A cold, unpleasant sort of night passed. The faint glimmers of starlight had been banished by a dense, sickly fog which oozed across the downs, spreading a damp, chilling vapour everywhere which suffocated the very land beneath it. By morning, the fog had largely lifted, leaving behind only a sorrowful mist which filled the lowlands that lay between the king’s encampment and the distant towers of Ardgar Castle to the west.

Lindsey sat beside a tent in the king’s encampment, gazing out across the vista as the rising sun greeted the morning with blood red rays. She was arrayed for war, at least as well as could be managed under the circumstances. With so little time before the army’s departure she had been obliged to make do with whatever gear could be quickly procured for her. Just about everything available was too big, and there was no time to make any substantive adjustments. It was a blessing that a boy’s chain shirt and gambeson had been found which were at least close enough in size to be functional, but Lindsey’s body still swam uncomfortably within the oppressive volume of thickly quilted linen. On her head was an impeccably crafted helmet which was by far the best piece of her equipment. It was a small rounded bascinet fitted with an aventail, which together had comprised the inner liner of a larger great helm which belonged to the Earl of Donnock, who was employing a different helmet that day. Tied around her helmet was a thick strip of scarlet cloth, which she wore in lieu of any proper livery. Despite the strenuous protestations of Hae-jin, Joan, and just about everyone else, Lindsey had stubbornly insisted on coming along with the army alongside her friends. Only Ursilda had stood up for her at first, but in the end the others acquiesced, though reluctantly. Lindsey was subsequently placed under the command of Rob Sykes as a member of Hae-jin’s bodyguard. Also in the bodyguard were Ursilda and the Wogs, and likewise Falknir, who had volunteered straight away and had subsequently talked even Dackery into joining the battle as well. All of them wore broad scarlet ribbons as their uniform. The old banner of Robin Goodfellow had been cast aside for fear it should be confused in the heat of combat with the livery of Gurth, and in its place Joan had procured a substantial bolt of scarlet cloth, which had been cut up the night before and hastily distributed among the company. Hae-jin himself now wore a crude scarlet jupon over his armor, which was sewn with several of the Bird’s golden feathers, while his standard was a great ten foot long pennant of the same material, rounded on the fly and sewn with still more of the Bird’s feathers. Even Ursilda had been coaxed under protest into donning a thin ribbon of scarlet. For their own parts, Joan, Hugh Mortimer and Will Little did not join the bodyguard, but rather took prominent places among the peasant soldiers of Robin Goodfellow’s army, where the need for strong leadership was keenly felt. Of the Bird Lindsey had seen very little, for he had been constantly engaged in scouting for Hae-jin. So far Lindsey hadn’t any opportunity at all to speak to him, and as she sat there cradling her axe she wondered grimly whether she would ever get another chance now.

All around her the camp was bustling with activity as men and horses were made ready for battle. Across the encampment, Lindsey caught sight of three figures mounted on pure white steeds. It was the lady Edith, still attired in a green gown and horned headdress. She was accompanied now by two knights in green armor, their faces obscured by lowered visors. Their harnesses were of a noticeably foreign looking appearance compared to that of the Linsterish soldiery, being wrought in distinctively swept lines and possessing an almost iridescent finish which was heavily embossed with elaborate floral patterns. No one seemed to be paying any attention to them, and as Lindsey watched, the party trotted through the perimeter of the camp headed in the direction of Ashbeck Wood. Suddenly, there was a rude shout from one of the Wogs, and Lindsey scrambled to her feet and jogged over to where her friends were now gathering around Hae-jin.

The king’s army was divided into three battles arranged abreast. The middle was personally commanded by William of Bradlaw himself alongside the Count of Gillnock, an elderly veteran who had served faithfully alongside Simon the Second during the Tollard wars. To the king’s right was the vanguard, under the command of the Bishop of Larchester along with the Earl of Duncarden, a man of fervent loyalty to the king. To the king’s left was the rearguard, which was commanded by Sir Robin Greyflower alongside the Earls of Swinstoke and Donnock. Hae-jin had placed Swinstoke in command of the heavy cavalry, while the infantry he split between himself and Donnock. Hae-jin wanted to ensure his formation could adapt quickly to an unexpected change of fortune, for the situation before him filled his heart with misgivings.

