Clash of Scouts

 

I won't give a full after action report from the game I played a couple weeks ago. The photos below convey the gist of the skirmish in which three mounted Nahorn scouts met six Kru dog faces on foot. The Kru's objective was to get someone on the high ground to observe the Nahorn outpost and return off their own board edge with the information. The Nahorn objective was to prevent the Kru from returning with intelligence that the outpost was inadequately defended.

In similar scenarios I've played, the Kru always split up and every dog face fends for himself--leaving them to face the riders alone. This time, the Kru leader kept his warriors together. However, the line formation he used was vulnerable at each end, which is where the horse scouts targeted their attacks. The Nahorn men waited for the Kru to clear the rough and brushy ground before striking. The mounted spearman above took out two Kru in one pass--slaying them both.

One of the dog faces did get to the high ground and howled the intelligence back to the leader, who almost escaped with it. The Kru captain couldn't outrun the horses, and, on 4th and goal, a Nahorn blade put him down permanently only inches shy of the end zone.

Two riders were pulled from their mounts, but they survived. The dismounted riders chased the last dog face into the brush and treated him to multiple rounds of that popular game "Spear point, axe head, who's got the wound." The Kru refused to go down easily. He succeeded in catching wound after wound until he finally lost consciousness

___________________

I'm on chapter 20 of the final edit of Truth in Flames. I would promise that it will be available in ebook this week, but the cover may take me a little longer because my artist is away on a cruise. Of course, the paperback will take an additional week to format. In fact, the paperback may not go up until January.

There was absolutely no demand for this episode of the Kru Wars, but I had committed myself to a two part installment when I subtitled the previous one (Part I) so here it is. More pictures at the end.

Tellereth Outpost

(Part II)

Copyright © 2020 Stanley Wheeler

All Rights Reserved

     The terrible scream lanced into their ears from upstream—from the Nahorn side of the river. Four unarmored Kru, one armed with a bow, and the others wielding a blade of jagged steel in each clawed hand presented an unusual sight as they advanced across the gray-green grass of the plain toward the barracks. The other creature, or pair of creatures which moved as one, proved to be the source of the mind-jarring screams. A great, black spider with a human archer upon his back walked among the four savage Kru

     “What is it?” Zorereth cried from his position on the bridge, fear and doubt clawing at his thoughts.

     Kolmor shouted back, “A screaming spider. I’ve heard of them. They live in the Garkag Mountains, I’ve been told. I’ve never seen one. That thing on its back is a man. We know how to kill one of those!”

     “The noise, it hurts,” Zorereth said. “It tells me to run away.”

     “Aye, so it does. Fight it. Fight the fear. Noise can’t hurt you,” Kolmor shouted to the younger man.

     Kolmor said no more, but his mind pondered the timing of this attack. They meant to strike us while our attentions were occupied by their friends from across the river. If they had arrived only a few minutes sooner, they’d have caught us like a misplaced hand between the hammer and the anvil. We’re not deployed to fight them with most of us on the bridge, or upon the wrong side of it, but things aren’t as bad as they could’ve been.

     He looked to the enemy. He could barely see the heads of the Kru dog faces over the river barricade. One of the Kru disappeared around the back of the barracks. Kolmor stepped away from the body of the Kru he had slain only moments before, and ran for the bridge. He had to get back on the Nahorn side to lead the fight.

***

     Gendorg urged the great spider forward with the power of his own mind commanding the mount. He had received two gifts from the pale lady: the ability to control the spider, and the special arrows she had given him. He discerned from the position of the enemy that the attack by the Kru across the bridge had already failed. He rode past the barracks on his right and toward the bridge beyond at his left as he fitted an arrow to his bow. He would have to seize victory himself this day.

***

     Thormo raised his bow. He was the closest warrior to the new attackers. He stood near the abutment on the Nahorn side of the bridge. The constant, ear-piercing scream of the spider caused him to hesitate for an instant. In that moment, the archer, wrapped in bands of blue, white, and gold cloth, loosed an arrow from atop the back of the screaming spider. Thormo had the presence of mind to duck behind the solid wood wall along the bridge. With only the faintest sound of impact, the enemy arrow struck the edge of the guard wall.

     Thormo raised up and returned fire at the archer. The arrow flew at the enemy, passing beneath his raised bow arm but failing to find the archer’s body. Unfortunately, the dog face archer who had advanced beside the spider had better luck with his shot. The missile penetrated Thormo’s hauberk to lodge in a rib bone. Unable to contend with both the spider’s unnerving scream and the arrow in his side, Thormo retreated to the center of the bridge above swift waters of the Tellereth, and huddled against the guard wall. He hated to see himself act in such a cowardly fashion, but for all the courageous words he had heard and had spoken to inspire others, his mind could find no hold upon such words at this moment. Even thoughts of his wife and children eluded him.

     Two of the wild Kru, gray-skinned and barely clothed with a furred hide about the waist, dashed past the spider and over the roadway. One of them vaulted the bridge abutment and leaped down from the other side. Meanwhile, the dog face who had gone behind the barracks appeared and sprinted up the roadway toward the bridge.

     Mellereth denied the fear brought by the awful arachnidian screams, and lifted his bow. As he drew back the arrow, the string snapped. The arrow clattered to Mellereth’s feet in the premature release, and the bow bounced and shuddered within his hand. The warrior threw the bow to the bridge planking next to the arrow. He drew his sword, racing toward the dog face. As Mellereth neared the end of the bridge, the archer upon the spider loosed another arrow. The peculiar missile struck Mellereth’s scaled hauberk and seemed to disappear in a cloud of dust. Gripped by a sudden panic, Mellereth threw himself over the bridge wall, falling to the turf between the river barricade and the bridge abutment. His body shook as though seized by a momentary paroxysm before he could push away the doubt which had seized him, and take stock of his situation.

     The spearman Zanfreth had been the most distant from the new enemy’s advance. He left the breach in the river barricade and the patch of brush to face the two wild Kru loping his way. Zanfreth raised his spear and charged the nearest one. The Kru raised his twin blades high, running forward to meet the warrior’s charge. The dog face avoided the tip of Zanfreth’s spear, ducked, and rolled to slash beneath the warrior’s shield, cutting a bloody path across Zanfreth’s leg below the hauberk. Stepping back with the wounded limb, Zanfreth stabbed at the gray-skinned dog face. With one blade the Kru knocked the point away before it could pierce his coarse-haired torso, and slashed at Zanfreth with the other. Zanfreth avoided the jagged blade but his wounded leg failed him. He stumbled at the feet of the dog face.

     The other Kru didn’t follow his fellow to battle Zanfreth, but moved against the fallen Mellereth. The blond warrior hurried to rise and establish his footing to meet the fierce attack. With no shield to protect him, he had to face the whirling blades of his enemy with only his sword. The jagged blades failed to intimidate Mellereth, and he swept aside the enemy steel to jam his sword into the dog face’s naked side. The Kru yelped in pain and hopped back several steps. A third Kru raced past the dog face as that one retreated from Mellereth, and leaped in to clash with the blond warrior on his own.

     As Kolmor ran to the crest of the bridge, Zorereth upon the bridge avoided one of the spider rider’s strange missiles. He struggled against the pounding fear and sent an arrow in response. The shaft tore through a band of cloth hanging from the enemy’s arm, harming only his wardrobe but not his person.

     The wild Kru archer sprinted forward and vaulted up the abutment to the roadway. As he raised from his crouched landing, he brought up his bow with an arrow knocked. The dog face found his target and released the shaft. The iron barb of the shaft pierced Zorereth’s hauberk and stabbed into his belly. The Nahorn warrior shouted out against the pain, against the fear hammering against his courage with each intense repetition of the spider’s scream. He clenched his teeth, aimed the tip of his arrow for the Kru’s chest, and sent it swishing swift and true from his bow to the target. He watched the dog face crumple like a wineskin with a rent torn in the bottom. One of the spider rider’s strange missiles whizzing past his face jerked his attention away from the fallen Kru.

