Chapter 45: Bloody Fields (Shenis)
The chaos recently described in the woods was a different scene unknown to the men standing face to face, though separated by large amounts of grass and knolls before them. The insects and small animals of the plains that had the misfortune of being caught between the mobbing Bruin men and the Doves of Savoy were about to see their homes shattered as the cries rang out and the signal was given for the men of the Bruin, who had only just approached Conner's position and taken a stand next to him, now were ordered to close the full distance and engage the meager Savoy force.
Dust climbed into the air as the entire remnant of the Bolden army now moved with hunger and whatever determination in their eyes they had left. Many of the men were white around their lips for want of water, with cracking and chapping of the skin as dry mouths were a common feature in the unit, as water was not something prioritized in their foolish departure and rapid march. Some could barely hold their lances and swords, and they dragged on the ground as they moved.
"Shenis, most of these men don't have much fight in them," Dalton noted aloud as the hero readied his blade to engage as they closed in. Shenis asked his friends to not think lightly of them, though. He knew they could still injure or kill, and he loved all those who held arms at his side.
The party readied themselves as the wave closed in tighter. Dalton and Issachar took the center with Highlight next to them to the left. Caylor and Somme were behind Ion, Claire, and Kyler on the right side, while Dax, Shenis, and Misty with Nial held the opposite flank. Tico was in a flex position, as him being the only mounted combatant of the group afforded him such options, and Fahn, being the healer, stood in the center behind the thin line, ready to cast any balming spells needed to keep her friends standing upright. Issachar was waiting for the very last second to shift, hoping to conserve energy, as all could tell this battle had the stones to be a long engagement.
The men stood ready and smiled at each other. They had fought in many battles and small raids together, and now was a chance to do something grand and be one step closer to the freeing of the city of Jule, the home of the Savoy clan. "Alright, Issa, let us see who is the better man today," Dalton said, never serious in his talk even when his body and eyes said otherwise.
"Small man, the bear shall today outpace you by double," Issa laughed as he shifted to his larger and ferocious polar bear form. The tired army was closing in tighter, now in range of clean bow shots. Somme gave the wave to Caylor, and the two in the group carrying a bow began their shooting, each having a deep quiver of well-made bolts. The two, though of different skill, knew this would be a healthy day for their shooting. Somme loosed the first shot and felled a man to the ground as he connected to the neck, severing a serious artery. Caylor fired her first bolt and merely wounded a man in the leg as he slowed and hobbled his steps, though bravery and starvation led the man forward still. Somme offered the woman a little encouragement, though he could tell the wife of his lord had a sick look on her face.
"You okay, Lady Savoy?" Somme asked as he nocked and let fly another arrow. He didn't check to see if the true shot connected but immediately had his concern on Caylor as the loosed bolt penetrated deep into the chest under the ribs of a man, slowly robbing his strength until he fell after a few more steps. Caylor kneeled over and vomited a bit of whatever was in her stomach, though she signaled to Somme that she was okay before wiping her mouth clean with an arrow grasped by the same hand. She recovered her composure and let fly a follow-up shot to the initial wound that the soldier experienced as this one hit higher on his body and extinguished his spark.
"I promise I'll be fine, just felt a little woozy there." Somme continued looking at the lady for a moment. Caylor turned to the archer. "I promise, Somme, I am okay."
"SOMME, KEEP FIRING PLEASE!" Highlight called as the Savoy cluster braced for the melee to start in a few moments. The archer shook himself back to focus and returned to doing what he did best, which was fire his arrows. Caylor continued as well but at a slower pace as her stomach seemed to be settling and yet still taking some of her focus.
