A Knightess' Tale #5

“Now there’s something you don’ see every day.”
Buried among the cart’s contents and bound to the wooden frame, the rusty coat-of-plates that Eleanor had spied earlier. Only, this time, it was occupied.
The armour, Eleanor realised, looked perfectly normal; except for the rays of ghostly blue light that filtered through tears and puncture-marks. Only the wispy white hair pressed down by the heavy-looking helmet gave any indication of a human – or, at least, corporeal – occupant.  The armour’s  hands were bound behind its back by the thick rope with another tied around its torso. The occupant’s glowing eyes widened urgently through the faceplate as Eleanor and Osgar approached. “Quick, before he comes back, get me out of here.”

Eleanor stepped forward. “What the hell’s this? What’re you doing in the back of a wagon?”
“There’s no time to explain. Just, please, get me out of here.”
The armour spoke with a high, female voice – albeit with a strange, ethereal quality that lent it the sound of a winter breeze. The speaker’s tone gave no indication of panic or alarm, but it (she?) was betrayed by the visible wideness of her ice-coloured eyes.
Osgar simply stood, confused. “Why’d he tie you up in yer armour?”
“What?”
“Why’d Roughly let you keep yer armour on after he got you? Wait, why’s he ‘ave a girl tied up anyway?”
“Please, I’ll tell you later. Just untie me.”

Eleanor cast a quick glance at Osgar. He still bore a befuddled expression, but eventually he looked back at Eleanor and nodded. Eleanor drew her seax and began to worry away at the armour’s fetters. As she looked closer at the figure, she noticed that what little of her body was visible was formed of the same cyan, gas-like substance as her eyes. The armour cast a nervous glance towards the inn.

“Can’t you work any faster? Please, that man could be back at any moment.”
Osgar drew his own knife and began to saw at the rope on her torso. After a minute of work, the armour’s bonds fell away and she picked her way out of the cart, casting a nervous glance at the inn. She quickly began to hurry away from the cart, beckoning the two sellswords to follow. She ran with heavy footfalls into a back alley, her luminescent glow visible against the brick. Osgar and Eleanor joined her, and she took a furtive look back at toward the inn before catching her breath.

Now that Eleanor could get a good look at the ghostly-looking girl, she could see just how strange she was. She was arrayed from head to foot in armour of various materials, her leather boots and gloves curiously fastened to legplates and bracers. Her thick, padded trousers were shot through with holes from which more of the strange blue luminescence shone, and the tattered gambeson and the sleeves of her chain-coat were likewise riddled with light. Only the thick armour that covered her chest, a tough-looking brigandine with parts of the large metal plates poking through the canvas, was devoid of holes through which the unnatural glow would pour. Her wispy white hair messily protruded from her flat-topped helmet, from which a thick faceplate covered her expression. More of the light poked through the breathing hole in the faceplate, and a smoke-like trail of it trailed from the eye-slits.

Osgar spoke first. “What the hell’s going on? Why were y’tied up like that? An’ just who are you, anyway?”
“I am Matilda. I’m what you would call living armour.”
Eleanor’s brow furrowed. “Living armour?”
“Yes. Never heard of them?”
“Afraid not.”
“A spirit finds an enchanted set of armour, and comes to inhabit it. It’s not that common, but it happens.”
Osgar coughed. “If yer say so. Why were you tied up in the back of Roughly’s cart?” Eleanor smirked, grateful that Small John wasn’t here to remark on this.
Matilda’s eyes narrowed. “That filth. He thought I was just some antique piece he could abscond with like any other object.”
“Abscond? You mean, he stole… er, he stole you?” mused Eleanor, as Osgar stepped to the edge of the alley to watch for any sign of Shank Roughly.
“The mutilated rat and his foul sword-woman took me from my master’s possession and roped me up in that cart. I’ve been there for weeks.”
“By the gods…”
“Regardless, you have my sincere gratitude for rescuing me from such swine. I am unsure what I can offer you in recompense, as I have no possessions of my own and my master’s wealth has disappeared.”
“What d’you mean by ‘disappeared’?”
“I cannot say.”
“Why? Who was your master?”
Matilda turned her head away. “…this line of questioning is unwelcome.” Eleanor could only guess at her expression through the plate that covered her face. Osgar spoke without looking away from the inn. “How about you tell us, an’ you can consider yerself un-debted.”
Matilda remained silent. Eleanor began to walk over to Osgar when she spoke again.

“I do not like to think of my master. I worry for what has befallen him since we became separated.”
“But who was he?”
“…he wa- is the lord of this town of Caester. He owns this town and manages its affairs from his residence at Lodwick Keep. Or, he did.”
Osgar placed a hand on Eleanor’s shoulder and pulled her a step closer. She hid her gasp.
“Lodwick Keep?” he whispered. “Isn’t that where we’re going?”
Matilda, not looking at either of them, continued. “It was until recently that I lived in blissful peace with my master. Taking the affairs of government. Hunting. Riding. Copulating.”
“Er-“
“It changed when that accursed band of vagrants arrived. They came in the guise of weary travellers fleeing some distant catastrophe – my master has a gentle heart, so he gladly offered them shelter and sustenance. He even extended his magnanimity to offer work to those who could – scullery work, stable-keeping, he even permitted a few of the able-bodied to serve in his garrison. My master’s charity was inspiring. And it was repaid with treachery.
“Distracted by his work as he was, he could not see the writhing network of lies that the newcomers spread throughout the keep. They whispered that he was a tyrant, selfish – a few claimed to be from Caester, here to entreat him to lower their taxes that they might survive winter. Anyone with a modicum of intellect should have seen this for the disgusting lie it was but, alas, my master was too preoccupied with the affairs of the town to put these slanders to rest. The increased bandit raids on Caester had commanded his whole attention, and he as well as the good Lady Edwina were working tirelessly against them. And so, in the kitchens as at his court, the occupants of the keep were turned against my good master. By the time the torches of revolt were lit, it was too late. Now the scum control my master’s noble home, and his treasonous former retainers swell their number. He and I escaped the initial violence and made our way here, when the lowlife Shank Roughly separated me from my master. I do not know what became of him after that, but I have heard that he is back at Lodwick, made prisoner in his own castle by the ruffians that occupy it.”

Osgar stood dumbstruck, scratching his head. “Er, well, that’s quite a tale. Fergive us fer asking.”
“Of course.” With a rustle of mail, Matilda got up to leave. Eleanor stopped her.
“Wait, when you say they ‘occupy’ the keep… exactly how do they do that?”
“There are close to three hundred of them manning the castle’s defences.”
Instantly, Eleanor’s stomach turned. Three hundred? She had been expecting the Red Sash Gang to be a band of footpads, or maybe a barbarian tribe. Three hundred was practically an army! How were six adventurers supposed to fight three hundred soldiers in a castle?
Eleanor cast a worried look at Osgar. From his expression, she could tell that her beloved was thinking the same thing.

