Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

Rury kept running the shielding exercises through his head as they donned armor in the dim light of predawn. Armor in the Guard was never completely uniform, even within units, except for what it had to protect. Leather and metal leggings covered Rury from crotch to foot. He pulled on a padded vest with separate, quilted sleeves, and over that a leather jerkin with small, overlapping iron plates stitched inside. More leather and metal covered arms and elbows, and an armored cowl covered throat, shoulders, upper back and chest. He looped the baldric suppporting his short sword over his left shoulder and secured it with a wide belt that also supported his water bottle, rations pouch, buckler and dagger. Reinforced leather gauntlets and a plain, well-made helmet finished the outfit. Rury bent and picked up his spear. He consciously felt the armor’s weight only for a moment. Sergeant Krandal had been drilling them in full kit since before they’d marched out from Oakdell.

The sergeant appeared, wearing his armor as naturally as if it were his skin. Stepping close to Rury he spoke barely above a whisper.

“Remember, relax and let the training do the job. If you feel fear, let it go to something else.”

The sergeant stepped back and looked around at the militia, then smiled grimly.

“Boys and girls,” he said, “it’s time to go be soldiers. Marching order, column of fours!”

They marched to the company’s muster point, then trudged to the valley in the dim red light of pre-dawn. The upright rows of their shouldered weapons rippled as they moved, like a field of grain waving deadly in the breeze. A crow cawed harshly at their passing.

They reached the shallow stream marking Valdemar’s border with Karse and arrayed themselves there. Rury stood on the front line with Aed and Snipe to either side. Behind him were Sergeant Krandal and the others, their presence reassuring. Perhaps five-score paces to his left Rury could make out the King’s standard fluttering bravely in the breeze. To either side stretched the armored ranks of Valdemar.

Muttering rippled through the Valdemaran ranks, as the Tedrel Army crested the opposing hilltop. They came, and came, and kept coming, armor glittering in the morning sun. The measured tread of their march was like muffled drums.

“That may be the scariest thing I’ve ever seen,” muttered Aed.

“That’s because you aren’t them, looking at us.” replied the sergeant. “Look close. The front ranks aren’t squared off and hard lined like the ones behind. See how the officers are riding close on them. The Tedrel are running their mongrel hounds out ahead. Those boys in front are nervous.” He raised his voice. “I’ve seen more than my share of fighters, and you people are better than that lot.” He grinned wryly. “Though it looks like it will be a while before we run out of Tedrels.”

Rury knew the sergeant was trying to buck them up. Still, he was glad of the confidence in Krandal’s voice. As the Tedrels filled the far slopes, the mutterings in his head grew to a low roar, even through the shields he tried to raise. The voices were back, and this time every voice was shouting hate and rage and desire for his death. For the first time in his young life, Rury seriously thought about the possibility of death, and that today he might die.

“Nice to see somebody remembered to invite the Tedrels,” joked Aed. “So what do we do now?”

“We stop jabbering like a bunch of first-fight rookies, for starters,” growled Sergeant Krandal, “then we settle in and wait. Stand easy.”

The morning crawled on. The sun was well up now, glinting off the dew on the grass. Soldiers in the line held their positions, occasionally shifting their feet or drinking sparingly from water bottles.

Suddenly there was a cry as the Tedrel lines started moving. Their front ranks left the main body and advanced toward the little stream just ahead of Rury. They moved at a trot that sped up as they came down the slope.

“Dress your ranks!” shouted Sergeant Krandal. “Hold in place.”

The Tedrels were up to a run, now, a wordless roar coming from their throats. Thousands on thousands charged down the hill, shaking the ground. Rury felt the vibration through his boot soles.

“Level weapons!” The front line of Tedrels reached the stream, lurching and splashing across.

“Hold steady!” Sergeant Krandal could barely be heard over the noise. “Hold the . . .” The rest was lost in crash, screams and drumming thunder as the lines slammed together and two armies each leaped for the other’s throat. On either side of Rury, Tedrel fighters, unheeding of danger or unable to check their rush, impaled themselves on spear and pike points. For every Tedrel who did, two more fought to get past the spears and close with the fighters of Valdemar. The roar of clashing arms and screaming soldiers was deafening.