The Conquest of Kiynan

Night was beginning to fall as Simion walked through the streets of Nunliss, looking around him at his fellow Gaurvians. If ever he had complained about being conscripted and forced to fight to defend his people, he could no longer recall why. His alternative would have been to remain in Brockton while the Iceborn occupied it, and he would surely have ended up like the broken people he saw around him now. Everywhere he looked, he saw devastation. Houses had been burned to the ground, entire families put to the sword; there had been rape and torture. Simion felt nauseated by the thought of the carnage he had escaped here. The people he crossed in the street smiled warmly at him, with their dirty, drawn faces.

Simion had never seen the amount of joy that he witnessed when Stoneworth had led his army into the city. The people of Nunliss had been completely ravaged by the Iceborn. Those savages had committed every atrocity Simion could conceive of, and more that he could not. When the Iceborn finally left, it was only to be replaced by the resentful Qume. Windsword had not been as cruel as Blackheart or his lieutenants, but the city had already been in such a terrible state that even the smallest injustice felt crippling to its oppressed people. The sight of Stoneworth and his army marching into the city convinced the inhabitants of Nunliss that their ordeal was over at last. Their faith in their King could not be shaken, simply because they had nothing else to cling to.

Over the last few days since his arrival here, Simion had noticed a remarkable change. With hope restored to its people, the city had begun to heal itself. All of the Gaurvians in Stoneworth’s army, and even a number of non-Gaurvians, had taken to helping wherever they could. Rubble was cleared away, bodies were buried, and houses and other buildings were starting to be rebuilt. Nothing had ever moved Simion as much as the sight of so many broken, battered people toiling to rebuild their homes and bury their loved ones, showing no outward emotion other than optimism.

Simion heard his name being shouted, and he turned to observe a Gaurvian soldier running down the street toward him. The messenger hastily informed Simion that the King had called together his advisors, and ran off on some other errand. Simion quickly headed toward the manse that served as the home of the Regent of Nunliss, which the King had decided to use as his headquarters while he remained in this city.

“Ah, Simion!” smiled the King as the thief turned conscript turned advisor walked into the council room.

Besides the King, Simion noted the presence of Mamos Pomindi, Mamos Tofagip with Crosio beside him, Vikor Seastrom and Aman Kingsbury. Simion stared at the solemn-faced leader of the Fayl for a moment, admiring his powerful presence despite his spartan appearance. Simion imagined the rigours of life on his rocky, volcanic island and then, as Crosio snorted rudely, he wondered whether that life or dealing with the obnoxious translator was worse. Simion shook his head and turned his attention back to the King.

“What has happened?” he asked, already guessing the answer.

“I have had scouts watching far up the road to Vidliank, and they have reported to me that our enemies are approaching.”

Darryan Fleetfoot entered the room just then, and the King’s brief explanation had to be repeated. With all his advisors present, the King began to discuss options. Simion thought back to the battle at Vidliank and compared that young man to the decisive leader that now spoke. Although Simion generally held his tongue during these meetings, the King’s other advisors had no shortage of opinions to impress upon him. However, the King took them all in stride, seeming to have already made up his mind, but trying to avoid unilaterally forcing his will upon the others.

“Why don’t we send the guhros out for a midnight snack?” proposed Vikor Seastrom with a devilish grin, “I bet that would shake up the Iceborn!”

“Our guhros are highly valuable weapons of warfare, and living creatures moreover,” returned Pomindi icily. “A guhro must be trained from the day it is born, for three years, before it is ready to fight. Guhro trainers regularly lose their lives performing their duties. They do so because they know that used wisely, each animal will save the lives of many Ilnt warriors,” Pomindi’s voice was level, but her back was stiff, and her eyes glittered fiercely. “They are not to be used lightly.”

“Nor shall we use them so,” said Stoneworth. “However, I agree with Mamos Tofagip that we should mobilize immediately and attack them before they reach us. Therefore, I would like to use Vikor’s suggestion and bring the guhros with us as well.”

“But Nunliss’ walls will give us an important advantage over the Iceborn. If we leave the city, we give up that advantage!” objected Fleetfoot for the third time.

“Darryan, Nunliss is in terrible shape,” added the King patiently. “While it may afford us some protection, I don’t want these people to be caught in the middle of a battle again. Besides, with no hope of outside help, we would be hard pressed to last here for very long under siege. Surprise will be a more powerful weapon than Nunliss’ walls. We will attack at once, and defeat them before they realize what has happened. After this victory, lady and gentlemen, we will continue on to Vidliank and nothing will stop us from reclaiming it.”

Everyone was dispatched to see that their troops were gathered together as quickly as possible. Very few provisions were needed, as the army would be returning to Nunliss immediately after the battle.

