The Vanguard
For glory and gain we ride, for king and Monarch we die.
As Fall finished up the stitches, Haesteinn swung his arm round a few times to test the stitches. They were fine. Not good, or bad, but just fine.
“Fucking brigands.. thanks.. uh...” He mumbled as he looked upon the woman, clearly not knowing her name. It was a way to ask her name, in a more informal sense anyhow. As soon as she'd introduced herself he'd extend his arm towards the fire.
“Feel free to stay.” he said as he got up and looked around the camp from the entrance to their little tent circle. It'd been barely a few days and there was already a community forming. In the distance he made out a figure being accompanied by a younger ensign. For a brief moment they exchanged gazes, before the man disappeared from view. When Haesteinn was about to turn back, a messenger suddenly appeared. He handed Haesteinn a letter, to which Haesteinn pushed the letter back into his hands.
“Not everyone can read.” he sneered at the man.
The messenger apologized quickly and guided Haesteinn away from listening ears, to a quieter corner. There he explained the contents of the letter. When Haesteinn came back, an expression of pride and fear laid upon his face.
“Brothers, I have news.” he said as he approached the group and stood near the fire.
“Scouts report that they've found the Cherwinian army. Approximately 150 soldiers in camp. Not more than two hours from here, much closer to the Cherwinian border than expected.” He looked around the group to see the faces of all those that were near the fire.
“Besides that.. I've been selected as one of the sergeants to lead the vanguard.” For those familiar with the way the army worked, it was clear what that meant. However many were inexperienced and wouldn't understand what that meant. Haesteinn decided to simplify, to make it understandable for them, too.
“That means you've been selected for the vanguard. We'll be the first one into the fray. Congratulations.”To a degree, it was an honor to be in the vanguard. To a degree, it was also the most dangerous place to be. It would be up to them to decide what to think of it.
“I suggest you all get a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we march again.” For a brief moment he would exchange looks with those in the little corner of the camp before kneeling down and laying into his own tent. He sure knew what he was going to do.
Meanwhile, Keys would be assigned to Haesteinn's command once it became clear why he was with the Black Shields. The same would go for the new monk, Elis. Although, he did seem to have a more friendly treatment than Keys' did, who was treated more like a local peasant than a nobleman. Meanwhile, Elis had favorable treatment akin to a noble knight, simply due to his service in the Servants. The question was whether or not Haesteinn would maintain the same attitude towards them.
The next day the whole camp awoke early, at the crack of dawn. The ale of last night had given many men a booze-bed, and many had trouble waking up. The sergeants saw fit to answer that with a kick in the side. Then, the thought of battle quickly took over. For a battle where they'd be outnumbered, it seemed like the enthusiasm was high. Many men and women wanted to take revenge for the destruction of two regiments, and those foreigners that were with the Black Shields looked forwards to the prospect of loot.
For Haesteinn it was no different. He had woken early and dressed up, not putting on his armor yet. He wore just his tunic, and his gambeson over it. The rest of his armor he strapped to his horse. Once he was done he returned to the place where his tent had been and looked at his fellow soldiers. Perhaps some would die today. Time would tell. For a brief moment he looked at the new guys - Keys, who he'd been informed today was under his command. The specifics remained unclear, but something seemed suspicious about this man. There was also the monk, whom was unknown to Haesteinn despite their service in the Servants. Perhaps the years had separated them, or perhaps their location of servitude. Not that it mattered.
They were all brothers now.
“Wake up ya' bastards.” Haesteinns voice rung through the corner of the camp, waking all those who hadn't awoken yet. Those who needed more help, he'd give a firm kick in the side. Not nearly hard enough to hurt them, not too much anyway, but certainly enough to wake them.
“Let's march.” Within the hour all of the camp had been gathered up. Where had been a giant army camp before, there was now nothing more than trampled mud, and footsteps left behind by those marching towards certain death.
Something seemed poetic about it.
Haesteinn rode his horse, staying close to the rest of his troop, his small group of 'friends' that he'd gathered. While doing that, he attempted to make conversation with a few people.
“How has the North been?” he asked Eira, aware of the answer already. 'War' most likely.
“Where did you learn to stitch wounds?” he asked Fall, unaware of the implications of the questions.
“Why join the Black Shields?” he asked both Genseric and Jahan. They were both a bad fit for the company - in every way and shape of what that meant. Genseric was a nobleman, but definitely not a warrior judging from his body. Jahan seemed more like a silver tongued traveler who'd lift your purse while buying you an ale.
By the end of the morning, with the sun right in the center of the sky, the men approached a open field. The swamps had ended - indicating they were close to the Cherwinian border now. Instead the ground was firm, usable by cavalry. Perhaps that was the reason the Cherwinians hadn't ventured too far. Their cavalry was after all among the heaviest in the known realms. The mere sight of them was enough to make men tremble, but their infantry wasn't much to be afraid of.
As the troop of nearly a hundred men approached the field, they saw smoke ahead. The scouts made it obvious to Terryn and the other sub commanders, as well as the noble lord that lead the army, that these were indeed the Cherwinians. And therefore, this was their objective. The King had ordered it!
The Cherwinians were hidden from sight by the luscious forests that laid ahead, and perhaps that was for the best. For now the Broacienian army was hidden from sight, and the Cherwinians didn't seem to be aware of their presence, yet. While the men laid low in the treeline, Haesteinn gathered his men.
Jahan, Genseric, Fall, Elis, Keys, Eira. They were all selected, alongside another batch of men - most of them no-names with a face anyone would forget. They were all militiamen, peasants with a cheap spear or short sword and a shield. Most of them would die. Ellinor, too, was selected for a much more specific task.
“You need to stay behind the lines, never pull a weapon, and attempt to help whoever gets wounded. If you get surrounded - surrender. It's not worth losing your life over.” she was told by Haesteinn, who attempted to reaffirm to her that she would probably not be harmed.
As soon as they were all gathered, they would be ordered to gather their equipment quickly and get ready to move out. The rest of the army received the same orders, but they'd mostly be focusing on their flanking, and trying to remain hidden from sight. The cavalry was included with them, but it appeared Terryn would not ride or fight today.
It was only now that Haesteinn put on his armor, going through the lengthy progress of putting on the heavy leather armor and the chain mail.
“Give me a hand.” he ordered Elis, since he was a Servant, and knew most likely how to work his way with armor better than any of the others. He even donned his helmet for this special occasion, which had a tail of horse hair on top to indicate that he was someone to follow into battle. Once everyone was ready, his force moved out. Approximately 60 to 70 men marched across the field towards the next treeline, from where they'd begin their assault.
Crouching in the treeline, spying upon the Cherwinians, Haesteinn sat and looked at the camp. There were tents set up that looked like they were of noblemen, and some men were out and about. It was a busy camp - 150 men surely was bound to give them trouble. But now they had the edge they needed. Once Haesteinn was satisfied with the opportunity, he stood up straight and looked back, heaving his sword high and sending it down, pointing at the enemy. His norse voice bouldered across the treeline.
“CHARGE! FOR KING GREGAR! FOR THE ROYAL FAMILY! FOR THE MONARCH! ATTACK!” The charge began, and militiamen and veterans started swarming from the treeline, bridging the small 50 meters that the camp was away from the treeline. Haesteinn and his companions would be in the thick of it, running into the camp. Some defenders already started scrambling to their weapons, and among them were knights, heavy armored noblemen who seemed all too keen to prove their mettle against Broacienian peasants.
“On guard!” one of them yelled while several men mustered around him to defend the camp.
It's fine. 