War of the Feathers

Prologue

During Summiteer selection, Staff Sergeant Evander Penrose, like all aspirants, had to climb the colossal mountain, Anru. To further exacerbate the dangerousness of this peak, on his way down, Evander triggered a landslide which very nearly made him another fatality statistic. It was from this devious, dangerous, and gruelling part of the training where the Summiteers took their name from.

Thus, clambering up the near sheerness of the north-western shores of the Mayne Peninsula, pulling along a frightened horse, during the darkest part of a moonless night, was simple. It was asking too much of the beasts, but Evander didn’t think they had a choice. Not if they were to carry out this plan in the hopes of deescalating a potentially bloody conflict.

The Summiteer was six feet, with short, swept back blonde hair and hard forest green eyes. His skin was ruddy, and Evander’s blonde eyebrows were often washed out by the dark hues of his eyes. He was clean shaven, abhorring facial hair because he believed it aged him, and had a slight chisel point of a chin, with thin lips that looked more natural in a neutral expression than a smile.

“I know I’m not your first choice for this, and that climb was asking too much,” Evander whispered to the soft brown stallion. He stood before it, arms on his waist, putting on his best ‘reasonable’ face. The horse only looked apathetic. “And you’re not my first choice. I’d prefer a camel.” The horse snorted belligerently at the comment forcing Evander to throw his arms up. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was out of line. But you get the point. We’re never going to get along. But we don’t need to. We just need to get in, do this nonsense, and that’s it.” He paused for a moment, watching the animal’s glassy black eyes.

The horse settled and sighed. Evander thought he had the animal’s agreement, if not its respect. It was far from happy, and Evander knew it was more than just their pairing. That climb was dangerous enough in the day, and to pull a horse up the jagged, slick, cliffside was cruel.

Corporal Fiadh Ruskin had lost her horse when a segment of rock collapsed beneath its hooves, the poor animal plummeting into the maw of rocks and breaking waves below. In her desperation to save the horse, Fiadh almost joined it.

To compensate for this Evander had decided to position Fiadh in the woods to the southwest as an observer. Having someone to assess the aftermath of the attack would be beneficial anyhow. He only hoped this wasn’t perceived as a relegation. The collapse could have happened to any of them, and Evander had known for certain not all of their horses were going to make it.

“Too late to make peace with the beast,” Fiadh added, wandering by. She was the youngest to pass Summiteer selection, at twenty-four, and had descended Mount Anru with a fractured shin and wrist, and a broken rib. Evander thought she had the greatest endurance of any person he’d ever met. She was only five-four, with jet-black hair, tied up, olive-tanned skin and soft brown almond eyes. Her nose was small and round, and her cheek bones low which gave a slight bulge to the sides of her mouth, as if she was storing nuts for the winter – so the jokes went.

Within the Summiteers no soldier was beneath the rank of sergeant. The rank outside of the elite fighting force was often a signifier to the experience required to enter selection. However, Faidh was a corporal when she was headhunted, and asked if she would like to enter into the brutal selection process. Evander hadn’t been involved in poaching the young woman, but had faith in his commandeering officer, Captain Maddox who had been in awe of her mentality.

“Animals can understand us, you know,” Evander replied, turning to look at the woman. This was her first mission. She was capable; however, Evander didn’t want someone just out of selection on his team, because they deserved better. Then again, he didn’t have a choice. With the whole peninsula caught by surprise he had to pull together what resources were available. “They’re very intuitive. Especially horses.” He hoped she wasn’t going to apologise again for losing her horse.

“If I wanted to ride horses, I’d have become an Outrider,” Fiadh sighed, adjusting her belt, holding her arrow quiver on one side, and bow quiver on the other. Each blue leather item was decorated with embossed images of mountains and skies filled with arrows.

Evander’s horse snorted belligerently at the remark. “Hey, when this is over, I’ll put you in for a transfer to a breeding farm, okay?” He rubbed the animal behind the ear, and for this act of compassion, the beast tried to bite him.

