Gashard: A Fictional Narrative

“If you do not mind, may I join you?” Sir Faine waited for his reply.

“Actually, I think I would enjoy your company this evening.” Arriving at the mess tent, they found several empty smaller tables and one large, long table filled with several different platters of freshly prepared food, a welcome sight to both men. They both chose seats across from each other at one of the smaller tables and sat, surprised how good it felt to be off their feet, their brief respite interrupted when his officers and enlisted soldiers began filing into the tent. Their table filled quickly with officers and servants rushed forward carrying food platters to Lord Nightburn first, before being offered to the others. The enlisted soldiers formed a line, grabbing

plates to fill them with food from the long table, before exiting the tent to return to their campsites to eat. Nightburn ate paying little attention to the activities or conversations around him, preoccupied with tomorrow’s assault, hoping that they would finally breach the wall and enter Whitefield. Looking up from his plate, he asked Sir Faine what had been worrying him, “Has there been any word from Lady Sara or Ace?”
Sir Faine quickly swallowed his food to reply, “A messenger arrived shortly before the cessation of the catapults from Lady Sara and she indicated that everything was going as anticipated, however, their losses were much larger than she had expected and morale within the goblin army was exceedingly low.”
“How many goblins have they lost?” Asking as he took another bite of food.
“Fifteen hundred thus far, my Lord.” Faine watched his face to see how this information would affect him.
“How many goblins does General Zhousbek command?”
“I estimate his army numbers around 50,000 and I would think that King Teravan would be more than a little worried since all he can see from all three walls of Parsis are miles and miles of his enemy.”
“Yes, I believe he would be. This is good news. Did she give a time frame on when she expects to enter Parsis?”
“No, my Lord. She did not.”
Nightburn, more than a little troubled by the lack of a time line, continued, “And Ace, any word from him?”
“No, my Lord. He has not sent word, but although he hasn’t that doesn’t mean there is a problem. He has never failed to accomplish an objective.”
Nightburn frowned at this information. “I hope Ace did not underestimate King Teravan.” He stared down at his plate of food, disturbed by an overwhelming bad feeling.
Sir Faine worried over Nightburn’s abrupt change in demeanor, “My Lord, is there something wrong?”.
Nightburn, who was roused out of this gloomy feeling by Sir Faine’s question, feeling more like himself again, responded. “It’s nothing. When do you expect the wagons from the quarry to arrive?”
“They have been at the quarry since last night and I would think they should be here in the next four to five hours.”
“When they arrive, begin the bombardment. That west wall will fall and we will enter the city tomorrow.”
A soldier barged into the tent. “My Lord, urgent news from the field. Our scouts report an army approaching from the north.”
Getting up and rushing out of the tent, followed by his officers, he ran to the observation area, took an eyeglass from the table to look off to the north, and although still dark, he could see torches, waving in the distance, the army’s banner visible along side one torch.
“Whose banner is that? I cannot make it out.” He handed the eyeglass to Sir Faine.
Staring through the glass a few minutes before finally put it down, he said, “It’s Duke Gashard’s army, my Lord. I’m almost certain.”
“Duke Gashard. That’s a jolt from the past. Ha!“ Nightburn briefly recalled his encounter with the Duke’s son. “Very well, we ride out to meet them in battle.”
Sir Faine interjected, “No, my Lord, we cannot do that.”
“Why not?” Nightburn turned to stare at Sir Faine.
“With the arrival of Duke Gashard’s army that substantiates the report that Tresval also is en route.”
“Tresval is coming to their aid too?” Nightburn grabbed Sir Faine by the shoulders. “Are you certain?”
Sir Faine responded quickly. “Well, I am almost certain, my Lord. Reports indicated that King Rolthoss would attempt to summon Duke Gashard and Tresval, yet our scouts, watching the city prior to our arrival, did not see any riders leave, giving the reports little credulity.”
Nightburn released him, thinking this changed everything, “This is not good news at all.” Nightburn thought for a moment and then barked out new orders.
“All right, a slight change in plans is in order. Tell the men to be ready to move out within the next half hour. Have them pack up as much as they can. We will be setting up a new camp, one that will be more advantageous for us if we must face the threat of attack from these two new forces. Remember that this is not a withdrawal, just an alteration in strategy. We can do this, now get going. Time is short.”
Scattering, the officers ran to their commands, alerting their men to the need to pack up, ready to move out, immediately. The men, most having been asleep, staggered out of their tents, some grabbing up armor and weapons, while others broke down the tents. When done, they ran to the supply tent to load the wagons pulling up with the remaining provisions. Within half an hour, the men waited, ready to move out and in the distance, the catapults, already on the move, headed away from the city.
Mounting his horse, Lord Nightburn joined the group of officers already mounted and Sir Faine with a kick to his mount, rode up along side to ask, “Our destination?”
“The forest of Catahclisum.” Nightburn reined his horse around, and rode back down the line of men, stopping at the first supply wagon to talk with one of its soldiers who ran to the back of the wagon to begin pouring oil from a large barrel into bota skins. “Archers!! Take the bota skins and coat the edges of the forest with oil and meet us at the other side.” With the order given, the men grabbed as many skins as they could carry and ran off into the forest, glad to get away from Whitefield and the sight of the approaching Gashard army. Watching them briefly as they entered the forest before the trees and shrubs totally engulfed them, then riding back to his officers to inform them to issue the orders for the main army to advance into the forest and staring back at the advancing enemy, he thought, we’ll see how badly you want revenge, Duke Gashard.
“My Lord. I don’t see the need to withdraw. We can hold Gashard and his army back with demon souls alone.” Ject who had pulled away from the group and joined him.
“No, Ject. We will need our the demon souls for Tresval, not waste them on such a pathetic opponent as Duke Gashard. No, Gashard will kill himself, blinded by his rage. It’s as simple as that. He will stumble into our trap, totally unaware until it’s too late, and that will be his undoing.”
“Yes, my Lord, I understand.” Ject returned to the group of officers, only now aware of how diabolical his lord truly was.
Advancing into the forest, the army’s retreat purposely slow to allow the enemy scouts to see where they had gone and report back to Duke Gashard. Gashard’s army advanced on them quickly, perhaps less than hour, before overtaking them. Fully aware that Gashard’s army would shortly be upon them, the last of Nightburn’s army entered the forest, but once hidden by the thickets and trees, they increased their speed of withdrawal to almost a full run, heading straight through to the other side. Nightburn reined in his horse as Sir Faine came barreling toward him from his left to met him.
“Are the archers in position?” He shifted in his saddle, looking back as his troops continued to run passed, to view the tail end of his troops’ retreat clearing the last remaining trees, and so far everything was going as planned.
“Yes, my Lord.” Sir Faine replied, also satisfied with the progress of the troops.

