I claim no ownership rights to any of the works of Rumiko Takahashi, or anything I've borrowed and modified from the Banestorm setting published by Steve Jackson Games.
The mega-map of Yrth can be found at www. sjgames [.com] /gurps/books/banestorm/img/banestorm_world. jpg (remove spaces and brackets).
"You were fighting what!?"
The sergeant reporting to Lord Towne of Sterling blanched at the anger filling his lord's voice, made worse by the fury twisting his features. "M-M-M-Maidens, mostly, m'lord," he repeated. "Didn't have a choice, they came out of the woods and fired on us then attacked! We had ta fight back!"
Towne forced the snarl off his face and nodded. "I understand. You were attacked, and had to defend yourself. Continue."
"Well …" Ealdstan hesitated, then said, "They really put up a scrap, m'lord — smaller than us, weaker, but they threw themselves at us without stopping. It was …" He shuddered, wiped at damp eyes. "They was losing, though. They couldn't get through ta the ford and cut us off, we were bringing in more men.
"Then one'a the maidens screamed something fierce — loud enough ta be heard all the way from the head of the column, and you know how loud a battle is. I dunno what set her off, I wasn't much past the ford. Good thing, too, or I'd be dead. When I finally saw her she was swinging a huge glowing-red hammer, plowing through the boys like they was babes. I managed ta get back across the ford and was yelling fer what archers were up, but she stopped when she hit the ford and went back."
"A 'red glowing hammer'?" Lord Towne repeated, frowning. "Some of the men that broke and ran were screaming about demons."
But Ealdstan was shaking his head. "Not less'n demons cry, that girl was hurting. I think we killed someone that mattered, ta her at least."
Lord Towne's face tightened at Ealdstan's words — from the sergeant's report that dead loved one was almost certainly one of the maidens already lost, and the berserker mourning her loss would be far from the only one. Thinking of losing one of his own little twin girls all grown up and fallen on a bloody battlefield, he could imagine the grief that family after family would suffer from the losses already inflicted.
And he was going to have to inflict even more. How could even Conall think of recruiting maidens to his banners? May their mothers and fathers stand witness against him at the Final Call and God bury him in the deepest pits to burn for eternity!
Forcing the hazy image of his grown-up daughters' bloody corpses aside, he nodded his thanks to Ealdstan. "My thanks for the timely word, Sergeant. I won't forget it." He turned to look over the knights gathered around him. "Sir Peredur, Sir Salvius, with Captain Richard and his lieutenants dead someone needs to take charge up there while I bring up the rest of the army. And we have to take that ford. If Conall's skirmishers are attacking infantry head on to push us back across the ford, the rest of his army must be far enough back in the forest that whoever's in charge isn't expecting immediate reinforcements — he's trying to keep us on this side to give Conall's army room to deploy when he finally gets here. If we push across and deploy instead, we can keep him penned in among the trees. Make it happen. But when the maidens break don't pursue, let them go. And do what you can for their wounded, even before your own except for life-threatening injuries."
"It will be done, my lord," Sir Salvius replied, Sir Peredur nodding his agreement.
Reassured by their own anger simmering in their eyes, Lord Towne forced a smile and reached out his right hand to clasp arms. The two knights mounted their warhorses and accepted their lances from their squires, and headed at a fast trot up along the edge of the road filled with infantry, the pennants on their raised lances flapping in the breeze, their squires behind them.
As Lord Towne watched them ride away, another man dressed in a robe split front and back for riding with only a dagger on his belt stepped forward. "If magic is involved, perhaps I should go with them?"
Lord Towne frowned thoughtfully, then shook his head. "No, Master Laevius," he said, eyes bleak, "from the sound of it the only magic is the berserker and Sir Peredur and Sir Salvius should be able to handle her. Spears, maybe, I think some of the men-at-arms carry them; or lure her out front, then let the archers pincushion her." And give one more family a daughter to grieve over.
