Getting Back On The Horse

I've been getting back to my novels again and put together a combat piece. Its a work in progress.



A cool breeze blew and cooled Akilion’s skin. Even in the Northern Mountains, the glaring sun baked him through his armor. He wiped at his forehead with a rag and batted his large grey gelding, edging him behind his fellow cavalry. The clinking of metal and stretching of leather drowned out all other sound. Each wore full plate mail with small wooden shields attached to their right arm and medium sized lances propped upwards. They were positioned along a ridgeline, keeping the larger footmen army to their right flank.

He put his rag away and fished out the sharpening stone from his saddlebags, sliding it across his bronze dagger he held across his lap. He had found it during a battle. Tripping over a dieing man, he had lost his sword. Laying there defenseless, he saw the sword that would soon take his life. The hulking Grandorian cocked the sword back and came at him with all his strength. Splashing in the mud, his right hand came upon the dagger’s hilt. With instinct, he swung the blade in a powerful arch and the Grandorian’s detached sword hand whacked him the chest, blood spraying his face.

The thing was worth coppers but it had saved his life numerous times and its worth was invaluable. Once sharpened and oiled, he slid it back into its sheath tied to his belt. His other blade, a long sword, was strapped to his back.

His commander, Jotel lifted his fist and the company halted. Everyone stiffened and eyed the area suspiciously. Only small brush and an occasional pine dotted the rocky incline. A whisper came down the line. The retreating Grandorian raiding party had just come around the bend of the road below them. Akilion whispered the command for the soldiers behind him.

Tightening his grip on the reins, he waited for the officer to give the signal. Men began to murmur prayers and he said his silently. The slow churning of wagon’s wheels echoed below and Akilion eased his sword in and out of scabbard.

The officer raised his hands and they surged forward with a ferocious battle cry. He roared by Jotel and began the steep decent. Akilion focused on the backside of the horse in front of him as a cloud of dust enveloped them. He could just make out the wagons coming around the bend of the road. Leaning forward for stability, he felt the sudden jar of even ground. Cries rose from the lead wagon and the swishing of arrows buzzed around him. Akilion put his wooden shield above his head, shielding his open slit of his helmet and settled his lance into place. With no visibility, he waited for the clash of steel. In an instant, he dodged a downed horse and aimed his lance at the nearest twelve foot shadow. The Gardenian deflected his lance with a massive stone broadsword. Akilion’s hand went numb from the collision and the lance fell from his hand. Digging in his spurs, he slid the sword from his back and moved out of striking distance, keeping his momentum.

Another giant human loomed near a wagon wheel and swung its sword, knocking the soldier Akilion was following from his saddle. Akilion swung at the enemy’s back but not before it drove its sword through the soldier’s breastplate. Spurring his horse, he coughed out a cloud of dust and wiped his dry eyes. Out from behind a wagon, a war hammer arched toward his head but Akilion had just enough time to move his sword to smack the shaft. The blow knocked his sword from his hands and the hammer struck his shoulder. He felt the armor cave in and began to fall from his saddle. Pulling with all his might on the reins, he gathered his balance but his steed came to an abrupt stop. The Gardenian saw his chance to finish him off and charged. Akilion’s hand shot for his dagger, the two foot curved blade slid from its sheath and he slammed it into the oncoming goliath’s bicep. It reared back in pain, the dagger still in its arm, and ripped it out. It picked up the war hammer that he dropped and gave a guttural yell. He had just raised it above his head before a lance caught it in the chest, carrying it twenty feet. It came to a stop at a wagon’s wheel. Taking a deep breath, he spurred his horse on, pulling out his last weapon, a dagger attached to his saddle and flailed at anything that moved.

He neared another ominous shadow at full gallop, and swung at it. He hit flesh and held on until the blade slipped free. As he blurred past, he felt a heavy thwack against his side. Looking down, an arrow shaft jutted from his abdomen. Shielding his face, he picked up speed and followed his companions through the entanglement of wagons. He pulled next to a fellow soldier, a young man whose back was riddled with arrows. He gave a nod to the young soldier, who nodded back and they broke free from melee and continued up the opposite hill. When they reached the crest, they turned around and waited for the rest of Calvary to reach the top. It took several minutes for the dust to settle and the battlefield to be seen. Bodies littered the wagons, some moaning with injuries. Akilion took the lull to check his side. Gripping the end closest to his body, he snapped off the shaft. A tendril of blood slithered down his silver armor and dripped to the ground.

