Upheaval and Change - Tales 10

Ciaran sat in the tree lookin at the suddenly desperate situation around the town, and watching as yet another troop passed under his position, looking as much like Nethbians as he did...mercenaries.

He had no desire to follow or ambush any of these troops, they did not have the honour his previous opponents had had, and had probably now had warning of him anyway.

Then he heard a loud commotion from a spot where he had earmarked an enemy camp earlier that day. There was the sound of a horse rampaging over people, a sound Ciaran recognized from a time in his youth when one of the horses had gone mad and killed its handler, as the strongest of his family, only 14 years old, he had had to approach it, restrain it, and then put a knife between its eyes.

Wondering how these soldiers could have made a horse go mad, the High Knight set off in the direction of the commotion, moving slowly through the trees like a squirrel, a creature whos agility he admired.

When he reached the camp he saw two men facing each other, one looking like a knight, the other a mercenary. The Knight had a drawn sword, the merc had a palmed dart in each hand. They were talking amidst carnage of a possible way to get into the town.

Now Ciaran had no love for mercs and at the moment had no desire to make himself known, especially when the merc proceeded to kill the two survivors of the slaughter in cold blood, just after the Knight had released them. He slid quietly down from the tree and started to stalk his prey like a wolf.

Sir Amlyn barely heard the snapping twigs ten feet behind him.

THE GATHERING
While he still failed to trust the little native, Amlyn could not help but be impressed by the efficiency with which Matthias gathered up each cell of his master's private army. In a matter of hours, a ragged but well-equipped and considerable force of more than a thousand mean-looking mercenaries had congregated in a clearing, less than an hours walk away from where General Iowerth and his forces waited.

Over the past several hours Amlyn had tried to think of what his own involvment meant to him in this war. He knew few of the people involved. He had never met any of the royal family. And while General Iowerth appeared friendly enough, he had seen nothing to inspire him to great levels of respect. He thought the General actually had poor judgement. Not only did he fail to force the pursuit of the retreating enemy, but he hadn't evacuated the township of it's residents after the first attack. Townsfolk easily became hostages, and were always better off removed from a place where they could be seized and used as such. He was sure there had to be other circumstances, and it was easy to criticise with hindsight.

Amlyn ground his teeth and realised that he hated to lose. He hated leaving when he should have known he would have been needed. And he hated this helpless feeling as a result. The men gathered here were no doubt skilled, but it was like using a rusted dagger to shave. Hazardous to your health.

Matthias approached him from the throng, silent and stealthy even here amongst the noise and and sounds of the gathered mercenaries. He looked at Amlyn's gaze and noted the tic in his jaw and rigid pose.

"They are Wolfhear's last resort," stated Matthias, waving a hand over the assembled rabble in a casual gesture. "They are too ill-disciplined, of poor habit and uncouth nature to be present around my master on a frequent basis." He smiled slyly. "It displeases him at the best of times."

"Then how are they going to fight against a well-trained army of Nethbians?" snorted Amlyn, struggling to hide the disdain from his voice.

"You will tell them how," said Matthias, with a smirk and a glint in his eye. He continued with a satisfied tone in his voice. "I mentioned their pay, considerable as it is, and I also told them of the odds they are up against. While they are greedy, they also do not wish to die un-necessarily. I assured them, you know of what has happened and you know how best to act." He lowered his tone and leant closer to Amlyn, a hard edge to his whisper. "My master would be extremely displeased otherwise."

Amlyn cared not for the implication. They would all be lucky to come out of this alive anyway.

A group of dirty looking men approached the pair. "These would be those people strong enough to hold their place as 'leaders' amongst the men." said Matthias, while they were still out of earshot. "I hope you are ready?"

"Aye," said Amlyn. He was nowhere near ready, but now was the time to project confidence as best he could.

A PLAN IS BORN Amlyn drew up a map in the dirt using a long stick. "The town and encampment are currently encircled on all sides by the enemy army," he began. "Their forces are strongest around here," he pointed at Iowerth's encampment, "because that is the most likely spot Iowerth would begin to try and break out of. The Nethbians have set up archers closest to the camp, to disrupt any attempts to gather a force of men, and he has mostly spearmen positioned behind them, to soak up any sudden cavalry charge by Iowerth. There are some horseman, but from what I can see, they are fairly evenly spread around the rest of the enemy's lines, as fast-moving hunt and pursue forces."

Amlyn paused and looked at the mercenaries. He wanted to make sure that they really understood what they would be getting themselves into should they ignore what he had to say. "If you all decide to go in swinging on your own, and not as a coherent unit, you'll only have a limited amount of time before those cavalry units respond and start cutting you all up. Whatever gets through will get wiped out by archer fire. They will have had enough time to set up new positions, and still keep an eye on General Iowerth."

