Winged Knight
Still just a crazy man with a wolf on his head
- Location
- Texas
Harsh Lessons
Squiring for a knightly order, Berenger of Esk decided, was not at all what he had expected.
He cursed as he cut his hand again; almost dropping the dagger he'd been sharpening at the grindstone. It took all his restraint to keep from putting his thumb in his mouth as blood welled up from the red line the newly sharpened edge had torn in his flesh. Instead, he set the blade aside and gripped his finger tightly. He couldn't help a hiss as fresh fire went up his arm, but that was less humiliating than being called a baby by anyone who happened by the armory.
No, this hadn't been what he expected at all. The Knights of the White Wolf were heroes! Champions of Ulric and defenders of the faithful, their deeds hailed far and wide. So when his sister had told him he was to join them he had been thrilled. This was his chance to go on adventures and make a name for himself! To be a hero like out of the stories, slaying monsters and winning glory!
Only instead of that I'm just doing chores, he mused to himself as he relieved the pressure on his thumb. The wound still bled, but it was a trickle now. What does carrying water or sharpening knives have to do with being a knight?
Oh, he supposed someone had to do it. It wasn't like arms, armor, and all the other equipment would just maintain itself. He just wasn't sure why he had to be the one left with all the work. Every night he went to bed sore and tired, only to wake up and do it all over again while the knights rode out to fight greenskins.
"Ho there, squire!" came a sharp, commanding voice that sliced through his thoughts. "How go those blades?"
"Sharp as Ulric's teeth!" Berenger snapped, turning around. "Care to see for…"
The imposing form of Grandmaster Karena Mikkel loomed at the entryway, one eyebrow raised. Behind her were two others, men who seemed to fill the room just as much as she did. One stood directly at her side, his arms crossed, while the other leaned on a cane in the hallway. Their eyes on him, and thus their attention, made Berenger's tongue seem to swell up and choke his words before they left his lips.
"Bit of a mouth on the lad," Hubert von Ussingern, Grandmaster of the Fiery Heart, said with a grin. "How many months has he been with the White Wolves? I'd thought he'd have learned some manners."
"Oh, this is much better than when he first came to us, believe me," Karena said. "A right proper hellion, he was."
"Such is the way of youth," said Adalius Erbsenzähler, master of the very chapter house they stood in. The Grandmaster of the Blazing Sun winced in pain, clutching his cane more tightly as a spasm tore through him. In moments it passed, and he continued. "It's nothing hard work and a little attention won't fix."
Berenger bristled, gritting his teeth as these old folks spoke about him as if he weren't even there. From deep within himself well up the desire to yell at them, to make his annoyance known, but he pushed it back down and instead took several calming breaths. Only when he had control of himself did he speak again.
"Grandmaster, I'd heard you were out on patrol. Is there anything I can do for you?"
Karena gave him a searching look, and then nodded in what might have been approval. "I was, but I felt a few days of rest were needed. Besides, I wanted to coordinate with my fellows here. As for what you can do… Well, I've some thoughts about that."
"So you want him with us?" Hubert asked. "Seems a little young, don't you think?"
This time Berenger couldn't hold back a glare, but the sight of Karena's narrowed eyes kept his response from escaping into the air. A chill ran down his spine even as sweat beaded on the back of his neck, and the boy had to keep from fidgeting beneath the weight of Karena's gaze.
"Not so young he can't get some proper experience," his grandmaster said. "And he's learned some measure of wisdom in his time with us. Enough to know, at least, that he shouldn't make a fool of himself in front of allies."
Heat flushed through Berenger's cheeks, and he looked down lest he shame himself. He clenched his hands, feeling wetness well up from his cut, but embarrassment pushed back the pain. It was uncomfortable, holding back like this. He was used to having the run of his surroundings, being able to say what he wished and go where he wanted without consequence.
It was different here. Within the Knights of the White Wolf self-control was regarded almost as highly as faith, and enough punishments running laps, digging holes, and cleaning pots until his fingers were raw had taught him the value of restraint. Still, it was so very difficult.
"Hah! Well said!" Hubert cried. "You northerners may be grim and uptight, but let it never be said you lack for discipline."
Karena glanced at him, her lips coming up into a smile. "And you southerners may be indolent, but I can't say you lack for courage."
"Well, I think you're both barbarians," Adalius said, leaning heavily on his cane even as a wide smile split his face in two. "But fine folk nonetheless."
Berenger stared at the three, his jaw dropping as they laughed. Eyes wide, so taken aback he found himself stepping forward despite himself, his control finally broken. "What is happening?"
"Hmm? We're having a jest, squire," Karena replied, hands on her hips. "I would think that obvious."