“I’ve found a ditch, well hidden in the treeline, with great sightlines of the camp,” Fiadh went on, folding her arms, possibly in awkwardness.

Camp was an understatement. From what Evander had gleaned so far, through the darkness it was a military installation. Thirty thousand personal.

“Excellent work, get to it and hunker down.” Evander approached her, the glimmers of a fire close by highlighting the hues of her brown eyes. He pulled a parcel from a belt pouch. “Extra rations, and see about another blanket, because it’s far colder on the peninsula than it is on the coast.”

“I’m not hungry,” Fiadh replied, hiding the sullenness well, but not well enough. Evander knew in her position he’d be annoyed and insecure too.

“I don’t care.”

“Okay.” She took the rations.

“And if any scouts or search units enter the forest after the raid, get out of there. No lingering, and for the love of the Gods, do not engage them. Just get back to our line.”

“Our line? You make it sound as if they’ve taken land already.”

“They have. That is an occupying force over there, and therefore enemy territory. This…” Evander nodded to the fire, and the group of Summiteers and horses around it, “…Is no-man’s land. Alright. Get going, stay warm – or as warm as you can – and fill your belly.”

“Sure thing,” Fiadh spoke softly, looking determined, quite deliberately. The scowl hardly suited her kind face.

“And Fiadh?” She stopped and turned. “Forget about the horse. It was bad, and I’m surprised it we only lost one. Just a shame it had to be you to take the hit. If it had been anyone else, they’d be doing this recognisance mission, and you’d be riding with us.”

“Of course.” Fiadh nodded and sauntered away into the shadows.

Giving orders was still feeling out of character for Evander. He had seniority here, on the northern part of the peninsula, sure. But if absolutely anyone else from their base of operations in the south of the peninsula were present, he’d be seconded. And wouldn’t complain either. Secretly he hoped that when they made it back to the lighthouse, any other senior Summiteer will have magically arrived and taken over.

As he moved to the campfire, Juliet Anker approached looking tired. She was an elf with amber brown hair tied up in an elegant knot, and dark brown eyebrows over a thin nose. Blue eyes, like dark water melded with the night surrounding them.

“Fiadh thinks I’m relegating her,” Evander began. He placed his hands over the writhing flames.

“Well, you are in a way. But she can’t take part in the raid if she doesn’t have a horse,” Juliet replied. Like everyone else, she was in full battle attire; thick grey boots, reinforced with steel and fox-fur; slate coloured leather breeches, and matching leather tunic, under which were layers of royal-blue silk protruding like veins of sapphire from rock. Only the archer’s draw shoulder was missing any cover, to ensure nothing constrained their ability to loose an arrow. Embossed over the chest armour was the Chasm insignia of a split cliff face with a downward pointing arrow in the centre. The pile was set in topaz, and the flights set in amethyst. Images of indigo arch griffin feathers were carved into their only pauldron, vambraces, and upper thigh padding, designed as if growing out of carvings of yew tree branches. A bow quiver and an arrow quiver hung from her belt, embossed too with images of mountains found throughout Maytoni.

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t have her here,” Evander continued. “But the six of us are all there is. It’s hardly a great opening mission… And if this doesn’t work, Faidh will be placed on the frontline, pitched into conventional warfare, which will then be a waste of her talents.”

“A waste of all our talents,” Juliet added. “She’ll be alright. Once she starts counting soldiers, and gets the intelligence we need, she’ll feel useful.”

“Ho, Summiteers,” a voice rang out. From the darkness came Field Sergent Ignatius Sharma, a dead ring-necked pheasant swaying from his belt. The oldest of the group had been ordered by Evander to sit as a look out. Ignatius was short of six feet by an inch, with dark brown skin, and a shaved head of pitch-black stubble. Warm brown eyes matched his perpetually approachable nature and wide mouth.

