Post by Seek on Jul 18, 2017 4:50:17 GMT 10
Title: Bear Hunt
Rating: G
Prompt: Bear Hunt (#121)
Summary: Kel’s knight-master frowned at the slate. “Not ideal is putting it mildly,” he pointed out. “What you’re proposing is a bear hunt.”
Notes: Set in a sort of 'reversal' AU-verse where Kel, her yearmates and a number of characters are born in Alanna's time and Alanna, her yearmates, and a number of characters are born in Kel's time. This one is just me playing around while I try to get chronology and parentage worked out, but the basic idea is to throw Alanna's crises at Kel, and Kel's crises at Alanna, and to see how things work out. Kel has to fend off Duke Roger's conspiracies, and fights in the war with Tusaine, all the while hiding her gender as Squire Kellen of Mindelan. Alanna is the first probationary female page, and deals with Ralon, and the Scanran war.
-
Kel eyed the roughly chalked lines on the slate and did her best to keep from grimacing. It was a bad situation, all around. Fifth Company was under-strength, and with their standing orders to hold the left bank of the Drell and desist from crossing, they could not pursue the Tusaine forces across the Drell.
This meant that Fifth Company took hammering after hammering from the Tusaine legions, while they were expected to hold, and hold, and hold, because if a Tusaine legion broke through at the falls, they could easily flank the main body of the Tortallan forces camped about Fort Drell.
Of course, Kel thought, withholding her sigh—it was make-work; scut-work. As far as Duke Roger had been concerned, there was no serious danger of the Tusaine legions choosing to attempt the falls, and so a good number of the knights posted to the Drell Falls camp were green. Some of her fellow squires had complained heavily about this—especially when Faleron got to join his father in holding the stretch of bank beneath Fort Drell. But duty was duty, and Kel wasn’t going to let anyone catch her complaining.
Next to her, Merric let out a glum sigh. Neal was nowhere to be seen; Kel supposed he was working with his father at the medical stations, working on the casualties from the previous engagement.
“It’s not ideal,” Sir Ulrich of Haryse said. Duke Roger had tasked him with advising Prince Roald the Younger, who commanded the defending forces at the falls. And there was a thought—if being stuck at the falls was making all of them itch, Kel could only imagine what Roald must be feeling. Duke Gareth had said he’d intended to place Roald with him, at Fort Drell itself, so Roald could understand how a large force was commanded. Duke Roger didn’t seem to have the same priorities, however.
Seaver snorted at the understatement, and then stared down at his muddy boots when he realised he wasn’t supposed to be interrupting. Sir Ulrich ignored him. “But it’s the best we have to work with.”
Kel’s knight-master frowned at the slate. “Not ideal is putting it mildly,” he pointed out. “What you’re proposing is a bear hunt.”
“It is a bear hunt,” Sir Ulrich agreed.
“I don’t understand,” Esmond said, studying the battle lines crudely chalked out on the slate. His voice was a meek whisper at best. “Why don’t we ask for reinforcements? During the briefing, Duke Gareth said Lord Imrah of Legann was in position to support us.”
“See the arrows here?” Kel asked, absorbed, in spite of herself, in this world of numbers and units and positions. “He’s pinned by a Tusaine legion. That’s not the problem—the problem is, the legion’s supported by three units of knights. If he moves to reinforce us, the knights will punch through the Tortallan line like an arrow through parchment.”
Sir Ulrich nodded; he approved of the squires learning about the nuts-and-bolts of command and strategy. “Exactly so, Squire Kellen. My last messenger from Lord Imrah suggested that reinforcements will not be forthcoming.” What was not said was that King Roald needed to make his mind up about whether Tortallan forces got to do anything other than hold position—and soon. The Tusaine legions had been mustering for a long time, and allowing them to continuously rend the Tortallan defenses was not going to be a working strategy.
If it boiled down to a numbers game, the numbers weren’t in their favour.
“Why is it a bear hunt?” Quinden asked, at last.