On the Bruin side of the lines, Conner the general, the leader of the army, moved in pace with his men until he looked to the left and saw the truth. His men were weak and in no condition to fight. Thirsty and tired, the men could barely hold their weapons as they moved forward at the Savoy. This overcame him, and he paused with his secretary as the others surged forward to their ruin. His posture slouched as he looked to the right to observe the same issue. "What have I done? I am no leader; I am a bastard who sends men, both enemy and friend, to hell." His secretary offered no response but stood by his side as he saw the bear shift and offer his first rending of flesh from the unlucky few that dared approach such a monster. Conner had no resolve to move forward as the clash began. He saw the footwork and blade movement of the hero Dalton, how he redirected lance thrusts as if they were offered at him by a toddler. How he cleaved arms and shoved his sword through skulls as though they were a watermelon and his sword were red from the fires of a smith. Conner stood still as this began. He could not move forward as he found his mind swarmed with all the choices he made in the campaign. The tyranny, the compromises to try and save lives. The mass of his army when they first crossed. How grand a sight that was as thousands marched with supplies and lines for food, weapons, and all other needs were secure and well guarded. His men were healthy, big, and strong with meat in their stomachs. And now they were meager, barely a fraction of the size they were. With men that weighed nearly 200 lbs at the start of the campaign charging at a full-grown bear now weighing barely 150 lbs. He himself had even seen 10 lbs off his own frame, but only from recent revelations as his officer supplies had run dry. Conner just stood there with his secretary. Unable to move to aid his men he claimed to care about as if he accepted doom for all bearing the Bruin.
His men were unaware of this mental collapse of their once iron-fisted general, who was a solid combat specialist and a heavily armored man of size. They paid no notice to this as they, with sadness and hunger in their eyes, pressed on without discipline or stratagem, swinging wildly as their weak attacks bounced off the mighty weapons held by men of power and recent feeding. The Savoy men were offered no challenge by these weary warriors, and the field showed this.
Ion, still of lesser experience than the noble Shenis in his mastery of the sword, was still the better man outright than these soldiers. Something that in the past he would have been concerned about, as his skills were not of the expert level by any means, and while holding a sword he was at a disadvantage to those wielding a lance. Yet, his success and growth as a man and a swordsman were apparent as his blade strikes proved true in rending flesh, separating bone and tendon, and ending life. His posture, confident; his stance, compact; and his swings, balanced. The man was becoming a true force on the field. Claire took notice of her man as he blocked a downward strike, stepped atop the lance to gain control, and then slashed forward across the nape of the neck. The soldier fell absent further challenge as death claimed the man. Kyler was impressed as well. He knew he loved being on the field, but being a young man, he knew his abilities were still not that of the developed bodies of his elders. He had bloodied his lance but was kept back to avoid the opportunity to be overcome.
Like rabid dogs, they came forward, tripping and falling over both their own feet and their dead in the field. Dalton took notice of this and advised caution as the strikes of the enemy were desperate and off balance, which could greatly increase the difficulty in predicting a landing location and thus deflecting or parrying became quite the task. The hero took his own advice to heart as a spear thrust glanced off his off-hand shield but slid upwards and slid across his shoulder blade under his spaulder. "DAMN!" The cut isn't serious but still painful and occupies his thoughts as he stabs forward and then pulls back to try and recenter himself. "Cleric, got any love for me?" he calls while holding his wounded arm with his sword still in hand. His shield is drooped, but he pulled back from the front where he left a makeshift rampart of corpses for any fool to cross over.
"Hold still, Mr. Dalton." The cleric Fahn, almost unaware of the surrounding chaos, chants her spell and touches the wound with her staff. Dalton laughs a bit as the healing takes place. Her spell is weak, but unlike Caylor's acolyte knowledge, Fahn can actually seal wounds and restore slightly the vigor of a person.
"Feeling better over here, lover girl." He gives the young maiden a smooch on the cheek. She then blushes and instantly slaps him so hard he staggers three steps to the right.
"OHHH! I am so sorry, Mr. Dalton! I should not have done that!" Fahn explains with a blush still on her face. Dalton laughs a bit, then turns back to the chaos ahead.
"No worries, little lady, I just wanted to see you get riled up, is all." She is confused and rubs her cheek and finds herself more oblivious than before to the turmoil around them.
