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Kellehendros -> The Rise of Domrius (10/27/2014 20:18:35)
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He stood on the rise and watched the ranks of men as they marched by his position. Light rippled off spearpoints, glittered over spiked helms, flashed on breastplates and greaves. A crimson cape fluttered away from his shoulders, lifted by the breeze that tugged and teased. The wind played with the banner next to him as well, flapping the hem of the long cloth hanging from the tall pike thrust into the earth. Upon the standard was a crimson lion rampant on an argent field. The Lion of Alquen almost seemed to dance upon the breeze, rippling and prancing in the wind as the armored man watched the troops marching past him.
The first ranks were pivoting, lines splitting and folding outward, breaking out into units and squads to begin setting up the camp that would serve as their base of operations and main supply depot for the coming days. He watched in silence, brown eyes not straying from the sight as he was joined by another man. The pair made a study of contrasts. The first was of average height, but his well-formed stature was covered by a second skin of steel armor. Breastplate, pauldrons, vambraces, and even his solid boots showed dents and scarring from prior conflicts, but each also showed diligent care and maintenance. A sword hung from his waist in a battered leather scabbard, and a crested helm with an open face was couched under one arm as the red fabric of his cape flowed out behind him. Muddy brown eyes matched the stubble of cropped hair upon his head, and the eyes moved methodically across the scene, taking in each sight for a moment before moving on.
His companion was tall, almost gangling, a slender sort one might be forgiven for expecting to topple over in an unexpected gust of wind. He was clad in simple, if well fashioned, garments of cloth. Breeches, soft leather boots, and a belted tunic covered with a long vest, set the man apart from the soldiers about him. The differences gave him the air of a scholar, or perhaps the servant of a noble. His hair was long, a blond so blinding that for all intents and purposes it was white, and hung in a tidy sheet down to his shoulders. He was unarmed, bearing only a slender cane of some dark wood upon which he leaned, observing the same sights as the armored man. The second man’s eyes an unusual, mismatched set, one sapphire blue, one emerald green. Each orb sparked and glittered with intelligence, flitting over the scene seemingly at random, taking in a sight for a second or two before jumping and lingering on another squad or unit. “We've come a long way, Rapheel.” His voice was quiet, introspective. It was not, however, the voice of a servant. “In the end, will it be worth the price that we will pay?”
Rapheel shifted, his eyes not straying from the soldiers preparing the camp. “It is not my place to question our orders, sir.”
“Just here to see that the men follow orders, eh?” The second man smiled, shifting slightly. He shuffled the cane to his other hand, adjusting his stance. Now free, his right hand went unconsciously to his right leg, rubbing it gingerly. It was an old, habitual gesture, one Rapheel had seen a hundred times in their years of service together.
“Yes, sir.” The soldier paused for several long moments, and then continued without glancing at his companion. “You should talk to Rethra about your leg. I am sure she could find you something to ease the pain.”
The man shrugged in reply, continuing to work at the muscle. “I am sure that she could, but her concoctions make me sleepy and dull my focus. An ounce of discomfort is preferable to the alternatives.” He was silent for several seconds. “Tell me, have the scouts returned from the pass?”
“No, sir, but I expect them to be back shortly.”
“Very good.” Mismatched eyes glanced skyward briefly, squinting and evaluating the sky above them. “Send them to me once they return. I should be in my pavilion by then. The Marquess will be expecting a missive on our progress, and of late the Emperor has been leaning on him for results.”
“I will send them as soon as they return, milord.”
Snorting at the honorific, the unarmored man shook his head. “We've had this discussion before, Raph. Sir, if you must, but we've been together too long for you to be calling me that. Dom, or if that’s too informal for the crotchety old warhorse in you, Domrius, please.”
“You’re the commanding officer, sir.”
“Now you’re doing it to annoy me.”
The armored man smiled briefly. “Perhaps I am. Get some rest, sir, I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
It was early in the morning when the pair reconvened at the foot of the switchbacking trail that wound its way up the side of the mountain, eventually arriving at the Gripclaw Pass. Leaning on his cane, Domrius scowled up at the path silently, not looking forward to the trek that would be required to reach the summit.
Clad again in his armor and crimson cape, Rapheel looked from the men assembled behind the pair to Domrius, and then up the mountain as well. His voice was quiet. “I can have the men bring a palanquin for you.”
“Do I look like the Emperor to you?” Domrius returned swiftly, his voice even softer.
Rapheel covered a snort of reflexive laughter with a fake fit of coughing. “Dom, you can’t say things like that! I mean, Lords, if someone heard and word got back to the Imperium...”
Domrius nodded, his smile fading slightly. “I won’t let the men see me like that. Weak.”
“You don’t have to prove anything to them, Dom. The men know what you’re capable of.”
He glanced at Rapheel, the humor draining out of his expression. “And the levies from Vendret?” Domrius shook his head. “I’ll ride the horse, it will be sufficient.”
“As you wish, sir.” Rapheel responded, waving to one of the ostlers waiting nearby with his own horse. He glanced back to his friend and commander. “Why are you doing this?”
Domrius blinked, turning his mismatched gaze from its contemplation of the mountain, of the troops beginning to march up the trail, to the soldier. “We have orders, Raph. What are you talking about? We are doing this because of orders.”