“Have you heard stories of Scanran bear hunters?” Sir Ulrich retorted. As Quinden shook his head, he explained. “Some of the clans still do it. It’s tradition: the warrior goes after the bear with nought but a knife. The trick, they say, is to get the dagger in the bear’s heart before the bear mauls you to death with its paws.”
Risky, Kel thought. Fifth Company would be among the forces assigned to holding off the bear’s paws—withstanding the Tusaine onslaught, while Sir Ulrich led the assembled knights in a charge for the heart of the bear: the Tusaine staging camp on the opposite side of the Drell.
Finally, Prince Roald spoke up. “Have you obtained my father’s permission?”
Sir Ulrich’s face was carefully bland. “There is more than one bear, your Highness.”
Roald stared down at the slate. He was silent for a long time. No one in the command tent spoke. You didn’t have to, when you were contemplating a little careful treason. Their forces were not going to hold. They all knew that. One more attack from Tusaine, and they might very well break, and then the Tortallans stationed around the fort would be overrun.
Roald drew in a long, deep breath. Finally, he gave a decisive, damning nod. He said, calmly, “I command here, Sir Ulrich. I’ll lead the charge myself.”
Merric opened his mouth to protest. Kel stepped—hard—on his foot, and he shot her an annoyed look, but said nothing. It was cold-blooded pragmatism. If Roald commanded them to cross the Drell in order to press home the attack, it was treason—but King Roald the Elder could hardly execute his own son.
“Then I suggest we move tonight,” Sir Ulrich said, briskly. “The last skirmish was two days ago—they won’t be expecting us to hit them again so soon.”
Kel’s eyes met her knight-master’s as they lifted the tent flap and ducked out of the tent. “You’ll see to Fifth Company?” Sir Osric of Felgrath asked.
“Yes, sir,” Kel said. She wasn’t going to be riding with the attacking forces, of course. She and Merric and Esmond and Seaver and Quinden and the others were just squires: rather than riding out, they were simply assigned to the infantry companies.
He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go hunting.”
Rating: G
Prompt: Bear Hunt (#121)
Summary: Kel’s knight-master frowned at the slate. “Not ideal is putting it mildly,” he pointed out. “What you’re proposing is a bear hunt.”
Notes: Set in a sort of 'reversal' AU-verse where Kel, her yearmates and a number of characters are born in Alanna's time and Alanna, her yearmates, and a number of characters are born in Kel's time. This one is just me playing around while I try to get chronology and parentage worked out, but the basic idea is to throw Alanna's crises at Kel, and Kel's crises at Alanna, and to see how things work out. Kel has to fend off Duke Roger's conspiracies, and fights in the war with Tusaine, all the while hiding her gender as Squire Kellen of Mindelan. Alanna is the first probationary female page, and deals with Ralon, and the Scanran war.
-
Kel eyed the roughly chalked lines on the slate and did her best to keep from grimacing. It was a bad situation, all around. Fifth Company was under-strength, and with their standing orders to hold the left bank of the Drell and desist from crossing, they could not pursue the Tusaine forces across the Drell.
This meant that Fifth Company took hammering after hammering from the Tusaine legions, while they were expected to hold, and hold, and hold, because if a Tusaine legion broke through at the falls, they could easily flank the main body of the Tortallan forces camped about Fort Drell.
Of course, Kel thought, withholding her sigh—it was make-work; scut-work. As far as Duke Roger had been concerned, there was no serious danger of the Tusaine legions choosing to attempt the falls, and so a good number of the knights posted to the Drell Falls camp were green. Some of her fellow squires had complained heavily about this—especially when Faleron got to join his father in holding the stretch of bank beneath Fort Drell. But duty was duty, and Kel wasn’t going to let anyone catch her complaining.
Next to her, Merric let out a glum sigh. Neal was nowhere to be seen; Kel supposed he was working with his father at the medical stations, working on the casualties from the previous engagement.
