Shield of Honor, Part One (standard:fantasy, 3808 words)
Author: Vincent Collevera	Added: Apr 04 2010	Views/Reads: 4118/3071	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
In an empire powered by slavery, a man's worth can be counted in coin. When a man's honor is revealed, will it bring benediction, or persecution? This is the story of Daryn Veil.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

and let them break themselves on it."  We'll see how long it takes them 
to back down when they've seen the toll we exact on them quite likely 
without losing a single man, he thought to himself.  Bloody fools. 

The horde was screaming and howling itself into a frenzy now as the
shield wall advanced step by steady step in perfect rhythm.  The 
vibrations of their war drums could be felt through the soles of the 
feet and made the dust and sand dance along the ground.  Then the drums 
stopped at the exact moment that the shouting and howling came to an 
abrupt halt.  Men shifted their feet and grips on their pikes and 
shields.  Eyes glanced aside to their compatriots.  The sudden silence 
was more unnerving than all the caterwauling had been by half. 

The masses of scantily clad warriors raced down the hillsides, their
feet pounding like thunder across the ground.  They ran at the wall of 
shields with abandon and seemed prepared to simply run them all over.  
Then a single drum beat sounded out over the noise of tens of thousands 
of feet and they became a column scarcely a dozen men wide that slammed 
full force into a point in the wall.  The wall held; but only just, as 
the screaming began again, this time in pain.  Pikes stabbed over the 
shields, swords chopped out between them in unison and the blood 
flowed.  Hundreds died within minutes, and not a single casualty had 
been a Royal Legionnaire. 

But the bodies added up.  They were all concentrated to a small area and
rather than spreading out to the sides, and they were piling up.  Very 
soon, a ramp of human bodies formed that lead up and over the shield 
wall.  And the barbarians used it.  They came leaping and howling over 
the shields into the press of pikes and spears, many of them impaling 
themselves on five or six at a time.  But that only served to drag the 
long pole-arms to the ground with their wielders, as more came rushing 
over the shields to take the place of the dead.  And then the 
Legionnaires began to die.  All their order and discipline and training 
amounted to little in the face of such animosity.  And there were no 
battle formations to contend with suicidal berserkers throwing 
themselves at them with total disregard for their own safety.  
Apparently the instinct for survival had been bred out of these. 

Chaos ensued for several minutes before officers could reorganize their
troops and call some semblance of order to the mayhem.  Commander Veil 
called out the order.  "Squads, form up independent ranks.  Pikes and 
spears to the center, Archers to the rear and loose to the enemies' 
flanks.  Shields up and swords out.  For Eradon!"  The cry was taken up 
by the men and shouted defiantly into the teeth of the savages.  The 
archers loosed their arrows into any solid groups of the enemy they 
could see, often shooting between shields and over shoulders of 
soldiers who chopped and stabbed with sword and spear in desperation. 

The enemy had divided the royal legion in half and was swiftly beginning
to push them apart.  A company of archers were overrun and slaughtered, 
which opened the way for a flanking maneuver.  Commander Veil snapped 
his horse's reigns and charged forward through the press to counter it, 
bringing with him several of his lieutenants and a handful of spearmen. 
 "For Eradon!"  He cried as his horse plunged into the midst of the 
group of barbarians attempting to circle around behind his position.  
Hooves flew out and crushed skulls and limbs.  The horse snapped out to 
the side and bit half of a man's face off with a horrible crunching 
sound.  Veil's sword lashed out left and right, cutting down any who 
came near enough to reach, and within moments he was through the enemy 
position and wheeling his mount for another pass.  When he looked back, 
he realized that the men with him had cut them all down in his wake and 
left not a one standing. 

He surveyed the field quickly.  The attempted rout that had nearly
succeeded was now stalling.  He could see, however, that a circle had 
formed around a lone barbarian warrior wielding a mottled wooden spear. 
 He was standing on a carpet of bodies and his spear moved as though it 
was a part of him; thrusting and darting with the speed of a striking 
snake.  Men came near, and swiftly fell.  If they left no openings in 
their defenses, he simply plunged the spear's head through their steel 
shields and into and out of their chests.  "Call the rally and close 
ranks.  I don't want any more openings for the enemy to exploit.  Bring 
the reserves up from their hiding spot and flank them to the East.  
Hammer and anvil!  Now!" 

And he charged once again, this time directly for the Kai'Dan he had
spoken with between the two armies.  As he closed, he leapt from the 
saddle and landed atop the backs of three of the enemy.  Swift strokes 
of his blade felled them before they could hope to defend themselves 
and he found himself within a few yards of his counterpart.  The 
Kai'Dan gave that same feral grin. 

"I was hoping for the opportunity to face you in battle before someone
else killed you."  The barbarian leader said gleefully. 

"As was I."  Veil replied. 

