The Elder Lands

Lucan followed his father down a gentle incline, treading on patches of dry grass and gravel. Their men-at-arms had returned to his father’s command, since their number could bear to be a lone patrol, Lord Arden had let them form one, with Lucan, his father, and eight men-at-arms.

They would take part in protecting the approach to the largest village in the borderlands. Their troop would patrol a considerable stretch between the village and the forest, though they wouldn’t protect that whole stretch of land alone. It was split between them and Sir Vicks. If any troop found that it would be overwhelmed, it would signal for aid from the reserve accompanying Lord Arden.

His father was tying the pouch given to him by Sir Sarin to his belt when Lucan heard Ryder whispering, “Do you think it’s magic?”

“Not everything from the Isles is magic, Ryder,” Clifton’s bored voice responded.

Ryder hushed in response to his companion’s louder voice and continued, “But I heard that even its smoke glows.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear then.”

“Why would it be so costly if it isn’t magic?”

“Why don’t you go to the Isles and ask them?”

“If we live through this, perhaps I will.”

“Stop chattering like idle wives, both of you,” Cordell commanded.

Lucan stifled a chuckle at that. Ryder’s question was a reasonable one. But the answer to it was known to no one but the violetash makers in the Heaven Isles. He was curious about it himself, but as Clifton had said, the only way to know was to go to the Isles and ask them and be laughed at.

They were already passing the village by. It was a distance away on their right, empty enough to make the more superstitious souls suspect it being haunted if they didn’t know why it was so empty. If one looked closely, they’d see the signs of habitation though, tended fields and the barricaded windows.

They continued their march past the village until they could see the treeline clearly, and anyone that might emerge from it. Then they began their patrol laterally, eyes glued to the barrier of oaks. They all had shields, but Lee and two men-at-arms who had passive Skills for it were made to march on the left side of their patrol, in case of a surprise volley of arrows. They would continue to move in this direction until they met Sir Vicks’s patrol, then they would turn around and march their way back here.

While Lucan was anxious at first, both animated and concerned about his first battle, he eventually calmed down. Not due any effort of his own though, but by the insurmountable power of boredom. The patrol turned into an exercise in patience as the sun approached its lowest point. Lucan had lost count of how many times they’d met Sir Vicks as they finished one circuit of the patrol after another. He wasn’t an unpleasant man, with his face that narrowed to a point at the chin. Lucan had also committed the faces of all the knight’s men to memory by merit of repetition.

The patrol went on and he was beginning to think that Lord Arden’s scouts were wrong when they saw violet smoke rising from one of The Needles, which was the signal of enemies breaking the treeline. The violet smoke was normal except for the spots rising inside it glowing like fireflies and illuminating it for all to easily see.

Something caught Lucan’s eye and he turned to the left, seeing a dozen–no–eighteen men emerging from the woods. He’d been taught by his father, in practice, how to count men from a distance, and even told how to estimate the number of a much larger force. A skill that every scout had and every noble needed.

The Wildermen charged them outright. Lucan was surprised that they didn’t open with bowshot, but perhaps they were feeling particularly bloodthirsty today.

“Form up!” his father’s voice reverberated in their ears. “Two deep. Cordell, Lee, you have the flanks. Lucan, you’re behind me.”

They quickly formed up into a shieldwall two-men deep. His father was in the middle of the front line and Lucan was right behind him. Cordell stood on the right edge of the front line and Lee on the other. Lucan soon found himself squeezed by the anxious bodies of Heath and Clifton from both sides.

Shields were raised and tension was mounting on shoulders. Lucan waited and waited…and waited, until he could hear the heavy beating of their enemies’ boots on the ground, slowly growing louder and closer. He was keeping his head down and his shield braced, unable to see much beyond the height of his father, but he still glimpsed movement just before he heard the crash and felt the wave of force reverberating into his shield arm and pushing him back a step.

There was a momentary glow and blood spewed from somewhere in front of his father and then all order was lost as one of the men-at-arms in the front line tripped and fell on his back from a bash. A melee soon broke out and Lucan was bumped heavily by a shoulder before finding himself squaring up against one of the Wildermen.

The Wilderman wore a mismatch of leather armor and was armed with a wooden shield and a purplish bone club, which Lucan assumed was made from a Labyrinth beast. His opponent was older than him, but could still be called young. He had a small beard with only two spherical wooden bells woven into it, signifying only two successful raids. Amidst the sounds of metal and wood clashing, he could hear the rare sound of many more wooden bells ringing around him, but his opponent was unmoving, the tension obviously coiling in his muscles.

Lucan’s enemy stepped forward at the same moment he did. They both swung at each other, and they both intercepted with their shields. His opponent’s shield weathered his strike, but his own bent slightly as the bone club hammered it, delivering enough force into his arm to cause concern.