The mercenary commanders stared at him. One nodded, rubbing his hand across his chin. But another had the beginnings of a sneer starting to creep into his expression.

Amlyn forged ahead, trying to sound neutral and less like a officer. Any whiff of a superior attitude on his behalf, or any hint of his skepticism for their profession, and he would lose them.

"My advice is that you all have a much greater chance of getting paid, if you worry less about getting to the middle of the town, and more about creating a hole in this line, and holding it, so that Iowerth has time to respond and assist. If we cannot give Iowerth the time to respond and attempt an attack, then there are not enough of us to break through, and we will all be killed. I will be there as well, so I have just as much at stake than any of you."

He paused again, looking for some sign of acceptance of his argument. The grizzled old man with the sneer had gone back to his grumpy frown. Perhaps he was on the right track.

He turned back to the map. "We have the advantage of surprise, because the enemy here will be more alert for attacks from the camp. We attack as a unit, hitting the rear line as a tight wedge. You'll have to go in on foot, otherwise these spearman will just set their weapons and take any mounted charge. While the front half of men engage the spearman, the men that follow up keep passing through this line to the archers." Amlyn aggressively scratched a line in the dirt to emphasise his next point. "They *must* get to melee with the archers, because that will give Iowerth a chance to mount an offensive unhindered. Those men fighting the spearman will then need to take up spears and repel any attacks from cavalry responding to our offensive. So preferably those men handy with a spear should lead off. The cavalry are your main concern, you shouldn't have any trouble with the archers once you get to melee."

He tossed the stick away to one side, satisfied that he had explained everything as best as he could. It was their decision now. "Any questions?"

THE MARCH
The forest began to thin away, and Amlyn knew it was only a matter of minutes before they would emerge out from the trees within sight of the Nethbians and the walls of the town.

They had met a single Nethbian patrol on their way to this point. It was dealt with as quickly and as savagely as Matthias had dealt with his attackers the day before. Amlyn at least knew that these mercenaries had the ability to kill people fast and without remorse or regard for honour. A similar style to his own. But Amlyn always considered that he had no conscious choice in the matter. He was trained to do it. It was all he had spent his life doing. Yet, when the mercenaries had tied the headless bodies up and hauled them up into the trees to the raucous cheers and howls of laughter amongst their comrades, he could barely supress a shudder. There was no home for him even here.

He tugged tightly on the rope that held him firmly into the saddle. He needed his right arm to swing his sword, and the left had barely enough strength in it to pull the reins to either side. Sweat already began to run down the inside of his thighs, as he worked to move and turn the horse using just his legs. His stomach turned and boiled. To Matthias, Amlyn appeared as implacable as stone.

Several scouts ran out from the undergrowth and had hurried words with their leaders. Frantic gestures were made, and the men began to form up into a rough yet solid phalanx. There was no more time for thinking or reflection. Amlyn took one last look at the morning sun through the broad gaps now between the trees.

CONFLICT
It was the same as any other time before this. While Amlyn was no longer the fighter he used to be, his skill at reading the currents of war had never dimmed nor weakened with time. He moved through the ranks of the spearmen like the flow of water across the break of rapids in a stream. In his bloody wake, bodies littered the ground. He predicted the movements of his attackers, and selectively pursued any fatal weaknesses and flaws in his opponents actions, no matter how minor. He worked to a rhythm and always protected his weak side, and it took no thought on his behalf. It was all a blur.

Things suddenly came into focus, after an unknown period of time. The eyes of a boy, glassy with pain and confusion, looked at him. He could have been no more than Nia's age, and his matted brown hair could do little to hide the youthful features that were beginning to drain away before Amlyn's eyes. Reality hit him hard, and his perspective shifted.

Amlyn watched in horror as the lad grunted with pain, his hands clutching weakly at the air around Amlyn's blood-slicked sword that had embedded itself deep past the layers of cloth and leather around his torso. Knees gave way and buckled, pitching him backwards in a slow fall, sliding off the blade to gently come to rest amongst the mud and grass. He gasped once, coughed a red frothy belch, and was still. But the eyes didn't leave his. Lost in a surreal dream, Amlyn could hear the words of his squire resonate in his mind... what have you become?

In shock, Amlyn raised his head and looked around. The field was full of the clash of arms and the thrust of body and beast against each other. The noise assailed his senses, while the flow of enemy and ally alike made him dizzy. There was no longer any order to the battle. His skill at prediction and moving with the tides of war had failed him. He barely recognised Iowerth's standard amongst the chaos. At least everything was not for naught.