Before them now, just to the other side of the River Beck, was the Earl of Wickhowe, holding the field defiantly while outnumbered almost two to one. The earl too had split his army into three divisions, the middle under his own command, the van under the Baron Gatehurst and the rear under the Baron Kirkweld, two men who had replaced Swinstoke and Donnock as Wickhowe’s chief captains. It seemed to Hae-jin that Wickhowe should have at least fortified inside the town of Beckby just south of him rather than face the king in the open. Yet Wickhowe appeared weirdly determined to compound one poor decision with yet another. As the king’s army advanced a few trumpets could be heard from within the ranks of the enemy, but Wickhowe’s men remained otherwise motionless.

All that separated the two armies now was the river itself. The King’s army was situated on a gentle rise with the river before him and the downs to his back, while Wickhowe’s army stood firm on the other side of the river, just beyond bowshot of the opposing bank. A single bridge nearby the village of Beckby was the only crossing, and Hae-jin marveled that Wickhowe had been so careless as to leave it intact and unguarded. The leaden air of the dreary morning was filled with the deadened sound of drums as the king’s army advanced purposefully upon the bridge. As they reached the crossing the army ground to a halt, abruptly bottlenecked as the men began to tramp across in a jumbled press, while still others attempted to ford the water.

All of a sudden, from within the ranks of the enemy ahead, the sound of trumpets again filled the air. This time, the front rank of the enemy sprang forward, as Wickhowe’s longbowmen advanced into bowshot and unleashed a storm of arrows on the forces of the king. At the same instant, a shout went up in the village of Beckby, and yet more archers appeared from concealment in the town and loosed their arrows upon the king’s flank.

From his position in the rearguard, Hae-jin craned his neck from his saddle to observe the looming debacle unfold. The king’s front rank was faltering under the brutal assault, the men on the bridge halted and cowering while the men in the river were falling as they fled from whence they came, or else scrambled to the other side and threw themselves behind the scant protection of the opposite bank. But as yet the rear ranks we holding fast as the king’s captains rallied the men.

Suddenly, Hae-jin’s ear’s were filled with a deafening thunk and hideous scraping noise as he felt a metallic object of some sort glance off the arched crown of his helmet. A moment later, a soldier standing near Hae-jin uttered an agonized cry, and dropped to the ground clutching his shoulder, from which a small bundle of feathers were protruding from a deep wound. His cries were soon joined by others, as abruptly the ground around them was struck with a downpour of small, wicked iron darts fletched with thin quills, falling from the sky like hail.

Hae-jin looked skywards, shielding his face as best he could with a gauntleted hand. Up above, cruising at a height beyond bowshot, were the Drixi on their great leathery mounts. Hundreds of them were arrayed in groups of wedge-shaped skeins well out of reach of archers on the ground as they poured out their lethal consignment over the hapless enemy below. Now every part of the king’s army was in tumult as men and horses fell on all sides.

The Dixi had passed beyond Hae-jin’s position now, and the lead fliers were already starting to circle back to make another pass. Sykes now rode up alongside Hae-jin.

“Sire! We are taking hard losses. If we remain out in the open the Drixi will continue to thin out our ranks so long as they have ammunition. The men will surely rout if we don’t do something now! We cannot retreat to shelter at Beckby, Wickhowe’s men are fortified there.”

Hae-jin’s mind was racing.

“There’s Ashbeck Wood. That’s probably where the Drixi were hiding all night, and it’s our only shelter left. Take my bodyguard, and go to Donnock. Tell him to take half his men and seize control of the woods.”

“But Hae-jin, the Drixi will surely try to stop us!”

“That’s exactly what I want them to do. Get into those woods and slay every Drixi you find there!”

Sykes argued no more. With a shout he rallied his followers as ordered and made his way to Donnock, leaving Hae-jin without his bodyguard.

As some four hundred of Donnock’s men detached from the rest of the army and drove for the woods, Hae-jin saw the Drixi abruptly change course. It was clear to him now that he and Bradlaw had walked straight into a cunning trap. But even the best strategy has a flaw, and Hae-jin hoped he had found it. For the Drixi could not control the air and occupy the woods at the same time, and as Hae-jin watched the majority of the Drixi riders began to descend and one by one dove beneath the treetops.