Pushing aside the thought, he continued, "Besides, you are the only one that can use that crystal ball of yours. I don't doubt your capability to handle a single berserker, but all it would take is one unlucky arrow and we would lose our link with our allies." And most likely the Court Mage is with the king, I doubt you could handle him, for long. But he didn't let any hint of the thought show. It wasn't really fair, anyway, the only wizards in Caithness able to match Myrrdin's power were ensconced in their towers on the scattered plots where magic flowed more freely — the wizards of the towns and nobles' courts were those lacking the strength to seize and hold their own tower. Not that Myrrdin was likely to get involved, any more than he had in the few previous battles. He probably wanted to keep those wizards ensconced in their towers.
When Master Laevius nodded his acceptance of his lord's reasoning, Lord Towne turned to consider the rest of his army. Or more like, his mob — his peasant levy led by his men-at-arms mixed with companies of hired mercenaries, with no one individual in command except him. Not the best force for what was coming, but between his own people and those paid for by donations from the other rebel lords not directly facing off against the King and his supporters, it was what he had.
So let's make the best use of it. "Sir Senovir, I'm sending you to Captain Epetinus, Sir Horatius, Captain Toutio, Sir Furius, Captain Stephen, the rest of you are with me to Captain Verres. The orders for all of them are the same, they are to get their men headed for the ford as fast as they can while not being too exhausted to fight when they get there. Sir Renown ..." He clasped the shoulder of a pale, sweating knight. "With the way you were throwing up this morning, I'm afraid God has picked you to stay with the levy. Don't try to push them, just get them back on the road after the companies pass and keep them moving. Can you do that?"
"I will see it done, my lord."
"Good man." Lord Towne gently shook his shoulder, then turned to stride for his own warhorse, his squires and standard bearer hastening to join him.
/oOo\
Miyo dropped down to sit next to Akane on the grass to one side of the dirt road a few yards from the drop-off to the river. Akane had been occasionally glancing at the enemy on the other side of the river, but most of her attention was on the girl lying at her side with arms around her waist and face pressed into her stomach.
Akane glanced over, still running her fingers through Sayuri's hair, then again for a longer look. "Are you all right?" she asked in their native Japanese, then winced. From the bruised look around the prophetess's eyes so dark they almost looked painted on and the way her arms had shaken under her weight for the brief instant they'd supported her as she was sitting down, that had been a very stupid question.
But Miyo simply gave her a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring but just looked heartbreakingly exhausted. "Even if the power is not my own, the kind of connection I need for healing is tiring. But none of those that reached me with life-threatening injuries died and I didn't go into a coma for almost a day, so I'm getting ... stronger? More in tune, I guess."
She winced as she remembered her last sight of Akane and how what she had just said must sound to her friend, then slid an arm around Akane's waist in a one-armed hug. "Akane? Sayuri? I'm sorry about Yuka. She'll be fine, but I know you're both going to miss her — we all will."
"Thank you. You're right, I'll ... we'll miss her, but she'll be fine."
It was Akane's turn to attempt a smile that utterly failed to reassure its target, but Miyo chose not to say anything. Instead, she asked, "So what's been happening while I was gone?"
"Not much," Akane replied. She swept her gaze along the other side of the river, looking for any of the enemy trying to sneak closer again. "Their archers tried to drive us away from the edge of the embankment, but we have a lot more crossbows than they have bows and they gave up. Beyond that we've just been waiting."
"Akane!"
At the sound of her husband's voice Akane twisted around to look toward the forest, then waved as Sayuri reluctantly let go of her and sat up.
Miyo twisted around as well, looking eagerly toward where the road entered the forest, but was disappointed to realize that only Ranma was there. What, did you think the army had learned how to fly? And there's nothing 'only' about Ranma! she thought, trying to reassure herself. And in truth his presence was reassuring. If those people put in another attack ...
Ranma ran up to the two girls, absentmindedly dodging a couple arrows and knocking another out of the air. Dropping down next to his wife, he looked across the river. No other archers decided to try their luck, so he pulled Akane into a one-armed hug and a brief kiss, then nodded to Sayuri before focusing on Miyo. His eyes instantly narrowed. "You look terrible."
