The war of the twelve realms - Book 1 - Of squires and scholars

Chapter 4 - Grein

Chapter 4 – Grein

Do not engage unless engaged, Sir Arvas’ last words to Grein called back as he walked silently through the gorse and heather of the Dragon’s neck. Fifty men trailed out behind him, each moving silently, with one hand on their weapons. Grein had forbidden that any steel be drawn in case the moonlight reflected from it; even the chainmail had been covered in rags to hide its glint. Four horses had been left behind a mile back with four men to ride back at the signal of a fire arrow shot into the night sky. One arrow meant that they were under attack, two meant that they had fought and won, and three meant that they had fought and lost, but had survivors. The fifth horse was with the scout party, ready to ride back and give the position of the enemy if they were found.

They had been nearing the Dragon’s Eye; a large seawater lake; for a day, moving slowly and waiting until nightfall until the approach. It had been two months since the defeat of Sir Quentin Armstay at the crossroads, so it was likely that the guard had been dropped; maybe a few campfires would betray their position. A rustle sounded behind him and he turned, giving daggers to the men trailing behind. They stopped. Grein turned back around and continued walking, feeling the ground tilt up as he walked toward the crest of the cliff that overlooked the Dragon’s Eye. Just short of the crest, he raised his hand, signalling the other men to stop. Dropping low, he almost crawled up to the edge and looked over. A small light was illuminating the base of the cliff. Actually on his belly, Grein went further forward still, and poked his head over the edge of the cliff. A fire was burning below, flanked by six archers with their bows pointing upwards.

The archers fired and Grein pulled his head back just in time. He rose to his feet and pulled his bow from his back, with an arrow already knocked and ready to fire. A shadow leapt up from the gorse bushes along the flanks and went down again with Grein’s arrow in its throat. In a blink another arrow was ready to fire, and in another it was loosed into a horseman that was charging up from along the north. His men had formed into a defensive circle; light infantry holding the attackers back whilst archers shot from the centre of the circle. Grein made his way back to his men, loosing arrows at the men in his path. He saw the horseman rush off, but he took an arrow in the arm and nearly went down.

The shieldwall dropped and a volley of arrows took the assailants in the chest. A cavalry charge was massing to the south, and the wall was engaged again by what was left of the one hundred infantry of Sir Quentin. Swords flashed in the moonlight and war cries sounded, mixing with the clash of sword on shield and dying screams to make a cacophony which disturbed the previous serenity of the night. The cavalry charged, and twenty were dropped by arrows, taking another five or so with them as they fell. That left twenty five to crash into the shield wall that had already taken a loss of five men.

Grein saw Quentin in full plate in the midst of the melee, cutting at men on all sides. However, because of the dark, the knight’s visor was up, to give more vision. Grein drew back, aimed, and fired. The arrow went sailing through the air and hit the man full in the face as he turned his war horse to face an infantryman. Men on all sides saw the knight go down, and Grein’s men cheered whilst the enemy wavered, then broke.

First the men on the side the charge had been, but soon all of them were running for their lives. “Take no prisoners but those that yield. Kill the others!” Grein called and his men charged after their enemy, cutting down the running men. Most of them laid down their arms and surrendered when they saw that the battle was lost, and the others died.

Grein himself walked over to where the elderly knight Sir Quentin lay dead; an arrow through his left eye socket. After a while, he was joined by the surviving members of his group and the ten or so captives they’d taken. “Remove Quentin’s gorget and take his head off. You can strip his armour to sell if you want, too.” he ordered before facing the captives, “We’ll blindfold these and take them back to camp; see what Sir Arvas wants to do with them. As traitors to the realm, I don’t fancy their chances. Round up the horses that still live as well, we may have a use for them yet and they’re good eating if not.

“Oh, and shoot the two fire arrows; we wouldn’t want the horsemen to be getting worried about us.” Grein added. He waited until his orders had been completed, and Quentin’s bloody head was held before him. The white beard and nape-length hair he had had was now red and black at the ends and dripping his own life’s blood.

 Grein turned away, saw that the horses were rounded up and signalled for his men to follow as he began the long walk back to camp. Maybe this’ll prove that bastards can have honour and the ability to command. As he descended through the gorse and heather that made up the cliff tops on the Dragon’s Neck, he cast his mind back to when he and his cousin had played in this very area, playing sword fights with sticks of the trees from the forest that grew close to the base of the cliff. We never thought that we may have to actually fight and kill in a few years. Fantasies and nightmares do seem to come true in time, for all people. Maybe even that little Kavallan lad. Grein snapped back out of his walking trance and went to the men o talk about the fight.

“How many dead?” he asked.

“Six infantrymen and an archer for us, with ten injured but able to walk. As for Quentin’s men, I’d judge that we got about one hundred and twenty of them, so with our ten captives that means that about twenty of them escaped. Probably horsemen, seeing as we can’t run as fast, but their horses will have panicked so they won’t be a danger to us for hours yet, maybe never.” replied Grein’s appointed second in command; a man called Verin Mayhue.

“Put the wounded on horses and gather some herbs as we go along if we find them. We’ll want scaleflower and elder-twine for certain and maybe some rarer things like madhat and even bloodberries in case their wounds go bad. Spread the men out and tell them to survey the ground and tree bark as we go along. When we get to camp, Venerant Hollin will take them.”

“Aye, sir.” The orders were given, and by the time that Grein and his company returned to Sir Arvas’ camp, they had six small bloodberries, one madhat mushroom, twenty of the long parasitic vines called elder-twine, nearly one hundred stems and flowers of the tough grey plants called scaleflowers that were the main ingredient in nearly all poultices and potions for common ailments and one sprig of kingmaker - a rare herb that was said to be able to bring men back from being freshly dead when used properly.

As they came to the border, a watchman called his challenge, “Halt, who goes there? Friend or foe?”

“Grein Turrillan, and that’s a friend in case you didn’t know. Now let us past; we have wounded!” Grein responded irritably before moving on. His men hesitated slightly, and then followed him up to the area outside Sir Arvas’ tent. Grein took Sir Quentin’s head, stepped forward and beat on the canvas wall, “It’s Grein Turrillan, reporting from my scouting trip. May I enter?”

“You may, and gladly so.” called the response from within. Grein entered the tent with the head held at his side. Verin stood next to him, carrying five canvas bags, each holding a different herb that they’d collected. When Sir Arvas and Venerant Hollin saw the head, they seemed taken aback. “I told you not to engage unless engaged, Turrillan.” Sir Arvas said quietly almost resignedly.

“Aye, sir. You did, but we were engaged. Sir Quentin ambushed us on the Dragon’s Neck cliffs and we only survived because the men got into a shieldwall quickly. Even so, Sir Quentin charged with his horses and would have destroyed us, but I shot him dead and his men broke soon after. We have prisoners, too.” Grein responded, equally calmly.

“Well, well. It seems that congratulations are in order, but first tell us the tale in full.” said Hollin. So Grein told them everything, from start to finish, even the part concerning the herbs, which Verin held up for the old venerant’s inspection. “Ah, yes. Scaleflower, bloodberries, elder-twine, madhat and even a sprig of kingmaker. These will be most useful.” the old man said, inspecting them, “And now you must excuse me, for I have men to heal and lessons to teach.” The old man left the tent, doddering on his old feet.