There were no more words as they threw themselves each at the other. 
Spear darted and sword flashed as they attacked and defended.  Each 
thrust was met with a parry and riposte.  Each slash met wooden haft or 
steel shield, or; more often, empty air.  It became a dance as they 
tried time and again to achieve a nick, a cut, a scratch on the other.  
Finally, Veil's sword was knocked from his grip to spin end over end 
off into the teeming masses around them.  There fell a momentary hush 
as the Kai'Dan appraised his opponent.  He struck, the spear lashing 
out with lightning speed to hit nothing, as Veil spun to the side, 
deflecting the spear along its haft and swung with his foot into his 
enemy's knee.  There was a sharp report as it shattered and the man 
fell.  In the same movement, Veil had grabbed the smooth shaft of the 
spear with his free hand and now he jerked it out of the Kai'Dan's 
grasp. 

With a swift twirl, he had the tip of the broad spear-head pricking the
hollow of the barbarian's throat.  A single drumbeat thrummed through 
the air and ground, and everyone; Legionnaire and barbarian alike, fell 
still.  The Kai'Dan grinned up at him.  "I suppose this would be a good 
time to yield, then."  If he felt any pain at all from his shattered 
knee, he didn't show it as he climbed to his feet.  The swelling was 
already beginning to show.  "I think we will go now.  And in one 
month's time I will come to your capital to speak with your Emperor of 
Eradon.  I think there is much we can teach each other." 

Commander Veil was taken aback by the casual and calm air about this
man.  Even in defeat, he seemed to have the upper hand.  He butted the 
spear on the ground and looked him in the eye. 

"I think you are right to surrender.  You will come with me to discuss
the terms and perhaps afterwards you will be released to go back to 
your people, who will of course be disarmed and escorted back to your 
lands."  He said levelly.  The Kai'Dan grinned all the wider. "I think 
you are mistaken.  I said we would be leaving now.  I did not say we 
surrendered." 

A short tattoo of drumbeats seemed to vibrate the teeth in his head. 
The ground began to shake.  His men looked around in bewilderment, a 
hint of fear showing through their Legionnaires' resolve.  Muttered 
curses and startled shouts sounded out and he looked back at the hills 
to the North.  Hundreds of thousands of barbarians were walking down 
from the hills.  They carried spears, shields, swords and bows.  Many 
of them carried stretchers for the dead and dying.  The Royal Legion 
was swiftly surrounded by warriors who stood grinning and silent with 
weapons gripped loosely in their hands.  He looked back at his enemy. 
"I'll be needing my spear back, Commander.  I trust I will see you in 
the capital next month." 

And as he handed back the weapon he felt a tap on his shoulder.  He
turned.  It was one of his enemies, holding his sword out to him hilt 
first.  He took it and slid it home in the scabbard, smiling ruefully 
and shaking his head. 

"Why do you smile, Commander Daryn Veil?"  Asked his enemy. 

"Because this is exactly what I told them would happen if we
underestimated you."  He replied. 

"And if we were to make war on you again?" 

"The outcome would be very, very different." 

"Then it has already begun." 

"What has?" 

"The gaining of wisdom." 

The Holder of the Spear turned and limped back to the hills while his
people quietly gathered their honored dead.  When Veil turned back to 
his men, he saw that the barbarians were laying out their dead enemies 
in neat, orderly rows with their often broken weapons laid upon their 
breasts beneath their hands; those who still had any.  His smile faded, 
even as the thought entered his mind.  These barbarians show far more 
civility than we would have were the circumstances reversed.  Which of 
us is truly the savage? 

The capital city was festooned with banners and ribbons and filled with
celebration over the conquering of the barbarian horde.  Commander Veil 
thought this was premature, considering the circumstances of the 
armistice.  But the people loved their celebrations and not even the 
sweltering early autumn heat radiating from the baked clay cobblestones 
and reflected by every whitewashed stone building would keep them from 
it.  So he did his part as the returning hero and smiled and waved, 
though the smile never reached his eyes and there would be mourning in 
the city come the morrow.  There was a train of wagons behind his army 
that was filled with the bodies of over a thousand of his men.  He saw 
nothing to smile about.  How the rumormongers managed to get word of 
their arrival in enough time to set up the banners, he would never 
know.  Apparently news spread far faster than a horse could reasonably 
travel.  He should consider hiring some of them on as runners during 
battle. 

His musings were cut short by the appearance of a litter being borne on
the backs of a hundred slaves.  The Emperor approached his soldiers.  
As the emperor emerged from the palace gates and the people noticed 
him, the cheering got louder, although to Daryn's ears it sounded 
forced.  No doubt they were afraid of the punishment for sedition 
should they be seen to be less than enthusiastic in the presence of 
their ruler.  It brought a frown to his face that he only belatedly 
managed to smooth before the curtains parted on the litter and the 
Emperor stepped down onto stairs made from kneeling slaves. 

"Why the long face, Commander?  This is a great victory!  The vile
barbarian horde has been tamed and the survivors scattered to the 
winds.  What cause for a frown?"  He asked jovially.  For all his 
shortcomings, he was not an evil or cruel man.  He simply could not 
imagine why anyone would see anything differently than his predecessors 
had for over a dozen generations.  Daryn saluted sharply.  "Sir, it is 
indeed a great day for the Empire, although the loss of my men brings 
unwelcome shadows to this festive occasion.  I mourn them and see their 
loss as a personal failure, Your Majesty."  He said with conviction.  
The Emperor's smile only widened.  "And that, my child, is exactly what 
makes you a great leader.  You can ignore the difference in class 
between yourself and your inferiors and feel responsible for the loss 
of valuable assets.  It is why I cherish your service to me.  But come, 
come.  Enough of this talk of dreary things and let us to the Palace 
for drink, food, and women."  And with that, he stepped gracefully back 
into the confines of his scented litter and was carried back into the 
Palace. 

