Juryrigged > Works > Writings > Chapter Two - Beginnings of Chaos

Winter's icy teeth nipped at Lans Lagi's back as he huddled inside his cloak to try and keep warm. He ducked down behind a thicket, retaining the stealth aspect of his mission. He and his men were on a small path that led to Dragil, a town once of little importance on the border. A forest bordered the path on either side. He, with roughly half of his unit, were on one side of the path hiding behind trees and thickets, while the other half was on the other side of the road.

Each man felt that he was dressed in rather light clothing for such chilly weather; the wind being so cold that each breath of air pierced their lungs. Luckily, the sun was about to rise and envelop the Earth in its much welcomed heat. The First Knighthood wore a long shirt under a chain mail and a black, hooded cloak. Between the trees, limited sunlight, and light snowfall, they were nearly invisible. Every man had a weapon of their choice, be it an axe, sword, bow, spear, or even a mace. The archers all had their bows knocked, and eyes surveying the country side.

Lans lifted up his right hand, slowly, and made a final check down the path. He determined it was safe to move, and made a silent, forward-waving motion with his hand. The light footed men made little noise moving about in the thickets and forest, though the occasional twig could be heard snapping. Lans was grateful that they had gotten so far without being discovered, he reckoned that Dragil was under a mile away.

The path had been fairly level until now, where it sloped steeply downward and westward towards Dragil. Lans' keen eyes could see small figures, presumably riders on horseback, moving around the perimeter of the town. When he had last seen Dragil it had been a small backwater village, but the Mallintirians had seemingly converted it into a small fort during their occupation. A ten-foot high wall now enclosed the entire town, constructed of dull, grey brick. Although three feet thick, the wall was obviously hastily constructed, using the town's people as forced labor. The wall followed the town's cross-shaped outline closely, each 'arm' of the cross extending three-hundred yards out from the town center, itself five-hundred yards square. Where the path intersected the wall, heavy gates had been set, composed of thick iron bars spaced only an inch apart.

There was more to tell of this tale, however. Mallintire wasn't the only party involved in Dragil's conversion; Zenerth also had its hand in it. When Zenerth reoccupied Dragil, they thought that the wall might be of some use. It was only about three feet high then, and in the time they occupied the town, they were able to build it up to seven feet. Zenerth used whoever would willingly volunteer, and also had men from Shoom'locke help. They constructed gates at each entrance, which the enemy used to their advantage. They stormed Dragil from all sides, overwhelming the small force in the town; the walls preventing any escape. When Dragil was taken again by Mallintire, they closed off all gates except the eastern one.

"The wall would be easy to breach in an all-out assault," he thought to himself, "it's a shame I don't have the men to overwhelm them... it would be less risky than this approach."

Lans had only been to Dragil once before, to meet an old friend when he was away on a training mission in the nearby fort of Shoom'locke. It seemed that Lans' second visit wouldn't be nearly as easy as a training visit to Shoom'locke and a cup of ale at Dragil's largest tavern. No indeed, for he had to drive away an enemy company from Dragil and then hurry off to Shoom'locke to defend the fort town.

The mission wasn't the only thing on Lans' mind as he grew ever closer to Shoom'locke. Lans trusted the king, and was very loyal to him; yet as every man often did, Lans had his suspicions. Ever since Hunter and Ashtar had come into power, the country had been weakened by war. Lans knew as well as anyone that Balzac was most likely the one that deserved to be blamed, but he wondered if the advisors were as great as Raffza made them out to be. His suspicions peaked on this mission, as he was only allotted twenty soldiers, one of whom was a rookie, with which to retake the town.

Lans trusted the nineteen soldiers he had come to respect and appreciate, but the rookie was another matter. Robert Malfor, as his name went, just didn't seem the type to be a soldier. In sword training he was easily defeated by weaker soldiers from lower levels of the Knighthood (as low as the Fourth Knighthood) and his nerves weren't exactly steel. However, Lans couldn't do anything about it. Robert was placed into the unit by Balzac Methados only a month or so prior. Lans did the best he could with Robert, but the soldier hardly progressed. Eventually, Lans deemed training Robert futile, and focused his attention on other things.

When Lans finally became detached from his thoughts, he realized that they were close enough to Dragil to initiate the first phase of their strike. The plan for the first phase was for the archers to stay back in the woods, father away from the trail, and get into sniping positions. While the archers performed their tasks, the bladed weapon wielders would slowly come down to the western edge of Dragil. Lans would then signal the archers by drawing his blade and twirling it about in his hands, hoping the golden reflection of the sun off of gleaming steel would serve as a good enough signal for his archers. Their intent was to take out the guards who patrolled around the western edge of the town.

