Soot-Steeped Knight (LN)
Resting at day under the canopy of canvases, treading at night under the canopy of constellations—we, the 5th, slowly but surely made our way to the banks of the Erbelde Broadrun.
Our progress was ever in the company of sweltering temperatures and nagging fatigue, but it was undoubtedly preferable to the hell that was the first day’s march. In accordance with the leadership’s revisions to the logistics guidelines, we’ve offloaded extraneous supplies and equipment along the way. With our burdens cut down to the barest minimum, we were able to maintain a slightly more expedient march.
Our collective fatigue mounted as the days wore on, but on the seventh, at long last our perseverance carried us beyond the fringes of the Belithas Steppe.
We rested under the shade of our tents, waiting for the sun to set. The hour of departure was soon upon us. By my estimation, we would reach the Erbelde in the dead of night.
It was by no small miracle that we’ve gotten as far as we did. Even then, such a miracle afforded little succour for the worn and weary officers. Despite the progress made, their faces were masked in grim shadows, for each and every one of them were fully aware of the boiling battlefield that loomed at march’s end.
“Commence the march. We arrive tonight. Stay sharp, little lions!” ordered the mareschal. His words were of paltry power and pluck—the gravity of the situation was not lost to him either, it seemed. Nevertheless, we picked ourselves up and hoofed the last stretch of the journey to the Erbelde Broadrun, where awaited both our friends of the 1st and our Nafilim foes.
♰
Through the thick veil of night, I continued to pull Emilie’s horse along, my lips long parted from any mood for unprompted words. For their part, the Owlcranes yet retained the strength for the battle to come, from the looks of it—able-armed professionals, just as one would expect.
“Emilie, love,” Raakel called out from the darkness. “There be a meetin’ with the 1st straight away when we arrive? We Owlcranes have to plant us bottoms fer it too, ye reckon?”
“Not just us Owlcranes; everyone’s showing up,” Emilie confirmed. “Be on your best behaviour, all right Raakel?”
“Bloomin’ ‘eck…” winced Raakel. “Aye aye, m’lady Lieutenant.”
“Miss Emilie, what do you suppose of the operation’s design?”
Sheila’s question earned a troubled face from Emilie. “I’ve… not been told of it much myself, to be honest. Though I’m sure the 1st would have us hear of it to our heart’s content.”
“You don’t mean to say the 1st will snag the reins over us Owlcranes, do you Emilie?” came another inquiry, this time from Gerd.
“Not at all. Our other brigades will fall under the 1st’s command, of course, but the reins of the Owlcranes remain in my hands.”
“Fine with me, then.” It would seem Gerd’s palate held no savoury impression of the 1st, shelved highly as they were in the hierarchy of Orders. The kingdom’s sharpest sword, the mightiest Order of them all—I, for one, cannot see their power with my own eyes soon enough.
“Rolf,” Emilie called, turning ahead to me. “What sort of battle awaits us, do you think?”
“One that has us fording the river, my Lady,” was my answer.
“What’s that now, mud-wit? Fordin’ the river, ye say? The Des Ailes Greatbridge is where we’re headed; why swim as fish when we’ve a proper foothold to cross upon?” Raakel quipped.
“Our fins will sooner avail us than our feet, Lady Raakel,” I responded. “Neither side holds claim to the bridge, hence why the past month has seen nary a budge in the Erbelde line.”
Control the bridge and one controls the banks both. That such hasn’t happened thus far attested to the stone-solid stalemate petrifying that battlefield. And for as long as it remained unbroken, one crosses the bridge at great peril. More likely than not, the two sides were dug in their heels on opposing sides of the bridge, staring each other down.
“My silly swain, is that not our purpose, then? To temper the spear that pierces that line?” Sheila probed.
“Nay, my Lady. The Des Ailes Greatbridge lives up to its namesake, true, but it can only harbour so many soldiers upon its berth, wide though it may be. To chance forcing our way through, 1st and 5th combined, would prove a fool’s wager.”