A little more than an hour later, Stoneworth’s eclectic force was ready to move. Despite the late hour, seemingly all of the citizens of Nunliss were on hand to cheer and wave at the soldiers as they marched out of the city to engage their enemy.

Although the land surrounding the road was fairly open, the darkness of the night ensured that the Iceborn and Qume would not see Stoneworth and his soldiers in the distance. No torches were permitted, they would move only by the light of the Moon. Stealthy Gaurvian scouts who knew the land well were sent ahead of the main group to detect the enemy. As the march progressed, the scouts regularly reported back to inform Stoneworth of the estimated distance separating them from the encroaching army. After a matter of hours, Stoneworth ordered a halt. Lieutenants moved among the mass of men, shouting orders in Ganec and Berish, organizing them into ranks and readying them for battle. The guhros shouted guttural grunts at one another as they eagerly pulled at their chains. Simion took his place among the cavalry, tightening the straps of his shield and nervously varying his grip on his spear. When the army seemed prepared, Stoneworth rode out before the front line of soldiers. Simion had never seen the King this filled with courage and confidence.

“These men before you are your enemies,” Stoneworth began, riding along the front line of his army. “They have come here to take your homes, to rape your women, enslave your children,” he shouted slowly, carefully emphasising his words, his anger rising audibly. “They have killed your brothers, your sisters, your friends. They have stolen your treasures, consumed your crops, and burned your farms. We are the only ones who can stop them!” He raised his voice still further, assaulting his men with it, spitting every rage-laced word. “We have killed many of them, but still they have not learned. But tonight, they will learn. Tonight, we shall teach them that this land is not theirs! This land cannot be taken! This land is ours! AND THEY ARE NOT WELCOME TO IT!”

Islanders and Gaurvians were moved alike, and were filled with a sudden righteous anger. Simion screamed in unison with the other troops, feeling himself washed away in the moment. Stoneworth’s anger was his own. The suffering of the Gaurvians would be put to an end tonight, and Simion’s sword would be red with blood.

Stoneworth drew his sword and held it high, as his army continued to shout in anticipation. He wheeled his horse and surged forward. As one rancorous, many-limbed beast of war, his troops followed closely. The guhros raced ahead of the humans, their loping forms keeping low to the ground. It took several minutes of fast march before the enemy became visible. They had evidently detected Stoneworth’s force at last, and were hurriedly forming into a shield wall to meet the charge. Simion’s pulse beat ferociously in his head. Stoneworth called to the cavalry to push their mounts into a full gallop. They quickly outpaced the hunting guhros, bearing down on their enemies at full tilt. If they could get to the enemy before their shield wall closed, it would be a massacre, a total rout. Simion dug in his heels and held tight, balancing his spear.

The fevered charge unnerved the enemy. They managed to close their shield wall, but the soldiers had been organized in such haste, Simion could see a dozen openings he could easily plough through. Simion lowered his spear point and aimed for a small gap between two shields. Within moments, the cavalry struck the enemy’s front line of infantry. Simion burst past two infantrymen, his horse sending them flying. He saw three or four allies crash painfully into the metal wall of shields and spears. He heard the dying squeals of horses pierced by sharp metal, and the screams of men being stabbed or trampled. Simion clung tightly to his mount, thrusting with his spear. He felt the crush of soldiers all around him. Suddenly, he found himself next to King Stoneworth who hacked and slashed with his sword, his spear apparently already lost. A moment later two more Gaurvian riders found their way to their King. As the cavalrymen fought their way through the enemy soldiers, more and more Gaurvian riders joined them, reforming their line. The soldiers now fought harder to get out of the thundering cavalry’s path than to oppose them. Simion speared a dozen men in the back as he overtook them. Suddenly, they were free of the soldiers. They slowed to a trot and wheeled their horses about to quickly take stock of the battle. The Toop heavy infantry had formed an impassable shield wall of gleaming bronze and were pushing into the chaotic mess of Iceborn and Qume soldiers. The other Sea Tribes and Gaurvian troops were clustered into a tight wedge formation and were cutting through the Iceborn army, just ahead of the Toop. An obvious path of destruction lay through the centre of the Iceborn army where the cavalry had charged through. The gap was littered with bodies, as well as broken spears and slain horses. The guhros hung back near the edge of the battle. They darted in to grab enemy soldiers and quickly drag them away from their allies to devour them unimpeded. The battle seemed all but won, as the Iceborn and Qume infantry would never be able to regroup in the face of the unified Sea Tribe and Gaurvian infantry pressing into them, as well as the cavalry on their flank, on the verge of charging in a second time. Stoneworth called his cavalry together again, rebuilding their line. Simion wondered to himself where the leaders of this army were. In fact, Simion felt certain that they should have some cavalry. Although the Iceborn had not been able to bring any horses with them over the Cold Sea, their Qume allies should have had numerous horses at their disposal. Yet, Simion realized not one enemy rider was noticeable. Simion suddenly realized that something was terribly wrong. Before he could speak however, Stoneworth called for a charge and Simion found himself swept into another frenzied assault, riding into the enemy’s flank. The Iceborn and Qume infantry now crumbled completely. They could not hope to fight the advancing infantry with cavalry charging at their backs. They began to flee in every direction, desperately seeking to escape their enemies’ bloody swords and spears. Just as Simion’s fears began to subside, he suddenly felt his horse collapse under him, sending him toppling forward.

