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Von Solon: A castaway from a spaceship that crashed on the planet Haven. A lone survivor who finds himself spread thin due to numerous relationships and duties. He established the town of Juniper Hills on the southern coast of the continent, hidden away in the Greater Marsh, which is isolated from most of civilization on that continent.

Heraldsburg: The southernmost county of the Kingdom of Amar, on the east coast of the continent.

Noreburg: The county to the northeast of Heraldsburg. Lord Saye is the appointed governor, a puppet of the King’s Herald (Spymaster).

Princess Wyrd Chaney-Solon: Von’s royal wife. One of the daughters of the former King of Amar. A banner with a white flower on a black field is the princess’s heraldic symbol.

Captain Minetos: the loyal half-brother to Wyrd and the Captain of her militia.

Conquest Point: A major port city aligned with Von Solon, Juniper Hills and Heraldsburg. A center for mercenary companies and commerce.

Sir Vytorin: Mercenary captain of the Iron Regiment.

Hajin: A famous mercenary company Captain who befriended Von Solon. He runs Lady Derwen’s training company on The Ilse of Convey.

Corporal Zetia: bodyguard and lover to Von (she was formerly a mercenary associated with Hajin).

“Before Von Solon shaped a new political equation in the Kingdom of Amara, the economic center of gravity was in the North Plains. After the civil war, he imprinted the Southern Coast as the geographic cradle of the new empire.”

-The Castaway’s Triumph by Lord Webster

Her strike was deflected by my shield but had enough power to force me back. Cheers from the men around us encouraged her. “Enough, soon you’ll give me bruises!”

“Yes, Lord Solon,” Zetia answered in a mocking tone, as we sheathed our swords. This made the assembled warriors laugh and cheer again.

Our morning warm-up routine was a favorite activity for the armsmen that traveled with us. They liked to see the Lord Wolf taken down a notch by his chief bodyguard. That is Wolves for you, I thought.

Zetia and I bowed to each other, and then my lover threw herself into my arms for a kiss; unfortunately, she did not linger, given the audience.

A deep voice behind me grunted, “Hope he doesn’t expect a kiss from me next time we spar.”

“Enough of that,” Sergeant Mercer bellowed, ending a chorus of snickers. “You lot, go back to finishing your own morning warm-up. Corporal Zetia, ma’am your magic mirror is pinging.”

“Oh,” she squealed. All the warriors wearing wolf headgear froze in place. The mercenaries with us paused, not understanding the implication but following my troop’s lead.

Zetia ran to her travel pack that was nearby on the ground, and then she tapped on the attached communication tablet. Her face grew serious at the message. I knew it was time. Simply put, the enemy host had arrived.

“Lord Solon,” Zetia announced formally, “The Herald’s forces have crossed the border and they are burning the first few farms. The Noreburgers are on our land.”

“Satellite cameras are wonderful,” I thought.

“Milord, a good thing you evicted those farmers,” Sergeant Mercer commented with a sobered mood. The young man chased after my approval at almost every opportunity. He was a fine specimen of lean muscle but still young and new to combat. He continued, “I’m sure they will be happy they took their livestock with them.”

I patted his back and added a warm smile. The truth was the farmers were sullen and had dragged their feet when the provincial militia ordered them back towards Heraldsburg, even though the local hero from the Battle of Bloody Sands, Captain Minetos, personally delivered the message upon his sovereign’s orders. Now he was with my wife, Princess Wyrd Chaney-Solon, and the three regiments that blocked passage across a key river northwest of our position. Our job was to face the other attacking elements that intended on sweeping behind my wife’s own army. I had other resources working on other urgent projects, so I was without a few of my favorite personal companions.

Mercer wiped his brow from the sweat of his own workout. The early morning chill was not unpleasant, but nature reminded us who was boss.

The men and I walked to the crest of the hill, where our sole flag was planted; a banner with a white flower on a black field, which was the princess’s heraldic symbol. The breeze was slight and the sky clear. Smoke on the horizon climbed high enough for us to see.

“Shortly, they’re going to be in for a surprise,” Mercer mused. “We are back far enough from the frontier for them to believe no one is here to stop them.”

