Definitions:
Courbette: an action made by a horse in which it rears up and jumps forward on its hind legs to plough through ranks of foot soldiers
Capriole: an action made by a horse in which it leaps up from a rearing position, kicks out behind and lands on all fours to clear a space in the tight quarters of a battlefield.
Flail: a weapon consisting of wooden handle, a moderate length of chain, and a spiked metal ball at the end.
Chapter Three
The early morning sun hid behind an overcast sky, bleak and dreary. General William D'Avrille brought his mount Helios to the crest of the hill, the full contingent of the army of Mordichan fanned out behind him. His attempt to bolster the morale of the soldiers had met with some succes. Yet in the last few minutes of quiet before he began the charge, D'Avrille felt an unfamiliar wave of trepidation wash over him. With a deep breath, he shook it off and reviewed his strategy. It had only taken a short deliberation for D'Avrille to settle on a three pronged attack against the men of Faraduen. Due to the limited amount of resources at his disposal, there were few other options to choose from. He felt his only hope was to maximize on the unique talents of his knights to stun and demoralize the enemy, knowing that his men were severely outnumbered.
For the first wave D'Avrille sent Griffin and a few other knights with an attachment of roughly one hundred men against Faraduen's right flank. Though the initial assault bolstered his hopes and seemed to push back the enemy, he saw Griffin get into trouble as several of the enemy foot soldiers tried to surround him and pull him from his mount.
With a small kick to the flank, Griffin had spurred his well trained black gelding into a dangerous courbette. With a swiftness the black horse reared up and hopped forward, wading through the men like a scythe through a field of wheat. Anyone foolish enough not to get out of the way received a severe blow to the head by the dark animal's dangerous front hooves. And when this did not deter the onslaught Griffin brought his mount into a capriole. At the height of his lunge the animal jumped from the ground and struck out behind, knocking many men senseless and allowing Griffin to regain the advantage while unleashing a firestorm of arrows on the ground troops. The boy was a genius on horseback, and watching from the hill, D'Avrille had never been more appreciative of his skills.
Seeing that Griffin was gaining tentative ground, D'Avrille motioned to his second in command, Charles Bausch, to begin his attack. Bausch then lead the charge against the left flank. Behind him rode the bulk of the Knights bearing the heaviest weapons.
For all his charm and good humor outside of a conflict, Bausch the Hammer was a legend upon the battlefield. With a blood-curdling yell, he swung his great war hammer over his head and lead his attachment into the fray. The sheer speed and force of the Knights' attack was usually enough to cause an enemy to balk. And that was true enough on this day. But for every man that balked, three more rose to take up the fight. Soon Bausch and his men were outnumbered and dismounted, fighting for their lives in a sea of swords and blood.
D'Avrille knew he had to act quickly, before the sight of Bausch losing ground affected the remaining men. With a horn blast he led his attachment into battle, only a few paces in front of Captain Lemeaux's de facto replacement, Thomas Runyon. D'Avrille's goal was to wade through the center of the Faraduen army, gaining as much ground as possible with speed and force.
With a ferocity D'Avrille plowed through the enemy, cutting a swath of admirable proportions. Runyon and the soldiers behind him also seemed to gain substantial ground for some time. But after the first hour it seemed that D'Avrille's troops were no longer gaining ground but merely struggling to hold it. And finally it became painfully clear that they were being pushed back. It was at this point that Runyon fell.
D'Avrille had pulled Helios around to face a rear attack when it happened. He had lost track of the commander of the Faraduen army early on, but now he saw that the large man slashing his way through D'Avrille's troops like so much chaff, his obvious target being Runyon. The fight was short as Runyon was seriously outmatched by the larger man. D'Avrille had tried to come to his aide, but was too late. Runyon was run through by the other's blade.
Any hope that D'Avrille had been able to rally into the hearts of the Mordichan army before the battle died with Runyon and the loss of ground. He scanned the field for Griffin. The boy was holding his own, oblivious of the crushing blow to their army's moral. He looked again toward Bausch, but could not find him in the chaos.
And then came the sound of a horn. It was a blaring, piercing sound and with it all fighting had ceased. A young voice cut through the eerie silence on the field. D'Avrille soon caught sight of the owner of that voice, astride a dappled gray horse and headed straight toward him. D'Avrille recognized the youth as the smaller of the two people heading the Faraduen army before the battle. D'Avrille wondered at the rapt attention that the enemy soldiers paid to this mere child and watched as the youth removed his helm and ran a slim hand through obviously freshly and closely cropped, honey colored locks. In the light of day, D'Avrille failed to recognize this interloper as the young boy from the tavern.
"Men of Mordichan, you have been defeated. There are too few of you left to win this battle. Turn back now and live."
D'Avrille straightened in his saddle and removed his helm, eyeing the youth who was now stopped a few feet before him.
