Under the Crown’s Shadow, pt. 2
Fighting for every inch, a few brave knights carve a path through the chaos.Under the Crown’s Shadow
The battlefield stretched out beneath the shadow of Rosamund’s Wall, the northern outpost that had held for so long, its stone walls now pocked and scorched by months of siege. The air was thick with the clash of swords, the bellow of commands, and the screams of the dying. Dirt and blood mingled in the churned earth as the Essarian forces dug in, each man and woman fighting not just for survival, but for the final breath of a revolution that had lasted far too long.
Lady Rosamund stood amidst it all, her once-polished armor now a ruin of dents and dried blood. She watched as the battle surged, her mind a whirl of tactics and desperation. To the north, the combined Andar-Ushani forces pressed hard, their spearmen forming tight phalanxes with their shields raised, a fortress of metal and flesh grinding slowly forward.
Her Essarian forces had the high ground, the Wall looming behind them, but their numbers had thinned drastically. These outposts had been their salvation, but they were not enough. Not alone. Fort Redfall had held for days before crumbling, its defenses battered beneath the relentless siege of Ushani forces. Fort Delfan, though sturdier, had been cut off, its soldiers outnumbered and surrounded. Only Cadar’s Demise, the bleak northern bastion named for the hero who fell defending it years before, still stood firm. But it was the Wall - Rosamund’s Wall - that bore the brunt of the enemy’s assault this day, its stone scarred by countless arrows and bolts.
"Hold the line!" she bellowed, her voice hoarse from hours of battle. "Don’t let them break through!"
Her captains relayed the order, but the lines were buckling. The Ushani warriors were fierce, their battle cries rising above the din, each strike of their spears as calculated as they were brutal. From the eastern flank, she could see the crimson banners of House Valen - Andar’s vanguard - sweeping forward with cold efficiency, their knights armored in plate, their swords cutting through Essarian defenders like a scythe through wheat.
And then, in the center, where the fighting was thickest, she saw them - the Nine Knights.
They were a sight to behold, even now, their emerald-green Essarian armor battered but still gleaming with the blood of their enemies. The Nine were not noble-born. They were not bound by familial ties to any lord or house. They were men and women who had risen from the ashes of Essaria’s rebellion, each a symbol of the people’s defiance. Veterans of countless skirmishes, they moved as one, a single force against the chaos.
Ser Coran, the eldest among them, led the charge. His greatsword sliced through shields and armor with terrifying ease, the old knight’s strength unyielding even after hours of relentless combat. At his side, Dara, the youngest of the Nine, danced between enemies with a grace that defied the bloodied mud underfoot, her twin blades flashing in the dim light as she cut down any who dared approach.
But the enemy pressed hard, and even the Nine could not be everywhere at once.
Rosamund’s focus turned to the Ushani phalanx still advancing from the north. Their shields were thick, their spears long, designed to break the cavalry charges of her knights. But here, on this uneven terrain, the phalanx moved too slowly. The Ushani were relying on their unbreakable wall of spears, but Rosamund saw the gap - a small weakness in their ranks where the ground sloped downward.
She turned to Ser Elric, her lieutenant, blood streaming from a gash across his left cheek. "They’re exposed at the ridge," she said, her voice urgent. "Get the Nine to flank them. We can break their formation."
Elric nodded, already moving, barking orders to the remaining Essarian forces. "Archers, on the ridge! Knights, with me!"
The archers scrambled to the high ground, loosing volleys of arrows down onto the Ushani lines. The air was filled with the sharp hiss of fletching, followed by the dull thud of arrows embedding into shields and flesh. The Ushani phalanx slowed, their shields raised in unison, blocking the worst of the storm, but the momentum of their advance was broken. For just a moment, the tight line of warriors faltered, and it was all the Nine needed.
With Elric at their head, the Nine cut through the battlefield like a dagger aimed at the heart of the enemy forces. They moved with deadly purpose, a blur of steel and blood as they carved their way through the enemy ranks.
Coran was the first to reach the ridge, his sword a monstrous, two-handed weapon that cleaved through armor and bone with brutal efficiency. His swing was wide, cutting through the gap in the Ushani phalanx, the force of his strike sending shields splintering. Blood sprayed across the mud-soaked ground as Ushani warriors fell back in disarray.
