The chain-mail hauberk felt heavy around his neck. Fingers sweated inside chain-mail gloves. Luc tightened his grip on the tall lance that pointed to the sky. There was an itch on his nose he was desperate to scratch, but experience taught him trying to scratch it would only make him look the fool. The valley beneath them was beautiful, verdant greens and golds crossed each other like patches on a tapestry. The Angevain was a place of great beauty, despite most believing it to be a miserable appendage at the edge of the world.

“Nose itching again Derune.”

Luc glimpsed through the narrow slits of his helmet and saw a fellow armoured giant atop his destrier.

“Leave me be Edric.”

“No please, by all means, give it a scratch. I’m sure the men could do with a quick laugh before the fighting starts.” There was no humour in the tinny voice that came through the short snout of his helmet. “I know I could.”

His adoptive brother was clad in an identical panoply of war to himself. Riveted mail wrapped itself around his head, torso, arms, and legs. A coat of plates covered his stomach and chest with flat pauldrons shielding his shoulders and polished greaves his arms. Covering them neck to knee was a tabard decorated in the colours of their house, two golden dragons on a field of red.

“Stop quarrelling please, it will not do in front of Father. He was hesitant to allow us to be here never mind being a part of the attack.” Aelfric trotted forward to Luc’s side. Atop his pony, he barely came up to his brother's chest.

“You aren’t part of the attack Aelf, me and Luc are,” said Edric.

Luc heard his younger brother huff. “I’m of age, some of my friends are out there riding alongside their knights into the battle.”

“You’ll hear no disagreement from us Aelf.”

A thin mist was clearing below them, it was early morning and the pale sun was shining. The three of them held a commanding view of the small forces below them. Grand Baron Rune had gathered his household knights and rode north to Cape Death. A bird from Baron Sterne had warned that a party of clansmen had landed on his shores and meant to raid.

His sons had been allowed to join them for they were all of age. Lucian, Edric, and Aelfric, though of the three only two bore their father's name. None of the Grand Baron's sons had been knighted as their father had never allowed them to become squires. Luc wondered why now they were to be thrust into battle without any experience of knightly conduct, he wondered why their father had changed his mind after so many years.

A horn sounded and they were called by Ser Edar Raine, captain of their father's guard. “Lords your father requests your presence.”

“Will Father be joining us in the battle line,” asked Edric.

“That will be for him to share.” Ser Raine’s faceplate was up and with one hand scratched the tip of his nose.

They rode down from their perch to join their father with the vanguard. Dozens of mounted lancers were seated on vast horses of black and brown. Each wrapped in their heraldry combined with that of their liege lord. Standards flapped in the wind, the gold dragons almost looked like they were flying. Swords were inspected, lances were raised, maces were beaten against shields and serjeants shouted orders through the ranks.

So this is war, thought Luc.

The knights were relaxed and confident each one smiled and waved as they passed. Edric had raised his faceplate and smiled back. Many of the men he knew by name, having spent a lifetime training with them, feasting with them, hunting with them. He locked arms, touched spears, and shouted words of encouragement as he went. Luc and Aelf passed them in silence.

Their father was surrounded by his most senior knights. Unlike the others they sat in solemn silence, gazing across the valley.

“My Lord Baron, your sons,” Ser Raine gave a slight bow from his saddle and rode to join his peers.

Edric hammered a fist into his chest and lowered his head quickly. Aelf bowed as deep as his pony would allow. Luc simply nodded at their lord father. He sat upon a warhorse larger than any other on the field. It was glossy white with red barding covering it nose to tail. His tabard had two pendants of true gold affixed to his chest depicting his dragon sigil, his helmet was at his side and his coif hung down his back, a simple leather thong kept his long dark hair out of his eyes. He looked down at them with a slight grimace before relaxing into a smile.

“My sons, have you prepared yourselves.”

Edric pulled his horse forward. “Yes Father, ready to prove ourselves, ready to fight.” He drew his sword and held it aloft to the cheers of the men.

Luc carefully lifted his visor and nodded to his father. Aelf copied the gesture and kept his eyes turned down to the ground. Luc knew he would not protest their father's decision, he was not equipped for battle, not materially, not physically, not mentally. Their younger brother had never been one for the training yard, he took his lessons with Brother Hedwyn spending more time than any of them learning history, language, and numbers.

“Pursuits of the mind simple brother.” Aelf would say when Luc asked what he was spending his evenings doing if not training.

Aelfric would grumble and cry foul that their father treated him differently but deep down he knew he couldn’t join them, no matter how much he loved the stories and the songs he couldn’t. And if he tried Luc would stop him.

