7th June 1329,
Tournament Field, West of Renton,
Dunbartonshire,
Scotland.
Lord Douglas had seen the Schiltrom collapse at the same time Liam sensed it. Moving over to where his squire fought, James knew he had to leave the line and stabilize the flank.
“Liam!” He roared, watching in stunned disbelief as his squire killed three warriors with weapons he somehow floated through the air. “The Schiltrom requires reinforcement. You are in command here. Hold at all costs.”
Lord Douglas saw Liam nod tiredly.
He stepped back into the second rank as Liam covered his retreat. Now that the centre of their formation was clear, Colquhoun’s pikemen advanced once more, stabilizing the line.
He stepped back out of the formation and moved towards the breaking Schiltrom.
He gathered men from the rear rank as he went, organizing them into a wedge as he charged into the fray. Already small clusters of survivors were making a last stand, which was holding up the enemy advance. As those men died, the survivors nearest the enemy were pushing others towards the centre of the Scots formation as they tried to escape.
These were the townsfolk and farmers who’d thought a day of battle to be fun. Now the reality of death loomed over them. They were desperate to escape it, even if they would be resurrected.
The screams of dying men and the smell of voided bowels and eviscerated bodies changed people's outlook on war. From a distance, it seemed glamorous. Up close, it was hell on earth.
Men like Lord Douglas had walked that hellscape before, and now with the men at arms behind him, he would do so again.
His force pushed through the crowd, and as they reached the enemy, they formed a new shield wall. The relieved townsfolk behind him shouted their joy and moved back, hoping that the men-at-arms would carry their weight through the battle.
Lord Douglas wasn’t about to let them.
Leaving the wedge formation to hold the line, James approached the group. There were about a seven hundred of them and they looked on nervously as the blood-spattered Lord glared at them.
James looked over his shoulder to see the clansmen of Napier and Campbell were already fighting alongside his men. He saw a tall, fair haired man fall to the claws of an enemy slave, and Lord Douglas’ face contorted in a sneer of contempt for the townsfolk.
“You’re just going to let others fight for you? Get back to the line!” The Lord of Douglas ordered. “Or if you are cravens, go tend the wounded. But for the love of God, don’t just stand there staring. Men are dying before your eyes because of your cowardice.”
The group seemed to shuffle, uncertain of what to do. James was about to give an order, when a shrill voice sounded from within the mass of townsfolk.
A woman stepped forward.
She wore a nun’s habit that was torn and muddied as though she’d been thrown to the ground and attacked. Her spear was bloody, though, and she turned to wave it over her head as she rallied them.
“Men of Dunbarton. Men of Scotland! The Lord of Douglas speaks true. God needs us all. Even I am called. If we are to fight, it must be now. For God, for Scotland. A Home, A Home, A Home!” she called out the ancient war cry of her clan and rushed to join the fight.
Her short speech had an immediate effect, and the fear in the hearts of the men turned suddenly into righteous wrath that they directed towards their foes. Much to James's surprise, not a man remained behind.
Men at arms, holding the line desperately moments before, were shocked as farmers and tradesmen reformed the pike wall before them, using an assortment of weapons and tools. The effect on the enemy was even more shocking, as the rage of the common folk translated through blades to the flesh of the damned.
Scores fell under the blows of enraged farmers, and even more to the townsfolk. Not to be outdone, a group of the Napier’s clansmen charged forward. Another group who had stood firm with the men at arms threw off their monk's habits to reveal their white tabards, and James’ mouth dropped open.
A taller man stepped forward and, hacking the head off one of the damned, chanted a prayer that James hadn’t heard for nearly twenty years.
“Non nobis, Domine, Domine, non nobis, Domine, sed Nomini, sed Nomine, Tuo da gloriam!”
Not unto us, O Lord. O Lord, not unto us. To your name, To your name, goes all glory.
James grinned. It was an ancient war-cry. One used by an order of knights excommunicated from Christendom, but still faithful to God. As he sang, the man seemed to shine with a holy light. As James watched, the men surrounding the knight suddenly fought harder than before.
James knew the chant well. It was the war-cry of the knights templar and had been chanted in battle for nearly two hundred years prior to their dissolution. It made him glad to see that men of such quality were still present amongst the Scots army.
He too sang, and the words lifted his soul out of sorrow and into a righteous fury. “Sing, damn you!” he shouted to the men-at-arms around him. “Let the bastards know we fight for God and are coming to kill them. God wills it!” He shouted.
One templar turned, hearing his voice, and grinned back at him through a grey beard.
“DEUS VULT!” He screamed, and charged into the enemy, his bastard sword wreaking a bloody harvest. His brothers followed him in a frenzy of fury as they sought to cleanse the Hellspawn from walking upon God’s earth.
James knew that many of these men had hidden for years after the Inquisition by the Bishop of St Andrews. They needn’t have.
Lamberton himself had started his path to the clergy as a knight penitent of the order, though that was a secret only a handful of men knew. His support of the order had allowed many to avoid persecution. He’d even sent the Master of the Scots Order to Pisa to defend the Order against dissolution despite the Pope’s orders.
He smiled, thinking how glad his mentor would have been to see his Order fight for God and Scotland once more.
It was then that the men and women of Scotland around him echoed the words of the chant, and a shiver ran up James’ spine as suddenly the Scots line surged forward, reclaiming the ground that so recently had been lost. Small clusters of clansmen who had survived the onslaught by banding together fell back behind the line, gasping in relief at their sudden salvation.
James was proud to see that many were soon back amongst their ranks and fighting as hard as ever.
We may still win this. He thought, and, still singing, he slammed his sword forward as he felt a body impact his shield.