Someone shouted a warning. At him, Amlyn thought. He looked about and caught a glimpse of a knight in shining plate armour, bringing a sword down upon his head from his left side. Reflex and past training brought up his left arm in a warding gesture for a shield. But the blade caught nothing but flesh and bone, slicing through both cleanly. Having turned his head away, the blade continued down, past the front of his face and cutting into the top of his left leg.

White searing pain tore through his arm and travelled it's way in an instant to the top of his leg. His body clutched tight and knotted instinctively, bracing itself against the pain. It snapped him out of his melancholy long enough to stab hard on the right hand side of his horse with his heel, and throw himself at the enemy knight. Still tied to the horse, it responded to his command and shift in weight by losing it's balance and falling against the horse of the knight.

Amlyn wrapped his remaining arm around the knight and embraced him in a tight hug, holding him against the weight of his horse. He could dimly hear the knight curse loudly as both horses began to stagger about. He kicked frantically again, leaning over further. They collapsed to the ground, the knight and his horse falling underneath Amlyn.

Amlyn's charger, having taken the tumble, thrashed about against the knight's horse and tried to right itself. The enemy knight was pinned by his leg under the bulk of his own horse. As Amlyn was lifted up by his charger, he brought his sword around and thrust it roughly against the seam of the knight's armour at the waist. And held on tightly as his horse fell back down again with his weight. The sword drove home, pinning whoever it was to the mud underneath. A startled scream pierced the air. Then silence.

Amlyn's horse staggered to its feet, but it's rider was no longer awake to the world. It shook it's head briefly, before galloping away, taking an unconscious Amlyn into the midst of the last throes of battle.

Ciaran saw the Nethbian army surrounding the battle as he pondered the plan he had heard the Knight and the mercs discussing below...yes it could work, and with the backing of a High Knight, maybe the tide of battle could turn.

This would be his chance to get back to the main lines and reunite himself with Lord Iorweth. Maybe this battle would be enough for him to get his Promotion to the rank of High Knight certified, and dispel the shame of his previous actions.

Slowly but swiftly he followed the mercenary phalanx as he drifted towards the battle, watching as they took apart a rearguard unit, and despatching the assassin hidden nearby with an eye on removing the leader of this band of reinforcements.

That same day battle was joined at the main lines, as the new Knight led his men into the rear of the enemies lines. Quickly Ciaran moved in behind them, his eye always on the safety of the new knight, knowing his survival was essential. He smashed left and right with his hammer, caving skulls and crushing ribs, taking as many casualties as would be expected of this most brutal of the four High Knights. Then he saw the cavalry units moving into the fray, and shifted the direction of his slaughter to where he would be needed most. He saw the banner of Iorwerth raised at the other end of the battle and screamed a cry "ABERTAWE TO ARMS! ABERTAWE TO WAR! ABERTAWE TO VICTORY!" The men around him repeated "VICTORY" at the tops of their voices and seemed to gain a renewed vigour, for here in their midst was a mighty warrior, and they would win today.

Then he saw the elite enemy Knights moving towards the point were the New Knight was cutting a swathe of destruction on his horse. "BEWARE" he yelled at the top of his voice, and the figure seemed to hear him, turning to face his new foe, and losing an arm in the process. Cleverly the Knight forced his horse to fall onto the Knight, allowing him to stab the armoured figure through the waist. Then his horse reared up..and Ciaran noticed that he was no longer conscious. Whistling a cry he remembered from his farm days he ran towards the horse and reined it in, seeing it had been uninjured by the fall.

He then cut the valiant young Knight from his horse, and carried his limp body as quickly as he dared back to the Abertawe battleline, and the healers

**********
MEANWHILE
Iorwerth found himself in the thick of battle. The last couple of hours he had been busy with organizing the defense off the civilians. He had been agonizing over his decision not to evacuate. But that would have the even more dangerous. He did not know how many roaming bands there where, and he had No troops to spare to go with them. So the defense of the town had been his best option. For now they could only pray that the spare troops would get here in time.

He watched his son fight from the distance, young brendan and was really coming into his own.. The other commanders were doing great too. Everybody was fighting for what they were worth, under such bad odds. He felt a great surge of pride for all of them.

Deirdre rode silently at the rear of the strange procession, as she had for the past few days. In the center, surrounded by the guardsmen, was a small wagon pulled by a pair of frisky stallions. And inside the wagon lay two men, neither of which had awoken since the healer had arrived on that ice-cold evening. He said he had done all he could for them, but each man in the party worried that it was enough. No one argued with the strenuous pace Deirdre pushed; they all wanted to bring this nightmare to an end.

