Roanan the Cimmareian: The Shambling Horror

by Dinkledash

Part 2

"Closer! Cover the pony on your left with your shield and the one on your right with your sword!" The ten recruits shuffled closer together and went down in a tangle of limbs as Roanan sighed. "Congratulations, you've set a new standard for failure! Now GET UP! Form a line and march in step! That means you call the step, got it? And who calls the step? You all do! Left forehoof first; let's see if we can march from one end of the courtyard to the other without killing ourselves! Ready! March!"

______

River Wash looked up at the giantess and swallowed. Join the army, get out of the slums, see the world, adventure, riches, mares... "Head!" Her wooden sword whipped in a direct overhead strike and he threw his sword up to parry. His sword hoof buckled and the blade went flying, and he was down for what seemed like the tenth time with yet another lump on his dome. "Do you want to die? Is that it, River Wash? The first Jack that catches you outside the fort will crush your head and lick your brains off his axe!" He moaned and nodded; it seemed like a viable alternative at the moment.

"Get up; I just tapped you, you puling infant!" He pulled himself up as she went to his side. "Now, block your head!" He threw his hoof up in a cross-block parry, as he had been taught. "Your angle is all wrong; it gives you a weak block. You need to be perpendicular to the attack on the vertical plane and slope your sword so that the attack will glance off to the right. You aren't trying to stop the attack, just direct it somewhere other than your head, got it?" She demonstrated, showing that her block was high above her head, the sword like an extension of her bent elbow. "We fight defensively against Jacks because they have no defense; they only attack. They are stupidly brave and predictable. You block their first attack and kill them before their second. You should be in a line with your fellows, so you will be directing a Jackish weapon into your mate's shield, and then cutting off the foreleg or whatever presents itself while they are recovering. But you may find yourself isolated, in which case you will need to learn how to move as well. So, don't be afraid to move your body. Keep your shield or your blade between you and your foe at all times."

She backed off. "Head!" The wooden sword whipped down. River Wash threw his block up, and leaned into it as Roanan had, so that his entire body was receiving the force of the stroke. Her sword crashed into his sloping blade and flew to his right. He blinked, then fell as she knocked the wind out of him with a blow to his ribs. "Better! But when we block our foe's strike, do we stand there congratulating ourselves? No! We attack!" She pulled up the grinning, wheezing recruit. "Again!"

Captain Ironshoe pursed his lips and watched as the rest of River Wash's squad showed something he hadn't seen before. Eagerness.

______

Jaghoof trotted past the barracks on the way to the mess hall when Roanan came around the corner suddenly. He ran into her and bounced off, falling and scattering papers in the dirt.

"Ha! Watch where you are going, corporal!" She hauled him up and then set about helping him with collecting the papers. "Bah, who fights wars with papers anyway? I suppose you could kill your foe with papercuts, though that seems more effective as an instrument of torture than a weapon."

He grinned as she deposited the notes in the crook of his foreleg. "Then I suppose that makes me the head torturer! And I can stab a hundred Jacks to death with my quill! Have at you!" He took a quill feather from his satchel and stuck it under her chin, tickling. She giggled, an incongruously feminine sound from the throat of this great slayer. The blue fires of her eyes burned as she looked at him.

"My room is here," she said motioning to the sergeant's billet with her chin. "Come with me." Her voice was the purr of a lioness.

He briefly considered fleeing for his life. She was attractive in a somewhat frightening way, but he was concerned what might happen in the throes of her passion. Hells, you only live once! "So you are not one of those warmares of legend, who only give themselves to a stallion who can best them in battle?" He grinned at her as she opened the door.

"I have no wish to be celibate, Jaghoof!" She smiled and the fires in her eyes danced as she pushed him inside. "Now, have at you!"

