Short Story about Bretonnia

[majormcnicol]

Hey all,

I've been working on a Warhammer short story recently, just letting the writing take me wherever. I have vague direction, but feedback is welcome. It remains a work in progress.



Baron Laurent de Gildareux stood implacably at the exposed battlements of his keep, looking out at the forested land to the southeast of his castle. This tower was not covered by wooden hoarding as was the rest of his keep. It had been some time since such improvements were made upon the structure, as such attentions were more pressing for the outer, lower walls of the fortress, and indeed there had been little impetus for such changes of late, the beasts of the forest wild seemingly uninterested in the lands of Gildareux's barony. But Laurent de Gildareux was not thinking of hoarding and fortification as he watched trees sway almost imperceptibly in a breeze he could not feel. Instead, he was looking for a sign of marching allies from the woods. In particular he was consternating as to the position - or fate - of Sir Mattice Siebert.

Crossing the top deck of the tower, the Baron looked down into the expansive courtyards of his keep and the dirt squares of the town around it. Here, several hundred men were en bivouac, knights, squires and men-at-arms alike. From this height the war party appeared a riot of color, steel and movement. The more distinguished nobles were boarded in the keep de Gildareux, but most of their retainers and knightly complements were left to the inns, barns and tents out from under the Baron's roof. Lower nobles and knights were also forced to stay without the comfort of beds and hard shelter, but such was always the way of war in Bretonnia.

This war party was called by Baron de Gildareux, as demanded by the Duke of Artois, Laurent de Gildareux's liege. The Baron was not entirely sure of its purpose, but there had been increasing rumors of a large goblinoid horde gathering in the deep forests of Artois. Such hordes were always dangerous, bringing with them trolls and spiders of all sizes, spiders that could climb a castle's high walls and get at the flesh of peasant and lord alike. Laurent de Gildareux had a responsibility to protect the people of his land, and an obligation to aid the Duke as, in turn, the Duke aided the magnanimous King of Bretonnia. So it was that as he stood at the battlements of the tower, looking at the arraigned warriors below, the Baron himself was clad in mail and plate, his heraldic tabard proudly showing the red, yellow and orange of his lineage. Many of the men below bore these same colors, notably his son, Alreche, a youthful cavalier. The Baron's Voulgiers also bore the red, yellow and orange on their shields and tunics.

The sound of metal greaves on stone steps announced the presence of Earl Monguillot, closest ally and confidant of the Baron, as he came up to the tower's battlements. Monguillot was a sizable estate adjacent to Gildareux, and the two men had been close for many years. The Baron of Gildareux turned to meet the sky blue tabard and magenta and cream heraldry of his standard bearer. As usual, the bannerman respectfully half-nodded, half-bowed to the Baron and stepped to one side, saying nothing as was his wont. The Baron crossed back to the outward facing battlements.

"So we wait only on one more of my own knights," the Baron said.
"Siebert," stated Monguillot, knowingly.

Sir Mattice Siebert, thought the Baron, shaking his head, a mischievous smile creeping across his features. The third-born son of a minor noble, himself in charge of only a small estate in the Barony of Gildareux, Mattice Siebert was never destined to hold watch over that estate as a lordly noble. Instead, he pursued the path of the noble warrior, devoting himself to the knightly art of battle. Before he fully experienced war on its true, massive scale, however, his destiny was thoroughly changed.

Coming upon a trio of small villages near his father's estate, rushing through the dense forest that surrounded the hovels on all sides, Mattice Siebert was wounded by the wild razorgor he was hunting. His loyal yeoman Nince dragged him to safety but the razor-spined beast rampaged into the closest village, toppling some shacks and trampling some poultry in its rage, a sword wound across its flank and a spear stuck in its back. As Nince and the wounded Siebert approached the beast, following its trail of destruction, peasants were corralling it with pitchforks and spears. Although a beast known for its rage and bloodlust, eventually the bleeding gor tired. That is when Siebert, himself wounded and bloody, pierced the beast's heart with his sword, ending its hate-filled life. Dutifully giving thanks to the Lady before passing out, Mattice and Nince spent weeks in the villages as the knight recovered. A local Priestess of Shallya residing there looked after his wounds, and told them of the Collective.