"Ranma!" Akane exclaimed, pulling away to smack him lightly on the back of the head.
Miyo giggled at the display then lay down, waving at the others to do the same. No point in drawing more attention than they had to. "I'm just worn out by healing," she explained again. "How far behind you is the army?"
"Dunno," he replied with a shrug. He and Akane had ignored her wave and stayed upright. "Getting everyone up and sorted out, out of the trees and onto the road was taking awhile. We should'a pushed through and camped here when we could. That's why the King told me ta run on ahead."
Miyo smiled up at him. "At least he got that right. Sergeant Osric was already pretty sure we could hold the ford. With you here, if those people try anything now —"
Ranma broke in. "They're trying something now."
"What!?" Miyo sat up again, then grabbed onto Akane's shoulder for a moment as the sudden rush of adrenaline combined with her change of position to make the world roll and waver. After a few seconds everything settled and she looked across the river. Ranma was right, something was up — the archers were spreading out in a line across the dirt road, the men-at-arms were forming up. And the way sunlight is reflecting off a couple of the men, they must be wearing steel armor. Probably chainmail, I haven't seen any plate. Though that would probably change if her scouts' use of the crossbow became more widespread.
She pushed herself to her feet, swaying in place for a moment until Akane grabbed her arm to hold her up, then took a deep breath and shouted in their common Anglic, "Up! Up! Everyone up, to your places, pass the word!" For a moment she wished that Sergeant Osric was there with his trumpet, but he'd taken an arrow to the chest and died before his bearers could reach her; and no one else knew how to use the trumpet. Something else we need to fix, she thought, before pushing the thought and grief aside to focus on the moment — there were many dead to mourn, but it would have to wait.
"You're heading back to the aid station."
"What?" Miyo tried to glare at Akane, but was too exhausted to do a proper job of it. Replying in the same Japanese, she said, "Sergeant Osric's dead, Elfrithr's crippled and Kahori is running her half of the Scouts while trying to keep an eye on Elfrithr's replacement, someone has to take overall command."
"And that will be me," Akane replied. "It's wonderful that you've saved so many lives, but you can barely stand. How are you supposed to command? Besides, there'll be more lives to save soon enough."
Miyo hesitated — Akane had an excellent point, several of them actually, but ... as gently as she could, she asked, "Akane, what if you go berserk again? It took Deborah's help to stop you last time."
"Now she has me," Ranma stepped in to say. "I'll watch her back and keep her centered. She's right, you're in no shape ta fight."
Miyo finally worked up the strength for a proper glare, but her two friends didn't flinch. We don't have time for this! She reluctantly nodded. "All right, but we're moving the aid station closer, too many didn't live long enough to reach me."
Akane managed not to slump with relief — as the young prophetess had settled into her new role it had gotten harder and harder to fight with her — and nodded to several of the scouts that were crouched around them with their eyes on the enemy. Reverting to Anglic, she said, "Sayuri —"
"I'm staying with you."
Akane gave her friend a flat glare that hid her deep concern for her last pre-Dying friend — Sayuri was no more fit to fight than Miyo, if for a very different reason. But ... never give an order that you know won't be obeyed. The Kildar's leadership advice sounded in the back of her mind, and she reluctantly nodded. "Hildisif, Thorthr, help ... ah, accompany Miyo back to the aid station. Eylaug, Kimie, let Kahori and Elfrithr ..." She paused, glanced at Miyo.
"Elfrithr's replacement is Asny."
"... Asny know that I'm resuming command. Everyone else ... spread out! They're already trying to kill us, let's not make it easy for them."
As Miyo left with the two scouts assigned to make sure she made it to the rear (and, Akane hoped they understood, made sure Miyo stayed there), the newly self-appointed commander of the scouts looked around for a short sword to replace the one she'd cast away when she'd gone berserk. With the number of scouts that had died fighting around where she stood, it shouldn't be hard to find one.