     Balured, upon the opposite bank of the Tellereth, leaped for the top of the bridge abutment. His shield caught upon the edge of the obstacle and he fell to the ground. In a flash he regained his feet and clambered up to the roadway.

     Mellereth parried the blades of the dog face who had rushed him after he had wounded and repulsed the previous Kru attacker. Mellereth’s steel bit into the naked flesh of the dog face’s side. The dog face yelped and turned away, scampering back beyond his wounded comrade, and abandoning the fight altogether. Mellereth spun about and ran toward Zanfreth who had found his feet.

     The Kru abandoned his attack against Zanfreth to slash at the attacking Mellereth. The jagged Kru blades sliced across Mellereth’s bright scales but did not wound the warrior. The dog face spun to turn his blades upon Zanfreth who took the deadly blows upon his shield.

     The first Kru Mellereth had wounded realized that he would recover from the injury, and paused to lick the wound with his long tongue. He growled in anger and dashed toward the warrior, salivating for vengeance.

     No longer troubled by two opponents, the Kru renewed his attack upon the wounded Zanfreth. He deflected the spear and slid down its length, driving one of his blades into the warrior with all his weight. The connection between the scales parted and the blade stabbed into the flesh below the shoulder. The wound burned and Zanfreth feared that the Kru blade might be poisoned. He could no longer hold back against the pressure of the spider screams and the wounds to his leg and shoulder. He broke and ran, barely turning the final flurry of the Kru’s last attack as he hurried in terror from the field.

     Upon the bridge, Kolmor romped past Zorereth to the Nahorn side of the bridge, and narrowly avoided a glimmering missile from the bow of the spider rider.

     Thormo remained paralyzed with fear, unable to move from his crouch against the bridge guard. He fought an inner battle for mastery, trying to grip and hold his will and courage rendered slippery and untenable by his wound and the incessant, fear-inducing screaming.

     Balured shielded his mind against the spider cries. He rushed across the bridge to Kolmor’s side. Balured saw that Mellereth was engaged with one enemy, and that the Kru who had put Zanfreth to flight would join against him. Balured leaped from the abutment, falling forward, rolling to his feet and launching himself toward the dog face.

    A great wave of panic had been steadily rising. Kolmor felt it crashing upon him, drowning him in fear and doubt. He struggled to move, to think at all. In an effort requiring every ounce of will that he could scrape together and focus into action, he hurled his axe at the spider rider. The axe tumbled end over end toward the rider who endeavored to nock another missile to his bow. The blade bit deeply into his ribs below the bow-arm, and stuck, wedged in his side. Kolmor’s throat voiced a victory cry.

***

     Gendag held his position upon the black mount, adding his screams to those of the spider. It was possible that he was not too seriously injured. The blade had not penetrated deeply. A number of ribs had been broken and he likely had some other painful damage that would probably heal in time. Nevertheless, his blood flowed freely, staining his wrappings of colorful cloth, and it required great focus to command the spider. If he should take another wound, or pass out from the pain, he risked losing control of the beast. He cursed the two Kru who had fallen to their deaths as they had made the difficult crossing of the Tellereth with him over the narrow but deep ravine farther upstream. If those two had not fallen, if the Kru sent to attack the bridge had waited for his approach, he might be unwounded and bearing moustached and bearded heads in victory to the pale lady. It was not to be. She would be angry, but she would heal him. He had become one of the valuable ones upon whom she had poured a portion of her power—a small, but not insignificant portion. He would return another time with a properly timed attack. For now, he directed the spider away, leaving the outpost and bridge to their defenders—this time.

     Theer gave a snarl when he realized that Gendag was riding away. He hated the human with his pretty clothes and mysterious arrows. Nevertheless, the human served the lady, and she had commanded Theer to serve under the human’s commands. If the human upon his mighty creature believed it proper to leave the field, Theer would leave with him. The dog face had hoped to see the great spider drag Nahorn defenders into its dark maw to rend and feast upon those pale bodies. He would not see that today, but if he loped away wearing his own wounds as proof of his bravery, he might delight in such a spectacle another day. Theer turned away, taking a cut from the tip of the Nahorn sword which sliced across his shoulder blade, and hurried after Gendag and the spider.

Vun saw Theer turn and flee. Vun understood that he was the last of the pack in the fight. He ducked away from the two Nahorn warriors and their swords. He ran to the end of the Nahorn barracks before wondering if he might find a narrow way at the stable in which to make a stand against these yellow beards. He stopped and turned to assess his enemy.

***

     Mellereth followed upon the heels of the retreating foe. When the thing turned to face him, Mellereth shouted a war cry and stabbed at the Kru. The dog face parried his strike and pushed him away. Balured, right behind Mellereth, crashed into the Kru, knocking him to the ground. Mellereth joined Balured, but the dog face scrambled to its feet before they could pin it to the ground. The dog face’s wicked blades held Balured at bay, but Mellereth charged in, kicking the feet from beneath the Kru.

     Kolmor, free of the near paralysis caused by the spider’s screams, hurled himself into the fight against the last of the hated Kru. The resilient dog face bounced to its feet, churning the twin blades in a slashing double windmill toward Mellereth. With the other two Nahorn warriors interfering with the dog face’s attack, Mellereth avoided the blades and drove the point of his sword through the Kru’s liver and into its spine. The dog faced dropped for the last time, coloring the hoof-trampled ground with the ichor that had keep it alive.

Copyright © 2020 Stanley Wheeler

All Rights Reserved

Another episode from the Kru Wars, specifically "Tellereth Outpost Part II" will post next week if all goes as planned. The episode will add some new elements to the story as more enemies of Nahorn appear.

Today I have two books to review. Before that, let me prattle on about my writing in Book 3 of the Tomahawks and Dragon Fire series. I had a blast writing about captures, escapes, skirmishes, burning buildings, and a dose of banter about political philosophy. Alex, Lucette, the dragon hunters, Lee, and the smugglers are divided into various groups and are working out their separate (but connected) adventures. Young dragons, crown troops, native warriors, gryphons, and French soldiers thwart their heroic endeavors. I estimate another 40K words to the exciting conclusion.

Here's a link to the first three chapters of Book 1

If you have read and enjoyed Threading the Rude Eye, please post a review on Amazon, goodreads, and the many fantasy or alternate history oriented fb pages. As long as I'm on my knees in supplication, let me add that Book 2, Power to Hurt really needs reviews. I promise that Book 3 is even more fun and exciting than the first two books in the series.

Now, having risen from bended knee, let me tell you about a book I absolutely loved: Harlow Giles Unger's Lafayette.

When I was in school, we learned a little about Lafayette. He seemed to be a side note, a peculiar Frenchman who tagged along with Washington during the latter part of the revolutionary war. Although he was tremendously popular in America during his lifetime, we have mostly forgotten about, or have under rated his contributions to the war for independence. I've come to the conclusion that he was as indispensable as Washington. I don't see how the war would have been won without the victory at Yorktown and that victory could not have happened without the French; arguably, the French would not have been there had it not been for Lafayette.

“Such a glorious cause,” wrote Lafayette, “had never before rallied the attention of mankind. Oppressors and oppressed would receive a powerful lesson; the great work would be accomplished or the rights of humanity would fall beneath its ruin. The destiny of France and that of her rival [England] would be decided at the same moment. . . . I gave my heart to the Americans and thought of nothing else but raising my banner and adding my colors to theirs.”

Unger, Harlow Giles. Lafayette (p. 15). Turner Publishing Company. Kindle Edition. 

Unger takes the reader on a journey through the American Revolutionary War, as well as the French Revolution, Bonaparte, and subsequent events and revolutions in France up to the time of Lafayette's death. Unger includes many letters to or from Lafayette, and he details the marquis' crucial role in all of these events. One cannot help but admire and love Lafayette as presented by Unger. He is an heroic, tragic figure, instrumental in helping America achieve independence and liberty, and yet unable to bring his own nation to taste of the same blessings. Especially interesting are the letters of the American statesman Gouverneur Morris from Paris at the beginning of the revolution. He could see what Lafayette could not. Lafayette may have opened up a can of revolution in France, but the French chose license rather than liberty because they had not the same culture and history as the Americans. Lafayette remained on intimate terms with many of the founders, including Washington, Jefferson, and Hamilton, until their deaths. His return tour of the 24 states in 1824 lasted over a year and was a veritable nonstop celebration of love and admiration for Lafayette.