--

“An’ that’s the gist, of it, Eddie.”
“I see. That… rather complicates things, doesn’t it?”
The centaur placed her slim fingers on her temples and rubbed, sighing audibly. Edwina looked even more desperate than when Eleanor had seen her last.
Then again, all of them were on edge, and for good reason. Having met up with the rest of the Dauntless Hand the next morning, Osgar and Eleanor were now packed again into the claustrophobic office while William briefed Edwina on the situation so far. The situation being that the sellswords were woefully underprepared.
Small John, even surlier this morning than usual, spoke up.
“I don’t s’pose you knew about there being three bloody hundred of them before you gave us the job?”
William shot him a rebuking glare, but Edwina merely chuckled. “Had I intended to send you six against that many, I would have offered you a lot more gold. In any event, this situation must be resolved, and you’ll have your pay as long as you co-operate. If not, I’m sure I could put three thousand pieces to some other use.”
“What are we going to do, then?” ventured Sigrid, quietly.
“Given this new information, it seems that stealth is off the table. I have every confidence in your capabilities as soldiers, but infiltrating a manned and fortified castle is another matter. No, there will have to be a battle.”

Eleanor almost flinched at the word. She was still acclimatising to life as a sellsword, and she liked to think she was doing so quite well. And yet, the mere notion of being in a battle filled her with dread. Eleanor swallowed hard, and looked around the other faces in the room. Not even William was smiling at the prospect of a battle.
A clawed paw gripped Eleanor by the shoulder, and she almost jumped. Turning in its direction, she saw Betha. The manticore stared straight ahead, but kept her paw steady on Eleanor’s shoulder. Eleanor looked back towards Edwina and focused on maintaining her composure as the centaur spoke.
“Lodwick Keep is built deep into the side of Mount-Saint-Dahlia. There are only three walls, and one point of entry; the fortified gates, protected as they are by towers either side and more along the walls. It will be difficult to assault, even with superior numbers.”
“Speakin’ of which, I hope you don’ think the six’f us are going to be able t’ besiege that big bitch on our own.”
“Ahem. Of course not. I shall rally the Caester levy, or what remains of it. Even accounting for them, and you, I fear I shall have to seek extra mercenary assistance.”

Edwina cleared her throat, before addressing the door at the back of the room. “You may enter, sir.”
The door creaked open, and in stepped Shank Roughly.
Eleanor recoiled in horror from the wreck of a man. Roughly flashed her a broken-toothed grin before turning his noseless face to Edwina. “I am no sir, good Lady. Just a humble tradesman.”
“When we spoke earlier, you mentioned that you had mercenary contacts. I should like to make use of them.”
“Certainly, Lady. For fifty thousand pieces, I shall have my friends assembled by this evening.”
 Small John spoke up. “Fifty thousand?! Yer out of yer mind!”
“I can marshal a hundred soldiers. How many do you have, sellsword?”
“What’re you doing here anyways, you creepy fuck?” snarled Betha.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but stopped by earlier to report a theft. An antique set of armour that I purchased recently has mysteriously disappeared.”
Roughly stepped forward. The floorboards creaked under his armoured bulk. “You wouldn’t have seen it, would you?”
“You fu-“
Edwina stamped her hoof, the crack of horse-shoe on wood instantly silencing the argument. “Enough! I SHALL see these villains driven from Lodwick Keep, and if I must empty our coffers to do so, then so be it. Assemble your contacts, mister Roughly. You shall have half tonight, and half after the castle is retaken.”
Roughly smiled his hideous smile, and left with a bow. Eleanor shuddered as the man walked past her, between herself and Osgar.
William turned back to Edwina with an accusing stare. The centaur’s stony expression did not budge. “I wouldn’t trust that one, Eddie.”
“Unless there are ninety-four armed men concealed beneath your beard, William, I have little choice. In any case, the treasure within Lodwick is widely reputed, as I am sure you are aware. Should we succeed, fifty thousand will not be a problem.”
“An’ if we don’t?”
“Then I expect there will be a problem.” Edwina rose from her long seat, running a hand through her chestnut hair. “I shall entreat the local nobles for more soldiers. I am sure I can convince them to aid us. Until next time, friends.”
The Dauntless Hand rose as well, grim-faced. None of them spoke.

--

Later that day, the sellswords were conducting their usual ritual of sitting around the campfire, passing a bottle of mead between them and grumbling.
“A battle, then?” mused Betha with a belch.
“Aye, looks like,” said William. “Not exactly what we signed up fer, I realise, but we’re already paid some and this is fer Eddie. So I’m saying we do it. Any problems, let’s hear ‘em now.”
Sigrid took the bottle offered to her by Small John. “I’m not sure about taking the field with that Roughly character, boss. After he tried to shaft us one in the inn, I’m not trusting him again.”
“I’m aware o’ that. But this is Eddie’s choice, not ours. Let’s just stay on the other end of the line, eh?”
“Terrain’s gonna be an issue.” Said Osgar, grimly. “We’re all going to be pressed into one uphill struggle. If they have archers, it’ll be bloody.”
“Eddie knows what she’s doin’. There’ll be plenty of time to think’f a proper plan one we’re up there.”
“I’ve never been in a battle before.”
Eleanor hadn’t said it to anyone in particular, but all conversation stopped. She looked at her clawed feet.
Sigrid, sitting next to her, put a hand on her shoulder and offered her the bottle. “It’ll be alright, love. I can’t promise you’ll enjoy it, but stick with us and you’ll be right as rain.”
Small John scoffed. “Unless you aren’t.”
Sigrid glowered at him, but he continued. “You think that little scuffle you got into the other night was bad? Wait ‘till it’s all around you, girl. Wait ‘till the killing starts. Wai-”
“John.”
Osgar’s voice stopped him cold. Eleanor turned to look at her intended, who stared expressionless at Small John.
A moment passed.
Small John scoffed again and looked away. “Hmph. It’ll probably be a load of wank anyway, just a pack of fucking lowlives cowering behind a wall. Give the drink, Sig.”
The holstaur threw Small John the bottle, slightly harder than was necessary. Osgar broke the tension.
“Hey, since Elly’s not been in a battle before, how about some formation training or some such?”
William clapped his massive hands together, his normal humour restored. “Excellent idea, boy! Get yer arms, lads and lasses, and line up on me!”
A few moments later the Dauntless Hand were standing in a rough and ready line, spears and shields in hand – except Small John, who watched the entire thing with unamused derision as he chomped noisily on an apple he’d dug out of his brown leather bag.
“Orright,” bellowed William, “the basic line is a perfectly simple an’ thrurrerly effective formation. The main idea is that…”
“Shouldn’t have suggested this, Os.” Muttered Betha. “You know how he gets when he starts teaching us shit we already know.”
“Yeah, but Elly mightn’t know some of this.”
“Pfft.” Betha looked over at Eleanor. “You were with us in th’ cave, little sister, where we stood in a fucking line. That’s pretty much all there is to’t.”
“Weapons UP!” roared William. Osgar, Betha and Sigrid planted their spear butts in the earth, points to the sky. After a second of watching, Eleanor did the same.
“Shield wall! NOW, you lazy beggars!”
The three stood tightly together, Osgar shoving Eleanor slightly as he took his position next to her. They locked their wide kite shields in an overlapping formation, looking straight ahead.

