Written by Squire Seneca Desertmoon, from a dream
Darkness. Images of his life floating freely through the void. His mother, his father, and of his first home. The first girl that he had ever had a crush on. His failure to protect his comrades in battles before. This was a spirit, ripped from his body. The Spirit saw victories with his Liege-Lord, and foes that could never plague them as they had before. Other Spirits, that they had ripped from the face of Tyrra. The Spirit was aware of what it was, and why it was here, but it was waiting for something.
His Squire had fallen, and the lines were quickly approaching his vassal. Soon the enemy would overcome him, and his Squire would be lost within their lines. He commands that the lines stand their ground, for he hoped that help would arrive for his comrade. The lines approached faster now.
The invading army had been whittled down far enough, for their General had taken the field of battle. His guard followed, his guard of Brood Executioners, as he approached the line of his newest prey. The Brood had taken the General during his last campaign. He was sent to kill the Brood Queen. They instead defeated his army, and taken him and his mind hostage. The Brood learned of the perimeter defenses of every town that he’s been stationed at; from Evendarr City, down through the Sutherlands.
As he took the field of battle, though his mind was not connected with the rest of his body, he thought of his mother, and his father, and all that The Spirit had previously viewed. He went over campaigns that stretched as far as Badira, and the time that the Wolven gave them quarter in the Falcon Forest. Of all of the battles that he had led, and the armies that stood by his side were now in jeopardy, and it was his fault. He had been defeated only once, and at the time, unbeknownst to him, was the most important battle for him to win. He blamed himself for the lives of every person killed by his hand, though he had no use of it. The Brood had since then taken care of his body in their own fashion; distorting his limbs, and creating a new armored chitin to keep their prized possession safe. He was to be the weapon that would strike fear in every army that took the field.
Blood. Everywhere, on every body on the ground. She pushed herself from the point of gagging, as she moved on to the next body. She warily hopped down next to the body of a soldier, who’s arm had been withered beyond the point of recognition. His fingers painfully pointed in directions not previously thought possible. He was unconscious. She knew that this soldier was one of the lucky ones. He was not awake to feel this pain, and she had just what he needed. She dispelled the withered arm, and watched as it re-formed. Blood returning to his fingers, and bones mending from his fall. She took her hand, and ran it across the wound on his neck. He was not dead, but he would be soon. She took out her last potion, It would be the last man that she could save that day, unless they were dead. She had saved her life spells for the Baron, as she was told to do long before the battle even started. She pulled on the cork of the small vial, but her fingers slipped away. She pulled again, but the blood on her fingers, and now on the vial had made it almost impossible to pull the small cork from its home. She kept trying to pull the cork out, as the realization set in that the blood from the other people that she touched earlier had stained her hands with their own life-giving lubricant. She wiped off the vial and then her hands with her tabard, but it had already become soaked with blood. She tried again and again, though her fingers could not get hold of the small cork. She looked at the man’s face, and thrust the unopened part of the vial into his mouth, letting it rest on his tongue with the cork barely sticking out of the top of his teeth. She then stood up, and hopped over to his right side, where she could get a good swing at it. She drew her foot back, and violently laid her nine-buckle boots into his jaw, shattering the vial, and it’s contents into his mouth. The wound did not close. She checked the man again, and he was gone. She waited too long.
None heard the Baron’s yelling, his screaming for a spell to bring his Squire back from the dead. He watched the line as it approached, and saw that the General had locked his eyes on him, as he fell another soldier. The Baron acted quickly, he grabbed his squire by the arm, and threw him up on his shoulder. He collected the only possession that the Squire claimed, and ran as fast as he could for the back lines, where at least one healer could possibly be tending to the wounds of one of the infected soldiers that they had been dragging from the field. He ran past a few soldiers, trying to put their armor back on for the fight. They had not gotten to a healer in time, and had died from their wounds. He then spotted a woman, his sister, a healer. He ran faster, much faster than he thought possible, and came to a stop right before she kicked a wounded soldier in the face.
Light. A small light, moving towards the Spirit. It shot through the void, and into the Spirit, blinding it. Then it forgot everything of the void.
The Squire shot up, screaming. He swung his hand around, thinking that the sword that was now in the Baron’s hands was still being used to fight off the Brood. He surveyed his surroundings, before understanding what exactly had happened. He remembered the last few seconds of the fight, right before one of the Broodlings had given him a telling blow.
The Baron reached his hand down, which was heartily taken by the Squire, and helped him up. The Squire looked a bit shaky, but strong enough to continue the fight. He dusted off the Squire’s back, and handed him his sword.
She remembered when her father first gave the new Squire the sword. They had passed it on from Liege-Lord to Squire many times. It had been in the court since her Grandfather came to these lands and first settled them. He was a young upstart then, but knew his limitations, much unlike the Squire who was standing before her. She checked him, and did what she could to close the wounds that he had suffered from the fight before they walked away. She watched them head back towards the faltering lines of soldiers, bellowing out orders as they crossed the field. She kept her gaze upon them until a sound behind her caught her attention. There, on the ground, was a cracked vial, a tabard, a pouch, and a sword. The ash from the body was still floating in the air as her vain attempt to help the man out, dissipated.