Concealed and oppressed by the forest, the three villages had largely been forgotten by their Artois lords. Peasants hacking a living into the dark wood around them, trying to make a living together. United by common condition, cut off from a knightly protection none could vividly remember, the three villages looked to each other for assistance. Thus the so-called Artois Collective was formed. Later, when Siebert would return to the life of nobility, albeit staying there only briefly, word of the Collective began to travel. Duke Chilfroy of Artois made it clear among noble circles that he did not approve of the name, or the forsaking of chivalric society. But, despite the displeasure of the Duke, no noble was interested in volunteering to protect the forsaken villages.

Following his stint in his father's court, and suffering no small amount of embarrassment for the way his injuries kept him from riding horseback comfortably, Mattice Siebert found himself returning to the villages of the collective, walking in front of his horse, but beside his yeoman Nince. Rumor had reached Baron de Gildareux that Siebert had busied himself training the collective's militia into effective spearmen, instructing them in ways of fighting together as a regiment, the better to defend the three villages hidden in the forest. When the call to arms had come from the Duke, Laurent of Gildareux had called in all his vassals - including Sir Mattice Siebert. The Baron had sent a messenger to the collective days ago. But are you coming, Siebert? thought the Baron.

***

[majormcnicol]

***

As high as they hold their chins they still don't know how to march, thought Mattice Siebert. Around him in a loose mob were the spearmen of the Artois Collective - the Spears of Sir Mattice, some peasants called them. Their mismatched, stained colors of light blue and white, modeled to some degree off of the Siebert heraldic colors, made little sound as the walked and shambled through the forest road. It was mostly cloth and leather, although some of the spearmen had acquired bits of ring mail or metal scraps they incorporated into their battledress. These items clinked softly to the rhythm of men walking, but otherwise the only noise from the group was the hushed murmur of uneasy, superstitious peasants traveling together on a dark and unkempt path.

This forest was always one of bad omen and brooding darkness. Its thick, low branches, although seemingly always barren, managed to hold out the sun's rays from underneath the canopy. The villagers living in the Artois Collective knew maleficent forces kept to these boughs and branches, and avoided the woods according to the stern wisdom of the Collective's elders.

Two steps to the right and one behind Siebert walked Nince, his seemingly boundless energy and irrepressible active nature keeping a spirit in his step that many of the impoverished peasants behind lacked. Nince had become Siebert's confidant and, perhaps on some level, a friend, of sorts. At the very least it was undeniable that Nince was second in command of the spearmen. But of course then there was Ariadny, the Priestess of Shallya, who had chosen to accompany the militia to the Keep de Gildareux. Siebert wondered if the chain of command was altered by her presence, as the peasants looked up to the priestess with great reverence. Indeed, Siebert himself knew her skill at healing. If Nince was bothered by her presence, or insecure about his position in the command hierarchy, he showed none of it in his alert posture or energetic jaunt.

Ariadny walked to the left of Siebert, surrounded by quiet but serious peasants who obviously wanted to protect the priestess from any possible predation in the forest. The priestess' robes put even Siebert's white and blue tabard to shame, making it seem dirty compared to her spotless and simple white robes. The knight was not even sure why she had come with the war party. She was a priestess of Shallya, not a warrior. Perhaps war is an arena full of wounds and suffering that need tending, and such a priestess could not pass up the call. Or maybe she was tired of living in the Collective. Siebert imagined it was straining living as a woman apart - revered and appreciated, of course, but never fully trusted. Never approachable. Never truly human to the peasants there.

