Ante Magic - Ch. 26: Fight!

Serial Fantasy Fiction Fun: There had to be a proper fight eventually

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Ante Magic - Ch. 1: Punch drunk

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Words can be so easily abused. In this particular case, it was the word ‘order’ that was facing excessive misuse.

A dazed and confused Balk found himself joined by his brothers in arms to form a tight, protective cordon around Ama. If they made it out of this alive, he thought, he would be finding the nearest inn where he would order copious amounts of ale and plenty of food.

But his order would have to wait. Across what was now a battlefield, numerous other orders were already being issued. Perhaps some of those were intended to avoid the seemingly inevitable conflict. If so, they were quickly drowned out.

Professional soldiers knew their business. What made them more than an armed rabble was the maintenance of discipline under any circumstance. Order was maintained by the issuing and following of orders. On this occasion, anybody observing and seeking signs of that order was likely to be waiting as long as Balk for his ale.

The Sarrahin Brotherhood did not need orders. As one they also moved to surround their incapacitated charge, ensuring no harm would come to her until she was recovered.

—

Quick thinking Stint had been one of those diving out of the way of projectile burning rock. His natural, if often well hidden, care for his colleagues meant he had pushed straight into them ensuring their safety also. It was only after the fact that he realised the specific ‘their’ on this occasion belonged to Rosin.

Stunned only briefly, but long enough for them both to note exactly where his hands had landed, Stint righted himself swiftly and shouted out the first thing that came to mind as a distraction from the awkward urge to provide explanation.

“To the Captain!”

And that was enough to see the opening gambit of the Titan’s Rangers put into action; whether anyone wanted it or not.

They moved too quickly for it to be considered an orderly advance, but somehow roughly held together as a unit. One of the Gladbrooke militia battalions had moved to counter them. The sight of the enemy lining up to meet them suddenly felt like an invitation. Rapid advance broke into full charge.

Somebody knew how to keep their calm, even when their subordinates did not. Just as the Titan’s Boot was about to close the final gap and deliver an opening kick to the teeth, a volley of arrows came from behind them, softening the resolve of the line they were about to hit.

A single thought broke through the adrenaline and into Stint’s consciousness. Balk was not right in front of him this time, but still in the same battlefield, still needing him to have his back. Stint missed the surety of that dumb wall in front of him right now though.

But there was still a line of shield bearing warriors, even if Balk was not one of them. On this occasion they were not a wall; they were a battering ram. The line broke. A clear opening appeared before Stint and instinctively he thrust the point of his spear into it. It struck true, but also stuck to. He released the wooden shaft and drew his short sword.

Steel edged recrimination showed him how it should be done. A space had formed around this part of the melee. Rosin claimed ownership of it. By the time Stint was ready to strike with his sword, Rosin had dispatched two with utmost precision, and was sweeping gracefully forward to find the next target, her spear still in hand.

He felt like her shadow. Half a step behind, slightly to the side, but shifting in synchrony to her lethal dance. All he could do was land where the blinding brilliance of her sublime slaughter cast him. Until her spear tip caught, just long enough to leave an opening. When the lunge came at her unprotected left, Stint was there. The parry and slash he delivered felt beyond his usual level of skill, but how could he not raise his game for this?

Briefly his eyes caught Rosin’s. They were wild, and so alive. The accompanying grin threatened to open and swallow him whole. For now, nothing else mattered. All he could do was ride the storm.

—

Balk found himself staring at an incrementally approaching line of the King’s own. They were hardened professionals, and they had the numbers. That the initial cry had come from the merchant and not their commander was the only reason they had not just swept straight into Balk’s small, isolated group. This could not last much longer.

Yet Balk made time to look at Ama. She was now sitting up, but seemed unable to rise further. Their eyes met and she spoke a single sentence.

“I have her, but that’s all I can do, so you need to hold.”

He did not really understand what she was talking about, but the one thing he did know was how to be a wall.

Unfortunately, he was currently one brick in a wall of just ten; eleven, if you count a cat. The block of troops they now faced outnumbered them at least ten to one. No wall could protect against those odds for long, but that would not stop them trying.

“Come on then!” Came the cry from his right. Good old Foghorn, reliable as always. Balk knew the face to his immediate left, but could not currently find the name.

Hopefully they both lived long enough for him to ask.

—

Commander Lunding surveyed his battlefield. In some ways his job was to avoid his mercenary company actually engaging in pitched battle. He had to admit though, that when he failed, they were very good at it.

To the far right, the veterans of the Titan’s Fist had kept their discipline. That meant they were a little behind their comrades in the Boot, but not by much. He watched with approval as his elites rolled into the bulk of the Gladbrooke troops. It would take a while yet, but he already knew that side of the field belonged to him.

Which left him able to focus all attention on that small group in the centre facing imminent disaster. He had a plan, of course, but timing was leaving too much hanging in the balance.

—

The trading of blows formed a syncopated beat. Steel spoke to wood, declaring its intent. Wood replied that steel could go no further. The discourse continued, but surely had to change soon.

Captain Pardhu was at one end of their small wall. Connaught held the other. If Balk was not totally focused on the fight he would have seen how hard they were working to prevent being surrounded. Totally focused was a generous description. Balk’s world was feeling a little hazy, but the rhythmic raising of shield and counter thrust of sword came naturally.

Until a sharp note disrupted the melody. The soldier to his left took a blow, and stumbled. Instinct led Balk into the gap, surging forward with his shield to prevent a second blow landing, and knocking his opponent back in the process. Finding himself with more space than he was used to, he wildly swung out with his sword.

Which hit nothing.

So he waved it around some more, and screamed into the faces of his reluctant opponents. A snarling growl at his side joined in harmony. The Captain had been right; Kitty did like him.

With a little perspective and capacity to think, perhaps Balk would have seen what everyone else currently did. The crazy guy who they had already watched punch a meteor was now threatening to take on an entire battalion – by himself. Okay, not by himself; the big cat apparently wanted a piece of the action.

With a cry from the Captain, the details of which eluded Balk, he found himself becoming the sharp point of a push into the enemy as his comrades surged around him. Perhaps he was not the crazy one after all. It briefly crossed his mind that this was not sustainable, that numbers would soon take the advantage. Only briefly though, as the world was starting to shift from hazy to blurry.

Then came a thundering sound, slowly building in the back of his head. Was something wrong with him? Then he saw that the noise was not just in his head. The Harlwood nobles, arrayed as knights, crashed straight into the King’s own, providing the desperately needed reprieve.

That reprieve was also a brief distraction. A glancing blow off his helmet completed the progression from hazy to blurry. As resistance faded in front of him under the irresistible assault of heavy cavalry, it then went from blurry, to black.

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I’m writing this to make me smile as relief from a darker world & words. I’m sharing it here as I write, so it can hopefully bring others some smiles too. Let me know if it works!