“Who are you callin’ a ho, Sharma? This is Evander’s gig, not his brother’s brothel,” Field Sergent Kellen Tanner shot back with a cackle. Whilst Ignatius was the oldest in the group Kellen was the most experienced. Kellen was an ork, with brown hair, and silvery stubble around his smouldering green face. His face was lined and worn form a hard childhood, and harder adolescence, including army life beginning at fourteen – having fibbed his way in. Burn scars sat under his chin and jaw in dark, patchy maroon blemishes.

“Just making sure you don’t put an arrow in me by accident,” Ignatius replied, wearing a weary look. He collapsed by the campfire, pulling the dead game bird from his clip. “Found this late-night wanderer on the way back. Something to look forward to once we get back to the lighthouse.”

Everyone in the group was ultimately feeling the same way – resentful, the world suddenly forming a surreal demeanour.

“Still a large and formidable force?” Evander asked jovially.

“They’re here to stay, alright, Evey. It’s a major camp, built for invasion and occupation. How they pulled it together last minute is beyond me.”

“We pissed down a holy shrine of theirs. Retribution is a fierce incentive, and they’ll want to strike back fast,” Juliet added.

“We?” Another voice put in, coming from the shadows behind the group. It was Damyan Fiala otherwise known as Bunny, for his habit of humbling archers who needed their egos seen to. He had ruddy skin, unkempt light brown hair with traces of silver on the sides, and amber-brown eyes. “I’m no royalist, and sure didn’t shoot that arrow.” Bunny approached the fire and remained standing.

“No’ right,” Kellen went on. “Good place, good people. Sharrow should be thrown over the border. Twat like him is only good for griffin feed.”

“He’ll get his, Kellen,” Evander added darkly, heated bitterness wavering through his throat and along his jaw line as he spoke. “This is perverse, but if we don’t act, the wrong people are going to get hurt, and frankly, if they take the peninsula, we’ll be at war for the next decade.”

“The prince, his high and mighty self, is off skirting about Xellcarr anyhow. Took off pretty quick with the Outriders,” Ignatius said, stretching out his legs by the fire.

“What? No, he isn’t?” Juliet looked disgusted more than shocked.

“Afraid so, Jay,” Evander added. “Sharrow took the Outriders and has run around Xellcarr, claiming the enemy’s attack here is a faint. They’re going to hurt us by annexing Xela, apparently.” There was contemptuous sniggering from the others.

“He really thinks that?”

“We can spin this, of course. Other than looking stupid, we can make Sharrow look like a coward, and complacent to boot. If we had the Outriders, that camp wouldn’t dare move any further into the peninsula. They’d be tied up defending the causeway, getting hit from behind.”

“Nothin’ like hittin’ it from behind.” Bunny brought up his waterskin in salute to the laughter of the group. Even Evey managed a smirk. “Speaking of which, Evey, can we get discount at your brother’s brothel?” The four Summiteers cheered and laughed even harder.

Evander rubbed his face with a clammy hand, sighing. “Firstly, it’s a tavern. If it was a brothel, we’d be legally obliged to apprehend Hebog.” Bunny and Juliet put fingers to their lips, ‘Ssshhh-ing’ mockingly. It was a sore point of sorts, as much as he loved his brother, but from an entrepreneurial point of view, Hebog had done extremely well for himself, managing the most successful ‘tavern’ in all of Footfall, the port city on the coastline of the southern mainland. Footfall hadn’t even been a city, but a merchant town, until Hebog showed up. And then it soon became the busiest, richest city in Maytoni, and most of the north of The Sigel.

“Do you get discount?” Kellen chirped.

Evander rolled his eyes and sighed once more. “Look, let’s get this night behind us, and then I’ll take you all down there and see about discounts,” he capitulated, too consumed with what was to come to fight them on the issue.

“Don’t forget about Fiadh,” Juliet added.