The enemy line wavered, and then the Nine pressed the attack.
Dara moved like a shadow, her twin blades flashing in the dull, rain-soaked light. She danced between shields, her strikes precise and lethal, slashing at tendons and hamstrings, crippling the enemy with every step. Her blades found flesh easily, blood splattering her as she slipped between the cracks in the Ushani line. A young warrior lunged at her, his spear tip aimed for her heart, but she ducked beneath the strike, spinning behind him and cutting deep into his side. He fell with a gurgled scream.
Nearby, Hollis, a mountain of a man, charged into the fray, his shield held high. He barreled into an Ushani captain, the impact sending the man sprawling into the mud, his helm cracking against the ground. Hollis wasted no time, his sword plunging into the captain’s exposed throat, cutting off his scream before it could form. The battlefield was chaos, but in that moment, the Nine had the upper hand.
The other Essarian knights followed, their horses crashing into the exposed flank of the Ushani forces, turning the once-impenetrable phalanx into a chaotic scramble for survival. The Ushani shield wall broke apart, their once-disciplined advance collapsing under the weight of the sudden assault. Spears dropped into the mud, shields discarded as the warriors tried to fend off the onslaught.
But for every step the Nine took forward, they paid for it in blood.
Hollis fell first. A spear - thrust with brutal precision - pierced through the gap in his armor and deep into his chest. He gasped, blood spilling from his lips as he crumpled to the ground, his massive form shaking the earth around him.
"HOLLIS!" Kessa screamed, her voice hoarse as she saw her comrade fall.
Kessa, eldest sister of Dara, roared in fury, cutting down the enemies around her as she fought her way to Hollis’ side. Her blade flashed like lightning, each strike driven by rage, but it wasn’t enough. She reached Hollis’ body, kneeling beside him for barely a heartbeat before a heavy blow struck her from behind. She staggered, a cry of pain escaping her lips as her legs gave way beneath her. Her sword fell from her grasp, and she collapsed beside Hollis in the mud, the light in her eyes dimming as her blood poured into the ground.
The muddy earth was slick with the bodies of the fallen, their lifeless forms trampled underfoot by the relentless tide of warriors. Blood mixed with soft rain, turning the field into a grotesque mire of flesh and steel. Ushani and Essarian soldiers alike fell in waves, their screams rising into the air before being swallowed by the cries of battle.
Rosamund watched from the ridge, her hands gripping the hilt of her sword tightly, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the Nine cut down, one by one.
Yet, they did not falter. Even as Hollis and Kessa fell, Coran, Dara, and the others pressed forward, their swords cutting through the enemy with the same relentless determination that had brought them this far.
It was then that the Ushani line suddenly began to crumble, their warriors breaking rank as panic set in. The remaining Essarian forces, emboldened by the Nine’s charge, surged forward with renewed vigor, their swords hacking through what remained of the enemy’s defenses. The once-mighty Ushani phalanx was reduced to a scattered rabble, the warriors fleeing in every direction, desperate to escape the slaughter.
Rosamund’s heart pounded in her chest as the enemy’s center collapsed, their formation disintegrating under the weight of the Essarian assault. The Andar forces, too, were in disarray, their lines buckling as their allies were routed. The tide of battle had turned, but the cost had been high.
Regrouping with her lieutenant, Rosamund glanced once more at the bodies of Hollis and Kessa, lying broken in the mud, their blood mingling with that of the Ushani they had cut down. The Nine had held the line, but the price of their bravery weighed heavy on her soul.
"They’ll remember this day," she said softly, more to herself than to Elric. "But they won’t remember the price we paid."
Elric, still breathing hard, looked out over the battlefield. "No. But they’ll remember the Nine."
Under the Crown’s Shadow, pt. 1
Storm clouds gather over Greengood, and Lady Rosamund steels herself for an inevitable clash.Under the Crown’s Shadow
The air in Greengood carried the scent of rain clinging to the wind as it swept across the ramparts. Lady Rosamund stood at the edge of the stone wall, her hands pressed into the cold surface, eyes fixed on the distant ridge where the Andar banners still flew. They had been there for weeks now, fluttering in defiance, a reminder that this land - her land - was still contested. The storm loomed on the horizon, clouds swollen and dark, but her thoughts were elsewhere, drawn to the weight of the decision that had been made.
