So here I am, and here's my latest story that was in the category for medium stories in the last competition. I believe it came out forth, secondly only to the third, second and first place entries. Second to many, you might say.
Anyway, a former member said that my story had no plot to speak of and other such criticism so I'm curious what opinion other members have. Am I really that popular with the judges? Or am I just lucky?
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The fire cackled slowly as Raighley threw another piece of pine-wood into the fire. The fire cackled and snapped even more, as the pine-wood was more than fresh. There was sadly little rotten wood to be found in the Ravennian Forest where the army of Daggerfall was camped. Mostly pine and sentinel trees, much to Raighley's displeasure. His comrades didn't seem to mind, though. Most of them were mercenaries and sellswords come to fight for Daggerfall's gold. Unlike the men who shared his fire, Raighley was merely a man-at-arms in the service of Lord Bridwell, the hero and commander of the Daggerfall army.
They had just camped out in the Ravennian Forest after the slaughter of Reich Gradkeep. Raighley had been there when Lord Bridwell shattered the peace treaty between Daggerfall and Sentinel with a stroke of his mighty axe. Everything that transpired afterwards was blood and chaos. Raighley himself had killed a man, maybe two, in the service of Sentinel. He had stabbed a third and pushed a forth down a flight of stairs to escape the castle of Gradkeep as well, yet he couldn't be sure if he had slain them.
Now, the Daggerfall army was camped in the gloom of the Ravennian Forest while their enemies were camped in the Yeorth Burrowland. Between the two armies lay the flowering meadow of the Cryngaine Field.
They had been camped in that damned forest for almost a week, waiting for reinforcements and reports from the scouts concerning the numbers of the Sentinel army, and whether they had received reinforcements of their own. It seemed, however, that the commanders had finally agreed to march on the opposing army. At least that was what Raighley had heard around the camp.
"I'm sick of this bloody forest and of this damn bread they keep givin' us. When in Oblivion are we gonna march on those Sentinel bastards?" a sellsword to Raighley's right asked, impatiently. The other men didn't pay much heed to him.
"When the king gives the order to march." said a grizzled veteran sharpening his sword with a whetstone. "And no sooner."
"I've seen a group of riders enter the camp some hours ago. They've been talking in their tents ever since. Mayhap they're talking about when to march?" another man who seemed to be in his early thirties said with a slight smile.
"The Candle-Blower's squire told me earlier that his master sent him to prepare his armour for battle. That's as sure a sign of battle as any." muttered a man-at-arms from the Order of the Dragon sitting opposite Raighley. The man was carving a little figure from a piece of fresh pine-wood and he didn't like loud talking around him.
The Candle-Blower was the nickname of a famed knight in the service of King Lysandus. His actual name was Sir Donnel Botley but he had won his nickname for slaying three sworn knights of the Order of the Candle and capturing another two in the last battle fought between Daggerfall and Sentinel, the battle of the Glenpoint Foothills. The Order of the Candle was the knightly order of Sentinel, and they were by far the elite of the enemy. Daggerfall, however, had the Order of the Dragon and it was led by Lord Bridwell, who many said was the best warrior in the Iliac Bay. Raighley wasn't one to disagree. He had seen his lord fighting first-hand in the Battle of the Daggerfall Bluffs and the Battle of the Glenpoint Foothills and he knew that one well-aimed stroke of Bridwell's battleaxe could turn the fate of a battle.
"Bah, at least the soldiery of the Sentinel host doesn't have to fear the Candle-Blower. He only goes for Candle knights. We, on the other hand, have the Fiery Dancer to fear." the unruly sellsword said.
If Daggerfall had Lord Bridwell and the Candle-Blower then Sentinel had the Fiery Dancer. He was nothing more than a mercenary in the service of Sentinel, yet his exploits were quickly becoming the stuff of legends. Truly enough, many of his feats were exaggerated by both sides, but there was truth to more than a little of the tales that went around both camps. The Dancer's self-proclaimed goal was to fight and slay Lord Bridwell in single combat. With Bridwell's pride, Raighley knew very well that it could just happen. Before being granted such an honour as to fight a lord, though, the Fiery Dancer had danced and cut his way through no less than four knights, thirteen squires and many more men-at-arms. At least that was how the stories went. Supposedly, he also had a crooked sword with poison on its edge so that, if the Dancer himself didn't finish the job, the poison would.