—————————————

With near sheer cliffs of jagged, loose, slippery rocks surrounding the majority of the Mayne Peninsula, inhospitable to even the most experienced climbers, there was only one harbour in the south, carved into a narrow gully. And with the causeway in the north connecting the peninsula to mainland Maytoni, these were the only two means to access the peninsula.

This fortress isle had the Xellcarrians feeling secure enough, Evander knew. Only the causeway to watch, and with the Outriders gone, little else to worry about. The army force in the south was a minimal watch force, on the lookout for pirates. Thus, Evander decided that if they were to deter the Xellcarrian invasion force, they would have to strike from a direction not just considered to be the least expected but not considered at all.

A Maytoni galley had transported the group to the northwestern cliffs. Wading through tidal waters trying to wash them out into the Poet’s Sea, with aggravated horses took energy enough, but that was the easy part. Clambering up the rock face took the remainder of the evening, into the darkest part of the night, and Evander lost count of how many near misses they had.

But it worked, and the Xellcarrian camp was barely guarded on its western side, with no built-up defences. The Summiteer’s objective was as exposed as an unhorsed, unarmoured knight to a swift arrow; the siege weapons, capable of shattering their fort at the Mayne Lighthouse, their iron grip for holding the peninsula.

Ordinance for the mission was comprised mainly of Worm Rot arrows. Where structures of wood were concerned, the arrow’s magical properties would infest the wood fibres with a fast-acting plague, warping the solid structure into toxic pulp. Even metal components could retain the toxin, becoming contagious. A single arrow could cripple a large catapult – though, historically they had been employed as anti-piracy measures.

The flights were taken from a large and invasive wood-pecker species, with the same species’ beak used as the reinforcing horn in the nock. Redish hues diffused into green along the flights, with bright blue tips loudly presented upon barbs. Even the flint pile was knapped from shards of flint which the birds used to reinforce their nests.

In reserve, the Summiteers held their standard war-arrows, navy and indigo arch-griffin flights on a marron, dragon’s blood-stained shaft. Excellent flight, and recoverable.

“Ignatius, you weren’t kidding,” Kellen muttered, from his ditch by the narrow tree line. “This is major.”

“Worse than I was hoping,” Evander spoke. The ditch line was rock-cold, an unsettling parallel to laying in the cold of one’s grave. “If this doesn’t work, we’re going to have to get used to seeing Xellcarrians as enemies.”

“What were you hoping for? A shepherd and few angry fishers?” Juliet muttered, keeping her eyes on the sentries.

“I was hoping to find Xellcarrian pilgrims, lost and asking for directions.”

It was time to get on with it. Evander steeled himself and rolled back into the treeline, the others following. Anger was bubbling in his gut, ready to burst. How he was going to wash the blood off his hands, he couldn’t figure out.

“Alright, gather about,” he called out, in a low voice. Though he needn’t have bothered as the group was already around him. In the depths of the forested darkness, he could hardly make out the details of their faces, yet the concern was glaring. “This is lunacy, the result of the kind of arrogance and self-important nonsense which goes against Maytoni doctrine. I know the irony is not lost on you, going after the Xellcarrians instead of the so-called prince. But I promise you all, here and now, on my career as a Summiteer – and I’ve not worked harder for anything else in my life – we will bring Sharrow to account. For every drop of blood, Maytoni, and Xellcarrian.”

The group loosed subdued cheers, patting Evander on the shoulders and each other too. Now, as they mounted their horses, Evander was certainly glad Fiadh wasn’t here. This was too messy and contrived an affair to be her first outing as a Summiteer.

His horse seemed to be behaving, as if it knew the severity their situation. “Good man,” Evander whispered to it, rubbing the beast behind an ear. “You an’ me. Just keep galloping, and I’ll keep the Xellcarrians from doing you any harm.”