Rapheel shook his head. “No, Dom, I mean this,” he motioned towards the mountain, “meeting with them. You know that they won’t yield. We will have to force the pass.”
“I know, Raph. I wish that wasn’t the case, even though I know it will be. Still, I’ll give them the choice.”
“And when they refuse?”
Domrius looked away from his friend, up, towards the mountains and the western kingdoms beyond. His voice was quiet, steady. “I’ll do what must be done.”
Enric Artos of Daret stood on the path that cut down the center of the pass, clad in his armor, the double-headed falcon of Daret upon his chest. He was alone, waiting. Glancing up at the sun, Enric judged the time to be about right. Behind him, perhaps a half-mile away, the army of the alliance was gathered. A quarter mile away, between him and the army, were the remaining allied commanders.
For one reason or another they had chosen him to speak with the Alquen representative when the invaders had come forward under a peace banner. Enric was not particularly pleased with the idea. The delay made him nervous. He understood that the alliance’s action in the Gripclaw pass could never be more than a delaying action, a fight to buy time for the alliance to gather the rest of its forces to face the threat. Yet, even as he watched there were more Alquen men marching up, forming into ranks as they waited for the parley to begin. Already the men gathered beneath Alquen’s bloody lion were half the number of the allied army well behind Daret’s commander. In half an hour they might be evenly matched, in a hour they would be outnumbered. He had known that the Alquen army was large, larger than the token defensive force cobbled together by the alliance, but it was one thing to know that, and another entirely to see the evidence as Alquen’s vanguard gathered beneath the crimson lion standard.
The hand that rested upon the hilt of his sword flexed slowly, and leather creaked in quiet protest. Two men walked out from the Alquen lines. Enric waited, watching as the pair came closer. One was armored, and the alliance commander naturally took him for the commander of the enemy force. He was accompanied but a taller man walking with a cane and a pronounced limp, a retainer or servant, perhaps an advisor. The Daret commander watched them approach, containing his anxiety and keeping his expression neutral as the pair slowly moved closer, reminding himself that every minute of delay was another minute for the alliance to prepare. When they finally reached him, the tall man grimacing and leaning on his staff, Enric spoke without preamble, his tone even as he addressed the armored man. “We agreed to one representative. I cannot help but notice that you are not alone.”
To Enric’s surprise, it was the tall man who replied, leaning on his cane and smiling slightly as he looked at Daret’s commander. “You will have to forgive Rapheel, my lord. He is very devoted to ensuring my survival,” he motioned with his free hand to himself, and his cane, “and as you can see, I am hardly an imposing figure.”
Enric frowned, crossing his arms over his chest and scowling at the man. “Who on earth are you?”
The man leaned on his cane, smiling in a manner that the allied commander found extremely annoying. “My name is Domrius, appointed commander of these men by the Silver Marquess, with the blessing of the Emperor, all glory to the Empire.” His tone was wry, with an undercurrent of amusement, as though the words were a joke that Enric couldn’t quite grasp. After a moment Domrius shifted, leaning on his cane, rubbing his right leg, and observing. “You’re from Daret.”
“We,” Enric riposted, placing particular emphasis on the pronoun,” are from Daret. We are from Je. We are from Thanisgard. We are from Asgeir. We are from the Oramus Collective. We are from Kulak. We are from Gilrade. We are the Alliance of the West, united against the tyranny of the so-called Alquen Empire. We will not bow to despots and demagogues. Begone from this place, or we will cast you down the mountain in ruin and disgrace.”
Domrius shifted fractionally, apparently unmoved by Enric’s passion, or his words. “Alquen marches behind me. You may hold this pass against me for days, weeks even, but in the end I will step over your bones. Your bravado is commendable, but this defiance is meaningless.”
“Defiance in the face of tyranny is never meaningless.” Enric smiled. “You will break your swords upon our armor, and for every man that falls you will lose a dozen of your own, I swear it. And in the end, even if you kill every man of us, you will be broken in the attempt, and what will you have then, hm?”
“Ten thousand men, give or take a few hundred.” Domrius sighed, looking past the allied commander, eyeing the groupings beyond him. “Are you sure that you will not turn from this course?”
Enric blinked, momentarily staggered by the man’s words, the simple, matter-of-fact style of his reply. “That’s impossible. The Empire can’t field such a force, not with the rebellions in the southern provinces.” Daret’s commander shook his head. “You’re bluffing, and even if you are not, we will not stand aside, we will not surrender.”
Domrius shifted, turning his mismatched eyes to Enric, his voice cold. “So be it. We are finished here. Inform your compatriots that my men will attack in two hours time.” Gesturing with his cane, the tall man turned, beginning to hobble back towards his own lines. “Come Raph, there are dispositions to make.”
Waiting long enough to see Domrius’ armored companion turn and move back towards Alquen’s lines, Enric pivoted and hurried back to where the the allied commanders waited, his visage strained. “My lords,” he began, reaching the waiting alliance leaders, “Alquen’s forces are led by a man by the name of Domrius. I have heard some things of this man, but that is a matter for another time. His words seem to imply that the Empire has crushed the southern rebellions. If that is true… We are facing much higher odds than we had anticipated. Domrius has said that his forces will attack in two hours time. Return to your men and begin your preparations. We reconvene in an hour to finalize our plans. I expect you will bring your best strategies.”
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