at-arms and kantorforoi that had been formed, he pointed a great gauntleted finger at Selymakhos.
¡°You, Brightblade, find a spot in the va¡¯ward for the warmaidens here. And find a spot for yourself there as well, I will have no immediate use for you anyway. Your services as an aspil¨n is wholly unwelcome on such a great day for honours.¡±
With rude dismissal and a wave, Selymakhos¡¯ thoughts became night-grey and jade. All of my father¡¯s ploys and offerings, for naught? For the ¡°honour¡± of witnessing the Diarkhon¡¯s blustering and rudeness? He stood crestfallen for a few moments, the realisation of the loss of his house¡¯s honour rooting him to the ground.
¡°Mes¡¯re Kyr?¡± a mellow voice brought him back to the here and now, and he looked into Selenike¡¯s eyes, now only a couple yards away.
¡°I beg forgiveness, Mam¡¯zel,¡± he managed to produce after a moment to gather and discolour his thoughts, ¡°if you and Mam¡¯zel Drakesblood would follow me, I have been assured a spot in the main va¡¯ward wedge of lances.¡±
The trumpets sounded their signal to make ready again as Selymakhos, son of Nikomakhos of House Goldtharion, led Selenike Startears of House Starborn and Aliastheira Drakesblood of House Drakekin to take up places for the first battle of their lives. In times to come men, elves, and other races would tell stories and sing songs of this moment and this day, and learned scholars would note it as a defining date in the histories of the Hollow Sphere. And Gods and Goddesses smiled as they wove their threads and prepared schemes within schemes.
Chapter 5: Baptism of Blood - The Gods Speak
He could sense the green-jade-red thought colours from across the field, and Eukration allowed a small smile to form underneath the lip of his gilded silver masque. Of his face, only his chin, his mouth, and his pale grey eyes were visible, the rest hidden behind a beautifully wrought masque that loosely mimicked the ones worn by the graceful history-dancers of the archlekins, the artistes who dedicated their whole existence to telling the great stories of the Firstborn. Eukration ¨Cnot yet given a cognomen¨C, the Magoarkhon of Lower Seldonia, Anthypatos and Tolarch of Tol-Antioc, and Blood Prince to the Kingdom of Greater Seldonia, smiled as he tasted the unbridled envy and unmasked -ironic- disdain from his nominal war-lieutenant all the way on the left flank of the large Seldonian warhost.
¡°I wish Valiodoros would curtail his emotions somewhat,¡± a lilting female voice spoke up, ¡°such an ancie- I mean venerable lord such as him is so attuned to the energies of Kratia simply by virtue of his age that he has a foot plunged into the Stream at all times. It is an annoyance for any spellsinger or mage in the vicinity.¡±
¡°I would tell him that,¡± Eukration said, his half-smile not abating one bit, and he shook his head, his long curly locks of auburn hair wafting freely, ¡°but I am afeared he would simply burn a fierce maroon upon hearing it, accomplishing absolutely nothing. Please, back to the situation at hand, Laispheira. Antyakhos, hold down that end of the map, if you would not mind.¡±
The Prince leaned over the vellum roll stretched out over the low camp table that a page had brought forth, the theostali scales of his lamellar hauberk clinking as he rested his gauntleted hands on the table. A?r Antyakhos of the Purplemanes took out his roundel dagger and stabbed it through the upper corner of the map, pinning it to the tabletop.
¡°That was ill done, Kyr,¡± Laispheria complained, leaning on her ebony-white staff, ¡°that map is worth as much as a good horse, and took a considerable time to make. Do you know how many trips my scrying-hawks made to provide enough information to put onto a map?¡±
¡°I know I do not care,¡± the knight replied, crossing his arms over his chest cuirass with a metallic clatter, and Laispheria pouted in annoyance, and swung her head so that her long sand-pale braid moved from her left pauldron to resting over her right.
¡°Children, your attention is required,¡± Eukration chided mildly, ¡°and Dekleon, put away that wineskin and come join us.¡±
A massive thymios walked up to the assembly of officers and mages surrounding the prince. Dekleon, son of Korleon, flashed the prince a huge smile as he with deliberate motions brought the half-full wineskin back up to his mouth and drained it in a series of enormous gulps. He held it up to let the last few drops fall into his mouth, then tossed it away and ran a steeled gauntlet through his massive black beard.
¡°As Your Grace commands,¡± Dekleon boomed while grinning. He was exceedingly tall and large for a thymios, who as a rule were generally shorter than most helikiai, standing at eight feet and some inches, with thighs almost the size of a man¡¯s torso, and his arms were as thick as small trees. The armour smiths who had managed to fashion the steel plate the giant wore had to be masters of their craft, as its dimensions were skewed very differently from what the other knights and nobles in the loose circle around the Blood Prince wore. Dekleon eschewed wearing a helmet, instead letting his long, curled black hair lay loose over his shoulders, yet his large black beard was neatly trimmed. He planted the six feet aster-oak shaft of his long-axe in the grass and rested his hands on the axe head.
¡°You have my undivided attention, my Prince,¡± he said while smiling, ¡°now regale us how we will accomplish a flawless victory here at¡¡± Dekleon looked at the hills yonder and ran a gauntlet through his beard again. ¡°What is this field called anyway?¡±
¡°If you all would direct your attention to this map,¡± Eukration said, his tone stern and commanding now, regal purple-and-silver colouring his thoughts. The nobles and knights of his retinue shuffled closer to the map laid out on the camp table. Eukration pointed a slim theostali-clad finger to the scribbles of ink on vellum.
¡°This field lies at the convergence of a tributary of Mother Tyras as it snakes down from the north here, and into the major stream of Daughter Tyras, which goes all the way from western Lyaronia in Lower Seldonia, and well into Lys-Tyras here in Kelgwyn, before splitting off into further smaller waterways. The local malikiai have no set name for this place, it is uninhabited, and the closest major settlement is this kyrgoussa which commands the only major bridge over Daughter Tyras within thirty miles.¡±
¡°My Prince,¡± a knight in shining theostali plate decorated with a very long purpure surcote worn over one shoulder, said while putting on his gauntlets, ¡°the trumpets for mount up has sounded, should we not discuss the current battle before worrying what lies beyond the boundaries of the horizon?¡±
Eukration smiled again and he looked up at the knight.
¡°Patience, my good Pharanikos, we have a while yet. It is important all my captains and lieutenants know the stakes of the campaign, and know what lies beyond the next hill. The good Duke of Lys-Tyras will no doubt oblige us a few more moments of planning afore our lances cross. Now, Laispheira and her fellow spellsingers have sent numerous scrying-hawks over the river and the passes yonder, and as far as they can tell, the malaikai have either torn down the bridges leading over Daughter Tyras, or have placed strong guard at the crossings, like the aforementioned kyrgoussa.¡±
¡°How large of a fortification is it?¡± the knight called Pharanikos asked, looking at Laispheira. Laispheira, daughter of Kallinike, was clad in a salmon-scale hauberk, with a blue-tinged steel cuirass and large pauldrons shaped like upturned crescent moons, and a long set of pristine white robes that draped over most of her arms and legs. She had no helmet on her head, her braided blonde hair held in place by a thin golden circlet inlaid with a large blue jewel, a focus stone for Kratia that amplified her magical abilities. Her green eyes became partly obscured as she squinted in annoyance at the question from the knight ¨Cignorance on his part.
¡°Beasts have but the most simple of understanding of constructs made by craftier hands,¡± she said, her tone more than a little overbearing, ¡°my hawks told me it was a stone creation hewed by two-legs, but for most birds, size is hard to describe. ¡®Smaller than a mountain¡¯ they said, ¡®bigger than a boulder¡¯ they also said. Take from that what you will.¡±
¡°Very helpful,¡± Pharanikos, son of Makharion, replied with a scoff, ¡°it could be a simple watchtower or a walled fortress.¡± Pharanikos was tall and thin, slightly taller and slightly thinner than was usual for a noble helikios, and his dark red hair was in the process of being covered by cap and coif, as his squire held Pharanikos¡¯ crested armet helmet, the visor the shape of a griffon¡¯s beak and a tail of horsehair dyed purple ran down the crest.
¡°Holdfast or bulwark, its ramparts shall fall before me,¡± Dekleon boasted loudly, the only response being the condescending glare of Laispheira finding a new target to bore into.
¡°I aim to find out just what we are up against,¡± the Prince interjected, making Dekleon settle down a bit, ¡°but that means unfortunately to deny some of you the honour of finding rekindlings in this glory. I must apologise for this.¡±
¡°Bah!¡± the hairy giant in steel plate guffawed, ¡°none of you younglings have a single tear in your eyes; do not be so hasty as to look to getting one.¡±
Dekleon lowered his voice a bit and his tone became serious.
¡°The Gods are good, make no mistake, as the Firstborn are by their grace passed through the Veil to return to the Hollow Sphere without fail. But do not ask the Gods how many revolutions it takes, or risk incurring their wrath. It can be a single full passing of seasons, or twenty winters. The Gods are good, but fickle.¡±
He lifted his immense axe and with gentler motions than thought possible by such a large eulaos, he tapped the upper edge of the blade to the skin just underneath his left eye. Four small drops were etched in dark blue on his skin.
¡°My first death was as a youngling before the Crossing, during riding practice. I broke my main spine, and the bastard of a healer who saw to me decided that it was a greater mercy to send me to my Gods, rather than to actually mend the injury. The second was fighting a dire lion in the wild woods of Gargathon. The beast mauled me to pieces, and when the Gods remade my body and mind, fourteen winters had passed, and there was a town where the beast¡¯s forest had been. The third¨C¡±
¡°My dear Dekleon,¡± the Prince interrupted, holding a hand up in a placating gesture, ¡°I would love to hear your stories from yesteryears and how you won your scars and tears, and I promise we will do so over a cask of strongwine in the camp tonight. But right now, we have a campaign and battle to address.¡±
The giant thymios harrumphed and almost petulantly scooted over to regard the map again. Many of the officers and knights hid their smiles and thought colours, not daring to risk incurring the wrath of mighty Dekleon. He was an oddity among the other highborn that surrounded the Prince, the so-called Purplemanes. They were all very young, largely untested knights and nobles, who had various decorations on their armour like capes, surcotes, feathers or crest plumes dyed purple to denote their affiliation. Their plates and scalemails were well-wrought, gleaming and pristine, only a few showing the wear and tear of having seen battle afore. Dekleon¡¯s plate was simple white steel, completely utilitarian and bereft of any ostentatiousness like carved markings or special shapes. It was designed to deflect direct blows and lessen the impact of blunt ones, and was hammered and repaired in several places; his hauberk had missing rings and was polished with ash and oil to be smooth, but not shiny. Dekleon was a warrior, whereas the other Purplemanes only believed themselves to be so.