There was still one part of the enemy’s plan which Hae-jin didn’t yet understand. Even with the threat of the Drixi above them the king could still retreat into the downs westward. Unless there were something there to prevent it.

A dark shadow suddenly passed over his head, and with a sudden flash of gold plumage the Bird landed on the ground beside him.

“Hae-jin! Terrible news, terrible terrible news!”

“Stop blathering and give me your report!”

“Hae-jin, I’ve been scouting out Gurth’s castle as you instructed. I can see no sign of his troops, but the downs are still full of mist. And Hae-jin, the mist is moving!”

Hae-jin gulped. At last, he thought understood what Gurth’s plan had been all along, as the rest of it now fell into place.

“Which way is it headed?”

“Straight for us, coming uphill from the downs.”

“How fast?”

“About a marching pace.”

So that was it. The wizardry of Gurth was subtle and insidious as always. With Wickhowe as bait, Bradlaw had been lured into the open, caught in a killing field between Beckby and Ashbeck Wood while Gurth closed in from the rear under cover of a bewitched fog.

There was no time to lose. Spurring his horse, Hae-jin cried out to his trumpeters, and slowly the rearguard began to shift position as Hae-jin frantically turned his division around to face the new threat behind them.

Donnock’s forces had now passed under the canopy of Ashbeck Wood, with Hae-jin’s bodyguard in the lead. Further in, nearly three hundred Drixi had dismounted, and drawing bows and short spears they spread out into the woods to engage Donnock’s men. Like most of the woodlands in Linster, Ashbeck was well tended and largely clear of bramble, and among the austere timbers a brutal contest ensued between shadowy trees dispersed over the forest floor like wooden columns supporting the leafy roof of some great silvan hall.

Lindsey ran through the maze of trees, trying to keep up with Syke’s advancing spearhead. An arrow shot past, grazing the side of her helmet, followed quickly by a second, which Lindsey deflected with her axe, her hands plying her weapon instinctively as protective incantations passed unbidden through her mind.

She’d caught up with the rest of the bodyguard now. Just a few feet ahead of her Sykes and several men were engaged in close quarters with black and scarlet clad Drixi. Ursilda roared with fury as she barreled through the trees, scattering Drixi before her as the Wogs followed in her wake, skewering all they came upon. Nearby was the young earl of Donnock, his boyish frame enclosed in a brilliant plate harness as he whaled into the enemy with a mighty poleaxe. Falknir was fanatically laying waste to Drixi all around, while behind him Dackery advanced doggedly, his sword sheathed as he braced his pistol against a large shield and fired until he ran out of loaded magazines. Through it all, a small Fox threaded his way imperceptibly through the Drixi ranks, dodging back and forth between trees and legs as he cried out in feigned voices and sounds, sowing discord wherever he went.

A man at arms fell down beside Lindsey, clutching his face where an arrow had lodged beneath the brim of his helmet. The Drixi were falling back into a defensive position, forming into two ranks encircling the place where their mounts had been tethered, and the archers were now shooting in earnest from behind a bristling wall of speartips and swords. Another man near Lindsey was struck down, and with a yell Lindsey charged forward straight into the wall of steel ahead. She had hardly covered a few yards before she ground to a halt under a hail of arrows. Even with strings of enchantments on her lips she could hardly move her weapon fast enough to intercept them all, and she found herself pinned behind a tree.

Suddenly, from behind the Drixi ranks there came a terrible, inhuman cry.

The woods ahead became filled with unearthly shrieks, primeval and terrified. A great beating noise filtered through the trees, and through the branches above Lindsey caught sight of a host of great, leathery creatures leaping into the air. The Drixi saw it too, and abruptly their assault faltered as they saw that their mounts were disappearing through the treetops into the sky.

Then, with a roar a vast shape barreled through the trees behind them. A great humanoid, twelve feet tall and armored in mail from a score of chain shirts cut open and sewn together over a thick gown of sheepskin. The creature strode through the ranks of Drixi carrying a crude wooden shield taller than a man and swinging a great ironshod club which was sharply bent on one end rather like a hockey stick, with which he battered and swept aside the confounded soldiers in his path. Even before she could see his face, Lindsey was sure she knew what it was. One doesn’t see a creature like that and forget him easily. She had no notion how or why he came be there, she only knew that the Barri the giant had turned the tide for them.

