The sight of his army is a source of pride for Olsen Ryd. The Red Mountain flag waving over a forest of spears and pikes held by columns of soldiers marching at his whim made him feel like the Lord and commander he was born to be. Instead of wearing the rags that he wore when he was but the petty third son, he now wore the same armor that his father wore in the Corasian War, and that his grandfather wore during the Spartican Incursion and the Rorchistyr Rebellion. It was mostly black with red plates on the shoulders and chest. Behind his flowed a red cloak with the mountain in the center. At his side was a scarlet helm, which he elected not to wear on this ride. He rode with his red, curly hair and a smug grin on his thin, freckly face.
At his side rode his accomplice, Felix Carry. A mildly-built man who possessed a sour attitude since they were children, he was not dressed well. He despised 'proper' attire, and just wore brown leather with a sword at his side, with a wooden shield at his side with a crude red mountain painted on it. Despite the rather ragged look, Olsen Ryd made him the second-in-command of the two thousand men marching towards Talonwood. He would be glad to torch that place. Years ago, he tried to court Kiley Talonwood, and she instead was drawn to Allan the second oldest of the three Ryd brothers. For years he was the family doormat, but no more. Now he was the Lord of Rydstone Keep, and soon he along with the Morcar forces will take Raingaurd and put Horith Ryden's head on a spike.
"Lord Olsen," said a rider coming up along-side the conqueror of Rydstone.
"Jyarvik. Good morning to you," he greeted happily.
"And to you," Jarvik wore a simple grey robe. His long hair had grey streaks, but his eyes were a bright, crystal blue, "You seem to be in high spirits today."
"There's no reason not to be. Today we are marching into the pages of history. Jyarvik, my friend, soon our names will be sung in songs across the world, his mouth curly into a bigger grin and reviled his white teeth, "And the names of my brothers will fade like the lowliest beggar."
Jyarvik was unimpressed by his confidence. Or he may have been. Olsen barely ever saw any emotion in the man, "I've known you for months, and I've never seen you smile, old boy!"
The gray-clad man shot his a disapproving look, "Oh, come. Felix! Is it not time our old boy gave us a smile?"
Felix scowled at the cheerful Olsen "The only things that make me smile is a nice bottle of ale and a fine whore. I've had neither since we left Rydstone."
"By Rathas' grace, you two are as dim as this weather," with each breath, the air around their mouth fogged up for a brief moment.
"Just remember you have not won yet," Jyarvik warned, "And storming into a man's chamber and slaughtering his squire does not make you a conqueror."
Olsen laughed, "No, getting five thousand men to surrender is what made me a conqueror. Even you must admit, it was a plan executed to perfection."
"Maybe, but Clayton Blackwell is a young-blood, with no taste of battle in his life. At Talonwood you will be facing Rengle Fallaner."
"Him and his skeleton army of farmers and sellswords," Olsen joked.
"Rengle is famous even on the other side of Gariel's Wall. He turned back an army of a million with only a hundred."
"A gross exaggeration."
"And his men are battle-hardened, as are the Userians who fight for him. The Litici armies are the not the untrained rabble they used to be in centuries past. Do not underestimate him, or your tenant as Lord of Rydstone may end more quickly than your believe."
Olsen's cheerful demeanor vanished and a shadow fell over his face. He turned to the man who dared to speak to him in such a way. Jyarvik was gone. He looked back, and the grey cloak was disappearing in the mass of soldiers. If it was anyone else, Olsen would have him flogged, but Jyarvik he would not touch.
About an hour into the morning ride, the army came upon a section of the road bordered by two steep ridges. Centuries ago, the builders chipped away at these two hills to make a space big enough for about twenty soldiers to walk abreast. On the top of the two hills were dense woods and rocky soil, a nightmare for any roadbuilder, ancient or present. With no hesitation, the soldiers entered. It was not a straight pass, it curved around to the south and continued for about seventy yards, and then the path swung north and then east again and the terrain surrounding it flattened out. Olsen had traveled through it with his father on visits many times.