“The Erbelde’s namesake be not too shabby either, muscle-pate. Even a fool has the wits not to wager a wade through the Broadrun o’ all rivers!” Raakel retorted. And she had a point—one that no longer stood ground, that is.
“And yet the 1st saw need of reinforcements—a shift in their fortunes, they’ve glimpsed.” I reminded her.
“That much is true. What could it mean?” Emilie wondered.
“A drought, no less. It takes a long-spanning bridge like the Des Ailes to connect the Erbelde’s banks, but the river itself is rather shallow—all the more so with the current dry spell. Such thinned waters should expose ample purchase, enough for a large host to ford upon.”
“Hold there, ungraced,” Gerd broke in. “A hound should know to wag his tail and not his tongue. How does a cur like you know of all this?”
“At the time of the bridge’s construction, surveys of the area were carried out by the royal geographers. Their findings were well-documented—you can have a look yourself in the headquarters’ library.”
Findings from forty years ago, albeit. But that the bridge stood to this day was proof enough of their trustworthiness. To that, the Owlcranes could find no fault.
“And I’m to believe you stuck your nose that deep into the books? All within the last few days?” prodded Gerd.
“The ink on my nose would attest to that belief of yours, yes, Lord Gerd,” I confirmed. “I had merely wished to come prepared for battle.”
“…A battle you’re useless for,” Gerd cut under his breath. “Well done, indeed.”
A look up found the moon in a march of its own, crossing past its zenith. Soon, I thought to myself, and just as I did, there rose spirited cheers from the vanguard—we’ve arrived at last, from the sound of it.
“Forgive me for hailing from horseback. I am Erik Lindell, Lieutenant of the 1st Order’s Owlcrane Brigade. The march must have been long, yet you have all answered our call nonetheless; glad we are, and most grateful,” saluted the knight at the head of the greeting party. He seemed almost thirty in his years, and was stately in his appearance with rich brown hair and a virile visage. “I would lead you to the Mareschal Tiselius, but I must needs seek audience with the Mareschal Tallien first. Is he present?”
“Well met, Sir Lindell. I am Lieutenant Emilie Mernesse, also of the 5th Order’s Owlcranes,” she introduced herself. “I see no need for such an audience. May we proceed towards the garrison as we are?”
“This audience, I’ll entertain,” the mareschal called out. “Worry not, Emilie. Erik and I are well-acquainted.”
“Pardon my conduct, Mareschal. Sir Lindell, as well.”
“Nay. ‘Tis no matter.”
Our mareschal then emerged from the gathered ranks. “Erik Lindell. How many moons has it been? You seem sprightly as ever.”
“And I have Her grace to thank for it,” cordially returned this ‘Erik Lindell’. “Yet I must apologise, Mareschal Tallien, seeing as you have all just arrived, but we would have you attend the war council right away.”
“As you would. Lead the way, then.”
“Aye, sir!”
With Lindell’s guidance, we were led into the 1st’s garrison. At last, we’ve arrived at the appointed battlefield.
♰
Preparations for the war council were underway, but with even the largest pavilion scarcely able to accommodate the combined leaderships of both Orders, the venue was summarily moved outside. Chairs and tables were set up by the swains of the 1st and—by Tallien’s orders—myself.
The other Order was loath to include me in the elbow work, seeing how spent the 5th was from so taxing a journey, but I insisted it was of no account—our seven-day march pales in comparison to the sheer drudgery of their month-long standoff, after all.
With the venue set up, the two leaderships were summoned in. Our side consisted of the mareschal, under-mareschal, the Owlcranes, the brigadiers all, and their lieutenants. For their part, the 1st’s side consisted of the same, save for their lieutenants currently engaged in combat. Their mareschal also appeared to be absent.
“My apologies, sir. The madame will not be long,” Lindell informed Tallien.
“Duly noted.”
Moments after the exchange, there emerged a woman in her mid-twenties. All those present promptly rose to their feet to hail her arrival.
