Chapter II: Tribal Champion [2]

Velmund strode carefully through the ramparts and made his way to the left wing, where he had found Frenda gathered with some knights. The female knight saluted upon his approach, her right gauntlet brushing against her chest, conveying the simplest form of salute common among the Runtallian soldierly, of which the Raven Knights, a military order of knights founded by Velmund himself, adapted themselves. "M'lord, I am at your command," she said on a muffled voice inside her enclosed visor. 

Velmund smiled on the sight of her then deliberately diverted his gaze to the tight pack of enemies that loom ahead, stock-still. He cleared his throat and said, "Pray do gather all the Raven Knights, and we shall carry on with the plan."

"I shan't delay, m'lord," Frenda replied, then turned to the soldiers aback her, "I will leave Sir Oustborne in charge, follow his every command." A lanky man barked orders to form a defensive line instantaneously. Then, Frenda hastily marched down the wall along with a score of knights, who were headed for the stable to mount their horses.

For another half an hour, the barbarians stood idly upon the open field. With the keenest regard of the enemy, Velmund returned to the nexus of the wall and was greeted back by the sight of Captain Berwyn Nuckenham, the warrior who occupied the twelfth seat in the Raven Knights, first regiment captain of the Fourth Division of the Standing Army, and second-in-command of the Fourth Division Commander. He was a hefty fellow in his prime, plump faced, broad shouldered, and was clad in a black suit of plate armor with a silvery tinge like the rest of his order. He was dazed on the view afar from his post, unmindfully resting his crossbow upon his pauldron, deep in thoughts. When he saw the young lord striding closer, he offered a salute and greetings. "My lord, tell what this humble knight can be of service to you?"

Velmund nodded and answered, "Captain Berwyn, do order some of the militia in your unit to fetch more cauldrons of oil. It will be an essential element for us to drive away our foes. I trust that Frenda has told you what to make of it?" The worried look on the captain's face made the lord add, mistakenly, the reply, "Costly as a resource might oil be, safety of the townspeople is far more valuable."

As a response, Berwyn turned his head sideways, and blurted out, "That is not it, my liege. Should you be lingering here instead of saving your own life? The odds are not in our favor." Berwyn's grave face made him quiver for a brief moment. Berwyn was Velmund's mentor in archery since he was the age of nine. The knight's virtue speak of no lies, as he had witness throughout the course of seven years. Neither did the uptight face nor the expression of unfeigned loyalty helped ease Velmund's own fears. He reciprocated the knight's plead and offered a shrug, feigning ignorance. The gesture, as the knight captain understood, indicated that his conscience would not allow him to abandon the town not solely bound of noble duty, but sympathy for the people that will be slaughtered should he favor cowardice. Even so, the soldier's remark lingered on his mind. Berwyn gave a tired sigh, and said, grinning, "Your father is as hard-headed as his sons, I'm afraid."

Velmund left Berwyn with his unit, then paced towards a battlement on the right wing. There he met another knight. A robust figure of a man, with solidly built chest and limbs, gray haired, and had a scarred face that started upon the man's cheek extending to his left eye, towered before the young lord as he approached the densely packed line of men-at-arms in mail armor armed with halberds, reinforced by a portion of poorly armored spearmen at the back. "What brings you here, my dearest young lord!" boomed the merry face of a man in his late thirties, wrinkled down by many passed storms and summers. Velmund returned a nod to the cheerful knight as he stroll along to observe the formation. Some of the soldiers stole a glance at Velmund, though none dared linger his gaze for too long, lest he risked of being publicly flogged. A group of two hundred men manned the battlement, which overlooked the right section of the wall, all tense and rigid.

A cool wind blew against his temple the moment the captain met him, teasing him with momentary indulgence. "Greetings, Captain Barone. Might I inquire the situation below the walls?" Velmund asked him, a regiment leader of the Sixth Division, ranked eleventh seat in the Order of the Raven Knights.

"Aye, it is doing great at the moment," the captain replied, offering his salutation. "I stationed the best militiamen I can get my hands on to stand guard at the position. The unit is under the command of a sergeant-at-arms from Lord Roswalt's army. Jericho was his name, I recall. An eager and lively fellow. He'll guard the gate at his life's cost, my lord, count on it."