Behind her, Ser Elric approached, the sound of his armor muted by the wind. He waited a moment before speaking, as if testing the air. "You sent for me?"
Rosamund didn’t turn. "How many left yesterday?" Her voice was steady, though she already knew the answer.
"A few dozen. More will likely desert by nightfall, I suspect," Elric replied, his tone even. "They fear what’s coming."
Rosamund’s grip on the stone tightened, her knuckles white against the grey of the wall. "They think they’ll be safe outside the city? They think they’ll escape this?"
"They don’t think, my lady. They react. They hear rumors of Andar’s forces, of King Arvin’s plans, and they run." He moved beside her, gazing out over the valley. "They don’t know what’s coming, not truly."
Rosamund’s gaze turned toward the edge of the distant ridge, where the banners of the Andar stirred restlessly in the growing wind. She could just make out the sigils of the noble houses under King Arvin’s rule, each more familiar than she cared to admit. Closest to the ridge stood the black serpent of House Daresh, a symbol of unyielding ambition. They were the king’s oldest allies, their loyalty earned through blood and gold. Further down, she spotted the crimson sunburst of House Valen, their arrogance as blinding as their crest. She had crossed paths with them once, and the memory still left a sour taste. Beyond that, banners of lesser houses fluttered - House Mirren, with their winged boar, a symbol of unearned pride; House Alden, whose black wolf-pup snarled in defiance of a past long forgotten.
These were not just banners. They were reminders - each one a herald of the forces arrayed against her. Old families with old grievances, drawn together under the shadow of King Arvin’s crown.
"No one does," she muttered.
She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, the damp air pressing against her skin. Elric was right. They didn’t know. Neither did she, not entirely. But she knew enough. Arvin’s hunger for expansion had never been subtle, and he would not rest until all Essarian cities were under his rule. The weight of that realization had settled on her like the storm clouds above - gradually at first, and then all at once.
"What of the Ushani?" she asked, shifting her gaze to the north. "Any word?"
Elric’s expression darkened. "Two of the tribes have pledged to Arvin’s cause. The third remains silent, but they’ve been offered a share of the land."
"And the Chezāhrani?"
"Nothing yet. They claim neutrality."
"Neutrality." Rosamund let the word hang in the air, her lips twisting in a faint sneer. "It won’t last."
She pushed off the wall, turning to face the captain of her guard. The Andar banners were a distant concern now. What mattered were the cities to the north, the fortifications being hastily rebuilt along the border. They had time, but not much. Arvin’s patience was never long, and his reach extended far beyond what it had in years past. Now, he had allies.
"They’ve begun work on upgrading the outposts, but we’ll need more time," Elric said, his voice lowering. "The people are rallying, but if Arvin brings his full force, we’ll need every able body we can muster. We need them to believe in this."
Rosamund met his gaze, her expression unreadable, her eyes flickering with something deeper than mere resolve. "Belief doesn’t stop a blade."
"No," Elric conceded, glancing down at his gauntleted hands. "But it keeps a sword in hand when it’s needed."
The sky rumbled, a low growl from the storm building on the horizon. Rosamund’s thoughts drifted back to the Essarian cities - the places that were supposed to be hers by right, now slipping away with each passing day, each banner planted in foreign soil. The fortifications wouldn’t be enough, she knew that. But they were all they had. And it would be enough, for now.
"King Arvin will come," she said, her voice quieter now, almost lost to the wind. "When he does, we’ll be ready. Not for long. But long enough."
Elric said nothing, the weight of her words settling between them. The rain had begun to fall, soft at first, spattering against the stone and the cold iron of their armor. The banners in the distance blurred, fading into the mist of the coming storm.
"We’ll be ready," Rosamund repeated, though the words felt heavier this time, as if they carried with them the full force of what lay ahead. She turned from the ramparts, pulling her cloak tight against the rain.
She walked toward the keep, the storm closing in behind her. They would hold, as long as they could. As long as it took.