The archers would then release their arrows, attempting to slay the guards on horse back. The target point was the throat, which was the hardest aspect of the plan. The idea behind piercing the throat was to silence the guard's scream. If the shot succeeded, the men near the thickets would secretly retrieve the body before the next guard came. As soon as all the guards in the rotation for the western entrance of Dragil had fallen, they could initiate phase two of their plan.

Lans and his men reached the thicket with little trouble. The guard's attention was elsewhere, on other matters. Lans speculated that the guards were thinking of their retreat from Dragil. He had no time to let his mind wander off in such tangents. He knew his task, his responsibility, and he wasn't about to fail the king he and his family had served for over one hundred years.

Lans Lagi grabbed the hilt of his blade, while still crouched in the thicket near the trail to Dragil. He watched the guard's rotation, trying to figure out the perfect time to draw his blade. The guard on horseback would come out of the western gate of Dragil, and look down the path for a good ten seconds. He would then turn his head to his left (towards Lans' side of the thicket) and look into the woods whilst listening intently for another ten seconds. He'd then turn his head to his right and look in that direction for ten seconds. He would repeat this process five more times until a new guard refreshed him. In total, each guard had only three minute shifts. About forty five seconds after the guard left, a new guard would come to relieve him.

Lans waited for the next guard to be relieved, and watched intently. The guard turned his head towards Lans, and Lans tried to control his breathing. The guard finally turned his head away. Lans lifted his blade up into the air, whirled it in his hand, and an arrow sailed through the morning sky. It made a soft 'whoosh' noise as it passed by Lans. Just as the guard was turning his head to face down the road, the arrow struck him in the throat. A fine crimson mist filled the air around the guards head as he fell backwards off his horse.

Lans didn't notice the second arrow until it pierced the horse in the throat as well, and the horse fell peacefully to the ground. Lans hated having to kill the animal, but it was necessary for the mission. Lans quickly figured that they had two minutes and forty seconds to hide the bodies. Lans and a few men from his unit swiftly and silently jumped out of the thicket, and lifted the man's surprisingly heavy body. They carried it into the woods, and dumped him near their thicket. They would bury the body later, for Lans believed that there were no enemies in death.

All the men from the other thicket had picked up the horse's corpse as well, and put it in their woods. Both groups were careful not to drag the bodies, as plainly visible trails would be left in the grass. The groups crouched down in the thickets in just the nick of time, as the guard that was to relieve the dead man rode in. Lans waited for the appropriate time, and gave the archers the signal.

This time, two arrows were shot at exactly the same time to improve efficiency and stealth. Lans watched as the metal tips of the arrows caught a ray of the sun in the middle of their path, and for a moment, they looked like a golden ray of sun splitting the morning mist in two. However, the arrows quickly passed through the ray, and Lans came back to reality. He closed his eyes this time, not caring to see the thick, dark blood again. He opened them when he heard two dull 'thumps'. He did his task as before, though the stench of this man bothered him.

Lans' fingers were on the hilt of his blade before he crouched in the thicket, as he was getting anxious. He didn't like being out here, mercilessly killing men in such a sneaky way. He preferred honor over sly tricks, even if it meant death.

When the time was right, Lans gave the signal. As soon as Lans saw the arrows fly, he sensed something was wrong. He looked closely and realized that the trajectory of the arrow for the horse was off slightly, and signaled to a man beside him. Lans had come up with the signal, a quick waving motion of his hand, in case one of the arrows was going to miss its mark.

Both men jumped out of the thicket as quietly as they could, blades drawn, and jumped about a yard from the edge of the path to the rider. Lans plunged his sword into the horse's neck, just as his partner drove his blade into the guard's throat. Lans quickly withdrew his blade, noting the dark liquid running down his once gleaming metal, and rolled backwards as to avoid the arrows. Lagi's partner did the same. The arrows plunged harmlessly into the horse, and Lans made a flicking motion with his wrist. He didn't care for the dark, red liquid that was running down the blade of his weapon, towards the hilt. He sheathed his sword, and helped carry the body into the woods.

Lans crouched down again, getting anxious once again. He counted to forty-five in his head, and no guard appeared. He counted for another forty-five seconds, and still no guard. He was relieved that the sly tricks of the operation were soon over, and he could draw his blade against an enemy's. He sent a man from his side of the thicket up to call the archers, and stood up.

When the archers were down with the rest of the group once again, Lans went over phase two briefly with them. "I hope you all are ready for this," he began, "because this is a matter of life and death. We don't know exactly how many enemy targets we have, but the current estimate is roughly thirty. It is also rumored that Seth Vidar is there." With the name of Seth Vidar came gasps and hushed murmurs.