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¡°This encounter with the Duke¡¯s forces is a foregone conclusion,¡± the Blood Prince continued, ¡°our host outnumbers his horse three to one, and our foot are twice the number the malakiai have mustered. Our lances will shatter their men-at-arms and their foot will flee before our pikes, or fall to our arrows and hooves. But even if a tenth of this army makes it back to this kyrgoussa, they can frustrate our advance for weeks if no other crossing is found and carried. Attacking fortifications while simultaneously crossing a bridge is sure to cost us much too dear.¡±
¡°Our soldiery will return to us, Your Grace,¡± the knight Antyakhos said, but Eukration shook his head.
¡°You are not wrong, son of Agenaior, but as Dekleon just pointed out, while they will pass back through the Veil like all the Firstborn, we do not know when. A phalangite who falls today might return to the temple of their patron God tomorrow or three revolutions hence. Better to avoid the Passing in the first place.¡±
The fingers of his theostali gauntlet curled into a closed fist.
¡°My noble sire gave me honour of this flank of the advance into Fal-Tyras to prove my strategic acumen and my ability to command. I intend to prove that by losing as few eulaoi warriors as possible, whilst securing the flank of the main army¡¯s thrust towards Altebeque and the Nape of Kormand for my father¡¯s main force. Therefore, we need to seize this crossing before the retreating elements of the Duke¡¯s force can reach it.¡±
¡°The malakiai have no doubt put a guard there already,¡± Pharanikos said, holding his helmet under his left arm, the free hand scratching his beardless chin.
¡°It will be a tough task to dislodge the defenders, even if there are only a few score of them, with a detached force.¡±
¡°Allow me, Your Grace,¡± Dekleon boomed, reinvigorated, ¡°let me have a hundred picked knights and I will hasten there as soon as the battle joins, and have the portcullis raised to greet your welcome when you are done mopping up here.¡±
Eukration smiled mildly again, a smile which never seemed to reach his eyes.
¡°Alas, Dekleon, I need you here to command the saiphaforoi. The phalanxes are well-led by their own officers, but the men-at-arms who have chosen to fight on foot would only be commanded by one of their own.¡±
If the giant felt snubbed of potential glory, he did not show or voice it. Pharanikos and Antyakhos both stepped forward, as did five other nobles from among the assembled Purplemanes.
¡°Let me have the privilege, my prince,¡± Pharanikos said, and placed a gauntlet over his chest as he bowed. Antyakhos, son of Agenaior, dressed in pink-tinged plate with couterers and armour-joints shaped like ice-pansies, bowed as well, his long blonde ponytail falling over his left pauldron.
¡°I swear on the honour of my house,¡± he said in a reverent tone of voice, ¡°I will carry the malakiai fortifications afore Your Grace has had chance to re-horse after the coming victory.¡±
Similar petitions were voiced by at least a dozen more knights and nobles, each of them from young and untested warriors, swearing by their ancestors or their patron gods and goddesses. Eukration looked them over, letting his gaze rest a bit on each one of them. Then he looked at Laispheira.
¡°Daughter of Kallinike, Chosen Acolyte of the Spear-Maiden, thou who hear the voice of She Who Clarions, whom amongst this noble band have noble Iokasta¡¯s favour on this day? Whom would the Goddess of Strategy and Honourable War elect as her favoured champion in this endeavour?¡±
The Purplemanes and their squires all looked at Laispheira, excitement stirring and making their thought colours run excited blues and yellows. The mage in her turn squirmed slightly under the sudden attention of around a hundred excited and expectant nobles. Flags and standards flapped as mild blasts of wind bade them into motion. Horses neighed, restlessly scraped the grass and dirt with their hooves, and defecated. Laispheria gripped her white staff tightly and felt Kratia envelop her. Her senses disappeared, and returned, but wrong. She smelt the wind with her eyes, and saw the colours of thoughts with her lips. The only sounds she could taste were those made of metal and flesh.
Who art thou that approaches me this day? The voice was flanging, like ten voices with slightly different tonality interlaced and interposed on top of each other, but twisted and swam in every which direction.
Ah, a young magi of the Firstborn? Thou should¡¯st be aware, thou are not the first nor the second, nor the last to prostrate afore me on this blood-red day.
Laispheira found herself standing in an immense hall, columns placed at regular intervals, and the floor was made of a massive mosaic. She looked around in wonder, taking it all in. There were swords and lances, maces and bows, shields and helmets proudly presented as trophies on the walls, and sconces holding torches glittering with bright white flames on the columns. Laispheira looked up, and realised there was no roof to the grand hall. The columns disappeared into a cloud-filled skyscape, impossibly blue and ivory. Her nose started to bleed.
Be calm, daughter of mine kin, all is as it should be. Yet, thou hast a query to posit?
¡°O Lady of Blades, O Heavenly Warrior Queen,¡± Laispheira heard her voice as something far in the distance, muffled like underwater, but she felt her lips move. ¡°I approach, humbly seeking a reply I might offer my liege and master.¡±
Ask, child of mine kin.
¡°O Great Sword Mistress, whose blade never dulls and arm never tires, I stand with the host of the Blood Prince Eukration of Seldonia. In only scant moment¡¯s time, we will do honourable battle with the mala- the Men of Kelgwyn. I humbly beseech thee as to whom amongst the host of the eulaoi has your divine favour on this day of red deeds.¡±
Ah, daughter of mine kin, a sensible query at the onset of battle and glory.
Laispheira¡¯s nosebleed intensified.
Heed and harken, daughter of mine kin, there are many among the eulaoi host who have the favour of the divine adelphoi. She who is Veliadrys, She who is Lysta, He who is Sidvaa, He who is Sirkle, all have picked their own and marked them for great honour and great deeds. But be aware, daughter of mine kin, there is one who is marked for deeds that will eclipse all. She who is Ilmathaia has among your kin found an epilekteles, a Chosen Champion. I cannot tell if they will come to their full in this revolution or three-hundred hence. But be warned, o kin of mine kin, they are marked by the Queen of Alabaster and Purple Blood.
Laispheira felt her body being sapped of strength the longer the Great Queen of War spoke, each word feeling like the metaphysical weight of adding more and more heavy armour on the mage¡¯s body.
¡°Please, O Great Lady of the Noble Spear, what would you have me do and say? Should I tell the Prince, or should I-¡±
Hush now, daughter of mine kin. Your mind¡¯s temple grows weary. With this, I will leave you to return to the field afore ye, and the strife yet to be fought. Beware of the Chosen of the Queen of Bright Light, the White Teeth. They will find allies in the ones held up by the Throat of Cleansing Fyre, and She Who Is Never-Wrought. But look to your own now, there is a child of mine close to thee that will be the one thy seek. Look for the one that will sing with blood in their mouth, and smile all the while.
¡°Someone get a healer over here!¡±
Laispheira came to, looking right up at the skies above, clouds forming gentle wisps. She tasted copper in her mouth and brought a hand carefully up to her nose. She looked at her fingers. They came away clean.
¡°I am fine,¡± she said, surprised that her voice sounded completely normal when she expected to croak out the words. Powerful, armoured, hands grabbed her under the armpits of her cuirass and robes and lifted her up. Close to seventy pairs of eyes were focused on her, but she was only concerned with the one pair hidden behind a mask of silver.
¡°Did you see her?¡± Laispheira was annoyed the Blood Prince was able to speak without betraying his thought colours.
¡°I saw the Great Spear Maiden.¡±
¡°Did she have a name to give?¡± Prince Eukration folded his arms across his chest plate and Laispheira became suddenly aware of how effortlessly he moved in such heavy armour, despite having such a frail physique. And then the words of the Goddess came streaming back to her.
Beware of the Chosen of the Queen of Bright Light.
¡°Not a name as such,¡± she managed as her nose hurt, her fingers lost their senses, and she felt like throwing up.
¡°But I was told to look for the one that will sing with blood in their mouth, retaining their smile regardless.¡±
The Purplemane knights and officers looked at each other, many of them studying the others¡¯ teeth, which made Laispheira¡¯s thought colour turn mirthfully emerald-green. She smiled physically as well, the pain of her divine correspondence almost forgotten. A voice she had never heard before made her break out in a sudden sweat.
¡°Your Grace, I approach thee in the hope of being considered for the task of carrying this malakiai kyrgoussa.¡±
Laispheira found herself fallen to one knee, and she was unable to rise as the Blood Prince looked over her shoulder towards the female knight who had spoken. He flashed his enigmatic smile again, his silver mask shifting ever so slightly.
¡°I think you might suit this task just fine, young Kyra. Yet you will have to forego the opportunity to earn rekindlings and honour at this upcoming glory. What is your name, mamzel?¡±
Laispheira could feel the thought colours from the female knight behind her. She could feel the tight-fitting plate she wore, the scale-hauberk of brightly polished steel, the red-tinged fluted theostali cuirass, gauntlets, greaves, pauldrons, and the couters shaped like sea-dragons. Her thought colours tasted like copper. And smelled like salt. They were amethyst blue.
Kharaspeira, daughter of Lokaron, bowed before the Blood Prince of Seldonia, right gauntleted hand clasped over her two hearts on the left side of her cuirassed chest. Her long jet-black hair was tied into a practical ponytail, but as she looked up to her prince at his inquiry, she smiled. Her teeth were perfectly alabaster as she answered Prince Eukration.
¡°Your Grace, I am A?s Kharaspeira, daughter of Lokaron, Strakomos to your noble father, the Astral King. I am known as the ¡®Waterscourge¡¯ by those who have felt the keen edge of my blade afore.¡±
Across the field, Selenike Startears felt a rush go through her body, feeling a salt-ice thought colour wafting in her direction.