"But you're… You're all knights of different orders!"
"And is that any reason for us not to be friendly?" Hubert asked. "Or, indeed, to be friends?"
Realizing he was losing control of the conversation, but unable to stop himself, Berenger went after one final thread. "You all serve different gods!"
Adalius shook his head, but a smile still graced his face. "True, and some day we may face each other on the other side of a battlefield. But that doesn't mean we can't be comrades."
"You will learn, as you get older, there are only a few lines drawn that are immutable," Karena said. "Changing circumstances requires flexibility, and while your core principles should be solid there is more room to maneuver than you might expect."
"Sigmar's breath," Hubert said, shaking his head. "You make it sound like a battle plan."
"Isn't it? And on that note, we should tell my young squire what is expected of him in the days to come."
"Yes," Adalius said, stepping into the room. The other two made way for him, taking care he didn't fall over. "You're to see some real combat soon, boy. There are two sizable orc camps moving toward each other. On their own they aren't too dangerous. Together, and they could become a rallying point for what remains of the horde."
Karena glanced at Hubert. "I'll be the anvil to your hammer for one of them, if that's all right with you."
"I've no trouble with that," Hubert replied. He turned to Adalius. "And your people will handle the other?"
"Yes, though I regret I'll be unable to ride with them."
"Wounds taken with honor, Grandmaster Erbsenzähler. I'd say you've more than earned yourself some rest." Karena turned to Berenger. "Go find Ranulf. He's gathering up the other squires, and I want your kit ready to go when we leave in three days time."
"Yes, Grandmaster!" Berenger said. "Right away!"
The boy ran off, his heart beating so fast he might have feared it would burst from his chest if he weren't smiling from ear to ear. Speeding down the hallways, he deftly avoided other squires and knights even as grumbling and shouts followed after him in his wake. Karena Mikkel, Grandmaster of the Knights of the White Wolf, had come to him personally! He was finally going to squire for her, finally going to see a true battle!
No, he couldn't feel fear, not when he had so much energy he could run laps around the Blazing Suns' chapter house… No, around all of Nuln! This was the true beginning of his journey. Following in the footsteps of Karena Mikkel he would become a hero! Songs would be sun of him, his name remembered throughout the ages!
And maybe, just maybe, he would make his big sister proud.
o\O/o
"Hey now," Ranulf said, grinning as always. "What's the long face for?"
Berenger looked up at him; sweat beading down the back of his neck beneath his arming cap. Between it and his gambeson he felt as if he were broiling, even on a cool night such as this, and the weight made it difficult to move. But it was necessary if he was going to be part of the fight, as was the short sword at his belt, so he gritted his teeth and put up with the discomfort.
Only instead of joining the battle, they had merely helped the knights into their armor before settling atop this hill. Solland was rife with them, the land rolling in waves all the way up to the mountains. Overhead the moon was half full, providing enough light to take in the shape of the countryside for miles around. High up as they were, Berenger could just make out the knights slowly moving toward the distant hill where the orc camp lay.
Even far away as they were, the boy could hear the raucous carousing of the greenskins. Perhaps one hundred of the hulking brutes, maybe even more, scattered all about the base of the rising earth. One would think they hadn't been broken months before by the way they celebrated. Or, at least, Berenger thought they were celebrating. They might also have been in the midst of a brawl. Perhaps it was all the same to the orcs?
"I didn't think we'd be left behind, is all," Berenger finally said. "We can barely even see what's happening from here."
"Ah, I see. Well, I can't fault your enthusiasm. Still, we've an important job," Ranulf said, motioning to where a few knights stood in reserve while the other squires prepared bandages and poultices. "After all, someone has to pick off stragglers and treat the wounded."
"I suppose," the boy muttered. He let out a sigh. "This isn't anything like I expected."
"You wouldn't be the first to feel that way," Ranulf said, reaching for a water skin and bringing it up to his lips. "If it helps, you can ask me anything. It's part of my job to see you know what you need in order to become a proper knight."
Berenger glanced at the man, a grin splitting his face. "Are you sleeping with Grandmaster Mikkel?"
Ranulf choked, leaning over to hack the liquid out of his lungs. He pounded at his chest, which did little against the armor he was wearing, before finally managing a breath full of air.
"Where in Ulric's name did you get that idea?"
"Oh, please forgive me," Berenger said, still smiling. "It's just you visit her rooms so often, and there have been rumors about the both of you. I hope I haven't caused offense."
"You're having me on, you little brat," Ranulf said, scowling. "I've half a mind to-"
A sonorous cry cut through the night, echoing across the hills. It began low, but slowly rose higher as it continued. Berenger turned back toward the orc camp to see the knights charging, and at their head Karena rode with her axe held forward. Her red hair streamed behind her like a banner, whipping in the wind of her rush, and mist shining with flecks of ice billowed out around her to take in the entire chapter as they closed in on the utterly bewildered orcs.
