Richard Baker - Farthest Reach

Seiveril rode at the head of the army among the Silver Guard, the cavalry who had served House Miritar in Evermeet. The Silver Guard was the largest body of mounted soldiers in Seiveril’s host, three full squadrons of lightly-armored knights who rode under the banner of Edraele Muirreste. Edraele was a young and slightly built moon elf, so small that it seemed ludicrous that she should have taken up the sword. Edraele might have been young for her command, but she was also the single finest equestrian that Seiveril had seen in his four hundred years, and she possessed a fiery charisma that her warriors adored. He’d placed her in command of the vanguard on leaving Galath’s Roost, and she and her Silver Guard had vigorously patrolled ahead of the army, searching for any sign of the enemy.

In the evening of the march’s third day, they fought their first skirmish against the Zhentarim’s soldiers.

The track broke out of the forest Cormanthor proper, crossing a narrow neck of open land along the southern border of the Dale, less than twenty miles from the town of Shadowdale. As the glittering elven cavalry rode between fields of chest-high grain straight and still in the calm hour before sunset, a pair of scouts appeared from behind a stone farmhouse, riding hard for the banner.

“What is this?” muttered Captain Edraele from beside Seiveril.

She stood up in her stirrups and cantered forward to meet the scouts. Seiveril restrained his impulse to go and see what news the scouts brought, and made himself wait. He didn’t want Edraele to think he lacked confidence in her.

As it turned out, he did not have long to wonder. Edraele wheeled away at once and spurred back to the company of Golden Star knights and Silver Guard officers who rode by Seiveril.

“Zhentarim cavalry!” she snarled as she pulled up abreast of Seiveril and Starbrow. “A large company, about a mile off on our right front. They’re chasing after a scouting party of our own warriors.”

“The Zhents are here already?” Seiveril said.

He glanced back at the twilight woods behind him, thinking of the miles-long column of marching elves who followed behind the cavalry. The forest wouldn’t stop him from deploying from the march into a line of battle, but still… he’d thought he would have two days more, at least.

Starbrow read the concern in his face, and shook his head. “It won’t be the main body, Seiveril. The Zhentarim likely have bands of marauders and scouts ranging all over the open dale, looking for us and causing trouble where they can. It’s what I would do in their place.”

Edraele pranced her horse around, and looked to Seiveril. “They likely don’t have any idea that we’ve got the vanguard of the army at our backs, Lord Seiveril,” she said. “Unless you object, I’ll take the Silver Guard and drive them off.”

“I agree,” Starbrow said. “I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t teach them a hard lesson about getting too close to us.”

Seiveril hesitated. Somehow, he found that he had been hoping that it would not prove necessary to meet Zhentil Keep in battle. He felt Starbrow and Edraele waiting on his words, and frowned. Regardless of his wishes, the Zhentarim had picked a fight, and the fact that they were willing to employ orc, gnoll, and ogre mercenaries spoke volumes about the sort of realm they would raise over northern Cormanthor if he avoided battle.

“Very well,” Seiveril answered. “Drive them off, but be wary of ambushes, Edraele.”

Edraele did not wait an instant longer. She plucked the standard from her bearer’s stirrup-rest and waved the banner in a fluttering circle.

“Silver Guards, follow me!” she cried, and she dashed off into the dusk. All around, the Silver Guards spurred their own mounts after her, thundering away across the fields.

Seiveril looked at Adresin, the sun elf knight who commanded his personal guard, and said, “Let’s follow after them. I want to see what we’re up against.”

Adresin winced. “Lord Seiveril, I can’t risk losing you to a chance arrow in a simple skirmish-” he began, but Seiveril decided to make it easy on the poor fellow. He simply spurred his own horse after the Silver Guard, making sure to leave a good space so that no one could accuse him of riding right into the fray on their heels.

He felt Starbrow close up beside him, and looked over to see the moon elf champion grinning broadly. “That was not fair, Seiveril,” he called over the drumming of the hooves. “He is only doing his duty!”

“I’ll be careful,” Seiveril promised.

He slowed his pace a little, and allowed Adresin and his bodyguards to close up around him. To the young knight’s credit, he did not bother to argue the point any longer. He simply slammed the half-visor of his bright helmet closed, and stayed close to Seiveril.

They passed through a broken line of wind-stunted poplars and scrub, then emerged into a broad field. The Silver Guard galloped away, lances lowered, charging at a ragged line of human riders dressed in surcoats of black and yellow. The numbers seemed equal, or close to it, and the Zhentilar did not waver. They couched their own spears and turned to meet the elf riders who flashed over the field toward them. For one terrible moment they thundered toward each other in the bright field, stained crimson by the setting sun, and the skirmish lines met with shrill ring of steel and the terrified whinnying of wounded horses. Riders in black and yellow fell, but so too did elves in silver and white, and the charge disintegrated into a furious, swirling, spurred melee as any kind of battle order failed.

“They’ve got courage,” Starbrow said. “I’ll say that for them. And that’s at least two full companies over there.”

“I see them.” Seiveril watched the battle for only a moment before glancing back to Adresin. “Captain, let’s see if we can lend a hand. This looks to be a closer thing than I’d thought.”

Adresin nodded behind his visor. “We’ll do what we can, sir,” he said.

He motioned for two of his soldiers to remain close to Seiveril then he gathered the rest of the guards and raced off to join the skirmish. Seiveril approached more cautiously, anxious to lend his guards’ help to the battle, but not sure of where he could make himself most useful.

The fight raged on. The Zhentarim cavalrymen fought furiously, keeping their heads and working to cover their allies as best they could. Their armor was substantially heavier than the elf knights’, but the elves were faster and more nimble, and they fought with a skill and elan that the humans were hard-pressed to match. Time and again, elf riders danced close to their foes to slash with silver sabers or lash out with long-pennoned lances, only to parry the cuts of heavy broadswords or spur away from hard-driven lance-thrusts. Elf warriors with some skill at magic peppered the skirmish with darting blasts of golden magic or confused the human horsemen with shifting illusions and quick enchantments, confounding the Zhentilar’s efforts.

That’s a season of fighting the daemonfey, Seiveril thought with a fierce burst of pride. Our warriors have become a well-tempered blade indeed! He angled toward the right flank, drew his silver mace, and spurred forward to join the fight, shouting a wordless battle cry.

He crossed the last hundred yards in the blink of an eye, his mount’s hooves flashing like silver fire in the dusk, and Seiveril found himself in the fray. He batted aside a Zhentish lance and hammered the warrior out of the saddle with a great overhand swing, then wheeled his horse to meet another Zhentilar behind him in a furious rain of ringing blows as their weapons met with shock after shock, their horses stamped and whinnied, and cries of anger, pain, and triumph filled his ears. Seiveril dueled his swordsman to a standstill and was about to hammer down his guard, but an elf lancer took the man from behind and knocked him out of the saddle. The elflord spun around, searching for the fight. Starbrow battled close by, cutting an awful swath through the Zhentilar ranks with Keryvian’s pure white blade.