Chapter 5: Baptism of Blood - Formations
[¡] For Duke Iustin had expected the war-march, and had secured the passes into the country by posting garrisons and watches, digging ditches, and felling trees. After undertaking this, he set up position at a place called Vithenphele with an army amounting to eighteen thousand, having predicted that the invading elves would take that direction; which turned out correct. This field lies betwixt two hill ranges, named respectively Ormanda and Kalmanda, and the way to Altebeque follows the course of the river Lesser Tyras, the bridges across which Iustin had either fortified with strong guard or taken down. The napes of the closer hills Iustin also had strengthened by lines of fortification, consisting of ditches and palisades. [¡] On mustering his host at Vithenphele, he placed on the level ground in the centre his shield-bearing foot commanded by his brother Tancred along with the balance of the skirmishers; the knights and horse he himself led from the right flank, leaving the left to Komte Leidrad of Eiklaven with the mustering from certain lands about Fal-Tyras, a total of two thousand foot behind ditches. A further thousand had been left as guards at diverse fords and crossings.
[¡] When Evkrateon arrived, he saw at once the strength of the position of the Kelgwayns, and the skill which Duke Iustin had selected the divers parts of his host to occupy the points of vantage, so that the whole aspect of the position was like that of skilled soldiers drawn up ready for a charge. For no preparation for attack or defence had been omitted; but everything was in order, either for offering battle or for holding an almost unassailable position.
History of the Old Continent in the Third Age. Book XXV.19-25.
¡°By Laitha, what brave fools these malakiai are to have chosen to actually make a stand. Makes you nearly want to admire their courage.¡±
Kelpharon rested his long pike in the crook of his shield-arm while grabbing a drink from his skin. He let the strongwine flow down his throat and ignored the dirty look he received from the phalangite to his right, who could definitively smell the sharp alcohol. Kelpharon, son of Kataleon, did not particularly care about his shield-brother¡¯s opinion on drinking on the dawn of battle; Kelpharon had no intention of fighting anyone while sober especially since he was placed in the first rank at the very edge of the synados. A First Shield passed by, inspecting the ranks of the synados, and Kelpharon hurriedly resumed rest position, both gloved hands on the pike, with his blood-red shield hanging in front of his scale armour torso by a neck-strap. Once the line officer had passed he resumed a more relaxed posture.
¡°Any more of that to share with thirsty kin?¡± A voice from outside the tight formation of heavy eulaoi infantry asked, and Kelpharon had to turn his head awkwardly to the side in order for the rear of his helmet to clear his high neck collar. A thymios archer was looking at him in askance, a slight smile on his face. Like most of his kind, he was dark-haired and slightly shorter than the pale-haired helikios. Kelpharon and his ears were shorter, and he was armed with a longbow and dressed in a linen cuirass painted green-grey. His Nilethos-style helmet had long chin guards, his over-cloak covered his shoulders and though his hands were bare, his wrists were protected by leather bracers to guard against an errant bowstring threatening to flay his skin. Against Kelpharon¡¯s linen armour inlaid with steel scales, steel greaves, gauntlets and helmet plus his longleaf embossed shield, the archer looked practically unprotected. Realising he had been looking the archer up and down for longer than was courteous, Kelpharon unhooked his drinking skin from his belt and tossed to the archer who accepted it deftly. He unscrewed the cork with his long, sharp teeth and held it out towards Kelpharon.
¡°Your health, Mes¡¯re, may you find honour on this day of glory.¡±
He took a long draught of the potent drink and screwed the cork back into place, before handing it back to the phalangite with an appreciative nod, but Kelpharon held up a gauntlet in an arresting motion.
¡°Keep it, friend,¡± he said with a smile of his own before patting a second skin in his belt. ¡°I always keep a second spare, and you might grow thirsty again ere long. It seems to me that the knights and nobles are eager for a turn before the foot are allowed vanward.¡±
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¡°I am grateful, my pike-armed friend,¡± the archer said and unstoppered the skin again.
¡°My name is Typhakos, son of Etamakhos, Second Stave of the noble Stringsingers. May I have your name, generous friend?¡±
Kelpharon smiled, amused at the civility of a thymios who just happened by, and growing restless by the waiting the phalanx were having to endure.
¡°Kelpharon, son of Kataleon, from the Tolarchate of Sankytheia. Well, from a small hamlet by the ocean in that particular Tolarchate.¡±
The silvery trumpets blew for the knights and lancers to form up, and Typhakos sniffed the air.
¡°A fine day, but there will be rain later. I hope you and your heavy kindred are up for getting your boots wet. Heavy infantry don¡¯t do so well when the ground becomes mush.¡±
¡°Better than the knights on their mounts,¡± Kelpharon countered, ¡°and my boots are plenty wet already, we had to cross several streams on our way to our placement. Just leave the malakiai foot to us, and pluck a few Mannish knights so they don¡¯t bother our flanks. It is really hard to change formation when you¡¯re fighting shoulder to shoulder like us.¡±
For emphasis Kelpharon bumped the shoulder of the phalangite to his right, who gave him a small shove in return. Typhakos smiled that long-fanged smile of his again.
¡°How did you end up in the phalanx, son of Kataleon? Were there no trade for you back home in your hamlet?¡±
Kelpharon scoffed.
¡°The same old story. Third son, first will inherit the farmstead, the second the boat, and my sisters married off to artisan families in Tol-Sankytheia or Tol-Vaalethos. What else was there but to walk to Tol-Antioc and offer my arms to wield pike and shield for the Blood Prince?¡±
¡°Your father is close to finishing his Journey then, since you talk of inheritance?¡± Typhakos made note of the purple feather in Kelpharon¡¯s helmet, but did not comment on it. The phalangite nodded.
¡°My father and mother were with the Second Great Landing, and came with the fleet of King Heliander the Crosser, having left family behind in Helidonia. They have cultivated our lands for nearly four-hundred revolutions, and my sire thinks the Gods¡¯ have deemed his Journey to be almost over. He has never looked for honour on the field, and seems to have found his Inner Peace.¡±
¡°Well, my sire found his Peace a while ago,¡± Typhakos said with a sniff, taking another drink, ¡°I have only known the woodlands of Seldonia after he passed into the Realms of the Gods, and that grew tiring. Much more interesting to join the King¡¯s army and win honour, don¡¯t you think?¡±
¡°Tell me, are you always this talkative before battle is joined?¡± Kelpharon had intended the comment to be a jibe, but the archer looked suddenly very seriously over at the massed ranks of malakiai on the low hills way ahead of them.
¡°This will be my first battle, son of Kataleon, and I don¡¯t know how I will perform in the eyes of the gods and the nobles.¡±
Kelpharon actually laughed at that. Typhakos looked at him, a somewhat hurt expression on his face.
¡°Have no fear, son of Etamakhos, malakiai are not the greatest of fighters and their chief strength lies in their numbers. You archers have a much easier time of it than we in the phalanx; you get to sit back and loose dark shafts at the enemy while we have to look them in the eye. As I said, leave the Mannish foot to us and see to it that their knights do not bother our flanks.¡±
¡°Have you fought in many engagements, Kelpharon?¡± The brazen trumpets of the infantry were sounding now, and Typhakos was testing the string of his bow. Kelpharon shook off a gauntlet and tied the chin guards together, reducing his vision but protecting his face.
¡°Third proper battle for me, there¡¯s been a few more that I would hardly call ¡®engagements¡¯.
The Tall Helms for each synados stepped out a few paces from the formations, trailed by the standard-bearers, drummers and buglers.
¡°The phalanx will prepare to advance!¡± The brazen trumpets sounded again.
¡°Find me after the battle,¡± Kelpharon shouted over his shoulder as Typhakos started to move off to find his spot in the archer lines, ¡°and tell me of your glories, and then you can repay me for the drink.¡±
The archer¡¯s response was drowned out by the third and last blasts of trumpets, and the phalangites stiffened into ready position, pikes held vertically and shields in front. They shuffled their lines and ranks so they stood very nearly shoulder to shoulder.
¡°Battle positions!¡± The standards were hefted up and down vertically. As with one voice, thousands of phalangites shouted the battle cry of Seldonia, and fourteen thousand pikes were lowered or hefted. Each synados looked like a forest of steel-tipped reeds, nearly blotting out the phalangites underneath. The Orb¡¯s rays glinted off the thousands of polished helmets and the long blades of the pikes, as if the entire mass of elves was like one enormous mirror.
Chapter 6: Baptism of Blood - Emotions
¡°The astoi foot are on the move,¡± Selymakhos Brightblade said and pointed towards the phalanxes as they started their rhythmic march towards the malakiai host, ¡°which means we should be committed shortly.¡±
Selenike nodded and flexed her lance-hand, trying to shake the effervescent ice-blue thought colour she had sensed a few moments earlier, unable to place from whence it came. Aliastheira looked like she could barely contain her anticipation and excitement, gauntlet opening and closing around the shaft of her truelance, variably switching between standing and sitting in the saddle, her armour clinking with every excited movement. The knights, squires and lancers on the grassy knoll could all hear the rhythmic stomping of the boots of the phalangites, marching in tune to the ceaseless drums and reed-pipes. The arestratoi, knights and lancers had formed up into rough triangle formations of about four-hundred to each formation, with Picked and senior nobles forming the van of each triangle along with their lancies. Banners and standards fluttered in the mild breeze, horses brayed and their ringmail caparisons clinked as they scraped the ground with their hooves. Selenike watched the fluttering sign¨ns, noting the myriad charges and devices; she could see the gargoyle sable salient on a field cendr¨¦e with orle gules of House Young Kallimedon, the sabrelion argent passant over erminois of House The¨leon, the longtailed raptors purpure combatant on a field spilt per pale bleu de ciel and argent of House Helionspyre, plus a hundred more, many of which she could not recognise. She looked up at her own truelance banner, a pitiful dovetailed streamer compared to the massive sign¨ns carried by the standard-bearers of the large lancies. Then she tried to focus her gaze on the Mannish host on the other side of the river valley.
It was hard to ascertain size or numbers, but the rise of the small grassy hill meant Selenike was at least able to gain the advantage of height to help her eyesight. The malakiai host seemed to fill the horizon, at least as far as practicable, given the streams cutting into the plains of the valley, ant was clearly divided into three battles; the one facing the eulaoi horse was almost entirely made up of the malakiai own horse, the central battle was a dense mass of foot with spears and shields, too many and placed too deep to know where the battle ended, and the far right flank was hard to make out from where Selenike was standing, but seemed to be ensconced behind ditches and short wooden parapets. She let her eyes wander below the hill and to the right, and the immense mass of spears and glistening armour of the eulaoi phalanx made the Mannish foot opposite seems insignificant.