“The shield wall is a thing of beauty, Elly my lass,” explained William with an exaggerated wave of his bottle-bearing hand. “Yer all watching each other’s ba- er, well, anyway, yer all looking out for each other. Obviously it gets better with more people, as the wider the thing is, the harder it is t’get around, right? And when y’get enough people, y’can have a second rank as well, an’ the second rank can poke their shields over yer heads, the possibilities are en’less!” he giggled with a mad grin.
“An’ yer nice an’ bunched together, too, so any archer with at leas’ one eye is boun’ to hit something.” said Small John, still with the unimpressed look on his face.
“I’m glad you brought that up, Johnny boy! Find a spare shield, an’ I’ll demonstrate the advantages of bein’ packed in the wall, close as lovers.”
Eleanor’s tail flared. Osgar visibly pretended not to notice.
Small John, grumbling, took a battered shield with peeling paint and moved to stand next to Eleanor when William stopped him, motioning for him to stand before them instead. William threw his longaxe into the mud behind him and cracked his knuckles, still grinning.
“Now, the idea behind overlappin’ yer shields like that is simple. O’course, it’s not the only way to stand in a line, but it has this going for it.”
With that remark, William sprang forward and aimed a flat-footed kick at Betha’s shield. The wall buckled, but held. William smiled and walked back over to Small John.
William opened his mouth to speak, before suddenly planting a similarly powerful kick on Small John’s shield. Caught unawares and with nothing supporting him, he flew into the dirt with a yelp. Betha roared with laughter, clattering her spear and shield together in applause. William bowed exaggeratedly before walking over to help Small John up.
“Y’see? Now, let’s run through the basics again. Stand easy fer a moment, lads.”
The shieldwall disassembled and stood, awaiting command.
“Weapons UP!”
A rattling of spears.
“Shield WALL!”
A clattering of shields.
“Spears DOWN!”
Four spears dropped into position as the Dauntless Hand gave a war shout. William smirked, impressed.
“Not bad. Shift yer back foot a little further, Elly, give yer more strength.”

An hour or so later, training completed for now, the mercenaries were finishing packing away camp. The sun was low in the sky, and there were only a couple of hours before the muster on the outskirts of town. Eleanor wandered idly over to Osgar, who was busy placing a sack of oats into the cart and swearing every time it threatened to fall. “Everything going alright?”
Osgar turned to face her and ran a hand through his long, black hair. She shuffled awkwardly as his deep brown eyes met hers. “Yeah, jus’ about. I think we’re about ready to go, so there’s not mu-“
“Could we fight?”
Osgar, taken aback, narrowed his eyes. “Eh?”
“C-could we fight again? Please?”
“…why?”
“I mean, only if your wounds are healed, I just… I loved it last time…”
“Er.. if yer like, but I just packed away th-“
“I’ll get them!” Eleanor practically shouted, as she clambered atop the cart and began frantically searching for the practice swords.
“Aw, Elly, be careful, I just got all that shit in there!”
Finding them, she flung them out of the cart along with two shields. Osgar armed himself and walked into the centre of the camp, giving the sword a few practice swings.
Picking up her own sword and shield, Eleanor could hardly contain her joy. Finally, another chance to prove herself to him! She’d managed to knock him unconscious the last time they’d sparred. It was also the first time they’d met, and after that fight she knew she loved him. It was an exhilarating experience, and she’d never wanted it to end. For another bout, she was practically giddy with excitement.
Osgar beat his sword and shield together. “Ready, lizard girl?” He grinned like he’d done during their first fight – perhaps he was remembering it as well. The thought set a fire in her heart, and upon her tail.
Eleanor grinned herself, and assumed a fighting stance. The two cautiously circled each other for a few moments, before Eleanor stepped forward and struck. Osgar deflected the blow with his shield and she struck again, a high stab, which was likewise blocked. Osgar went to counter with a stab at Eleanor’s chest, and she placed her shield tight to her body to absorb the blow. Osgar battered her shield with his and followed with a brutal kick. She fell back under the onslaught.
Unrelenting, Osgar moved in with an overhead swing. Eleanor raised her shield to block it, and Osgar swiped her shield wide with his own before hammering it into her. She stumbled back with a cry and Osgar stepped back, smirking.  “I remember y’ being better than this, Elly.”
“Don’t get so aggressive, little sister!” called out Betha. “Remember, it’s not like you!”  Eleanor briefly looked at the manticore, leaning on the cart with an amused grin, before returning her attention to Osgar. He frowned, turning to Betha and opening his mouth to speak, when Eleanor rushed in again. Feinting low, she forcefully kicked his shield. It hit him in the face, and he stepped back. Sensing her chance, Eleanor stepped in and struck, but Osgar swatted her sword away with his own. She stepped back again, vaguely aware that William and Sigrid had now joined Betha by the cart.
Rubbing his bloodied nose with his forearm, Osgar grunted in pain. Eleanor, torn between her remorse at hurting him and her thrill at having struck a successful blow, turned to look at Betha. “How’sat for ‘aggressive’, Beth?”
“Don’t get cocky, girl.” Came Small John’s gravelly voice. He sat at the entrance to his tent, away from the others, but nonetheless watching the fight unfold. Eleanor, blushing at being watched by the entire group, looked back at Osgar. He spat a gobbet of blood and phlegm into the ground and grinned at Eleanor. Her heart leapt.
“If I recall correctly, Elly, I beat you last time we fought. Good t’see you’re looking to even th’ score.”
“You what? I beat you bloody, Osgar my love.”
“N-no you didn’t! I distin’tly remember pinnin’ you on the ground.”
“Only because you fell on top of me.”
Sigrid chuckled. “’ere, is this a fight, or pillow talk? Get on wi’it!”
Osgar shook his head, still smiling. “Tell y’what, since whoever wins this one’s clearly better, they must’ve won the last one!”
Eleanor stepped forward again. Closing with Osgar, she blocked his swipe and began to swing one of her own when Osgar’s shield whipped around, knocking the practice sword flying out of her hands. Shocked, she fell back. Eleanor’s cheeks burned at the group’s laughter as she took her shield in both hands.
Circling him warily, she watched as Osgar retook his stance. With a flick of his wrist he spun the sword, and closed in again. He swung high, and Eleanor blocked with the shield. He loosed a kick, but Eleanor stepped back to avoid it before he slashed again, and again. With each impact, the shield buckled, until an overhead swing lodged the practice sword in the top of it. Eleanor pushed forward, and was rewarded with a yelp and a crunching noise. She stepped into his guard and swung the shield into his wrist, forcing him to drop his, before she swung it back and knocked his sword flying.
Quickly, she discarded the shield and leapt forward, bearing Osgar to the ground. She drew her seax and held it to his throat, only to find he’d done the same to her. For a moment they stayed there, weapons at each other’s necks, immobile. She saw her golden eyes reflected in the blade of her seax, and moved her gaze up to his eyes. Time seemed to stop, until the world came back to Eleanor with a jolt as the rest of the Dauntless Hand walked over, hooting and clapping. She didn’t look away from Osgar’s wide eyes until two massive hands landed on her shoulders. Numbly, she let William drag her to her feet.