It's all just rubbish to scare us before battle. Raighley calmly thought as he tried to empty his mind of any and all thoughts about the Fiery Dancer. If the Dancer was so hell-bent on reaching Lord Bridwell in battle, then he would have to go through Raighley first. Then we'll see how that famed dancing of his matches up.
Before the soldiers could comment more on the supposed skill of the Fiery Dancer and the well-known bravery of the Candle-Blower, a horn sounded throughout the whole camp. As Raighley quickly rose to his feet, he could see a group of riders hastily leaving the camp. They were probably scouts, but by their fine robes they reminded him more of nobles than soldiers. Perhaps they're off to gather more men?
His lord and master soon appeared in the middle of the camp however. Lord Bridwell was wearing a fine woollen doublet with the Dragon of Daggerfall woven on its breast. The other lords and knights commanding the army were accompanying him. The king's son was also there but, oddly enough, the king himself was missing. It was odd for King Lysandus to miss such events.
"It seems that those cowards from Sentinel are finally tired of running from us. They've deemed it honourable enough to meet us in the field that separates our camps, the Field of Cryngaine. I say we ride over their ranks and slay them all while they're gathering their flowers!" Lord Bridwell bellowed with his deep voice. The whole camp rose into a clamour at his words.
If only half of us had horses to speak of. Raighley thought bitterly, as he remembered the fact that the majority of their army was on foot. Only the nobility, the free-riders, hedge-knights and some sellswords had horses to their name. The rest of the host had to go on foot.
"We march at first light, and we won't stop until we reach their camp and plunder it of all its valuables! Are you with me?" Lord Bridwell shouted once more. A loud "yes" echoed through the camp and the forest. Every mercenary shouted just that bit louder when he heard of plunder to be had.
The rest of the night was uneventful. Raighley tried to sleep yet it seemed as if the very canvas of his tent was closing in on him. The excitement of finally going into battle made it hard for him to sleep. After at least two hours of lying down in his tent, though, Raighley finally fell asleep.
He woke up the next day to the loud shouts of his comrades, who were dousing the fire they had built up the last night. All of them were fitting on their armour and readying for combat. A horseman passed by Raighley's tent to make sure that all were preparing and that none were still asleep. As Raighley emerged from his tent he could see that the sun hadn't even risen yet, and that it was still thoroughly dark outside.
He soon started equipping his armour, however. First he put on his padded jack, a hardened leather jerkin that would serve to cushion all blows he received. It also made wearing the mail rather more comfortable. After he also fit on his mail hauberk, Raighley started looking for his surcoat bearing the heraldry of his lord. It was a white cloth with a dragon clutching a sword woven on its breast and it reached down to his knees. With the greater part of his gear all set, Raighley finally fit on his steel greaves which protected his shins. He simply laced them over the tanned leather boots he was already wearing.
I'm finally starting to look like a proper man-at-arms. Raighley thought to himself as he smiled and looked over his equipment.
His old wooden shield was lying around inside his tent together with his sword. After strapping the shield to his left arm and his sword's scabbard to his belt, he was finally ready to go. The shield was simple, unadorned by any heraldry, but it had served him well enough in several battles. His sword was his pride and joy, though. He had scavenged it during the Battle of the Daggerfall Bluffs from the body of a Redguard squire he had slain. The man was wearing a fine surcoat with the Candle of Sentinel on its breast and an equally fine helmet, but Raighley had no time to take those as well.
The blade itself had a hilt of horn laced with fine leather cord. The pommel was in the shape of a fish tail and made of finely polished steel and Raighley took care that it didn't rust or gain any blemishes whatsoever. All in all, it was a balanced blade fit for a knight, let alone a man-at-arms.
Last of all he slid on his half-helm. It left most of his face exposed, save for his nose but Raighley liked it that way. He didn't like helmets which covered his face entirely since it made it hard to breathe and hard to see as well.