After a moment Berenger realized the sound was coming from her, and that he could make out words. And then he realized this wasn't a war cry, but something more rhythmic. It rose and fell, coming in waves that seemed to match the ebb and flow of the battle as the knights got stuck in the fray.
"She's singing," Berenger whispered as a chill wind tore past, making him shudder. "She's singing prayers."
"Calling upon divine Ulric's attention," Ranulf said, hefting his war hammer. In the distance the knights clashed with the orcs, smashing into their ranks as that cold mist smothered lights and coated the ground with frost. "She always sings her prayers in battle, and always we are blessed with a measure of our god's favor."
"Her voice is beautiful," Berenger whispered, unable to take his eyes of the assault. He could barely make out anything, but even in the bedlam he could hear Karena's song. "I had no idea."
"Yes, it is," Ranulf replied. "Look lively, boy. The Fiery Heart is coming with the hammer. It'll be our turn soon."
Berenger was about to ask him how he could possibly know, for as best he could see the Knights of the White Wolf were doing all they could to hold the line as the greenskins rallied and set to a proper counterattack. They hooted and hollered, laughing as they brought inhuman strength to bear against Ulric's chosen warriors. And then came another cry, this one a proper roar, and Hubert von Ussingern smashed into the orc's flank with all of his knights.
That spelled the end for any attempt at cohesion. So focused on the enemy in front of them the orcs left themselves completely blind to anything else, falling in heaps to lances only to be trampled beneath the horses. The line broke, and trapped on almost all sides the warband turned into a mob fighting on all sides.
One of which was still relatively open even as the Knights of the Fiery Heart broke through to the other side and wheeled around for another pass. From that gap some of the greenskins fled, running from the battle and away from the charging knights. Smaller than the orcs, their cries were high-pitched squeals as they crawled over each other to get away. Goblins, all trying to escape the slaughter.
The disorganized mob wheeled in their direction, and Ranulf stepped forward.
"For the glory of Ulric!" he yelled, lifting his weapon high. "Charge!"
After that there was nothing but noise and chaos. The knights led the assault, followed close behind by the squires. The goblins shrieked in fear, some continuing to flee. Most, however, realized they would never be able to outrun their enemy and rushed to meet them.
Despite their superior numbers, the goblins broke upon the knights like rain upon stone. Hammers rose and fell, sending the wretched creatures flying with screams of pain that ended with dull thuds as they landed. Their momentum lost, the knights pressed forward, grinding the greenskins down beneath them. Some managed to slip past, however, and the squires met them with steel in hand before they could flee or surround the knights.
Berenger looked about frantically as the melee came to him, trying to keep track of his comrades. But everything was moving so fast. He couldn't keep up with it all, couldn't keep up with anything. It was all so loud and his heart was beating too fast and there was dust in his throat and…
One of the goblins rose before him as if from the ground itself, brandishing a jagged blade the size of Berenger's arm. The boy cried out as the goblin swung at him, ripping a great gash in his gambeson and sending him toppling to the ground. Pain flashed through his chest like fire, and he could barely breathe, but he didn't have any time to register this before the greenskin fell upon him.
Grinning evilly, yellowed teeth and foul breath almost making Berenger choke, the goblin raised his weapon high. He saw his death in those terrible, beady eyes. Delight in his suffering, in making him bleed. This was the end.
Screaming at the top of his lungs, barely conscious of what he was doing, he thrust his short sword up with all his strength. The tip of the blade punched through the goblin's rags, up through his stomach and into his chest. Those eyes, full of eagerness, widened in shock, that grinning mouth falling open in surprise. It toppled, collapsing on Berenger.
As suddenly as that manic burst of energy came, it left. Berenger just lay there while the battle went on around him, gagging on the corpse's stench but lacking the strength to move it. Terror still held him in its grip, made his thoughts come as if through frozen mud and his breathing in shallow gasps. So overcome, it took him several moments to realize the noise had begun to die away.
A hand wrenched the goblin away, tossing the dead thing aside, and Ranulf knelt beside him.
"Eyes up, squire," the knight said, helping him to his feet. "We're close to finished here."
Berenger swallowed, trying to force moisture into a throat dry from screaming so he could ask Ranulf what he meant. Then the pounding in his ears faded, and over the keening of dying goblins he heard the clash of steel on steel coming closer. He turned his gaze to where Ranulf was looking and saw the battle had moved closer.
