Chapter 1-Sword and Sheath
Iamarl watched from her seat as Henry 'Hotspur' Percy paced the length of the English command tent. "You really should calm down." the assassin remarked, she was sure not for the first time.
"He shouldn't have been in the battle, he's still sick." Hotspur's grumbles where targeted at Prince Edward. Only a few weeks before, the Black Prince had pushed himself so hard mentally and physically he'd ended up bedridden with illness. Now, too soon for Henry's liking, the prince was again serving in combat. Hotspur feared his friend would kill himself this time.
With an irritated huff, Iamarl stood and went to block Henry's path. "The prince is fine, we won the battle, and the men are ecstatic to have their Black Prince back. It was a good day, Hotspur." the assassin's tone softened a bit as she took Hotspur's wrists in her hands, guiding them to her hips "Actually, I was hoping the sword could return to the sheath tonight."
Henry's frustration began to fade, he even smirked at Iamarl turning his metaphor into an innuendo, but it returned in earnest and he stepped away from the assassin when Prince Edward entered the tent, flanked by Chandos and Branwyn. The Welsh girl was smiling at the prince, but Henry sensed that Chandos shared his concerns, to some extent at least.
"Hotspur, Iamarl," Edward greeted, "you both performed admirably today."
"Thank you, my prince," Iamarl said with a graceful bow of her head. Henry, however, gave no reply.
"Something wrong, Henry?" Edward asked with a raised eyebrow.
"You're not yet fit for duty, my prince." was the blunt reply. To his left, Percy could hear Iamarl's frustrated sigh. The sword would not be returning to the sheath in the foreseeable future.
"That's crazy," Branwyn spoke up, "The prince is as fit as he evah was."
"Still," Chandos said with a step forward, "It wouldn't be unwise to use caution. We have proven that we can function in your stead, my prince."
Edward glanced at his mentor in an 'et tu?' sort of way, before addressing all the assembled officers. "With things as hectic as they've become, I can't simply sit by anymore. The French have been pushing us back for weeks and now we've lost contact with Fastolf and Talbot as well. The men need someone to look to." Edward locked eyes with Henry, "Anyways, I'm fine."
A pregnant tension hung in the air for several seconds before the tent exploded into action. Hotspur lunged at the prince, his fist targeted at the young royal's jaw. At the last moment, Edward caught his friend's wrist, stopping the blow just short of connecting. At the same time, Branwyn had drawn her bow and had an arrow aimed at Hotspur's throat, Chandos raised his mace, and Iamarl reflexively drew her dagger, just stopping herself from stabbing her lover in the kidney.
Henry pulled his hand free and, ignoring the three armed people around him, angrily spoke, "If you were fine, I'd never of gotten so close. And next time it will be a French sword."
"Uh-hmm." The five commanders turn to see a young English soldier, named Owen, standing nervously at the entrance of the tent. "Apologies, yer 'ighness, but the scouts come back with a report."
Branwyn, Chandos, and Iamarl awkwardly put their respective weapons away as Edward and Henry exchanged one more look. Regaining his composure, the prince cleared his throat and nodded to Owen, "Go ahead then, soldier."
"French forces 'ave gathah'd at Calais, sire. They're most likely comin' aftah us."
"Can you identify these forces?"
"Scouts said they recognized the bannahs of Lord le Bon," the soldier hesitated, "...and the Witch of Orleans."
A collective feeling of dread sunk into the English commanders. Ever since the Battle of Orleans, everyone in the English Army had learned to fear the girl who had seemingly turned the tide of the entire conflict. Edward stifled a tired sigh and nodded to the youth. "Thank you, soldier. You may go."
"Soldier," Chandos called, "You will tell no one of what you saw in here."
"Wouldn't dream of it, milord." Owen bowed his head, then backed out of the command tent.
Edward took a deep breath, unwilling to let Hotspur see how heavy his trademark armor felt, and said, "We can't hold this ground. In the morning, we'll pull back to defensive positions in Normandy, everyone get some rest. We have a hard day tomorrow. All of us."
The prince's tone dared Hotspur, or anyone else, to challenge him. Before Henry Percy could answer, he felt Iamarl's hand on his shoulder. It was soft enough to be calming, but firm enough to remind him it was on a pressure point. The temperamental young knight stalked out, soon followed by Iamarl and Chandos.
Branwyn went to follow, but stopped at the command tent's entrance. "I'm not scared of some witch, my prince," the Welsh girl said confidently, "We'll send 'er and the other frogs home in jars."
The tired prince allowed himself a smirk as Branwyn left.
#*#*#
Philippe le Bon stood in his headquarters in Calais, waiting for his fellow commanders in the coming battle with his aid, Marie. "Zey say la Hire and de Rais are, in zere own ways, quite formidable." the blonde man said conversationally.
"Don't forget ze girl," Marie added, "Ze Maid of Orleans."
Philippe regarded his trusted aid for a moment. "Do you believe what some of ze common people say about 'er, Marie? Zat she was sent by God?"
Marie shrugged. She was a believer, (almost everyone in Europe was), but she had always taken a strictly secular view toward the war with England. "I cannot say, but I do believe she 'as done much for our cause."
Lord le Bon nodded, "Yes, it would seem we'll 'ave three powerful allies tomorrow." his look became troubled, "I just 'ope my weakness doesn't get in zeir way."
Marie frowned at her lord's words. She loved le Bon, but his continued self-doubt was infuriating and would kill him faster than any English blade. Couldn't he see himself for the handsome, noble figure she and everyone else saw?
Just then, a young soldier called Balian poked his head through the door, "My lord, your-whoa!"