"FUCKING TRAITOR!" a man with a white and dry mouth screams as he slams his lance forward into the small shield of Nial, the elder soldier who previously had served the Bruin. The old man, despite the new coat of paint on his armor and a different crest on his shield, was still easily recognized by several of the men in Conner's company. They all were from the same city and came in the same massive force. The blows offered to Nial had more fire behind them than the weak thrusts given to Issachar the bear. Nial, though, being a seasoned man in the later portions of his fighting years, took these in stride as he backed off and turned as the shots rang into the shield to deflect and offer a chance for a counter. "DIE DIE DIE! OLD MAN, YOU DIE HERE!" The silly calls of a starving mind fill the air as the man sees only red in his heart; survival is no longer the task before him, but the murder of this elder. He lunges hard, jumping to offer more strength into the thrust. Yet, Nial smiles as he sees the young man had jumped and aimed too high. Nial kneels slightly just as the connection comes in and then pushes right back up into the strike to deflect the lance upward and rob the soldier of a proper defensive stance. Nial then leads with his spear and skewers the man right in the chest. "UHHHHH!" The man looks down to see his wound and drops his lance and round shield, hoping to be able to save himself. Nial is without mercy, though, as he rips the lance right back out of the chest, and the wound explodes with a river of red upon the ground in front of him. The young man who only moments ago had rage in his heart now drops to his knees with tears in his eyes. Though they are red tears, tears of blood. He spits directly at Nial as he then falls to the grass, never to rise again. Nial steps backward as he knows he is the victor but feels the strength of the attacks and the shock upon his left arm and shoulder.
Shenis and Highlight notice the slowing pace of the older soldier and double their efforts next to him. The Lord's form is nearing a level of mastery known by only a few to use the artful and difficult rapier. He is able to dance around opponents and use their movements to his own vantage, dropping them over, then picking apart at their body with the sharp stabbing tip, ripping skin and causing harm with each swift motion. The knight at his side slams his heavy shield ahead and then charges forward, seeing the men opposite offer little challenge and threat of safety to the superior prowess and skill of the better men of the Savoy unit. Highlight knows this is the time. He needs to step up and be more the leader. He remembers the drive and determination he saw with Parakles in defense of his lord, and the stories he was told of his valor in defense of Runsa, how he stood tall in the ever-worsening odds in the halls of his lord. Highlight did not wish to be outdone by the cavalry knight of Cavan. He slashed out his lance and broke a man's guard and arm. Then he doubled back and stabbed forward. He continued to move with purpose, stabbing and blocking, progressing inch by inch so as to not let what happened to Dalton be an issue, which is he allowed a pile of dead to arise in front of him, blocking and causing confusion as he continued to fight and even perhaps being the reason he failed in so crucial a block. The knight is confident as the last man in front of him offers zero contest as he blocks a thrust hard to the side and then slams into his chest the steel lance the man held. The knight pushed through with such force that he lifted the man from his feet and then, with the force offered in the drawback of the lance, the man came off the skewer like a tender piece of meat, falling off the bone. Highlight paused to recenter his stance as he moved his shield about to block several incoming blows. With one, the spear glances back, causing no dent, but the other shatters its tip upon the hard surface held for protection by the heavy knight. Splinters of various sizes fill the air as the man braces. Yet the wood finds home in his face, barbing and sticking into his exposed skin. Highlight isn't blinded, though several shards get close to the eyes. He steps back a few paces, trying to recollect himself as he shakes his face but is unable to clear the wooden spikes. The enemy notices the opening, and the opponent with a still functional spear moves about and thrusts straight into his lower chest, catching a weak spot in his heavy cuirass.
"AHHH!" His eyes widen as the knight slams the shield across his body, knocking the spear from the hands of the assailant. He is on one knee now as the pain from both facial irritation and the chest wound has him halted, taking deep breaths while the pain sensors in his brain go haywire. Shenis and Dalton react quickly and move forward from the rank to the rescue of their ally.
"Come on, loverboy, stand up." Dalton jests as he grabs the knight under the right arm and hoists him while parrying an incoming blow to the right of the men. Shenis steps forward quickly and glides his blade through both men on the offensive. The first with a forward backhand slash as he moves to position to attack the next one with an upward thrust into the cranium under the neck off the back of his previous motion. The attack was smooth and flawless, showing just how far the young lord had developed his swordcraft since the early days of their campaign. He was no babe in the woods now. He was a force to be reckoned with, even among perhaps the veterans of warfare.
