Idea for new book. The Tower of Roses.
Prologue
14 day of Eleint, of the Year 1485 (Dale Reckoning)
The Battle of Tassledale
Lt. Mira Stormwind, Priestess of Tyr, looked up from the wounded footman long enough to observe the beginning of the Cormyrian 4th Legion’s assault on the Sembian positions. Only one bandage pack left. The sun wasn’t even midway across the sky but she was already going to have to call for a bandage-runner. She’d wait though. The bandage runners were mostly children, and like messengers under truce it was against all civil conduct in war to harm them deliberately, but the hiss of incoming arrows reminded her that until the battle lines met in melee there was no aim in the death raining down. This was going to be a long battle.
The footman was now stable, but unconscious. She pulled the bandage pack out of her satchel, opened it, applied the salve then tied off the wound. The medicinals began to work and the man opened his eyes. “On your feet soldier! Back in formation.” she shouted over the clang of arrowheads hitting her shield. “Yes Ma’am” the man replied, staggered to his knee, then ran at a crouch towards an open spot in the nearest block of soldiers.
Thunder announced the charge of the Purple Dragons. Knights of Cormyr, passing through predetermined gaps in the Legions, rushing headlong at the Sembians. Not long now, she thought, then the carnage begins. Standing up, still holding her shield for the next wave of arrows she jogged forward. She was a battlefield healer, and she would be needed even more very soon now.
As she reached the nearest block of soldiers she heard Sgt. Churrlak’s gravelly half-orc voice over the din, “Lieutenant! Sir Garrath’s down...again”. Looking in the Sergeant’s direction she yelled back “Where?” “Just shy of the clash. He almost got a charge off this time” Churrlak chortled. Stormwind couldn’t see his face but knew there was a big toothy grin behind his faceplate. “I’ll get him up” she yelled, just as the big lines of footmen on both sides reached each other. It would be safe for the bandage runners now. She couldn’t see any more arrows raining down. The archers were busy picking out mounted targets, and any enemies exposed on the front lines.
Getting to Sir Garrath, she spoke a short incantation, and felt the energy flow into the unconscious Knight. Common soldiers got stabilized, and bandaged. Nobles got the healing magic, and as for the silver potion around her neck, that was for the Lord Commander alone. If she gave it to anyone else, her next official act would be to explain herself to Tyr before his holy throne in heaven. This wasn’t some peasant collective, or village democracy, this was the Royal Army of Cormyr, and it had as many rules, if not more, than the seminary where she first took her vows to Tyr, God of Justice.
The knight opened his eyes, “Ugh, Good morning Lieutenant” he said a little down cast. “Looks like I need to find another horse”. Stormwind grabbed his arm, hauling him to his feet. “Good luck with that Sir Garrath, I have wounded to attend to”. She turned away towards another downed footman. She knelt beside him reaching into her satchel, it was empty. Stormwind turned to yell for a bandage runner, only to see one running straight towards her. She smiled, it was Corti, the lad was just shy of 11 summers, but she’d swear he had some kind of sixth sense as to when she needed another healing kit. He was just a few furlongs away running hard.
She turned toward the wounded soldier, Stablized him with a short cantrip, then tore open his tunic exposing the wound for the bandage. She turned back to the runner “Corti, hand me...” but Corti wasn’t there. Scanning the area she spotted him, a single furlong away. Staring at her. He dropped the healing kit. Stormwind could now see feathers standing out on his chest. Surrounded by a blossoming circle of red. They met each other’s eyes. She was getting to her feet, but she knew it was too late. Corti was dead, long before he even hit the ground. Not even the Lord Commander’s potion could bring him back.
In a rage she turned to face the melee. Someone singled Corti out. Someone targeted him. It was Horrific. No civilized people did that, not even in war. Even barbaric people and Orcs ignored the runners deeming it cowardly to attack them when stronger foes stood agains them. “What Abyss born swine did that!” she yelled. She couldn’t even see any of the Sembian archers behind the wall of melee. How could any of them target Corti? Then she saw him, head and shoulders above the mass of fighting troops. He must be standing on a dead horse, or some tree stump. Just beyond the lines of Battle. The Sembian archer scanned around and let another arrow fly. It embedded in the back of a wounded footman, trying to crawl to one of the other healers.
Then everything stopped. Everyone was frozen in place. Swords in mid swing, javelins in mid flight. There was silence. Then something like a fanfare of church bells. A voice rose above it all. She recognized it, but only as from some unremembered dream. Tyr’s voice. Singular, but with the force of ten thousand angels.
“Justice, NOW!”
Stormwind pulled her Warhammer from her belt. Filled her lungs with air. And roared towards the lines of battle, the enemy, and the murderous Archer with all her breath, “TYR’S JUSTICE!” and she charged.
The fight was a blur. She hit the back of the Cormyrian lines at full speed, shoving everyone aside as she forced her way through. She noticed that she was among Sembian soldiers when she started being battered by weapons. She never stopped running, swinging her Warhammer at anyone foolish enough to stand in front of her charge. A sharp pain to her left shoulder, was replied with a another swing. That caused red mist in front of her as the path began to clear. The enemies were just flashes of color and tabards around her, the murderous archer the only clear sight. Another sharp blow tore the face plate off her helm, momentary blinding pain, and she could taste blood. She replied with another blow from her hammer. Still she did not slow. Breaking free from the rear of the Sembian lines she began to sprint toward the man whom she now saw was on some kind of pull-cart.
The archer saw her advance and began to rapid fire arrows at her. The first clanged off her shield, the next caused a sharp pain in her right hip. But it didn't stop her. Pure terror filled his eyes as she leapt into the cart, slamming her hammer into his chest. He fell back on the grass, she followed smashing furiously over and over, pounding, pounding, bones breaking, chest caving in. Until he was still. The sounds around her changed.
There were cries and the sounds of running all around her. From a distance as if from the far side of a long tunnel, she heard a voice, “Ma’am?” Then it was next to her, loud in her ear. It was Sgt. Churrlak, “lieutenant, are...are you ok? Stormwind looked left. Sgt. Churrlak was standing next to her. Staring at her with concerned eyes through a dented helm. Beyond him off to her left she could see the left flank of a fighting wedge. She looked right. She saw it’s right flank. She stood at the apex. All of the 4th Legion was with her. She could see the other legions pushing forward, trying to catch up. The Sembian forces were in full rout, their banners being dropped as the ran.
She heard the sound of horse hooves stopping behind her, then a voice, “Captain Stormwind!”, it was the voice of Count Elias Crownsilver, the Lord Commander. She turned looking up, trying to come to attention. “Of all the possible solutions to running out of bandages, causing the enemy to flee in pure terror would not have been one my first choices. But it seems to have been effective”
Stormwind bowed, “Your Grace,” She began, it was difficult to speak, her mouth kept filling with blood, “my intent was to deliver Tyr’s Justice on someone who deliberately murdered a bandage runner.”
The Count nodded, “and you seem to have drawn my whole Fourth Legion into your crusade with you. Very well done Captain” Stormwind paused, confused, “Thank you your Grace, but M’Lord, it’s Lieutenant.” The Count smiled then began to turn on his horse, “Not any more, not after today. Congratulations Captain Stormwind.”