"I believe the men of Mordichan to be made of thicker stuff than to be scared off by the words of one as young and small as you," D'Avrille spat out disdainfully.
"Do you wish to sacrifice your few remaining men to appease your great pride?"
"What do I truly have to fear, when the army of Faraduen employs its General's squire as its mouthpiece?"
The youth laughed heartily and turned to the large man who had so recently been the end of Thomas Runyon. D'Avrille knew him to be the other figure sitting before the Faraduen army before the battle by his size and the elaborate coat of arms on his armor.
"Dougan, this great man believes you to be the leader of the armies of Faraduen. What have you to say to that?"
"I say it's a task better left to you, Syd."
D'Avrille's anger was palpable as a ripple of laughter coursed through the surrounding army. He leaned forward in his saddle and fixed his stern gaze on the youth.
"Do you mean to make fun of me, small child? For I assure you I am not your wet nurse who will let you do as you please and strut around with your chest puffed out before you. I will carve you cleaner than a roasted pig and serve you to my horse for a snack."
With an impish grin Syd also leaned forward and cocked an eyebrow.
"I would like to see you try."
D'Avrille jumped down from Helios and fixed his helm to his saddle horn. With a flourish he spun his heavy broadsword in his hand and pointed it at Syd.
"Come and meet your death, little one."
Syd also dismounted.
"Take care," Dougan whispered, halting Syd with a hand on the shoulder. "I've been watching him as best I could during battle. He is very fast with that sword. If you are not careful he will cut through your leather cuirass with ease. Keep light on your feet and just out of range of his swing. Use his momentum against him."
Syd nodded, pulling a flail from the saddle.
Slowly D'Avrille swung his blade around, waiting for his enemy to make a move. Syd feinted to the left, drawing D'Avrille's full swing. Darting back and lunging right, Syd swung the flail full force against D'Avrille's knee. The blow knocked D'Avrille off balance, but he recovered quickly though he favored his injured leg. His ire rose greatly, and he struggled to control it as he watched the mouthy youth bob and weave before him like a hooded snake poising to strike.
D'Avrille waited a heartbeat then thrust his blade with a startling quickness, catching Syd across the ribs and slicing through the light leather cuirass. Syd dropped and rolled, swinging the flail against D'Avrille's left ankle. Springing up, Syd pulled hard with both hands. This action caused D'Avrille to flip onto his back. With his air knocked from him and his unwieldy armor working against him, he was an easy target. Syd flipped the flail over and hit D'Avrille across the temple with the wooden handle, effectively knocking the man unconscious.
The army of Faraduen roared with victory as Dougan rushed forward to take D'Avrille's sword. He then turned to Syd to inspect the injury the black knight had caused.
"Its not deep, thankfully, but you need to get it attended to. You are lucky, Syd. One day this dangerous game will catch up with you, and for a moment there I was sure it was going to be today."
"Not today, Dougan. Today the goddess smiles upon me. Upon us all!"
With a smile, Syd remounted and swung the flail high in the air.
Again the Faraduen men roared, chanting the name of Syd like a mantra of hope. Syd lifted a hand to quiet the troops speaking again.
"Mordichan, I have just bested your greatest hope of victory. Surrender your weapons now and there will be no more bloodshed."
Realizing fully their defeat, the men of Mordichan did just that.
D'Avrille awoke with a foggy mind, and found he could not rub the soreness at his temple. He was bound. As the fog started to lift, he could see he was in a tent and from the ache in his back he could tell he was tied to a pole. He heard a groan behind him and turned as far as he could to see where it came from.
"Bausch, is that you?" D'Avrille could just make out the top of a yellow haired head.
"Aye, William," came the gravelly answer.
"Are you hurt?"
"No, just a little rattled. How about you?"
D'Avrille's answer was cut short as the tent flaps opened and Dougan entered the tent with two loaves of bread, two flasks and four large men.
"Hello, gentlemen. Good to see you with us again. I've brought you some food and drink. I suggest you take advantage of it; we march for the castle in two hours."
The prisoners were untied and allowed to eat, while Dougan took a look at D'Avrille's head.
"You have a pretty good wound there, General. I'll send someone in to clean that up."
"I'll be fine," D'Avrille growled.
"It will do you no good to be so prideful, General. Syd has made it clear we are to treat you with nothing but respect."
"Respect! What does that tongue-wagging brat know of respect? And what kind of army puts its trust in the leadership of a child?"
"You are offended because you believe you were beaten by a boy?" Dougan asked.
D'Avrille answered only with a hard stare. This day had been fraught with humiliation after humiliation, and he had had his fill of it.
Dougan looked at the proud man, then threw his head back and laughed deeply.
"Then I can hardly wait to see how you feel about things when we reach the castle tomorrow!"