The Drixi were in full retreat now. With their mounts bolted they were stranded on the ground in a hostile land, fighting a war none of them cared much about. As trumpets sounded the withdrawal they fell back in as much order as they could manage while some of their number sped to the few beasts which remained on the ground and mounted up in pursuit of their runaway animals.

Only a few Drixi remained now in the sky over the fields of Beckby, and even these had ceased their harassment of the king’s forces and had broken off in pursuit of the flying stampede. In the vanguard the Bishop of Larchester had forded the river and positioned his division between Wickhowe’s main army and the village, cutting off any retreat for Wickhowe in that direction, while a detachment under the Earl of Duncarden broke off from the van to assault Beckby itself. The king’s forces now surged ahead across the bridge, and Wickhowe’s men closed distance to engage in close quarters while the king was still bottlenecked, but were driven back again as the rest of the Bishop’s battle closed into bowshot of Wickhowe and unleashed their arrows.

To the rear, Hae-jin’s battle had wheeled fully and were stumbling into position as before them now a great wall of mist was creeping up from the downs. The sound of tramping feet and the harsh rhythm of Zardish drums filtered steadily through the fog, and as the foul cloud engulfed Hae-jin’s front ranks the terrible outline of ranks upon ranks of Zard and men loomed through the gloom as the two armies closed on one another. Soon, the mist was filled with stricken cries and the clash of steel, as men and Zard fought desperately in the dim claustrophobia of the accursed mist. Without Donnock, Hae-jin’s men were outnumbered nearly two to one. Deprived too of his bodyguard Hae-jin himself fought in the midst of it all, his scant vantage point on horseback his sole means of retaining any command of the situation.

Ahead of him now, Hae-jin noticed that his front line was beginning to disintegrate. It was hardly perceptible in the mist, but Hae-jin could see that men were starting to break and run, and only the obscurity of the fog was preventing the panic from spreading into a full on rout. Backing his horse slightly away from the action Hae-jin peered into the mist. Just visible in the gloom he could see flashes of light emanating near the place where the line was breaking. Hae-jin spurred his horse forward, trampling a few Zard and black clad soldiers as he pushed for the lights. It seemed that the magic fog wasn’t the only bit of sorcery Gurth had prepared for the occasion. As Hae-jin approached, he could now see a shape resolving in the mist.

There, hovering above the heads of the embattled soldiers, was the outline of a man encased in armor floating over the battlefield with his arms outstretched. Hae-jin could not see his face, but he was sure the man suspended in the air was Gurth himself. On his head was a greathelm fitted with fantastic horns which gave him the appearance of a demon, and hurling from the open palms of his hands were scintillating balls of purple lightning which whirled around the heads of the men, diving and whipping between their legs and arms and darting up again to explode in their faces. Some men were thrown to the ground stunned, but many more were simply scattering in terror.

Gurth had to be stopped now, before the panic spread any further. Hae-jin spurred his horse again and charged straight for Gurth. With a snap, the helmeted head of the witch jerked up to look at him, and with a jab of his right hand he threw a ball of lightning straight at Hae-jin’s mount. With a terrible cry the horse bucked and shied from the freakish missile, and Hae-jin was cast to the ground as the horse bolted off into the mist. Hae-jin clamoured to his feet, but was instantly knocked back down again as a barrage of ball lightning burst in his face. Now, Gurth was hovering quite close, and as he bore down on Hae-jin the witch’s hands began to glow with a swirling mass of purple arcs.

Suddenly, from behind Hae-jin came a ray of amber light, and as Gurth looked up a bright golden ball hurled through the air and struck the armored man square in the center of his chest, knocking him clear out of the air and sending him tumbling backwards to smash into his own rear rank.

Immediately, the ground around Hae-jin exploded with thrown dirt and hooves, as a pair of green armored knights on white horses charged past him and smashed through the ranks of Zard ahead, scattering them in all directions. A third horse followed and reared to a halt just beside Hae-jin. A woman in a green gown rolled out of the saddle and thrust the reigns into Hae-jin’s hand.