A sudden, freezing, gust of wind sent the cloth of the banners snapping and tugging on their poles and lances, and capes, crests and plumes were rustled. The wind carried with it a sense of warmth, and Selenike could swear she heard unsung words on the blast of air.
¡°The spellsingers and loremasters have begun their magicks,¡± Rhylin commented to the right of Selenike, his voice tinny and muffled by his visor-less helmet which he had evidently put on in preparation for the no doubt coming charge.
¡°Quite right, young one,¡± Selymakhos replied, caressing the side of Tekhneia¡¯s long, armoured neck, ¡°the winds of Kratia are being woven into the air around us, and the mages are beginning to cast their spells. It will not be long afore they start launching spells across the field.¡±
He paused to sniff the air, and his squire, the tall redheaded Erytharion did the same.
¡°White kratia abounds,¡± the squire said, his thought-colours grey-amethyst, ¡°and it is being woven with a rainbow of powerful magicks. I cannot tell for certain, but we seem to have a very powerful cadre of spellsingers with us.¡±
¡°Only the best for the Blood Prince and the Purplemanes,¡± Aliastheira said as she awkwardly raised a gauntlet to rub the tip of one of her long and thin ears, while balancing the helmet in the crook of her shoulder. Selymakhos raised a sand-coloured eyebrow.
¡°Judging by your tone, dragon knight, I take it you care little for Prince Eukration and the war-court he keeps?¡± His tone was neutral, but his thought-colours were turning slightly crimson at the edges. Aliastheira bought a few moments by finally donning her helmet, sans a coif which meant her long blonde hair was left to freely ride over her shoulder armour and red streamer-cape.
¡°I know not the Prince, Kyr,¡± she said at length, shaking her now free arm to let the blood flow through the extremity, ¡°and all I have seen of the Purplemanes are their finery in camp and on the march, the spotless armour they don, and their very apparent youthfulness. Not that any of that is a sin in the eyes of Gods and Folk, but to display it on a battlefield after having won your spurs through lineage and fine deeds on the drill grounds, that irks me.¡±
¡°You must regale us with your story after the battle then, dragon knight,¡± Selymakhos replied tersely, but he managed to reel in his thought-colours before they got out of hand. Erytharion was not as careful, and his thought-colours mimicked the colour of his hair.
Their discussion was cut short by the appearance of a bright light overhead, and they all looked up, Selymakhos, Erytharion, Selenike, Lyssa, Rhylin, Aliastheira and all her lancers. A fireball tinged an angry orange seemed to meander over the sky, making its own, furious way towards the Mannish lines. Then it was joined by others, and the clouds started to bend and rend, a myriad of colours coming from seemingly within them. There was movement amongst the Mannish lines, and Selenike could see the tight clusters of men-at-arms try to scatter to avoid the incoming immolation, but it was hard for tightly packed lines of horse to suddenly disperse. Quick darts of energies shot up from the Mannish army, wards of dispelling thrown up by the malakiai spellcasters, and some of them found purchase against the incoming magical fireballs, bursting them into cascades of fluorescent lights and fiery sparks. Some of the infernal orbs landed amongst the malaikai soldiery with great effect. Selenike could see holes torn in the shieldwalls of the malakiai foot, men turned to dancing torches as kratia-infused flames consumed them. The silver trumpets of the eulaoi knights sounded for the third and last time. There was a great clatter as knights and lancers lowered their visors, oaths of moment were chanted out, and the names of Gods were invoked. Selenike lowered her visor, reducing her world to two thin slits, and her breath was pushed back into her face though some could escape through the lower grille in her visor. She hefted her long shield with her left hand from the saddle hook, and grabbed a firm hold of Ghost¡¯s reins.
¡°O Gods and Goddesses of my ancestors,¡± Selenike chanted quickly, feeling the pulse of her heart quicken, ¡°watch the deeds I do this day for the honour of mine house and mine gods. O Gods and Goddesses of my ancestors, watch the deeds¡¡±
The thought-colours of the massed eulaoi horse was a cacophony of hues, impossible to keep track of, with reds and purples and tinged greys and moribund off-whites all around them. Selenike concentrated on slowing her breath and through that the beating of her heart. Blood pumped in her long ears, and she was acutely aware that since they were longer than was usual for helikiai, they chafed against the leather cap; it had never been adjusted after she was gifted her armour from the great sire of her house.
I am with you, Child of Mine Kin, always shall my hand give umbrage and my thoughts give succour to thee. Know this, and be comforted that you are but for greater deeds a-chosen.
Selenike managed to stop the sudden wash of nausea and the bile that rapidly rose in her throat, and fought it back down by concentrating on a particular spot on the rump of Aliastheira¡¯s horse in front of her. Not the Voice, not now, please, I will heed thee on the morrow, but not now. The Voice seemed to find mirth in this.
I am with you always, Child of Mine Kin, you shall never wander alone in the darkness as long as the Moon shines beyond the clouds. As I have watched over your House for generations, so shall I watch over you.
Selenike, in an attempt to ignore the Voice, tried to imagine Selena¨©s¡¯ touch¡ªa cooling hand amidst the heat of battle, a whisper of currents that should carry her beyond danger. But the fear was too immediate, too visceral. The thought of her family¡¯s pitiful streamer above her, so small compared to the massive standards of the great houses, gnawed at her resolve. Her breath quickened. They will see me falter. They will remember my shame.
There was scant more time to reason with the Voice or her inner voices, as Selenike could hear Aliastheira and her lancers starting to chant in an old dialect, invoking the Spyre-Goddess Ceithnir and her blessings.
¡°O Ceithnir, Dawnflame, make me your fire. Let my light blind those who would oppose me, and let my strength consume all who stand in my path. My deeds today will carry your glory.¡±
She flexed her fingers again, a futile attempt to release the energy coiled within her, as it gnawed at her extremities. Her excitement bordered on restlessness, her body unable to contain the blazing fire within her thoughts. Yet, beneath the brightness, a shadow lurked¡ªan unspoken fear that she refused to name, and which was not betrayed in her thought-colours. Am I as strong as they believe? As I believe?
Lymethissa folded her gauntleted hands over the shaft of her truelance and clenched the reins in trembling hands, the leather creaking faintly beneath her grip. Her heart hammered so violently she was sure the others could hear it. She closed her eyes, blotting out the sights of the malakiai lines and the distant fires.
¡°O Laitha, Daughter¡¯s Mercy, I am weak. I know it, as surely as I know the dawn will come. But lend me your light, so that I might face what lies ahead. Let your gentle strength steady me, for mine is gone.¡±
She swallowed hard and opened her eyes, her thoughts a swirl of pale violets and greys. Around her, the others radiated purpose, each like a star burning against the encroaching darkness. Lyssa felt like a shadow among them, wavering and faint. Let me not falter before their eyes. If I cannot be strong, let me at least endure.
Rhylin lowered his head slightly, his visorless helmet casting a shadow over his eyes. The weight of metal did nothing to ground his thoughts on the primordial. His mind, however, was elsewhere, entreating Telynar, the Silent Veil.
¡°Telynar, you who see clearly where others stumble, grant me clarity. Still my heart that I may act without undue haste. Let my every move be deliberate, and let my mind cut through chaos like a blade through mist.¡±
The words steadied him. He turned his gaze back to the field, observing the interplay of spells and soldiers with an analytical eye. He ignored the fireballs streaking across the sky, the cacophony of thought-colors surrounding him, the few pregnant moments before the order to canter was sounded. His thoughts, Rhylin hoped, would remain a calm blue in a sea of crimson and gold. In stillness, there is strength.
Selymakhos closed the facemask visor of the Great Father and said a quick prayer to that majestic Archonte, the Grand Designer and Bearer of the Sword of the Kindred.
¡°O Koinon, Stalwart Pillar, grant me the strength to endure this trial. Steady my hand, sharpen my resolve, and guide my blade that I may act as your vessel. Let me be the rock amidst the torrent, unyielding and steadfast.¡±
His thought-colors deepened into hues of amber and iron, solid and unmoving. He opened his eyes as the fireballs began to land among the malakiai lines, the explosions reflecting in his gaze. Selymakhos did not flinch. His duty was clear, and there was no room for doubt.
As the knights, squires and lancers prepared to charge, the prayers of gods and goddesses swirled unseen through the air. Each whispered plea was a thread in a tapestry; each thought a flicker of light against the gathering dark. The wind tugged at their banners, their crests, their capes, as if carrying the echoes of their invocations into the heavens.
The silver trumpets called once more. Visors dropped. Lances lowered. And in the moments before the charge, they were alone with their gods but together with their kin in the thousands. The call to canter was sounded. Glory would be won on the field this day.
The wind carried a chill that seemed to bite deeper than steel, worming through the gaps in Oleg¡¯s coarse tunic beneath his mail. Yet there were still voices on the air, voices that he couldn¡¯t place coming from one direction or the other. That was very strange to him in the present moment, considering he was standing in the middle of a massive shieldwall, made up of ¨Cas far as he could tell¨C thousands of men just like him. He adjusted the grip on his spear, slick with sweat despite the cold, and shifted his weight from one aching foot to the other. Around him, the shieldwall groaned and swayed like an old cart under strain. Men muttered under their breath or stared ahead in tense silence, their faces pale and tight-lipped. They were all militia-trained, called to practice with spear and shield on temple-days after mass was sung from the day they turned sixteen winters. No land-man of Kelgwyn was a virgin when it came to hefting spear and shield, and they had practiced how to stand and fight in close quarters, shield protecting the other man¡¯s spear-arm, your own spear-arm protected by the other man¡¯s shield and so forth. And when illustrious Duke Iustin himself, the lord and liege of all of Fal-Tyras had called his banners to fight the elf invaders, Oleg Valka and the militiamen of Hornskeerk had been all too ready to heed his call. It was what the gods had decreed for their lot; work your toil, honour the nobles, and above all praise and obey the gods. Oleg had tried to instil this in his son, but he was afeared that Elan was a bit too young to understand that responsibility. He remembered the last conversation he had had with his family as the levies of Hornskeerk was readying to march out.
