Here is a teaser, a scene from a fantasy story. Our hero who is not the main figure in this scene, is leading a group who are retreating. They are trying avoid fighting vastly superior numbers.
'Are they still following?'
'Yes, over sixty, just starting on the trail up the pass.'
'Are they close enough to notice when we turn off the trail?'
'Unless they are distracted, they are bound to notice that we have turned off the main path.'
'It is my time.'. Vertun spoke with quiet authority.
Brian looked at him, and his slow nod was all that was needed. 'You honour us.'
Vertun slid off his horse, reach to remove his saddle bags. 'There are letters and my journal, if possible....'
'We will see that Lodis and Thomas get them.'. Brian took the bags, the weight of them magnified by the gravity of the situation.
'Jardan?
'Yes?
'My son has long admired you, it would please me if you could give him my signet.'
A nod was all that was needed to convey Jardan's emotions.
Vertun turned back to his mount, carefully picking up each hoof, running his hands over his legs quickly but carefully.
As he rode away, Jardan asked Brian,'His time?'
'You haven't noticed?' Brian brought his mount around to face back up the pass. 'He is dying.
'For months now he has been consumed by a cancer. By the time I knew anything, it was too advanced for me to try to cure. I have done what I can to give him more time and ease some of his pain, but in truth there is little I can do.'
Stephan spoke up, 'I thought something was wrong. I came close to touching him during sparring twice in the last month.'
'He has not slept well in months. The only thing keeping him alive is his will. He denies the ravages of the disease and ignores the pain, but there is a limit to that and he is rapidly reaching the end.' Said Brian. 'It is his choice to go out this way, a fitting end for a warrior.'
The horse beneath Vertun sensed something was different, and danced a little, too well trained to kick up much of a fuss, but clearly sensing something.
'I will not make a stand, but charge into them. They are bound to have at least a few archers, and they could easily end my delaying tactics. At best I will buy you five minutes, maybe a bit more if I can slay a few of their mounts and clog the trail.'
He made eye contact with each one who would be continuing on and said his last words, 'You have all been great companions and I am sorry to not see the end of the trail, but have been blessed by being part of the start.'
The few quiet words that followed him as he turned to start back down the mountain were laden with the emotions reverberating within all.
The rest of the party started back up the pass, striving to make haste, to make the diversion work.
Vertun put all his mind toward the task at hand, and the world both shrank and expanded. His mind detached, there was a distance between himself and his body in some ways, but his eyes clearly saw every rock and pebble on the path, the twists and turns of the trail became a tactical problem easily solved. The odd glimpse of the foe as they made their way up the mountain, the speed they were riding and the ideal interception point came together into a solution that was more of a gesalt than actual thought process. He slowly allowed his mount to gather speed, planning on hitting the leading members of the foe at a place where the path wound to his right and would cut off any long distance sight lines and make archery difficult. The trail even wound for length under fir trees, and perhaps the needles would mask the noise of his progress a little, shortening the time they would have to react.
The trail flatten out, widening and letting him speed up a little more, the path under hoof going from bare rock to a graveled surface, with a few areas of needle carpets changing the tone of the striking of the hooves. The cumbersome shield of a cavalry charger was absent, and in its place was a lighter one, thinner and not nearly as heavy. With luck it would last through the first few encounters, but he would need to be ready to cast it aside and use something else.
There was no lance either, the length being the major reason they were all left behind, but there were other weapons to hand. A javelin to toss at the first opponent and a spear for the second. If the spear hit anything he would let go and draw his axe. The blade of the axe could take care of any horse, and the back was shaped into a beak to force its way through armour.
Some small part of him wished for a longer life, more time to spend with his wife and son, and all his friends and relatives too. He imagined that everyone facing a certain death had much the same wish, and a small smile curled his lip, acknowledging the black humour of it.
Mostly though he reviewed his own armour, how it fit and where it was weak. The placement of his weapons and the technique to get them into action quickly. The few throwing weapons he had and their placement on left and right sides. Finally, how his mount felt, the rise and fall of movement, the rapid drumming of the hooves and the eagerness with which he moved down the trail.
It seemed luck or happenstance was on his side. The last place for observing the side trail was now over three hundred paces behind him, and he had seen the party was near the ridge that would block them from sight. Three minutes is all that was needed.