It is a fascinating read. I rate it: Liberty's Love Story, a romantic tragedy must read for every American.

Although I was truly saddened when I had finished Lafayette because the story had ended, I felt the exact opposite when I concluded Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms.

I received this paperback from my daughter (the talented artist who won't do a book cover for me) when she graduated from college. (I know the picture is for the audio book, but it was the paperback that I read). It was one the bookstore would not buy back. Having read it, I don't blame the bookstore.

Hemingway has a way of taking a story rife with danger and excitement and running it through a fine sieve to filter out all of the interesting bits. The weak and tepid remains are what make it into his story. I guess some people like that. I'm not one of them.

SPOILER ALERT -  If you read the next paragraph you won't need to read the book at all, as the paragraph reveals absolutely everything--and may even be more exciting than the actual book.

In this story, an American who has enlisted in the Italian Army drives an ambulance during WWI and falls in love with a nurse--and the love story is just that exciting. He gets wounded, goes to the hospital, and drinks a lot. He goes back to the front. The Italian Army disintegrates. He is nearly executed. Most of the people he knew die. He escapes with the nurse to Switzerland where he drinks some more. She dies giving birth to a dead child. The end.

I rate it: Watching Paint Dry -- dull, boring, nondescript paint upon an uninteresting surface.

Well, they can't all be winners. Sure it may have layers and make commentary upon the futility of war in particular, and of life in general, of the death of nations giving birth to a stillborn peace, but a pithy short story could have made a more potent statement, and wasted less time.

For fun, here's a picture from next week's episode:

The third installment of the Kru Chronicles -- Kru Wars actually is a better title. These episodes will tie together eventually. Pictures at the end.

Tellereth Outpost

(Part I)

Copyright © 2020 Stanley Wheeler

All Rights Reserved

 “I win!” Zanfreth said, slamming his cards down on the top of the table, sending the pile of small, round, multi-colored cylinders of wood scattering across the table.

Mellereth pounded the table. “I think your luck has been running mighty high. Are you sure you’re not in league with the pale lady?”

“Do not even jest about that!” Kolmor ordered. “Take your sticks, Zanfreth. If we ever get paid again, we’ll pay you according to the sticks of each man’s color you hold.”

Mellereth opened his hands before him, asking the other three at the table, “Could a man league with the pale lady and have her change his luck? They say she does magic.”

“Sorcery,” Kolmor corrected. “As for leaguing with her, we’ll never know. None of our envoys to her have ever returned.”

Zoreroth, the youngest of the four, asked, “Does she create the dog faces with her sorcery?”

Kolmor, the lieutenant and leader in Captain Fleroth’s absence, said, “I don’t know as she created them, but she did something to them. Ten years ago the Kru were nothing but scattered packs of dog faces who came down from the mountains to raid livestock now and then. If we so much as shot an arrow at them they would run away in fear. They attack all the time now, here and there in little packs, sometimes in whole battalions, and they’re armed too. I’ll wager the pale lady’s behind it.”

“Do you think our riders will be back soon?” Zoreroth asked.

“Captain Fleroth is due back with Defling and Eoroth before long. Later today I’d wager, depending on how many Kru necks they had to chop in the next valley,” Kolmor said. “Until then, let’s keep our eyes open. This bridge would be a fine prize for the Kru. If they can take this outpost and bridge, they can run supplies up this road by wagon to help feed an invading army. Let’s not be having them cross the river on our watch.”

***

Wun pushed his dark muzzle between two branches. Through the trees and brush he saw the outpost which consisted of a narrow, two-story barracks and a separate stable across the river. The Tellereth River ran deep and swift, but it was not wide. The pony men had barricaded the far bank so that it could not be scaled from the river. However, a section of the barricade had washed out some distance away on the left at a place where the river ran through some shallows. The current was particularly swift at that point, but it was shallow enough that one could walk across if he watched his footing. He could come ashore on the far bank on the edge of a patch of small trees and brush behind the log house in which the pony men stabled their horses. His small pack had come to seize the outpost and the bridge. He had placed his pack members on each side of the road. They were making their way forward, moving stealthily through the cover.

***

“Alarm! We’re under attack!” Thormo yelled. He repeated the cry as he raised his bow, seeking a shot at the dog face he had seen sneaking through the trees on the far bank. If he could see one Kru, there were several others he did not see. His position on the abutment at the end of the bridge gave him a raised position from which he could look over the barricade along the river to the far shore. He did not see a shot he could take. He looked downstream where he saw a dark shadow of a Kru leap into the swift waters of the Tellereth. The dog face wore a mail shirt, held a shield, and had his sword raised high. The fast flood swept the feet from beneath the dog face and he went down beneath the water.

Thormo’s voice penetrated the barracks. Mellereth rose to grab his bow and quiver of arrows. His sword was already at his side. He jammed his helmet upon his head as he broke through the doorway. He raced onto the bridge, his scaled hauberk thumping as he ran. He launched a shaft at a dog face within the trees, but the brush deflected the arrow. Another Kru broke from the trees, and came running up the road behind his shield. Mellereth dropped his bow to seize his sword. Balured, one of his comrades, arrived at his side at the same instant the dog face made contact. Mellereth stuck first, landing his sword edge upon the crown of the dark Kru helm. The dog face stumbled backward from the blow.

The Kru in the river struggled to his feet and leaped to the bank.

Thormo yelled and pointed when he saw the Kru emerge upon the Nahorn side of the river. Zamfreth heard the cry and raced over the roadway and past the corner of the stable in the direction indicated by the archer. Before could reach the dog face, Thormo bid the intruder welcome with an arrow to the thigh. The Kru took the arrow like a man and didn’t flinch. His upright posture and courage in the face of danger allowed Thormo to deliver a second token of welcome in the form of a feathered shaft piercing through the Kru mail shirt to the shoulder beneath. The dog face reeled backwards and fell into the swift current of the Tellereth and disappeared.

Balured drove forward behind his shield and sword at the Kru on the bridge while Mellereth once again took up his bow. Balured had fought many Kru. They had tried to cross the bridge before but had always been pushed back. Although the dog faces were fierce fighters, he had been consistently victorious by taking the fight to them, rather than waiting for them to coordinate an attack. He crashed into the Kru and pushed him back a pace.

Mellereth spotted another Kru in the trees and communicated the fact to the dog face with a pointed message which lodged in the calf of the pale lady’s minion. Mellereth had won the archery contest the month before at the village up the road. He wasn’t lucky cards, and his luck with the bow had no connection to the pale lady in her dark tower. Regardless of whether one mentioned the pale lady in the dark tower, the pale lady, or even the dark lady, everyone knew the term referred to the nameless woman said to have face and hands as white at the pale moon, and hair as dark as the blackest night. Living in her dark tower of stone, she was rumored to use sorcery to create the Kru and to attack the souls of men. Mellereth had heard stories of men who had forsaken their duty to family and country under her influence. Some were said to fall into a killing rage against their own comrades and kin. Others rode away to unknown ends. It was said that to look upon her without a protective charm was death, or something worse. Mellereth wondered how she entranced those who had never looked upon her.

Zoreroth with his bow, and Kolmor with his axe and shield followed from the barracks. Zoreroth moved to mount the abutment from which he might fire over the barricade upon the Kru across the river. Kolmor moved to the bridge itself.

Mellereth sped another arrow at the Kru who already bore an arrow in his calf. The second missile struck the dog face’s helm near the eye, piercing the metal, but not penetrating sufficiently to harm the target. Nevertheless, with an arrow in the leg and another nearly in his eye, the Kru flung himself to the ground in fear.

Another dog face burst from the trees to sprint up the road toward Balured. As the Kru brought his sword forward to stab at the Nahorn warrior, the hilt caught on his own shield and the weapon dropped from his hairy hand.