Luc considered his adoptive siblings. Superficially they looked the same, chestnut brown hair, light green eyes, a smattering of freckles across the cheeks, they were similar heights and builds, even if Edric was broad where Aelf was thin. Luc was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the question his father had posed to him.

“I’m sorry Father I was somewhere else, say again.”

Leofric Rune laughed. “You always seem to be somewhere else Luc. But now is not the time for that.” His voice hardened and the smile died on his lips. “You are riding into battle, you and your brother will be in the vanguard.”

“Thank you, Father. I promise I will not let you down,” Edric cut in slamming his sword back into its scabbard. Their father nodded approvingly, then there was a small silence. Luc felt the eyes fall upon him. He was saved from this moment by his brother.

Aelfric spoke up, “Father where shall I be?”

Those pale green eyes drifted away from Luc. “You will be by my side Aelf, you’re too young for battle but you are never too young to learn how to lead.”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“You’ll be in the rear then Father,” Luc asked.

“I will. The Rune’s are well appointed at the front.” With that, he beckoned his youngest forward and turned off with his honour guard.

“You should be more careful Derune, in the wrong company that could be seen as questioning our lord father's honour,” Edric had gathered a small posse of young knights about him.

“A foolish notion. No sane man would question his honour.”

“Yet you felt the need to ask.”

“Enough.” Captain Raine barked. “Come we need to take our places, the order will be given soon and it won’t do to miss it.”

Aelf locked eyes with him and gave an uneasy smile. The goose feather in his cap flapped in the wind.

Luc and Edric had been placed in the centre of the battle line, to their left and right were the oldest and best-equipped knights. More than once Luc had been given a reassuring nod or pat on the shoulder. He accepted these with stoic silence, his thoughts were on what came next, the blood the carnage. Edric’s response was more verbose, he laughed, bragged, smacked his thigh, and sang a bawdy song. If there was any fear in his heart then he hid it well.

The site of battle had been well chosen, wide fields with few hedgerows or boundary walls. If the Baron’s scouts were correct the raiders would soon clear the forest and make for the nearby monastery. The monks had been evacuated and watched from a nearby clearing, they waited with bated breath to see if their life's work would be burned by heathens from beyond the great loch.

A hush descended upon the gathered knights. They were kept behind the hill and would stream out in a vast crescent before scything through the poorly organized enemy. Ser Raine spoke in quiet tones, pushing eager knights back with a long wooden baton. The time was nearly upon them, runners came hammering around the corner, exchanging words with Ser Raine. Edric and Luc moved from the line simultaneously, Edric made for Ser Raine and Luc caught the arm of the runner.

“What news.”

“The raiders have broken from the tree line, they make for the monastery with all haste.”

Luc nodded, “is there word from my father?”

“None yet, Baron Rune has moved his command to shield the monks and fool the raiders into more aggressive action.”

He waved the man off and kicked his horse into a trot, he heard his brother argue with Ser Raine.

“They have been spotted, Captain. We must attack now. Cut straight to the heart of them and scatter them to the wind.” Edric had to be shushed by his fellow knights.

“The baron gave me leave to command the vanguard Edric. You and your brother were to fight not advise.”

“I am the son of the Baron and one day these men will be mine to command.”

“Aye, one day but not today.” He put a hand in front of Luc as he made his way back to the line. “Luc, your brother advises me to attack at once. You’ve spoken to the scouts. What would you do.”

Luc glanced over to Edric and saw the displeasure on his face. “The scouts report the raiders have broken the treeline and make for the monastery. The Lord Baron withdraws his honour guard to cover the fleeing monks. It is foolish to imagine they don’t know they are being watched. At the sight of our charge, they will flee back to the forests and be lost to us. We would do well to charge first to the tree line and reform then run them down in the open with their only escape blocked by the Baron and his men.”

Ser Raine nodded. “A good observation, and a sound strategy. Precisely the one your father and I agreed upon before setting eyes on the monastery. Once the vanguard has taken to the field it is an unwieldy beast that is difficult to reposition, you’d do well to remember that young Edric once the order to charge is given it cannot be undone and if you have not considered all ends then it may end in defeat.”

“I thought we were here to taste battle ser, not suffer through more lectures,” huffed Edric pulling away from the pair and re-joining the vanguard.

Ser Raine shook his head as he followed. “Ser captain, a question if I may.” Luc fell in beside him.

“Of course Luc.”