“Good work, lass! We’ll make a killer of yer yet!”
Eleanor didn’t respond. She was too busy staring at Osgar, who got to his feet and sheathed his knife before smiling at her again. Eleanor’s tail roared.
“Ooh, stand back, everyone!” chuckled Betha. “Elly looks like she’s ready t’explode!”
There were more words, and more laughter, but Eleanor heard none of it. Not even bothering to sheathe her seax, she only stared at Osgar.
He stared back.

--

“There were three ravens sat on a tree,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…”

Osgar’s melancholy voice drifted over the winding, grumbling column as it slowly made its way up the cobbled mountain road.

“They were as black as they might be,
With a downe…”

Eleanor, walking behind the Dauntless Hand’s cart, took little glances up at him. He was absently strumming at a battered lute he’d got off a satyr from Lord Ponsonby’s detachment in exchange for a bottle of spiced rum, and he was singing a soft little tune as the march pressed onwards toward Lodwick.

“Then one of them said to his mate,
‘Where shall we our breakfast take?’”

Close to three hundred and fifty soldiers, man and mamono, levy and sellsword, veteran and amateur alike. All marched around and between the train of carts as the army trudged on.

“With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe…”

William, in his armour as he always seemed to be, walked in front of the cart, gripping the reins of the depressed-looking donkey with one hand and gulping from his waterskin with the other.

“’Oh, down in yonder grain field,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…”

Sigrid walked beside him, muttering a passage from her prayer book and occasionally gesturing with her free hand. Eleanor had almost forgotten that she was of the clergy, and Sigrid’s serious demeanour unnerved and reassured Eleanor at the same time.

“There lies a knight dead, under his shield,
With a downe…”

Small John and Betha were arguing as always. Eleanor could only catch snippets of their conversation, but it appeared they were arguing over some detail of one legend or another. Supposedly, the great warrior king Arbert was either entirely celibate and devoted himself to conquest or was secretly enthralled by his manticore lover, a nameless noblewoman from a rival court. Eleanor couldn’t follow the story, but it didn’t even seem like they cared themselves. They were just arguing, it seemed to Eleanor, because that was what they did.

“His hound she lies down at his feet,
Well does she her master keep…”

Nobody, it seemed, was even listening to the song. Osgar had his eyes fixed on the lute, his fingers dancing over the strings, his voice soft and mournful. Eleanor wondered if he was playing for her.

“With a down, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe…”

Eleanor spared a glance behind her. More carts followed them, and more soldiers – the road was clogged with carts and people, as far back as she could see. A forest of spears bobbed overhead, and the occasional banner fluttered in the evening breeze. Eleanor poked her head out to behold the entire column, and a few carts back she saw Shank Roughly sitting atop his own cart, his hand around the waist of the Cursed Sword, Lucy, as she caressed his exposed cheekbone and whispered into his mangled ear. Wherever that Matilda girl was, Eleanor hoped she was far away from him.

“His hawk, she flies so eagerly,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…”

Shank Roughly’s men seemed mostly as he was. True, most were not disfigured, but they seemed as brutal and intimidating as he, carrying wickedly pointed polearms and well-worn armour. One bore a banner depicting a large sword piercing a heart. Roughly had claimed not to be a nobleman, but it didn’t seem as though anyone was going to comment on his use of heraldry.

“There is no fowl dare near him come,
With a downe…”

Up ahead fluttered a banner of a naked centaur bearing a lance in one hand, and pointing ahead with the other. Edwina’s banner, or more precisely, the banner of the town of Caester itself. Although she was only the captain of the town watch Edwina was a noblewoman, and had taken on many of the administrative affairs of the holding since the lord of Ceaster, whom Eleanor knew was Matilda’s master, had gone missing. Eleanor thought of the prisoners in the keep – the lord of Ceaster, Edwina’s brother Alban, and doubtless more besides. When this host arrived, they would meet either rescue or death.

“Upon him comes a fallow doe,
As great with young as she might go…”

Other banners too decorated the column – three suns for Lord Birling, a pair of dragon’s wings for Lady Kilburn, a black cross on a red field for Lord Ponsonby, and the spade of a succubus’ tail for Lord Ferk. Many of the local nobles had heard Edwina’s plea for assistance in the retaking of the keep, but only a few had provided any soldiers – and only at demand for great repayment from the treasure of Lodwick. It was a gamble that few were willing to make, and the nobles’ absence themselves was proof to Eleanor of their expectations for this expedition.

“With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe…”

Still, Eleanor was content. She was nervous about being in a battle, but there was little to be done about it now. True, she could slip away in the night, slink back to Caester and find Riya, and resume her old life beating up beggars and drunks and whoever else came along to the pits. She could grow rich, retire, perhaps buy a home of her own. She could seduce the son of some noble looking for a battlemaiden to bed, ‘persuade’ him to get married, bear his children, and live out her days in peace and comfort. But then she wouldn’t have Osgar. Then she’d never see his smile, or feel his touch, or ever hear from him again. For those things, and this life, Eleanor was willing to live.
For those things, she thought as she looked up at him once more, Eleanor was willing to die.