Thormo aimed and loosed an arrow into the belly of another Kru upon the roadway. The dog face fell in a yelping heap, hands tugging at the shaft in its gut before it lapsed into the peace of unconsciousness.

Another Kru rushed from the trees to leap into the river across from the washed out barricade. He was too late to save his comrade who had been swept away. The smooth rocks and swift water collaborated in dragging his feet from beneath him as well. A second dog face went into the river to help the fallen one. This one kept his feet, reaching to assist his pack mate.

When the Kru lost his sword, Balured pressed his attack. The wily dog face used his empty hand to seize upon Balured and swing him to switch places with him upon the roadway. Balured, according to his strategy, refused to relent against the dog face and he forced them changed places again, getting his back to his own men.

When another Kru raced into roadway, Mellereth bent his bow and sent a shaft toward the dog face, but the Kru shield turned the arrow away. Thormo fired at a Kru still in the trees, but the cover proved too thick for his arrow to penetrate effectively.

***

Wun had watched his pack retreat from battle and fall with arrow wounds. He could not tell what had happened at the river crossing, but he suspected those pack members were slain or held at bay at the water’s edge. He rushed from his position in the trees to join Tu’un against the Nahorn swordsman upon the roadway. Wun worked the warrior to the side, forcing him around. Now Wun and Tu’un separated the warrior from his own men.

***

Zanfreth stepped to the river’s edge and hurled one of his spears at the dog face still on his feet in the flow. The Kru, bent over his pack mate, looked up, but could not avoid the deadly missile. The steel tip took the hapless Kru over the collarbone between the opening of the mail shirt and his metal helmet, driving deep inside. Unable to fight the spear and the rolling waters, he fell and slid away in the current, dragging with him the unwounded companion he had tried to help.

Zanfreth prepared his other spear, congratulating himself upon the easy dispatch of two enemies in a single throw. These Kru fell more easily than his comrades markers at cards. Zanfreth thought the Kru had to be crazy creatures to attempt this crossing with the current in such a state. Did the pale lady drive them to do it with the power of her magic?

Yet another Kru bounded up to the river across from Zanfreth. The warrior prepared to meet him.

One of the last of the Kru warriors sprinted from the foliage to the roadway toward Balured. Carried away by the anticipation of driving his sword into the warrior’s back, the dog face stepped into a deep rut, tumbling to the ground.

Kolmor bounded over the bridge with his axe swinging to help Balured against his multiple enemies, with Zoreroth following behind. The bowman had been unable to get a shot from the bridge abutment. The young archer sought an opportunity to stain his arrows with Kru blood before the conflict ended.

Mellereth looked down the shaft of the arrow upon his bowstring. He looked beyond the shaft to meet the wide eyes of the Kru who had fallen at the edge of the trees. Mellereth released the arrow. The shaft tore through the right eye of the dog face.

***

Tu’un saw his pack mate Teree drop for the last time with an arrow through his eye. Tu’un gave an involuntary whine and scampered from the field, refusing to heed Wun’s warning barks. Varee, who had tripped in the rut on the roadway, scrambled to his feet. With a growl, he shrugged off both Teree’s death and Tu’un’s cowardice. Wun, angry at Tu’un, turned to follow and vent his wrath upon the coward, and received a glancing blow from the Narhorn axe-man in the process. He stopped next to Varee. “The glory of the lady be upon us alone then,” he growled to his pack member.

Wun could not see him, but one other member of his pack remained upon the field. Nevex stood in the river crossing, fighting against the current to cross over and fight the spearman on the far bank.

****

Balured stepped from the bridge to the abutment, opening a lane of fire for the archers, Zoreroth and Mellereth. Kolmor did the same upon his side of the bridge. The archers offered arrows to the two Kru upon the roadway but those two refused to receive them. The Kru divided, one rushing Balured, the other attacking Kolmor. Kolmor rebuffed the attack, shoving his attacker back into the roadway. Mellereth seized the opportunity of separation to fire once more. The arrow nicked the dog face who fell back and dropped into the brush for cover.

Kolmor saw that Balured was hard-pressed by his opponent and raced across the roadway to add more Kru blood to this axe-blade. In attempting to avoid the mighty axe, the dog face fell from the abutment to the ground a few feet below near the edge of the river.

“Take him!” Kolmor ordered to Balured before turning to rush the other Kru who had gone to ground to avoid Mellereth’s arrows.

Obedient and always diligent in orders to kill Kru, Balured jumped from the abutment, but the crafty Kru rolled to his feet before Balured could strike a blow. The Kru drove forward behind his shield, shoving Balured away.

Zoreroth saw a chance for his arrows to taste of Kru and stepped forward for a shot at Balured’s enemy. His shaft penetrated deep into the dog face’s leg. With a flick of his sword, the Kru broke the shaft and lunged into Balured.

Kolmor’s Kru got to his feet before the axe-man could reach him. The Kru slashed at Kolmor but the warrior deflected the attack.

As Zanfreth watched the last Kru in the river succumb to the relentless current, farther up the river, Balured thrust his sword into his attacker’s arm.

***

Varee howled in pain and dropped his shield. He dropped to the ground before rolling away and to his feet. The Nahorn swordsman pierced his mail from behind, wounding him again, and forcing a yelp from his throat. Using his sword arm to hold both his weapon and his injured arm, Varee made a limping run in a mad panic away from this conflict. He could not enjoy the pale lady’s rewards if he left his life at this river’s edge.

Wun snarled in disgust at the running Varee. The snarl died upon his his lips as he considered his predicament. As far as he knew, he alone remained against these men of Nahorn. He had not seen a single drop of blood fall from the pony men. Half his pack had died or fled. He had had no sound or even least sign of success from those sent to cross the river. He stood no chance to take this bridge and outpost by himself. He turned to follow those of his pack who still lived.

***

As the dog face turned, Kolmor stepped forward to bury his axe in the back of the Kru’s head. He pulled his blade from the dead creature’s skull, and turned to join his men scattered out across the bridge.

The men of Nahorn raised their voices in celebration of their victory over the enemy. Even Zanreth, still at the crossing, joined in the deep-throated chorus that was the victory cry of Nahorn.

A new sound rose over the victory note. The new sound made their Nahorn blood run cold.

END OF PART ONE

Copyright © 2020 Stanley Wheeler

All Rights Reserved

This is the next installment of the Kru Chronicles. The first one, which contains some background and description on the Kru and Nahorn, can be found here: Liwana's Calling This story also comes from an AAR of a miniatures game, so character development is almost nonexistent but there's plenty of spearing, hacking, and chopping.

An Old Wound

Copyright © 2020 Stanley Wheeler

All Rights Reserved

     Fleroth squinted against the breeze and held one hand against his thick, gray brows to shield out the sun to sharpen his vision. Those brows had grown gray in the service of Nahorn. Yes. He could see the six dark figures loping toward the ruin at the end of the valley. They had to be Kru scouts coming to discover the status of the strong point. Eoroth had first spied the Kru scouts as dark specks moving against the gray-green landscape of the plain, hurrying from one patch of scrub brush to the next. Fleroth remembered when his keen eyes had been the first to spot the enemy in the days of his youth when the men of Rognod had thought to expand onto the plains. That war had concluded many years ago. Rognod had become a trusted ally.

     Fleroth allowed his thumb to caress the handle of his axe which extended from the scabbard at the front of his saddle. Fibnig, his gray horse, snorted beneath him and pawed the ground as it sensed Fleroth’s anticipation of combat.

     Defling, a season warrior still in his prime, pointed. “That patch of scrub in the dry wash will be their last refuge from us. Beyond that, they have but a short way to where the ground rises and they will be able to see the ruin. From there, they will return to get reinforcements, or they will go on to the ruin. The white flag with the black tower already waves over the ruin at the edge of the forest.”

     “None must escape to carry word about the taking of the ruin. Kill them all,” Fleroth ordered.       

     “Forward, we will overtake them in the dry wash.”