“The lord baron sees much, his scouts and spies are many and well placed. How much of this battle we are fighting today was determined in the halls of Caernholm?”

Ser Raine's mouth tugged at its corners, threatening to turn into a smile. “Truly you’re father's son.” With that, he pulled his faceplate down and tucked himself into the pressed mass of flesh and steel.

The charge did not fire Luc’s heart in the way the songs claimed it would. When the horn sounded as they began to move he was more worried about bumping against the men to the left and right of him. A lance is a heavy thing but when a warhorse gets up to speed it becomes an immense stain to keep straight, he feared how his arms would fare once the order to level it was given.

They streamed from behind the hill like a wave of steel. Bearing the dragons of Caernholm high in the sky Ser Raine pulled ahead of the charge directing it in a large curve toward the trees. Luc changed the balance on his stirrups and the grey destrier beneath his legs huffed in response. The raiders were not where they were supposed to be. Instead of breaking through the light defenses of the monastery they had formed a concentrated line and were marching hard toward the Baron and his small honour guard.

They were better armed than Luc had been led to believe. Many wore chain mail, and each of them had a steel helmet. Brother Hedwyn taught him that the clansmen of the wastes beyond Fenryr fought in a primitive manner, lacking the noble steeds of the southern lands they fought on foot with axe and spear and knife. They would form barbed walls of shields and flesh and with inhuman courage stand before their warhorses. Before they departed Caernholm for battle Hedwyn warned them about fighting the clansmen.

“Forget the songs and the stories, those are men you’ll be fighting no different from you or I. Make no assumptions on what they will do, take every precaution, young lords.” Luc remembered Edric and his fellows snorting once the elderly monk had left them.

A shield-wall had been formed and it was currently sat with its back bare to the massed knights. Ser Raine kept the knights moving, they had devolved from a crashing wave into a strung-out line filing slowly in front of the tree line. They had been spotted. Luc spied a man hoisted into the air on the painted shields of two men. With hands cupped over eyes, he looked into the rising sun and saw their doom.

Edric raised his lance and hammered it across his shield, he let out a feral roar which was taken up by the rest of the men. Near one hundred knights shouted out, with the deep whinnying of horses Luc found it hard to believe the small group of men in front of them would do anything other than run.

And run they did, directly toward the Grand Baron and his guards. They kept a loose formation and they marched, then jogged, then ran with all their might. Ser Raine had been silent all through the manoeuvring, but now he heard his voice as a ragged bark.

“CHARGE!”

The order was given and a hundred hooves dug into the grass as tens of thousands of pounds of man and horse propelled themselves forward. Luc pulsed his knees and his horse began to canter, to his left Edric hurled his horse forward wanting to be at the fore of the charge. Other knights pushed and struggled to pass each other as the charge approached fever pitch. Luc found himself in the middle of the pack when his horse was at full gallop. It felt like an eternity before they met the enemy line but when they did the fighting passed him by in a flash.

The clansmen had stopped their charge and formed a quick and quite impenetrable wall. Luc saw a spear go clean through a horse's chest before he was thrown to the ground. His feet came free of the stirrups and he fell cleanly over the left of his horse. The ground was lumpy and hard, he tried to push himself up with his hand but it found no purchase. He was caught atop the clansmen's shields. A glance up showed a lance bound directly for his heart. He rolled back and fell through the press of bodies.

He had to get off the ground, he knew it would be nothing but death there. Booted heels would make short work of the most heavily armoured man if there were hundreds of them. Grabbing onto the belts and backs of strangers he dragged himself to his feet. The first man he killed died with a look of profound surprise on his face as if he couldn’t quite believe what had happened. The dagger was in Luc’s hand and driven through the man’s bare neck before any thought to compel him crossed his mind. What happened next was akin to a crowd crush at a county fair. They reacted to an armoured knight behind their wall by pushing forward, Luc felt half a dozen hard jabs hit him in the ribs and stomach. Knife and sword thrust failing to get through his armour. He twisted his body and began a frantic scramble to the shields, he was dead if he didn’t get out soon.

His dagger thrust and twisted, his arms pulled and tore. More than once he felt the scratch of a spear-tip or thin dagger-point find its way through the gaps of his mail. With the sickening crunch of a pommel strike to the back of an unarmoured head, Luc found the front and crashed through it. As he went to scramble to his feet he saw a giant atop a horse, swathed in red and gold. His brother Edric. For the first time in his life, he was glad to hear that bellowing voice. He dove aside and his brother's horse thundered through the gap he had created. His helmeted head cracked against a loose rock and the world went black.