Seth Vidar was feared by all men who walked the Earth for his combat skill. He had worked his way up the Mallintirian army, rising to the rank of General in just a short two years. Over the past five years he had led many successful campaigns against Kurtak, a country that bordered Mallintire on the north. Kurtak was home to the vicious race of the Tier, a demi-human race with superior intelligence and weaponry. The Tier were a concern to all humans.

"Seth Vidar!" one of the men burst out. "We're dead! We've no chance against his superior skill with a sword! Haven't you heard the tale of how he single-handedly held off five Tier at once!? We're doomed..."

"Quiet down, soldier! You've come too far to go back now. And besides, you obviously don't remember what phase two is, or else you wouldn't be so worried." Lans smirked, and continued. "The archers will split up, and surround nearly all of Dragil. They will leave the east to those of us on foot... The archers will throw their grappling hooks up at the wall, and scale it, once they hear our war cry. They will then offer cover fire from the city walls, while those of us on foot raid the fort, or town, or whatever you want to call it now."

The nervous soldier sighed, and drew his blade. "Well, let's just hope that either an arrow slays Seth today, or he isn't there." The man bowed to Lans, and awaited his orders obediently. It was Zenerthin custom to bow to someone you meant to apologize to.

"Seth shouldn't be a concern of yours. I shall take him on myself. All right men," Lans continued in a hushed voice, "Move out!" The group of men crouched as low as they could in the thickets, and began a slow march towards the eastern end of Dragil.

The unit would stop and lie down in the thicket periodically, to avoid any prying eyes that might be looking for them. As they slowly progressed around the wall, the archers gradually split off from the group and waited near the cold stone of Dragil's seven foot barrier. Soon enough, the only men accompanying Lans were armed with melee weapons.

Lans grew tenser with each step. Sweat oozed from every last pore on his body, and each footstep he made sounded like a smith taking a hammer to an anvil. It was a very nerve-racking experience, especially knowing that he might have to take on the famed and feared Seth Vidar. Lans went over a few of the stories, which he had heard from various sources, in his head.

Seth Vidar belonged to a group of three elite Mallintirian military officials, commonly referred to as the Tribunal. Seth was the leader of sorts, having more recognition for his combat skills as well as his tactical genius. John Rankor was Seth's right hand man who aided and assisted where and when he was needed. Not much was known of the relationship between Seth and John, though it had been rumored that they were the closest of friends. Last, yet certainly not least, was the man known only by his first name; Raine. He was often called Left Crimson, because that's how he left his opponents; bloodied and defeated.

Stories of Seth's deeds spread like an uncontrolled fire in a dry forest. They couldn't be stopped until everyone had been consumed by the story, or until something even more amazing happened. His first real heroic and famous deed came from a time when he was still a cadet. Seth was nearly twenty at the time. Escaping from the Kurtish border, he was ambushed by a renegade unit of four Tier. Seth had no chance of escape, for he knew that in his state he would never be able to outrun them. He drew his katana (which he has carried ever since this incident twenty-three years ago) and slashed at the group. They backed off, giving him a chance to attack them one by one. He arrived at Melice, the capital of Mallintire, covered in his own crimson blood with major cuts to his head. He passed out before they could get him to a doctor.

Another brave story of his comes from a time when he was a captain. Though the exact date is forgotten, the incident occurred fifteen years ago. He was leading a unit of five (including himself) into enemy territory for an intelligence gathering mission. A Tier scouting group of fifteen spotted them and attacked. Seth and his unit were outnumbered three to one, and his men were mortally afraid. He held up his katana, yelled a triumphant war cry, and charged towards the group. His men followed their valiant leader, and defeated the enemy unit with two men suffering major injuries. It was a huge victory for Seth, and was one of the key steps to him becoming a general.

Lans quickly snapped back into reality. He didn't want to intimidate himself by merely recalling tales of his adversary. His unit had reached the Eastern Gate anyway, and the second phase of their plan was upon them. Lans glanced at the blade in his hand, surprised to see his fist quivering with fear and nervousness. 'Now's not the time...' he reminded himself. It didn't help. He glanced at the Eastern Entrance as well.

The eastern wall was nearly ten feet tall, clearly larger than the rest of the wall. There was a seven foot high opening in it, about three feet wide, which was barred with a steal gate. The gate was rather flimsy and weak, as it was one of the last features to be installed in the fortress city. A few hefty ax blows, while no where near silent, were more than enough to take it down. A rather thin person might be able to slip in between the vertical bars, as there was about six inches between each bar. Lans considered his options carefully.

If he were to have an ax taken to the gate, all of Dragil would be sent to the Eastern Entrance in a flash. He would have to sound the war cry before they entered the town, but that could prove ill as well. Lans could also have his unit sneak in one by one, but that would take far too long. Suddenly, he got an idea.