They was a never-ending flow of rumors as they passed through each town: some said that the main battle had begun; that Nethbo had fallen with one brutal stroke; that the Abertawian army had surrendered; that there had been a treaty signed; that General Iorwerth had fallen; that General Iorwerth had joined the Nethbian forces... Each rumor was wilder than the last. But one thing was the same in every town they passed through - the hardened look of women who had only a dying spark of hope left of seeing their husbands and sons return in one piece. The mens' pace instinctively quickened another notch.

As they set camp that evening, Deirdre slipped into the tent to check on the resting men. The healer, although unable to accompany them, had sent them along with a small store of remedies to aid them in keeping the two men alive until they reached the city. Both of them had lost so much blood - it seemed uncertain as to whether they would ever awaken or not.

Deirdre shook that morbid thought from her mind, though not without effort. She lit the small lantern and looked at their peaceful expressions. She could almost fool herself into thinking they slept - if it hadn't been for that unnatural grey tinge to their faces. Placing a cool cloth on Merk's forehead, a small smile touched her lips as she thought of the outwardly gruff man. He had a soft heart underneath it all, although he would rather die than admit it.

Her smile faded, however, as she tended to the other occupant of the wagon. Her hands were gentle as she brushed a lock of his hair away from Allyn's forehead as she pulled the covers more tightly around him. "I won't let you die," she whispered, her voice suddenly fierce. "No matter what."

Rubbing the healer's salve onto their wounds, she listened to the sounds of revelries outside. The men were more cheerful than they had been the entire trip, and for good reason. They would enter the city on the morrow, and reach the castle by dusk. Deirdre would be able to report to the regent and the matter would be out of hands. Almost.

It was that 'almost' that kept her from heaving a relieved sigh. She dreaded the regent's decision almost as much as she was sure Allyn himself would have. The man that had kidnapped the regent's mother, was the cause of her illness before being rescued... even saving little Rowena may not help his cause.

Stepping out of the wagon to escape the harsh smell of the salve, she wrapped her black wool cloak tighter around her to protect against the chill wind. She could almost see the edges of the city in the twilight. And for the first time in years, she truly felt fear.

Brendan was fighting for all he was worth. But they kept pressing and he was weak. He felt the sword sting his side, and then he fell to the ground, knowing no more.

Further in the distance, from his command position, Iorwerth saw his son fall. His heart missed a beat. This could not be happening, He did not even know if they were winning the battle. It appeared they were, he could see the enemy retreating, after their general have fallen the enemy was in confusion, and seemed to be trying to save themselves.

Parts off Iorwerth felt elated at this last minute victory. A larger part was terrified. ~What if you lost your son, so soon after losing his brother?~ He was not sure he could take another loss so soon.

After giving the orders to his commanders, he made his way to the place where he had seen his son fall. "Somebody get healer here, get me a healer right now!" He sank to his knees next to Brendan, and tried to stay calm.

As they traveled through the streets of Abertawe, it became clear that the war had truly begun in their absense. All around, war preparations were clear. And every church they passed, of every faith, was full of women and children praying for the souls and safe returns of their fathers, husbands, and brothers.

Emyr's signal drew Deirdre out of her reverie. Nudging her mount to the side, she came up beside the young guardsman. "What is it?" she asked, concerned.

"I think that Lord fella is wakin'," he frowned, as if blaming the man for awakening before his comrade. Deirdre's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and without a word, she entered the small wagon, not slowing the pace of the procession.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness. They had created a makeshift cover to the wagon to keep the flies from the men, so it took her a moment to grope to the man's side. "Allyn?" she whispered, not sure whether she hoped for an answer or not.

"Deirdre? I feel like you decided to roast on a spit. Everything hurts and I am on fire." He said weakly. "Did the King burn me at the stake?" He attempted to jest.

Deirdre jerked back as if struck. "Of course not," she said quickly, reaching for a damp cloth. "We are still half a day's ride from the castle." She paused to place the cloth on his forehead and readjust the blanket over him. "Allyn..." she started hesitantly, then continued resolutely. "I wanted to thank you for helping my man back there. I'm sure he had nothing but your death on his mind, but you took the time to bandage him, and for that, he may live yet. Thank you."

"It was the right thing to do." He said quietly. "Why is it so blasted hot." He kicked the blanket back. A thin sheen of sweat shone across his body.