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Liam’s arms felt like lead, and his breath was coming in short gasps. To conserve energy, he’d stopped using Telekinesis for a while, hoping that his magic regeneration would be enough to give him a few more minutes at the end. He’d heard the chant, and tried to join it, but his lungs burned as he continued to fight.
From where he fought, their position seemed hopeless. He could see over the enemy’s heads and the masses of packed foes stretched at least forty meters beyond where his line stood.
Liam knew he needed to fall back and take a moment to recover, but the men in his section of line were just as tired. Though he couldn’t retreat, he ordered the front rank to fall back to the rear and recover as the second rank took over the fight.
Liam tried to duck under an axe blow, but was too slow, and the weapon crashed off his helmet, knocking him to the ground.
The blow to his head confused him, and Liam shook his head, trying to clear the sudden fugue that clouded his thoughts.
Looking up, he found himself at the mercy of the enemy warrior above him. His head was ringing, but he brought his shield up to deflect the first blow. The second impact knocked his shield aside. He felt a foot land on his wrist and tried desperately to free it. Above him, the hell spawn raised its axe.
As the warrior’s axe descended, Liam used phase-shift and disappeared from beneath the creature.
Instead of finding himself behind his own lines and peaceably recovering, Liam now found himself being trampled once more. The feet treading him into the mud and blood beneath him were bare, and he knew he’d moved himself in the wrong direction.
He now lay within the enemy ranks.
He gasped for breath, as feet trampled over him. The stiff plates of his Armour of the Harbinger stood up well to the impacts of the feet of the damned above him, but he could feel himself sinking into the mud. A foot smashed into his face, breaking his nose, and Liam felt the bone reset as the Healing Song he cast earlier rapidly repaired the wound.
He moved his shield up to protect his face, and drew in a few deep breaths, spitting blood out of his mouth to clear his airway.
As mud seeped over his ears, Liam activated phase shift again, and once more found himself being trampled, though this time the impacts were more dispersed.
He activated the ability a third time, sensing that his magic was growing low. He could feel a pressure building in his nexus node, but didn’t have time to investigate the sensation.
It was then that Liam realized no one was stepping on him, and tentatively, he lowered his shield. He saw the reason for the lack of damned. Before him rose the ominous black structure of the pyramid. He inspected it, hoping to discover what it was.
Temple of Asmodeus
Black Pyramid (Legendary)
Abilities:
Soul-Trap–Any being that dies in contact with the pyramid becomes a sacrifice to Asmodeus. Their soul is trapped within the Pyramid awaiting conversion to magic or experience.
Spell Field Enhancement–Any spell cast by the binder of the Black Pyramid is enhanced by the conversion of souls to create a wider and more powerful spell effect.
Reanimate death–When the Pyramid is fully charged, the binder of the Black Pyramid may raise the recently dead as servants to their will.
Current Charge: 659/666 Souls.
Currently Soulbound to Vel’Cazrov, Dread Queen of Xezolte.
Seeing the Current Charge of the Pyramid, Liam realized what the enemy planned.
They’re going to raise an army of the dead! He thought of the rules of the tournament and knew that he and Vel’Cazrov were exploiting loopholes in the Tournament rules. While telekinesis was not described to be an offensive spell, he was using it to control and direct his weapons. The queen, however was taking that to another level, and planned on resurrecting her entire army. If she unleashes the power of the temple, we’ll be swarmed by revenants.
He did not know how powerful the beings would be, but if the entire field of dead rose, the horror of the experience alone would cause a rout.
Clambering to his feet, Liam re-cast Healing Song and Ward, and leapt on to the Pyramid. The sides were stepped, allowing an easy - though steep–ascent. Liam moved cautiously, seeing that the structure was still guarded.
Liam looked further up the pyramid. At the top, he could see the form of guards staring down at him. Their armour was not that of the warriors that still fought the Scots behind him. Theirs was like his own, though of a lesser quality.
They spotted him and made their way down the Pyramid towards him. Liam didn’t know how much time he had, and drew Camwennan, holding her in a reverse grip within his shield hand.
He activated the Dirk’s ability and disappeared from view. Invisible now, Liam activated Phase-Shift once more, he appeared behind the closest guard, and continued his ascent at a sprint.
His footsteps on the metal clinked softly, alerting a guard as he passed. The damned swung a great-axe, which Liam leapt over. His enhanced strength allowing him to ascend nearly three meters in one bound. Realizing that Liam was using an invisibility spell, the guards rushed towards the summit, hoping to cut him off.
Liam was faster.
As he reached the top, the shouts from the guards alerted the Queen. She stood behind a group of knights, all wearing much heavier armour than the other guards. Each carried an axe or bastard sword, as well as a tall shield, and they searched for signs of Liam’s presence.
The Queen, however, was terrifying to behold. Her emaciated form made her appear far more ghastly than the hordes of the damned who still died by the score below.
Scars lay upon every surface of that skin, and her eyelids, lips and ears had been removed. Liam wondered if she’d done it herself, as none of the other damned he’d seen had similar wounds. Worse, she was looking directly at him.
Camwennan’s ability suddenly ended, making Liam visible once more.
The queen laughed. “A demi-ascended with a toy knife. How foolish of you to face me. I shall add your soul energy to the spell. There will be no resurrection for you.” She smiled, and Liam realized his error. “Now you see the truth, boy. You will meet your true death here.”
Liam said nothing. He stepped forward, dodging a blow from one of the guards. He parried another and thrust Lehat Chereb forward. The blade plunged through a gap in his armour, expanding a hole and driving through the creature's chest as the Aesium core tore its armour apart.
He growled, as he remembered that each death contributed to the total number of souls trapped within the Pyramid. He knew he must find a way around that.