The orcs were almost entirely destroyed, a bare handful rallied around a particularly large greenskin with ramshackle scrap settled around where his lower jaw should have been. He was bellowing something in that guttural, broken language of theirs when the Knights of the White Wolf overtook them.
Within moments the smaller orcs were either dead or otherwise engaged, and their leader was sent sprawling. His weapon, an inelegantly brutal looking cleaver, fell from his hand and skittered across the ground to stop at an armored foot. It kicked the weapon back over to the orc, bringing the handle within arm's reach.
"Pick it up," Karena said, settling herself into a stance with her axe in one hand and a shield in the other. "I'll not kill you unarmed."
The orc blinked up at her, then grinned as best he could with his ruined mouth. He grabbed his weapon and got to his feet. "Dat's roight proppa of ya, humie. Moight be we can has some fun."
"Fight and die. We don't need to talk."
"Sounds good ta me!"
With a mad cackle the orc threw himself at her, slashing wildly at Karena with that slab of notched iron. She moved with the assault, deflecting with her shield and parrying with her axe. Just by sheer size the orc should have overtaken the smaller woman, his reach and mass giving him a clear advantage. But Karena kept the space between them, controlling his approach and slashing at his hands whenever he came too close.
Soon enough the orc's limbs were bleeding from half a dozen wounds, and growling his frustration he charged forward with a swing so powerful Berenger could feel the breeze kicked up even where he stood.
"Ulric give me the fangs of the wolf," Karena sang, ducking low under the strike and slamming her axe into the orc's side. Armor crunched and blood flowed, staining the ground. The greenskin tried to jump away, but she kept on him even as he raised his cleaver to deflect another blow. "Ulric give me the claws of the wolf!"
Snarling, the orc struck out thrice with his heavy, crude weapon. Karena dodged the first attack and parried the second, but the last slammed into her shield dead on. Wood and metal splintered, sending sparks flying, but Karena turned with the blow and kept her feet. With one smooth motion she discarded the shield and grasped her axe in both hands.
"Ulric give me the coat of the wolf!" she went on, her cloak flaring behind her. She pushed aside another strike and rammed her shoulder into the orc's chest, knocking him back. She followed up with an underhand blow that took the hulking greenskin right beneath the armpit, tearing through flesh and bone.
Howling in pain, one arm hanging limply, the orc rushed at Karena again in a desperate attempt to overwhelm her. They struck at the same time, the orc with an overhead chop and Karena swinging with the weight of her entire body.
Dust flew up where the orc's cleaver smashed into the ground, and blood spurted where Karena's axe had carved through his neck to lodge deeply into his chest. The brute tottered on unsteady legs as she wrenched her weapon out, cleaver dropping from his hand as he raised it to stem the bleeding. A futile gesture, as Karena's follow-up split his skull in two. Bone exploded in all directions, and finally the orc collapsed to the ground.
"And I will show your enemies the mercy of the wolf."
A cheer rose up among the knights, White Wolf and Fiery Heart alike, and they set about dispatching those orcs and goblins that remained. Karena looked over her fallen enemy for a time, and then turned away with a wince, settling her axe on her belt and feeling at her shield arm.
"Grandmaster," Ranulf called out as she approached. "Everything all right?"
"Pretty sure I cracked a bone," she replied. "Maybe more than one."
"Aye, orcs always hit hard."
Berenger stared at her, and only then noticed the tears streaming down his face. A hot rush of shame flooded through him, and another when he noticed Karena looking in his direction. He wiped at his eyes, trying to stem the flood, but it was no use. The cacophony battle, the goblin, the smell of death… It was all too much. He was drowning and couldn't find the surface to take a breath.
"I'm sorry," Berenger whispered, his voice hitching. "I was… I was so scared and…"
"War is not a beautiful thing," Karena said, kneeling next to him. "It can be glorious, can fill you with awe, but it is not beautiful. That, more than anything else, is why I brought you with me to experience this."
Berenger sniffled. "But Ulric…"
"He is the god of war and winter, and worth all praise and respect, but that does not change what I have said." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Overcome your fear, but never be ashamed of it. It is but another obstacle."
"I don't understand."
"You will," Karena said, rising to her feet. "You must."
She nodded to him, a small smile gracing her lips. It was such a little thing, hardly there at all, but in that moment it was as if the whole world opened up to Berenger. A small lifeline within a tumultuous sea pulling him to shore, quiet acknowledgement and encouragement all locked within this woman's eyes.
Berenger didn't yet understand what it meant to be a knight. It wasn't all about stories of heroism and glory, righteous warriors who felt neither fear nor pain. There was more to it, and so much he had to learn.
But as he watched Karena Mikkel pull her axe from her belt and join what remained of the battle, he knew he would find no better teacher than her.
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