About five hundred soldiers were in front of him when Olsen himself entered the pass. They were just turning south when shouting began to fill the air. The first sound was a call. Olsen heard it but could not understand it. It was shortly followed by screams of pain and shouts of confusion. Looking around, Olsen managed to spot men staggering to the ground with arrow shafts sticking out of their body. He looked up and saw that they peppered the air. Atop the ridge on both sides were bowmen. Hundreds of them. Shouting to each other in a language he could not understand.
"It's the Userians!" he shouted and turned to Felix who was covering his body with his shield, "Felix, take a hundred men and run those rats off the hill!"
Without missing a beat, Felix ran off to towards the rear, shouting at any man nearby to follow him.
"Lord Olsen!" a sergeant came running to his horse, "An army is waiting for us on the other end of the pass!"
"What colors?"
"I saw the colors of your family!"
"Katelyn," he said to himself.
"And I also saw a shield in front of a hammer and anvil."
Olsen almost squeezed the reins in his hands out of existence in anger, "Rengle Fallaner. Tell the men to charge."
The sergeant gave his salutes and began spreading the order around. Olsen looked back and saw the grey figure of Jyarvik sitting still on his horse. If he could make out his face, Olsen would see a look of heavy skepticism on it.
On the western end of the pass, the screams were being heard. Rengle, Jergan and nine hundred foot soldiers listened to the screams and had them boost their confidence. Olsen probably outnumbered them two to one, but Rengle knew he could take the little traitor before breakfast. Unfortunately, the brat was late to the field so he will have to do it before supper.
"Make sure your blades are sharp men! For this time, we have no wall between us and them. They now have nothing to protect them!" he shouted triumphantly and the men cheered around him. Horns were sounding in the gorge and the running feet and war cries drowned out the painful screams. Rengle rode out and presented himself to the hundreds of men at his command.
"They come now," he drew his sword and held it high, "Let's show these bastards what happens to traitors!"
Spears and shields clanged together. Locke and Jergan shifted in their saddles for the fight. It would be the first time the young knights fought on horseback. They would follow Sir Argus, Sir Osbyrn and all the knights loyal to the Fallaner and true Ryd name would be with them.
The banners of Olsen Ryd rounded the corner and Rengle ordered the charge. He and the Calvary held back whilst the sword and spear men made the first charge. In a space, just forty feet wide, three hundred Ruskamen, one hundred Userians and four hundred of Rydstone loyalists clashed with hundreds of turncoats. These were not Morcars, these were men whom just a week ago they would have considered their brother-in-arms.
The fight was fierce. Even from a distance, Rengle could hear the steel clashing and the bodies falling. All that through he shouts and screams. The gorge was no place for cavalry. If he charged, the knights would be stopped in their tracks by Olsen's spears and pikes. For now, the infantry will hold them in place. By the looks of it, these were new recruits. Olsen would send them in to loosen Rengle's forces up, and then he would send his veterans. That is, if he had any. No self-respecting soldier would pledge himself to a pretender.
With Rengle's army in their way and being showered with Userian arrows, the traitor soldiers turned and ran. Rengle ordered his knights to dismount as the men cheered.
"Why are we dismounting, father?" Jergan asked.
"They'll be back. They outnumber us and it will take all of us to repel them," Rengle spoke to his son and to all his knights, "These men are traitors and cowards, and they will flee and die as such!" he raised his voice so that all men in the army could hear, "When the sun sets tonight, I want a stream of blood running from here all the way back to Rydstone!"
"Why are the men retreating?" Olsen scolded his sergeant.
"Rengle's men have blocked off the western end. We can't get through without being showered with arrows."
Olsen roared with frustration. The pass was littered with the corpses of his once proud army. It was not long after they retreated that Felix Cally came back with his tail between his legs.
"And where are you going?" he demanded to know.
"We could not reach them. There're too many trees in the way," Felix tried to explain, Olsen had no sympathy. He looked at Felix like a crying child.
"Every moment those archers are on that ridge is another moment closer to me having you expelled from this army for your incompetence,"
"But, my Lord..."
"Not another word. Come back with those archers' heads or don't come back at all!" he screamed. Felix had tears swelling from his eyes.
"You can cry later, you little milksop. If you come out of those woods with your life, that is. Now get out of my sight," Like a beat dog, Felix obeyed. Brushing away the tears with his sleeve, he galloped away to gather soldiers for a second assault.