______

The training continued apace for two weeks, and the soldiers' confidence improved. They learned how to march together, how to maneuver, how to fight properly in formation and when alone. They learned how to communicate in the chaos of battle and most importantly, they learned to trust one another and their leaders. Even the cynical sergeants learned to take some pride in the unit, with the exception of Shorn Fetlock, a sour and cruel old beancounter, who had managed to hide in a supply room for most of his career. He experienced a "training accident" and was sent back to Equilonia in a supply cart with two broken forelegs. Morale among the other noncoms improved considerably after that incident.

"Roanan, walk with me, please." The Captain walked the perimeter of the fort with her, discussing training, morale and the state of readiness. "You have worked wonders with these ponies, even Jaghoof. Why, I saw him smiling and humming to himself this morning!" He grinned, knowing the reason for the corporal's state of morale.

"He is a good fellow, and he snores fit to frighten cave bears, so that's also in his favor." Roanan paced next to Captain Ironshoe like a caged panther. He could tell that already she was tired of the dubious comforts of Fort Pigshit, and yearned to camp in the midst of her foes. All to the better.

"It will be a new moon in four nights, and the Jacks will end their blood feud and return to their familiar haunts. Are the troops ready, Roanan?"

"Not to fight a large force of Jacks in the field, no, but they could fight small bands and take a weakly defended fort. And then hold it, after. Do we march?" Her voice was eager.

"On the morrow. I will send word south to send a ship to the river fortress and look for the standard of Equilonia. If it flies, they are to bring supplies and fresh troops and take off our wounded. If it does not, they are to return with word of our heroic deaths."

She nodded, satisfied. "And what of Fort Pigshit? We cannot spare a garrison to defend it."

"Quite. We do what I've wanted to do since I first set hoof here." He turned to her, his smile wide under his muzzle. "We burn it!"

______

As the company made it to the Sea Road, the smoke from the burning wood fort rose high into the sky. Jacks in the woods nearby looked at the pyre and wondered what clan had finally destroyed the forlorn garrison. Ironshoe's soldiers marched north, with death all around them, singing songs of blood and war.

The tower was still a half day's march from the tower when the scout came running. "Jacks! A warband, seventy or more! They are athwart the road and march south." The lightly armed pony was breathing hard as he spoke to the Captain.

"Were you seen?" Ironshoe looked to the north speculatively.

"I don't know sir, but even if not, they'll have seen my tracks by now. They'll know that one shod as I has been on the road, and no Jack!" The captain nodded and handed the scout a silver piece for a job well done. "Go scout our flanks and rear, then report back here. We will prepare a stand upon yon hillock. Sergeants, attend me!"

Five noncoms and Roanan ranged around the Captain. "Give me your ears first and then your opinions." They all nodded, happy to be given the chance to speak to the young leader. "I want two sections on the hilltop, two sections behind the ridge on either side and one in reserve. The two on the hilltop will have to hold long enough for our counterattack. They are to arm with bows, shields and short spears to enrage the Jacks and make them charge up, straight at them, and I hope they will spread out to surround the hill. When they crest, two sections with flank-mounted long spears will charge in columns and the reserve section will be committed wherever needed. They may flee if they think they are outnumbered and I want no word of our approach to any bands that may be behind them. Any comments?"

"Have Roanan command the reserve section, sir." Stoutshanks fiddled with the shield which had been bound to his stump. "They'll be the finishers that'll break 'em and lead the pursuit."

The Captain's eyebrows rose and he nodded. "Good idea." Didn't know you had it in you, old pony. Anything else?"

There were mutters about it being a sound plan, so Ironshoe stamped his foot. "That's it then. Redblade, Stonehammer, get your sections to the hilltop and sort them out. I'll join you when I get the other two sections sorted out. We have ten minutes at most, so move!"

The company trotted towards the rise, with three sections going over the top and two sections going one to each side of the hillock. Roanan's section continued down the back of the rise to take the reserve position, but she halted at the top to survey the ground. By her eye, good archers would fire four, or possibly five arrows at the Jacks before they came to grips, This crew might manage two or perhaps three. Still, that should tell for a dozen of the ill-armored marauders. She continued down the back slope to take her place at the front of the reserves, hidden behind shrubs in a gully.

