Chapter 183: Epilogue: Immanent Mortality (1/2)
Prince Johnathan's sword snapped in half under the intensity of the blow, and he was forced back several steps, too exhausted to recover his stance. The Tenundian officer staggered, gasping for breath, before lining up his axe for the next strike.
With a strained roar, the officer attacked, all of his energy and drive concentrated on delivering the finishing strike. So determined was he that the warrior didn't even stop when the arrow sprouted from his throat, although his body failed him soon after.
Johnathan side stepped the falling man, feeling a sharp, stabbing pain in side where a Tenundian foot soldier had caught him with a mace a few days earlier. From the feel of it, they had finally cracked. Wincing, he turned to survey the battlefield.
”Are you alright, Milord?” Agnes called while slinging her bow over one shoulder. Even as she shot him a questioning glance, she was kneeling by the fallen officer, stripping him of useful items with practiced ease. A tendency she'd picked up during their near constant raids.
”I'll be fine in a minute, just need to catch my breath. This one was tough.” He frowned down at the broken stub of his sword before he let it fall to the ground. He made a mental note to track down another when he had the chance.
From the looks of it, the battle was finally starting to wind down. The Tenundian soldiers guarding the supply wagons had been largely wiped out, and the Almiran knights were simply mopping up the last few pockets of resistance.
He was relieved that it had ended in victory. This had been a somewhat risky endeavor, since the convoy had been protected by close to five hundred soldiers, while the raiders had only numbered 197 exhausted and wounded knights. Luckily, the shock of the ambush had proved sufficient to carry the day, or so Johnathan thought.
However, something bothered him about the whole situation. It took him a few moments to realize what it was. The horses pulling the wagons were quiet, a rarity pack animals in the heat of battle. Now that he knew to look for it, it was readily apparent why. They were coated in a lather of sweat, gasping for breath like they had just finished a marathon run.
[Why were they pushing so hard?]
George, one of the few squires who had managed to survive the attrition of the last few days, ran up while he was lost in thought. ”Your Highness! The wagons are full of people!”
Johnathan snapped his attention to the dozen covered wagons they had risked their lives to obtain, the ones that were supposed to have been filled with the solution to their supply problem. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he started walking to the closest.
Ripping back the tarp, Johnathan was faced with a crowd of terrified faces. Women and children were staring at him with a desperate fear, although he noticed a current of resignation among them.
For moment, he was silent, working through the implications in his mind, before speaking in a soothing voice. ”Please calm down. We won't harm you.”
A young woman cradling a swaddled infant gave a harsh laugh. ”It is not you we fear, Milord.”
Frowning, Johnathan asked, ”What do you mean? What are you fleeing from?”
A look of despair coated her features, as tears started forming in the corners of her eyes. ”Death.”
”Your Highness!” Agnes called from her perch. ”We have company!”
A dust cloud was rising in the direction the convoy had come from. A particularly large one.
Thinking quickly, he began issuing orders. ”George! Gather the raiders! Agnes, get Father Bartholomew and see what he can to reinvigorate the draft horses. We'll need them to make our escape. I want those too wounded to walk or ride on these wagons now!”
The nearby knights scrambled to comply. They'd had a lot of practice responding to changing circumstances over the past few weeks, and it didn't take long before they had assembled, waiting for further orders.
”For those of you without mounts, you are in charge of driving these wagons, we are taking them with us. As for the rest, I want twenty as a vanguard, thirty ranging to our flanks, and the remainder as a rearguard.”
A nearly unified crash of metal-clad fists striking breastplates filled the air, as the knights saluted before leaping into action.
George ran up holding the reins of Johnathan's chestnut mare, who had fled almost immediately after he'd been unseated in the heat of battle. It was good to see that she was uninjured. He suspected he would need her speed soon.
”Go ahead and find yourself a place on one of the wagons, George.” He ordered once he was up in the saddle. Not bothering to wait for a reply, the Prince rode up to join the forming rearguard.
As he got close, he quickly noticed a solemn atmosphere. ”What is it?” He asked Agnes once he'd gotten close.
Wordlessly, she pointed at the approaching forces, and more specifically to the banner held by a rider in their vanguard. One bearing a white, grinning skull on a field of black. The symbol of Lacot.
”Agnes, I need to you to take control of the convoy. Get them moving a soon as possible.” He muttered quietly, not daring to take his eyes off of the implacable enemy which was now chasing them.
”Where are we taking them?”
He thought for a moment, picturing the terrain in his mind, before coming to a hard decision. ”We head for the river crossing, but cut south along the trade road. With any luck they will be more interested in following the invasion force.”
Agnes nodded quietly, ”Father Bartholomew did what he could, but I don't think the draft horses will last much longer, when they start failing, the civilians will have to walk. After that, it won't be long until they,” She nodded her head at the pursuers, ”catch up.”
Johnathan gave his mentor a hard look. He knew what she was getting at, and knew she was right to make him face it, no matter how hard it would be to give the order.
”If the civilians can't keep up, we'll leave them behind.” The words tasted like ashes in his mouth.
[So much for honor.] Johnathan thought as he watched the Black Knights of Lacot draw closer.
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Emmanuel sighed and rubbed his forehead, setting down the quill he'd been using to work his way through the pile of documents on his desk. Alexander's Call to Arms had somehow increased his existing workload, and the senior mage had found himself doing more and more paperwork as the day wore on.
[Maybe the pricks from the Mage's Guild have it right. Maybe mages shouldn't be involved in national politics. At least then I wouldn't have to worry about….logistical support requests for the 3rd Urban Youth Corps…whatever that is.]
He stood and poured himself a glass of wine, figuring that this was an excellent time for a break.
[They should be finishing up the meeting soon. Maybe I'll pop in on Alexander and ask his advice on this. Better yet, why don't I just dump all of this on his staff? I'm sure they are better equipped to handle it.]
Pleased with his plans, Emmanuel settled into his armchair and savored the early afternoon sunlight streaming in through his office window. There was a wealth of better ways he could be spending his time, but he felt like he'd earned this moment of respite.
There was a knock on his door.
Sighing, he stood and moved to answer it.
Alan, the Magic Department student charged with working staff duty was standing in the hall, an envelope in one hand. ”Message for you, sir.”
Taking it, Emmanuel quickly noticed that the envelope was blank save for his name. The only clue regarding its sender was the seal, which belonged to the standard University mail system. Normally this meant that it was a letter from some other department, but in that case, there was usually some kind of sending address listed.
”Do you know who sent this?” He asked the youth, who was attempting to sneak a peek into the Department Chair's office while he was distracted.
”Ah, no. A courier dropped it off with the rest of the mail. I didn't think to ask.” He replied blandly, clearly not seeing the problem.
”Alright, thank you.” Emmanuel quickly dismissed the foolish lad before shutting the door.
[Why does it feel like the quality of the student body has declined in recent years? Back in my day, the staff duty officer was a coveted position, and only the most diligent and hardworking individuals would even be considered. Really, it's quite the shame.]