An Angel Called Eternity

To Bet on Losing Dogs - Rhema III: A Rod of Iron

Rhema III: A Rod of Iron

The Twenty-Second Day of the Fifth Month, 873 AD.
The Suthdaal, Southern Teleytaios, Klironomea.

The smell of wet mud and horses breath was almost overpowering in the small clearing behind the Suthdaal. The ancient fort might have been little more than ruins, but with some hasty work it had served its purpose well once more. Most of the walls had been patched up with rubble and reinforced with wooden beams, the gates had been hastily filled in likewise, and the worst of the rot had been cleared away from those quarters and towers that had still been intact. The woods to the northwest had become undergrown in the centuries this place had been abandoned, one of many such forts to suffer a similar fate across Klironomea, and as such that had been the perfect place to set a little trap for one of their new friends.

"We got him, Ser! We got him!"

A couple of sellswords shouted out to him, signalling that their ambush had been a success. Looking behind him Rhema could see the two drably-dressed figures dragging a semi-conscious knight between them, the Blackoak tabard over his breastplate tattered and torn. He smirked a little as he watched the men cheer their victory here. Angels, what an arrogant twat Ser Aerna had turned out to be.

The ambush he'd laid in the woods outside the fort that his forces were holed up in was more costly to his own side than to those that he'd ambushed, but that didn't matter. Why? Because the end result was that he now had Ser Aerna Blackoak, son of Lord Aertax and heir to the Blackoak family, in chains before him.

"Nice work. He give us much trouble since going down?"

The younger of the two sellswords shook his head.
"Nah, but he still killed a dozen good men before anyone had even been able to hit him when he was fighting. Thank the Angels for your sword-arm, your Grace. I thought I was next for a moment."

Rhema laughed a little with his men, trying to ignore the headache that he could feel coming on. Instead he tried to just be glad that this little skirmish had gone according to plan. He still enjoyed fighting, but wasn't stupid enough to put his own pleasure above the greater victory. Things had gone to plan here today precisely because he'd held himself back instead of rushing forwards like his instincts had screamed at him to do, and so he supposed that there was probably a lesson in that somewhere.

Still, he had been a little annoyed that he'd needed to leave his axe behind. According to Symon, who had organised this foray, Rhema's axe was "about as subtle as your brother's executions", and as such he'd needed to leave it behind. Still, at least he had his trusty sword by his side.

It wasn't a large weapon like the greatsword his brother preferred, nor even a longsword, for in honesty was closer to one of the longseaxes that the levies carried with them. Far better made and finely balanced of course, but in terms of pure size it was far from great. Good. Longer swords were more unwieldy in close quarters, and if Rhema was fighting he wanted to be as close to the foe as possible. He didn't mind using a crossbow every now and again, but he wasn't at home in a fight unless he was the centrepiece. He needed to be the jewel in death's crown, an unstoppable force of nature, when he was on the battlefield.

It wasn't just pride that demanded he get in close with the foe either; his entire fighting style revolved around relentless attacks, not letting the enemy recover for even a moment. That had been why he failed in his dream-bouts with his brother; he'd not been able to continue going on the offensive any longer for his stamina had run dry, and if he wasn't on the attack then he was buggered.

Still, he doubted that such things would be a problem today. He'd been itching to engage the enemy or sally forth these last few weeks, but had held himself back on the urging of Crowe and the order of his brother. He wasn't prepared to throw away his brother's carefully prepared strategy on a whim, still less one that had relied on so much chance. If Aerna had been just a little more intelligent, if he'd listened to the lords under his command just a little more...