Biting her lip, she gently placed the blanket back over him. "I know it feels hot, but the healer said you should keep the blanket on anyhow." Her eyes betrayed her concern, though, as she glanced upwards with an impatient look, as if willing the wagon to move faster by thought alone. Instead, however, she rewet the cloth and dabbed his face gently. "You should rest," she said softly. "Save your energy."

"For what? So your King can hang me?" he asked gently.

Deirdre grimaced, giving him a sour look. "You don't truly believe that, or else you never would have come along," she replied sharply. She didn't seem to be willing to acknowledge the alternative. "Now are you going to rest, or do I have to give you some of this root the healer gave me?"

Allyn caught her hand. "I do believe it. I just consider the alternative worse." he said quietly.

Biting her lip, she tried to slip her hand from his grasp. But as feverish as his face was, his grip was like iron. "Allyn, you're ill. You should rest. I'll take care of everything, okay?"

"One kiss lass, from your sweet lips to calm the raging fires?" He breathed feverisly. His eyes were bright and watched her warily.

Deirdre swallowed thickly, instictively looking for a way out. But before she knew what she was doing, she nodded. She leaned forward, her heart beating wildly in her ears, and gently brushed her lips against his. It was little more than a light touch, but her senses spun.

Allyn could feel death waivering about the edges of his consciousness. When Deirdre's lips touched his, it was as if the fires of life itself consumed him. He reached up holding the back of her head as he kissed her again deeply. He let her go quickly and his eyes met hers. "There are some things, a man will risk death for." he said quietly.

Blushing and stammering, Deirdre stood, self-consciously brushing back her curls from her face. "I should go check on my men." It was clear his actions had affected her more than even she had expected. "I will return later. Get some rest." She nearly fell over her own feet leaving.

Allyn watched her go. At least she was not oblivious to him. He sank back into a feverish slumber.

Antarres and his men had been wedging off small pieces of the opposing forces. The men would then surround the Abertawans and cut them down. Then they would break off another small group. In this manner, they had brought down over 60 men and had lost only two.

They cut off another wedge. Antarres smiled. It was a slightly larger group. It looked to be made up of only farmboys so he was not worried. He gave the signal and the small group of ten found themselves surrounded by twenty.

Seth called out,"Do not be alarmed. We are on the side of good and we will prevail." He then talked in a lower voice and said,"If we split up and attack them one at a time we have no chance, but if we stick together and work as one we do have one." They grouped togehter and readied to block and strike. It was the general defense tactic. Seth was ready to slice them in defense of all he knew and with the hope he woudl see his love again.

Antarres eyes narrowed. The group of men had backed into a tighter circle, their backs at the center. He ordered a rush attack and all ten were engaged at once. He concentrated on the young guardsman who had spoke. A group with no leader soon fell.

Seth knew since he had spoken they would take on him harder than anyone else. he managed to fight of one, then two men before the attackers backed off a bit. Seth looked around the the group and saw that they had lost one who had already been injured, but it was still a hard loss. He said to the rest of them<"Hold tight and we will make it."

Antarres moved in. "I think not boy. You will die as has every other little group." He came in swinging. It was obvious he was a master by his sudden switches in direction.

Seth was able to keep up with Antarres with some difficulty, but less than he had expected. Luckily Seth could keep a clear head in a battle which made him a good warrior. He deflected a hard blow and swung back at his right shoulder.

The others of Seth's group rallied as the two men circled each other. Seth was broken from the circle by the man's skill. But the rest of the men held firm so as not to let Seth down. Slowly one by one, men fell on both sides. Antarres and Seth exchanged brutal blows. More then once Antarres had thought he had beaten Seth down only to have him surge with new energy.

Seth was amazed at the skill of this man and knew he'd have to watch for a mistake and make sure he didn't make one of his own. There was no way he would give up. His love was what kept energy flowing through his veins in reality. He clashed blow after blow with Antarres and knew there was no way a simple move would take this man out.

Antarres had had enough of this young pup. He came in fast and furious, raining blow after blow, sending the lad scrambling backwards. Suddenly, with sword upraised, he suddenly stiffened and held his positoin for a second, giving Seth an opening.

Seth saw this and thrust his sword into the most vital part he could stab at. He didn't know where he had the strength left in his body to do it either.

The man fell as the other men made short work of the Nethbians. ONe of the men from abetawe strode over and removed his dagger from the leader's back. He looked down at Seth. "Sorry, but you looked in need of assistance." He held out a hand to help Seth up.

Seth took his hand and said,"My gratitude." He pulled himself up with the help of his comrade. He then said,"I suggest wee get back into the mix of things why we are still going positively."