The morning air had clung to Oleg¡¯s skin, damp and cold, as if the earth itself was reluctant to let him go. Around him, the village square of Hornskeerk was filled with the clamour of preparation: men saying their goodbyes, the clink of hastily donned mail, and the heavy snorts of draft horses uneasily hitched to supply carts. The Duke¡¯s colours hung limp in the still air, the banner a sullen reminder of what lay ahead. His hands had lingered for a moment on the worn leather before he turned to face his family.
His wife, Manda, stood a step away, her hands clasped tightly in front of her as though holding herself together. Beside her, Elan and Irina clung to each other, the boy¡¯s face alight with excitement while his sister¡¯s was clouded with tears.
¡°Be strong for me, Manda,¡± Oleg said softly, his voice steady though his own chest felt heavy. ¡°You¡¯ve kept this family together through worse. I¡¯ll be back before the harvest.¡±
Manda shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. ¡°You can¡¯t promise that, Oleg. The Duke¡¯s banners have flown for war before, and many never returned. And this... this is no border skirmish. The elves are not bandits or rebels. This is¡ª¡±Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
¡°This is the duty of all Kelgwayn men,¡± Oleg interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. He placed a calloused hand on her shoulder. ¡°If we don¡¯t stand with the Duke, there¡¯ll be nothing left for them to return to.¡± He nodded toward their children.
¡°But why?¡± Manda¡¯s voice cracked, her composure faltering. ¡°Why must it be you? Why must it be any of you? What have we done to the elves to deserve this? Their lords didn¡¯t invade for no reason, they were pushed to this, they have never¡ª¡± She cut herself off to spare their children, who were pre-occupied with the hustle and bustle of the Hornskeerk militia preparing to head off on campaign. There¡¯s Miller Rosman¡¯s son, Elan would gleefully comment, and oh and there¡¯s old Klotha¡¯s two boys with spears, Irina pointed out, her S¡¯s sounding strange as she was in the middle of shedding her young teeth.
Oleg hesitated. He had asked himself the same question many times since the summons had arrived. The herald (it was in reality a page of one of the lesser knights of the Duke¡¯s household company, but he had the advantage that he could read and write) had come and announced that the great elven king of all the lands of Seldonia had crossed into the valleys of both Greater and Lesser Tyras with great strength. His foot, it was announced from the steps of Hornskeerk¡¯s temple steps, numbered at least fifty-thousand, and his horse and knights half a score thousand. How King Erkenwald of Kelgwyn would answer that, no one knew, but the dukes of Fal-Tyras and Lys-Tyras mustered their strengths as soon as possible. Together, men in the inn over their ales said, they could must thirty-thousand trained foot, and perhaps three-thousand knights, with another eight-thousand squires, pages and sold-lances. A force of that calibre gathered in one place might assuage the elves from further encroachment. Yet it had done none of the sort, men in the inn over their ales agreed, because the good dukes had decided to fight on separate sides of the wide Kormand mountain range. But Oleg was a sworn land-man to the Duke of Fal-Tyras, and he would go where his lord and gods commanded.
The elves had not attacked unprovoked¡ªhe was sure of that, though the tales of burned hamlets and slaughtered peasants had silenced most doubt in the village. Still, it was hard not to think of the rumours whispered in the taverns, of the land disputes and the border raids that had escalated under the Dukes of Fal-Tyras and Lys-Tyras.
¡°It doesn¡¯t matter why,¡± he said finally, his voice quieter now. ¡°The fighting¡¯s here, Manda. That¡¯s all that matters. If we don¡¯t stop them, they¡¯ll take everything. The farm, the village... you, the children.¡± He forced himself to meet her gaze, trying to put strength into his words even as doubt gnawed at him.
Manda¡¯s lips trembled, but she nodded, swallowing her fear. ¡°Then come back to us, Oleg. Swear to me you¡¯ll come back.¡±
He didn¡¯t answer right away. His eyes drifted to Elan, who was already bouncing on his heels with barely contained excitement, the clatter and bustle of military activity exciting him like it would have any boy his age, brought up on tales of gallantry and dragon-slaying. ¡°Father,¡± the boy said eagerly, his voice cutting through the tension. ¡°Will you fight elven knights? Are they really as tall as the priests say? With silver armour and golden swords? They say they don¡¯t ride ¡®orses but wind-daemons gifted by evil gods, and that their armour is made of magiks!¡±
Oleg allowed himself a faint smile and crouched before his son. ¡°Elven knights are just like men, though they may look different,¡± he said, though the words felt hollow in his mouth. ¡°They fight like us. They bleed like us.¡± He rested a hand on Elan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°But you need to worry less about knights and more about your mother. She¡¯ll need you to step up while I¡¯m gone.¡±
Elan¡¯s face fell slightly, though he still bristled with pride. ¡°I will. I¡¯ll look after the farm. But when I¡¯m older, I¡¯ll join the Duke¡¯s knights! Maybe I¡¯ll even ride against the elves myself.¡±
Oleg¡¯s smile wavered. ¡°Let¡¯s not get ahead of ourselves, eh? You¡¯ve got time enough to decide what sort of man you¡¯ll be.¡±
Irina stepped forward then, her straw doll clutched tightly in her hands. She stared up at him, her blue eyes swimming with tears she was trying hard not to shed. ¡°Do you have to go, Papa?¡± she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. ¡°Can¡¯t someone else go instead?¡±
Oleg¡¯s chest tightened. He reached out and pulled her close, feeling the frail warmth of her small body against his, despite the unfeeling cold metal of his mail; some feelings of warmth transcended what metal and flesh could feel.
¡°I have to go, little one,¡± he said softly, his voice catching. ¡°If I could stay, I would. But someone has to make sure the bad elves don¡¯t come here.¡±
Irina¡¯s tears spilled over, and she buried her face in his tunic, not caring for the hard rings of mail underneath. ¡°But you¡¯re not a knight,¡± she sobbed. ¡°You¡¯re just... you¡¯re just Papa.¡±
He chuckled, though it sounded more like a sigh, and he fought back the sudden stinging sensation of tears. ¡°And that¡¯s why I have to go. Because I¡¯m your Papa. And if Papa can¡¯t go out there to protect you, well then, who will?¡±
He held her for a long moment before gently easing her back.
Manda stepped forward then, her expression resolute despite the tears brimming in her own eyes. ¡°We¡¯ll be here, Oleg,¡± she said firmly. ¡°We¡¯ll keep the homestead running. The fields will be planted, the roof patched. When you come back¡ª¡± Her voice broke, and she took a steadying breath. ¡°When you come back, we¡¯ll be waiting.¡±
¡°I know you will,¡± he said, his voice rough. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering there for a moment as if trying to etch the feel of her into his memory.
The horn sounded then, a long, mournful note that cut through the square. Around them, men began moving, gathering in loose ranks as the Duke¡¯s sergeants barked commands. Oleg rose and hefted his shield, its surface pitted and scarred from years of service from his own father¡¯s time in the militia. He took one last look at his family.
¡°Take care of each other,¡± he said, his voice thick. ¡°The gods care for those who care for each other.¡±
Elan gave a jaunty wave, grinning despite the moment. Irina hugged her doll tighter, her lip trembling. Manda said nothing, only nodding, her hand clutching the pendant she wore around her neck. It was a simple amber triangle, but it had been dug out by Oleg in his youth from the bottom of Great Tyras, and he had shaped it for his beloved from the next village over. That beloved had been Manda, and they had made their thatched Hornskeerk village house their own, complete with their pottage garden, their plot of land where they grew barley, and the adjoining sty where they kept the largest assortment of pigs in the entire village.
Oleg turned and walked toward the gathered militia, the sound of his boots on the dirt path swallowed by the rising din. He didn¡¯t look back. He couldn¡¯t. The weight of their eyes would have been too much to bear.
The rhythmic beat of the elf drums rolled over the valley like the tide, a relentless sound that seemed to burrow into Oleg¡¯s chest and settle there, heavy as a millstone. It brought him mercilessly back to the present. Across the field, the phalanx gleamed in the weak light of the overcast sky, a wall of polished helms and exceedingly long spears, their banners snapping crisply in the cold breeze. He couldn¡¯t make out their faces at this distance¡ªonly the unnerving, machine-like precision of their march, each with a tall shield and armour many times heavier than what he and the other men of the shieldwall wore.
Oleg¡¯s throat felt dry as sand, and he swallowed hard, his tongue scraping against the roof of his mouth. His thoughts turned unwillingly to Hornskeerk. He could almost see his wife standing in the doorway of their thatched house, their youngest clinging to her skirts while the older boy chased chickens through the yard. He tried to hold onto the image, but it slipped away, replaced by the glaring reality of the field before him.
A priest passed close by, the heavy censer swinging in broad arcs, trailing ribbons of pungent smoke. The scent of burning herbs clawed at Oleg¡¯s nostrils, sharp and bitter. The priest¡¯s voice rang out in a cadence both familiar and alien, invoking the names of gods Oleg had prayed to all his life.
¡°O Varethys, Shield-Father, ward these sons of the soil! Let their shields be unbroken, their spears strike true! O Daelynn, Hearth-Mother, cast your light upon us, that we may not falter in the shadow of our foes!¡±
The priest¡¯s fervour felt distant, a song sung to the wind, something that belonged to temples and not fields of battle. Oleg wanted to believe the gods were listening, but all he could feel was the cold wood of the spear in his hands, the suddenly heavy burden of his oaken-bound shield and the crushing press of bodies on either side of him. A shieldwall was seldom the place for comfort, but Oleg started to feel the necessity to step out of formation and draw a deep breath. Yet he did not, because the sergeants would punish him severely for breaking ranks.
¡°Hold fast,¡± murmured the man to his right, his voice low and strained. He was older, his beard streaked with grey, and his mail patched in places with rough leather. ¡°They¡¯re flesh and blood same as us. Nothing more.¡±
Oleg nodded but said nothing. The older man¡¯s words sounded hollow against the sight of the advancing elves, their spears glinting like the teeth of some great beast, their music like some song sung by the messengers of the gods; beautiful and terrible all at once.
To his left, a younger soldier muttered a prayer under his breath, his knuckles white around the haft of his spear. Oleg caught fragments of it, a plea to Naryen, the Storm-Kindler.