“Pray forgive my late return!” rang her voice. “I am Tiselius, mareschal to these men. I must thank you for suffering the long march here.”
A blazing presence she was, crowned with flowing fuchsia-blonde curls, gentle in their undulation. Her figure—one passus and twelve digitī in height, thereabouts—scintillated with slates of silver, and was cloaked in a crimson cascade. A heated sigh was teased out from a soul amongst the 5th, whether by her sublime beauty or the reputation that preceded her.
Estelle Tiselius, Dame Mareschal of the 1st Chivalric Order. A hero known by every Londosian through every corner of Londosius’ reach, she was esteemed as the mightiest amongst all those knighted in this realm.
“Mareschal Tiselius, a great pleasure after so long a while,” greeted our own commander.
“A while indeed! The pleasure is mine, Mareschal Tallien,” Tiselius returned. “The 5th’s arrival puts us at no small ease. My deepest gratitude is yours.”
At her urging were those present seated, save for us swains—three from the 1st and myself, the only one from the 5th—who remained on our feet a ways back. I looked all through the ranks of the 5th, settling upon the seat reserved for the head of the 1st Sorcery Brigade—filling it was none other than Felicia.
Supported by her impressive stores of odyl and a future filled with promise, Felicia had well-answered the expectations of her peers and superiors both. Such blossoming talent earned her the station of lieutenant in just a year from her enlistment. And with it, of course, came the title of dame.
The sorcerers make no use of horses on the usual, but for an executive officer like herself, Felicia was furnished with a mount for the march. Perhaps it was in thanks to this that she was not overly exhausted by the seven-day trek, from what I could make of her condition.
Our eyes met for an instant before she turned hers away. It was then that Tiselius’ voice rang forth, steady and sincere in its timbre.
“Let us begin the war council now, shall we?”
Our first battle, upon our first battlefield, for Emilie, Felicia, and myself. Our breaths were bated as the proverbial curtains drew open.
──── Notes ────
Digitus
(plural: digitī) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres.
Passus
(plural: passūs) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres.
Chapter 15: Volume 1 - CH 3.2
Our progress was ever in the company of sweltering temperatures and nagging fatigue, but it was undoubtedly preferable to the hell that was the first day’s march. In accordance with the leadership’s revisions to the logistics guidelines, we’ve offloaded extraneous supplies and equipment along the way. With our burdens cut down to the barest minimum, we were able to maintain a slightly more expedient march.
Our collective fatigue mounted as the days wore on, but on the seventh, at long last our perseverance carried us beyond the fringes of the Belithas Steppe.
We rested under the shade of our tents, waiting for the sun to set. The hour of departure was soon upon us. By my estimation, we would reach the Erbelde in the dead of night.
It was by no small miracle that we’ve gotten as far as we did. Even then, such a miracle afforded little succour for the worn and weary officers. Despite the progress made, their faces were masked in grim shadows, for each and every one of them were fully aware of the boiling battlefield that loomed at march’s end.
“Commence the march. We arrive tonight. Stay sharp, little lions!” ordered the mareschal. His words were of paltry power and pluck—the gravity of the situation was not lost to him either, it seemed. Nevertheless, we picked ourselves up and hoofed the last stretch of the journey to the Erbelde Broadrun, where awaited both our friends of the 1st and our Nafilim foes.
♰
Through the thick veil of night, I continued to pull Emilie’s horse along, my lips long parted from any mood for unprompted words. For their part, the Owlcranes yet retained the strength for the battle to come, from the looks of it—able-armed professionals, just as one would expect.
“Emilie, love,” Raakel called out from the darkness. “There be a meetin’ with the 1st straight away when we arrive? We Owlcranes have to plant us bottoms fer it too, ye reckon?”
“Not just us Owlcranes; everyone’s showing up,” Emilie confirmed. “Be on your best behaviour, all right Raakel?”
“Bloomin’ ‘eck…” winced Raakel. “Aye aye, m’lady Lieutenant.”
“Miss Emilie, what do you suppose of the operation’s design?”