Evander pulled his bow from his quiver, a compact recurve made from Oakthei yew and so-called Maytoni bamboo. The glue between the woods was comprised of kangaroo animal parts, and even the string was made from the animal’s tendons. Evander called the bow Sand Shade, in honour of the great bounding beasts found in the arid east of Maytoni. Like them, the bow was springy, the arrows whipping across the environment with grace and superb precision. Evander believed this was due to aspects of the animal’s nature manifesting through the bow, as a result of the organic materials.

“Let’s ride out,” Evander called. And with that, the group spurred their horses out of the tree line. With the deep haziness to the night, the dark colours of the horses, Evander had the element of stealth for the first sixty-odd yards. Then, as planned, Kellen and Juliet loosed their arrows, striking down both sentries, neither of which having had any idea what killed them.

Evander was the first to cross into the camp, his horse launching over wooden stakes. Before him large, hexagonal tents ran in lanes, with fluttering banners. According to Ignatius the siege equipment was kept to the rear of the camp and Evander turned his horse off to the left, tearing between tents, confused soldiers, and fluttering braziers, like a gale. Another sentry crossed his path and Evander loosed an arrow, knocking the confused soul down. Now there was shouting, alarm and panic in the air. To punctuate this came the haunting moans from the wild cats within the camp, the steeds for Xellcarrian knights.

Pounding up an incline, Evander found the heaps of half-assembled structures. Ballista catapults, trebuchets, and wide crossbow placements set in rows. Wonderful organisation, Evander thought with a wry smile.

He rode up to the rear of the siege-placements, past four rows of at least ten devices. Behind him Juliet took the second row, followed by Kellen launching down the third row. Ignatius had begun whipping arrows into the forth row whilst Bunny circled the front end of the siege equipment, shooting down anyone who came to interfere.

Thrashing by, timing his arrows with the rise of his horse’s hooves, Evander sent Worm Rot arrow after arrow into the blocks and pillars of wood. It was rather anticlimactic, with the equipment yet to be full assembled, so nothing was collapsing in on itself or crashing down. But the wood had been envenomated.

At the end of the row, Evander saw Juliet turning, her horse rearing slightly as the cries of the big cats grew in pitch, anger, and intent. Now, within the dank dark came rushing soldiers, half-dressed, wielding swords, and pikes. Bunny was fierce, a remarkable shot, but they were outnumbered by at least fifteen to one. It was time to leave.

Steering the beast with his thighs, Evander pushed in alongside the others, and took aim at the sturdy wall of half-dressed, dishevelled figures forming against them. They loosed their standard arrows, striking down shade veiled figures to howls of pain. Blades and poles flailed as they fell. Whilst most parted to avoid being trampled, a few stood their ground, slammed aside, or trampled into the ground.

It was hard to keep up with the location of the others, but Evander believed none of them had been unhorsed. Then, tearing between tents again, the narrow paths a wickedly striking contrast of swamping shadows and bright embers from braziers, Evander lost sight of them. It was more or less, every Summiteer for themselves.

Evander tore into an open lane, the wink of the lighthouse a kilometre and half away, telling him he was going in the right direction. He loosed an arrow into a charging figure and thought for a moment about how brave the poor bugger had been. With the initiative left behind in the wake of the rotting siege equipment, the lanes of tents were now filling up with soldiers shouting at each other. Torches held up gave greater light for Evander, and he continued to gallop between the tents. Despite the sudden explosion of numbers, hundreds swelling around him, Evander did not feel nearly as exposed as he thought he would, currently camouflaged by the chaos. He had halted shooting, relying upon the sheer gait and speed of his steed to clear a path for him – suiting Evander, as he wanted to mitigate the Xellcarrian casualties.

This was a grand tactic, of course, until a colossal tiger reared up from between two tents, complete with a knight in full armour. Glimmers of amber light wavered off the orange plates and jet stripes, adding an angry molten heat to the golden talon shoulder decorations. The warrior seemed a giant, the gait enhanced by his elongated weapon; a length of wood, dyed in dragon’s blood for resilience, with obsidian teeth fitted around its edges. Normally a weapon only tamed by two hands, before Evander it was held outwards within one armoured hand.