Commander Veil tried to ignore the bloody smears on the paving stones
from the hands and knees of the slaves as he led his men through the 
gates and to the barracks.  Once he had seen to the disposition of the 
troops, he cleansed his body in the communal bath-house on the barracks 
grounds and went for his debriefing with the Emperor.  Over the course 
of the six years of his service to the Emperor as Commander, Daryn had 
learned how to maneuver around the discussion to deliver the 
information.  It was difficult to concentrate, for most, when 
surrounded by scantily clad concubines, rich foods, and having copious 
amounts of wine pressed on him.  He persevered. 

“Essentially, what you are imparting is that this was not actually a
victory as was suggested by the rumormongers.  I see that we have 
underestimated the situation again.  Wine?  No?  As you suggested 
during the discussion beforehand, these barbarians are not to be taken 
lightly.”  The emperor paused long enough to eat several grapes from 
the navel of a nearby concubine before continuing. 

“Commander Veil, I am giving you ten days to rest and recuperate before
I am convening the Council of War.  I will expect you to have some more 
of your unorthodox suggestions to pose.  Until then, take your time to 
convalesce.  Would you like the services of some of my concubines?  
They do a wonder for healing a man's body and spirit.” 

The commander politely declined and thanked him for the break.  When he
arrived at home, he finally allowed himself to relax enough for the 
fear to abate somewhat.  After twelve years in the military and 
advancing faster than any officer ever had before, he'd never come 
under scrutiny by the Interrogators.  If they learned his secret, he 
would be excommunicated from Imperial Favor and likely put to death. 

He shook off such thoughts and went about the business of running a
slave-free household.  He took off his armor and cleaned it himself.  
He cared for his weapons and took the time to soak his soiled clothing 
in an alchemical solution to remove stains and preserve the strength of 
the garments.  When he finally got around to entering the kitchen, he 
found that dinner had already been laid out for him and was silently 
steaming on the overlarge dining table.  His estate was not large 
compared to those of the other Commanders or Councilmen, but it was 
still a small castle.  He knew there were many rooms he did not often 
venture into, and had actually never seen his mysterious benefactor no 
matter how many times he tried to sneak up on him or her. 

He smiled and sat down to enjoy his meal.  There was no telling which of
the former slaves he had freed was responsible for this.  It was even 
possible they were drawing lots and taking turns.  His home was always 
clean; there was never any dust or dirt that built up.  The gardens 
outside were well cared for even when he was on campaign and every 
morning, noon, and evening he was here was punctuated by a fine meal of 
simple, well-prepared fare. 

He detested the practice of slavery, and was self-sufficient enough to
disregard the need for serving staff, but he understood the need to 
repay a debt.  Far be it from him to deny them this small outlet if 
they felt the need to do so.  Daryn was well known to be a very 
solitary man who greatly enjoyed his privacy.  He had stopped receiving 
more than the minimum required invitations from Councilmen necessary 
for political niceties when he had politely declined every one he'd 
gotten for the first four years in office.  The only ones he ever 
accepted were from the Emperor himself; and there were more than enough 
of those to suit him. 

The evening was characterized by his usual activities in the most richly
furnished room in his home; the study.  He spent hours poring over 
legal documents, historical renditions of past battles, philosophy, and 
many other subjects that met his fancy at the time.  He was an avid 
reader and always sought new knowledge.  As a child, his father's 
oldest slave had acted as his tutor.  He had been an enemy officer 
captured in battle, and his knowledge of languages and tactics was 
extensive.  He had taught Daryn that knowledge was power. 

This evening began as usual, with Daryn picking up the sheaf of reports
he'd procured from the Royal Archives and pouring himself a snifter of 
good whiskey.  He sat down in the high-backed chair behind his desk 
with its thin cushions wrapped in black leather and began to read where 
he'd left off.  The evening did not end as normally as it had begun. 

‘...we opened the chamber by using the munitions we'd discovered.  The
sound was like the crashing of a thousand thunderbolts and the thick 
stone was torn asunder like so much cloth.  When we entered the cavern, 
our discovery caused many to flee in terror.  The cavern was filled 
with the bones of the dead.  There were so many, we could scarcely tell 
where one man left off and another began.  They weren't human.  There 
was something wrong with the bones, something wrong with the shape and 
placement.  It is difficult to describe with words, but from what our 
medicas say, these are the remains of the Maulkave of legend.  We 
brought back several of the skeletons as specimens to be studied...' 

He put down the page and looked up, having heard a sound in the hallway.
 Silently, he stood and moved across the room.  Easing open the door as 
quietly as possible, Daryn peered out into the dimly lit corridor in 
the hopes of finally spying his benefactors. 


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