“It’s a shame for the farmers to suffer,” Zetia added, walking up behind us, with her backpack on.

“We have a good plan,” I answered. One of the Wolves walked over with my horse, giving me the reins, and then presented Zetia with hers.

“Yes, I know we needed a bottleneck and a strategic place to commit our blocking force for the princess,” Zetia responded. “I just hate to see senseless violence put upon on peasants.”

“My men will deal out our rage to those invaders,” Mercer said.

“Of course, our Wolves will take up your pleasure too,” Zetia said with a shared grin. The Wolves were hand-picked warriors that had extensive training; they were essentially our special forces unit.

Looking at the sun, I answered, “If the enemy hurries, their infantry can get to the crossroads as the sun peaks. There is no need to hide from their scouts any longer. Tell the horse troopers to mount up, and dispatch them to the crossroads. Keep their scouts at bay; it will slow the main army’s advance. We will follow with haste. Also, tell our supply wagons to make for the crossroads.”

On cue, Mercer ran back to the mercenary captain with his orders. Sir Vytorin would surely tell his lieutenants to form up his infantry too. The Wolves didn’t need orders. They knew my will and my mind; they ran to their packs and gathered up in march order. Each man was equipped with a heavy leather tunic, short sword, and either a crossbow or musket. There wasn’t a more highly trained, quick response unit anywhere, other than the mule mounted Wolf unit we had left in Heraldsburg to guard my children there.

Thirty mounted men-at-arms on warhorses rode down the hill, quickly overtaking our foot troops. The Princess had paid an exorbitant price to hire the band to police her trade road to Conquest Point, the only independent City-State on the continent. When her father died and his kingdom collapsed into civil war, we were glad for the relationship with the City-State. Of course, Wyrd had to pay even more for those experienced mercenaries to establish a horse-mounted contingent for her army. It is one thing to patrol a trade route against bandits and another to fight a war. We wanted more horsemen, but it was much cheaper to hire the Iron Regiment, a mercenary infantry band with 125 members, to supplement her province’s limited armed forces. With the addition of my highly-trained specialists, I had no doubt we could best the army raiding the outskirts of Heraldsburg.

I worried about the faction fighting my wife. If they sent their professional fighting units this far south we would have to take more serious measures. At present, we were a sideshow compared to the main fighting among her family in the Northern Plains. There were quite a few of Wyrd’s siblings engaged in fighting each other for power, along with the old king’s forces under the Herald. Each faction wants to seat a king, I thought. We just want our independence, and I don’t mind killing to defend what is ours.

Riding along I mused on war and politics while the sun reached for its zenith until we came in sight of the crossroads. An abandoned inn sat on the corner of the crossroads. The building had been lost on a dark night. A warning to Wyrd that nothing was safe if she didn’t submit to Lord Saye, the governor of the province to the northeast. The burnt-out building was located where three trade routes connected. Wyrd’s army stood miles away, in the northwest corner of her land, behind a stone bridge that controlled the approaches to this crossroads. Our forces barred the way for the Noreburg raiders to approach Heraldsburg or Wyrd’s command. Shoulder-high walls surrounded the inn, which would serve as a defensive site for my infantry reserve. In more prosperous years, the property had been a minor nobleman’s villa. East of the crossroads, high hedgerows made it impossible for an army to flank us without great effort and a lot of time. Generations ago farmers had planted the thick hedges to mark the boundaries of their land. West of the crossroads, the villa’s former owner had constructed waist-high walls to border his open pastureland, beyond that a rugged gorge with steep rocky walls and a fast running stream blocked passage to the hostile invaders. The narrow, steep-sided gorge ran all the way to the river.

On a hill in the distance, our horsemen were chasing off the enemy’s mounted scouts, so their vanguard was likely just behind them, beyond the curve in the road. I watched the pursuit while keeping an eye on our infantry deploying according to our plan. Zetia dismounted and stood with our 25 musket men at the center of the crossroads, waiting for our men-at-arms to return. Our 50 pikemen stood behind those Wolves. The long thrusting spears were the best weapon for our least experienced men. They were trained to move in a tight formation and to ground their Polearms in a deliberate defensive manner. Most of them were second or third sons of merchant families, reservists in the militia that trained only one weekend a month. If positioned right, the pike formation was essentially immune to the attacks of mounted men-at-arms. However, they were unwieldy, and the tightly packed nature of their formation rendered them vulnerable to archers and crossbowmen; especially, with their inadequate armor. These pikemen only had a bronze helmet and a leather coat.