The nearest guard thrust at him, and Liam wrapped his shield arm over it, trapping the weapon beneath his arm-pit. With a grunt of effort, he lifted the creature into the air, releasing him as he drove Lehat Chereb forward once more, the blade sliding through the open face of his helm.
Lehat Cherebs’ Aesium core once more functioned as expected, and the creature’s head exploded, showering Liam with gore and brain matter. It died before its body fell, hitting the Pyramid with a clang. The sudden explosive violence caused the other guards to pause, sensing they faced a being that was beyond their power to defeat.
They didn’t lack courage, though.
Backing away from Liam, they stood between his blade and the Queen, guarding her with a loyalty he hadn’t expected from the Damned.
“Attack him.” The Queen ordered. “You are not here to live. You are here to die at a time of my choosing!” Her voice crackled with phlegm as she spoke.
The command was immediately obeyed, and they rushed him. Liam was hard pressed to defend himself as they attacked simultaneously. They did not aim their blows at his body, but at the joints of his limbs and face. These were areas where a solid blow could break bone, and suddenly Liam understood that these were not mere guards, but experienced elites.
Though he had the advantage of power and speed, their numbers alone made them dangerous.
Worse, the magic of the Pyramid made him cautious. He dared not kill more, as he knew the Queen's plan only required a few more souls.
The trick he’d used against the previous guard would not work again. Not on this group of the warriors.
Instead, he bashed with his volcanic shield, slamming the guards to tumble off the edge of the Pyramid. Two fell, giving him enough time to act against the Queen.
Singing his Telekinetic field into being, Liam used his magic to lift a dead guard's blade into the air. With a thought, Liam sent it hurtling point first towards the leader of the Damned. She span, flicking the blade away with a gesture, and smiled mockingly at Liam.
She opened her mouth wide, revealing two rows of broken and rotting teeth. Her voice rose to carry a dissonant melody across the platform, and Liam blinked in disbelief as several knives rose from their place on the altar and into the air. They came speeding towards him.
Liam thought to dodge the blades, but as a knife struck one guard in the back of the neck, he realized what the Queen had done.
Simultaneously, the remaining ten guards collapsed in death as the knives plunged deep into their bodies.
Liam charged the Queen as the Pyramid glowed with a putrid green energy.
“You thought you were the only one here with telekinesis, pup?” She grinned, revealing yellowed, sharpened teeth. "I don't know how you managed it, but we planned this battle before it even began."
Her smile faded to be replaced by a vicious snarl. “It’s time for your friends to die.”
With that, she slapped her hands upon the altar at the centre of the platform and energy crackled, spreading from the altar across the pyramid.
“NO!” Liam shouted, as Vel’Cazrov activated the Pyramids' ‘Reanimate Dead’ Ability.
A feeling of dread flowed through Liam as a column of green energy shot into the sky. It hung there for a moment before slamming back through the Pyramid and into the ground beneath.
Horrified, Liam looked down at the battle below. There, he saw the battle pause, as all turned to see the dead move. Liam saw the Scots army recoil as the mounds of dead rose once more.
Further away, he could see the cavalry waiting for something, and he prayed that the Earl of Moray would charge now, before the undead could tear into the ranks of the living.
Instead, the cavalry sat unmoving.
Liam span towards the Queen. She was close now. Too close. He should have...
The armband!
He knew it was too late. Activating the magical suppression field now would only…
His thought was cut short as he felt a burning lance of pain enter his throat.
The dagger of the Queen of the Damned had slid up between his hauberk and coif, driving it apart with ease.
Liam clutched at his neck as blood jetted from the wound in spurts, drenching the Dread Queen. She laughed, stepping back as he pulled the blade from his flesh.
Survival instinct took over, and Liam cast Healing Song, but the bleeding did not stop. Desperate, he tried once more. Nothing.
He tried to cast regrowth, but the wound would not close.
Liam collapsed to one knee, staring at the Queen as his legs suddenly betrayed him. Thinking of his friends below, Liam realized how badly he’d failed them. If he’d only maintained his focus, he might have stopped the spell.
As his thoughts of guilt blurred into a confusion of muddled thought, Liam focused all his dwindling energy on one last attack.
His heart shuddering in his chest, he swung Lehat Chereb. Simultaneously, he reached out with his telekinetic field, and sent Camwennan forward one last time. He heard the clang of his blade being knocked aside and let out a groan, collapsing to the ground as he drew one last breath. The sigh as it left his body, turning slowly into a rattle as death embraced him.
**********************************************************************************
8th June, 1329.
Runrig Field South of Carmichael,
Scotland
The dawn sun flashed off the metal of the spear blade as it darted forward to intercept a thrust from the opponent's blade. The two men circled for a moment, taking the measure of the other before both figures moved at once.
Duncan slashed with the spear, knocking the incoming thrust away. The sword flew wide, and its wielder snarled in anger as he stepped forward. Stepping to the side, Duncan shifted the spear from a left guard to the right and thrust. His weapon slammed forward, knocking the edge of the shield up and exposing the soft flesh of his opponent’s gut. He recovered quickly and struck in an instant.
The leather-bound blade smacked into Vincent’s side with enough force to send air rushing from his lungs.
“Don’t overextend your thrust!” Colm barked at Vincent, who rolled on the ground, clutching his bruised stomach. He let out a whine and Lady pounced on him, her tongue having the dual effect of delivering horrible tickles and much needed healing.
“Get him, girl!” Duncan laughed.
Vincent grabbed handfuls of Lady’s hair and levered himself to his feet, glowering at Duncan. “How in the hells do you do that?” He asked.
It was their seventh sparring match for the day, and Duncan had improved his spear skill by eight points. Lady suggested it was a proficiency from his class, and Duncan supposed she was correct. It seemed to come naturally to him.