It wasn't, and she snatched one up and refocused on the enemy, frowning thoughtfully. It looked like they were forming up into a column on the road (path, her mind tried to insist), and ... yes, the archers they had left were spreading out on both sides. They were just going to try and pound their way through, no finesse at all. Be fair, Akane, it isn't like they have a lot of choice outside of not attacking at all. And if it hadn't been for Ranma, it might have well worked — even with her at the tip of the spear the Scouts simply weren't up to a stand-up fight against regular infantry, not if that infantry was willing to push through their losses from the crossbows to close the distance. And if she lost it again ...
But Ranma was there, and she turned to her husband. "You and me, down inside the ravine holding the ford. If we can't hold them, none of the rest of the scouts can. Sayuri ... stay behind us, take care of anyone that works around our flanks — but keep your head down below the ravine wall, I don't want any archers trying to pick you off." Sayuri nodded, and the three hurried over to the ramp carved into the ravine down to the river.
/\
"Finally!" Lord Towne muttered as he rode out of the river and up the ramp, the column of his knights following behind him behind the screen of bowmen he had sent across first to push the surviving maidens and their crossbows into the woods and away from his knights. It had been a hard fight and longer than he'd ever thought it would be, but his forces were finally across the river. The three maidens holding the ford had been absolutely terrifying, especially when the redhead had started throwing balls of light at the troops trying to push him away from the river, balls whose impact had thrown men back as broken and sometimes ruptured corpses. In the end, the three had pulled back only when the just-arrived Lord Towne had ordered the additional mercenary archers that had come up with him to clear the maidens with crossbows away from the river, then had them concentrate their arrow fire on the ford. But by then riding his charger over the submerged corpses of knights and infantry weighed down by their armor in the ford's watera had been a chancy thing. He could not believe the price he'd paid for the crossing.
Though not as high a price as they did, he thought. Normally that thought would have been intensely satisfying — even before the Orc raid that had killed his father and so given him his lands and title, in his brief knight errant days he had fought against Orc and Reptile Men raiders and knew how it felt to be the victor in a hard-fought battle. But now, as his gaze shied away from yet another too-small maiden with bloody hands clasped over spilled intestines and unseeing eyes staring at the sky, all he felt was burning hatred for the man responsible mixed with gnawing guilt that the sacrifice of the maidens that had fought so bravely against his men had been useless.
The blaring of a trumpet up ahead yanked his attention away from his dark thoughts, and his eyes widened as a fresh wave of men-at-arms erupted from the trees ahead of him to charge with a high-pitched, twisting scream at his line of bowmen. Some of those in that charge were the same maidens that had so recently retreated into the forest, but most were men — fresh arrivals, though they seemed no better armed than the maidens had been, the light infantry his spies had reported.
Instantly turning to the knights behind him, he shouted, "Spread out, form up for a charge! We'll take them —"
Another horn sounded, and Lord Towne whipped around in his saddle to stare behind him and to the left, just in time to see a line of knights with lances pointed skyward ride over the crest of one of the rolling hills to the west — a hill on the south side of the river, where most of his army was still strung out on the road. Even as he watched, the lances dropped and the chargers broke into a trot. They wouldn't reach their full gallop until just before they hit so his mercenaries would have a little time to prepare to receive the charge, but not enough — they were going to shatter like dropped crystal, and go running down the road to slam into his peasant levy. Those peasants were going to use that well-known peasant common sense to throw away their weapons and take to their own heels as fast as they could run — and being fresher and without armor, they'd probably leave the mercenaries in their dust, for Conall's knights to ride down. Unless ...
