Chapter No. 53 Diluculum

Thou shalt burn with fire a third part in the midst of the city, when the days of the siege are fulfilled: and thou shalt take a third part, and smite about it with a knife: and a third part thou shalt scatter in the wind; and I will draw out a sword after them.

Two thousand knights of the Army of Light rode onto the Plain of Terra spoiling for a fight. Archers hurried into formation near a large stand of trees a hundred yards to the west of the city. Hundreds of peasants from villages all over the Steppe region ran to take up positions near the archers. Some had glaives and pole-axes; others, scythes and picks or any other implement that could serve as a weapon. All of them were willing to die if necessary to defeat the hated Empire. It didn't hurt that Paladin had promised them free land if they served the cause.

A day's ride away, four thousand more rebel knights approached from the north. Many thousands of peasants were three days march to the west. All wished to be a part of the final battle of the Terrin Empire civil war.

Estard wondered whether she could survive this collision of macho men. She rode in the rear of the rebel knight line. Actually, she rode by herself. No one wanted to be next to a female dressed in full battle armor. Several men had placed bets as to how long she would live after the battle started. She didn't have a clue.

The rebels faced a formidable royalist army. Six thousand knights waited in a long line near Terra's walls. Archers filled the battlements on the walls, and in back of the royalist line, several thousand men-at-arms waited to attack anyone foolish enough to approach the city gate.

Paladin ordered the archers to fire on the enemy knights before his knights charged. Arrows soon darkened the sky between the two armies like swarms of locusts in a plague. Men fell on both sides, but the effectiveness of the archery was limited by distance.
The enemy knights decided to attack first. Paladin ordered his knights to meet the attack by moving into a position to shield his archers and peasant army.

Estard had no idea what the hell was going on. All she knew was that she was about to try her hand at real combat, something that was way out of her class.

Her mind raced with all of the tips that Mara had given her: keep your lance up; aim for the helmet first or at least the shield; at the last second, rise up in your stirrups and brace yourself.

Her opponent loomed in the slits of her visor so fast she had little time to brace for impact. His lance tip glanced off her shield. Hers hit his square, but the shock of the collision on her arm was devastating, almost wrenching it out of the socket. When she reined her horse and looked back, she saw her opponent hitting the ground. She looked at her splintered and cracked lance. Not bad for my first combat, she thought, until she saw an enemy knight closing on her with a battle-axe raised high to clobber her head.

Tossing her useless lance down, she spurred her horse out of the impending contact. In response to sharp spurring, her horse reared up, almost tossing her backwards, but its hooves smashed down on the enemy knight's horse, knocking it down along with its rider. The jumping and thrashing of her mount nearly unhorsed her, but she hung on for dear life.

She pulled her sword out of its scabbard, but found that holding it in a hand encased in a gauntlet felt awkward despite the fact that it only weighed a little more than four pounds. She swung at an enemy knight, but he countered her blow, knocking the sword from her grip and her from her horse. While she tried to get back on her feet, an enemy knight made ready to smack her with a battle-axe.

Sir Hillan sliced the axe wilder behind his knees, felling him. He plunged his sword into the fallen knight's neck between a gap between his helmet and gorget. Estard's savior gave her a nod before moving on.

Estard crawled out of the mass of fallen knights and horses. When she reached the edge of the battle, she got up and ran away. She was no match for full knights with a blood lust.

She tripped over a severed arm and fell near its former owner, a fallen archer. With no time to get sick from the bloody sight, she struggled to her feet and picked up his bow and quiver of arrows. After removing her gauntlets, she nocked an arrow and ran back to the melee. An enemy knight ran at her with his sword raised, but she fired at point blank, plunging an arrow into his breastplate. He fell to his knees and coughed up a copious quantity of blood before he collapsed headfirst.

She had little time to recover. Another knight approached from behind her. She whirled around and shot an arrow into his midsection. He also fell to his knees, and a rebel knight slashed his neck with a battle-axe. His blood spattered her, causing her to lose her attention. She paid for that sin by having a mace smashed into her back.
Estard fell to her knees in horrendous pain, but she had no time to feel sorry for herself. Despite the pain, she mounted an arrow and fired it through the enemy knight's visor slit. Blood spurted out on her as her victim fell forward, nearly falling on her.

With clanking metal, curses, shouts, and shrieks of pain all around her, Estard fired arrow after arrow into enemy knights until she ran out. Then she found herself in a dangerous position. She had to back out as quickly as possible without taking a hit or falling over the mass of destruction littering the battlefield.

Lucky for her, the enemy knights were in the process of retreating.