Vincent insisted on only learning the sword, though his true skill lay in the axe. Colm had them all working on different weapons, as he claimed that you never knew when you’d find yourself without a weapon you were comfortable with.
The other townsfolk groused constantly at Colm’s harsh training and had taken it out on the few who had chosen to remain behind. Duncan and Vincent had already had to stop two arguments from devolving into brawls.
The training was ruthless as the men swung their covered blades with full force. Whenever someone held back, Colm would fight them, usually resulting in a large bruise or broken rib.
After the first few hours, many of the men had considered leaving. Everyone carried bruises, and only those with broken bones or sprains sought Lady’s ministrations.
Despite her efforts in healing, it was the memory of the Fiery Cross that kept the townsfolk focussed on their training.
Duncan had never heard of the practice until the day before, but Edward, the merchant in charge of supplying their expedition, had explained it to him in more detail.
The burning of the cross was a sign that the things that Scotland held most dear were under attack. If the Laird were to burn the cross, he would banish any man who refused to fight from the clan and branded them a traitor.
Of course, Edward had explained, no one was going to do that here. Colm was no Laird, and even though he was acting on the behalf of Lord Douglas, none would go so far as to brand a neighbour for wishing to protect his family.
The shame of refusing to join Duncan’s Great Cause–as folk were calling it - would be a burden hard to live down. Duncan met with those who chose to stay. He went from tent to tent, letting others hear he thought their decision was just as brave.
This helped settle matters somewhat, and the two groups began to work together once more. Those who were staying gave up blankets, food and water to the group. While those who were setting forth promised to look in on their neighbours' lands, secure their homes and care for their workshops or animals -if any remained–until they could return.
Colm was happy, too. The weapons that Sir Carmichael had given the townsfolk were of good quality, and the padded jacks were enough to turn any but the most well-considered slash. Thrusts and arrows were going to be a problem, but Colm had been busy.
He had stacked a row of large shields near the training field and insisted that everyone carry them wherever they went. The only men who refused were Duncan, Brian, and Owen.
While Colm had tried to get Duncan to take one, he had refused. A shield was too cumbersome for the fighting Duncan had experienced. He needed space to move, dodge, and strike. Colm had sparred him, and most of the others watched their combat.
It had been an interesting experience, but both had fought each-other to a stalemate. Duncan had moved around Colm’s sword as though he sensed where it would be, while the older man used his shield expertly to cover his torso, limbs, and head. After a few minutes, they’d stopped by mutual agreement.
Brian and Owen were a different matter. They were archers and needed their limbs free to draw their heavy longbows. Colm too left his shield, though with his heavy mail, Duncan thought it unlikely he’d need it.
The carpenter had discovered several new skills over the last few hours and had gained an additional level in his class. Duncan was proud of the Master, but even more impressed when he revealed he’d found that he had unlocked a second class.
Duncan, surprised that they could gain multiple classes, looked through his own visions. With a start, he found that he, too, had classes available when he inspected his race.
Colm had come to him with the news, displaying the vision of his new class with a broad grin covering his grizzled face. It had surprised Duncan at how happy the man was.
Epic Class: Regfennid of the Fianna
To hunt for justice with Purity of Heart, Strength of Limb and Action to match our Speech.
Warcry of the Fianna.
Established by the legendary warrior-seer Fionn Mac Cumhaill, the Fianna was dispersed by conquest. Now re-established, all those under the command of the holder of this class will receive:
+4 Will
+4 Strength
+4 Charisma
The holder of this class will receive:
+1 Strength
+1 Agility
+1 Vitality
+1 Intelligence
+2 Will
+2 Charisma Per Level
In addition to:
Available Attributes per Level: 4
Duncan had not heard of the Fianna and looked at Colm uncertainly as he read the description. “That’s a significant boost to our ability, Colm!” Duncan said, impressed. “Though I have to ask, what is a Regfennid, or a Fianna?”
Colm’s grin widened. “The Fianna were legends amongst my people. In Connachta, they were raised to hunt and guard the lands for the High King of Ireland. Just as we now plan to hunt down the bastards who attacked Douglas and defend the people.”
“A Regfennid is the leader of the Fennid, members of the Fianna.” Colm finished, clearly proud of the position of responsibility the system had given him.
Duncan grinned, “Congratulations Colm!” he said, “If you can have a combat class, can I have a crafting class?” He asked.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Colm was about to answer when Edward approached, a package bundled under his arm.
“We’ve found food enough for a week, though if not for Lady’s hunting, we’d have been forced to take half rations. My wagon should suffice for the stores.” The merchant didn’t bother to greet them, clearly preoccupied with his duties.
“Water will be more difficult, especially now that the thaw is setting in.” He looked around at the townsfolk as they trained. He figured that for a hundred, they’d need a pound of food per day, as well as half a gallon of water. That added up, and the Cart was now heavily burdened. “Snow was a pain to move through, but so is mud, and you can’t drink mud.”
Colm grinned at the merchant. “No, but we can drink ale.”
Edmund snorted. “Aye, but we still have to carry it–if you can find it. You think Sir Carmichael is about to part with the fruits of his Barley crop this year? You’re not a carpenter, you’re a loon.”
Colm pretended at offence. “I’ll show you loon, you bugger.” He started forward, but Edmund only grinned.
“You wouldn’t want me to thrash you all around the training yard in front of your men, would ye?”
Colm laughed. “If you still practice, you might manage it.” The carpenter slapped Edward's belly. “Though you’re hardly as agile as you once were.”
The two men laughed at the joke. Duncan grinned too until Edward raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you judge, lad. I was a soldier once before I turned my effort to business.”
“It turns out we met once, after we captured Stirling, though he was serving with Sir Gilbert Hay’s men back then.” Colm informed him. He turned once more to Edward. “You should get back in shape, man. We have need of your skill!”
