Chapter 1 [Part one]
“Fifth rank,” Malpheus, the leading general, ordered gruffly.
I nodded, hefted my shield, and trotted to the fifth rank of the phalanx, which was the fifth line from the right flank. The Einor Alliance army was forty-three men long and six men deep; in total we had over two hundred and seventy nine warriors. We stood on a hilltop with a steep incline to our right and a sheer cliff that climbed above us to our left. The only two ways to get reach us were to march up the incline in front of us or the one behind us which we had barricaded. Our enemies had chosen the front.
I trotted over to my position three men back from the front line and touched shields in pre-battled ritual with the grizzled veteran, Herman, standing in front of me. He turned and lifted his faceplate up to speak with me. Malpheus continued shouting orders from the front.
“How does the morn greet you, son of Ander?” Herman asked.
I swiveled my own faceplate up and spoke.
“It… speaks of blood,” I said grimly.
Herman let loose a chortle and grinned.
“I think the morn uttered the same words to me some twelve springs past on the day of my first battle,” he said fondly.
“First? But it isn’t, Herman,” I laughed.
It was truly the second battle I had participated in. The first had been a month prior at Lori’s crossing, some thirty miles east of my home city Einor. There the Einor Alliance had fought and routed the Mith conglomerate, an alliance of five city states of man, the Orcish tribes, and the Elves. I myself had participated at the end of the battle when broke ranks and had purged the stragglers, gathered our dead and tended to the wounded. Herman had been there.
“But this time you are at the front of the battle,” he said. “This time you will see the enemy’s fear as they approach, will feel the heat of battle, will feel the gush of blood as your weapon drives through them. This is your first true battle my friend.”
“I suppose…”
“It is,” he reaffirmed. He tapped my helmet with the spear’s shaft. “Fight with valor, fight with courage, fight for your countrymen! But, do not endanger your brethren in doing so.” He pressed his shield against mine and spoke fiercely. “You are a son of Einor: strong, swift, deadly, bred for war. Can she ask any less of you, her son?”
My courage began to lift at this. I had trained for the last thirteen years of my life for this day, where I would vanquish Einor’s foes, just as he had said. But actually going into battle, actually fighting and killing an enemy, was a terrifying thought. Herman’s words gave me comfort.
“You’re right,” I admitted.
He grinned and turned away as someone called out his name.
A familiar deep bass voice called out my name from behind. I turned at this and searched for the speaker in the sea of warriors. In between the fourth and fifth ranks, a muscular man of at least forty-three years old strode toward me. He was adorned in the green and black of the Einor and wore the traditional black iron armor of its soldiers: a cuirass cut off at the shoulders, greaves connected to a thin layer of wolf-hide garments, blocky wrist bracers, and a dark green cloak which was draped over his shoulder. On his left arm he had a large, circular, concave shield, while in his right hand he held a five foot long tirus—the Einorian name for spear. He lifted his faceplate, revealing a blocky bronze colored face largely taken up by a thick black beard.
“Dereth!” I grinned. He had been my mentor throughout my training.
He switched his tirus to his shield hand and cuffed me on the shoulder. I did the same with my tirus and we grasped each other’s forearm in the warrior’s embrace.
“You look pale my friend,” he remarked. “Calm our mind, recall my teachings.”
“How am to calm myself when the legions of Mith,” I motioned down the grassy slope towards the enemy gathering at the edge of Hellenor forest, “gather to slay us?”
For a moment face of Dereth, the man I had always known as a true stoic, darkened. He grabbed me by the cuirass and pulled my face within inches of his. The fresh stench of fish filled my nostrils.
“Do you not remember my lessons?” he asked icily.
“Of course.”
Narrowing his eyes he looked me in the eye and shook his head. “Secure your faceplate.”
I obeyed, realizing immediately what he was going to teach me… again.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded. “Concentrate only on your breathing; make sure each breath is deep and smooth.”