Highlight moved with the hero and allowed him to walk back from the front as Nial moved to reinforce the lord at his position. Fahn immediately saw to the need at hand and chanted quickly to heal the knight. "You're much more adept at this than Bryan was," Jai says as the pain subsides and he takes a tug on a cask of water to catch his breath. Dalton slaps the knight on the back before he turns and hurls his sword forward into the chest of another enemy to fall at his feet.
The left flank by this point of the battle was seeing immense progress compared to the center or the right flank. Dax and Misty, who were originally on the left flank, moved into the center and now found themselves reinforcing the right as Dalton shifted to the left with Shenis and Highlight to back up Nial. Issachar the bear had made quite the mound in the center, and his only reason for not being further up the field was due to the amount of bodies adorning the ground beneath him as he ended all who dared enter his reach. So much was the bear's prowess that Dalton stepped up his efforts and moved about hastily, striking with purpose and breaking the guards of several worn-down veterans standing before him.
Conner continued to just stare with his secretary; he was lost. He felt he could take most of the people in the Savoy force, but the polar bear, the bear had him locked in terror as he knew his limits, and the ability to fell that monster seemed a dream to the general. "My lord, what should we do? Perhaps we can flee around to the North or maybe to the South?"
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"THE SOUTH!" Conner perked up at the mention and remembered the cluster of men that he sent deep with Simon to engulf the Dove troops. He looked to the tree line, seeking salvation from the woods. Though as a few moments passed, his optimism stumbled as a gaggle of disorganized personnel wandered about in all directions, with some headed toward Runsa with intent to flee straight to Dol. The number was few, barely more than 10 or so of the men. Certainly not the nearly 60 strong sent with Simon. More did emerge in moments later but not with any real ability or pace in their step as a small bit of heat would finish their suffering. Conner had a disturbed look on his face as he saw the men exiting without fight in their bodies, without any desire to continue in war. His lines at the front were collapsing, and the Savoy party was digging through them like soft dirt after a rainfall. The general felt doom overcome him as his spear tip hit the ground in front of him.
Hobbling out from the shadows of the forest, Simon, aided by two others, unlike many of the men who were under his command, who ran about in any direction seeking respite from the conflict, moved directly to Conner's position. The general spotted the stumbling leader as he and his helpers hustled quickly as the carnage began to close in tighter to the general's point, with Bruin lines crumbling. Several men from the left flank of the Bruin line, seeing the men from the woods emerge in a panic, threw down their weapons or took flight either forward toward Runsa around the conflict or back toward the spot of their general, Conner.
"General Bolden," Simon called as they approached. Screams filled the air as Issachar claimed another soul. "There was an ambush in the woods; our men are decimated." The comments fell on deaf ears as Conner only stared ahead at the doom of the men. Several others had pulled off the front line as a cluster was reforming around the general as if to offer a rally point with their leader at the helm, as they thought maybe he could turn the tide. Though he stood stoic and scared. Simon turned his eyes to see the bear in the field roaring and clawing about with malice and vulgar intent to all who stepped near, standing over a mound of bodies at his feet. The soldier felt he had escaped a potential death and gone to a certain death. He gulped his dry throat. "Conner, sir, what do we do?" He grabbed the shield arm of the general, seeking to jog action from the one who led them on this entire campaign. The motion jolted the general, just slightly, but enough to come back into focus.
"Right!" Conner pushed back the soldier and then raised his lance tip high. "We have a role to fulfill, to either die here or return to Dol." He shook his head violently as if to restore some luster to his weak eyes, eyes that had only in the recent moments embraced failure. "Charge!" he called as the general moved ahead to the shattering lines. Few men were left holding strong against the razor that is the Savoy party, yet Conner moved with purpose as he approached. The men who stood near him at the back, seeking leadership, stared on with confusion at the move of their general. Some teared up and embraced what was to come and followed him into ruin. Simon stood in place, holding his wounds.
"You going into that hell as well?" he asked the secretary. The man gulped and then followed his general forward. "This is foolish," Simon called out softly as the ranks around him thinned further with more men running to the ruin at hand.
"Simon, what are we to do?" the man thinks as he sees another two soldiers cut down by bowfire and swordplay. Conner is still on the charge, soon to reach the center as he moves directly for their hero, Dalton. Simon scans the woodline and sees the ranger Zlatan and his small party emerging, further making the odds lopsided. Simon turns his back on the field and begins moving toward Jule.