Edward shook his head. “My fighting days are done for now, though if we are attacked, you can count on my aid.”
Colm grinned. “So, about that spar?”
“Not today, man. I have readied as much as we can, and we should be on the road soon. While water will be a problem for the next few days, we have enough stream water barrelled to reach Douglas.” He paused, considering. “Maybe a few more days if we ration our supplies. It will take some time to clear the streams there of whatever the Siege left behind.”
“Aye. The bastards always leave something behind, be it a horse or cow. Do you remember at Stirling, where the English left a sheep in the well? The poor bugger was still alive. Died of thirst a few days later, it was so afeard of water.”
“You’re a liar, Colm. And a bad one. The sheep was dead by the time we dragged it out. Though I remember you still wanted to cook it.”
“Why waste a good leg of mutton?”
“It was rotting.”
“Parts looked alright.” He sniffed, as though it was of no matter.
Edward snort- laughed and turned away. As he walked towards the wagon, he called over his shoulder. “Are they ready?”
“Aye, they’ll do.” Colm said loudly so the others could hear. In a softer tone, he muttered. “I hope we find the buggers drunk, because if Comyn’s lads are sober, we’ll be for it.”
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Their progress back to Douglas was much faster when travelling the roads. As they had fled the siege, Colm insisted they avoid the roads as much as they could after they saw fresh tracks on the forest path.
It had taken them nearly two days to travel through the snow and forest to reach the pond, where they’d rescued Edward and Catherine’s group.
Duncan, for one, was grateful for the change in pace. It felt good to stretch his stride beyond the nearest snowdrift, though Lady felt differently.
She’d loved the snow, her thick coat and high vitality protecting her from feeling any ill effects of the chill air. Now she was bored, and that boredom was sending Duncan mad. The Cu-sith skulked along the side of the road, snuffling at the ground and reporting every animal she detected had crossed her path.
Horse. She sent.
Another half mile. Boar.
Then ten yards on. Hind with a fawn.
Duncan jogged over to her. “Are you well?”
Her ears flicked back as she looked at him guiltily. No. The snow was fun. The mud is just itchy.
She flopped in a patch of grass, squirming as she tried to scratch a spot on her back.
“Come here girl.” Duncan offered and rubbed at the spot she indicated.
She let out a low howl of relief as the scratchiness receded.
Colm approached. “We’re nearing the ridge that leads into the town, lad. We should be ready.”
“Lady, can you scout ahead? It would be good to know what we should expect.”
The Cu-Sith answered with a lick of her tongue across Duncan’s face and bounded off into the field, grateful to be away from the mud of the road.
Colm had stopped their company in a glade off the road, and Edward, Vincent, and the others set up a small camp. As men began to don their gambesons and jerkins, Lady sent a thought to Duncan.
They’re gone.
What? Duncan thought. Who is gone?
Everyone. They are all gone. The Keep is empty, and the enemy has left. I think they headed South.
Duncan was shocked. South?
The scent is old. At least a day, but maybe more. It’s still strong because so many people left. I can smell your mother and sister. They left with them.
Duncan swore, realizing that they must have taken the road south towards the Border. If they reached England, they’d be gone forever.
Colm approached, seeing Duncan’s distress.
“What is it, lad?”
"Lady says that the Comyns somehow took the keep and have our families prisoner. They left down the Southern Road."
Colm cursed. “How long ago. Did she say?”
“Yesterday at least. Though she can’t tell.”
Colm pondered the situation. “Is there truly no one left? Did none of the people nearby return?”
Duncan asked Lady and was surprised by her reply.
There is no one left in the town except for a small group of men. Soldiers, but they don’t smell the same as the enemy.
A pause, and Duncan worried that she’d been detected.
They smell like sweat and droppings. They are not from home either.
Are they armed? He asked.
Yes, but only one looks like he knows how to use it.
Duncan related this to Colm.
“Well. We came here to reclaim our home, not just to save our folk. We’d better see what they are: brigands or refugees.”
Duncan hoped they were the latter. He wanted to find his fathers remains and give him a proper burial in the churchyard.
The first sign of Douglas was the smell. Burning wood mixed with the sharp smell of burning meat. When they emerged from the woods that overlooked the small valley in which their town lay, many of the men let out a moan of despair. The town lay in ruins.
Every building was a burnt-out husk. Fire broken beams lay slumped forlornly against the walls that once held them proud. The castle still stood, but Duncan could see that it, too, had been put to the torch. The wood-beamed roof of the main hall had collapsed, and it looked as though the towers had been slighted. Large holes appeared in the walls that looked to have been smashed from within.
From the walls, he could see figures hung from the parapets. He was suddenly grateful that Lady had scented his family amongst those who had left. Though they were captured, it was a relief to know he might see them again.
Colm was studying Duncan’s face closely, seeing the conflict of relief and anger building in the younger man.
“That’s the price of defeat, lad. Remember it. We aren’t playing a game here. We win or this happens.”
“So, we win.” Duncan said firmly. “We can start with finding out about those folks in the town.”
“Easy there, lad.” Colm said, gripping Duncan’s arm as he moved forward. “We don’t know their purpose, nor what they saw. We should talk first unless they’re Comyn’s men.”
Duncan nodded. “So what should we do?”
“Take Vincent and the others, and cut off their escapes. If they attack, rush them.”
“You should take a couple of men with you, just in case.”
Colm grinned. “You’re getting the hang of this, lad. I will, but no more than two.”
With that, they set off into the town. The main road to the keep forked as they approached, and Colm took the left path, while Duncan and the others took the right.
Lady, how far are they? He sent.
They are near the tavern. It looks like they’re searching for food.