He rolled some distance, then thrashed about in confusion, struggling to regain his breath. His vision was darkened and his head spun. His blood froze as he was filled with the fear of the cold touch of metal at any instant, while his vision returned too slowly. He scrambled to his feet, clumsily drawing his sword. He swung aimlessly, hoping to keep any nearby opponents at bay. His sword resoundingly came to rest upon another. He pushed against it, leaning into his adversary. He felt the hot breath of the enemy on his face as his eyes returned to focus. There staring back at him over the crossed swords was an unmistakably familiar face.

“Cadius!” Simion shouted in disbelief over the din around them.

“Simion?” came the other’s startled reply.

A moment of unexpected joy filled Simion’s heart at this reunion with his old friend, whom he had assumed had been lost during their ill-fated battle to defend Vidliank. The moment passed just as quickly however, as he noticed his old friend wore a black uniform adorned with a white bear, a uniform he’d only ever seen among the Iceborn. Simion pushed himself away from Cadius and looked him over again.

“You’ve changed your colours, Cadius.”

“Aye, I know the winning side when I see it,” Cadius replied with his customary charismatic grin.

“But they’ve taken our homes from us!”

“But we can have them back if only we change our so-called allegiance.”

Simion felt himself filled with an incomprehensible horror. This man had been like a brother to him, but he seemed now like a stranger from an alien shore.

“Coward! My home was unjustly taken from me by force. I won’t grovel at the feet of some barbarian overlord to get it back. I intend to put things right; I’ll win back what’s mine!”

Cadius’ expression changed to one of disgust.

“What’s happened to you? What do we care about right and wrong? We’re thieves, Simion! There’s no profit in dying for a noble cause,” he scoffed.

Simion’s growing anger boiled over then and he rushed at Cadius with his teeth bared. Cadius parried Simion’s enraged jab and struck him in the side of the head with a mailed fist. Simion stumbled, reeling from the bigger man’s blow. He managed to raise his sword in time to meet Cadius’ blade, and pushed his enemy away with a kick to the stomach.

“Have you forgotten who you are? Have you forgotten who you’re fighting for?” Cadius shouted at his old colleague as he straightened. “What are you defending? You want to go back to living in that damp hovel while Stoneworth and his ilk count their gold? Is that the home you so desperately want back? Where’s the justice in that?”

Simion hesitated as his mind filled with thoughts and memories he had ignored for so long. Cadius was right. Simion had been so intent on surviving and then on defending his people, he had all but forgotten his former life. He shuddered as he remembered the filthy basement he had occupied.

“These Iceborn are different,” Cadius continued. “They have a King, yes, but he and all their nobility are not idle hedonists, but warriors all. They don’t tolerate weakness, particularly in their leaders. When their nobility fails them or becomes complacent, the people rise up and cast them down. The lives of people like us would be much better under the Iceborn. Their courage and ferocity are admirable. I say Stoneworth has failed us. Join us and we’ll cast him down, just as he deserves!”

Simion contemplated his former fence. Something inside his head resonated with Cadius’ words. Certainly, not so long ago, he would have agreed wholeheartedly. What had changed? Had he simply forgotten his beliefs? Had he been brainwashed?

“Things will be different after this war is over,” Simion rebutted without conviction.

Cadius sneered.

“Yes, everything will be wonderful. Stoneworth will step down and make you King and you’ll feed the orphans and punish the wicked.”

The jibe startled Simion. The Cadius he had known was always cool and charming to a fault, he would never have lost his temper and resorted to petty sarcasm. The confusion in his mind abruptly melted away. This was not a spectre from his past come to remind him of who he was. This was a sadistic echo of a former life, a life he’d outgrown.

“You’ve changed too Cadius, but only for the worse,” Simion cast back with contempt. “Our King may have failed us at Vidliank, but he cares about our people. I’ve seen what the Iceborn have done. They are bloodthirsty warmongers. Our lives may not have been worth much before, but there were plenty of good Gaurvians who rightfully valued what they had. The Iceborn have taken that away. Life would be much worse for all of us under the Iceborn. I won’t allow that. I’ll fight them with my every last breath, for the good of our people.”

