Warlords Of The Oaken Chalice

Wincel: The Dying Flames

The battle was well under way, with two armies already defeated, one Warlord slain, and another subdued. Wincel, The Bloodbath, had been left with little choice but to turn his arrows on The Demon Knight.

"Draw!" shouted the lieutenant beside him. "Release!"

Another flight of burning arrows soared into the night sky, their burning trails skimming between the stars, and raining down on the enemy raiders. Even at that distance, he could hear the cries of agony from the wounded soldiers – the same wails he'd heard all day as they'd slaughtered the armies of The Gods' Chosen and The Merciless. The same screams of pain he'd heard from their enemies when the Warlords stood together against a common enemy.

"Draw!" came the order once again. "Release!"

It was too easy by far. The Demon Knight would have anticipated this, prepared for it. Wincel glanced at The Merciless beside him, who shot him a worried look suggesting she had the same thoughts on her mind. Only minutes earlier, Wincel had been slaughtering her men, yet there she stood, allied once more, even if only until she could have her revenge.

"Warlord," said The Merciless, "is this all your men? Have you held some back in preparation for The Demon Knight's games?"

He nodded, terse. Wincel didn't want to give her any more information than she needed. She was a superb fighter, and would be invaluable when the lines closed. His archers were formidable at a distance, but if The Demon Knight could get close in, his raiders would slaughter the bowmen with little trouble.

"There he is, Warlord," shouted The Merciless.

He followed her spear as she pointed across the battlefield. There, in the cover of trees, The Demon Knight stood, his gaze seemingly fixed upon them, so far as he could see from such a distance. But the Warlord appeared to be retreating rather than pushing forward.

"Orders, Warlord?"

Wincel's lieutenant stood beckoning, almost pleading. Despite his experience, the veteran was sickened from battle, from slaughter, and he wanted to finish it.

"Allow me, Warlord," urged the lieutenant. "Let me take a unit to pursue him. Even if I fail, you still have a chance to claim the Oaken Chalice. Your destiny lies yet within your grasp, and it would be my sacrifice to see you step closer."

Before Wincel could respond, he heard the calls from behind. Turning to get a better look, he could see the rise beyond his army swarming with raiders. The Demon Knights games; frustrating, but not unexpected. But the numbers were too great; Wincel couldn't understand where they came from. The Demon Knight had suffered many casualties against The Gods' Chosen, more against The Merciless, and yet more kept coming. He glanced back to search for his enemy across the battlefield, but the Warlord had vanished.

Trapped by charging armies on either side, he was forced do something drastic. He signalled to a messenger, who fired a burning arrow well past the flanks to summon the reserves. Then he drew his sword, calling for his men to do the same. Better to die fighting than keep firing arrows when the enemy was already upon them.

"Warlord!" called Wincel to The Merciless. "You have command of the rearguard."

She nodded, running into the ranks and calling for them to draw.

"Lieutenant, you stay by my side and take command should I fall. The rest of you," he called to the lines of bowmen, "we will stand tall against this savage enemy. This battle will be a bloodbath, but the blood spilt will be theirs! The power of the Oaken Chalice will protect us, will lead us. To victory!"

As the roars from The Bloodbath's ranks erupted, so too did the sounds of steel clashing with steel. The Demon Knight's forces collided from both sides, and the sound of death followed instantly.

Wincel swung his sword at the nameless warrior that had the misfortune to meet him on the battlefield, and the man fell instantly dead. The next fighter was not so lucky, the blade biting deep into his stomach, sending him toppling to the ground, grasping his belly desperately as his gut spilt, the crushed grass and mud rapidly soaked in gore to the sound of the man gasping and choking on his on own blood.

The Bloodbath pushed forward, swinging his blade and slashing victoriously at the enemy soldiers, hoping to attract attention, giving his men the chance to fight the superior raiders. He could hear the relentless war cries of The Merciless from somewhere behind him as she led his own men in battle. It was comforting to know they were in good hands, even if she was his enemy.

Just then, the reserves arrived, and arrows began raining down once more.

Soon, a panic spread through The Demon Knight's forces as they were forced to push closer to avoid the volleys. The battlefield quickly became a crush, with no room to move, to fight, to cut the man pressed up close.

The bowmen soon closed their margin for error; ignored it. Arrows began falling on friend and foe alike. The panic worsened as the line between ally and enemy blurred. Men began to break from the outside, sprinting away from the fighting. Wincel wanted to stop them, but he knew battle well enough to know that control was lost. The fighting would end when the flight did.

Moments vanished before his eyes as the men tried to decide which way to run. Most made for the trees, while some of his more loyal soldiers ran toward the reinforcement archers. He couldn't tell if he had won or lost the fight; only that The Demon Knight still lived.

"He will make for the keep," said The Merciless, panting as she neared him. "He will take whatever men he has left, and try to get there before we do."

"Surely he doesn't have enough men left to attack the keep?" asked Wincel.

The Merciless shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't need more men. Maybe the keep is weakened already. Or maybe, he does have more men, hidden away, waiting."

"We must stop him. At all costs!" said Wincel, scanning the tattered remains of his army.

"Our deal?" she said. "Truce? Until we have defeated The Demon Knight?"

"Very well," he agreed, grasping her hand in a heavy shake. "I suppose I'd rather see the Oaken Chalice in your hand than in his."

The faintest smile crossed her lips, even if only for the briefest moment. He felt something he couldn't quite explain. A yearning. A memory. Something that he had lost, though he couldn't recall when or why. The moment passed as quickly as it had arrived, and the two Warlords turned their attention to the keep, and to The Demon Knight.