***

     Eno saw the three Nahorn horsemen drawing near. He yelled to the Kru dog faces in his little pack, “Get to the brush where the ground is rough. They won’t take their horses in there. When you get a chance, hustle up the rise and report on the ruin. I want to know if our boys took it, or if the stinking pony men still hold it.”

     Ethre and Woto loped into the brush after Eno. Rufor, Vefi, and Ixs trailed behind. They had not reached the safety of the brush before the horsemen of Nahorn made the depression upon the plain echo with the thunder of galloping hooves.

     Defling aimed his spear at the dog face nearest the patch of scrub. The Kru deflected the spear with his shield but the force of the blow knocked him from his feet.

     Fleroth felt the familiar pain in his shoulder as he lifted his axe. Two years earlier a Kru blade had pierced that shoulder. He would have to swing the axe many times in battle before the shoulder ceased to remember the wound. Fleroth brought the axe down before swinging it backwards and over the top at the head of the dog face before him. Fibnig stumbled in a hidden tributary to the dry wash. Fleroth fell forward as the horse regained its footing. He would have reseated himself had the dog face not hooked his axe with its shield and pulled him to the ground. Fleroth bounced on his shoulder, the weight of his scaled hauberk and shield doing him no service. He was uninjured, but lay at the feet of the snarling dog face.

     Vefi snarled in exhilaration at his good luck. He saw fear register in the eyes of the fallen horseman as he rolled to see his enemy standing over him. He would take the human’s head as a gift to the pale lady in the dark tower. Vefi raised his black blade to plunge into the old horseman, but the man raised his shield before the blade fell.

     Defling wheeled his mount sharply and charged down upon the dog face who had driven his sword into Fleroth’s shield. His spear pierced the Kru in the back. The Kru chainmail held. The dog face was hurt and knocked down, but Defling had failed to kill him. Fleroth rolled away and to his feet as his attacker went down. He did not want to risk being set upon by several Kru while he finished the wounded dog face. Fibnig stood ready and Fleroth remounted. He urged his horse over the wallowing enemy but his stroke went wide. His shoulder again recalled the pain of the old wound. Fleroth ignored the pain, galloping into the Kru whom Eoroth had knocked to the ground. Fleroth raised the axe again, still trusting in the surefootedness of Fibnig, he leaned from the saddle to better target the Kru. As Fibnig raced by, Fleroth drove the axe down upon his enemy’s skull, killing him instantly. Flame exploded through Fleroth’s shoulder.

     Eno watched from the scrub as the horseman split Ixs’ helmet along with all its contents. His hopes had risen briefly when Vefi had dragged the human to the ground. Like Vefi, Eno had anticipated the head as a gift for the lady in the dark tower. It was folly to howl over victories not yet won. Woto sprinted from the scrub and up the low rise to view the ruin.

     Eoroth, saw the speeding Kru and raced toward him. He pulled up when he saw another dog face lurking in the edge of the scrub. Whichever direction the dog face on the rise went, he would have him. His sword was as yet unbloodied in this encounter. He had fought the dog men once before, riding them down and splitting them from shoulder to groin. They had not had shields and armor then. Those Kru had fled like the dogs they were, and suffered death for it. These Kru with armor and shield carried themselves differently. Perhaps they were more experienced, or better trained. He did not turn his back on the dog face in the edge of the scrub.

     Eno scrambled from the brush to launch himself at the horseman who watched him. Both human and horse shied away from his attack, turning to gallop toward Woto on the rise.

While Defling and Fleroth took turns galloping over the Kru who had unhorsed Fleroth, wounding it again in the process, Eoroth collided with the Kru upon the rise. The collision sent the dog face sprawling but unwounded. After the pass, he circled back toward the Kru who had leaped at him from the brush. He did not like fighting these Kru with armor and shield. They seemed smarter, more mannish than the Kru he had previously encountered. There was something about the one he approached now, something more dangerous and cunning than he remembered. Were the Kru evil imps given form by the lady in the tower? Eoroth brought his sword forward as he galloped at top speed toward his enemy.

     Eno watched the horseman send Woto to the ground and turn toward him. He knew the Nahorn man would be over confident from his high position and atop the pounding hooves and barreling flesh. He waited, holding his shield hanging down in one hand with his sword held loosely in the other hand. He waited. As the horse drew near, he flicked the sword at the nose of the beast. The horse swerved. The trailing sword pierced only the steady breeze. Eno growled in what might have been a laugh had it come from a human throat.

     Defling again charged the downed Kru. His spear found the target’s shoulder, and came away red. The Kru was not so wounded that he could not use his shield, and he turned Defling’s next pass.

     Eoroth, unsettled by the crafty Kru who had detoured his attack, wheeled to race once more at the Kru on the rise. Eoroth drove his mount into the dog face who was forced to go to his belly to avoid Eoroth’s blade.

     Fleroth abandoned the Kru that had unhorsed him to Defling. He raced passed Eoroth to strike at the downed Kru on the rise. His axe bit into the Kru’s upraised arm but did not sever the limb as Fibnag thundered by the target.

     Defling pulled his spear and slowed at the last moment of his pass against his downed Kru, and jabbed the point over the top of his antagonist’s shield and under the rim of the helmet, putting the dog face hors de combat.

     Eno did not see Vefi succumb to the Nahorn spear. He did see the wounded Woto finally rise to his feet, only to be knocked back to the ground by another pass from the axe-wielding horseman. He knew only that Ixs had been slain by the axe-wielder, and that Woto was unlikely to live through the day. His pack seemed sluggish today. He growled a command for Rufor to join him. Perhaps together, they could drag down one of the humans like they used to bring down deer. At the command, Rufor moved toward the edge of the scrub brush, but did not leave it.

     Eno turned his attention to the mounted swordsman who was bearing down upon him again. He knew better than to use the same trick again. He crouched behind the shield, preparing to leap forward to upset the horseman’s timing and strike him with his sword. At the last moment, the horse veered toward him as he leaped. The horse crashed into him, hurling him to the ground.

     Fleroth made another unsuccessful pass at the dog face on the rise. His shoulder still flamed, refusing to forget the old penetration by the Kru blade. He turned about and rode once more over the dog face, his axe opening a wound on the Kru’s back. He wheeled and passed once more, missing the wounded creature this time. He rode on, gritting his teeth, with his shoulder afire.

     Eoroth followed in Fleroth’s wake but his sword turned away on the Kru shield.

Eno bounded over to take the slight shelter offered by a lone, scrubby tree. He waved Rufor forward, and the laggard left the shelter of the scrub brush. Ethre had become entangled in some of the brush and had fallen. At Eno’s growl, he rose and moved forward. The shelter of the tree was too little to protect Eno from the mounted swordsman’s charge. Once more the impact threw Eno to the turf, but the human’s sword did not touch him.

     Rufor found himself facing a thousand pounds of horseflesh behind the tip of a Nahorn spear. Rufor took no thought to attack the horse or rider. He had no thought but to avoid becoming a decoration upon the rapidly advancing spear. He raised his shield and jumped away. The spear struck his shield, throwing him to the ground. The mounted swordsman immediately turned his charger to once more bear down upon Rufor. Again, the beleaguered dog face, now on his back, raised his shield and attempted to roll away. He felt the stinging kiss of steel as the sword sliced the length of his calf. Rufor tried to stand but the Nahorn horseman turned and bore down on him once again. Rufor cowered behind his shield, avoiding the sword-stroke. But the horseman didn’t pass. He stayed next to Rufor, rearing his horse, attempting to smash the wounded dog face. It only got worse for the poor Kru. The Nahorn axe-man galloped in with his axe descending. Occupied in avoiding the hooves of the swordsman’s horse, Rufor couldn’t react in time to protect himself from the deadly arc of the axe. The pain was but an instant as he collapsed with the blade buried where his neck and shoulder met, his spine nearly severed.