Again I followed his instruction, forcing my eyelids shut and listening to my breathing. Each inhalation and exhalation was of the same length and intensity. After a short time I had become so in tune with my breathing that I had formed shell of silence around myself. I remained there for a time, not knowing when the first strike would come. He was about to-
Bam! Something hard struck my helmet. I blinked, slammed my eyes shut. Focus! Another slap, then another. I shook my head.
“Focus!” came roaring the response to my movement.
Another smack; my head rang, but I this time I was determined to hold my focus. I lightened the pressure on my lids and moved my concentration to breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly the shell began to solidify again and each blow became a dull thud in the back of my mind. As I felt the impact of another blow I heard the laughter of men. Another followed immediately and a slight crack formed in the shell. I caught a few words from my countryman on the left.
Breathe. What does each breath sound like? The crack started to seal slowly.
A barrage of blows followed. On the left and right cracks started to appear. With each blow I could feel a little bit more of the force behind it. Frantically I tried to seal the cracks; but with one last mighty blow the shell shattered and my head jerked to the side. My eyes flew open; I took a step back, bumped into one of my comrades. I tugged at the leather strap securing my face plate and pushed it upwards.
Dereth’s face was full of amusement. I huffed.
“You’ve done better,” he chuckled.
“I know,” I sighed.
“Listen,” he said, transferring his tirus to his right hand, “you’re becoming more proficient, but-” his eyes flickered towards the enemy as the men around us began to murmur. “Ah, it begins.”
My attention turned to the foe. The combined forces of orc, man, and elf had gathered into a formation fifty feet from the base of the hill. They had gathered into formations based on race. In the middle the forces of Mith had gathered; on the right stood the Orcs, while the Elves had gathered on the left.
“Look at them,” Dareth nodded in their direction, “they mean to show their courage.”
I followed his gaze towards the men of Mith as they began to pound their shield with their weapons, or if they didn’t have a shield, the ground with their spears or their feet.
“What do you see?”
I opened my mouth, closed it, and narrowed my eyes in the direction of the enemy ranks. The orcs had begun to stomp their feet in unison, yet they didn’t utter a word. The ever dignified elves adorned in gleaming beautiful armor, stood as still and as silent as statues. Compared to them, the men looked chaotic and unorganized.
“Fear,” I said.
Dereth grinned. “Precisely. It is a façade. They’re afraid of us.”
“The men are,” I said. “What of the Orcs? The Elves?”
“We all feel fear, do we not? They feel it too, I assure you,” Dereth said, nodding his head. “But, they are trained to contain it, just as we are.”
I thought back to my training. Six years earlier, when I was only thirteen, Dereth had tested me to see just how fearful I was. We had gone up out to Omner’s lake, just a mile south of Einor. There he had told me that I was to wrestle him to the ground. I refused. He told me that I had trained enough that I could take down a grown man, that this was my final test to move on to the next phase of my training.
I refused again. I didn’t think that I could possibly take down a man nearly twice my size. I had trained for years in martial arts, but did he possibly think I could take him down? He poked and prodded me for three hours until finally, having run out of patience, he ridiculed me and told me that I was unworthy to become a son of Einor. That did it for me. I fought him for a full thirty minutes before I found a gap in his defenses and pursued it. It took five more minutes, but eventually, I tackled him to the ground.
It was then, after I had completed that task, that Dereth taught me the meaning of courage. He had noted my fear, he said, and had attacked my greatest one: that I would never measure up to my father. How could I ever reach my father’s expectations if I never joined the ranks of the Einorian army, he had asked me. If I was to truly become that man, I would have to contain that fear. It could not run rampantly through me, nor could it affect my decisions. And he promised then to teach me how.
“What is courage?” Dereth asked.
I glanced at him curiously and gave him the response that had been my answer since our little engagement that day.
“Courage is to fight on, regardless of fear.”
A smile tugged at Dereth’s lips. He opened his mouth to answer when Malpheus stepped into his place at the front position of the first rank on the right side; this was the signal for silence. And so they come. Dereth stepped into his place beside me and spoke before securing his faceplate.