"I am not dying today, is what I am doing." he says with trust in his ability to outrun whatever advance the enemy would give in pursuit. He pushes his hand deep into his wounded side and makes haste toward the starving city. Henny was there with most of the healers, and perhaps a defense of the city could be successfully mounted. A few follow Simon as they also fear death overtaking them. Conner Bolden's moments seem to be ending, fading like a grand piece of music. The general reaches the line as it fully crumbles, with the last of his soldiers still fighting falling to the ground, never to rise.
"I am your challenger, General Conner Bolden of Dol!" he cries with heavy eyes and hot breaths. Dalton smiles as he sees the real challenge moving to him with shield high and spear forward. They spring to action and move to intercept each other.
"Your wife calls me Dalton," he says without any further luster or embellishment. The hero smiles as his shield eats the first lance thrust by the madman. Conner is enraged but still isn't yielding himself to frustration and anger. The two exchange hits upon their armor and weaponry, bashing and clanging. They circle each other, going in for shots to the opposite participant and then separating for a moment to breathe as both quickly recognize the prowess of the other.
Issachar rips a man clean in two, offering no quarter as the enemy bearing a crest showing his own form increases the hostility of the polar bear. Issa finishes the rending process as death befalls that fool who charged the giant. As the flesh falls off his claws to the ground beneath him, he looks about for his next challenge and quickly learns, as all the other seasoned party members of the Savoy party, that the enemy has either fled or fallen. All except their general, who now circles and slashes at their most seasoned Gebo, the mercenary turned hero, Dalton. Issa smiles as he perceives no further threat and reverts to his human form. His sole focus in the moment is to observe the duel. The Savoy party also do not press onward or interrupt; they merely stay at a safe distance and take in the view, daring not to intervene or disrupt the clash of these two seasoned and skilled combat experts, each in their own field of training. Zlatan and his small party as well stop to take in the scene, even though they moved to position nearer the Bruin post that has since fallen, as men like Simon fled randomly or directly back to Jule. He and his men offer no further press on to the city, as they firstly had yet to greet Shenis and his party, and also they were in awe of the spectacle before them.
"Bang!"
"Clash!" These sounds flooded the air, not in quick succession as though done by a wild beast, but as a symphony of motion that is performed by someone truly knowledgeable in their craft, and here was not one such person but two.
"You have skill, Dalton," Conner says as he steps back to separate and breathes heavily. He has a few cuts along the inside of his gauntlets and one small cut along his cheek, but nothing that would cause serious worry for the skilled general.
Dalton winks at his opponent with playful glee in his eyes. Sure, he was one to always proceed in combat with caution and often fought with dirty tactics to give a greater likelihood of survival, yet he was still one to admire a good challenge when afforded. "Can't remember taking a straight-up fight with someone as menacing as you, Conner." Shenis sees this duel going on and tightens his fist around his sword; he wants to jump in and disrupt the duel by shoving his rapier straight into whatever bit of flesh he can find through the heavy armor of the general. Highlight sees the tension in his friend's body and moves his bloody lance in front of Shenis while offering the man peace. Highlight is seated on the bodies of a few men, resting after the hot passions of violence, nursing what blunt and cutting wounds he received. Shenis stands with his knees locked, however, and rage filling his heart. Though he heeds the visual and verbal calming notions from his ally and close friend, he wants to be the one to kill Conner, to cut off his head and desecrate him in the most troubling of fashions. Yet, he yields the floor to his man Dalton.
"Rip him to pieces," is all the lord can say as his teeth grit and grind, and his hand draws blood from the pressure of his own nails. "Rip him to pieces," he repeats again. He takes no notice of the others, his wife sitting nearby with her head between her knees from a dizzy spell, or of Fahn panting from the strain of so many healing spells. He doesn't notice Misty kissing Dax for the first time as they both stand with red on their weapons. All the lord sees is Conner, the man who sacked his home, who had his little brother killed, and so many ills over the central plains still standing.
