Scouting the Enemy
Lord Marith Foxe and Sir Macimar approached the army with care, although not cautious enough it would seem. A band of small men, their arms thrusting long spears had rushed up on them. Marith cursed himself, "Of course they have scouts, why have I let us ride into such a trap?"
The small formed men shouted out in their foreign tongues, neither of the riders recognized it, however both understood its intent. They were to become prisoners of this grand army, a force measuring twenty thousand by Lord Foxe's estimation. Worse yet, the foreign invaders might just kill them. Macimar slid one of his blades from its ornate scabbard and kicked in his spurred heels.
"Maybe you wished to test their strength my lord."
Marith scoffed at the idea that he had intentionally let this event happen on purpose. The logic of his loyal knight had merit. What better way to understand an opposing army than to face them in such small and contained numbers.
Marith was not as cavalier as his protégé and took a moment to secure his helm and lower his visor. He then put Corceneble into a lope and unseated the long battle axe from its resting spot on his horse’s side. He raised the light weight and perfectly balanced weapon high above his head. "For my Brethens!" he chanted.
"Your Brethen!" Sir Macimar replied, his long tresses whipped in the wind as he rode hard into the tiny men's position. His sword swooped in low and nearly clipped the head of the nearest. The knight's aim was precise and yet he missed the mark somehow; the scrawny adversary skirting the attack with uncanny ease.
Unwavering Macimar continued his assault, his powerful horse parting the ambushers and opening up a second target. Down came his sword once more, a sweeping arc meant to cleave and yet this attempt was thwarted as well, as the cat-like reflexes of his opponent evaded.
"What are they," he exclaimed to his companion. There was no immediate answer as his mentor had not yet joined him in the fight. Unsurprising, his mentor lingered at the edge of the battle assessing the situation. Macimar hoped in this particular situation that the patience of his lord paid out and that he would figure out a method to kill these quick little men.
Lord Marith Foxe watched Macimar fail in his initial approach, and in fact knew the name of these creatures now that he had seen them closer up. They were called Leesermen, originating from a realm far to the east; an unsophisticated bunch of natives. It was odd seeing them group up in such large numbers and to also be warmongering. The Leesermen had always been known for their small, tribal like, religious sects. This really made no sense to Lord Foxe.
Macimar reigned in his horse on the far side of the fray and wheeled it about. He was no slouch when it came to speed and if any human could stand toe to toe to these lythe creatures it would be him. Of all of Marith's students, Macimar had surpassed all with his ability to wield the small blades.
The long haired knight dropped out of his saddle and drew out a second sword, an identical forge of the previous with an eagle emblemed hilt. He twirled each in synchronous circles, a signature movement of this fierce warrior. By now Lord Foxe had his long shafted axe swinging as well, but he too could not seem to strike a successful hit. The Leesermen were just too quick. He tried a midlevel jab, evade, an overhead chop, evade, a twirling crisscross shoulder to gut slice, evade.
Deep into his struggle of finding a method to strike his opponent, Marith lost track of several Leesermen that had slid around to his backside. Their spear tips nudging his polished armor and reminding him of his surroundings once again. It became the pivotal moment for the fight, as Marith Foxe realized what he needed to do to.
He shouted across to Macimar, "I have an idea."
"I figured and hoped you might, my lord."
"You and I must fight as one."
Marith Foxe allowed the spears to continue to strike him, the strength of the little men too weak to puncture the strong Brethen craftsmanship of the sturdy platemail. Sir Macimar caught on quick that those focused on the easy target of his lord had left themselves vulnerable to attack. A flurry of steel quickly fell two of the Leesermen engaged in prodding Lord Foxe.
The two warriors took turns playing the role of distracter and aggressor. The Leesermen wore no armor and stood no chance at winning by the hands of these two heavily plated and seasoned soldiers. Their nimbleness, initially a strong defense did not make much of a difference in the end. Several minutes later, all of them were piled together dead. Some died from the short swords held in opposing hands by Macimar and the others cleaved in half by the mighty axe of Lord Foxe.