Vertun twisted in the saddle, his right arm stretching back and holding the javelin waiting for the first scout.
He saw the nose of the horse, and his body twisted, the arm coming forward and the aim instinctive as he released the javelin. The scout had no time to react. The javelin flew with force and speed taking his mount in the right shoulder, and it flinched either from the pain or from the motion, it did not matter as the horse then went off the steep edge of the trail to its left.
By placing his spear close to the cliff, and riding tight to his left, the next horse first moved a little away from the cliff and then was muscled over the edge by Vertun's mount. It did not look to be super steep, but recovering from the slide to the next flat area would put him out of the fight.
The next foe was fully prepared, hugging the cliff side and ready for impact. He had his own axe out and his shield was ready. Vertun's mount had slowed, the impact with the second mount had robbed some of his speed. Vertun managed to get his spear into the chest of the third horse, the massive momentum of the two mounts wrenched it out of his hand and as planned, he drew his axe. The horse fell, perhaps the spear had done more damage than Vertun at first had thought. It almost bringing his own down as well, and the opposing rider sprang clear to land on his feet, dancing back from the flaying hooves of the dying horse. It was easy to swing the poll of the axe into the side of his head and his mount eagerly went forward, getting well past the downed horse.
The horses were slowing, the ones in front stopped, nostrils flaring and heads being tossed. The path was too narrow for more than one horse, though if they dismounted perhaps three could stand abreast on this part of the trail. Someone at the back of the pack had dismounted, perhaps to make stringing a bow easier, though staying in the saddle would have given a better vantage to shoot from. Bows no longer concerned Vertun, the fighters in front of him consumed his attention.
A quick signal to his mount, and up he rose, lashing is hooves at the next in line. The already nervous animal retreated slightly, and as his mount came down Vertun flung his shield at the horse. He was too far away to effectively hit it with the axe, and tossing his shield did not do much in the way of offense, but it freed his left arm to throw the next item to hand, a small hatchet that glanced off the breast of the rider and then the distance closed. A twist and duck under the blade, Vertun reached out with his left to his current opponent to drag him out of the saddle, it did not work, but threw the man off balance enough that the next blow of the axe got in clean and ended one more life. the next blow of the axe killed the horse, and luckily it dropped dead right in place, a plug that kept the next in rank from approaching.
The next thirty seconds passed in a blur, as the archer shot and killed his mount, Vertun retrieved his thrown shield and stood behind his fallen mount. It seemed that there was only one archer in a position to shoot, and the archer was either not that good, or too far back for a decent shot, especially as he was now dismounted.
Chaos reigned across from him. A few of the front rank were dismounting and preparing to advance over the slain horses, but their own mounts interfered, making it so that no more than the two now in the front could get at him. The narrow path with it's twists meant it was very awkward to back the force up enough that a horse could jump the two fallen beasts. Vertun was willing to wait in any case. His job looked accomplished not matter what. There was no way they could get him and the horses out of the way in time to see Brian and the rest turn down the branch that would lead to the small port of Vaux. By the time they figured out where he had gone, they would be away and the tide would have turned, making a stern chase at least six hours behind and very unlikely to ever catch up.
They were getting more organized now. The mounts had been backed up enough that six of them now faced him across the barrier of the animals. The archer was making his way past the line of horses. If he made his way all the way to the front, the delay would end. Even a bad archer could drive arrows through his shield and injure his left arm and maybe even go deep enough to injure his body.
Carefully he gathered himself, subtly changing his stance which was mostly concealed by the horses. With explosive power he leapt, landing on the horses and continuing to the far side. The unexpected charge allowed him to land firmly on the far side and begin the next stage of his attack. The grace of his movements belied the power of them, his feet danced over the rock, leveraging power and turning balance into might. The shield was a part of his body an extension that allowed him to lift and throw two opponents.
The fight was truly engaged now, and nicks and bruises began to make the tally known as the fighters landed their own blows and tried their best to end his life. Instinct guided his shield, and it vibrated with the deflection of an arrow. The mess of bodies strewn about turned his dance from on of power and grace to one of dodge and purchase desperately sought.
Five down, only fifty- five to go.
The first true injury happened to Vertun, a shield slammed into his right leg sucking the strength out and denting the armour. That left him with a limp and a slowed his dance. Six down.