“Then I’ll make sure you take your last breath right here and now!”

Cadius lunged forward, but Simion stepped aside easily. The turncoat’s sword came up in a backward arc suddenly and Simion felt himself lose his balance as he parried the blow. Cadius feinted a stab at the former thief’s face, keeping him off balance then deftly swept his feet out from under him with his greave-armoured shin. Simion hit the ground on his back and just managed to bring his sword up to cover his face. Cadius’ blade hammered against Simion’s weapon, the force of the attack sending both swords clanging against the fallen man’s helmet. His head ringing, the smaller man managed to roll away from another deadly downward chop. Boiling with rage, Simion leapt to his feet, ignoring the painful bright colours swimming before his eyes.

Screaming, Simion charged at Cadius again, swinging his sword down at his head. When the attack was parried, Simion spun toward his right and smashed his sword into Cadius’ side with all his momentum behind it. Cadius’ chain mail cut into his side and he grunted in pain as he took a couple of quick steps to maintain his balance. The loyal Gaurvian feinted at Cadius’ face, causing the big man to hurriedly raise his blade. Cadius then sloppily lowered his sword in response to a lightning quick feint at his legs. Simion immediately stepped into a wide stance and brutally hacked his former friend’s head off while his guard remained too low. Allowing himself no time to reflect on Cadius’ death, Simion coldly turned his back on the headless corpse before it had even fallen, and looked to find his King.

He saw Stoneworth and his cavalry slow as they emerged from the enemy soldiers. Stoneworth seemed about to proclaim victory, when his lips were frozen by a sudden war cry nearby. Turning quickly to face the sound, Simion heard horns blaring and saw a long line of cavalry charging right at him. There were hundreds of them, flying the Qume standard as they charged. Behind them came a fresh line of infantry, not as numerous as Stoneworth’s infantry, but the routed Iceborn were rushing to meet their allies and fall in behind their shield line. The Toop were trying to reposition themselves to meet the new attackers, but the cavalry was upon them too quickly and their line broke. Screaming for his men to follow him, Stoneworth was already charging to meet the newcomers. Simion ran toward him, but he could see that they had lost the upper hand. Stoneworth saw it too and abruptly called a retreat, yelling at the top of his lungs for his troops to fall back to Nunliss.

The King led his cavalry into the fray to oppose the enemy cavalry to give his people a chance to escape. He and his men hacked through the enemy line, unhorsing Qume riders and slaughtering footmen alike. Simion struggled his way into the gap opened by Stoneworth’s charge. He ran, following in the cavalry’s wake of destruction. He saw a tight knot of riders clash with the Gaurvian King. Two of the enemy cavalrymen were obviously of some significant rank. One of them was a stern older man and wore a Qumish general’s regalia. Simion recognized the other from the battle at Vidliank; he was the Mamos of Qume. The former thief remembered slashing the hamstrings of the man’s horse as he had sought to ride down Stoneworth. The Gaurvian King and his men clashed with the Qumish riders and their charge halted. Simion saw Vikor Seastrom parry a blow from the Mamos while the King himself attacked the general.

The former thief ducked just in time to let a Qumish rider’s blade whistle over his head. A second rider came charging on the Qumish warrior’s heels, but Simion planted his feet and stood his ground. As his enemy bore down on him, Simion dove out of the horse’s path while slashing his sword across the animal’s breast. Blood flew from the beast’s mouth as it toppled to the ground, pulling its rider down with it. Simion quickly jumped over the fallen animal and swept the rider’s head off as he struggled free of his downed horse. Simion looked around again to find the King. His eyes passed over the Qumish general hanging limply from his horse. He located Stoneworth just as the Qumish Mamos struck the Gaurvian with his spear. Simion caught his breath as he watched Stoneworth slide off his horse. Simion’s heart jumped into his mouth as he raced over to his fallen King. A guhro suddenly leapt out of the chaos and bowled the Mamos off his horse as he moved in for the kill. Simion reached his King’s prone form and found an alligator-leather clad Bok foot soldier already trying to raise Stoneworth to his feet. The Gaurvian helped the foot soldier lift the limp form of Stoneworth back onto the King’s horse, which had remained steadfastly in place. Simion slapped the horse’s flank with the flat of his sword, sending it into a gallop down the road to Nunliss. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the Mamos rising to his feet, shoving the brazen guhro off his sword. Repeating the order to retreat, Simion ran with the crush of Gaurvian and Sea Tribes infantry, desperately rushing back toward Nunliss and hopefully, safety. As he ran he heard an unmistakable trumpeting sound and quickly realized his enemies had chosen to regroup rather than pursue.