With battle preparations finally finished, Raighley joined his other marching comrades. He looked for other men wearing the heraldry of Lord Bridwell, and he soon found a group of men-at-arms, much like him. Most of them were solemn, thinking ahead about the battle but one of them was jolly enough.
"Hope you had a good sleep Raighley, because there will surely be no opportunities to rest where we're heading." the man said with a chuckle. His name was Vickard. It amazed Raighley how that man could make jokes in a time like this.
"I hope your blade's as sharp as your tongue, because there will be no chances to use it, not where we're going at least." Raighley said with a straight face.
Two can play this game.
"I've been sharpening it all night. As for my other tongue...well I've used it well enough during the night as well. Both my tongue and my other blade." Vickard said with a sly smirk. Raighley knew well that there were women travelling with the host doing various chores. Some of them did other chores as well during the night.
"That's what camp followers are for, eh?" Raighley said with a knowing smile of his own. Vickard bowed his head slightly. "I prefer it after battle however. I like having a clear head for the task at hand."
"Believe me Raighley, my method is the best way to have a clear head in battle. You won't believe how well this girl-"
"I don't think I want to hear about your whoring Vickard." Raighley interrupted Vickard. He didn't want something to distract him during the battle.
Vickard frowned and the smile faded from his face. "Suit yourself."
The rest of the march to the field was rather silent. Men seemed to be brooding over the battle to come. Once there, they all entered formation according to how their officers formed them up. Raighley was part of Lord Bridwell's company, which was placed on the left flank together with several other companies of footmen. Lord Bridwell himself wasn't leading them since he was with the rest of the cavalry on the right flank, the place of honour. In the centre stood the rest of the Daggerfall infantry, made up of mercenaries, sellswords and men-at-arms.
In front of them, on the other side of the Cryngaine Field, stood the menacing shape of the Sentinel host. They were placed much like the Daggerfall army, in a wide line of men, with their own cavalry facing the cavalry of Daggerfall. A lay observer could have said that the armies mirrored each other. Raighley was in the third rank of his company, far enough from the first rank so as not to be instantly killed when the two armies joined battle but close enough to enter the action right away. Just like he liked it. Hopefully, the cavalry of Daggerfall would crush the opposing cavalry then join the infantry. Even if their cavalry failed, Lord Bridwell would surely ride up and down the lines in battle to rally the troops. Sometimes it seemed as if he was in several places at the same time.
After the two hosts seemed to size each other up, like animals, the order was finally given and the two armies started moving as one, the men on the other side of the meadow slightly resembling ants advancing. They were at first little more than black shapes but as they approached, they grew bigger and more colourful. Raighley could spy the flamboyant heraldry of the Grand Master of the Candle knights, Lord K'avar, and of Lord Vhosek of the Moon and of many others. There was nothing to help Raighley see the Fiery Dancer, however. He could have been any lowly sellsword in the mass of men Sentinel was sending against them. Or maybe he was one of the colourful Redguard knights. There was no way Raighley could tell for sure.
Only one way to know for sure...slay and see.
After what seemed like ages of shuffling as if they were all crabs, the two lines finally clashed, and what a bloody clash it was! As the hosts entered the last few yards that separated them, the Redguards all charged wildly towards the Daggerfall army. The Breton footmen were quick to do the same and the two hosts crashed into each other with blazing swords and cries of death. All seemed to be silent before the first blow was struck, but afterwards the whole field erupted in many colourful cries, of pain and death and victory.
The first ranks of both lines were the first to perish in the battle, trampled beneath the feet of their ever-advancing allies. It seemed to Raighley as if he was lining up to die. The second rank soon followed the first into Oblivion, hacked apart by the blades and spears of the fierce Redguards. Raighley's line entered battle as the wounded and the dying of the second line were being dragged away by their more merciful comrades. Raighley knew better than to turn his eyes away from his foe, even if the life of one of his comrades depended on it. He had seen too many men die foolishly to think otherwise.