Sheila’s question earned a troubled face from Emilie. “I’ve… not been told of it much myself, to be honest. Though I’m sure the 1st would have us hear of it to our heart’s content.”
“You don’t mean to say the 1st will snag the reins over us Owlcranes, do you Emilie?” came another inquiry, this time from Gerd.
“Not at all. Our other brigades will fall under the 1st’s command, of course, but the reins of the Owlcranes remain in my hands.”
“Fine with me, then.” It would seem Gerd’s palate held no savoury impression of the 1st, shelved highly as they were in the hierarchy of Orders. The kingdom’s sharpest sword, the mightiest Order of them all—I, for one, cannot see their power with my own eyes soon enough.
“Rolf,” Emilie called, turning ahead to me. “What sort of battle awaits us, do you think?”
“One that has us fording the river, my Lady,” was my answer.
“What’s that now, mud-wit? Fordin’ the river, ye say? The Des Ailes Greatbridge is where we’re headed; why swim as fish when we’ve a proper foothold to cross upon?” Raakel quipped.
“Our fins will sooner avail us than our feet, Lady Raakel,” I responded. “Neither side holds claim to the bridge, hence why the past month has seen nary a budge in the Erbelde line.”
“My silly swain, is that not our purpose, then? To temper the spear that pierces that line?” Sheila probed.
“Nay, my Lady. The Des Ailes Greatbridge lives up to its namesake, true, but it can only harbour so many soldiers upon its berth, wide though it may be. To chance forcing our way through, 1st and 5th combined, would prove a fool’s wager.”
“The Erbelde’s namesake be not too shabby either, muscle-pate. Even a fool has the wits not to wager a wade through the Broadrun o’ all rivers!” Raakel retorted. And she had a point—one that no longer stood ground, that is.
“And yet the 1st saw need of reinforcements—a shift in their fortunes, they’ve glimpsed.” I reminded her.
“That much is true. What could it mean?” Emilie wondered.
“A drought, no less. It takes a long-spanning bridge like the Des Ailes to connect the Erbelde’s banks, but the river itself is rather shallow—all the more so with the current dry spell. Such thinned waters should expose ample purchase, enough for a large host to ford upon.”
“Hold there, ungraced,” Gerd broke in. “A hound should know to wag his tail and not his tongue. How does a cur like you know of all this?”
“At the time of the bridge’s construction, surveys of the area were carried out by the royal geographers. Their findings were well-documented—you can have a look yourself in the headquarters’ library.”
Findings from forty years ago, albeit. But that the bridge stood to this day was proof enough of their trustworthiness. To that, the Owlcranes could find no fault.
“And I’m to believe you stuck your nose that deep into the books? All within the last few days?” prodded Gerd.
“The ink on my nose would attest to that belief of yours, yes, Lord Gerd,” I confirmed. “I had merely wished to come prepared for battle.”
“…A battle you’re useless for,” Gerd cut under his breath. “Well done, indeed.”
A look up found the moon in a march of its own, crossing past its zenith. Soon, I thought to myself, and just as I did, there rose spirited cheers from the vanguard—we’ve arrived at last, from the sound of it.
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As we marched further, little lights twinkling in the distance revealed themselves from the darkened landscape. The 1st’s garrison, it looked like, and from its direction came rhythmic hoof-falls—those of three mounted knights, I gathered. They eventually appeared from the murk of night, aglimmer with argent armour. The standards borne by our ensigns, indicating our mareschal’s presence, must have done their duty in beckoning the flying knights from their roosts.“Forgive me for hailing from horseback. I am Erik Lindell, Lieutenant of the 1st Order’s Owlcrane Brigade. The march must have been long, yet you have all answered our call nonetheless; glad we are, and most grateful,” saluted the knight at the head of the greeting party. He seemed almost thirty in his years, and was stately in his appearance with rich brown hair and a virile visage. “I would lead you to the Mareschal Tiselius, but I must needs seek audience with the Mareschal Tallien first. Is he present?”