The archer was now almost too close to be effective, and the two opponents between him and the archer formed a mini shield wall, hoping to let the archer do the work. A shrug of his right shoulder sent his axe hurling at the archer, and though it was blocked, the two following throwing knives rendered the archers left arm unlikely to hold a bow for the next week.
Sword work now, and his dance grew more graceful. The injured leg responded and the attack renewed. Vertun's breath was deep, but not yet coming in gasps and he felt truly in his element. Block slide and reply.
Seven.
Eight was bad. The axe of eight tore his shield away, nearly dislocating his shoulder before he managed to thrust the tip of his sword into the struggling man's armpit.
Nine. Nine paused to look for an opening and instead received a thrust to the eye.
Ten was pushed over the side as he tried to run past, a poor idea not suited to the narrow terrain.
Eleven hesitated. The pause was welcome, air was sucked down and vision steadied. A crossbow suddenly shot, and the prod went clean through Vertun's left shoulder. Eleven then charged and managed a shot at his right arm, exploding in pain at the bicep even as Vertun sliced into the man's lightly armoured groin.
Twelve. Twelve took his time and set his stance. No mercy showed in his eyes as he carefully advanced, his long shafted mace hidden behind his shield. Vertun did not allow his injuries to voice their pain, and strove to force the damaged muscles to perform. Twelve did not allow recovery time and continued to advance, creeping in to range to bash and subdue. They engaged and somehow Vertun's sword was spun off line, the flat striking instead of the edge, and the mace rang off his helm, dazing him. The next blow was blocked automatically, but there was little power in the block and the next one fell unimpeded on his chest and caved in the plate over his heart. Dazed, his dance now over his life ended with the next blow, the crossbow bolt through his eye was an unneeded insurance.
His body slowly fell, loose and free. The pain of the last six months gone. His spirit off to find solace in the world beyond this one.
The survivors tried to quickly deal with the blockage, strining the dead men in a line against the inside of the trail, pushing the dead horses over the edge, and letting down a line to aid those who needed to climb back up. Saddle bags of the downed mounts were distributed and after almost an hour they were on their way.
Well past the turn off to Vaux, they noticed they were no longer hot on the trail of anything fresh. By the time they realized their error, they had lost over three hours and arrived far too late in Vaux to even see the sail on the horizon. With the tide against them and no way of telling which way Brian's party had sailed, the pursuit was stalled.
'It is my time.'. Vertun spoke with quiet authority.
Brian looked at him, and his slow nod was all that was needed. 'You honour us.'
Vertun slid off his horse, reach to remove his saddle bags. 'There are letters and my journal, if possible....'
'We will see that Lodis and Thomas get them.'. Brian took the bags, the weight of them magnified by the gravity of the situation.
'Jardan?
'Yes?
'My son has long admired you, it would please me if you could give him my signet.'
A nod was all that was needed to convey Jardan's emotions.
Vertun turned back to his mount, carefully picking up each hoof, running his hands over his legs quickly but carefully.
As he rode away, Jardan asked Brian,'His time?'
'You haven't noticed?' Brian brought his mount around to face back up the pass. 'He is dying.
'For months now he has been consumed by a cancer. By the time I knew anything, it was too advanced for me to try to cure. I have done what I can to give him more time and ease some of his pain, but in truth there is little I can do.'
Stephan spoke up, 'I thought something was wrong. I came close to touching him during sparring twice in the last month.'
'He has not slept well in months. The only thing keeping him alive is his will. He denies the ravages of the disease and ignores the pain, but there is a limit to that and he is rapidly reaching the end.' Said Brian. 'It is his choice to go out this way, a fitting end for a warrior.'
The horse beneath Vertun sensed something was different, and danced a little, too well trained to kick up much of a fuss, but clearly sensing something.
'I will not make a stand, but charge into them. They are bound to have at least a few archers, and they could easily end my delaying tactics. At best I will buy you five minutes, maybe a bit more if I can slay a few of their mounts and clog the trail.'
He made eye contact with each one who would be continuing on and said his last words, 'You have all been great companions and I am sorry to not see the end of the trail, but have been blessed by being part of the start.'
The few quiet words that followed him as he turned to start back down the mountain were laden with the emotions reverberating within all.
The rest of the party started back up the pass, striving to make haste, to make the diversion work.