Duncan nodded. “The tavern.” He ordered. He divided the men into three groups of eight, and ordered them to cover the road to the Keep, and to the carpentry, while he crept up to Lady with the others. He was near coming close to his home, and could see scorched remains of the mill from where he crouched.
The Comyns had destroyed everything they could.
Ahead, the noises of looting came from the men. “The bastards took everything.” One man said.
“Aye. Well, we have enough for a few more days, and we can ask for aid on the way.”
“How the hell have they raided so far North?” Another man asked.
How many are there? Duncan sent.
Ten in this group. They said there are another dozen nearby.
Duncan cursed as he realized that he should have checked before committing Colm to this plan. But then Colm hadn’t thought to ask either.
“Hello!” Colm announced himself, and there were shouts of surprise from within the tavern.
From where Duncan hid, he could see a man step out of the tavern. He wore a full chainmail Hauberk and a coat of plates. Clearly a noble or a knight, though whether a friend or foe, he was readying for a fight.
“Who are ye?” The man asked, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“I’m the carpenter of this town, sir knight. And who might you be?”
Colm had also placed his hand on his sword in warning.
“You don’t look like a carpenter.”
Another man emerged. Duncan realized he was a boy of about his own age but had levelled somewhat and now stood as tall as the knight.
“What do we do, Sir Armstrong?”
The knight turned, an angry expression on his face. “It’s Sir Arthur. And dinnae speak unless spoken to. As for your idiot question? Buggered if I know, lad. You stay back now and let me work this out.”
Colm relaxed somewhat, as did Duncan. Armstrong was a well-known name in Scotland. They were a family of Border Reivers from the lands to the west of Dumfries.
“Sir Arthur Armstrong? Of the Dumfries Armstrong’s?” Colm asked.
The knight, seeing Colm’s hand leave his sword, relaxed his posture somewhat.
“Aye. Balliol’s men attacked our lands a week since and we’ve been hiding or fighting our way North to find shelter or aid. I lost about twenty men four days ago to a party of knights. They were scouting a burned out monastery to the west of here, hoping to find a refuge.”
“I am sorry for your loss, Sir, as I am that we cannot give you the welcome you seek. We have recently come to reclaim our home and find it as you see it.”
The knight looked about suspiciously. “We?”
“Aye, our camp is beyond the hills to the east,” Colm paused, thinking quickly. “You have women and children with ye?”
The knight nodded. “Then we offer you the shelter of our camp, and it’s hospitality, little though there is.”
The Knight stepped forward, his hand outstretched, and Colm took it warily. After they sealed the agreement, however, the two warriors relaxed. The rules of hospitality were not to be broken, even in times like these.
Colm called out to Duncan and the others, and the men came into view.
Stay here for the time being, Lady. You might be a bit much for him to handle right now.
She gave a soft whine and placed her muzzle on her paws, but obeyed.
Seeing that the men were well armed, but that none showed a malicious intent, Sir Arthur waved his men outside. “Come on. We don’t have all day.”
The young man Duncan had seen earlier glared about at the men around him, his hand on his sword as the men of Douglas looked on. He received a clap about the ears from the knight for his trouble.
“I apologise, master carpenter. We thank you for your hospitality. There are women and children with us, in the woods to the West. May we fetch them too?”
Colm smiled in response. “Loyal Scots are always welcome at our hearth, as meek as it may be.”
Turning and detecting his accent, Sir Arthur questioned it.
“From Connacht, originally, but then I fell in with the Lord when he was but a squire. I’ve been with him since.”
The answer satisfied the knight, and they waited as a group of women.
Duncan, who had forced Lady to wait long enough, coughed, gaining the Knights attention.
“Excuse me, Sir. There is someone else you should meet.”
Colm let out a laugh, having forgotten that Lady still waited in hiding.
“Oh, and who is that?” The knight asked.
“Don’t fear her.” Duncan warned. “She’s a friend, and would harm no one unless they seek to harm us.”
The knights hand returned to his sword again. “What is she?” He asked cautiously.
Duncan walked around the side of the house where Lady lay in hiding.
Do you mind if I ride you? He asked, It might set their minds at ease.
Lazy. Lady sent, but Duncan could tell that she was amused rather than annoyed.
Get on my back then.
She gave a huff as he straddled her back, and she rose from her prone position, turning the corner of the house, tongue lolling and doing her best ‘I’m just an innocent doggie’ impression.
Unfortunately for her, the open mouth simply gave the onlookers a better view of her teeth, and her wagging tail looked intimidating, instead of cute.
“Jesus on his cross!” Sir Arthur said, staring at Lady in disbelief. He’d half drawn his sword, but remembered himself. “What in God’s name is that?”
“She’s a Cu-Sith.” Duncan replied. “She’s a heavenly creature that evolved from my dog when she helped defend the keep. We only escaped thanks to her.”
Sir Arthur looked carefully at Lady and nodded. “What he says is true enough–at least about the hound. Though how she got to level fifteen!”
Duncan inspected the knight.
Sir Arthur Armstrong
Knight
Level 11
Health: 230/230
“You’re doing well yourself, Sir.” Duncan offered. “Few among our number have reached such a level!”
The knight shrugged. “Luck mostly, though I do not know how these bastards are growing faster than we are. They might raid the villages and some small towns, but that wouldn’t explain levels of fifteen and higher. Not in the numbers we saw.”
“You saw the men who lay siege?” Colm asked.
“Aye. They left but a day ago. We’ve been hiding in the forest, hoping they’d move on. When they took the Keep, we thought they’d slaughter the defenders. They chained them and took them South instead. We still don’t know why.”
The lad spoke up. “I heard them say they were taking them to a castle at Arbory Hill.”
“Where is that?” Colm asked.