"Are you ponies ready for a fight!? Are you ready to smell hot blood and see your enemy's guts spilled on the battlefield? Are you ready to stretch your foe out on the grass and watch the life leave his eyes!?" There was a growl of assent from thirty throats. Good. "Stand ready then, we'll have our chance soon." She grinned, her blood running hot under her skin. She saw Ironshoe speaking again with the scout. The scout ran to her as Ironshoe galloped to the hill.

"Roanan, I have seen no sign of Jacks to our south or our flanks. The Captain says he will signal, but if you feel the moment is right, he trusts your instincts." The barbarian nodded.

"They come!" cried somepony from the hilltop. Sixty bows sang and faint cries of pain could be heard from across the field. The waiting begins! Bring them, Chrome, bring them here so we may smite them! That was as close to a prayer as the white-socked pony goddess ever heard from Roanan, while brooding in her mountain. The song of the bowstrings was heard again, a ragged chorus this time, and high shrieks replied in counterpoint, mixed in with the savage war whoops of the bestial foe. Most of the archers got in a third shot, and as they did, death cries sounded from just over the crest, and bows were thrown down as shields and spears were raised. Then the Jacks were on them.

Roanan and the ninety others who laid in wait, watched as the tide of savage fury broke around the hillock like a wave upon a sea rock, blood and limbs flying like the foam spray, the shouts of the killing and the cries of the killed, the roar of the surf. Here, an Equilonean cried as a savage axe slashed and hacked his flesh, bit deeply into his shoulder, and forced him down under the scrum. There, a Jack's head flew high above the fray, an arc of blood describing the physics which separated it from its owner.

The wings of the mob came about the base of the hill. The villains were so focused on their prey, they did not notice the steel shod foeponies who now waited on their flanks. "Flankers!" cried the Captain from the midst of the fray and a horn blew a single defiant blast. Recruits and old ponies though they were, when the flanking sections burst from their hides, lances gleaming, throwing themselves at the Jacks with wild abandon, it looked to the savages like the royal guard had been laying in ambush for them. Jacks turned with wild eyes full of fear and despair in their hearts, and died by the dozens as spears braced on the sides of ponies with leather straps, guided by straps wrapped around shafts and held in their mouths, burst their rib cages, pinned their flanks to the ground, opened arteries and pierced their hearts.

A brutal cheer rose from the soldiers on the hill as the Jack wave rolled back from the hillock, leaving the slopes littered with the flotsam of dead and dying tribesmules. The soldiers dropped their lances and drew their swords, closing ranks in a defensive posture. The Jacks would not pull back, would not reform. They lacked the knowledge of war.

Then another horn blew, a low, mournful cry, and the Jacks drew back. What now, by Chrome!? "Wait here!" Roanan yelled to one of the corporals, and she sprinted to the top of the mount, over the bodies of forty Jacks and some eight or nine Equiloneans. She galloped next to Captain Ironhooves, who stood by Jaghoof, as both stared to the north. Her blue eyes tracked over the field, strewn with another thirty Jacks riddled with arrows, to the huddled band of thirty savages, and then behind them. They had but fought the van. The main body had arrived, three hundred strong or more, with an old and wily war chief in their center. "Chrome's puckered arsehole!" cried the barbarian.

Jaghoof looked to Roanan. "It will be as good to die here as anywhere else. At least I die in good company."

She grinned at him. "We will make such an ending as the Jacks will sing of for generations!"

The Captain looked at them, then down the hill. "Why do they stand by? They do not attack immediately; that is not their way. Perhaps they have tried us and found us too tough a nut to be worth the cracking?"

Roanan grunted. "That ancient there; I've never seen a Jack live to be grey before."

The ancient in question strode boldly forward, through his vanguard, which divided to admit him. He paused to speak with one who may have led the forward body, stopping to pat him on the neck, perhaps consoling him for his losses. It was hard for Roanan to fathom; a Jack who showed compassion to an underling? Then the elder turned and marched boldly forward. He got within bow range and kept striding.