Evander’s horse came to a halt so sudden, he rose in the saddle and braced frantically, cramping his thighs, and struggling to find purchase around the beast’s neck. The beast then reared in fright, thumping Evander back into the saddle, a jolt or relief bursting through his gut, but barely masking the agony in his groin.

As the mass of wood and obsidian came down, Evander managed to steer his horse around and past the knight, his shrieking steed incentivised no doubt by the fear of fangs in its throat; the tiger’s golden eyes burned with savagery, its fangs bared and glistening bright white, pitch talons tearing up the hard dirt.

Struggling to get an arrow nocked, Evander brought the reluctant horse about and took aim at the side-on profile of the knight. The faceguard was pointed into a beak with a narrow slit for vision. A large golden and bronze talon clutched the crown of the helm. Pouring from it came plumes of rigid griffin feathers, bright white and barred dark grey.

The Bloodied Talon! Evander realised with cold dread; a Xellcarrian champion, an infamous knight and brutal, renowned melee fighter.

Evander sent the arrow at the knight, but the wedge of wood and obsidian came up, taking the impact. However, Evander wasn’t prepared to try and gain any accolades in this impromptu dual. He pulled his horse around and kicked at it to flee. His back tingled fiercely, and his blood boiled, at the feeling of exposure.

Behind him the roars, like flesh being torn, followed. Evander turned in the saddle, bow raised, to see The Bloodied Talon in pursuit. His thumb slipped from the string, and another arrow whipped from his hand. A shield was brought up; however, the dragon’s blood did its work and took the impact from the shield, throwing it back into the protective slab and walloping The Bloodied Talon. The knight cried out and reeled back in his saddle, the giant cat wavering underneath the sudden shift in weight.

As the horse tore past more tents, over braziers, and past soldiers, the end of the camp came into sight. A wall of sentries brought their tall, rectangular shields around, thrusting pikes outward. Crashing through or jumping over were not options.

Evander loosed an arrow at one sentry and the soldier collapsed. Evander loosed another, collapsing a second entry, however the horse’s flight was faster than he could shoot, and the pikes were thrust into his face. As the horse reared Evander reeled, toppling from the beast with an air of disbelief upon the hard ground.

Another sentry was sent reeling as the horse kicked out, almost decapitating them. Then the animal bolted on, into the night away from the camp. Evander, leaping to his feet, could hardly blame the animal. The climb had been enough for it. Go with the Gods, big fella, he thought.

Then the downswing of a halberd brought Evander back to reality. He rolled out of the way and drew his dagger, catching the attacker in the gut, between armour slates before withdrawing and parrying the sword of another. A flash caught Evander’s eye, and he turned, seeing the point of a pike lunging in at his gut. He dodged, unable to close the gap as another pike took his attention, forcing him back and placing him on the defensive. Evander leapt from the closing pikes towards a sword-wielder, shoulder barging them before running his dagger across their throat. No sooner was the heat of the blood lost to the damp cold of the night than the colossal tiger steed of The Bloodied Talon came crashing through the growing mob. Vivid eyes and sickle fangs blazed. Its landslide of a roar stonewalled Evander’s adrenaline rush.

From the beast, clattering down, came The Bloodied Talon. Evander brought his dagger up, knowing full well, it was not going to be enough to parry the hammer of wood and obsidian. He would need to get inside his reach and try for an armour joint.

Behind the champion, however soldiers tumbled aside, and his tiger steed leapt around to see what new disturbance was coming.

Juliet! At close range she slammed an arrow into a standing sentry, exploding the neck. The Bloodied Talon leapt aside to avoid being trampled. Juliet reached down and Evander barely had the chance to reach back, as she caught him under an armpit. He jumped up, throwing his leg as high as he could manage, groin protesting against his earlier injury, and fell into place behind her.

On one horse, with the others close by, the group thundered into the remains of the night, to safety, and hoping against hope, an end to the conflict.