     Defling rejoiced at the demise of another of the Kru when he saw the spray of blood around Fleroth’s axe. He had been with the old warrior in the village where he had taken a sword to the shoulder. As Fleroth had bent low from his saddle to lift a child from the clutches of a grasping Kru, another dog face had risen from behind a broken cart to stab his blade into the warrior. With the short sword still protruding from his shoulder, Fleroth had lifted the child to his saddle at the gallop. Defling had seen the warrior grimace once, and then set his jaw, when practicing with his axe a few days ago. Defling knew that Fleroth was not the warrior he used to be, but he had to admire his courage and his ability to ignore the constant pain.

     Defling couched his spear and targeted the Kru near the lone tree. He knocked him to the ground on the first pass. In an instant, he wheeled about and bore down upon the dog face. His spear slipped past the Kru shield, penetrating the armor and breast of the beast. That Kru would not rise again.

Eno coughed and snarled, pink spume spraying with each cough. This was his final battle. He glanced about the field. Only Woto, who was still down, and Ethre remained. If Ethre could get word back to the army… Eno uttered a final, frothy sigh, whispering a praise to the lady in the tower.

     Ethre sprinted from the patch of scrub. He ran between the mounted horseman and the spearman. He was very nearly to the top of the rise, almost to Woto. He bounded over a small bush, dodged a pass from the Nahorn axe-man, and the following charge from the swordsman. The axe-man followed upon the heels of the swordsman, knocking Ethre to the dirt. The swordsman immediately charged again. Ethre rolled away and rose to his feet. He saw the ruin! The white banner with the black tower fluttered on the breeze! The banner was upside down. The scouts who had taken it needed help. He would have to return for more soldiers. Ethre saw the spearman drove his spear through Woto’s thigh. Ethre knew that Woto would never make it off of this patch of the great Nahorn plain.

     Defling tore his spear from the dog face’s leg and galloped toward the remaining Kru warrior. He drove his spear through the Kru’s forearm. The beast fell, dropping his sword. Defling stayed over the dog face, jabbing at him with this spear. The wily beast evaded the thrusts and jumped to his feet. Fleroth joined him, and the two circled the Kru, stabbing and chopping at the dog face. The slippery Kru rolled one way and then the other, avoiding the chops and blocking the thrusts with his shield.

The thrice-wounded Woto barked, but it sounded like a yelp. He slashed out in tormented anger at the Nahorn swordsman and his mount, and tried in vain to rise. He was barely able to defend himself against the flashing hooves.

     Ethree snarled his own challenge in echo of Woto’s yelp, and gathered his feet beneath him. A spear point through his jaw forced him down again. Ethre refused to concede. He must let the army of the pale lady in the dark tower know that they must send troops in force to hold the ruin. He gave bark, fending away the axe strokes with his shield as the spearman withdrew.

Defling turned his mount once more toward the Kru, and galloped in, plunging his spear through the belly of the dog face. The spearman ripped his weapon from the Kru corpse and sped toward the last enemy. The spear tore into the side of the kneeling Kru, coming away black and bloody. The dog face whimpered, then went silent.

     Defling looked to Fleroth. The old warrior had returned his axe to the scabbard. One shoulder hung lower than the other. His jaw was set.

Copyright © 2020 Stanley Wheeler

All Rights Reserved

Liwana’s Calling

This is actually a story adapted from an AAR of a test of my skirmish rules. It's rather light on character development, but I thought it was a good exercise. It's a replay of the scenario I posted last week with a couple minor adjustments to the rules--and very different outcome. Not all of the formatting transferred when I copied, but I think I got most of it corrected.

Copyright © 2020 Stanley Wheeler

All Rights Reserved

     Dured stood next to the side entrance of the crumbling ruin where Sergeant Vilmo had stationed him. Vilmo himself guarded the main entrance only about fifteen feet away. That entrance consisted of a complete archway. The rectangular, gray, lichen-speckled stones rose up ten feet or more over the doorway. If there had ever been any door, it had long since decayed, or been carried away by the wind, or by fugitives seeking firewood. The black stain in the center of the ruined building hinted at the latter possibility. The sergeant stood a head taller than Dured. Vilmo’s yellow braids stretch from beneath the back of his dull gray helmet, and the long tails of his moustache touched the silver scales of his long hauberk. Vilmo commanded respect—and he got it. Not one of the five men in the detail would have ever considered disobeying an order from the grizzled veteran.

     Dured’s thoughts didn’t dwell long upon his leader, but returned to the blue-eyed girl who had married him only three days before. “Be brave, my love,” she had said, “but come back to me safe. Take this. It will protect you.” She had handed him a small metal item on a leather cord to go about his neck. The item consisted of two concentric circles; eight lines radiated from the center beyond the edge of the outer circle where each line ended in a two-pronged half-circle; each half-circle touched the sides of the two next to it, forming a pointy ring about the outside of the trinket. “Wear it always when you are away from me.” She had kissed him and watched him leave with the rest of the men.

Dured caressed the charm between the fingers of his left hand as if he were feeling the silken locks of Liwana. He placed his shield against the stone wall. His eyes scanned the distance ahead of the ruin. They would come from that direction. He let his eyes dart to his right from time to time to watch Thordred. Like the other archers in their detail, Zared and Frebored, Thordred possessed significant skill with the bow. He stood at the rear corner of the ruined edifice. He too scanned the tufts of long grass and sparse brush for the enemy.

     “Sit down, young one,” Thordred said. “They will be here soon enough. You will do your duty. Have no fear. We will return you to your bride. The enemy will not be many today. Our horsemen may arrive before the enemy, and I shall be deprived of sending the creatures back to the hell from which their dark lady took them. They are fierce, but mortal. My arrows have killed many. You may not even get to swing your sword at one of them.” Thordred laughed, motioning Dured to sit.  

          Thordred wore his yellow hair loose. The hair spread about the bottom of his helmet like a fan upon his shoulders. He carried no shield, trusting to his bow, sword, and sturdy hauberk to prevent the enemy from reaching him. He had seven children from the same wife. Seldom did a man have such good fortune that all of his children—and of such a number—would live.

     Dured sat, adjusting the position of his sword and sheath so that he could lean against the remains of the side entrance. He looked to Hubert who stood guard at the opposite wall. Hubert stood nearly as tall as Vilmo. Hurbert’s portion of the wall reached nearly chest high. With his shield and bundle of spears, he was well equipped to keep the enemy at bay. Like the rest of them, Hubert wore a long brown cloak. He might throw it off before the fighting started, or use it to distract an enemy in combat. Most men took off the long cloaks on the battlefield, but here, defending in the ruin, that might not be necessary. Dured did not know what Hubert thought as that one kept his thoughts and words to himself. Dured did know that Hubert’s two children, a boy and a girl carried water, and cooked for their sick mother while Hubert was away. His wife had pleaded for Hubert to be allowed to stay with her, but the King’s call had ordered all able-bodied men to battle. Small infantry detachments had been sent ahead to hold key positions while the main army of horsemen assembled under the king’s direction.

     The great storm cloud which had arisen to the east was moving in their direction, raining destruction and devastation as it came. For years they had fought against incursions by the Kru skirmishers and raiders. Now the enemy was coming in force. The stone ruin at the edge of the forest would be a key point of defense should the enemy elect to make this valley the thoroughfare for the invasion. Dured had heard it said that the enemy troops were not humans, but evil imps encased in bodies which had been created from earth and plant material by the wicked enchantress whose bidding they performed. Dured didn’t know whether to believe that tale. He did believe that they were coming. He had seen the smoke rising in the east; the entire sky had been stained with the tokens of the enemy’s deeds, a parchment writ large with the ink of destruction.

     Frebored yelled, “I see them. I count nine. Three before us, three to the right, and three more to the left.” The archer pointed from his platform which consisted of some remnant of stone and wood at the front left corner of the ruin. The platform was located to the left of, and above, Vilmo’s head. The enemy on the sides, judging from the direction of Frebored’s pointing were coming at 45 degree angles toward the ruin. The enemy advance scouts would make a three-pronged attack.

     Dured rose, stroking Liwana’s charm one last time before pushing it inside his hauberk. He grabbed his round shield and pulled his sword from the sheath.