Vertun put all his mind toward the task at hand, and the world both shrank and expanded. His mind detached, there was a distance between himself and his body in some ways, but his eyes clearly saw every rock and pebble on the path, the twists and turns of the trail became a tactical problem easily solved. The odd glimpse of the foe as they made their way up the mountain, the speed they were riding and the ideal interception point came together into a solution that was more of a gesalt than actual thought process. He slowly allowed his mount to gather speed, planning on hitting the leading members of the foe at a place where the path wound to his right and would cut off any long distance sight lines and make archery difficult. The trail even wound for length under fir trees, and perhaps the needles would mask the noise of his progress a little, shortening the time they would have to react.
The trail flatten out, widening and letting him speed up a little more, the path under hoof going from bare rock to a graveled surface, with a few areas of needle carpets changing the tone of the striking of the hooves. The cumbersome shield of a cavalry charger was absent, and in its place was a lighter one, thinner and not nearly as heavy. With luck it would last through the first few encounters, but he would need to be ready to cast it aside and use something else.
There was no lance either, the length being the major reason they were all left behind, but there were other weapons to hand. A javelin to toss at the first opponent and a spear for the second. If the spear hit anything he would let go and draw his axe. The blade of the axe could take care of any horse, and the back was shaped into a beak to force its way through armour.
Some small part of him wished for a longer life, more time to spend with his wife and son, and all his friends and relatives too. He imagined that everyone facing a certain death had much the same wish, and a small smile curled his lip, acknowledging the black humour of it.
Mostly though he reviewed his own armour, how it fit and where it was weak. The placement of his weapons and the technique to get them into action quickly. The few throwing weapons he had and their placement on left and right sides. Finally, how his mount felt, the rise and fall of movement, the rapid drumming of the hooves and the eagerness with which he moved down the trail.
It seemed luck or happenstance was on his side. The last place for observing the side trail was now over three hundred paces behind him, and he had seen the party was near the ridge that would block them from sight. Three minutes is all that was needed.
Vertun twisted in the saddle, his right arm stretching back and holding the javelin waiting for the first scout.
He saw the nose of the horse, and his body twisted, the arm coming forward and the aim instinctive as he released the javelin. The scout had no time to react. The javelin flew with force and speed taking his mount in the right shoulder, and it flinched either from the pain or from the motion, it did not matter as the horse then went off the steep edge of the trail to its left.
By placing his spear close to the cliff, and riding tight to his left, the next horse first moved a little away from the cliff and then was muscled over the edge by Vertun's mount. It did not look to be super steep, but recovering from the slide to the next flat area would put him out of the fight.
The next foe was fully prepared, hugging the cliff side and ready for impact. He had his own axe out and his shield was ready. Vertun's mount had slowed, the impact with the second mount had robbed some of his speed. Vertun managed to get his spear into the chest of the third horse, the massive momentum of the two mounts wrenched it out of his hand and as planned, he drew his axe. The horse fell, perhaps the spear had done more damage than Vertun at first had thought. It almost bringing his own down as well, and the opposing rider sprang clear to land on his feet, dancing back from the flaying hooves of the dying horse. It was easy to swing the poll of the axe into the side of his head and his mount eagerly went forward, getting well past the downed horse.
The horses were slowing, the ones in front stopped, nostrils flaring and heads being tossed. The path was too narrow for more than one horse, though if they dismounted perhaps three could stand abreast on this part of the trail. Someone at the back of the pack had dismounted, perhaps to make stringing a bow easier, though staying in the saddle would have given a better vantage to shoot from. Bows no longer concerned Vertun, the fighters in front of him consumed his attention.
A quick signal to his mount, and up he rose, lashing is hooves at the next in line. The already nervous animal retreated slightly, and as his mount came down Vertun flung his shield at the horse. He was too far away to effectively hit it with the axe, and tossing his shield did not do much in the way of offense, but it freed his left arm to throw the next item to hand, a small hatchet that glanced off the breast of the rider and then the distance closed. A twist and duck under the blade, Vertun reached out with his left to his current opponent to drag him out of the saddle, it did not work, but threw the man off balance enough that the next blow of the axe got in clean and ended one more life. the next blow of the axe killed the horse, and luckily it dropped dead right in place, a plug that kept the next in rank from approaching.