"It would be a disaster if the enemy flooded the town, lest they overwhelm us with sheer numbers," Velmund mumbled almost to himself. "At least not until the time is ripe."

"What is, my lord?" Captain Barone Drakey asked with a puzzled look.

"I apologize, I must have been thinking out loud."

"I see… then I sha—" There was an immediate pause that halted Barone. The roars of warriors immense in number made Velmund turn around instinctively towards the throng of Norsmundi inciting a charge. More than two-thirds of the barbarian horde treaded forward to attack. "Soldiers, at arms now!" yelled Barone, then added, "Lord Velmund, it would be best for you to retreat on the town's manor. The lord mayor's men can protect you there, and if things go south, we can arrange for you to be evacuated along with the townspeople."

"I refuse," Velmund said, sternly. "That would not be necessary. Heed my words, Captain Barone. We shall prevail in this battle." He unsheathed his longsword resting beneath his leather jerkin, then hastily embarked to return with the militia archers at Berwyn's unit.

The archers on the center wall took position, nocking arrows, and hence, another flurry of arrows had been released. Contrary with the initial encounter, the bulk of the charging barbarians were now equipped with round shields of wood and beast hides rimmed with metal bearing a strange symbol at the center– an emblem which seemed to incorporate three interlinked triangles– so the damage afflicted to the charge was kept to minimum. A testudo-like formation enclosed the battering ram as it was wheeled forth heavily. The men leading the charge had been coated with wolf and bear hides as armor, each of them clutching a pair of throwing axes and a larger battle axe fastened within their backs. These warriors growled with fury in unison as they neared, sprinting like a wild animal on all fours. "Berserkers…" Velmund heard Captain Berwyn muttered under his breath. A dozen berserkers stretched arms in a throwing manner, then with great force, hurled the sharp projectiles upon the archers' position. Axe blades flung around the bowmen who were caught unguarded. An archer who stood closely with Velmund was struck in the face as more berserkers joined upon tossing the projectiles. As the man fell to the ground spurting blood, he sprang to his feet and ducked along the parapet in order to avoid the flying blades. The ranks of the archers scattered and sank into chaos. The earth beneath the gate pounded in rhythm as the barbarians hammered the battering ram.

"Captain Berwyn," Velmund called out. "Raise the pavises and have the archers take cover. We must have them return fire as well. It is imperative that we hold the line here. Prepare the pots of boiling water and hot sand. I also want this section be reinforced by men as soon as possible. Send for Captain Barone's troops immediately."

"Yes, my lord," he shouted back, then yelled several commands.

Velmund scrutinized the onslaught transpiring before his very eyes. The siege ladders were lodged upon the wall and close-quarters combat ensued. The barbarians fought their way atop the wall and were faced by men-at-arms and militiamen who held a narrowly enclosed line of defense around the ladders. Steel clashed against steel as the defenders hacked through the endlessly piling enemies. Rocks, hot water and hot sand were thrown, hampering the advance of men beneath the walls. Still, two siege ladders managed to land on the archers' station, and so some had drawn shortswords and daggers to prevent the breach. The young lord found himself faced with an enemy trying to set foot on the wall. Noticing his presence, the barbarian tried to jab him with a spear. He parried the attack with ease and was on the brink of landing a counter blow when a quarrel plunged itself into the man's neck, causing him to fall off the ladder.

"My lord, let me handle this," Berwyn said, loading another bolt into his crossbow. He clasped the crossbow in his right hand while clutching a jagged-edged dirk in the other. Before Velmund can thank him, he had moved on to engage another enemy.

Glancing on the scenery of the battlefield, Velmund saw a soldier desperately sprinting towards him. There was an utter disarray from where he came from, the same section of the wall where Frenda was previously in command. The soldier was smudged with blood, panting breathlessly. He bowed and kneeled in front of him, oddly polite for someone amidst a battle. "Lord Velmund! Sir Oustborne, he has been gravely wounded," he cried.

"Pray do tell me, soldier. What has happened?" Velmund demanded.