The first Redguard that came at him was young, only eighteen years old at the most. Young yet fierce. His blade crashed against Raighley's shield several times before Raighley finally had the chance to raise his own sword and attack. One well-placed strike was all that it took, however. The Redguard's lamellar cuirass was weak at the neck, merely cloth and one good thrust from Raighley sent the Redguard on his back, screaming in pain. Experience won over courage it seemed. Raighley knew it was merely the first kill of the day, however.
More followed. Raighley scarcely had the chance to see their faces, that was the speed at which they came thundering all around him. The battle was frantic. The Bretons seemed to be winning one moment, killing all Redguards around them, then being pushed back the next. Raighley held firm, though, giving more and more of his comrades a chance to gather around him and hold the Redguards in place for a flanking move. If the Breton cavalry had the chance to make a flanking move, that is.
A helmed warrior attacked Raighley, surprising him and slashing his surcoat at the shoulder. He could feel the blow all too well yet it obviously glanced from his mail hauberk. Blessing his armour, Raighley lashed out at the Redguard with a quick strike of his sword yet his opponent merely parried. His adversary had a one-handed blade and no shield, and that gave him a great advantage in speed. Raighley made up for it with the defence his shield allowed, however. The Redguard followed the parry with two quick strikes of his own. Raighley's shield came into play, though, and he blocked both strikes then slammed his shield into his opponent. The force of the blow staggered the Redguard and Raighley was quick to take advantage of that. One more bash of his shield sent the Redguard on his back. Raighley finished the short fight with an unceremonious slash of his sword that slit his opponent's throat.
Raighley wasn't a knight, and he didn't fight like one either. He used all the dirty tricks available to him so as to stay alive. His next opponent felt that in full to his own disadvantage. A hulking Redguard wielding an axe came at Raighley next. With one great stroke of his axe, the brute almost hacked Raighley's shield in twain. Another strike would have cut Raighley's head clean off, were it not for his last moment crouch. The crouch put Raighley into an unexpected position however. As he looked up, the giant prepared to bring his axe down on him. Raighley didn't have time to think so he simply allowed his instincts to take control of him.
After a quick slash of his sword across the brute's undefended leg, Raighley quickly rolled. His shield got in the way of his roll but surprisingly enough, it managed to trip the hulking Redguard. Seeing the brute on the ground next to him, grasping at his leg in pain, Raighley smiled. Unwittingly, he had brought down a gigantic Redguard almost twice his size wielding an axe many times heavier than his shield and sword put together. Raighley's smile faded as he slew the man, however. Considering the tight space he was in, Raighley considered himself lucky to have been able to pull off such an acrobatic move as a roll.
A cry filled the air as Raighley rose to his feet, however.
"The Candle-Blower's been slain by the Dancer!" a voice shouted. Raighley couldn't tell if it was with joy or terror. Other voices soon took up the chorus, however.
When Raighley turned to look, he could see a knight fallen on the ground with his horse dying beside him. By the barding of his mount, Raighley could realize that the fallen knight was indeed Sir Donnel Botley. Next to his corpse stood a tall, slender Redguard with a curved blade in his hand. He had a short surcoat over whatever armour he was wearing and a lobstered gauntlet on his free hand but other than that he wore no armour to speak off. Because he didn't wear a helm, his hair ran freely down to his shoulders. He had long, flowing hair black as ebony but it was drenched with sweat by then. Despite the fact that he was apparently a seasoned warrior, he had no scars on his face. The whole scene was only a few yards away from Raighley's position next to the fallen Redguard brute he had just slain.
The Fiery Dancer looked up from the Candle-Blower's corpse and towards Raighley. His surcoat was of a dark crimson colour, and its edges were draped with orange silk. All in all, it seemed as if he was ablaze.
That must be where his nickname comes from. Raighley thought.
The Dancer smiled.
"You must be one of Lord Bridwell's pets," the Dancer said with a mocking tone, "If his Lordship won't show his face, then I'll have to make due with his men."
Men parted before them, making a make-shift arena for the two warriors. Raighley didn't really like that. The Fiery Dancer had just challenged him to a duel in front of both armies. It would have meant dishonour for Daggerfall if he refused.