“Well met, Sir Lindell. I am Lieutenant Emilie Mernesse, also of the 5th Order’s Owlcranes,” she introduced herself. “I see no need for such an audience. May we proceed towards the garrison as we are?”
“This audience, I’ll entertain,” the mareschal called out. “Worry not, Emilie. Erik and I are well-acquainted.”
“Pardon my conduct, Mareschal. Sir Lindell, as well.”
“Nay. ‘Tis no matter.”
“And I have Her grace to thank for it,” cordially returned this ‘Erik Lindell’. “Yet I must apologise, Mareschal Tallien, seeing as you have all just arrived, but we would have you attend the war council right away.”
“As you would. Lead the way, then.”
“Aye, sir!”
With Lindell’s guidance, we were led into the 1st’s garrison. At last, we’ve arrived at the appointed battlefield.
♰
Preparations for the war council were underway, but with even the largest pavilion scarcely able to accommodate the combined leaderships of both Orders, the venue was summarily moved outside. Chairs and tables were set up by the swains of the 1st and—by Tallien’s orders—myself.
The other Order was loath to include me in the elbow work, seeing how spent the 5th was from so taxing a journey, but I insisted it was of no account—our seven-day march pales in comparison to the sheer drudgery of their month-long standoff, after all.
With the venue set up, the two leaderships were summoned in. Our side consisted of the mareschal, under-mareschal, the Owlcranes, the brigadiers all, and their lieutenants. For their part, the 1st’s side consisted of the same, save for their lieutenants currently engaged in combat. Their mareschal also appeared to be absent.
“My apologies, sir. The madame will not be long,” Lindell informed Tallien.
“Duly noted.”
Moments after the exchange, there emerged a woman in her mid-twenties. All those present promptly rose to their feet to hail her arrival.
“Pray forgive my late return!” rang her voice. “I am Tiselius, mareschal to these men. I must thank you for suffering the long march here.”
A blazing presence she was, crowned with flowing fuchsia-blonde curls, gentle in their undulation. Her figure—one passus and twelve digitī in height, thereabouts—scintillated with slates of silver, and was cloaked in a crimson cascade. A heated sigh was teased out from a soul amongst the 5th, whether by her sublime beauty or the reputation that preceded her.
Estelle Tiselius, Dame Mareschal of the 1st Chivalric Order. A hero known by every Londosian through every corner of Londosius’ reach, she was esteemed as the mightiest amongst all those knighted in this realm.
“Mareschal Tiselius, a great pleasure after so long a while,” greeted our own commander.
“A while indeed! The pleasure is mine, Mareschal Tallien,” Tiselius returned. “The 5th’s arrival puts us at no small ease. My deepest gratitude is yours.”
At her urging were those present seated, save for us swains—three from the 1st and myself, the only one from the 5th—who remained on our feet a ways back. I looked all through the ranks of the 5th, settling upon the seat reserved for the head of the 1st Sorcery Brigade—filling it was none other than Felicia.
Supported by her impressive stores of odyl and a future filled with promise, Felicia had well-answered the expectations of her peers and superiors both. Such blossoming talent earned her the station of lieutenant in just a year from her enlistment. And with it, of course, came the title of dame.
The sorcerers make no use of horses on the usual, but for an executive officer like herself, Felicia was furnished with a mount for the march. Perhaps it was in thanks to this that she was not overly exhausted by the seven-day trek, from what I could make of her condition.
“Let us begin the war council now, shall we?”
Our first battle, upon our first battlefield, for Emilie, Felicia, and myself. Our breaths were bated as the proverbial curtains drew open.
──── Notes ────
Digitus
(plural: digitī) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the width of a finger. 1 centimetre is equal to 0.5405 of a digitus. A digitus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 2 centimetres.
Passus
(plural: passūs) A unit of measure used by the ancient Romans, taken from the length of a pace (2 steps). 1 metre is equal to 0.6757 of a passus. A passus, therefore, can be roughly equated to 1 and a half metres.
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