Twisting around again, Lord Towne swept his gaze across his line of archers now tangled up with the scouts and light infantry — no chance there, either, the archers would never break free. Forget about providing support for the infantry from the north side of the river, they were gone. All that was left was ... "Everyone, toss your lances, back across the ford, now!" Some of his more experienced knights had obviously recognized the inevitable, they instantly threw away their lances and pulled out of the column to ride back alongside it toward the ford. The less experienced hadn't been ready but followed their lead quickly, though some had stared at him incredulously for a few moments first. What, did you think we were going to charge straight at the forest, with our retreat closed off, most of the army on the wrong side of the river and running for their lives, and the rest of King Conall's army coming straight at us? His lips twisted into a wry smile as he reined his own charger around to follow. Now at the back of the mob of knights, he winced at the sound of individual quarrels slashing into the scrum, then noticed the now-trampled corpse of the maiden he'd seen just a few minutes earlier and mentally saluted as he passed her again. It looks like you didn't die in vain, after all.
The ford could have been an unholy mess, but fortunately he'd had the wisdom to ask his oldest, most experienced knight (a lot more experienced than his lord, to speak truth) with his famous mace to stick to the middle of the column to keep an eye on the overeager young bloods. Even as Lord Towne trotted up, he could hear Sir Bayhun's voice trumpeting out names — he was mandating the order in which the knights were recrossing (and at least one knight was on the ground with a dented helm), and ...
Lord Towne stood up in his stirrups to look over the heads of his knights, and saw what he'd been hoping — his knights that hadn't made it across the ford had backed off and turned around, were forming their own line facing south. That was good, because if whoever was in charge of Conall's knights had any sense and control over his own men he wouldn't try to run down the fleeing mercenaries with a force of knights at his back. "Make way, make way!" he shouted. Sir Bayhun's head jerked around, then he was shouting as well.
A few minutes later Lord Towne was cantering up the ramp to push his way into the middle of his south-facing line, his standard bearer slotting in next to him. On his other side, Sir Julius's helm briefly turned toward him. "You're just in time, my lord," he said as he twisted to hand his lance across even as he looked back at the line of the king's knights thundering towards them.
"So I see," Lord Towne agreed with a sigh — he wasn't sure how many of his knights had rejoined the southern line, but he suspected the charge he could now see bearing down on them was at least half again as numerous. At least they no longer have their lances, he thought was he waited, watching them close — that would give those of his knights with him a brief advantage. It's time. He couched his lance, bellowed his family's motto — "Nos consto!": We stand firm — then spurred his charger to meet the enemy.
/\
"Kazuyoshi, tell the wagoneers to come forward! Bruni, sound rally!" Ranma — once again male thanks to the magic goblet he'd been gifted — shouted in Anglic, then looked back out over the field as the trumpeter lifted his horn to his lips. Akane and Ranma had been just inside the forest watching the enemy archers approach with the knights crossing the ford beyond them when the vanguard of the Keldaran pikes came down the road, and the pair had been happy to help lead the charge back out of the forest against the archers. Of course, with all the trees there hadn't been room to unload the pikes from the wagons first so like the Scouts the Keldaran men had only been armed with their shortswords and daggers.
But now with the enemy archers dead or scattered and the knights trying to pull back across the ford there was room to deploy the pikes, and Akane bared her teeth as the knights she was glaring at — along with the rest of the world — were suddenly tinted pink. This was going to be beautiful. You will pay...
"Whoa, Akane, dial it down," Ranma whispered, in the Japanese that many of the men around them couldn't understand. "You're just short a' formin' a visible battle-aura, and if ya look like ya burst into flames everyone's gonna think you're a demon — not good around here. You gonna be alright?"
At her husband's question Akane realized she was grinding her teeth, her hands white from how hard they were clenched onto her crossbow. She forced her jaw and hands to relax, and growled, "I'll be all right once we've ground those 'whoresons' into the mud."
Ranma glanced sideways at her, wondering what that unfamiliar Anglic word had meant — from the rest of what his wife said he doubted it was complementary. But ... he glanced around at the block of pikes that had been forming around them, the pair in the middle of the front line. Those Scouts still alive and mobile had seen the forming formation and fallen into place on its flanks as they'd trained. He didn't have time to ask, they needed to move. For a moment he considered suggesting that his wife join the Scouts on the flanks. No, berserker, need ta keep her with me. In Anglic, he shouted, "Let's show 'em who really owns the battlefield! Forward!"