Sir Arthur answered, frowning at the lad. “It’s an old hill fort from the times of the Fir’Bolg and Tuatha Dé Danann. Some say the place is cursed, but others believe it is a door to the world of the Fey folk. There’s no castle there, though, only rings and ruins.”
Colm nodded. “Aye, if it were once a fort, it’s a good place to build a keep. As for the tales… they seem to be coming true in these times. Flying monsters attacked the Keep a week before these bastards came and sacked the place.”
“Truly?” he mused, clearly not believing the old carpenter. “What are your plans? Will you join us in heading North?” He asked.
“Why North?” Duncan asked. “Our people are to the South, as are yours. Won’t you fight for them?”
Colm smiled sadly. “Lad. You’re a brave one, but we lack the numbers to take on their camp. They’ll surely…”
“They’ll surely only grow stronger.” Duncan finished. “If we cannot find out how these men have been increasing their levels, we’ll only end up facing them when they’re far beyond us.”
Sir Arthur mulled that over for a while. “The lad speaks true. While most of the men who besieged the keep were level 10, a group came yesterday that were all around level 20. One or maybe two I would have been surprised by, but thirty? That makes no sense at all.”
The men of Douglas muttered in amongst themselves at hearing the enemy’s level. Even to Duncan, it seemed impossible that they’d reached such heights of power already.
“I thought I may have misread the visions that told of their levels, but when I saw them rip the portcullis off the stone with only hand tools, heard them smash through the door in seconds? There is no way I could do that, and I've already gained my class.”
The knight looked up at Duncan. “I don’t blame you for trying to find your people, lad. But against those monsters, it would be suicide, even with your beast beside you.”
One of the other men in Armstrong’s group looked uncomfortable. “Sir!” He called, gaining the knight’s attention. “I agree with the Lad, Sir Arthur. We all want to go, even if it costs us our lives. Our village was raided, and they took people captive, much like they did here. We've been thinking that they’re in the same place.”
Another man nodded, and a third stepped forward, indicating that he too wished to go. “Aye sir. We don’t need to fight, just find out what they’re up to. If we can work out how they level so quickly, maybe we can do the same!”
Sir Arthur looked at his men. “Very well. But we’re going to need a plan.” He turned to Colm. “You are in charge of your band?”
Colm looked at Duncan, who frowned, wondering why the older man sought his counsel. He nodded to the Carpenter, and Colm looked back to the Knight. “Aye. Duncan here is my second, though he’s just a lad, and there’s another, Edward, who is in charge of the camp. The men trust him, and he’s got a knack for finding supplies.”
The knight grinned. “Well, I’m here now, and if we’re heading south, you’ll follow my commands, though I am not your lord.”
Colm frowned. “We don’t know you Sir, but if you’ll swear to us you’re Loyal to Scotland, and to King Robert, we’ll follow you until our Lord returns.”
The knight nodded and swore the oath. A golden glow surrounded him, showing that the system had accepted his words.
“Well, let’s see your camp then. We have hungry mouths to feed, and little time if we hope to catch up with that band.”
“We must bury our dead first.” Colm said, and the Knight nodded.
“I’ll stay and help.” He said. “You men take the women to their camp and get yourselves fed.” The younger lad offered to help too, but was sent on his way with a clip around the ear and a chuckle from the knight.
“Keep up with that, lad, and I’ll make you, my Squire.”
The boy grinned and did as he was told, leaving with the others towards the camp, to the East of Douglas.
Colm detailed several men to escort the tired and hungry borderers back to the camp, while Duncan and the other men approached the Keep. As they grew closer, some men wept, seeing familiar figures hanging from the battlements or piled in the ditches beside the road.
Duncan saw that the two guards he’d escaped with were also weeping, seeing the corpse of Sir Keith.
He rode Lady towards them. “I didn’t know he meant so much to you.” Duncan offered, and Owen looked up.
“We’re both orphans. Sons of men he served with in the war. He was like a father to us, though we took him for granted.”
Brian nodded. “We’re going to avenge him, aren’t we?” He asked, hope rising on his tear-streaked face. “We’re going to make the bastards pay?”
Duncan nodded, looking up to see his father was also there.
Along the roadside, and upon the battlements, were the dead of Douglas. Duncan could see many of the guards there, as well as Vincent’s father and brothers. He stared for a moment, seeing that no women were present.
Lady, did Vincent’s mother survive?
She trotted over to the lad and gave him a snuffle, then scented the ground. Her movements became awkward beneath him as she focussed, and he slid off her back to avoid falling.
She returned a moment later. She is amongst the prisoners.
Duncan smiled at the news, relaying it to a grateful Vincent. He was already weeping, having spotted his younger brother’s corpse.
The men dug graves in the church yard, using helmets as shovels. Duncan and Vincent carefully untied the bodies that hung from the walls and lowered them to the ground outside the keep. He saw Brian and Owen carrying the body of Sir Keith, while Colm organised others to help.
Duncan cradled his father’s body when he found him, allowing the tears to flow freely. He couldn’t recognize his face, as someone had hacked at it at after his death. Despite the grisly wounds, Duncan knew his father’s clothes well enough.
The Besiegers had used some corpses for target practice, and arrows marred the bodies. The butchery inflicted on the dead made rage boil in Duncan’s heart. He’d make Comyn pay, along with all his men.
Lady sensed his anger and whined, licking at the hand of his father, then at Duncan’s.
He's with God now. She sent.
He nodded, grateful that she was there with him.
Vincent helped him carry his father to a grave and together they placed the corpse gently into the soil. With a final kiss on his father's brow, Duncan stood.
Moving to the foot of the grave, he said a prayer for his father’s soul, thanking him for all he’d done in raising and protecting him, his mother and sister. Duncan swore that he’d do the same. As the system accepted his oath, he turned to help Vincent with his family.