The next thirty seconds passed in a blur, as the archer shot and killed his mount, Vertun retrieved his thrown shield and stood behind his fallen mount. It seemed that there was only one archer in a position to shoot, and the archer was either not that good, or too far back for a decent shot, especially as he was now dismounted.
Chaos reigned across from him. A few of the front rank were dismounting and preparing to advance over the slain horses, but their own mounts interfered, making it so that no more than the two now in the front could get at him. The narrow path with it's twists meant it was very awkward to back the force up enough that a horse could jump the two fallen beasts. Vertun was willing to wait in any case. His job looked accomplished not matter what. There was no way they could get him and the horses out of the way in time to see Brian and the rest turn down the branch that would lead to the small port of Vaux. By the time they figured out where he had gone, they would be away and the tide would have turned, making a stern chase at least six hours behind and very unlikely to ever catch up.
They were getting more organized now. The mounts had been backed up enough that six of them now faced him across the barrier of the animals. The archer was making his way past the line of horses. If he made his way all the way to the front, the delay would end. Even a bad archer could drive arrows through his shield and injure his left arm and maybe even go deep enough to injure his body.
Carefully he gathered himself, subtly changing his stance which was mostly concealed by the horses. With explosive power he leapt, landing on the horses and continuing to the far side. The unexpected charge allowed him to land firmly on the far side and begin the next stage of his attack. The grace of his movements belied the power of them, his feet danced over the rock, leveraging power and turning balance into might. The shield was a part of his body an extension that allowed him to lift and throw two opponents.
The fight was truly engaged now, and nicks and bruises began to make the tally known as the fighters landed their own blows and tried their best to end his life. Instinct guided his shield, and it vibrated with the deflection of an arrow. The mess of bodies strewn about turned his dance from on of power and grace to one of dodge and purchase desperately sought.
Five down, only fifty- five to go.
The first true injury happened to Vertun, a shield slammed into his right leg sucking the strength out and denting the armour. That left him with a limp and a slowed his dance. Six down.
The archer was now almost too close to be effective, and the two opponents between him and the archer formed a mini shield wall, hoping to let the archer do the work. A shrug of his right shoulder sent his axe hurling at the archer, and though it was blocked, the two following throwing knives rendered the archers left arm unlikely to hold a bow for the next week.
Sword work now, and his dance grew more graceful. The injured leg responded and the attack renewed. Vertun's breath was deep, but not yet coming in gasps and he felt truly in his element. Block slide and reply.
Seven.
Eight was bad. The axe of eight tore his shield away, nearly dislocating his shoulder before he managed to thrust the tip of his sword into the struggling man's armpit.
Nine. Nine paused to look for an opening and instead received a thrust to the eye.
Ten was pushed over the side as he tried to run past, a poor idea not suited to the narrow terrain.
Eleven hesitated. The pause was welcome, air was sucked down and vision steadied. A crossbow suddenly shot, and the prod went clean through Vertun's left shoulder. Eleven then charged and managed a shot at his right arm, exploding in pain at the bicep even as Vertun sliced into the man's lightly armoured groin.
Twelve. Twelve took his time and set his stance. No mercy showed in his eyes as he carefully advanced, his long shafted mace hidden behind his shield. Vertun did not allow his injuries to voice their pain, and strove to force the damaged muscles to perform. Twelve did not allow recovery time and continued to advance, creeping in to range to bash and subdue. They engaged and somehow Vertun's sword was spun off line, the flat striking instead of the edge, and the mace rang off his helm, dazing him. The next blow was blocked automatically, but there was little power in the block and the next one fell unimpeded on his chest and caved in the plate over his heart. Dazed, his dance now over his life ended with the next blow, the crossbow bolt through his eye was an unneeded insurance.
His body slowly fell, loose and free. The pain of the last six months gone. His spirit off to find solace in the world beyond this one.
The survivors tried to quickly deal with the blockage, strining the dead men in a line against the inside of the trail, pushing the dead horses over the edge, and letting down a line to aid those who needed to climb back up. Saddle bags of the downed mounts were distributed and after almost an hour they were on their way.
Well past the turn off to Vaux, they noticed they were no longer hot on the trail of anything fresh. By the time they realized their error, they had lost over three hours and arrived far too late in Vaux to even see the sail on the horizon. With the tide against them and no way of telling which way Brian's party had sailed, the pursuit was stalled.