The woman stepped forward now, spreading her arms wide as a gust of wind gently whisked up her dress around her ankles. Quickly the wind grew, whipping around her skirts and whirling up her body as it surged with force until with a boom it burst into a full on whirlwind, blasting her headdress clear off and blowing up her hair into the mad windstorm above her. To all sides of the woman’s body the diabolical fog was being blown away until it was completely dispersed.

As the light of day flooded the battlefield Hae-jin turned as he heard the blast of a trumpet from behind. There, to one side on the crest of the downs was the Earl of Swinstoke at the head a hundred mounted men at arms, their armor gleaming under the light of the sun, while over their heads there circled The Bird, still gathering up a few stragglers and ushering them into the ranks. With another trumpet blast, the cavalry couched their lances and charged down the hillside straight into Gurth’s exposed flank.

Gurth’s flank collapsed completely under the assault as Zard and man were broken and scattered under the devastating impact of Swinstoke’s charge. With the enchanted mist banished and their sorcerous commander nowhere insight, the army of Gurth began to rout.

Hae-jin leaped into the saddle of the horse beside him, as the woman now turned to face him. Without a word she pointed in the direction of the enemy, and Hae-jin spurred the horse forward and called upon those around him to charge. The army of Robin Goodfellow now surged forward, hard on the heels of the fleeing servants of Gurth as they stumbled through the sloughs and defiles of the downs and fell under the onslaught of arrows and the vengeful blades of the enemy.

To the east, the king’s forces had at last crossed the River Beck and were now savagely engaged with Wickhowe’s front rank. William of Bradlaw fought valiantly from his steed, his lance discarded as he lay waste to all around him with a rugged warhammer. Up ahead, the king espied the standard of Wickhowe. He began to turn his horse in that direction when another rider pulled up alongside him and the Count of Gillnock laid his hand gently on the king’s reigns.

“Sire, Larchester is drawing up on Kirkweld’s flank. The enemy’s rearguard will soon collapse, we should keep them occupied while Larchester routs them.”

The king cast the venerable man’s hand aside.

“Wickhowe is nearly before me now. I cannot allow him to escape me!”

“Sire, leave Wickhowe! It will not be long before he is driven from the field.”

“Which is why I must face him now!”

Over a final protest from the aged count, the King pressed forward with his bodyguard towards the standard of his nemesis. There, pitched in combat alongside the remnant of his bodyguard was the Earl of Wickhowe, fighting on foot with his sword in both hands, his horse cut from under him.

The king cast his warhammer to the ground, and dismounting he drew his sword to face his enemy on even terms as he shouted a challenge to Wickhowe. The earl turned, and upon seeing the king he now advanced. As they closed distance on one another both men grasped their swords like short spears, with one hand on the hilt and the other on the blade. A brutal contest ensued, as both men jabbed at one another at terrifyingly close range, attempting to drive the point of their weapons into the vulnerable recesses of the other’s harness. In short order their were grappling with one another, leveraging their swords like crowbars. Wickhowe suddenly got the upper hand, and hooking his pommel under the king’s knee he threw the man to the ground. Wickhowe now couched his sword under his arm like a lance and began to drive the point into the king’s mail clad armpit, when abruptly he jerked aside as he recoiled under the impact of a mace brought down on one side of his helmet. Wickhowe staggered under the conconcussion and his sword arm fell slack for a moment as a horseman dismounted beside him and cast aside his mace. Drawing a dagger, the horseman seized the earl and pried his dagger under the man’s visor, driving it home.

As the defeated man collapsed lifeless into the field, the horseman stepped to the side of the king, and Bradlaw arose to meet the eyes of the Count of Gillnock.

“You faced your enemy with gallantry, sire. But the Earl of Wickhowe is now no more.”

All around the two men, the army of the late earl was now in full retreat. Kirkweld had withdrawn under the Bishop of Larchester’s assault, and Gatehurst had soon followed, while the troops under Duncarden had at last taken Beckby after a brutal house to house struggle. With Kirkweld and Gatehurst in flight, the last vestiges of Wickhowe’s army were routed.

And the Battle of Beckby was over.