The block lurched into motion, the pikes of the front ranks dropping to level at the knights, and the red tint vanished from Akane's world, swept away by horror as she realized they'd forgotten something — the bodies scattered across the ground between the pikes and the knights. While the corpses wouldn't do anything for the Keldaran's footing they had been trained on broken ground. But while the surviving Scouts had policed the battlefield during the break in the fighting, from the way some of those bodies were moving the counterassault against the enemy archers had planted a fresh crop of wounded — and the pikes were going to march right over some of them.
And she wasn't the only one to notice, the square was breaking up a little as some of the men in the front ranks slowed and were bumped into by the ranks behind them.
"Ranma, stop the pikes!" she hissed, then darted forward, shouting, "Odd numbers, clear the wounded! Evens, cover!"
A scattering of Scouts slung their crossbows on their backs and hastened to join her (several only just stopped by the breveted sergeants or the Scouts next to them from removing the loaded quarrels by firing them at the knights). Within minutes they were moving from body to body and pulling the wounded aside as gently as they could manage.
Akane had joined them, checking bodies but handing off their wounded to other Scouts to pull aside while she kept crossbow in hand and an eye on the knights (who were using the sudden break in the fighting to sort themselves out), when a faint groan caught her attention. It was male, and much too deep. She quickly glanced around to find one of the enemy archers stirring. No, he was writhing slightly, hands clutched around two quarrels stuck through his leather armor and into his stomach — he was alive! Her vision went red again and she strode toward him, crossbow in one hand and the other curling around misty-red light.
He looked up toward her with unfocused eyes as she approached. "Mama?"
She stumbled at the word, eyes widening. Did he just — ?
"Mama, don't be mad, I'm sorry, I should'a listened, I —"
She sighed, the red clearing from her vision. She dropped to her knees next the young man — boy still, really — her hand uncurling to stroke his dark hair away from his sweat-beaded forehead. "It's all right, baby. Everything will be all right. I'm afraid this is going to hurt, though." She slid the quarrel from the crossbow into her quiver and set down the quarrel on the grass, then slid her arms under his shoulders and knees and rose to her feet.
Blood spattered her chest as the boy hissed, eyes clenched shut. Then his bloodstained lips curved into a smile. "Mama."
He died in her arms on the way to the impromptu aid station.
/\
From the edge of the mass of knights still trying to get across the ford, Sir Bayhun sighed with relief as he watched the foreign girl carry the wounded archer away — for a moment he was afraid she was going to kill her enemy instead, and then he would have lost what control he had of the hotheads still on his side of the river. From the sight of the rock-steady ranks of spears longer than any he had ever dreamed of, all pointed straight at him and the rest of the knights, that wouldn't have ended well. God be praised that whoever those people are they're better Christians than soldiers, if they weren't they'd have rolled right over us while most of the young idiots were still trying to get back across the ford.
He glanced over his shoulder, and his face tightened at the number of enemy knights visible on each side of the line of his lord's knights that had managed to recross the ford or not crossed in the first place. Too many, the best he can do is break through them and run away, and anyone else crossing to join in will be on the wrong side of that mess, they'll never make it out. I have to get my people out of here.
Spurring his mount forward and turning to face the knights still mobbing about on his side of the ford, he waved his sword above his head to get everyone's attention. "Follow me!" he shouted, then charged ... to the west along the ravine. He glanced over his shoulder to find a scattering of other knights following close behind, the mass growing thicker behind them as the rest realized they were leaving. Good. He just hoped they'd continue to follow him when they found out he wasn't just flanking those odd spearmen, but leading his men to the end of the ravine several leagues away where they could cross the river, then head cross-country back to the keep — instead of turning around and coming back. The battle was lost, but ... young hotheads. And some not so young. Well, he'd just have to hope.