Duncan wanted to stay with his father a while longer, but knew that would be unfair to Vincent, whose brothers and father still lay at the foot of the wall. With a sob, he got to his feet and made his way back to the wall.
There would be time to mourn their loss later.
As the burial party lay the last bodies in their graves, the others arrived and gathered in the churchyard. Edward, driving the loaded wagon down the once busy main street of Douglas, was the last to arrive.
All wanted to say their last goodbye. Men and women crossed themselves and said quiet prayers for the souls of the fallen. Many approached Duncan, Vincent, and the other survivors who had escaped the siege with words of condolence and offers of future aid.
Catherine held Vincent as he wept.
Standing before them all, Colm looked unsure of what to say.
“I’ve never been good at funerals… or goodbyes.” He began, his eyes distant as he swallowed hard, fighting back tears. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse.
“But these men deserve our thanks. They took a stand against the enemies of our home and gave their lives to defend it. Though they are now in Heaven, they shall continue to guide our hearts. May they rest in peace.”
Reaching down, Colm grabbed a handful of dirt, walking down the line of graves. As he went, he sprinkled some earth on each of them.
Sir Arthur stepped forward then, with a prayer they all knew.
“We therefore commit these bodies to the ground. Earth to earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. In the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life in heaven. Amen.”
The others intoned the response. And Duncan felt the tears coming, though he fought them back.
He jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your father, lad. He was a good man, and I’m sorry about our behaviour too. We’re soldiers in service to Lord Douglas, only we forgot what that means. Men like your da won’t be forgotten.” It was Brian.
He and Owen stood behind him, both holding their helmets, having removed them for the service.
Duncan nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Brian. We’ll need you, and Owen too, before this war is out. You’re good men. You just need to be reminded of it from time to time.”
Owen grinned. “Well, you can count on us, lad. We may be in service to Lord Douglas, but until he returns, we’ll follow where you and Colm lead.”
“Aye, Duncan,” Owen said. “We’ve got your back if you need it.”
The guardsmen bowed as Sir Arthur approached.
Sir Arthur looked at Duncan. “You may still be a boy, but you’re a leader if ever I saw one. I don’t know who you’ll become, or what you’ll do, but if ever you choose it, men will follow you.”
“I didn’t know him, but I’m sorry about your da. He died defending his home. There are few better deaths, and many worse. Be proud of who he was, and remember his sacrifice, not his corpse. Who he was in life is not the body lying in that grave. His soul is in a better place now.”
He gave Duncan a pat on the shoulder and left, heading towards Colm and Edward to plan their march south.
Duncan waited by his father’s grave until they were done. It was hard to feel anything at all right now. He remembered the feeling of the cold, clammy skin of his father’s corpse. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t…
He sat there, empty, as Lady rested her head in his lap. He was reassured by the weight of her as he sat there staring at the graves. Vincent was a few yards away, similarly numb, being comforted by Catherine. Perhaps this is normal. He thought. To feel a flash of sorrow and then bury it. Perhaps it is a way of forgetting them while showing that we still care.
He wondered if there was something wrong with him. Looking at the other villagers, he saw them talking and trying to behave sombrely, but most hadn’t lost family. The few who had lost loved ones sat as he did, quiet and mournful. Most were like Catherine, people who lived on the farms or workshops further from the town.
Edward was not a wealthy man, and mostly dealt with the farmers, so he’d chosen a site for his home over a mile distant from the town.
Duncan was almost certain it still stood, as it seemed unlikely Comyns men had gone that far.
Duncan didn’t begrudge them their luck. Rather, he just wondered how some people moved through life without struggle, while others, like himself and Liam, found nothing but adversity.
Looking down at the Cu-Sith, that lay curled about him, Duncan realized that she too, had lost a father. He reached down and hugged her, stroking her muzzle gently as he began to weep.
After a while, Colm approached, and with a gentle hand, patted Duncan on the head. “Easy there, lad. It’s time we were moving.”
Duncan nodded, looking up and saw that people were already gathering on the road, preparing for the march to the South. Standing and wiping his eye, Duncan looked up at Colm. “Thank you for the words you said, Colm. It meant a lot.”
Colm sniffed, tears coming to his eye, but he blinked them away. “You don’t need to thank me, Duncan. I only spoke the truth.”
Smiling at the archer, Duncan moved over to Catherine and Vincent, helping them stand. Vincent was still struggling not to weep. Stepping forward, Duncan embraced the older boy. “I know I cannot replace your brothers, Vincent, but you’ve been one to me since the siege. Thank you.”
Vincent’s tears started again, but he forced them down, smiling at Duncan, as Catherine enveloped them both in a fierce hug. “You’re both idiots, but you’re my idiots.” She said fiercely. “Whatever happens, you protect each-other.”
They nodded, promising to do so. Together with Lady, the five of them walked back to the wagon, where Edward helped Catherine onto the seat beside him and his wife.
Setting to work, Duncan and Vincent helped Colm as he gathered what tools he could carry from his workshop. He also brought a dozen bow-staves he salvaged.
Colm had set them aside in a drying shed before the raid. Duncan also found a spool of bowstring unharmed by the fires within the trunk the Carpenter had kept hidden in the workshop’s attic.
Edward, surprised Colm had gathered so much, looked questioningly at the Carpenter.
“I got lucky.” He explained. “They burnt the Sawmill, and the Workshop, but not the drying racks. If I can make more bows, perhaps we might stand a chance. Most of my tools are metal, and I can always craft new handles.”
As they set off, many of the townsfolk cast long and lingering looks back at the ruins of their home, and to the graves of those who died defending it.
Duncan kept his eyes focused on the road ahead. He knew what lay behind him, but ahead was opportunity, family, and vengeance.
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