Before the youth could finish, the door burst open and in strode la Hire. "Announcements are for formal parties! We're all soldiers and friends 'ere!" He loudly proclaimed, slapping the soldier on the back as he entered. Behind the big man, de Rais and Joan followed looking quite annoyed and amused at la Hire's antics respectively.
Philippe exchanged a look with Marie, and then turned to his new subordinates. "Well zen, I suppose we best get right down to business." he said with a chuckle. He gestured to a map of the northern France on his desk and continued. "Our mission is to push into Normandie. Ze English forces on ze continent are now spread out and weakened. Ze King believes it is time for ze final blow. If we can take control of Normandie, and cut ze English off from 'ome completely, ze remaining English forces in France will have no 'ope of escape or resupply."
"And 'ave no choice but to surrender." de Rais finished.
"It could finally be over." Joan said hopefully, almost to herself.
"A good plan," de Rais conceded, "but why do we not 'ave a stronger force?"
"I beg your pardon?" Marie asked tersely
"No offense intended, to you or your lord," de Rais said calmly, "I'm simply curious why France isn't committing full forces to zis mizzion. Why aren't de Richemont or du Guesclin involved?"
Unwilling to let le Bon falter in front of the other commanders, Marie spoke up. "du Guesclin and his lieutenant, Jean de Metz, were sent after ze English commanders Fastolf and Talbot in Champagne. However, all contact with either side seems to 'ave been lost. Arthur de Richemont and a force of mostly mercenaries 'as been sent to investigate."
"Shouldn't we go to 'elp in ze search zen?" la Hire asked, "If our men are in trouble, we must save zem!"
"We will save zem by ending zis war and with it ze danger du Guesclin and his men are in." Marie stated matter-of-factly.
Joan glanced between the two commanders. Her heart was with la Hire, wanting to help a comrade in need, but her brain told her Marie was right, the bigger picture took priority. Thinking of all the villagers she'd seen suffer, Joan steeled herself. "She's right, la Hire, we must force ze English to finally give up. Zen all of France will safe."
la Hire sighed, but nodded in agreement, meanwhile Marie and le Bon regarded the Maid. Marie was grateful for her support; le Bon was impressed by her confidence and quite strength. The matter settled, the five commanders gathered around le Bon's map to plan their assault.
Listening from outside, Balian smiled, confident that his country's champions would lead him and his comrades to triumph.
#*#*#
Arthur de Richemont rode at the head of his column. The young commander's force consisted of his own unit of knights, a company of French swordsmen, and several mercenary companies. You Ji, the Chinese mercenary turned loyal soldier to de Richemont, Marc and his spearmen, mercenary ax men lead by a newcomer named Bernard and mace users with an equally green commander called Maxwell, and a late arrival, Georges, who had shown up with his archers to be with his brother in battle just as they were about to enter Champagne.
de Richemont signaled a halt when he noticed a large force coming up the road toward him. His knights tightened the grip on their weapons cautiously as the potential enemies approached, and Arthur could hear other units down the line preparing. As the strangers approached, de Richemont was able see that they were made up of Cutthroats, Executioners, and Skullcrushers.
Damn savages, the young lord thought. Arthur had no love for the barbarians from who knew where. Their brutality toward enemies and civilians alike had made them a target of score from most commanders on both sides. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed they weren't wearing red or blue, but...purple? Could it mean zey're between contracts?
The barbaric warriors halted five paces in front of de Richemont, simply staring at the French commander and his men. Without letting his guard down, Arthur cleared his throat and spoke with authority, "Good evening, gentlemen, if you are not 'ostile, please clear ze road. My men and I must move into Champagne."
"You will not be able to help your friends, 'my lord'." an Executioner, the apparent leader of the barbarians said.
"'ow did you-"
"Your road ends here." That said, the Executioners rushed forward at the knights. The barbarians' massive swords cleaved the heads and legs off several horses, causing chaos and trapping several men under the bodies of their mounts. Arthur's own steed reared up suddenly, flinging the young commander off. After a few moments of weightlessness, Arthur slammed into the ground. The young nobleman's head hurt and his hearing was distant and echoed. In his blurred, spinning vision, Arthur could just make out the barbarians rushing forward to slaughter his confused soldiers. The cutthroats surged into the fray and cleaved into French swordsmen with their axes. The young commander could swear he saw a limb fly by.
Turning from the sight of a man being cut in half, de Richemont crawled toward his sword. Just as he'd reached his weapon, a shadow passed over the young lord. He looked up to see a barbarian raise his massive club. Arthur knew he was helpless, but before the Skullcrusher could live up to his job title an arrow buried itself in his left eye. A second later, seemingly dozens of other arrows rained into the purple clad mercenaries, followed in short order by charging spearmen. Marc, the impaled body of cutthroat flopping at the end of his spear, placed himself in front of de Richemont, soon joined by his men forming a protective phalanx around the young lord.
"Get de Richemont out of 'ere!" Marc shouted. Two mace users made their way to Arthur and hooked their arms under his shoulders. Maxwell directed his men to form up around the wounded noble and together they dragged him toward the archers and crossbowmen as Marc, his spearmen, and the surviving swordsmen and knights held the barbarians at bay. Arthur could see Georges and You Ji side by side taking shots at their attackers.
"The damn ax men ran for it." Georges grumbled as he notched another arrow and fired it into an executioner's throat. Prompting the dazed noble to look pasted the irritable archer.
"No...zey didn't." de Richemont commented, pointed over Georges' shoulder. You Ji and Georges looked behind them to see the fearful ax men rushing back to them, with several more companies of warriors in purple after them.
You Ji looked back to the scattered initial attackers, and made a rare comment. "I guess we're going to Champagne after all."