“It’s not ideal,” Sir Ulrich of Haryse said. Duke Roger had tasked him with advising Prince Roald the Younger, who commanded the defending forces at the falls. And there was a thought—if being stuck at the falls was making all of them itch, Kel could only imagine what Roald must be feeling. Duke Gareth had said he’d intended to place Roald with him, at Fort Drell itself, so Roald could understand how a large force was commanded. Duke Roger didn’t seem to have the same priorities, however.
Seaver snorted at the understatement, and then stared down at his muddy boots when he realised he wasn’t supposed to be interrupting. Sir Ulrich ignored him. “But it’s the best we have to work with.”
Kel’s knight-master frowned at the slate. “Not ideal is putting it mildly,” he pointed out. “What you’re proposing is a bear hunt.”
“It is a bear hunt,” Sir Ulrich agreed.
“I don’t understand,” Esmond said, studying the battle lines crudely chalked out on the slate. His voice was a meek whisper at best. “Why don’t we ask for reinforcements? During the briefing, Duke Gareth said Lord Imrah of Legann was in position to support us.”
“See the arrows here?” Kel asked, absorbed, in spite of herself, in this world of numbers and units and positions. “He’s pinned by a Tusaine legion. That’s not the problem—the problem is, the legion’s supported by three units of knights. If he moves to reinforce us, the knights will punch through the Tortallan line like an arrow through parchment.”
Sir Ulrich nodded; he approved of the squires learning about the nuts-and-bolts of command and strategy. “Exactly so, Squire Kellen. My last messenger from Lord Imrah suggested that reinforcements will not be forthcoming.” What was not said was that King Roald needed to make his mind up about whether Tortallan forces got to do anything other than hold position—and soon. The Tusaine legions had been mustering for a long time, and allowing them to continuously rend the Tortallan defenses was not going to be a working strategy.
If it boiled down to a numbers game, the numbers weren’t in their favour.
“Why is it a bear hunt?” Quinden asked, at last.
“Have you heard stories of Scanran bear hunters?” Sir Ulrich retorted. As Quinden shook his head, he explained. “Some of the clans still do it. It’s tradition: the warrior goes after the bear with nought but a knife. The trick, they say, is to get the dagger in the bear’s heart before the bear mauls you to death with its paws.”
Risky, Kel thought. Fifth Company would be among the forces assigned to holding off the bear’s paws—withstanding the Tusaine onslaught, while Sir Ulrich led the assembled knights in a charge for the heart of the bear: the Tusaine staging camp on the opposite side of the Drell.
Finally, Prince Roald spoke up. “Have you obtained my father’s permission?”
Sir Ulrich’s face was carefully bland. “There is more than one bear, your Highness.”
Roald stared down at the slate. He was silent for a long time. No one in the command tent spoke. You didn’t have to, when you were contemplating a little careful treason. Their forces were not going to hold. They all knew that. One more attack from Tusaine, and they might very well break, and then the Tortallans stationed around the fort would be overrun.
Roald drew in a long, deep breath. Finally, he gave a decisive, damning nod. He said, calmly, “I command here, Sir Ulrich. I’ll lead the charge myself.”
Merric opened his mouth to protest. Kel stepped—hard—on his foot, and he shot her an annoyed look, but said nothing. It was cold-blooded pragmatism. If Roald commanded them to cross the Drell in order to press home the attack, it was treason—but King Roald the Elder could hardly execute his own son.
“Then I suggest we move tonight,” Sir Ulrich said, briskly. “The last skirmish was two days ago—they won’t be expecting us to hit them again so soon.”
Kel’s eyes met her knight-master’s as they lifted the tent flap and ducked out of the tent. “You’ll see to Fifth Company?” Sir Osric of Felgrath asked.
“Yes, sir,” Kel said. She wasn’t going to be riding with the attacking forces, of course. She and Merric and Esmond and Seaver and Quinden and the others were just squires: rather than riding out, they were simply assigned to the infantry companies.
He clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Good,” he said. “Let’s go hunting.”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!