The banner unit with them didn’t even have a helmet; the dozen retired veterans were former royal guards from the constabulary. All of them knew how to use a sword but they were all policemen. I didn’t expect any real fighting from the older men, other than to protect our flag and the female healers we had. They were most useful to me for the encouragement and mental steel they gave the impressionable pikemen.

Fortunately, we had crossbows and muskets to protect our most inexperienced fighters. By keeping our élite unit next to our green unit, I hoped to keep our line in control.

Our Wolf crossbowmen moved to the inn’s wall-walkway that overlooked the road that the enemy had to use to get at us. I dismounted and walked among my comrades greeting them by name, joking with them for a while, before returning to the crossroads.

The bulk of our force were mercenary footmen that moved with discipline to establish our west flank. They protected the wall looking over the pasture. Good placement to command the entire field, I thought.

Before long, a cacophony of noise announced the return of our mounted men. Sir Vytorin drew his sword high in salute as his horse pranced around; he guided his men to our rear. A cluster of the riders had blood splattered on their gear. The men looked in good spirits, but their horses were lathered. After the horse troop had filed behind us, the jingle of a harness alerted me to the captain’s arrival at my side.

“Lord Solon.” He stared down at me from his horse with a grin. I noticed a gash on his boot from his exchange with the enemy. He saw my eyes. “Good leather, I still have all my toes.”

I saluted him, putting my fist over my heart. “It went well?”

“I lost a man, but we put down a dozen and bloodied more. The scouts got away on their lighter horses; however, their mounted infantry didn’t fare well.” He laughed, “They were on nags that can hardly carry their weight. We scattered the lot. I doubt they will return to the battle. Of course, their army still has its well-horsed nobles and men-at-arms.”

“I’m not too concerned about Lord Saye and his lackeys, even if they are armored and mounted well,” I responded.

“In fairness, we saw them. There were five times as many of them as my lads. They had fresh horses, so we retired before them. I am sure they will claim they drove us off.”

“I am sure they will,” I commented. “No matter, we know the truth. For some reason, most of their horse troopers are at the back of their column. Only the command staff is at the front. You bloodied their men, removed one of their units from play, and came off the field with your heads held high.”

The captain’s horse stamped its foot impatiently. “Thank you. I still can’t get over how you know these things.”

“Magic.”

He laughed. “By your leave, Milord.”

I waved him away, so he could water and care for his horse, and then I wandered over to Sergeant Mercer’s command. They were still at attention. The musketeers had drifted from their post since our horsemen’s return without the enemy in pursuit.

“Mercer, your pikemen look in good form.” Most of them looked between 18 and 21 years old.

“They are ready, Milord.” His detachment didn’t look eager. They were young and inexperienced, facing their first battle. The pikeman next to Mercer was sweating and his eyes contained concern.

“Boys, all is going to plan. I hope not to disappoint you, but I think the real action will be over there.” I pointed to the professional foot soldiers, who relaxed by the west road wall. Many of the mercenaries were joking around with each other, not even looking in the direction of the enemy. They wore a mixture of chainmail and leather armor. The unit was well equipped with long swords and kite shields. I knew this small militia unit was impressed with them.

Mercer could tell I was purposely trying to cheer his lads up. “Don’t worry, Milord. We will do our duty and keep our families safe.”

“Not worried in the least, Mercer,” I lied. I wet my dry lips. The bright yellow ball in the blue sky reminded me to feed and water the pikemen. Again, the experienced warriors needed no guidance about preparing for battle. I continued, “Best have your men rest their pikes while they can. Grab some cold tack and have them take care of their personal needs. We likely have an hour before the enemy infantry push close enough for us to care. When you reform, place the second squad inside the inn courtyard as our reserve. Our banner’s honor guard will plant our flag on the east side of the road; send any wounded over there.”

“You heard his lordship, take a fifteen-minute break,” the young sergeant commanded. The militia quickly broke ranks.