¡°Strike them down, Lord of Thunder. Bring the sky¡¯s wrath upon them. Scatter their ranks and spare us this day.¡±
Oleg¡¯s own prayer stayed silent, locked behind clenched teeth. What could he offer the gods that they didn¡¯t already have? What bargain could a simple man make with powers so vast? He thought of his family again and gripped his spear tighter. If he had to spill blood today, he would do it for them.
The trumpets of the elven host blared, sharp and cruel and silvery, cutting through the valley like a blade. A shiver ran through the shieldwall, a ripple of unease. Oleg felt it in his bones, in the tightening of his chest, the cold sweat on his brow.
The priests continued their circuit, chanting louder now, their censers swinging like pendulums of judgment. The acrid smoke mingled with the scent of damp earth and fear. Oleg closed his eyes for a brief moment, a fragment of time carved out from the looming chaos.
Varethys, if you are listening, grant me the strength to see this through. Daelynn, watch over my family. Keep them safe. That¡¯s all I ask.
The drums grew louder, and the shieldwall tightened as the elven phalanx drew nearer. Oleg opened his eyes, fixed them on the gleaming line of spears and shields ahead, and took a deep breath.
The elven phalanx moved like the tide, implacable and slow, each step driving a low, thunderous tremor through the ground beneath Oleg¡¯s feet. He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the spear, its familiar weight doing little to steady his nerves. Beside him, the shieldwall adjusted in increments, a shuffling chorus of creaking leather, clinking mail, and muttered curses. Sergeants tried to make themselves heard over the din of chants and instruments, and found their voices drowning. Instead they resorted to using physical force to make the shieldwalls close ranks and lock shields; violent taps to unprotected shins and left elbows did the trick, and the infantry host of the Duke of Fal-Tyras closed ranks to greet the advancing eulaoi phalanx.
Oleg forced himself to focus on the rhythm of the drums, a steady beat that seemed to synchronize with his pounding heart. He realised after a while that it was elven drums, and not Kelgwayn ones, and he tried to shut them out. His knuckles ached around the shaft of the spear, the rough wood digging into the calluses of his palms. Around him, men shifted uneasily, the air between them taut as a drawn bowstring. Shields knocked against each other with wooden clatter.
Far to the right, a trumpet sounded, sharp and clear, and Oleg turned his head to see the Kelgwayn knights forming up on their chargers. The Duke of Fal-Tyras rode at their head, his banner high and proud¡ªa golden eagle rampant on a field of black. Oleg could barely make out the glint of their armour and the toss of their warhorses'' manes, but the sight stirred something deep within him.
"Look at ''em go," muttered the older soldier to his right. "Highborn fools, riding to their doom."
Oleg said nothing. He watched as the knights began their charge, the thunder of hooves growing louder and louder until it seemed to shake the very earth. Across the field, from a grassy hill, the elven cavalry began their own advance, descending from the hill in perfect formation, their pennants snapping in the wind. They moved with an eerie grace, their horses¡ªif they were horses¡ªrunning as if untouched by the weight of their armoured riders.
The two forces hurtled toward each other, and Oleg felt his breath catch in his throat. For a moment, it seemed the elves would scatter like deer before the charge of the Kelgwayn knights. But they did not scatter. They lowered their lances in unison, and their formation tightened, lance-tips gleaming like a wall of silver teeth. They were all silent, Oleg noticed, a whole host of elven knights and nobles, charging with visors and lances lowered, and not a sound to be made. Not made of this world¡
A sick feeling settled in Oleg¡¯s stomach as he turned his eyes back to the elven phalanx advancing toward his own line. They were close enough now that he could make out individual figures among the mass. The priests had told them that elves were tall but thin, their strength more a trick of magic than muscle. Yet these figures bore no resemblance to the fragile beings he had imagined.
They were giants, towering over even the tallest of men, the lip of their helms brushing seven feet or more. Their long shields gleamed darkly, and the pikes they carried were monstrous things¡ªeasily twice over the length of any spear in the Kelgwayn ranks. The way they marched was wrong, an unnatural precision that made Oleg¡¯s skin crawl.
The nearer they came, the clearer their inhumanity became. It wasn¡¯t just their size; their proportions were slightly off, their limbs too long, their strides too smooth. Oleg¡¯s mind balked at it, struggling to reconcile what he saw with what he had been told.
¡°They¡¯re¡ they¡¯re not men,¡± someone whispered hoarsely.
Oleg swallowed hard, his throat dry as dust. "Elves," he murmured, though the word felt hollow in his mouth. These were not the slender, graceful figures of old songs. These were creatures of a darker sort, something more akin to monsters poorly masquerading as men.
The older soldier beside him spat on the ground. "Gods preserve us," he muttered.
A ripple of unease spread through the shieldwall, men shifting and murmuring as the elves came ever closer. The priests moved among them more urgently now, their voices rising in frantic prayer.
¡°O Varethys, stand with us! O Daelynn, guard our homes and kin! Do not abandon us in this hour of need!¡±
Oleg could hear the fear in their voices, a brittle edge that mirrored the growing tension in his chest. He glanced at the younger soldier to his left, who was clutching his spear so tightly his hands were shaking.
¡°We¡¯ll hold,¡± Oleg said, his voice rough but steady. ¡°We have to.¡±
The younger man nodded, but his eyes remained fixed on the approaching giants.
The figures approaching them were not thin, not frail, not delicate. They were massive, their ranks a wall of gleaming shields and impossibly long pikes. Each figure stood taller than any man in the Kelgwayn line, over seven feet, their helms like dark towers atop their heads. Their stride was too smooth, too deliberate, as if they were puppets pulled by invisible strings.
Oleg felt his stomach twist. He blinked hard, trying to shake the sense that something about them was wrong. Not just their size or the unnatural way they carried themselves, but something deeper, more fundamental. Their proportions were off, their limbs too long, their heads slightly too narrow beneath the crests of their helms. They moved as one, a single mind driving countless bodies forward, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
The soldier to his left¡ªyoung, barely old enough to grow a beard¡ªwas muttering under his breath, the same phrase over and over. Oleg couldn¡¯t make out the words, but the tone was clear. The lad was praying, though whether to Varethys, Daelynn, or some other god, Oleg couldn¡¯t tell.
To Oleg¡¯s right the two forces closed on each other with tremendous speed, the ground trembling beneath their combined might. The Kelgwayn knights let out a great roar, a sound to shake the heavens, but the elves did not answer. They charged in silence, their lances held steady, their lines unbroken.
¡°By the gods,¡± the older man to Oleg¡¯s right breathed. ¡°Look at ¡¯em. They don¡¯t even break stride.¡±
Oleg tore his gaze away from the cavalry to look back at the phalanx. They were closer now, close enough that he could see the edges of the runes etched into their shields and the dark gleam of their armour. The pikes they carried were monstrous, far longer than any weapon Oleg had ever seen, their tips sharp enough to gleam like stars even in the dim light.
¡°They¡¯re¡¡± The words stuck in his throat. He had no words for what they were. The priests had told them the elves were frail, weaker than men, relying on sorcery and deceit to win their battles. These creatures were not frail. They were giants, their forms carved from something harder than flesh.
¡°They¡¯re monsters,¡± someone said, barely more than a whisper.
A ripple of unease passed through the line. Men shifted, their shields bumping together, their breaths coming faster. The priests redoubled their efforts, their voices rising in frantic supplication.
¡°Hold, O Kelgwayn sons! The gods are with you! Stand fast!¡±
Oleg swallowed hard, his throat dry despite the damp air. The gods may have been watching, but they seemed distant now, their favour uncertain. He tightened his grip on his spear and set his feet, stealing a glance to his left and right. The shieldwall was still holding, but he could see the fear in the eyes of the men around him.
The elven phalanx surged forward, their advance quickening, and Oleg felt his stomach drop. There was no shouting, no chanting, no roar of battle cries. Only the relentless march of iron and flesh, a force that felt unstoppable.
The drums of the Kelgwayn army fell silent.
The shieldwall braced.
And then, with a sound like a thunderclap, the battle began.
Chapter 7: Baptism of Blood - Opening Moves
In the ninety-fifth year of King Sylpherion¡¯s reign, as the banners of the Seldonian warhosts rode against the malakiai King Erchonboldos of Kelgwyn, this one finds it fitting to recount the divine structure of our society, ordained by the gods to maintain harmony and order in the world. Let it be known to the malakiai and other barbarians, whose realms writhe in disarray and the disfavour of the Gods, that our strength is not merely in arms but in the righteous order bestowed by the divine. I shall presently return to affairs and matters of the year, but allow this one the merest of asides.
At the pinnacle of this order stand the Arestoi, the nobility whose lineages trace back to the blessings of the gods when the Horizons were young and the Towers of the Sacred Isles first ascended into the heavens. The Arestoi are the architects of the Seldonian kingdoms, entrusted with governance and stewardship over the lands and the laws. From the humble patrikioi, who might hold a kyrgoussa and a single village in fief or perform loyal service in the court, to the mighty magoarkhons who rule entire certain countries, command vast warhosts in their own rights, and advice kings on matters of policy and justice; the Arestoi form the political and spiritual core of our realm. Their duty is both sacred and practical, for their decisions shape the prosperity of cities, the balance of commerce, and the direction of war. It is through their hands that the divine will is interpreted and enacted in the earthly realm.
Not beneath the Arestoi in glory are the Arestratoi, the warrior-nobility. Though they share the noble lineage of the Arestoi, their primary vocation is on the battlefield. They are the officers of our armies, the mace of our heavy horse, and the captains of the phalanxes. These warriors are clad in unyielding theostali, bearing lances and blades forged with the skill of our greatest artisans and blessed by the Gods. They do not merely command but fight at the fore, their valour inspiring those beneath them. Many Arestratoi hold lands in fief and offices in service to their kings, and act as both leaders of war and civil administrators, ensuring the realm¡¯s stability in peace and its dominance when the banners are called. Their dual nature is a testament to the versatility of the kinfolk, whose strength lies not only in arms but in the wisdom to wield them justly.