Why are you idiots backing away from him? You shouldn't let him play his games. Raighley thought grimly as he looked towards the Dancer, who kept smiling that knowing smile of his. It seemed this duel was just another way for him to increase his fame.
"You think killing Sir Botley has scared us, Dancer? There's more of where he came from. I doubt there are more eager Fiery Dancers among the Redguard ranks, however. Mayhap I won't hear about you any more if I kill you." Raighley said, trying to appear brave. He wasn't actually brave, but he tried not to show his fear.
"Then let's dance, Breton." the Fiery Dancer said as the Redguards cheered him on. He raised his curved blade and turned so that only the side of his body faced Raighley.
What an odd way of fighting. What can you expect, though? He's a Redguard. Besides, it makes it easier to cut him in half.
Raighley raised his blade and his shield in turn, facing the Dancer bravely. The Dancer started to advance towards Raighley, so he did acted in kind. The only difference was that Raighley was simply walking to preserve his strength while the Dancer was advancing in the same position, walking sideways like a crab so as to keep only one side of him facing Raighley. It soon started to annoy Raighley. That must have been a tactic of the Fiery Dancer, to annoy his opponents and stop them from thinking correctly.
While Raighley kept lazily advancing towards the Dancer, he could see the Dancer starting to pick up pace. Suddenly, the Dancer broke off into a sprint, running in a low position, almost crouched. Raighley was surprised and didn't know what to make of his opponent's charge.
A charge is a charge. Raighley soon thought as he raised his shield and prepared for his opponent's attack.
The Dancer surprised Raighley once more, though, by flipping over Raighley and doing a somersault mid-air before landing behind him. While mid-air, he somehow whirled his blade. The strike had slashed Raighley ever so slightly over his cheek. As Raighley turned he cursed his helmet for not covering his whole face.
"That's the disadvantage of half-helms, Breton. They make my work easier." the Dancer said with an arrogant smirk. Raighley aimed to wipe that smirk clean off his face with a slash of his sword.
The Dancer came at him again, in the same acrobatic fashion, yet this time Raighley knew what to expect. Crouching slightly he raised his shield over his head and held his sword at the ready. The Dancer didn't aim for his face this time, though. As the Dancer flipped over him, Raighley slashed wildly yet his strikes only met air. The Dancer landed close to him so Raighley charged him, hoping not to give him time for another one of his tricks.
Slashing his sword and keeping his shield close, Raighley ran inches by the Dancer yet he managed to dodge the charge by merely sidestepping. As he sidestepped he also circled Raighley and managed to kick him as he passed. The momentum of his charge coupled with his speed and the Dancer's kick sent him hurtling to the ground. Raighley could hear the Redguards laughing as they looked at him and the Bretons cursing the Dancer for his tricks. The Fiery Dancer paid little mind to them, though, and ran straight towards Raighley, aiming not to give him a chance to climb back to his feet.
As Raighley was on one knee, he saw the Dancer charging towards him. This time however, he seemed intent on simply beheading Raighley, rather than vaulting around him. As he stood on one knee, Raighley looked towards the Dancer seemingly bewildered. At the last moment however, he slashed his sword and rolled.
When he rose from the ground, he could feel pain in his shoulder and a warm trickle of blood flowing down his arm. It seemed that the Dancer's strike had found purchase. It did not hit the target that the Dancer would have wanted however. Raighley's head still stood on his shoulders, thankfully. The Dancer did not escape his little manoeuvre unscathed, however. A trickle of blood flowed down his left leg and a slightly visible stain which was darker in colour dotted his surcoat at the waist. Raighley smiled as he saw the Dancer scowl because of the pain.
"Had enough yet?" Raighley asked, mockingly.
"Just say the word and I'll end this battle with one fell stroke." the Dancer said. Raighley could feel from his tone, however, that he had slightly less self-confidence than before.
The two duellists clashed once more. This time the Dancer used a more conventional approach, both his feet firmly on the ground. He slashed wildly and it seemed to Raighley at one point that the Dancer was attacking him from several directions. Raighley soon felt his shield-arm going numb and his shield parries becoming less accurate. The Dancer smiled as he noticed how Raighley got slower and slower with his parries.