"The enemies ruptured through our lines and had us outnumbered. They are led by a fierce warrior of enormous size. Sir Oustborne fought valiantly but was quickly overwhelmed. We were lucky enough to have liberated him from being flanked. Fortunately, we have taken him into a physician and is being treated with recovery potion. But at this rate, my men and I will get slaughtered without someone in command."

"And in what way have they got passed the moat?"

"Forgive me for my ignorance, I do not know. They have just materialized out of thin air before us knowing."

"Interesting…" Velmund whirled to Berwyn's direction. "Captain Berwyn, I trust you can manage on your own here?"

"Most certainly, my lord!" he said, closing into a sword lock with a young warrior with an incredibly lustrous red hair. The opponent had an arming sword for a weapon, a rare possession for a Norsmundi warrior. The knight captain and the warrior were seemingly on an equal strength, and Velmund found his interest aroused by that affair.

"Then let us not linger and make haste," Velmund addressed the bloodstained soldier, composedly, like a man sharp on his wits would said. However, before he departed from the scene, he detected the red haired man espying him keenly, as if probing him, to which Velmund returned a discerning glare; cold and aloof stare.

The soldier led Velmund to the left wing of the wall, downright emerged in a state of tumult. Mayhem took over as men from the town militia tried to fend off the oncoming barbarians helplessly. The fighting seemed to have gotten one sided, as the barbarians were close to annihilating the remainder of the forces numbering less than half a hundred. Numerous corpses lay cold on the ground, both allies and foes. Velmund took only few seconds to survey the surroundings, then addressed the dispersed line of Regalians. "Fall back and regroup," he said, no louder than an undertone voice, yet plenty of heads turned at him, probing, confused and uncertain. Velmund heaved his longsword up his head, then repeated the phrase and added, "I will assume command here."

"'Tis Lord Velmund!" an old man gasped, who had fallen in one knee, leaning on the shaft of his spear to maintain balance.

"Hurry, quick, accede the lord's order," followed another voice.

The ragtag group hurried to Velmund's side, the look of relief and eagerness on their faces. On the opposite side, an army double the size of his command menacingly loomed. At its head, a colossal figure of a man, seven feet tall, stripped to waist, bearing a single-edged sword, a falchion, which he held in one grasp, towered in front of the deceased men. At the barbarian's rear, a multitude of warriors was clumped together. The tall barbarian pointed his weapon towards the gathering of the troops, glared in a surly expression, and, surprisingly, spoke in the Common Tongue, "My name is Gaudmult… clan leader to Baltrice and champion of the Celbriac tribe, dwellers of the west." He gave a momentary pause, staring at the trembling Regalians, as if sizing his prey to be hunted. "My warriors and I demand your strongest. Your champion shall face me to a battle of death!"

The Regalian troops exchanged troubled looks to one another, unsure of what to think, say or do. None of them dared to look the barbarian leader directly upon the eyes. Then, the soldier who escorted Velmund looked at him and asked, "Who should we send, milord?" The other men who overheard the question diverted their eyes at the young lord, almost pleading hope. The old man who had exclaimed earlier brushed off a sweat trickling from his bald head and looked at Velmund expectantly, who shrugged and decided to ignore the question.

"Soldiers, form a spear wall," he softly murmured the order. The troops gawked at him, baffled. Then he explained in a calm voice, "Line up in formation, shoulder to shoulder, and point your weapons forward towards the enemies."

"Yes, milord!" shouted the men in unison, nodding at each other as they execute the command.

The barbarian leader squinted at the sight of Velmund, chuckling, as he instructed the militia for battle. He made a coarse gesture, then breathed some foreign phrases, which Velmund understood accurately, having studied Norsmundi customs and dialects in his father's great library, translated along with the lines of: "These pitiful peasants answer to a puny pipsqueak!" and several insults referring to him as 'little lord.' Gaudmult's small army laughed along with him and launched their fair share of insolent slurs upon their native language. He silenced his men moments after with some brief words, shaking his head sideways, then said, "If no one is brave enough to battle with me, then I shall have my men butcher you all." 

"Then by all means, let us duel, Gaudmult Baltrice of Celbriac," Velmund said in Norsmundi tongue, assuming a defensive stance.