I saw Zetia on her tablet consulting the latest imagery from our spy in the sky. It was her job to keep me informed of any important news. I had too much to juggle without reviewing our latest satellite imagery every half-hour. The thing with medieval warfare was the strategic picture rarely moved quickly. I knew when I awoke this morning that Lord Saye was going to have a terrible day. I just wasn’t sure what our final bill was going to be.

Taking my advice, I sat on a wall with Zetia. She put away the tablet. We both pulled out a ration bar and shared my canteen.

“You’re right on the timing. Their mounted infantry fled the field but Lord Saye is still pushing his infantry forward.” She looked around to see if anyone was listening to us. Satisfied, she went on, “We are putting a lot of faith in these mercenaries for hire.”

I hugged her close. “They have the same grade A reputation that your former company had. You have to let go of this inter-company rivalry crap.”

“Hajin trained the best. These guys seem solid, but we are essentially unsupported without them.”

I patted my laser pistol. “I’ve got this and a fast horse.”

She pushed me away, eyes darkening. “You’d never abandon the Wolves.”

“No, no, I would not.”

She scooted her butt back over and kissed me. “And I wouldn’t run without you. Joking aside, we might have trouble with the weather later this afternoon. That weather front is moving faster than predicted.”

“That sucks,” I commented, “Nothing we can do about it.”

We settled in and waited in silence. Weather was a factor that added an unwanted amount of danger for us. We had another battle to get to after this one. As the sun passed its zenith some clouds began to roll in, foretelling a weather change.

When the enemy marched into sight, our men watched with casual curiosity like one would watch an overturned anthill. The enemy column descended the far hill, and then followed the snaking country road towards us. The tight lane constricted their movement to four or five men abreast. Ahead of them, a troop of light horse scouted the way. We did not oppose them. We watched the scouts spread out assessing the terrain around them, finding various gates into abandoned farms, farm fields, and pasturelands. Often, they would navigate across knolls on the east side of our position and disappear. We already knew none of the gates on that side of the road connected to our location. The scouts would find that out once they hit the many hedgerows. For we knew that the access points to those fields was localized to a farm track that doubled back to toward the hill area they just came from.

To the left of my position, the rolling pastureland was more visible and reasonably accessible with farm gates strategically located for farmers to transfer animals from one field to another. As the scouts opened gates and surveyed the land with keen eyes, they pressed forward. Not the most favorable conditions to deploy an army, yet it was doable with enough time. We gave them that unmolested time. I wanted this battle. If we were lucky, after ending Lord Saye’s threat, our forces could slide over to Wyrd’s location and take the fight to the enemy. Her siblings and the Herald’s forces were going to regret taking up arms against my family.

With no real choice, Lord Saye moved most of his infantry to oppose our left flank with a bit of cavalry support. After their infantry spread out across the field, his command staff trotted into the far side of the grazing field, which was beyond archery range. On their fine Chargers, the nobles looked their part. The sun glinted off their steel breastplates as well as their highly polished helmets; raised lance streamers snapped in the wind. Their arms and shoulders were fully protected. Add the armored gauntlets and you could appreciate the protection difference between a knight and a lowly man-at-arms.

“They are very pretty,” I commented from the back of my horse.

Zetia snorted in disgust from her steed. “With a waist-high wall in front of us and them in heavy armor, those horses will be useless.”

“True, this is no fox hunt where they can jump the wall. Yet, you must admit the pomp and circumstance will impress their men. Most of them are farmers and tradesmen. The cost of that steel armor is beyond the common man’s comprehension.”

“Sure, sure. Good loot,” Zetia remarked, which made Sergeant Mercer laugh. A few of the pikemen seemed to agree from the mumbled conversations we overhead. Mercer’s command blocked the center of the crossroads in a block of men five deep. Our musketeers were in front of them, spread out in a single line, so most of them were behind a stone wall. The wolves were trained to fire their weapons both from a kneeling position or standing. However, the reload was faster when standing.

I nudged my horse and walked him down the long line of the Iron Regiment that were on the road facing our enemy. The men-at-arms were only two deep. Zetia and I dodged around a few squads of men their commander had held back to act as a fire brigade to blanket any enemy breakthroughs.

