The Kingdom of Liticea: The Sorcerer Prince

Chapter Forty-Four: The Battle of Talonwood

Rengle already had plans for when disaster struck. Before the evening's festivities began, he sought out a young rider named Harold and gave him a note and instructions to ride with haste to Rydstone to alert Lord Clayton and to ask for more troops. Nakbar had another nine hundred in the woods somewhere nearby, but Rengle did not want to put his trust in these men. He expected the boy to return the next morning with thousands of extra troops.

Harold was the fastest stable boy in Ruska. Rengle chose him and his master to look after the horses of the Ruskamen. He had experienced harsh winters in his fifteen years, but the wind and the air made any exposed skin freeze like a pond. He wore a mask around his face to protect it, but the area around his mouth was condensing and forming little ice crystals. No matter what, he was always breathing in the cold air. He prayed that they would be out of the Westland by the time the dead of winter came, but with an army that size marching against them, they will not be going home soon.

But if Harold had to freeze alongside anybody, it would be Rengle and the warriors of Carell Keep. Perhaps, if he survived, Rengle would knight him for his services and be able to hold a sword, unlike most of the Ruskamen who fought with spears and axes.

A curious thing brushed by his face as he rode. Looking back he could not spot it again but it looked like the shape of one of the butterflies that cover the fields outside the town in the summer. It must have been a falling leaf, though there were not many left to fall.

He carried on until something else brushed past him. He did not get a good look at it but he swore he felt insect claws try to grab hold of his cheeks. Shadows were following him. Little shadows that fluttered in the moonlight. They were not leaves. Leaves would have fallen to the ground, but these were following him. Before he could kick his horse to full speed, something smacked him right in the face and startled so much that he tumbled off his horse and into the dirt.

His shoulder hurt so badly that he failed to notice the thing was still latched to his face after a few seconds. With his good hand he took it off and slammed it into the road. The pummeling stopped and he saw that it was an enormous moth.

More of them slowly began to fill the air around him, circling him like vultures over a kill. He tried to run after is horse but it was no where in sight and his legs hurt to much to carry him and the cloud grew so dense that he could not see where he was going.

Harold never noticed the knife until it found its way into his back. A gasp was all he could do before he felt his legs give out and everything went dark.

The sun was not out the next morning. Hidden behind the gray clouds as it rose, it had no warm rays to relieve the garrison of the chill of winter. There were no birds or insects singing their morning songs, just the sound of the treetops swaying in the wind. Flurries also greeted the army as they woke from their drunken slumber. The flakes did not stick to the ground, but it still reminded them that the green parts of the year were long over.

Despite their heavy drinking the night before, the men awoke and attended to their positions quickly. The archers took their places, with the Ruskamen atop the wall and the Userians at the base. Nakbar provided twice as many men as Rengle and so the greater space in the flat spot allowed him to release more arrows. All those who were not archers were sharpening their blades and making sure their maces were nice and heavy. Most of the Ruskamen did not carry swords, but they had plenty of spears and axes, and the some of the stronger members even carried maces.

One of those was Sir Argus Custer. Though he carried a sword as formal knightwear, he most at home wielding a great steel mace that he used to crack many skulls over the years. He was proficient with a blade enough to be Rengle's master of arms and Jergan's first instructor, but the complexities of swordplay were not as appealing to him in the heat of battle.