--

Lodwick Keep did not look like the place for a battle.
This thought occurred to Eleanor as she leant on the wooden battlements of the hastily-constructed siege camp, looking out over the field to the castle before her.
The keep itself was an imposing enough sight, with all the crenelated towers and arrow-slits in the walls that Eleanor was expecting from a castle. But that was the only thing that suggested that any sort of conflict might ever take place here. Barely blew in the breeze in a field outside the camp. Sheep frolicked in the grass. A hundred yards from the gates, lit by torches, a tiny hit squatted in the mud. Behind the camp, woodland trees swayed gently in the wind.
And yet, this contrast made it all the more unnerving. The pits were simple. Ground, lists, and your opponent. One gate. The only variables were who went down first. Out here, the salamander thought with a shiver, anything could happen.
The squelching of footsteps in the mud made her turn. Betha was walking over, her the breeze tousling her pink hair over her scarred face.
“Chin up, Elly. It won’t be so bad, I promise.”
“That’s not what I… never mind. What d’you need?”
Betha smirked. “Can’t I jus’ spend a few minutes alone with my little sister?”
There was a pause, Eleanor recalling the last time she and Betha has ‘spent a few minutes alone’. From the manticore’s gleaming grin, clearly she was too. She giggled softly before speaking again.
“Nah, actually there is something up. Edwina’s holdin’ a… well, she’s callin’ it a war council, but it’s fucking ten of us in a tent with a map an’ a lot of arguing. William wants you there.”
“Do I have to?”
Betha shrugged. “Do what y’like. But it might be worthwhile t’know the plan before we take th’ field tomorrow.” With that, she turned around and walked away. A man in a tabard bearing Shank Roughly’s livery whistled at her, and she spat at him before walking off.
Eleanor smirked despite herself. Clearly Betha wasn’t panicking. She shouldn’t either. Taking a last look at the keep, Eleanor trudged off toward the command tent.

--

Stepping inside the large tent, Eleanor made her way over to William and Sigrid. Betha, Small John and Osgar had clearly declined to attend, but Eleanor might have suspected that William would be here. And she was summoned, after all.
Shank Roughly was there, as well, with the ever-attached Lucy by his side. The cursed sword noticed Eleanor and winked. Eleanor blushed and looked away.
Representatives from the four noble detachments were likewise present, all looking varying degrees of bored. Edwina stood at the end of the long table, gesturing to a crudely-drawn map of the field.
“I am aware of our lack of siege equipment, sir,” she growled at Lady Kilburn’s commander, “but I do not believe it will be a problem. We have the numbers to sustain an effective siege, and our supply lines are more than adequate. I believe that the enemy will sally forth to attack us rather than starve, where we might meet them on something closer to equal footing. Their main advantage is the castle walls – and yet, we shall force them to surrender it.”
“What makes you so certain these criminals will simply leave their sanctuary?” asked a tall-looking man with a large moustache, decorated in Lord Birling’s livery.
William shot him a glare. “Y’ should listen before yer speak, mate.”
“Why-!”
Edwina slammed her fist onto the table. “Silence! The plan of action is decided. I am of the belief that they will likely attack us tomorrow, before starvation or fatigue sets in. Of course, we shall have scouts in position tonight and fresh supplies coming in for if they make their move any sooner or later than expected. All the preparations have been made.”
Edwina’s stony expression did not change. “I will not allow Lodwick to remain in the hands of such dishonourable creatures. I will not.”
“Er… very good, then.” said the moustached man, cringing slightly at her rebuke. “Now, considering th-“
At this moment, the tent flap was pulled open and a young-looking harpy in a linen tunic stepped in. Her claws clutched an envelope, slightly torn and stained. “Lady Edwina! Th’ bandits’ve sent us a message!”
At once, Edwina’s eyes widened. “Well, what do you wait for, girl! Give it here!”
Sigrid stepped forward and took the envelope from the cowed-looking harpy, who curtseyed apologetically before leaving. “Read it, then!” snarled Edwina.
Eleanor turned to stare at Sigrid as, clearing her throat, she read the letter.

“To the foul horse-bitch and all her sorry minions,
This castle is mine. These lands are mine. All these men are mine. If you do not leave at once, your lives will end up mine as well.
On the field or not, I can make you suffer, horse-bitch. Perhaps you forgot that your brother is mine as well. Let this little present remind you.
I extend to you this offer. Leave this field and live. Stay, and die.
Signed,
Margaret Wooder,
Lady of Lodwick Keep”

Eleanor looked back at Edwina. The centaur was practically shaking with rage.
“What… did she mean by… present?”
Sigrid, frowning, tipped the envelope upside-down. Something small and pink fell out of it, and landed with a smack on the table.
Eleanor looked at the object. It was difficult to tell in the low light, but in another moment someone brought a candle over and Mad Margaret’s gift was revealed.
A finger, messily cut at the base, bearing a ring with the image of a naked centaur.
All eyes turned to Edwina. Her face had returned to its usual unyielding expression.
Nobody spoke.
Edwina extended a shaking hand, and reverently picked up the bloody digit. Carefully, she removed the ring from the finger and placed it on her own, slipping the severed finger into her pocket wordlessly.
Lord Ferk’s commander, a red oni with a patchwork of scars, spoke. “Y-your orders, Lady?”
Edwina was silent for a few seconds before she spoke, softly.
“We wait for their attack. It will be tomorrow. I will command our centre. Roughly will the right. William has the left. Get out.”
As one, the soldiers rose and bowed before leaving.

--

Walking out into the midnight air, over to Sigrid and William, Eleanor was still struck by how Edwina had acted. Clearly, they were as well.
“How about that then, boss?” said Sigrid, a sad expression on her round face.
William shook his head gravely. “I’ve been all over the bloody world, I’ve seen all sorts of pecul’er things, but I never saw something that could get t’Eddie like that.”
He shook his head again. “Fuck me, I need t’ get drunk. You coming, Sig? Elly?”
“Sure, boss.” Replied Sigrid, some of her normal spirit returning.
Eleanor spoke up. “Where’re the others?”
William shrugged his great shoulders with a rustle of mail. “Who knows? I imagine Betha an’ Small John are havin’ some kind’f fight. Why’nt find Osgar, see if he’s up fer anything. There’s a battle tomorrow, make sure yer two do summat tonight. We’ll be with Poncey’s lot.”
“Ponsonby, boss.”
“Tha’s what I said.”
As they wandered off, Eleanor’s mind stood on William’s words. There would indeed be a battle tomorrow. She and her beloved should do something together.

--

It was well and truly pitch black by the time Eleanor found her way back to the Dauntless Hand’s tents. Briefly, Eleanor considered finding a torch, when she heard him.

“She lifted up his wounded head,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…
She kissed his wounds, that were so red,
With a downe…
She brought him up upon her back,
Carried him to earthen lay,
With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe.”

Purpose filled Eleanor. She stepped over to the tent, which she opened silently as to not disturb his singing. Osgar sat on his bedroll, strumming the lute, facing away from her.

“She buried him before the prime,
Downe a downe, hey downe, hey downe…
And was dead herself, ere ev’n-song time,
With a downe…
Gods send to every gentleman,
Such hawk, such hound, and such a woman,
With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie downe downe.”