The Astoi, the commoners, comprise the broadest foundation of our society and number the greatest of all eulaoi estates, their toil the very heartbeat of the kingdoms. To some, the name "commoner" may suggest insignificance, but this is a grave misunderstanding. The Astoi are the stewards of the fields, the forgers of weapons, the crafters of goods, the keepers of faith, and the builders of cities. Their hands have shaped the Tolarchate cities, those radiant jewels that line the coasts of the Close Horizon and the banks of the rivers that thread through our lands. In those certain cities, philosophers argue beneath colonnades, poets compose hymns to the Gods, and merchants who carry the wealth of the grand cities over the Crossing Sea to the Sacred Isles and back. The Astoi are devout priests, skilled seafarers, learned scholars, hand-some crafters, erudite scribes, and yet many more trades. The Tolarchates are bustling centres of culture and commerce and the pride of Seldonia, their streets teeming with activity and their temples echoing with choral praise. In war, the Astoi serve in great numbers, forming the disciplined ranks of the phalanxes, the skilled ranks of archers, and as fierce lancers who are near the equal of the noble knights, under the banners of the Arestratoi and Arestoi. They are the lifeblood and sinews of the kingdom, their labour and steadfastness and industry ensuring the sustenance and stability of the kinfolk¡¯s endeavours.
Lastly, there are the Ksenoi, the foreigners who dwell amongst us. These are the malakiai who, abandoning the chaos of their own lands, seek refuge, employment, or trade within the borders of Seldonia. Their place abounding us is as the Gods have willed; beneath our kindred but not without opportunity for service. The ksenoi are divided into two tribes. The Thyfilai, the ¡°friends of the Kindred,¡± are those who earn their place through service, taxes, and loyalty. Thyfilai may hold property, enjoy the protection of our laws, and even bear arms and livery in the service of a Seldonian lord, though always as strangers and never our bosom kin; for malakiai are frail of limb and live short, vicious lives and seem to pass through the Veil where the Firstborn return from It, which is a curse from the Gods, it is said. They live in relative harmony with the kinfolk, contributing to the kingdom¡¯s prosperity, though they are ever mindful of their place. In contrast, the Laoi, merely ¡°folk,¡± have no such rights, a transient and often invisible presence within our lands. They toil as day-labourers, steading-hands, lumbers, and fishers, existing at the margins of Seldonian society. Without property, voice, or claim to protection, the Laoi depend upon the whims of their patrons and the fortunes of their labour. Some among us may whisper and place upon them pity, others with disdain, seeing in their plight a reflection of the chaos that awaits those who stray from the divine order. Yet none may lay claim to them in bondage, for unfree toil is an affront to Gods and Kin, and may the divines punish those who practice such vile customs.
In this hierarchy, decreed by the gods and maintained through generations, there is harmony. Each estate, from the Arestoi who rule to the Laoi who labour, serves its appointed purpose, forming an accord unmatched among the peoples of the Horizons. It is this order that the malakiai of Kelgwyn, of Archtouria, and other divers barbarian realms dare to challenge. Yet their disarray, their inability to mirror the divine hierarchy, will be their undoing. As the warhosts march and the phalanxes lock shields, we do so not merely as warriors but as the guardians of a cosmic balance decreed in the first days of the world. So it is said.
Cytheron¡¯s Histories of the First World. Book ¦Ì¦Ç?:¦È?
It was a strange sensation, one that Selenike had never really experienced afore. The air around her was veritably dripping with kratia, as both those learned and unlearned in the ways of magicks dipped into the mighty rivers of omnipresent, but unseen power; and it was a cacophony and cascade of thought-colours that ran the gamut from triumphant gold to sanguine crimson to sangfroid steel-grey. Yet for all that which Selenike could feel, she could hardly see, her field of vision just the slits in her dragon helmet¡¯s visor and what she saw through those were simply the backplates and capes of the riders directly to her fronts and the caparisons of their destriers, and the pennants and banners that flowed above the heads of the eulaoi heavy horse. She felt boxed in, unable to move in any meaningful way in any direction; to her right was Rhylin on Pixie, to her left one of Aliastheira¡¯s Ivory Dragon lancers, and she could feel Lyssa on Nekmos at her back. Where the Aspil¨n or the dragon knight had ended up was impossible to tell. It would have been impossible to hear any one¡¯s voice in the clamour, the only sounds discernable being the thundering hoof beats of more than three-thousand warhorses and the clatter of plates of armour against mail or metal. All Kinfolk men-at-arms trained riding and fighting in close formations, and Selenike had done so on many occasions in the drill yards of her House¡¯s Kitagoussa outside the circle wall of Tol-Antioc, exercising with the other noble kith of the Starborn Koichos, and the lancers and squires of the household. But even when exercising with the full might of the Starborn household, they never numbered more than three-hundred. Now she was in the midst of a massive formation of heavy horse numbering at least three-thousand.
A scrying-hawk made a pass over the field, its majestic brown-gold wings spanning the full length of a grown malakios, and it looked down on the great mass of horse and rider underneath it. Laispheira, with her green eyes rolled back into her head, smiled a beatific smile.
¡°Diarkhon Valiodoros has committed the entirety of the heavy horse of the left battle, Your Grace,¡± she said without betraying any of the effort of simultaneously seeing, hearing and translating the scrying-hawk¡¯s poor understanding of what it was seeing into Hiaigl¨tta. Blood Prince Eukration, now seated on his pristine white Korseroi Nymindas, smiled lopsidedly.
¡°Trust the Diarkhon to want the honour of crossing lances with the malakiai afore the phalanxes have a chance to get to grips. Has he at least formed the horse in a suitable manner?¡±
¡°Yes, my prince,¡± Laispheria said, ¡®asping the scrying-hawk to make another pass over the massive formation, now only less than thousand yards from meeting the heavy horse of the malakiai who had bravely ¨Cfor Men¨C rode forth to meet the eulaoi men-at-arms head on.
¡°They ride in a reinforced broadhead formation, with the tip of the arrow reinforced with twice as many lances as the wings; call it fourteen deep in the centre and six deep along the flanks.¡±
¡°What of the malkiai horse, what are their dispositions?¡± Antyakhos the Strateron asked, horsed and standing at the ready next to the Blood Prince. Laispheira had to concentrate in order to ¡®asp the scrying-hawk to look at the other large body of horse and describe it back to her.
¡°Formed in a wedge,¡± she said through teeth now gritted; the experience of communing directly with the Lady of Blades earlier had drained her of much kratia, ¡°and riding to counter-charge, though they are but two and a half-thousand at most.¡±
¡°Valiodoros will gain much honour and likely worthy songs to sing,¡± Dekleon grumbled while resting his bearded chin on his hands folded over the haft of his long-ax, ¡°while we on the right wing does nothing.¡±
Dekleon was remaining on foot, but the top of his head still reached about midway up the Blood Prince¡¯s cuirass; there was no horse other than the blessed steeds of the eulaoi kings¡¯ own stables that could carry such a massive Kinfolk while armoured. The Blood Prince pointed towards the modest hilltop that sat opposite the right wing of the eulaoi army. It was a modest affair as hills went, but it was the tallest feature for miles, those being the almost sheer mountains of this southern side of the Kormand range. And crucially, the Duke of Fal-Tyras had ordered one of his chief subordinates to fortify the hill afore the eulaoi had arrived, and something like two-thousand foot now stood at the ready behind a series of ditches, earthworks and palisades; it was almost like a kyrgoussa in its own right.
¡°That little fortress over there needs to be carried, my dear Dekleon,¡± the prince said as he pointed, ¡°and no amount of horse can do that, no matter how bravely led. The phalanx is dealing with the Kelgwyn foot, Valiodoros is over there earning honour, but it falls to your Saiphaforoi to take that hill.¡±
Dekleon immediately seemed to perk up and hefted his ferocious axe in both hands.
¡°Your will be done, My Prince, I will take my best and bravest Kin and have those ramparts down before the phalanx are done with their little scuffle.¡±
¡°Behave, you beast, your slavering is scaring my mount,¡± a female voice said in a haughty tone and Pharanikos hid a chuckle and mirth-green thought-colours.
¡°Come down from your pretty horse, A?kan Thaliene,¡± Dekleon growled and his gauntlets tightened around the shaft of his ax, ¡°and say that to me again if you have any honour.¡±
¡°I would,¡± A?kan Thaliene Shinestar, daughter of Menthakos, responded in that same tone of voice and punctuated her words with a flick of her braided white hair, ¡°but that would mean my squire would have to dismount to help me back up on Chernys later, and that is too much of a bother.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Thaliene was clad in fluted plate armour tinged obsidian black, with accents of flaring gilded wyvern wings on her shoulders, kneecups, and her besagews were double wings of the same pattern. She had yet to don her helmet, which was a close helm variant, but the double visor was shaped like the needle-fanged maw of a beaked wyvern, including a double set of ¡°teeth¡± which worked as both see-through slits and as a grille. A long white plume the same colour as her hair ran along a small crest on the top, and the plume would (again, like her own hair) reach the small of her back when the helmet was worn. Pharanikos had to admit Thaliene¡¯s armour was extremely well-wrought and expertly decorated, certainly more so than the simple white plate of Dekleon and even Pharanikos¡¯ own red-tinged fluted gryphon-inspired suit.
¡°Children, please cease your bickering,¡± Prince Eukration chided mildly, but there was a waft of sea-green thought-colours emanating from him. ¡°Thaliene, do not mock my Picked, and Dekleon, please do not get riled up and start duelling my knights on the field of battle. It is unseemly to send each other to face the Veil when there are so many malakiai en¡¯front who can whet our appetite for just that.¡±
The prince turned slightly in his saddle to look at Pharanikos, and the knight involuntarily tightened the grip on his reins when he saw the prince¡¯s grey eyes underneath his silver masque.
¡°Did you see A?s Kharaspeira off with orders to acquire what she needs?¡±
¡°Yes, My Prince, I wrote her a note to pick suitable warriors from the camp guard and as many boats as she thought necessary.¡±
¡°Good, let us hope she is as capable as her air of confidence suggests.¡±
¡°My Prince,¡± Dekleon said loudly and slammed his axe¡¯s shaft against his cuirass hard, ¡°your permission to lead my knights and saiphaforoi in a charge on the malakiai fortifications?¡±
¡°Granted, my dear Dekleon, go with the strength of Akmarchos and the alacrity of Vaystrides and bring me the head of the noble who leads the Mannish defenders.¡±
The armoured giant grinned widely and hurried off, beckoning for his sign¨foros to follow him. Laispheira chose that moment to release her ¡®asp on the scrying-hawk, and she gasped for air; her knees were suddenly weak and she would have fallen to the ground had not two squires nearby grabbed her by the shoulders and kept her upright.
