Tales of Cobardon

Chapter XII

Taperend

The three lords and a lady stood at four different edges of the No Man's Land.

Lady of Morningstar snorted, "How large is your host? 30000?" Her guess was close. Sabrina taunted, "We are 55,000 strong, the combined might of Morningstar and Lopelanzec." It was a lightheaded mistake to reveal the numbers but, it could have been a feign as well, considering Sabrina's shrewd repetition.

Taperend didn't let his hope fade. He tried appearing straight and mighty, in his saddle, but his girth flowed out, undermining the desired effect. The Lady's gaze clearly said what she didn't - 'don't try, you fail miserably'.

Out of nowhere, Lord of Lopelanzec stood up, a figure of intimidation, radiating confidence. The child spun round sharply and facing Sabrina stated, "Why bluff? We were only 45,000 strong." The word 'were' echoed through the taut silence.

"My twenty thousand swords are yours", he bowed to Taperend!

Half of The Eye's flags flipped, turning to Rulerstead's. Hapem rode hard the distance of No Man's Land and came to Taperen's side, to safety. On cue Lopelanzec's army, who faced Rulerstead's host, east, turned to face Morningstar's army, north. 20,000 shields lifted, turned round 90° and firmly placed their shields down. The rising sun was behind Taperend, lighting Hapem's expressionless face. He caught something - the slightest glint in his eyes that said all.

Hapem's eyes shone and heart savored - the dumbfound then hurt then contemptuous turn in Sabrina's countenance. To Taperend it all seemed tangible. As Hapem passed by Taperend, he leaned slightly towards Taperend and muttered, "Now Arthur's and Margh's souls shall rest in peace, Niuba! Ohh, forgiving Niuba!"

From another corner, Lord of Dupark rose and blew a horn, which was followed by Napemol's and Lopelanzec's. A satisfying beat of horse-feet and leather shoes, commenced, against the dry, arid ground of the Barren lands. Taperend's eye caught 'The Tower' - monumental and frightening.

Then, he heard the sound of spears crunching through brittle armour. Laughter echoed in his head on the sight of the battlefield, as Morningstar's unsuspecting host was suddenly being attacked by their own allies.

He reprimanded himself, remembering the precious phrase of wisdom -

'Never laugh at the unfortunate,

For someday you might not be that much fortunate!'

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Benz

The huge galleys and warship's navigated the Marienir in double files. His soulcrusher lead them all. He stood on the deck, 250 of the best men arranged in neat columns behind him. He donned his gold plated helm that covered his whole face except his frightening eyes and smug smirk – the last thing anyone he would face would glimpse. 

He took a dark, crooked horn to his lips and blew it. The mist shrouding his path parted and he saw the battlefield. He spit, the taste of the ocean's salinity in his mouth. The taste bought back happy memories, which would soften him if he dwelled on it any longer. Evidently, from his vantage point Morningstar was being battered down by the host of Napemol, Dupark and ... Lopelanzec! That was a nasty twist, he loved it. 

His ships thinned out as the spread into the Myriad rivulets, which veined the whole of Barren Lands. Then from all around, they would pounce and make the kill. His pearl-white plate armour glinted under the sun, replicated by each of his soilders' mail. 

Our enemies are going to find gaunt, white-armed death rise from the depths of the sea and slay the mercilessly, Benz guessed, feasting on the gruesome image. 

"May Lady Makhri grant strength to our arms and speed to our ships!" he boomed the classic chant of Seachurner before any war.

"Fire!", he shouted when the first, dense knot of soldiers came in sight. Incandescent cannons buzzed out, tromping through the air to find home on soldiers, who were paddling their own canoes. The ground was littered, the crammed spot now being no more than a pile of dead.

"Do we stream into the battlefield, m'lord?" his second-in-command inquired. "No", he gave in a curt tone, "we blast them off from distance and wait for them to come to us."

Boom! Boom! Nearby ships followed the same technique – acting an effective eraser on the scribbled battlefield. He cursed, missing the month he had owned a gun. Their popularity was never allowed to blossom, being called weapons of mass destruction. It had only been a luxury and hadn't spread to warfare, or was rather not allowed to spread. All firearms had been seized. All producers had been executed. It had been icy, mechanical and thorough – skills of the late King of Cobardon.

His sharp eyes caught miniature soldiers, with bewilderment on their face, throwing away their weapons and running on four legs, only to be cut out immediately. Boom! Boom! Boom! Chaos, Benz thrived in chaos but, he would make it wait this time! He would fire from the averse order, diving into the chaos when the right time came! Meagre lines were starting to form to attack the newcomer warships. They would take time. Time would take lives. The usual routine. An arrow out of thin air, probably sorcery, came screaming towards the second-in-command. Benz lazily stuck out his arm, intercepting the arrow

In the boredom, his mind wandered and he wished he would find his match.

His wish would be granted, soon!