A bow creaked, but Roanan put her hoof up, and the archer relaxed. "He comes to treat with us, by the gods!"

He was close enough now to see the scars upon his thick face, the sloped brow over black eyes gleaming like diamonds, the long brown ears, one chopped short by an axe many ages ago. His mouth was cut, leaving him with a permanent grimace. For a Jack, he was exceedingly tall, and there was indeed gray in his black mane. Talismans and pendants adorned his powerful and scarred breast and there was something about him, a form of wisdom perhaps. The thought of the Jacks being led by such a one tempted Ironshoe to order an attack, lest he become the Jack king and lead his mules to burn the whole northern border, even though that assured their destruction.

"Equilonians! And a Cimmerian! Ha! A wolf among the sheep!" His Equilonian was barbaric, but passable. He looked down at the bodies all about him. "Rams, perhaps." He gave a small nod of his head to Ironshoe. "What madness brings you north, outside of your stone houses? Did you have a sudden urge to meet death?"

The Captain looked at Roanan and shrugged. "We are soldiers, and we have our orders!"

"Well, fortune smiles on you and your orders, Equilonian. You fight passably well, and I am near late for the new moon. I do not wish to lose a hundred tribesmules to slay you when I shall need them to slay the Mac Muirs. The Whytebruins shall return this way with Donal Mac Muir's head leading us and a hundred slaves in five days time. If Onager Whytebruin finds you here," he gestured to himself with his hoof, "then shall you die. But for now, we march west. Stay on your hill, enjoy it. Bury your dead and waste their meat, and drink to their spirits as is your custom. Then march south and live, or march north and die, I do not care which. Just tell me, what do you seek so far away from your warm halls?"

The Captain only hesitated for a second. "You will find us in the tower at the river mouth, if you wish to meet us then."

"The tall stone house? Where the river meets the sea? Ha! Ha ha ha!" He chortled merrily, then cried back to his folk something in Jackish. The band laughed heartily. "Oh, Equilonean, you are most welcome to that pile of stones. Enjoy the taking of it. I assure you, you will find no Jacks there to oppose you. I'll see you in hell some day, southerner. But you, Cimmerian mare, your blood boils for battle! Why stay you with these milk-breathed colts and old, broken stallions? Come with us. You'll have a belly full of blood, slaughtering Mac Muirs. Then you can join us in the north as we raid those bastard pegasi in Hayperboria! There is rich loot there if you know where to look!"

"Whytebruin, I find that I am with ponies among whom I would not mind dying. That is not a thing to the thrown over easily, even for such a grand promise as yours." The Jack nodded.

"Well said. Well then, southron," he addressed Ironshoe, "if I find you in your stone house, I will not assail you as long as you leave us unmolested on the bridge north. We have no wish to raid in the south; our only cause here is one of vengeance." The northern Jacks must be of better stock than their southern, degenerate cousins, thought Roanan. "We will march on." He waved to the right and his warband stared moving, giving the Equilonians a wide berth, pausing only for the vanguard to grab their own dead and load them on wagons drawn by the main body. Wagons! There is no end to wonders today! The chief nodded, gave one last grin to Roanan, and then turned to join his band on their murderous journey. In ten minutes they were gone.

Corporal Jaghoof stared after the band. "Did we win?"

Ronan barked a short laugh. "We lived. That's all that matters. That was no Jack like I've ever seen or heard of."

The Captain nodded, then addressed the troops. "Gather the dead and build them a cairn. Bind your wounds and eat. Then we go north. I wonder though, why he seemed so amused that we sought the tower."

Roanan wondered too, and would have shivered as the cold wind blew, if she were capable of fear.

Comments

[Scholarly-Cimmerian]

So, the Jacks are something like the Picts from the original stories, yes?

I really enjoyed reading this chapter, yet again. And I look forward to the concluding one of this story.