     Thordred grumbled, “Don’t get anxious. There may not be any left for you when Zared, Frebored and I are done.”

     Zared, positioned at the left front corner of the ruin heard Thordred. He responded, “The wind is picking up. I see some of the grass bending, but it’s not steady, mere gusts. Those will give our arrows trouble.”

     “Speak for yourself, Zared,” Frebored said. “My shafts are always true.”

     “And your woman has always been faithful,” Zared laughed.

     Frebored turned his bow, upon which an arrow had been nocked but not drawn, toward Zared, “At least I have a woman,” he sneered.

     Vilmo shouted, “Silence!”

     Dured knew that Zared’s wife had been taken in a raid by the Kru dogfaces several months ago while she was away visiting relatives. Zared could only hope that they had killed her rather than kept her. Frebored’s comment would have started a fight back in the village; here on the cusp of battle, there was no time to fight among themselves.

     The three enemy groups advanced slowly.

     Frebored said, “I think I can make the range of the group in the center.”

     “Shoot,” Vilmo said.

     ***

     Onu started when the arrow plunged into the earth at his feet. He had not expected any accuracy from the Nahorn archers at this range. He took a step to the side and waved the left flank forward. He had orders to take the ruin at all costs. It would be a strong point about which the Nahorns could rally to delay the advance of the Kru army. They would want to stop the army before it reached the forest where their horsemen would be less effective. Naturally, Onu would do as he had been ordered. The Lady in the Tower would find rewards for those who served her faithfully. Some reward would surely trickle down to him. The eight Kru he had with him were not the best soldiers. They were young, but they would obey orders. They could fight. That was all he needed—obedient fighters for the pack. He worried only that the Nahorn horsemen would appear before he had taken the ruin. Upon the plain the horsemen would ride down and murder his dogfaces. He smiled at the name given by the Nahorns. The term was especially apt for the Kru with their jutting, fanged jaws and sloping noses. Although they didn’t grow beards like the pale ones, a short course hair covered their bodies. The Lady in the Tower had brought them down from the mountains where they had lived in packs. She had taught them to make and to bear arms like men. Now they did her bidding, slaking their lust for blood and meat. They still ran in packs, but now with shields and swords they brought down men and whole villages instead of animals. Men tasted better, and the rewards from the Lady were to be desired.

     On the left, Erth raced forward toward the ruin. His companions, Neves and Evif, hesitated before following.

     A Nahorn archer at the back corner of the ruin fired an arrow at Erth who deflected the missile with his shield. The archer fired again but missed.

     ***

     “You said you would get him,” Dured said to Thordred.

     “Shut up, kid. Don’t bother me when I’m working. I’ll hit him this time.”

     True to his word, Thordred put an arrow through the advancing Kru’s shoulder. Not to be outdone, and still troubled by the comment about the faithfulness of his woman, Frebored continued to launch arrows at the Kru in the center, but the wind gusts spoiled his aim.

     Zared was about to make a comment about Frebored’s shafts being as true as his woman, but his own shot at the same target went wide. Instead he said, “That Kru must be charmed. We’ve both missed him.”

     Dured watched the wounded Kru stumble but stay on his fee. The need to prove himself, to do something other than wait for the enemy, to rush at him, rose within his breast and became overpowering. He saw that the wounded Kru had become separated from his slower companions. “I can get him,” Dured said. He wanted to finish the dogface before the others came to help. Dured rushed forward from the ruin.

     Thordred cussed at the stupid kid to stay put but he knew his words were useless against the fear that forces one to fight it with brash foolishness.

     In his excitement, Dured crashed his shield into the Kru, knocking him to the ground. Hubert, seeing that Dured has left the side unguarded, and seeing that the Kru had not yet made any attempt to rush his side of the ruin, sped to the side entrance.

     “Watch him!” Vilmo shouted. “Don’t let him get killed. I want to kill him myself. Drag him back to his place!”

     ***

     Neves and Evif ran forward to assist Erth who had just pulled the arrow from his shoulder before being knocked to the ground by a Nahorn warrior. Before Neves and get within striking distance, the Nahorn archer at the back corner or the ruin put an arrow through Neves thigh. Erth kicked at the Nahorn warrior’s legs, nearly knocking him down, and scrambling to his feet as the warrior fought to keep his own balance.

     Onu waved to his dogfaces on the right. He saw that the Nahorn spearman had left his post. He would close the other jaw of the trap. Rorf, on command, sprinted in, leaping brush and dodging trees to approach the Nahorn archer on his side of the ruin. Xis also followed but some of that rotten horse he had eaten last night started to climb from its bed, and he stopped to hack it up.

     ***

     Before Zared could target and shoot, the big Kru was upon him. Zared dropped his bow and shoved his attacker away, but the Kru leaped right back at him. Zared dodged the enemy sword and slashed his attacker’s arm, running the edge of his blade along the Kru’s ribs in the process. The Kru yelped and ran back into the trees, checking his wound and glaring at the Nahorn archer. 

     “I’ve got more for you!” Zared screamed at the beast, thinking of his wife in those clawed Kru hands.

     Thordred fired again, putting another shaft into the Kru who was trying to remove the arrow in his thigh. With both legs wounded, the Kru turned and hobble-hopped away, yowling with each leap upon the injured limbs.

     “Well done,” Hubert said.

     Thordred nodded in acknowledgment. It was rare that Hubert spoke. Even less frequently did he speak words of praise.

     Frebored couldn’t stop thinking about his woman. Had she been unfaithful? He loosed another shaft at the apparent leader of the Kru, only to miss again. Stinking wind gusts.

     ***

     Evif charged in against Erth’s opponent. He could see that the Nahorn was a young man with little beard upon his face. If Evif and Erth could both attack together, the pinkskin would go down easily—he would go down easily again at the feast after the battle. It was not to be an easy kill. The Nahorn spearman intercepted him before he could strike the young one. The spearman’s impact knocked Evif away from the fight.

     Onu saw that it was time to pressure the center. He signaled and moved forward, dodging arrows sent by the Nahorn archer on the platform near the doorway. “Worry the man in the doorway!” He yelled to Enin. “Pin him in position, but do not try to enter the ruin!”

     Enin was a friend. They had hunted together much. The big Nahorn in the center with the long-handled axe was probably the enemy leader. If anyone could take him, Enin could, but Onu only wanted the leader occupied, unable to direct his troops or defend his flanks. The advantage would be lost if Enin pressed the fight and was wounded or killed. Obedient, and experienced, Enin closed with the axman in the doorway.

     Xis, feeling refreshed after liberating his gullet of the rancid horse meat, ran through grass and brush toward the archer who had taken a sword to Rorf. On that same side, Otwu found a burst of speed and bounded into combat against that same archer. The Nahorn deflected his blade, but their faces drew near. Otwu panted sultry, stench-laden breaths into the face of the warrior before pulling him away from the ruin wall.

     ***

     Dured, tasting for the first time, that battle bloodlust which tamps down fear into a small pouch in the pit of the stomach, and seeing that Hubert was about to be set upon by two dogfaces, let the frenzy possess his body and mind together. He slid under a blow from the wounded Kru and rose in his power to cleave the head from his enemy. Hubert had held his two attackers at bay. Dured, surprised at the ease with which the Kru neck severed, hurled himself at one of Hubert’s attackers.

     Thordred, unable to put any arrows into the fight for fear of hitting his Hubert and Dured, ran inside the ruin to try for a shot against the attackers on the opposite side where Zared had become engaged with two attackers.

     ***

     Rorf, finding all of his vital organs were still in place and fully functioning, licked the blood from his arm and bounded in to join Otwu against the archer. Otwu brought his sword high for a killing blow to the archer’s head, but the Narhorn warrior’s blade pierced his guts before the blow struck. Otwu thrust his shield down, pulling the bloody sword from the gaping wound in his belly, and dropping to his knees. The warrior drove his steel forward once more, plunging the blade into Otwu’s chest.

     “For my wife,” Otwu heard the warrior whisper through clenched teeth.