“Okay Von, their captain knows his business,” Zetia admitted. “The enemy is massing their pikemen on the crossroads side of the field and their swordsmen further left. Do you think they will push the road to try and support that attack from the field?”

I smiled. “I expect so. Don’t you just feel sorry for them?”

“Not really. Their numbers could be telling.”

We found Sir Vytorin and conferred with him. He was happy the enemy was conforming to our plan. “They put their most experienced along their main axis of attack. It is obvious they want to push us back from the intersection of the roads with the pikemen, first,” Sir Vytorin confirmed, as his banter trailed off to more tactical details. “Lord Solon, what few crossbowmen and archers they have are at the furthest part of their line.”

“Most likely to firm up their less experienced swordsmen. Have you noticed those swordsmen have short swords, throwing spears, and only small round shields? They are like our Wolves. Light infantry,” I commented.

“Yes, perhaps they hope to use them to exploit any breaks in our line. Lord Saye is a rather unknown element. His province isn’t a possession that has gone to war before. No border clashes that I know of.”

“I’m most interested to see how he handles his horse troops,” I said, interrupting the Captain.

“Look, I think they are starting,” Zetia said pointing back at the center road. “A pike unit started to advance on the road.” A smile crept across her face.

I saluted Sir Vytorin and spurred my horse back to the crossroads. The men-at-arms pressed forward to the wall in their assigned positions, giving us room to trot. Our rest period was over.

Surprisingly, at the other end of the pasture, the Noreburgers opened a side gate to the road. It was only wide enough for a small horse or pony. Three scouts walked their horses through the narrow gate and mounted them again in front of the yellow coated pike unit. One of them put a white sheet on a lance and trotted forward with the other two witnesses for a parley.

“Didn’t expect that,” Zetia mumbled.

Both of us kicked our horses forward and our musketeers opened a way for us. I checked that my pistol strap was unbuttoned. Treachery was less likely from a common soldier bringing a message for his lord, but it happens.

We halted beyond the range of the lancers. An impeccably dressed man on the second horse walked his steed to up to the flag bearer. A dandy rather than a scout. An aristocrat that placed particular importance upon his appearance. I am sure we were looking at the latest traveling fashion from Noreburg, I thought.

The middle-aged noble took out a handkerchief to clear his nose. After blowing hard he addressed us.

“I am the voice of my master, Lord Saye, governor of Noreburg. Lord Saye is the appointed Lord Protector for the South by the King’s Herald. Upon his word, you shall stand aside and let us pass.” He pointed at the pikemen to my rear. Frustrated at my non-response, he continued, “The Count of Bedford is en route to reinforce us. We will collect the pretender princess that thwarts the Herald’s will. You mercenaries will be paid by the crown to avoid any regrettable conflict.” He made no mention of the recent bloody contact with our mounted men.

“Sadly, you oversimplify this matter. Tell your commander to do his worst,” I replied dismissively. He didn’t tell me who he was, so I failed to mention my name.

Scandalized the noble added, “We have able men who are well-armed and exercised. Simply put, you have no concept of how weak your position is. The crown will not be deterred.”

Zetia leaned over her horse’s head to stir the pot. “My Lord Wolf has spoken. We see unsheathed swords shown in the name of your petty lord. Your battle hymn is to reshape your border. Not for the good of the country. There is no crown. Indeed, a princess ranks higher than any minor noble.”

The man threw his handkerchief down with a severe look. “You will join the dust of this ground.” He pulled his horse backward, and then turned it away. The other two riders waited a moment more to see how we would react. I believe they recognized my nickname. Seeing no attack, they turned and followed their negotiator.

“Well, let’s get away from here,” I said turning my own steed. We trotted back behind our lines.

Once the dandy and his escort got through the side gate, they quickly made their way to the enemy command group. Signal flags waved and a horn sounded. Other distant horns answered, and then the enemy pikemen began steady strides towards us. On the road, a yellow coated man carrying a banner that had a yellow field and a red rose on it led the way. With him, drummers beat a rhythmic march pace.