/\
As Lord Towne galloped toward the line of enemy knights charging equally rapidly toward him, he focused on the shield of the knight most likely to match up against him and grinned fiercely — a blue background behind a yellow dog leaping, its jaws gaping wide to bite. Azure, hound salient or, he thought, King Conall's fornicating, drunken ponce of a foster brother. He was a little surprised that that waste of a knighthood would actually have the courage to seek out battle instead of remaining at Carrick Town 'keeping an eye on things' (meaning the whores in the taverns, of course), but he wasn't going to complain about his good fortune. Sir Galardon didn't even have a lance, just his sword! Though that sword was blood-slimed, he'd at least put it to use.
He braced himself as the space between the two shrank, aimed his lance for the upper corner of Sir Galardon's shield — then at the very last moment twitched the lance tip up and to the side, targeting the full helm completely encasing his head.
In a move too smooth not to be long practiced, Sir Galardon's sword swept up to bat aside the lance tip. A shocked Lord Towne let go of the lance and grabbed for his sword hilt as he braced his shield — and Sir Galardon whipped his sword around and down. Chainmail links parted as the sword sliced through them like a knife through butter and deep into the neck of Lord Towne's charger.
Enchanted sword, must be, Lord Towne thought distantly as he let go of his half-drawn sword, kicked his feet free of his collapsing mount's stirrups, and tucked himself behind his shield to roll as he hit the ground. Fortunately there had been only one rank of knights so he didn't have to worry about being ridden over by others behind him, but he still pushed himself to his feet beside his dying charger as quickly as possible and looked around — his own knights' lances had told, many of them had broken through and were racing south after the rest of his broken army. Some enemy knights were in pursuit, others dismounting and using lances as makeshift spears to close the ford to his knights still trapped on the north side of the ravine...
Sir Galardon was in neither group, he'd turned around and ridden back and was now looking down at the man he'd brought down. "Do you surrender?"
"That was a most unchivalrous blow," Lord Towne grasped for his sword only to find the scabbard empty. He looked around frantically ... there! He stooped to pick his sword up from the grass where it had fallen.
Sir Galardon's chainmail- and tabard-covered shoulders shifted in faint shrug. "I'm more interested in winning the war than acting the perfect knight. So do you yield?"
He remembered his wife and daughters standing in the entrance of his castle's keep dressed in their finest clothes, his wife fighting to hide her fears as the twins looked around at all the mounted knights in the castle courtyard, wide-eyed with excitement — they were too young to understand the seriousness of the occasion — as the three bid Godspeed to him and his knights. He forced the memory aside. It wasn't like he'd ever see them again, whatever he did. "No, better here than the executioner's block."
"As you wish." Sir Galardon swung his leg back over the high cantle of his saddle and dropped to the ground, readied his sword and shield.
"I thought you were more interested in winning the war than acting the perfect knight," Lord Towne taunted as he raised his own sword and shield.
Sir Galardon shrugged again. "The war's won. With your defeat the only way the rest of the rebels can win is to bring in Megalos, and that'll be enough to swing Lord William of Wallace back to our side — especially with the offer we just made him. And that means I can ... indulge myself."
"And does that chivalry extend to my family?" Lord Towne glanced around at the knights and squires gathering around the pair — at least he was buying time for some of his fleeing army.
"You need have no worries there. Your brother is safely tucked away helping Baroness Bronwyn guard our rear, he'll be receiving your lands and title. And as much as he dotes on those two little munchkins, your daughters' biggest problem will be finding suitors with the courage to face him when they grow into their mother's beauty."
Lord Towne didn't know what a 'munchkin' was and had no idea how Sir Galardon knew how badly his brother spoiled his nieces, but he felt his heart lighten at the clear sympathy in the man's voice. He swallowed to clear away the lump in his throat and husked out, "Then let's get this over with."
With luck, he could draw out his final fight as much as a quarter-hour or more, and buy some of his fleeing men that much more time.
AN: The chapter title comes from King Henry's St. Crispin speech in Shakespeare's Henry V.