     Otwu’s world went black. He came forward as the blade receded, to slump in the expanding pool of his own blood.

     Xis charged over Otwu’s body, slashing at Nahorn warrior. The warrior ducked beneath the blow and Xis grabbed his hauberk. The two combatants spun, trading places.

     ***

     Thordred saw that Zared had been separated from one of his opponents and loosed an arrow at the Kru with the arm wound. The arrow glanced off the iron ring around the Kru’s shield. The Kru yelped in surprise and dashed behind a tree. Unfortunately for the Kru, the tree lacked the girth to block Thordred’s next shot, which penetrated the beast’s midsection. The Kru broke from cover, leaving a trail of blood marking the path of its retreat from the battle.

     ***

     Xis wondered if a general retreat had been called when he saw Rorf dash into the trees and run from the field. He pushed away from the Nahorn warrior and retreated a few paces before he saw Onu still on the field directing the other dogfaces. Rorf had always been a yelper. Xis looked to the other members of the pack—only himself, Onu, Thate, evif, and Enin remained. Four of his pack mates had fallen or fled. An arrow zipping past his face brought Xis back to focus on his own circumstances. He threw himself to the ground and began to roll. The Nahorn archer upon the platform put a missile into his exposed seat. The wound burned like fire. Xis leaped to his feet and ran away. Once more his responsibility to Onu and the pack stopped him. He removed the arrow and turned back toward the battle.

     Onu had snarled when Rorf had loped away to lick his wounds. He had snarled again when Xis had twice retreated. Xis had potential. He had been frightened and his inexperience had made him react by flight, but each time he had stopped. That one might make a true pack mate in time. Onu, angered at the inability of his right flank to maintain pressure, loped forward to throw himself upon the Nahorn warrior who had killed one and frightened another of his pack.

     ***

     Dured allowed himself to feel Liwana’s charm against his chest. She would be proud when she heard of his bravery. He raised his sword and jabbed it into the eye of the nearest Kru. That one flung himself away before the sword could drive into his brainpan. He backpedaled for several feet, having lost only an eye. Dured, the bloodlust mounting within him, spun to attack the remaining Kru facing Hubert. Dured’s ferocity knocked the dogface to the turf.

     Hubert stepped in with spear poised to skewer the falling Kru, but the crafty Kru deflects the spear and thrust the point of his sword under the warrior’s loose hauberk. The blade penetrated clothing, skin, and liver. The Kru rose as Hubert dropped, open mouthed, to the sod where darkness closed upon him.

     Dured knew fear. The rage left him. The panic seized him like a helpless mouse in the jaws of a mountain cat. He ran into the trees, not stopping until he had put significant distance between himself and the murderous Kru. He leaned against a tree, gasping for breath, trying to process the loss of Hubert. What would Liwana think? Could she ever take him back knowing that he had fled from an enemy? He forced himself to remember the bloodlust. He had slain one Kru and wounded another. He had Liwana’s charm. He gathered his courage to pound the fear back into a small pouch that he could carry back to the fight.

     Vilmo cursed. The right entrance has been left undefended. Hubert has fallen, and Dured had disappeared into the trees. He had to dispatch the Kru harassing him before an enemy entered and attacked him from behind. He supposed that this Kru was too inexperienced or fearful to carry-though with his assault. Vilmo forfeited the advantage of defending the doorway against the Kru and launched himself at the troublesome dogface. His assault bowled over the Kru. He stepped forward to cleave the enemy’s skull with his axe, but the fallen Kru was not as inexperienced as he had seemed. The Kru kicked Vilmo’s feet from beneath him, and turned the long blade on the bottom of his shield toward the falling warrior. Vilmo, surprised by the move, came down too hard and too fast to bring either his shield or axe to counter the move. The blade took Vilmo between the long tails of his moustache to pierce him beneath the chin, ripping through his neck and into his spine before tearing out the side of his throat.

     In a matter of seconds, the Nahorn had lost two of their best warriors, including the veteran leader Vilmo. Thordred, awestruck at the image of his dead sergeant sprawled at the feet of the triumphant Kru, could not believe his eyes. With a scream importuning his god, he flung himself over the back wall to escape the coming wrath of the Kru demon. Dismay and consternation gripped Frebored with frigid claws. He jumped from the platform, falling and breaking ribs against the stone floor. He remained on the floor, stunned by the impact.

     Dured heard Thordred’s rasping prayer. He saw Frebored fall from the platform, and the fierce Kru move over him. Dured, already shaken in his newfound courage, backed farther into the trees, but does not flee. Thoughts of Liwana pressing upon him. He had to see her again. He could not die here.

      Zared, locked in combat with the Kru leader, hissed a challenge and waded in swinging.

     ***

     Onu swept the legs from beneath the attacking Nahorn warrior. He followed with a series of slashes at the downed man, but the twisting target’s hauberk deflected each strike. Victory had suddenly reared its toothy maw and Onu desired to embrace it if he could.

     ***

     Thordred, regained enough presence of mind to nock and fire an arrow at the mighty Kru towering over Frebored. The bolt whistled straight and true, slashing through the throat of the dogface. The Kru fell. He dropped his weapon and shield, trying to staunch the spurting blood with both hands.

     ***

     With the loss of Enin, the Kru pack had lost over half its numbers. Thate and Evif began backing away in confusion, waiting for some command or reassurance. Onu remained engaged with the downed warrior. Xis, already some distance removed from the combat but near his pack leader, found the courage to remain on the field.

     Onu growled in rage and hacked, his blade finally biting through the metal scales and into ribs of the Nahorn warrior. The man grunted in pain, rolled away and scrambled to his feet. He fled in fear but Onu ran at his heels, anxious to bring down his prey. He succeeded in sinking his blade into his enemy’s shoulder, and knocking him down. As the man scrambled to his feet, Onu stabbed him in the back, piercing the hauberk again. The man neither fell nor turned to fight. Onu let the man run. He had other enemies to slay. There were still three enemies upon the field.

     Thate took courage at his pack leader’s success and loped to the ruin.

     Onu rushed the archer behind the ruin.

     ***

     Frebored got to his feet in time to see another Kru about to enter the ruin. Hurt, but able to fight, the archer sent a warm welcome at the end of a feathered shaft. The Kru dodged, running, throwing himself to the ground, and rolling back to his feet.

     Dured roared from the trees with his fear crammed deep. He collided with the Kru, who deflected his blade but tumbled to the ground. Dured glanced to his left in time to see Thordred’s body drop from the blade of the Kru leader. 

     Frebored has seen the Thordred’s death as well. He dropped his bow and ran from the ruin, clutching his broken ribs.

     There is no hope. Liwana’s calling me. Liwana’s calling me. Dured backed away from his foe.

     ***

     Thate couldn’t believe his luck. He got to his feet and pursued the young Nahorn into the trees. The young warrior at last turned to face him. In the combat, the warrior forced him to the ground twice, but Thate was able to avoid the attack and regain his footing each time.  

     Onu sped toward the combat. This was the last enemy on the field. He must fall. Before he could reach the combat, the young warrior opened Thate’s stomach with a mighty swipe of his sword. The dogface’s innards came out in a bloody roil. Thate went down with his hands grasping to gather his intestines.

     With Thate’s imminent death, Xis and Evif loped from the field.

     ***

     The big Kru leader barreled into Dured. They were the last combatants on the field. The intensity of the Kru attack threw Dured back and to the ground. He avoided the ensuing sword thrust and slashed the Kru across the side as he rose. His hopes ascended for a moment. He would be the hero of the day. He would win the battle and save the ruin. The Kru feinted low and then brought the blade high. The steel clanged against the side of Dured’s helmet before biting into his shoulder. Dazed but not out, Dured's thoughts waded as though through a swamp by candlelight. He realized that with such a wound he could have no hope of slaying the Kru. He felt the charm against his chest. Liwana’s calling me. Liwana’s calling me. My death will serve no purpose. Liwana’s calling me.

     Dured raised his shield with his good arm and retreated beneath it. The Kru let him go.

Copyright © 2020 Stanley Wheeler

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