Lucan maneuvered to the side, hoping to get a better angle of attack, but the Wilderman kept up with him and stepped in for another swing. Lucan’s first instinct was to step back and avoid another bad exchange, but he forced himself forward and swung with all he had while trying to angle his shield to divert the incoming club. He failed in the latter as the club descended with a heavy strike, deforming his shield further. His opponent moved his shield to intercept his cut, but Lucan used Wraith Strike a moment before metal and wood met, his sword glowing and cutting nearly halfway through the edge of the thin shield.

Surprised, the Wilderman jerked back, glancing between his shield and Lucan’s now inert sword. It took a moment for him to understand what he was seeing, but eventually, the young man did, narrowing his eyes at Lucan and circling him much more carefully.

Lucan heard a yell from the side and barely had a chance to shift his body out of a spear’s path as another Wilderman charged him. He avoided the spear but not the man, who hit him with his whole weight, throwing him to the ground. Lucan rolled twice, coming up in a crouch to find Heath thankfully barring the spearman’s way to him. But not a moment too soon, his own opponent was on him, smelling weakness and raising his club for a heavy overhead strike.

Lucan only had time to let go of his shield and use his Star, moving forward while in a crouch. He felt a brief streak of pain in the back of his right leg, likely from the strain of the uncomfortable starting position, but the Star fulfilled its purpose, slipping him under his opponent’s arm. The Wilderman’s club hit the ground instead of Lucan, and he realized what happened, spinning hastily with his shield at the same time Lucan rose with a slash.

The Wilderman succeeded in bringing the edge of his shield to bear only to be met with Lucan’s second Wraith Strike, finishing its work by shearing off part of the shield. Lucan followed up with another Wraith Strike which his opponent parried with his club, the bone too thick to receive more than a notch from the Skill. Then the Wilderman surprised him by throwing his broken shield at him. Lucan only got a chance to raise his sword arm, deflecting it with his forearm. It was a painless block but it succeeded in blinding him long enough for his adversary to regain his balance and charge in for an angled strike. Lucan used the Star once more, moving backwards and tripping on his own feet but miraculously shrugging it off and regaining his balance.

Not willing to let go of the edge he’d gained, the Wilderman let his weight carry him forward and wound up for another strike. A vicious swing came from Lucan’s right. He swung his sword hard with both hands, meeting the blow and parrying it, then taking a step to the left to absorb the force that caused his forearm to shiver. He tried to lunge in for a quick thrust, but the Wilderman patted it aside. They exchanged one, two, three more strikes, and Lucan realized they were evenly matched. He caught a glance of his father disemboweling another Wilderman as though it was a farmer’s fieldwork before his eyes returned to his own fight.

He got an idea, moving backwards to create distance, and as expected, the bloodthirsty Wilderman threw his weight forward to charge after him. Lucan didn’t wait for the Wilderman to take his first step, immediately using the Star and moving towards him. One moment he was too far to be struck by his opponent’s club and the next he was close enough to smell his breath, with his arms wound back for a proper twisting side thrust.

His weight already thrown forward, the Wilderman had no chance to avoid meeting the swiftly approaching blade. Lucan added a Wraith Strike to his attack for good measure, and the tip of his sword slid into his opponent’s chest unimpeded. The pace at which they slammed into each other was so great that the sword ended up going through the Wilderman all the way up to the hilt, impaling him.

As though the world had slowed down, Lucan saw the young man’s eyes widen in pain, and perhaps disbelief, then a stuttering gasp came out of him. He heard the club hitting the ground as his opponent’s disbelieving eyes stared at–no–through him, as though gazing at something leagues away. Another, shorter stuttering attempt at a breath, then the Wilderman’s body jerked and he lost his ability to stand, sliding off Lucan’s sword on his way to the ground.

Lucan watched the horror on the wide-eyed man’s face, only now coming to realize that his own eyes were just as wide and his breath was held as though in anticipation of a curse. He took a shuddering breath that caught in his throat and turned towards the sound of yells, feeling relief at being pulled away from the sight in front of him.

He saw what remained of the raiding party fleeing, Ryder streaking to follow them and Cordell wounding back to throw his spear into the back of one of the raiders.

“Stop!” His father’s voice froze the two men-at-arms. He was looking behind them with a severe countenance. They all turned to look in the same direction, seeing the smoke trailing up, most certainly from the village.

“How did they get past Sir Vicks?” Lucan asked, aghast.

Everyone turned to look in the direction where the other knight’s patrol was supposed to be, and they glimpsed the remnants of violet smoke rising towards the sky.

“Damnation,” his father growled. “Move!”