Weeks after the war between Tortall and Scanra ended, it started up again.
Tortall wasn't ready for the renewed fight. They had just begun to grieve
the dead. Scanra's ragamuffin clans had rallied together, under a leader
who all but promised to be less of a challenge than Maggur the "King
Maggot" had been. Keladry of Mindelan, a fairly young lady knight who had
begun to make a legend of herself, was assigned yet again to the refugee
camp that stood on the border between Tortall and Scanra. This time,
however, the amount of warriors she had to protect her refugees were
significantly less, and as Keladry stood by her office window, staring out
of it blindly, she wondered how they would fair.
It was true that over the months the refugees had learned how to protect themselves, but they were not trained warriors and they needed the support knights and soldiers had to offer. How could they possibly protect themselves against the still vast numbers of Scanran warriors?
The answer to Keladry's question came 7 months later. They had been attacked by no less than two hundred Scanran's. In the future history lessons this attack would be considered the last desperate attempt for victory the Scanran's would make before they surrendered.
They had attacked early morning and the fighting had gone on until noon. The dead counts were high on both sides, and Keladry felt a deep, scarring pain in her heart as she gazed at the faces of her charges. She had been supposed to protect them, and although she knew she couldn't blame herself for the dead, she did. Somewhere, unconsciously, she did. And it ate away at her heart.
As a silence fell across the land at the break of noon, Keladry could see that the Scanrans were regrouping. They were gonna attack in a full frontal assault and Keladry knew the refugee camp wouldn't hold. Turning to Merric, she gripped his arm and he looked up, away from the field and into her eyes. He could see what she planned. He nodded and shouted orders. Women and children were to escape from the hidden route Numair Salamin had created earlier that year. The men were to fall back and hold their positions until their loved ones had evacuated, and then follow. When the Scanran's attacked, they'd find an empty fortress.
The plan should've gone off without a hitch, even with a small margin for error, it should have gone perfectly. The Scanran's didn't know about the escape route. Keladry had made sure of that. But as the women and children screamed, and the men on the fortress walls were slaughtered, and Keladry was captured and detained, the women and children locked in shackles, to be dragged as prisoners to the Scanran encampment, Keladry looked into the eyes of a traitor.
Those eyes would haunt Keladry as they grinned evilly. His grimy hands would be burnt forever into her soul, as they grasped the three golden nobles a Scanran commander placed into his hand. And Keladry would always shudder at the utter hate and gleeful joy Keladry felt as she saw the Scanran draw his sword and cut Feldon down, even as the man grasped his pay.
And as the cries and screams of the dead, dying, and desperate rang in her ears, Keladry would always live through the pain of being helpless. Her arms, legs, and weapons were all held tightly, and whenever she struggled or screamed for someone to run and leave her, her captors would beat at her with bludgeons. The selfless loyalty she saw in her men's eyes, as they ran to her rescue and were cut down for it, forced tears to spring from her eyes. And as she was dragged away from her fortress, the safe-point she had created for war victims, Keladry's unbreakable strength and heart cracked.
It was true that over the months the refugees had learned how to protect themselves, but they were not trained warriors and they needed the support knights and soldiers had to offer. How could they possibly protect themselves against the still vast numbers of Scanran warriors?
The answer to Keladry's question came 7 months later. They had been attacked by no less than two hundred Scanran's. In the future history lessons this attack would be considered the last desperate attempt for victory the Scanran's would make before they surrendered.
They had attacked early morning and the fighting had gone on until noon. The dead counts were high on both sides, and Keladry felt a deep, scarring pain in her heart as she gazed at the faces of her charges. She had been supposed to protect them, and although she knew she couldn't blame herself for the dead, she did. Somewhere, unconsciously, she did. And it ate away at her heart.
As a silence fell across the land at the break of noon, Keladry could see that the Scanrans were regrouping. They were gonna attack in a full frontal assault and Keladry knew the refugee camp wouldn't hold. Turning to Merric, she gripped his arm and he looked up, away from the field and into her eyes. He could see what she planned. He nodded and shouted orders. Women and children were to escape from the hidden route Numair Salamin had created earlier that year. The men were to fall back and hold their positions until their loved ones had evacuated, and then follow. When the Scanran's attacked, they'd find an empty fortress.
The plan should've gone off without a hitch, even with a small margin for error, it should have gone perfectly. The Scanran's didn't know about the escape route. Keladry had made sure of that. But as the women and children screamed, and the men on the fortress walls were slaughtered, and Keladry was captured and detained, the women and children locked in shackles, to be dragged as prisoners to the Scanran encampment, Keladry looked into the eyes of a traitor.
Those eyes would haunt Keladry as they grinned evilly. His grimy hands would be burnt forever into her soul, as they grasped the three golden nobles a Scanran commander placed into his hand. And Keladry would always shudder at the utter hate and gleeful joy Keladry felt as she saw the Scanran draw his sword and cut Feldon down, even as the man grasped his pay.
And as the cries and screams of the dead, dying, and desperate rang in her ears, Keladry would always live through the pain of being helpless. Her arms, legs, and weapons were all held tightly, and whenever she struggled or screamed for someone to run and leave her, her captors would beat at her with bludgeons. The selfless loyalty she saw in her men's eyes, as they ran to her rescue and were cut down for it, forced tears to spring from her eyes. And as she was dragged away from her fortress, the safe-point she had created for war victims, Keladry's unbreakable strength and heart cracked.