I handed my reins to Zetia and dismounted behind the Wolves. Drawing my sword, I waved it above my head. “Right men, some dandy and his master don’t like us resting here.” A few men laughed and waited for me to continue. “I say we rather like this inn’s location, and someday in the future we will hang our trophies from this day inside her, and then drink to this glorious day.” The Wolves cheered. Both those hanging over the Inn’s courtyard wall and the men blocking the crossroads. “I say we call it Banner’s Rest!” Our pikemen joined in the cheer this time. Down the line the mercenaries waved their swords in defiance to the Noreburger’s approach. Their entire Noreburg line had started to quicken their pace during my speech.

Zetia moved our horses out-of-the-way but stayed close by.

“Sergeant Mercer, ground pikes.” He repeated the command. For the briefest moment, I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one got overexcited and impaled me. I give the men behind me a reassuring smile, feeling relieved I was just far enough forward not to get poked. The enemy pikemen advanced on us with timed strides, a respectable performance for a militia. Once they reached our extreme range, I decided to introduce them to a bit of wizard’s magic. The first use of gunpowder in open conflict. “Wolves, present arms!” Muskets butts lifted off the ground. “Prime and make ready!” After waiting for a ten count, I ordered, “Shoulder arms”. They dressed their loaded weapon back to their shoulder. “Set.” They aimed down the road. “Fire.”

A rolling grey smoke appeared down the musket line as cracks of shots exploded in front of me. I never got tired of seeing the exercise. Yet, it saddens me to see them take life, which was the true cost of warfare.

The enemy bannerman and his drummers fell, as well as a few yellow coated pikemen. However, the formation didn’t waver at the handful of wounded and dying men. They marched on. A brave man grabbed the fallen yellow banner and waved it to encourage his friends forward.

“Quickly now,” I shouted. “Recover. Load. It doesn’t need to be pretty, get it done.” The Wolves quickly reloaded, first a measure of powder, then a ball of lead wrapped in a leather patch, finishing by ramming everything down with a ramrod. Finally, a charge of fine powder was poured into the pan and the frizzed closed “Make ready.” Looking again, I saw the pikemen had entered a more effective, but still long-range. In the pasture there were even a few dead blue-coated pikemen of the other regiment. “Set.” The well-practiced Wolves cocked their muskets. “Fire.” Another wave of smoke appeared, adding to the hanging cloud in front of us.

Yet, we could see their entire front line dropped dead on the road, with wounded in the next row dropping their pikes. The enemy didn’t falter, making me wonder if these men were more than a militia. They were certainly better armored than our pikemen. Not a surprise since the regiment to our front wasn’t made up of reservists like mine. The enemy pikemen carried a long spear with a serrated blade. Their bronze breastplate, open-faced helmet, dagger, and greaves, marked them as a light infantryman. It was the royal army that had heavier armored infantry. Nevertheless, the steadiness of the morale of our foe disturbed me with each additional volley. They’d never seen muskets before, but the brave men continued their advance.

All my thoughts were compressed in those few seconds before ordering, “Fire at will.” Like robots on an assembly line, our Wolves focused on the task at hand. Each man moved in an economical motion to complete each step of his task. Shots were fired in clusters spewing more gray smoke. More yellow cuffed pikemen dropped. Holes in their formation appeared. It was not difficult to hit men on the tightly packed road. In the field, just as many pikemen were hit. Of course, they were in a wide line not a column, so our fire was less concentrated as on the road.

The attackers on the road faulted. Their body count littered the hard-packed dirt, disrupting the deep rows of men behind the enemy vanguard. Pike formations depended on formation fighting much more than swordsmen. Their regiment was accustomed shoulder-to-shoulder maneuvers, now every third man died in the front four ranks. The normal filling in the “dead” spots had stopped as the column wavered.

“You have them,” Zetia shouted. “Keep at them, men!” She still sat on her horse with my steed’s reins firmly in her grip.

The advance in the field pressed on. The depth of their formation supplied fresh bodies as holes in the lines appeared from the work of our musketeers. Those Wolves behind the stone wall had kneeled to better aim their muskets, giving them higher accuracy but slowing their rate of fire. The mercenaries to the left of our firing line banged their swords on their shields, encouraging the other enemy pike regiments to give them their best. The comfort of a pile of rocks in front of you had a certain quality that kept the mercenary’s unit’s morale up to hold the line.