“After.”
“Fifth rank,” Malpheus, the leading general, ordered gruffly.
I nodded, hefted my shield, and trotted to the fifth rank of the phalanx, which was the fifth line from the right flank. The Einor Alliance army was forty-three men long and six men deep; in total we had over two hundred and seventy nine warriors. We stood on a hilltop with a steep incline to our right and a sheer cliff that climbed above us to our left. The only two ways to get reach us were to march up the incline in front of us or the one behind us which we had barricaded. Our enemies had chosen the front.
I trotted over to my position three men back from the front line and touched shields in pre-battled ritual with the grizzled veteran, Herman, standing in front of me. He turned and lifted his faceplate up to speak with me. Malpheus continued shouting orders from the front.
“How does the morn greet you, son of Ander?” Herman asked.
I swiveled my own faceplate up and spoke.
“It… speaks of blood,” I said grimly.
Herman let loose a chortle and grinned.
“I think the morn uttered the same words to me some twelve springs past on the day of my first battle,” he said fondly.
“First? But it isn’t, Herman,” I laughed.
It was truly the second battle I had participated in. The first had been a month prior at Lori’s crossing, some thirty miles east of my home city Einor. There the Einor Alliance had fought and routed the Mith conglomerate, an alliance of five city states of man, the Orcish tribes, and the Elves. I myself had participated at the end of the battle when broke ranks and had purged the stragglers, gathered our dead and tended to the wounded. Herman had been there.
“But this time you are at the front of the battle,” he said. “This time you will see the enemy’s fear as they approach, will feel the heat of battle, will feel the gush of blood as your weapon drives through them. This is your first true battle my friend.”
“I suppose…”
“It is,” he reaffirmed. He tapped my helmet with the spear’s shaft. “Fight with valor, fight with courage, fight for your countrymen! But, do not endanger your brethren in doing so.” He pressed his shield against mine and spoke fiercely. “You are a son of Einor: strong, swift, deadly, bred for war. Can she ask any less of you, her son?”
My courage began to lift at this. I had trained for the last thirteen years of my life for this day, where I would vanquish Einor’s foes, just as he had said. But actually going into battle, actually fighting and killing an enemy, was a terrifying thought. Herman’s words gave me comfort.
“You’re right,” I admitted.
He grinned and turned away as someone called out his name.
A familiar deep bass voice called out my name from behind. I turned at this and searched for the speaker in the sea of warriors. In between the fourth and fifth ranks, a muscular man of at least forty-three years old strode toward me. He was adorned in the green and black of the Einor and wore the traditional black iron armor of its soldiers: a cuirass cut off at the shoulders, greaves connected to a thin layer of wolf-hide garments, blocky wrist bracers, and a dark green cloak which was draped over his shoulder. On his left arm he had a large, circular, concave shield, while in his right hand he held a five foot long tirus—the Einorian name for spear. He lifted his faceplate, revealing a blocky bronze colored face largely taken up by a thick black beard.
“Dereth!” I grinned. He had been my mentor throughout my training.
He switched his tirus to his shield hand and cuffed me on the shoulder. I did the same with my tirus and we grasped each other’s forearm in the warrior’s embrace.
“You look pale my friend,” he remarked. “Calm our mind, recall my teachings.”
“How am to calm myself when the legions of Mith,” I motioned down the grassy slope towards the enemy gathering at the edge of Hellenor forest, “gather to slay us?”
For a moment face of Dereth, the man I had always known as a true stoic, darkened. He grabbed me by the cuirass and pulled my face within inches of his. The fresh stench of fish filled my nostrils.
“Do you not remember my lessons?” he asked icily.
“Of course.”
Narrowing his eyes he looked me in the eye and shook his head. “Secure your faceplate.”
I obeyed, realizing immediately what he was going to teach me… again.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded. “Concentrate only on your breathing; make sure each breath is deep and smooth.”