I could end this duel with one good strike, if I could hit him properly.
Raighley decided to at least try to attack so as not to be completely overwhelmed by the Dancer's offensive. He swung his sword several times yet the Dancer seemed to effortlessly avoid it every time. The first time Raighley swung, the Dancer merely crouched and circled, counter-attacking with a strike of his own that bit into Raighley's weathered shield. Raighley followed up with a thrust aimed towards the Dancer's neck after the shield parry yet the Dancer sidestepped casually and swung his blade towards Raighley's face. Raighley dodged it with a crouch of his own and smiled, thinking how he had matched the Dancer with one of his own dodges, albeit more clumsily.
The Dancer's own stamina soon started to fade yet still the two warriors toiled without a visible end to anyone's efforts. They circled then clashed, distancing each other then clashing once more. Each blow from the Dancer found Raighley's shield in its way while each blow from Raighley met only thin air. The Dancer, true to his name, moved with fluid steps resembling a lively Hammerfellian dance. No wonder he had slain the Candle-Blower. Weighed down by his armour and with a great helm that impaired his vision, it was no wonder the Redguard had danced around him, felling him from his mount.
As the two fighters approached each other once more, the Dancer jumped into the air, yet he wasn't aiming to flip over Raighley. He jumped in place and whirled his blade, raking it across Raighley's mail hauberk. Disorientated by the sudden move, Raighley raised his shield instinctively. As the Dancer fell down to the ground however, he crouched and aimed a slash for Raighley's legs. It was a clever move but Raighley saw it all the same. At first, he didn't know what to do but thinking about what to do in the split-second you have to make a decision is never a good thing. Thus, Raighley let his instincts take over. Out of reflex, he jumped into the air as well to avoid the Dancer's low slash. As he jumped, however, Raighley saw an opening in the Dancer's defence. His mere appearance screamed 'vulnerable' and the notion of slashing his sword at the Dancer's head caught root in Raighley's head. As he fell back to the ground, Raighley slashed his sword as fast as he could. The balanced blade swung and Raighley felt it connect for only a moment.
In all his hurry to strike the Dancer, though, Raighley forgot that he was in mid-air. He landed in a clumsy manner, much unlike the Dancer who had landed gracefully and slashed his sword towards Raighley's leg with litheness. Pain suddenly struck Raighley. He was almost in a crouching stance but because of the pain he soon fell on his back. When he looked downwards to his right leg he could see that he had sprained his ankle. As he looked even further, however, a burst of joy went through Raighley like a sharp sword. At his feet he could see the body of the famed Fiery Dancer. A pool of blood gathered at the base of his neck, and his head was flung close to his body, a look of surprise still on the Dancer's handsome face.
Raighley would have kicked that head if he could merely stand, yet his sprained ankle didn't allow him such luxuries. During his duel with the Dancer, a veil of fog had fallen over the battle, yet Raighley didn't notice it. He was too focused on fighting his lithe foe. All around him, he could see only fog and the distant figures of clashing warriors with mounted knights among them. The fog soon lifted, though, revealing the Cryngaine Field in all its bloody glory. The bodies of Redguards and Bretons alike were sprawled around the meadow. Some were still wrestling the opponent who had killed them while others had simply accepted their fate, lying dead in a pool of blood, either theirs or their enemy's.
During his lengthy duel with the Fiery Dancer, it seemed that the battle had flowed around them, leaving broken bodies merely a few yards away from the life and death struggle of the two warriors. Another cry soon fell over the, covering the sounds of death and battle. It was a cry much like the one that heralded the death of the Candle-Blower and the triumph of the Fiery Dancer. Thinking slightly back to his battle, Raighley felt frustrated that no one had cried out about his own triumph. Still, the shrill cry echoed over the field. This time, it was clear to see that the voices were in terror.
"King Lysandus is slain! The battle is lost!"
~~~
It's pretty long, but then again it did participate in the medium story category.