“Who’s the officer with them?

“Lieutenant Gustav and he understands what’s expected of him.”

With a nod, both rode off quickly, urging the men to an even faster pace. Gashard’s army had advanced quickly and most had already entered the forest of Catahclisum. They had cut the time of encounter in half and Duke Gashard, pleased with their time, could hardly wait to get his hands on Lord Nightburn. After all the years, he now would have his revenge. Gashard’s first lieutenant rode up quickly to settle in beside him, speaking quickly and obviously upset, “My Lord, the forest is a trap. My men have spotted archers all around us. We should withdraw.”

Gashard was angry with himself for being so gullible. How could he have been so stupid? Then thoughts of his son came flooding back to him and turned to speak with his lieutenant.

“I have made a mistake and I must live with it. I don’t care how but I will get my revenge. Forward, we must catch them quickly before they spring their trap.” Gashard turned away, urging his men to move faster and shouted, “The enemy is within reach!”

Looking upon Duke Gashard as he moved away, the lieutenant added “or die with

it.”
Lord Nightburn sat on his horse and watched as the last of his men left the forest. They had made excellent time with his archers reporting back that Duke Gashard rashly followed them into the forest and now was soundly within the trap. Shortly thereafter, Lieutenant Gustav appeared and guided his mount along side.
“Light the oil, Lieutenant Gustav.” Gustav raised his arm and gave the signal.

The archers dipped their arrows in the remaining oil and aimed, their arrows finding their marks with the resulting fire traveling fast along the trails of oil and soon the entire forest was ablaze. Screams resounded from within and although many of Gashard’s soldiers made it through the flames to safety, none survived, cut down by Nightburn’s archers or by the deft swords of his mounted soldiers. The battle ended with the last of Gashard’s soldiers either killed or captured, but there was no sign of Duke Gashard. The detail left behind to cover their retreat, found Gashard’s first lieutenant hiding in the thickets, and after a fierce struggle, captured him, bringing him to Lord Nightburn for interrogation. He studied the young soldier before him and although wounded and having difficulty standing, the young soldier stared back

defiantly.
“Where is Duke Gashard?”
“He did not accompany us into the forest.”
“I don’t believe you. I think he ran away like the coward he is, leaving you to fend for yourself.” Nightburn watched his face for the truth.
Anger crossed his face with the lieutenant spouting out, “How dare you speak of Duke Gashard in that way. He is a noble man, incapable of such treachery.”
Ject who had been standing beside Nightburn spoke next. “You really are ignorant if you would give your life for that coward.”
“A coward, no. Gashard, yes. Do you think the world is blind to what you are doing? Everyone knows who you are and of what you are capable. We are all going to rise against you and we will defeat you.” Replied the young soldier.
“Bravo, well said, and I look forward to that day, however, unless you have the information I seek, your part in the story ends.”
The young lieutenant stood his ground, refusing to tell him anything else. With the questioning over, Nightburn walked over behind the young man, grabbed him, snapping his neck, his lifeless body falling to the ground and then carted away by Nightburn’s men.
“Where’s Balthazar? Does anyone know?” He looked back at his officers. They all shook their heads. No one knew the whereabouts of the man. “We could have definitely used his necromancy ability on this battlefield. If he were here, we could have had every one of Gashard’s men as our own fighting dead,” lamented Nightburn. “Damn you, Balthazar. Where have you gone?” Nightburn, not at all pleased that Balthazar had chosen this time to be suddenly away.
On the other side of the forest, those of Gashard’s army, lucky enough to still be outside the tree line, forcibly cut off from the main body by the flames shooting up before them, were unable to provide assistance to those within. They stood helpless as the forest blazed and winced at the screams of their comrades, turning back, dejected and leaderless, to join the soldiers of Whitefield in the battle yet to come.