"You are making a poor spectacle as commander," the familiar dry voice of Jyarvik spoke behind him. Olsen turned to find the grey man's crystal eyes staring at him with doubt.
"Away with you. I don't need to suffer your scorn right now."
"It is not my scorn your are suffering. A quarter of your men are dead. More drop every second," his voice was reeking with with indifference, painful to Olsen's ears. When he first met this man he was in rags, not much better than what he had on him right now. Who was this man to speak in such a way to the Lord of Rydstone.
"Away with you! The Lord of Rydstone will not tolerate such an annoyance as yourself!"
Edging the far corner of his lip upward in the closest thing to a smile Olsen had ever seen on Jyarvik's face, the man in rags slowly backed is horse away. Olsen could feel the words he was speaking in his mind. He would show that upstart beggar who commanded this army, who would lead the way to the destruction of Horith Ryden and all others who threw the Westland at the feet of the Heflites.
The army has ended it's retreat. Ranks were reforming and the officers were standing at attention awaiting orders. This time he was going to break Fallaner's line and he will throw his head along with the heads of all the Ruskamen over Rainguard's walls. He ordered his men forward. He would kill Rengle Fallaner himself, and throw some of his blood in Jyarvik's face.
"Here they come again," Argus spoke in Rengle's ear. The Baron of Carell Keep with his knights and captains stood alongside men who only a season ago were tending crops and tanning hides. Some were probably even begging. The proper place for a lord was on his horse, not in the mud. Rengle spat on all lords who feared to die with their men. It was time to see if Olsen at least had the gall to do that.
"I hear them, Argus. By now, the Userians will be emptying their quivers into their bodies. Men will fall. Other men will trip over them. Their nerves will be shaken by the sounds of screaming and the sight of the dead," he voice gradually got louder and the men all sides could hear his voice, "And when their crawl through that rocky is finished they will have to face the steel of us proud Ruskamen! Us proud and loyal and true Litici!" he finished as the front ranks of the Rydstone army rounded the last corner.
Jergan felt his gut tighten when they came into view. Locke was next to him, but he felt so vulnerable without Eliza, Bart or Gor with him as well. They stuck together through the hardships of the School of Chivalry, and they promised each other they would suffer through all the battles to come. Together. But Gor was at Rainguard and Eliza at Talonwood. For now, it was just the two of them. Two brothers-in-arms. War is seldom a time when you make your own choices.
The sad little pink men ran back down the hill after Nakbar had killed just a few of them. "Traitors are cowards", Rengle said to him before the battle began, "And Olsen's thugs will run like cowards." Rengle was a shrewd commander, Nakbar had to admit to himself. One of the finest he had ever served under.
Nakbar commanded the archers on one side of the gorge and his captain, Aqorro Norsier commanded the other. It was quite sad, if the sellsword was being honest with himself. Never before had he seen so many men just walk into a storm of arrows.
There was a cry from the woods that let the Userian know they were charging again, "Prepare, company!" he shouted in his language. Their red and grey figures came sprinting out and Nakbar caught one in the gut with his spear. Through the holes in his helmet, Nakbar saw the man's eyes widen, before the body went limp and fell to the ground. There were probably at least a hundred at the other end of this section of wood, but the traitor's army could only come through about a dozen at a time. Nakbar and about twenty men disposed of them easily.
Easily until one troublesome brute came running through. A large man, in reddish-brown, worn leather armor, wearing a helm, with a brown shield with a crude red mountain painted on it. He decapitated one man with a sword and then drove it into the gut of another. Nakbar knew the names of those two men. They had been in his company for many years. The rest of the traitor's men were being dealt with, so he moved in on the big, brown one.
Nakbar sent forth his spear, but it was deflected by the shield. It was hit to the ground and the sword was jabbed at his head. Without a helmet and just the silk scarf, his head is defenseless, save for the divine power that protected the faithful wearer. Nakbar gave ground as the brute swung and stabbed, but kept missing due to the Userian's agility and quick spear. He was waiting for an opening, but the brute kept most of them closed. He never swung wildly; his jabs and slashes were quick and short. His shield protected him well and he was quick on his feet.