¡°The two bodies of horse are about to meet, My Prince,¡± she rasped, suddenly feeling completely drained of all kratia, and suspecting she would have to spend the rest of the battle in camp. Unless¡
¡°Well done, spellweaver,¡± Eukration answered and whistled sharply. His sign¨foros came trotting up to his right side, holding his immense banner of purpure with the Seldonian winged crescent, but painted crimson and overlaid an ivory shield dripping blood.
¡°The Purplemanes,¡± he shouted loudly, his voice and steel-grey thought-colours amplified by kratia, ¡°will remain at this point until the hill en¡¯front have been carried by the foot knights.¡±
There were murmurs of frustration among the young knights and lancers, but the six-hundred or so Purplemanes formed up dutifully into lines and restlessly watched as Dekleon¡¯s fifteen hundred foot knights and dismounted men-at-arms started their clattering and noisy advance.
Selenike had known there would be noise when bodies of horse clashed, but she had not known the noise before the clash would be so deafening. In fact, the sound of pounding hooves, braying horses, numerous trumpets and horns calling out orders, and the sheer insane cacophony of metal on metal, was so obscuringly thunderous that she had no idea the front lines of cavalry had met and lances crossed before she suddenly saw pieces of cracked lances and splintered shields in the air. Only then did she realise the eulaoi horse had met their Kelgwayn counterparts. Eulaoi men-at-arms advanced and fought in silence, but Selenike had not realised that one of the indefinable background noises had been the cheers and war cries of the Kelgwayn knights, and suddenly many of those cries turned to screams and groans as truelances bit into shields, armour, horse and flesh.
And there was magicks in the air as well. Selenike could barely make out orange balls of fire crossing overhead, and sharp black cracks of lightning that were the malakiai mages casting breaking spells. White and black magic alike criss-crossed the air, the eulaoi spellweavers and loresingers in the rear throwing a hail of damaging spells at the Kelgwayns, and the men responding in kind with predominantly white spells. Selenike returned her focus to what was happening in front of her, hefting her shield and truelance like she had done thousands of times in the drill yards of her family home, letting Ghost¡¯s innate war-like instincts take over and lead her through the melee. In an instant, a lancer to her front and right was enveloped by a blinding light and after Selenike had blinked away the brightness, the rider¡¯s head was missing and he sat limp in the saddle, his horse oblivious to its master¡¯s fate. The Ivory Dragon lancer to her left couched his lance and received something to his shield which shattered it into wooden splinters, but he carried on. Selenike held on to her truelance and sent wordless prayers to any god who would listen, praying that-
She felt a very powerful jolt which almost made her drop her lance followed immediately by a wordless scream, and a barded horse considerably smaller than Ghost galloped frantically past with no rider. Her every instinct shouted at her to look around for what she had hit, but her training of decades as Men tracked time made her focus ahead. She could veritably hear Master Iysanthos in her long thin ears: You should wound with no hesitation the first adversary you find on your way and go on looking for any other ¨C but without turning your horse around ¨C until you get back to the other end of the melee. Then, turning your horse back to return to the action, you have time to see what¡¯s going on; if you see some of your friends surrounded by adversaries and fighting vigorously, you should gallop through the attack ¨C destroying it with your action ¨C and keep on galloping through the field, eventually finding another adversary to wound. So Selenike did just that, couching her lance firmly, looking for an opponent. It was nearly impossible to see, as the ground was being churned up by charging horses, animals and warriors running in any which direction, fluttering banners and capes, knights who were brandishing maces and axes after dropping their¨C
There! A Kelgwayn knight in plate and a dark green and cream surcote with his unprotected lance-arm turned her way. Selenike shifted her weight in order for Ghost to turn slightly and she bore down on the inattentive knight. This time she was aware of what she was hitting as the jolt of force nearly made her drop her lance; the long theostali tip pierced the mail deeply under the knight¡¯s pauldron and the force of the blow carried him out of the saddle with a barely audible grunt. Unfortunately, Selenike had hit him too well which she realised as she felt the weight of the Mannish knight drag her lance with him as he slid from his saddle. Instead of trying to wrench the lance back out ¨Cwhich would have required her to stop her horse, the most banal and deadly mistake a man-at-arms could do in a melee¨C she let her truelance go and thundered on. She fumbled for the mace in her belts and unfastened it, swinging it a few times in order to acquaint her arm and hand with the change of weight, and as she did she stole a look around.
The glorious charge of two massive formations of cavalry with their lances lowered and banners flying had devolved into a confusion mass of horses, armoured figures, swirling capes and all manners of weapons being brandished and swung. Selenike saw an eulaoi knight swipe the head clean off the shoulders of a Mannish man-at-arms who was not paying attention, and two armoured figures rolling around on the ground between the stomping feet of panicking horses, both trying to ram a rondel dagger into weaknesses in the other¡¯s armour. It was a short contest, and Selenike watched the much larger and better armoured eulaoi lancer drive his dagger into the visor slit of the Kelgwayn knight and blood jetted out like a small fountain and the malakios stopped moving. She fixed her sight on a Kelgwayn man-at-arms who had been unhorsed and was fumblingly trying to unsheathe his sword. Spurring Ghost, she set forward, but the man-at-arms in question was knocked over by an errant horse. Selenike cursed and set about for another target.
***
Folcard could barely breathe in his heavy armour, feeling as if the rings of his mail and the steel of his plate were pulling him towards the ground. He was trying desperately to control his breathing like he had been trained by his father¡¯s master-at-arms, but he dearly wished to wrench open the visor of his sallet helmet and gulp down fresh air. Not that it was particularly fresh anymore, the chaotic and frenetic fighting was seeing to that. His horse was dead, one of those Gods-damned elven lances that never broke sticking out of its chest, but Folcard had been lucky as his horse had died under him and he had avoided getting a leg stuck underneath twelve-hundred pounds of horseflesh and armour. But being on foot in a cavalry melee was a very dangerous place to be, and Folcard was constantly tossing his heavy body out of the way of both elven and Kelgwayn knights as they thundered past; trampling horses spared neither friend nor foe. Worse, he had lost sight of Syr Luidhard and that whelp Eufroy; a knight¡¯s glaive was supposed to keep together at all times during battle. That was true enough when facing other human opponents, but it was thrice as important when facing elves. The Gods themselves must have cursed the Hither when they had sent the Dawnborn Devils to their shores five-hundred years ago. The elves were taller and stronger than any living thing with two arms and legs had any right to be, and their craftsmanship was surely the result of pacts with daemons; crossbow bolts would clink off their plate and the heftiest of warhammers only make the smallest of dents in their helms.
¡°Fucking King and his fucking wars,¡± he growled through gritted teeth, ¡°piss upon the Duke and his rights to these lands, there is no glory to be won here!¡±
A large elven knight in shining white plate and bright red streamers reared their horse not four feet away from him, and Folcard stumbled back, holding his poleaxe defensively across his chest. He was no battle-virgin; he had been trained for war since he could hold a sword at seven, rode in armour at twelve, and had fought his first battle against the Valebrians at sixteen and it had been Syr Luidhard¡¯s expectation that he would win his spurs today, on his eighteenth name-day. But that expectation had been cruelly dashed when the true size and disposition of the elven army had been revealing this morning.
Two Kelgwayn men-at-arms wearing Duke Iustin¡¯s personal black and gold surcote charged the white-and-crimson knight, but swifter than any being had any right to, the elf dropped their lance and in one fluid motion unsheathed a long, thin sword made of that thrice-damned Godsteel, and slashed out and down. The cruel cut decapitated the horse of one of the ducal knights and lacerated the unprotected legs of the other horse. Both knights tumbled to the ground in a messy heap of armour and wounded horseflesh.
¡°Oh Gods above protect me this day,¡± Folcard heard himself praying rapidly, using up the seemingly small amount of air left in his lungs, ¡°Great Koinon shield me from strike and blow, Cu-Eidhan hold your perfect guard over my mortal flesh, Makalar, please, not today you fucking bastard!¡±
¡°Folcard! You simpleton, over here!¡±
Even over the din of the confusing battle, Folcard could make out the shrill voice of Syr Luidhard, and he whipped his head around to find his knight-master in the chaos. There! Only about ten meters away Folcard saw Syr Luidhard¡¯s sallet helmet with the golden snake-wyrm on its crest and his quartered per pale surcote with red swans and argent boar¡¯s head of their lord Greghor af Vildenhald. Folcard wore the same surcote, though his was muddied from his fall, though Syr Luidhard looked complete fresh and unblemished yet he was unhorsed just like his squire was. He started jogging forward to his knight-master, paying attention to the battle all the whi¨C
***
Selenike shouted in frustration as she heaved her way up from the mud and dirt, arms quivering with effort as she strained to suck her heavy armour free from the cloying brown. Apparently Ghost needed more training hours with mages to get acquainted with the noise and smell of battle spells, as the destrier had thrown her clean out of the saddle when a sunbreak spell had landed close by. White magicks were weak compared to the black magicks most often used by eulaoi battlemages, so maybe the fault lay in unfamiliarity. No matter, Selenike would find Ghost after the battle, right now she had to get up again. With considerable effort, she managed to rise to her knees and then fully upright. Her vision was obscured by mud and she wrenched open the visor against all common sense and previous instructions, but vision was often better protection than steel. Her lilac eyes tracked back-and-forth, looking for any of her companions or her shield. Seeing neither, she cursed.
¡°By the Thirteen Blades, this is turning into a fine field of glory.¡±
A lancer in the Diarkhon¡¯s colours rode just past her and threw a javelin at some unseen target, and a scream could be heard. Someone was furiously blowing a horn nearby, and some poor soul was screaming in pain. In fact, there was a lot of screaming and cries, and the thought-colours were almost incessant enough to send Selenike back to her knees.
¡°Strongwine was a mistake, a grave mistake¡¡±
An angry shout snapped her head up. Just a few meters from her, behind the thrashing body of a fallen horse, stood a Kelgwayn knight in a red and white quartered surcote with a longsword pointed directly at her. He shouted something more and started forward, both hands on his blade. Selenike knew a challenge when she saw one. She drew a deep breath.
¡°O Gods and Goddesses of my ancestors, watch the deeds I do this day for the honour of mine house and mine gods.¡± And slowly drew her own sword.