The Bronze Man

Nightfall

For unto them came the Chelosians kings.  Surrender or die was the choice they offered unto the stalwart band, surrender or die.  Brave Awn boldly laughed and fear was struck into the hearts of the kings, for they crawled away, cowered by his might.  Yet brave as they were, their only hope was to resist until the coming of the King.

One of the two approaching Chelosians was the injured Kiriastas, favouring his uninjured leg as he climbed the winding path.

“You have fought well,” he told them when he arrived, sitting down on a boulder to take the weight off his leg, thick bandages wrapped around it.  “Alastros has admired your courage, yet points out the futility of further resistance.  You are few in number, with nowhere to go and no supplies.”

“We can hold out for a while,” Taenar stubbornly pointed out.

“For how long?” Kiriastas asked him.  “A few days?  Until we pour our men up here to overcome you in bronze and blood?  There is no honour to be had in that.  It is futility.”

“And what does Alastros suggest?” Taenar asked.

“Lay down your weapons and shields.  You can continue to live on your lands, to work the fields, but Alastros will rule here and you shall be his subjects.”

Taenar scowled at the suggestion, shaking a finger at Kiriastas.  “We are Maedari.  We shall never be subjects of the Chelosians.”

Kiriastas sighed at Taenar’s belligerent attitude, massaging his injured leg.  “Some of your people in the north have done just that.”

“Bah,” spat Taenar.  “Haekari.  They deserve not to be called Maedari.”

“That is your final answer?”

“It is.”

Kiriastas shrugged, rising to his feet again.  “We shall return in the morning, to see whether the night has cooled your belligerence, brought you to your senses.”

“I doubt it.”

“Then I fear that this is your last night alive, for which I grief.  Farewell Awn.  It was an honour to have crossed spears with you.”

“Take care of your self, Kiriastas,” the tall man replied.

“You think we can hold out until the king arrives?” Awn asked Taenar after the Chelosians had left.

Taenar shook his head.  “Not really.  But it is better this way than to be slaves of the Chelosians.”

“They will remember us.”

Taenar chuckled wryly.  “Will they?  Taenar and Awn at the Hathaear.  It is a nice thought, but I can not see the Chelosians remembering it for any great reasons.”

“We shall just have to win, then,” Awn told him.

The night was cold, a chill wind blowing down from further up in the hills and across the exposed ledge.  The night’s sky was shrouded, no stars shining through the clouds.  The Maedari huddled on the ledge, trying to find some warmth.  There was no wood for fires.  Few of the men could sleep, and for those that did, it was a fitful, drowsy sleep.

The following day was heavy on their thoughts, for they knew what was coming.  There was no escape, only a battle they could not win, a battle in which they would sell their lives at a high cost.

“Brothers,” Taenar had said to them as evening fell, “Darkness is coming and night falls, our last night.  These Chelosians seek to take our lands, our homes. Our families.  To make us slaves to their whims and desires.  This cannot be allowed, must not be allowed.  If we are to die here, then let us show these Chelosians how true Maedari die, show them that while the Maedari live that they shall be opposed, until the Night Wolf comes with bloody vengeance.  My brothers, let us make such an end that for ages to come the Chelosians will tremble at the mention of Rath Arn.  My brothers, for Maedar!”

Spears had pounded on shields and the chilling howls and cries of the Maedar had risen into the darkening sky in response.

Awn had been the first to rise in the morning, before even the sun had shown itself.  He walked around the ledge, between slumbering men, trying to drive out the cold that had seeped into his limbs.

He could see a few fires burning below, scattered across the darkened plains, marking where the Chelosians lay.  Further sources of light could be made out in Rath Arn, evidence the Chelosians had moved in.

Taenar soon joined Awn, grunting as he surveyed the fires.

“Was I a bit hasty last night?” he asked Awn quietly.  “Should I have taken their offer?”

“That is why you are the chief and not I, to make those decisions, but in my mind, no, you were not.  If they were just raiding, sure, but that isn’t what they are here for.  They are here to take our lands, and not just our own, but our neighbours.  We have no choice but to fight.”

“You are right.  Still,” he began then simply shook his head as he studied the view.

It was still early when the Chelosians came, a wall of shields and spears that solidly marched up the path towards the waiting Maedari.  Once more two Chelosians came forward, unarmed to parley with them, though Kiriastas was not one of them.

“Will you surrender?” one of the pair demanded, stabbing a finger at them.  “If you resist you will die, but if you take up oaths to Alastros your lives will be spared.”

“That is no choice,” Taenar replied calmly.  “We would rather die as free men than grovel as slaves.”

“Then so be it.  You have sealed your fates.”  The pair returned to their own lines. A brief discussion was held amongst them before the Chelosians resumed their inexorable march.  Awn gave Taenar a tight grin before striding to the front of the Maedari position on the narrow path.

“Come to me Chelosians!” he bellowed at them, holding his spear high.  “The Night Wolf is upon you!”

There was a loud cheer form the Chelosians and they surged forward, running at the defenders.  Shields went up and the two opposing sides crashed into each other, shield to shield.  Neither side swayed as they pushed, trying to force the other back.  Spears sung as they jabbed between shields and men went down, blood and screams painting the path.

A spear glanced off Awn’s thigh, his foe overextending.  He slammed his bronze shield into the man’s face, blood flowing freely as the nose broke.  As the Chelosian staggered back another spear darted forward to strike him and he fell, gurgling as blood frothed at his mouth.  Another Chelosian stepped forward over the body to continue the fight.

The attack ground on and slowly, step by step, the weary Maedari were forced back despite their valiant efforts to hold the path.  Even Awn, with all his prodigious strength and indefatigable endurance, was forced back, soaked by sweat and blood.  A sword had slashed across his chest and the blood flowed freely from it.  Palidas had managed to pull him from the lines, fresh warriors taking his place, long enough to bandage the cut and give him a sip of precious water.

Taenar joined him, breathing heavily.  His helmet was gone and there was a fresh cut over his brow, the blood matting his hair.

“How long?” Awn asked.

“Not long now,” Taenar replied wearily.

“Hate for the king to miss out on all the fun.” Awn commented with a wry grin.  “He always turns up late, have you noticed?”

“Perhaps you can ask him why that is, uncle,” Palidas replied.

“What?”

Palidas pointed back down the valley where.  “There.”  A large group could be seen, making their way down the valley, dust kicked up in their passage by the dozens of chariots that spread out before them.

“But that’s impossible,” Taenar spluttered.  “It should be days before they should arrive, and with so many.”

“Let us not question it,” Awn replied, taking up his spear and shield again.  “We can ask how he did it after the Chelosians are beaten.”