Nakbar's defensive game was done. After darting aside form a jab, he shot his spear at the brown helmet. The shield was raised to catch it, but Nakbar pulled away before making contact and instead shot it towards the man's groin. There was a loud 'ping' sound at the blade hit the armor guarding the area. There was a loud grunt and Nakbar's opponent staggered back. He was unsure if he drew blood, but that little step back was all he needed.
With the speed and the grace of a dancer, he spun the shaft in his hand. He saw the eyes trying to keep up with it. With the flat of the blade and the shaft itself, he hit the shield and armor of his retreating enemy. After he took ten steps forward he leveled it with his waist and lunged forward. He saw the end touch the leather in the belly region and push into it. When Nakbar pulled the tip out and step back, he heard a howl of pain. The left arm, hold the shield went to the spot, as if trying to stop the blood seeping out.
Before he could strike again, a traitor soldier charged him. Nakbar jumped out of the way and hit the man of the back of the head with the spear's shaft. His attacker fell to the ground, and Nakbar turned to finish off his larger opponent. But he was gone. He was running back where he came, his left arm still clutching his gushing wound.
Nakbar spat on the ground. He will now suffer a slow death for his cowardice.
He ran his fingers through the soft silk and thanked the Gods it has protected him in another fight.
Olsen's army was definitely more determined to break through the Ruskamen than Rengle expected. After nearly five minutes trapped in this gorge, being shot down by arrows and only to be met with a wall of spears, shields and swords. All this and they still kept coming. Rengle must have killed twenty men by the time he stopped a red-armored man with the Mountain of Rydstone on his cloak. He recognized the cloak. He saw it on Lord Ryd at Rainguard. Only a Baron would wear clothing so extravagant to a battle... or a fake one.
"To the rider!" he shouted to the men around him. Olsen was riding foolishly close to the fray. Any man with common sense could guess he was their commander, and target him.
"Olsen!" shouted the booming voice of Osbyrn Castyrbrack. The men in his way were swept aside like the wake of a boat. All the blood made him look like a red, hairy, raving madman. He cut through ten men before he reached Olsen's horse. Osen dre his own sword and used his horse's maneuverability to avoid his former sword teacher.
Rengle, with five men, including Jergan and two men carrying pikes charged in as well. If they could just kill or capture Olsen they could end the battle. Rengle lost two men on the way and one of the pikes broke. Olsen must have saw them, because reeled his horse away from Osby and charged them. He swerved around the pikeman and slashed his throat. Red list filled the air like a fountain. His horse alone trampled another man and his sword connected with Jergan's helmet and the young knight was knocked to the ground. The blow would not have killed him, and as soon as they saw their future lord was down, Ruskamen jumped to and stood guard over him.
Rengle did not have time to think about, for Olsen's men were upon him. Three tried to cut him down, but he held his own until help came and he was relieved of them. He tried to spot the horse again, but he saw that now there were at least a hundred men between them and few of them friendly.
With each passing second, Olsen's ranks got thinner. For every Ruskaman that fell, at least three traitors went with him. Olsen must have recognized this, for he turned his horse around and galloped away. His men soon did the same. After a fierce seven-minute battle, the false Redstone army retreated again. This time they would not be coming back.
In rage, Rengle threw his sword to the ground with both hands. He was so close to catching the traitor. If only that idiot with the pike had not been so incompetent. If he but loved it a little to the side, the horse would have fallen and Olsen would now be screaming in Rengle's hand. But, no. That would be too good. The traitor was not going to run back to Redstone where he will have no hope of catching him without at least five thousand more again.
"Fuck! Shit!" he said before he saw the bewildered and bloody face of Sir Argus.
"My Lord?" he asked.
Rengle took a deep breath and composed himself, "Lord Argus."
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Rengle growled, "But he was within my grasp. I could almost smell his treacherous little hide!"
"Well, he won't be coming back today. We'll get him next time. If he's foolish enough to challenge us again."
"Send word to Mr. Nazeen. Tell him to watch the road and report immediately if his army starts moving again. Now where is my son?"