Jotel, who brought up the rear, ordered several fresh recruits to go down and secure the area. The fifteen chosen men scampered down. Once halfway, a Gardenian popped out of the back of the wagon, firing a cross bolt into the first soldier. He dropped from his horse with a thud. The rest charged. Another Gardenian, playing dead, jumped up and the two giants aimed their crossbows and fired again, dropping two more. But once the charge over took them, it was over. They gave the all clear signal, the rest of the cavalry made their way down.

Lifting a lance from the chest of a moaning Gardenian, Akilion edged his steed around a large wagon, its payload covered by a tarp, to where he had dropped his copper dagger and retrieved it. He cut one of the ropes tying the canvas down and peeked inside. It held a jumble of metal objects, helmets, oil lamps, silverware and mugs. Next to the skittish horse pulling the wagon, he noticed a Gardenian, armless, face down in the dirt, and a sword underneath its massive body. Dismounting, Akilion yanked the sword from beneath the corpse. It had looked small near the Gardenian but fit nicely in his hand. It had excellent balance and he noticed the fine intricate design inlaid on the blade. He untied the scabbard from the Gardenian and tied it to his belt, slipping the blade in with a click.

Remounting, he joined the rest of the men in a the middle of the wagons. The new soldiers went to work clearing the dead. A Brotherhood member, in light purple, was helping several soldiers with wounds and Akilion dismounted and started detaching his armor. Removing the arrow head was painful and he nearly broke the block of wood the robed man had put in his mouth. Once the stitching was done and a solvent applied, he put his armor back on.

Staverent, a tall burly veteran soldier, came up to him, leaning on a silver long sword with a golden hilt shaped like a cat’s head. “You lucky beast,” he said, eyeing Akilion’s wound. “That’s a week off.”

Akilion barked a laugh and tightened the last latch to his breastplate. “This wound’s going to take at least two.”

Staverent riffled through his saddlebag, and pulled out a silver flask. After a long swig, he tossed it to Akilion. The thick liquor gave a refreshing burn as it worked his way down his throat. Its warmth felt good against the chill.

As the bodies began to pile up, Akilion was surprised to see some Careichens among the dead. They resided more to the deep wooded areas to the East. Their pale taught skin looked ominous on their lanky but normal size. Their auger eyes seemed to stare at you no matter where you stood. The soldiers disrobed them and piled their clothing in heaps. Their robes, made from the fibers of plants, were the best camouflage in the world. A huge pile of arrow shafts and bows had their own pile near the clothing.

Several loud blasts from a horn echoed through the valley. The beating of drums followed by the stomping of a hundred footmen thundered around the bend. Every soldier stopped what they were doing and watched as the flagmen and drummer boys came into view in front of the legion. The line stopped before they reached the wagons and Jotel, upon his mount, flanked by his bodyguard, waited for the general to emerge.

The general, clad in deep purple armor, rode to the front . Jotel saluted, fist to head and handed the general a rolled parchment. The general nodded, took it and said something to one of his lieutenants, a lanky fellow in polished chain mail. The man turned and barked a command to the footmen and they dispersed around the valley.

“Looks like we’re going to be moving on,” said Staverent, tucking his flask back into his saddle bag. “I hate camping with footmen. I’d like to move on before making camp.”

Akilion nodded in agreement. “To bad I’ll be heading back with the injured. Time to spend some of that pay.”

His friend smiled and pulled out a bundle from his bag, tossing it to Akilion. “Send this off when you get to town.”

Akilion looked down at a bundle of letters twined together. “No problem. Take care and I’ll bring you a sack of good tobacco when I get back.”

“Don’t take to long,” he said and rode around the pile of dead.

The Brotherhood were already placing the seriously injured onto the wagons and Akilion gathered his belongings and prepared for the long journey south.