He would later admit it wasn't the best idea he ever had, but it was certainly good for the limited options he had. He decided to have two men sneak in through the gap in the gate. They would sound the war cry once they were far enough away from the gate, and the archers could climb up. After the war cry sounded, and the guards were distracted, Lans would have his ax men take down the gate in a simultaneous blow to it.

Lans Lagi gathered his men together. In a rushed and hoarse, yet quiet voice, he spoke to them. "There's been a slight change in plan. Kazas and Robert," he eyed Robert with a disapproving look, "I want you to sneak in through the gap in the gate. Get as far away from the gate as you can, but keep a safe distance from the guards. Sound the war cry, and we'll back you up. Got it?" Robert and the other man nodded, and put their hands to their weapons.

"Good. Get on it." Lans lifted his arm in the air, and made a waving motion with his hand. The motion meant for everyone to get ready. Two men with large axes went to either side of the gate, while the others lined up behind it. Two large men with axes were in the front. The would be the ones who would take the gate down after the cry was sounded. Everyone crouched in the thicket. So silent were they that Lans could hear his own head throbbing with nervous anticipation.

The brave soldiers stepped up next to the gate. The men exchanged nervous glances, and looked upon the gate once more. Robert took a large breath, while Kazas scratched his head. They looked and each other again, and Robert began to count. "One... two... three."

Both of the Zenerthians ducked through the gaps in the gate. They found it easier than they anticipated, or so it seemed to Lans. Lans began to count in his head, waiting until he heard the war cry. 'Ten... eleven... twelve...' He began to get nervous. 'twenty-one... twenty-two.... twenty-three....' He was hotter than he'd ever been before. 'What could take them so long?'

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard the piercing cry. It was more gibberish than anything else, but it served its purpose. The two hefty men in the front jumped up, and rushed the gate. They swung their axes with such force that the gate was dented and nearly ready to be kicked out after the first blow. One more demolishing swing from each caused the bottom portion of the gate to fall to the ground in a clanging, echoing racket.

By that time all Lans could hear were the shouts of the men inside the fortress city. Two by two his men quickly filed into the town. Two minutes had passed since Robert and Kazas had first crawled through the gate.

Rising quickly to his feet, Lans could see the distant western end of the town. He quickly estimated around forty enemy targets to his twenty-one allies. They outnumbered his unit nearly two to one, counting archers. Counting infantry, they outnumbered his unit nearly four to one. It wasn't going to be a pretty battle.

The worried captain took a moment to survey his surroundings. The archers, atop the wall, seemed to be at a great advantage. There were two each for the Northern, Western, and Southern walls. The rest of the bowmen were spaced out along sections of the wall, and already they had slain three men. The archers were well protected, despite their lack of armor. There wasn't a single bow-man that Lans could see in the enemy ranks.

The fighting had already started, Lans could see his two hefty men with their notched axes square off against three fairly large enemies with short swords. The enemy force was concentrated in the wide center of the town, for easier maneuverability, but this made them easy pickings for a skilled archer. They were slowly advancing towards the Eastern gate, meeting little resistance except from the archers and a few of Lans' most skilled warriors. Every one of his enemies wore a helmet, but probably didn't have time to throw on chest protection, as most of them lacked any kind of body armor. However, a man in the center of the fighting was better prepared.

The man was covered head to toe in golden-bronze armor that shone brilliantly in the morning sun, with a swirling, crimson cape to complete the outfit. On the man's shield was an insignia, or design. Though hard to make out from this distance, it appeared to be some kind of diamond. An insignia, he decided, for he saw the same design emblazoned on the man's cape as well. The shield was circular, roughly four feet in diameter, and crafted from a fine, silvery metal. The man's helmet was very Corinthian, covering all but his lower face and eyes. His sword was a sight to behold. It was curved ever so slightly, hinting at a crescent. The blade was smooth, thin, and very sharp. It gleamed in the morning's golden rays, blinding Lans with its brilliance temporarily. It was a deadly weapon held in expert hands.

Lans watched in awe as one of his soldiers squared off against the man clad in gold. There appeared to be a gap between the man's chest plate and his greaves, so Lans' soldier made a piercing strike towards it. The man spun to one side gracefully, while twirling the weapon in his hands about in a circular motion. The blur effect made the weapon look like a shield at the man's arm. As he completed his quick spin, he stepped forward with his right foot while grasping the hilt of his weapon with both hands, so that the blade guard was below his fists. As his right foot hit the ground, he drove his weapon straight through the Zenerthian's chest, pushing the blade all the way out of the man's lower back. The lifeless lump slouched to its knees, still in an upright position due to the blade.