Jergan's head was ringing after the hit he took form Olsen's sword. It left a nasty dent in his helm, but he was alive. He came to his senses not long after he went down and fought with the men who guarded him until Olsen's army retreated. That was now two battles he managed to survive. Perhaps he would make it through this war after all.
"Jergan," he turned, expecting to see his father, but instead it was a very bloody and smiling Locke, "That was fun, huh?"
The young knight's throat was dry, but he managed to get out a "yep," before Locke patted him on the back, as if they were about to get a drink after a hard night of training at the School.
"Shame Eliza wasn't here. That bitch would've gone crazy slicing up these weaklings!"
"I'm sure, Locke."
In the corner of his blurred vision, Jergan saw Rengle approaching, "Father."
"Are you alright, son?"
"I'm fine. My head just hurts."
"It will go away," his eyes glanced at Locke, "I see you're still alive, Sir Horcaster. I'm so relieved."
"Thank you, Lord Rengle," Locke said, not trying hard to hide his sarcasm.
"You fought well today. All the men did," Argus congratulated the both of them, "We don't think they're coming back, but I've got to make sure," Argus left them to dispatch a courier to Nakbar.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get him, father," Jergan said. When he went to the ground, he felt he brought shame onto his house. He should be covered in the blood of his enemies, not look like he just took a mud bath in his armor. And to be struck down by a treasonous little rat like Olsen Redstone. He was ashamed to look at his father.
"Have no such feelings, son. There was not much you could against a horse with just a sword. What matter now is that we prepare ourselves for the next fight. Reform the ranks at the end of the gorge," he called to the men gathering around him, "and get the wounded to safety."
"What about the dead?" said one soldier. In his lap was a comrade, likely a family member and tears were in his eyes.
"We'll come back for them later, soldier. For now we must form ranks."
An army that once marched so proudly as if it were being led by Rannos himself was now tattered, bloody and depleted. Olsen felt like cutting down every coward around him. They had failed him. He had more men, more weapons and he should have pushed right past those Forthren rats.
A sad figure was Felix Cally on his horse. his armor was removed and instead he wore a gray shirt, with a growing stain from the blood that seeped through his bandages.
"You idiot!" he reined his horse in front of Felix, stopping him in his tracks, "Why didn't you swipe those sand rats off the ridge?"
"The woods..." he was struggling to speak, let alone stay on his horse.
"The woods? The woods? Do trees fucking hold swords? Do they shoot fucking arrows? Can they stop you from just running around them? Did a tree stab you? Are you such an imbecile that you walked right into a tree branch?"
"No... Lord Olsen. It was... a spearman..."
"A spearman? Don't you have a shield? Why didn't you kill him?"
"He was too fast..."
"To fast? Well that's no surprise! You're so fucking slow that I'm sure you're lying and you did run into a tree branch!"
"I'm sorry..."
"Sorry?" he grabbed Felix by the collar, "If you're so sorry, then go back there and take the fucking hill!"
"You're making a poor spectacle of yourself as commander once again, Olsen Ryd."
"Oh, it's you!" Olsen turned around to see Jyarvik with his indifferent face, "What do you have to say about this?"
"Only that my superiors will be disappointed with this turn of events," he only said that one thing and left Olsen to wallow in his shame and rage.
After ten minutes waiting, there was no sign of Olsen returning. Before the Ruskamen must have been at least six hundred corpses and who knows how many were brought down by the archers. Rengle's feeling was confirmed when a courier returned from Nakbar's company saying that the army has moved out of sight.
The men cheered, though looking over what was before them it was hard for one to understand why. All across the bottom of the gorge, there were piles of dead and dying. The air was thick with dust, as if a pack of horses had sprinted their way through. From the piles of the dead came rivers of blood. Lord Rengle made a miscalculation when he promised to have the blood flow back to Rydstone. The path was at a slightly downhill angle, and therefore flowed towards the Ruskamen. The air was too cold for the flies to begin their work, but the crows and the vultures were already eagerly circling above.
It was would take hours to remove all of the dead, but fortunately more of Olsen's traitors died than the loyal Ruskamen. For Rengle, that, Jergan being alive and the day won were all that mattered. It was still the early afternoon, but the sun was already in the west slowly making its way to its nightly resting place.