Moving on instinct, Eleanor turned him to face her. He barely had time to widen his eyes before she kissed him.
It was a kiss much like the one they had shared days ago, when he was recovering from near death. But it was better still, because he kissed her back. Her hand found the back of his head, and the lute fell from his hands. They stayed like that for what seemed to like Eleanor an hour.
Eleanor pulled her head back and gently pushed him down to the bedroll, straddling his hips.
“Elly, wha-“
She placed one clawed finger over his lips, and he fell silent. She discarded her shoes and unbuckled her belt as Osgar slid his hands onto her waist. Without ceremony, Eleanor pulled off her commoner’s trousers and her underwear, until her womanhood was exposed to the night air of the tent.
“Now you, my love.”
“But the battle-“
“T’hell with the battle. T’hell with everything. I love you, Osgar.”
“I… Elly…”
“Now you.” She repeated, her skin dimpling and her tail roaring. Eleanor was positive the light from her tail would show in shadow everything that they were doing, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was the man she loved.
Osgar fumbled with his belt, quickly removing his trousers and underwear as quickly as she had done hers.
“S’good to see you’re… enthusiastic.” murmured Eleanor.
“Yeah, well. M’not exactly gonna say no to you, am I?” he said, slowly lifting her shirt.
Eleanor grinned, pulling it over her head and exposing her bare breasts, her crimson hair messily strewn about her shoulders. Osgar ran his hands up her body and took one in each hand, teasing her nipples with his thumbs. Eleanor bit her lip at his touch, sliding herself forward and over his growing erection.
“Ready?”
“G-go ahead.”
Eleanor slid down onto him, gasping at the sensation. She paused briefly, her tail blazing, and Osgar’s hands found their way to her hips. She stared into his flushed face and smiled, sliding down until she’d taken him whole. “Gods, that’s…good…”
“W-well, don’t stop now!”
She smiled again. “Course not.”
Eleanor placed her hands on his shoulders and gently rocked her hips, arching her back. Osgar let out a low moan of pleasure as she moved, exciting her even further. “Elly…uff…Elly…”
Eleanor continued rocking back and forth, relishing the sounds she was enciting from him. Osgar slipped his hands behind her and squeezed her buttocks, eliciting a squeal of surprise. “Ooh! Osgar, don’t be so… r-rough…”
Eleanor stopped rocking and lifted herself up before sliding back down onto him. Osgar grunted as their hips met, and she began to slide up and down, over and over, biting her lip to suppress a long moan of ecstasy. Osgar moved one hand from her buttock and roughly pulled her flaming tail, and Eleanor cried out at the sudden sensation as Osgar smirked in satisfaction.
“Liked that, did you, lizard girl?”
“S-shut up… jus’ took me by surprise is all…”
“Oh, so y’won’t mind’f I just…”
Another pull on her tail and Eleanor cried out again. The heat from her own tail was intense, and Eleanor looked over her shoulder as she bounced, eyes fixed on her tail, marvelling at the way the flames roared and yet Osgar remained unburnt. She felt her hands being moved from his shoulders and looked back at Osgar to see that he had taken hold of them, their fingers interlacing.
“E-Elly!”
“Osgar…”
“Elly, I’m…I’m going to…!”
Eleanor intensified her movements, sliding up and down on him with the vigour she normally reserved for combat. She felt heat rising in her loins, and her blush deepened even further.
“Elly…Elly…Eleanor!”
Crying out her name, Osgar came. Eleanor felt the warmth blossom inside her and she came with a moan, before collapsing onto him, their fingers still intertwined.
“Osgar…I love you…”
“I..I love you too, Elly!”
She shifted to look into his eyes. “R-really?!”
“Elly…of course… you’re so strong, you’re beautiful, you’re sweet… I love you, Eleanor! I love you!” he said, and a huge grin broke out over his face. Eleanor couldn’t help but smile just as wide, and her lips met his in a kiss that seemed to last the entire night.

--

A man. A shield. No blood. No pain. No dirt. His face. Her face. His hands. Her hands.
Peace.

--

Eleanor awoke to the sound of footsteps. Lots of them, in fact. And shouting. She lay on top of Osgar, where they’d fallen asleep last night. He cracked open a single brown eye and smiled at her.
“G’morning, you.”
She grinned, leaning in to kiss him. “G’morning yourself.”
“That was fun, eh?” he said, his smile turning playful.
“Much more fun than fighting.”
“Speakin’ of, we’d better get up. Sounds li-“
“Oi!” came a voice from behind them. Eleanor turned her head and saw Small John staring at the two of them in undisguised disgust.   “Get yer arses up, lovebirds! The cunts’re sallying out!”
“What, now?” asked Osgar, groggily.
“Yes, right fucking now! Cover yer shame an’ MOVE!” Small John disappeared, leaving the tent flap fluttering.
“Shit.” Osgar looked over Eleanor’s shoulder and grabbed his trousers.
“Osgar?”
“Yeah, lovely?”
“Can we just stay here?”
“Eh?”
“I don’t want to go into battle, Osgar. Not right now. Let’s just stay here.”
“We don’t ‘ave a choice, Elly. Come on, up. Get yer clothes on and get some kit from the cart, I’ll join you in a moment.

Hurriedly, Eleanor replaced her clothing and stumbled out of the tent. She jogged to the battlements and looked over the field. There was a huge block of the enemy massing outside the castle gates, and a few bandits at the opening to the besigers’ camp, skirmishing with some of the Caester forces. Already, Eleanor could see men and mamono of both sides lying in the dirt. She gulped and ran over to the cart, finding a mail coat and pulling it over her head. Slipping her arms into it, she cursed as it got stuck over her head. She started wriggling when a pair of hands grasped the mail coat and pulled it down over her body, and Osgar grinned at her. “Happens t’everyone.”
Eleanor blushed, and smiled. “Stay close to me, alright?”
Osgar’s grin turned smug. “Well, look who’s a tough sexy warrior woman all’f a sudden! Ye’ve never even been in a battle, Elly, am I not the one who should be sayin’ things like ‘stay close ta me’?”
Eleanor’s smile didn’t falter. “I’m a salamander, Osgar. Combat’s in my blood.”
“Yeah, an’ that’s not all!” he grinned, grabbing two spears and passing one to Eleanor. She reached into the cart and retrieved a shield, checked and sheathed her seax, and pulled on a pair of thick leather gloves. Osgar pulled his own mail-coat on and fastened a nasal helmet, knocking his fist against it to check the stability. Satisfied, he put his hand on Eleanor’s shoulder.
“Elly.”
“Osgar?”
“We’ll be fine. Trust me. We’ll be jus’ fine.”
“Y-you think so?”
“Course. There’s more’n six hundred on the field today, what’re the odds we both get killed?”