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Estard sat on a fallen log, wishing she were in her old bedchamber. She ached everywhere and she was so dead tired, she could barely move. At least she was still alive. She watched squires and peasants piling dead knights up like chord wood to prepare them for burial. This first day of battle had been expensive.

"Would you care for assistance, my lady?"

Estard looked up at a young man dressed in a thigh-length leather tunic over woolen leggings. His young, handsome face sported a concerned expression.

"I am in need of more than assistance," she said in a weak voice.

"Come," he beckoned. "I have set a tent for your use."

"And you are?"

"Qunila, my lady. I was Sir Mara's squire."

She flashed a weak smile. "I am not Mara. Far from it."

"I know," he said. "But, you fought well and you showed courage. You deserve my duty."

Estard stared at him for a few minutes before getting up, but when she did, she grimaced.

"Are you wounded, my lady?"

"I'm not sure," she said, staggering. "I took a mace in the back."

He looked at her back. "Yes, your armor is dented badly. I will see to your wound."

"Thank you, Qunila," she said with another anemic smile. "I appreciate it."

Qunila helped Estard to a tent near, but not in, the main encampment. He removed her armor and sat her down on a cot.

"You must remove your shirt so that I may examine your wound, my lady."
His request was firm but it hinted of embarrassment.

"Sure. Can you help me to take it off?"

"Yes, my lady."

After he helped Estard remove her heavy padded cotton shirt, Qunila went to work examining her bare back.
"I'll bet that hurts," he said with a pitying tone.

"Hurts like hell would be an understatement. I hope nothing's broken."

Qunila pressed his fingers into her rib, eliciting a whelp. "You may have a cracked rib, but it's not swelling up yet. The area around your left scapular is bruised badly, though."

"My shoulder aches like the devil," she said. "I think I sprained it when my lance hit."

He felt around her deltoid muscle. "Raise your arm," he ordered.

She tried, but she grimaced when she raised it only half way.

"I have something that will help your shoulder and your bruise, my lady, but you must allow me to have liberties with your body."

She guffawed. "I've been imprisoned, beaten, raped, tortured and have seen horrible death. There's nothing you could do to me that would be any worse."

After he stared at her with an expression that radiated disbelief, Quinila squatted next to a leather satchel, opened it, and pulled out a flask filled with a white substance.
"Please lie down on the cot face down."

She did with painful consequences, and he poured some of the viscous white liquid into the palm of his hand and began to massage it into her bruise.
She moaned with pain at first, but the cool fluid began to suppress the pain and tingle. Soon, the area of the bruise warmed, a dull burning sensation that felt much better than the ache.

"Turn over," he ordered.

She found that turning over was not easy with her sprained shoulder.

"Stretch your arms above your head."
She managed, but not without crying out in pain.

Qunila applied his healing salve to her armpit and deltoid muscle. The warm sensation assuaged the pain.

"Do you like my breasts?" Estard asked, noting his admiring eyes.

"I am sorry, my lady, but I—"

She gave him a teasing smile. "Don't apologize. Enjoy yourself. You probably don't see many breasts around battle fields like . . . Oh, I forgot that you served Mara."

He shook his head. "You are not like any woman I know, my lady."

"What? Her breasts are as large as mine, although hers were much firmer and better shaped. I never could understand why she didn't like her breasts. She was a . . . Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be talking about her."

"You embarrass me, my lady," he said, blushing.

But, he recovered quickly. "Speaking of breasts, I should bind yours before you dress again for battle."

Estard cupped her hands around her breasts and squeezed them. "I feel some pain in these." She smiled with a devilish glint in her eye. "Would you mind examining them?"

Without hesitation, he began to manipulate her breasts with his strong hands, squeezing and pressing the pliable flesh and rubbing his thumbs over her nipples."

She arched her back to aid his stimulating examination, hoping to entice him to a more interesting physical exploration of her body.

He removed his hands and sighed. "I think that you had better allow your body to experience relaxation, my lady. Tomorrow will test it severely"

She sighed, sinking back onto the cot. "I'm not sure I'll be worth a damn tomorrow. I feel like death is but a whisper away."

He put his flask of salve away and covered her with a blanket. "Get some sleep, my lady. I'm sure you will feel better on the morrow."

She watched him remove his leather tunic and leggings before retiring for the night in a cot nearby. He was not much younger than she, a fine lad with a strong physique. He seemed decent enough, but she wondered why he had any desire to help her, unless it was because of her connection with Mara. Perhaps, that is why he failed to succumb to her charms. Maybe they were lovers.