Siebert himself did not mind getting out of the villages for a while. He found it nice enough there, away from ceaseless, petty court intrigue, away from always being the injured, third son of a noble with too much time for too little a fiefdom. The peasants treated him well, giving him the best residence - squalor, of course, to a noble, yet still - and they looked to him in all matters. He took great fulfillment in being needed and being heeded at the same time. There were other perks, as well. In his months at the Collective, both injured and healed, the knight had explored the amorous curiosity of the youthful peasant girls on many occasions. He smiled to himself, thinking of his exploits. Few third-born sons could boast like he now could. It seemed that the young village girls, stuck in the isolated trio of villages, were quite curious indeed, and wont to-

The knight slowed brought his gait to a halt, snapping from his reminiscence as he noticed Nince had stopped moving. His yeoman looked into the forest, scanning it. Nince slowly took a step back and braced himself. The knight and his yeoman shared a quick glance, and Siebert understood.

Suddenly a loud braying erupted from somewhere in the forest, and immediately thereafter came the sound of movement in the undergrowth. Lots of movement. Nince pulled his old, heavy blade from its scabbard. Siebert unsheathed his sword with a noble, if somewhat dramatic gesture, which almost caught a Collective peasant in its sweep. Despite the near mishap, the flamboyance of the gesture sparked some adrenaline in Siebert. As if the threat of impending attack was not enough.

Mattice Siebert prepared to fight, but he had forgotten where he was. He glanced back. The peasants were milling about, unformed. At least they had their spears and shields in-hand, the knight thought. He quickly turned to rally them. He had a feeling all of their survival at this moment depended on working together. Nince pulled back into the mob with him.

"Spears at the ready, men of Artois!" shouted Siebert, adopting a serious urgency in his tone. He continued, turning around to face the trees now that he was surrounded on his sides and rear by the spearmen. "Form files and ranks men, just like the practice." They had practiced this, many times. "Face outward! Men behind, prepare to support. Spears and shields up!"

To their credit, none of them ran. Where could they have gone, anyway? It sounded like the forest beasts were going to be as predictable as ever, coming at them from all sides at once. Well today they meet these spears, Siebert thought.

The sounds of movement came ever closer, quickly, like dozens of feet in the woods. Not feet: hooves. The Collective's militia had formed up, faced out, gripped their weapons tightly. Ariadny was amongst the men, calming them with her unruffled countenance. Nince stood shoulder to shoulder with Sir Mattice, their garb and weaponry in stark contrast to each other's, the knight's clean and liveried, his yeoman's aged but solid. Siebert took in deep breaths, trying to slow his heart's rhythm. Wasn't he forgetting something?

"Of course!" said the knight aloud, swiftly swinging his shield to his back in the same motion he knelt, holding his sword tip-down into the earth in front of him. He closed his eyes and began to pray to the Lady of the Lake. The peasants looked at him, unsure. Shouldn't he be standing? they thought.

A yell from one of the peasants announced the arrival of some of the beasts, on the pathway behind them. They were charging, yelling their bestial, throaty cries.

Ahead, now, too, they came. Muscled beasts with fur, hooves, and the stature of men. They clutched crude maces, spiked clubs, axes of dubious quality. To their flanks the men of the Artois Collective could see shadows coming at them through the undergrowth. These villagers knew of these beastmen, the bestial children of darker powers. One could not grow up in the forest without knowing. Knowing of them, though, was quite different than facing them in close battle.

There was a murmur among the peasants, anxiety building. Why was their leader on the ground! Get up they urged him with their eyes - get up! The hoof-falls were close, the stink preceding the goat-men and bovid things by scant seconds. Nince, full of energy, bounced from foot to foot, his lead protected by his tall shield, his sword in the other hand, fluid and ready.

The beasts hit first on right flank, their axes and clubs brutally crashing onto the shields of the peasants, their bodies impaled by the sharpened spear heads that stabbed out like a hedgehog's quills from the mass of men.

Sir Mattice Siebert rose not a moment too soon, his sword flaring up two-handed from the ground, a large upward stroke that cleaved into the abdomen of the first beastman to hit the front of the Bretonnians. Seeing the strike through, Siebert switched his stance and brought his shield around to his left arm, his sword no held with one hand. Nince swung at the first enemy to reach him, smashing his heavy blade into its antler-horns with a downward blow that forced the creature into an awkward tumble to the yeoman's feet, its horns broken and its head bloodied. Nince smashed its neck with his shield edge as it went down, already looking to the next foe. Combat was truly joined.