--

A short while later, Eleanor and Osgar joined the other members of the Dauntless Hand at the entrance to the camp. The wave of bandit skirmishers had bene beaten back, and the stragglers fled in panic in the direction of the castle. Small John let fly a crossbow bolt, and was rewarded with a scream. He grinned savagely, and it didn’t even fade when he saw Eleanor and Osgar approach.
“You done ruttin’ like a pair of horny pigs, then?”
Eleanor blushed. Osgar stuck two fingers up at Small John, then grinned and embraced him.
As if summoned by the lecherous remark, Betha appeared from nowhere and delivered one of William’s trademark smacks on the arse to the unsuspecting Eleanor, who yelped in surprise and dropped her shield. “An’ a very fine morning to you, lovely little sister! Make sure you catch up wi’ me after the battle, I’ll hear all about it!”
William, sporting a new helmet like Osgar’s and carrying his longaxe in both hands, walked over from the battlements.              “Betha, tha’s entirely unnecessary. I do recall I foun’ you watching the entire display through the ten’ flap.”
Eleanor practically jumped. “What?! Y’what, Beth?!”
Betha stuck her tongue out. “Should’ve done it from behin’, then you would’ve seen me!”

“Who should have done what?” came a wheezing, voice, and Eleanor turned to see Shank Roughly standing a few metres away from them.
“Non’f yer business, mate.” Said Osgar, his grin disappeared.
“Oh, do forgive me. I actually came over to offer my amends. It offends the gods to enter battle distracted by petty rivalry, you know.”
Small John spat in the earth. “There’s yer ‘amends’, cunt. Off with yer.” William only stared.
Roughly’s mirthful expression did not change. “Well, if that is how you feel, so be it. My conscience is clear. Good luck today!” Rougly sauntered off, chuckling to himself.
William shook his head. “Some fucking people. No decency.”
“Issat a shot at me, Will?” smirked Betha.
Small John hefted his crossbow. “You don’ shut up, tailpussy, an’ I’ll take a shot at you.”
“Ooh, yer’d like that, wouldn’t yer John?”
“No, you daft bint, I meant-“
Eleanor shook her head, her smile restored. It only brimmed further when Osgar’s hand slipped into hers.

--

“How come we don’t have a banner, Will?” asked Osgar for possibly the fifth time since the lines were drawn up. Edwina commanded the levy of Ceaster, the centaur banner proudly held aloft and fluttering in the breeze. On the right flank, Shank Roughly’s host stood, the sunlight glinting off of their heavy armour and wicked gisarmes. Roughly himself stood behind them, with Lucy bearing his pierced heart banner. The Dauntless Hand stood on the left, surrounded by the soldiers and standards of Birling, Kilburn, Ponsonby and Ferk. Their colours fluttered defiantly in the wind, and the sight stirred Eleanor’s heart.
“Because, boy, firs’ we aren’t nobles an’ second someone’d hafta carry it.”
“Alright, but that Roughly bloke gets a banner, why don’t we?”
“Because the gods think yer a prick, so we don’ get a banner. Sig tol’ me so this morning. Now shut up.”

On the other side of the field, the Red Sash Gang drew up their line. Although, thought Eleanor, to call them a Gang was a little misleading. The Red Sash Legion, perhaps. Red Sash Army. Red Sash Horde. They assembled in a wide line – from where Eleanor was standing, it looked at least five ranks deep. There were tons of them.

Edwina stepped forward. She was resplendent in a kind of armour Eleanor had never seen before, thick overlapping plates that covered her equine body while she wore a coat-of-plates and a surcoat bearing her heraldry. She carried a lance in one hand, like the centaur on her banner, and a greathelm in the other. She shouted something to the Ceaster levy, and they quickly formed a tight shieldwall. Donning her helmet, she galloped behind her line and signalled the advance. The centre moved forward, maintaining their formation. She had drilled them well.
“Right then,” muttered William, just loud enough for Eleanor to hear. “Form up then, yer sons’f whores! Three ranks, NOW!”
Man and mamono jostled for a moment, until the left flank formed into a wide block. William waved his longaxe and yelled for an advance. Small John and the rest of the flank’s archers walked behind them.
Eleanor gulped, and stepped forwards. The soldier behind her, a jinko in a rusted mail coat, walked into her, cursing. “Forward, y’dumb lizard.” Eleanor growled, but complied. Soon enough the left flank had advanced to join up with the centre. Roughly’s men remained stationary.

William turned to Eleanor. “Do us a favour, lass, get Small John an’ tell him to set loose a volley or two. We’ll try an’ make them come to us.”
“C-can’t you do it?”
“I’m tellin’ you to do it.”
Eleanor swallowed and moved to step out of the rank. Osgar squeezed her shoulder, and she smiled. “Back in a second.”
She jogged over to Small John, who stood with the other archers some metres back from the main group. “What d’you want, girl?”
“William wants you to start shooting.”
“Tell ‘im to fuck off, they aren’t in range yet.”
“You tell him.”
Small John glowered at her with his mismatched eyes for a long moment.
“Hmph. You sure you don’ want to go an’ tell Eddie yer in command now?” he scoffed, but signalled for the archers to move forward. Eleanor slipped back into her place in the infantry block as Small John and the archers moved out in front of them.
“Load!” he cried. The men and mamono slipped the bolts into their crossbows.
“Aim!”
A moment passed. Eleanor prepared herself for what was to come next.
“Shoot!” Eleanor flinched at the twang of the crossbows. By the time she looked to track the bolts they had already hit their targets. Many got stuck in shields. Many didn’t. The cries floated over from the other end of the field.
“Load! Aim! Shoot!”
Eleanor watched the second volley go. The sounds of the bolts hitting wood and flesh seemed like the pattering of rain to Eleanor, and as she watched some of the bandits fell or keeled over. It wasn’t especially gory, but somehow that unnerved her more.
“Load!”
Birdsong from the trees.
“Aim!”
Someone behind her yawned.
“Shoot!”
Across the field, people died.
Eleanor jumped as something touched her. Looking around for what it was, she saw Osgar had taken hold of her wrist. He looked into her golden eyes intently. Eleanor leant her shield against her body, and took hold of his hand.
“Load!”
Osgar gripped her hand, firmly, but comfortably.
“Aim!”
His thumb affectionately brushed across her knuckles.
“Shoot!”
A harpy was plucked from the sky as she tried to fly away.
“Load!”
Betha cracked a dirty joke.
“Aim!”
The soldier in front of Eleanor sneezed, and apologised.
 “Shoot!”
A man’s shield was pinned to his body.

“Look there, lads!” said William, gesturing to the right. Edwina’s own archers had followed suit, and now a hail of bolts and arrows struck the bandit line. More were killed. A horn blew, the note deep and clear, and the Red Sash Gang surged forward. “That’s what I was looking for, lads!” Another horn blew, two sharp notes, and the archers ran back behind the lines.

“Shield!” screamed William, “Wall!”