"TING!" The respite for the two men in the circle made by the movement of their own feet is over as the two square up again. The first blow is a collision of sword to lance shaft, with both unable to knock the other off balance with all their power. Dalton tries to close in to give chance at a strong wound. Yet, Conner is wise and swings his lance in a clean and swift manner to keep the hero only at a fair distance to offer the general solid time for reaction.
"BANG!" Conner's strategy once more proves to be valid as he blocks the upward thrust from the left across to the right from the hero. Conner cannot counter but is able to push the sword back down, causing Dalton to take a step backward to avoid overexposure of his back. Conner is quick, even though tired, and sees the small opening this posture has created and shoves his shield forward at the hero as he steps in at the man to offer extra power behind the blunt shot. The hero winces as he sees the incoming attack at his exposed side and shifts his arm around and over, forcing him to kneel but also brace with his shield in front to absorb the hit.
"TSHHH!" The collision of the shields creates a small shockwave in the air, and the feet of Dalton are pushed slightly into the ground as he holds position. He was swift to react and defend, but not to truly brace every part of his body as the two separate, and Conner offers a follow-up lance thrust which the hero ducks beneath before he rolls away to a safe distance to check himself out. The hero soon realizes that his left arm, which holds his shield to purpose, is dislocated at the elbow.
"Shit," he speaks but keeps his volume low as the pain is noticeable, and he is currently unable to bang it back into position and rest. He still has to fight, though he knows his left will be mostly without use for the time being. Conner smiles as he sees the change in posture and movement as Dalton closes back in for their next exchange. The hero has shifted to lead with his blade; for the moment, he can still hold the shield, but he knows he cannot rely on that arm for any measure of true defense, as it could fail him totally at the wrong moment. Conner thrusts his blade forward, which is quickly deflected by the hero. Conner then recoils his arm and thrusts once more, only to be swiped back away as the hero presses onward despite his weakened state. The general isn't surprised or deterred by the swift strength or speed offered by his opponent; he has a smile on his face as he prepares for his next move, which he hopes to be the end of the challenge. He isn't thinking about the others of the Savoy party standing around with eyeballs of various intensity, ready to pounce on him after this conflict is finished. He doesn't see that all of his army are either gone or dead, and he is the only man in gold still fighting. He only seeks and thinks to break the man in front of him, as any true disciplined man of violence would when presented with a proper challenge in combat.
Conner stands strong. The events of the campaign that had lasted this long season of warmer days, taking him far from his home with so many eager boys that will never return, these memories are gone from his mind as he swings and moves in combat with Dalton. His brow is not furrowed; his belly is not empty. Though all moments of bliss must pass to shadow.
Conner makes his move to end the fight. He leans back and thrusts downward with his lance to force some type of off-balanced motion by the hero. Though, Dalton does not brace for impact as predicted by the general, and the man of crass nature and no noble birth moves forward as the thrust comes, embracing the blunt shot of the lance unto his left shoulder, which was currently not available for much effort anyway. The blow lands hard, but Dalton does not care as he uses this brazen move by the general to get inside his reach and sink his sword straight through the chest separation of the plate armor.
"HUUHHH!" Blood spurts forth soon from the lips of the general bearing the bruin insignia. Conner's eyes widen as his perceived advantage has, in the spurt of a short moment, turned into something of a nightmare. A curtain call for his life, as he looks down to see the entry of the sword all the way to the hilt into his chest cavity. He loses his grip on his lance and shield, dropping them where his arms currently were before grabbing onto Dalton in front of him as the hero still held the sword. The man looked about as the reality sat in of his own demise. Then he looked up as his arms began shaking and his grip further waned on the body of his opponent. Conner attempted to mouth a message to the hero as the two locked eyes in full awareness of the outcome. Conner's ability to speak failed him, however, and soon he collapsed as Dalton removed his sword and then aided him to his back to breathe the last few times as the colour left his eyes and the breath left his lungs next. The General trusted by Chile Bruin to lead a massive army to subjugate the central plains, the man who sacked Jule, killed Ernst Cavan, frightened House Frit, this man was now no more. And now Conner Bolden in his golden armor lay dead in the field. The final bruin still offering challenge.