Was that them? Did he catch a glimpse of the Baron? Yes… Yes it was. He knew that his body would go after him… and that… who’s that? His Vassal? A page? Maybe a Squire, or a Lord of the magicks? Whoever it was, if he got in the way, his body would destroy him. He tried again to fight the power controlling him, but he couldn’t even feel the pain of the swords lashing against his newly formed armor. He could tell by the things running through his head from the Brood Queen, that his executioners were about to push through the line, leaving the good Baron to defend himself.
The Squire pulled his sword back out of the scabbard, waiting for the creatures to rush them. He stared at the General, who was busy dispatching another soldier, waiting for the moment when the blade would pierce his heart again. The first Executioner shot through the line, dragging it’s lame claw behind him. The Baron stepped out of the Squire’s View, and began to collect energy for the onslaught. The Squire pulled his sword down his right side, close to the ground. The Executioner came at him, in a full charge, drawing working arm backwards, ready to strike. The beast beared down on the good Squire, and as if by another force, fell down where it stood. The Squire had taken his swing; a telling blow to the ‘throat equivalent’ of the creature, cutting it’s brain off from the rest of its body. As the creature fell from view, behind it was the next Executioner, already starting its swing.
She pulled another body over from the fight, waking him from his involuntary slumber, and helped him up. He took his sword and his shield, and looked at the falling lines of soldiers. He handed his items to her, and started to limp from the battlefield, done with a fight that could not be won. She slid the shield onto her arm, but dropped the sword. She could barely lift such a heavy thing, let alone swing it. She went down the line, giving aid where she could, and keeping the troops rallied together. One of the men beside her fell backwards, pushed by one of the creatures, who crushed his head as it ran through the line, then another. The line had broken, the cried out to the soldiers to hold the line. But they could barely hear her. Someone from the back line over took her advice, and closed the hole in the line up. The General stood before him. She took off after the beasts. Fumbling in her pouch as she ran.
The Baron opened up on the creature, throwing his most powerful spells, some would say that it’s enough to put holes into small moons. The creature shook each one of them off. The Squire had just felled the first one, as the second one drew back its claw. The Baron knew that his Squires life was about to end, again. He froze, in fear of his Squire’s impending death.
The Squire could only watch as the creature took its swing. Straight at the face, and quick. He felt the claw strike his face, and stop. No pain? He was all but baffled by what had happened. Did the Executioner decide to spare his life? The Squire took a step back, and peered at the Executioner, who had been snared in an imprison, and the Healer, who stepped out from behind him.
She had used it. The only gift her father gave to her before he died. She had used the gem, which had the ability to cast Midtguard’s Forceful Imprisonment but one time ever, and had saved the Squire from certain doom. She took the Squire’s sword, and shot it through the wall of the spell, and into the vital organs of the creature. The spell dropped, as did the creature.
The Baron watched as his sister dispatched the creature. She had never killed before, but always showed up in time to help out when needed. The lines started to fall back, not because of the approach of the monsters, but due to the fatigue of the soldiers on the field. They were about to lose this battle, and the town as well. Then the General spoke.
He heard the words come out in a different voice than his own. He fought the infection again. Trying to purge his mind from his prison. He failed, just as he did every time before. He was to the point where he was about to give up, but listened to what his body was saying.
“Why do you continue to fight? You will not win! “ Bellowed the General
The entire field knew that what he said was true. There was no winning this battle. People talked while fighting of pulling back, and re-forming. Some left the field, running back to their families. Some just stopped fighting.
The Baron tried to form his people and his sister stood in awe, as the soldiers walked away. The Squire had different plans all-together.
“I’ll tell you why we fight!” Screamed the Squire. “I’ll tell you why all of us fight!”
“What are you doing? He’ll just come after us?” begged the healer. “You’ll be the death of us all. Please stop!”
The Squire ignored her, and continued to yell his response to the General.
“Thou shalt respect the weak, and thou shalt constitute thyself the defender of them!”
The Baron’s mouth dropped, he hadn’t thought of the code since the battle had started. He only thought of his people. The Baron decided that it was his turn.
“Thou shalt love the land in which thou hast sworn fealty!” The Baron screamed.
The Healer now spoke too. “Thou shalt not recoil before thine enemy!”
The Soldiers turned around, and returned to the lines, fighting with some renewed energy. The Baron, The Squire, and the Healer, all walked towards the line, still screaming out the code.
“Though shalt make war upon evil without cessation!” Said the Squire.
“Though shalt scrupulously perform thy noble duties, be they not contrary to the laws of the land!” Shouted the Baron.
The Healer, kept in rhythm with her friends. “Thou shalt never lie, and thou shalt remain faithful to thy word!”
The Squire’s turn again. “Thou shalt be generous and though shalt give freely to everyone!”
The Baron started the final tenant, as the soldiers started pushing the creatures back. He was joined in by most of the field.
“Thou Shalt be everywhere and always the defender of the good and the right against injustice and evil!”
The field charged. The losses were high. The Baron did not leave the field. Neither did the General. They both died their final deaths on that field. But that army never fought another enemy again, without always thinking of the Code. The Code that Binds us all. The Code that Guides us. The Squire did do something that none of the others on that field did…
The Squire woke up, with tears in his eyes. He threw the blankets off of him, and pulled himself out of bed. Walked across the room, and peering out through his window, towards the Gallyamath, and realized that he would never fight another battle without remembering the code.