All three ranks on the left flank overlapped their shields and readied their spears, and a guttural war shout went up from the lines. The Red Sash Gang charged forwards, roaring their own battle cry.
“Steady, boys and girls!” yelled William above the din. Osgar gave Eleanor’s hand a final squeeze, and let go, lowering his spear.
Eleanor picked up her shield and overlapped it with Osgar’s. Her tail flared.

The Red Sash Gang slammed into the shield wall with an almighty crash. The line buckled, but held firm. “Let ‘em have it, lads!” cried Osgar as the thrust forwards with his spear.
Eleanor stabbed left and right, desperately attempting to land a killing blow. The man in front of her in the first rank shoved forwards, pushing his adversary back, and Eleanor stabbed through the gap. Her spear lodged in an ogre’s torso, and she grunted and dropped. Beside her, Osgar and the others in the second rank stabbed over their comrades’ heads, slaying more of the bandits. The wall was holding. A new bandit, this one a human, barelled into the man in front of her, and he shoved back – only to stumble forwards as his opponent jumped backwards. The soldier cursed and tried to step back when a sword was shoved clean through his neck. He fell forwards, dead.

On instinct, Eleanor stepped into the gap in the first rank. Either side of her, Sigrid and a hinezumi in Lord Birling’s levy shoved against the enemy. Sigrid dropped her spear and drew a dagger, thrusting around her enemy’s shield. Sigrid withdrew and stabbed again, her the sleeve of her robe now stained with blood. Eleanor changed her grip on her spear and, with a cry, forced it over her opponent’s shield – there was a grunt, and her spear was pulled from her grip as its victim fell backwards. Drawing her seax, she readied herself for another opponent, but no more came. Peeking over her shield, she saw the Red Sash Gang’s flank retreating, fleeing in fear back to the castle. “Hold!” came the cry from William. “Hol’ here, don’t go chasing ‘em like a bloody moron!”
Looking around her, she saw Sigrid and Betha, both bloodied but very much alive. She frantically turned around in search of Osgar, and her eyes met his. She stepped over and embraced him, shoving an elf out of the way.
“There, Elly. Yer alright.”
She kissed him, deeply, before William yelled again. “Pay attention, lads! They’re up t’something!”

Looking over the field, Eleanor saw evidence of the other commands’ struggles. Both the centre and the right were bloodied, bodies at their feet. Looking over at the enemy, Eleanor saw that the gates of the castle had swung open, yet the bandits made no attempt to retreat inwards. In fact, they seemed to move away from the gate.
“What th’ fuck are they doing, boss?” asked Sigrid, unease apparent in her voice.
“No idea. Let’s watch an’ see fer a moment.” A deathly silence fell over the battlefield, as all the soldiers on the Caester side watched with nervous anticipation at the events unfolding by the keep. As Eleanor watched, a large mamono with eight legs and a huge abdomen covered in black fur walked out of the gates, two twisting horns sprouting from her head and a red cloth over one of her eyes.
“Mad Margaret!” whispered someone.

The Red Sash Gang’s leader, the Ushi-Oni called Mad Margaret, cupped her hands and yelled something at the Ceaster lines. Eleanor strained her ears to catch what she was saying.
“...the king’s daughter!”
Peering closer at the gates, Eleanor saw a large wooden cart with a large sheet of linen cast over it being wheeled out of the gate. The bandits dropped it in front of the gate, and Margaret removed the sheet to reveal what looked like an enormous barrel made of iron. Eleanor had never seen anything like it.

What was more alarming, however, was the sudden activity on the Caester right. As one, Shank Roughly’s men turned and fled at the sight of the iron barrel. William stared in their direction, disbelief painted all over his face.
“What the fu-“

A sound from hell itself tore the air apart.

Eleanor dropped to her knees, hands pressed over her ears. The impossibly loud boom seemed to come from everywhere at once, and her ears rang as the sound echoed over the field. Desperately searching for the source of the noise, Eleanor saw a thick black smoke wafting from the end of the iron tube. The bandits around it cheered and laughed insanely, and Mad Margaret folded her arms in quiet satisfaction. Eleanor followed their pointing and jeering, and saw the Ceaster centre.
A portion of the eighty-strong shield wall was gone. Eleanor saw a red welter where it had been, and several bodies lay on the ground in various states of ruin. The iron thing had killed at least seven soldiers just like that.
She slowly turned her head to Osgar. He wasn’t even looking at the mess that the iron thing had made of their lines. Osgar was looking at William, whose mouth was agape and whose face was white with horror.
Mad Margaret yelled something at her bandits before she hefted a huge iron ball and dropped it into the metal tube, cackling wildly. The Red Sash Gang charged forwards, whooping in murderous glee.
“William!” cried Sigrid. “Will!”
William stood mute in disbelief.
Eleanor’s heart sank as she looked out over the battlefield. Their entire right flank had fled, and soldiers from the centre were fleeing as well. She saw Edwina furiously trying to rally them before looking at the state of the field and, throwing down her lance, galloping away herself.

Another titanic boom sounded, and Eleanor threw up her arms to protect her eyes as an explosion of mud shot burst forth mere feet away from the line. She staggered backwards as the dust cleared, revealing the Red Sash Gang mere moments away from them. And then the cry went up.
“F-flee! Flee for your lives!”
Eleanor wasn’t sure who’d said it, but it was obeyed as though it were an order. Birling’s troops, Kilburn’s, Ponsonby’s, Ferk’s men and the Dauntless Hand. All turned about and fled the field.
Panic swept over the fleeing solders. They fled in all directions away from the castle. Eleanor, her spear and shield forgotten, ran faster than she had in her life. Some were too slow, and Eleanor spared a glance over her shoulder to see several soldiers being set upon and carried off in the direction of the castle to await some awful fate. A knot of despair twisted in her gut when she saw Osgar among them.
With tears of bitter regret in her eyes, Eleanor ran for the safety of the woods.

--

Clambering down over the rocks, Eleanor landed in a small stream. She dipped her shaking hands in the water and rubbed her face, noticing in her reflection a cut wound in her shoulder. She’d missed it in the adrenaline rush of the battle and then confusion of the rout, but Eleanor knew that before too long she’d be feeling that. Wincing at the pain, Eleanor splashed some water over the wound and placed her hand over it. Staggering back out of the stream, Eleanor leant against a nearby rock and tried desperately to collect her thoughts.
They’d lost the battle, obviously. The bandits had procured some monstrous artillery piece and blasted chunks out of their formation, taking them apart with ease. Shank Roughly had betrayed them, possibly out of revenge for her and Osgar’s freeing of Matilda. Her beloved Osgar and quite probably more of her friends were either dead or captured. Edwina had fled the field in disgrace. And she was alone.

Eleanor slid down onto the ground, curled up into a ball, and cried.