The moment held some manner of sobriety and nothing of victory or glory. Dalton collapsed to his butt after taking a few steps before Fahn ran to his assistance to aid in whatever healing arts she could perform. Exhausted, the man, though normally a firecracker, was unable to offer retorts or crude remarks as the shot to his shoulder and the dislocated elbow had him numb to everything due to the throbbing pain he was experiencing.
"Can you help him, little girl?" Issa called as he and Dax approached while Fahn performed a vigor recovery spell.
"I can, but to fully help him we need someone to reset his elbow and left shoulder." She pointed to spots on the man drenched in sweat where the bones were clearly out of their needed positions. Dax patted Dalton on the right arm and then offered him a bit of wood from a broken lance nearby.
"Bite down, Merc!" he said with a smile. Dalton, though exhausted, did as asked. Dax then, in quick succession, first with the shoulder and then with the elbow, cracked both back into place, each causing a wild muffled scream to be let out by the hero, only to then see him pass out from the pain and release the wood from his teeth after the elbow was returned to place. Fahn then cast one more healing spell that would mend the man without removing him from a needed rest.
Shenis had mixed feelings about the ordeal. And while he was thankful for the efforts of his good friend who proved victorious in a duel that most likely only Issachar in their party could also win one-on-one, he wished he would have been the man to fell the general who had caused so much pain in the Savoy branch. He clenched his fist still on his rapier as he looked down at the lifeless body of the enemy general. Shenis had nothing but rage, but after feeling a stern hand from Highlight and hearing his name called by Somme, he turned from his fury and shook his head a few times before moving himself to see Somme, the archer, holding Caylor up with her arm over his neck to offer support.
"CAYLOR! Is she alright?" Shenis put away his sword quickly and then moved to grab his wife off the arms of the archer to support her himself.
"She should be alright; she isn't injured, but she has been pretty queasy this entire fight. I think she may have a cold or the flu, or perhaps she ate some spoiled meat," Somme spoke, unaware of the change happening within the Savoy wife. Then again, all in this moment were still unaware, and Shenis simply saw this as battlefield exhaustion. Here he had two important people to his party out cold or seriously limited. He had a choice to make. "We'll move a bit further inwards, away from this field to the nearest well a mile or so north; there we will set up camp and rest for the moment." The call for maintaining their position while still seeking rest was a well-met proposal as the party had their war cart nearby in the rear, left unattended during battle, so they would have bedding and tenting as needed. But also, in holding their position rather than returning to Runsa, the war effort and pressure to move back to Jule was still in motion and not stalled out. Sure, Conner was dead, but the Bruin army still had a presence in Shenis' city of his birth. And he wanted back his halls.
The men there under Henny and Ally, with Simon running that direction to join them, of course, were a starving and weakened small ragtag amount of unfortunate and injured men, but Shenis had no knowledge of this and did not wish to risk the lives of his friends by pushing to race toward Jule ill-prepared and without Dalton healthy.
"Lord Shenis Savoy, may we talk?" Zlatan said to the young dove as he approached the man.
"Please, Zlatan Hartford, I am happy to see you join us, but can you not see my wife is sick and we must get to the well to establish a camp? You are welcome to join us and come with us to the well. But please, let us get there and get some water in our throats before we talk seriously." Shenis showed the lord of White Falls what respect he could in the moment, but still helping keep his wife upright, the lord made his priorities in the moment clear: to get to the well and establish their forward camp. Zlatan obliged Shenis, and his small party of men followed with the Savoy party as they marched to the nearby well to set up their campgrounds and then take in healthy amounts of cool water drawn fresh from the ground to soothe their tired and dry mouths from the exertion of the day.
…………
Simon the Bruin soldier and the few that fled with him continued fleeing in terror, unsure if they were followed and pursued all the way back to Jule. The march was still a long one, but it was done not as a military action but just as a means to survive.
"Keep going! We have to tell Henny and prepare! They will march on us soon," Simon shouted to a fellow man hunched over and dry heaving up dust as their mouths were fully chalk and powder. The man nodded and tried to move further at the same pace as Simon, who put the pain of his wounds out of his mind so that he could just focus on getting back inside the walls of the occupied city. The panic was settling in them as they became aware that they were not being chased, but they knew they would not stop until they reached Henny. Hopeful for water, a bed, but most importantly, the escape from death.