Again I followed his instruction, forcing my eyelids shut and listening to my breathing. Each inhalation and exhalation was of the same length and intensity. After a short time I had become so in tune with my breathing that I had formed shell of silence around myself. I remained there for a time, not knowing when the first strike would come. He was about to-
Bam! Something hard struck my helmet. I blinked, slammed my eyes shut. Focus! Another slap, then another. I shook my head.
“Focus!” came roaring the response to my movement.
Another smack; my head rang, but I this time I was determined to hold my focus. I lightened the pressure on my lids and moved my concentration to breathing. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly the shell began to solidify again and each blow became a dull thud in the back of my mind. As I felt the impact of another blow I heard the laughter of men. Another followed immediately and a slight crack formed in the shell. I caught a few words from my countryman on the left.
Breathe. What does each breath sound like? The crack started to seal slowly.
A barrage of blows followed. On the left and right cracks started to appear. With each blow I could feel a little bit more of the force behind it. Frantically I tried to seal the cracks; but with one last mighty blow the shell shattered and my head jerked to the side. My eyes flew open; I took a step back, bumped into one of my comrades. I tugged at the leather strap securing my face plate and pushed it upwards.
Dereth’s face was full of amusement. I huffed.
“You’ve done better,” he chuckled.
“I know,” I sighed.
“Listen,” he said, transferring his tirus to his right hand, “you’re becoming more proficient, but-” his eyes flickered towards the enemy as the men around us began to murmur. “Ah, it begins.”
My attention turned to the foe. The combined forces of orc, man, and elf had gathered into a formation fifty feet from the base of the hill. They had gathered into formations based on race. In the middle the forces of Mith had gathered; on the right stood the Orcs, while the Elves had gathered on the left.
“Look at them,” Dareth nodded in their direction, “they mean to show their courage.”
I followed his gaze towards the men of Mith as they began to pound their shield with their weapons, or if they didn’t have a shield, the ground with their spears or their feet.
“What do you see?”
I opened my mouth, closed it, and narrowed my eyes in the direction of the enemy ranks. The orcs had begun to stomp their feet in unison, yet they didn’t utter a word. The ever dignified elves adorned in gleaming beautiful armor, stood as still and as silent as statues. Compared to them, the men looked chaotic and unorganized.
“Fear,” I said.
Dereth grinned. “Precisely. It is a façade. They’re afraid of us.”
“The men are,” I said. “What of the Orcs? The Elves?”
“We all feel fear, do we not? They feel it too, I assure you,” Dereth said, nodding his head. “But, they are trained to contain it, just as we are.”
I thought back to my training. Six years earlier, when I was only thirteen, Dereth had tested me to see just how fearful I was. We had gone up out to Omner’s lake, just a mile south of Einor. There he had told me that I was to wrestle him to the ground. I refused. He told me that I had trained enough that I could take down a grown man, that this was my final test to move on to the next phase of my training.
I refused again. I didn’t think that I could possibly take down a man nearly twice my size. I had trained for years in martial arts, but did he possibly think I could take him down? He poked and prodded me for three hours until finally, having run out of patience, he ridiculed me and told me that I was unworthy to become a son of Einor. That did it for me. I fought him for a full thirty minutes before I found a gap in his defenses and pursued it. It took five more minutes, but eventually, I tackled him to the ground.
It was then, after I had completed that task, that Dereth taught me the meaning of courage. He had noted my fear, he said, and had attacked my greatest one: that I would never measure up to my father. How could I ever reach my father’s expectations if I never joined the ranks of the Einorian army, he had asked me. If I was to truly become that man, I would have to contain that fear. It could not run rampantly through me, nor could it affect my decisions. And he promised then to teach me how.
“What is courage?” Dereth asked.
I glanced at him curiously and gave him the response that had been my answer since our little engagement that day.
“Courage is to fight on, regardless of fear.”
A smile tugged at Dereth’s lips. He opened his mouth to answer when Malpheus stepped into his place at the front position of the first rank on the right side; this was the signal for silence. And so they come. Dereth stepped into his place beside me and spoke before securing his faceplate.
“After.”
