Fiction #2 - Lord Marshal Ulysses Tennyson

"in that moment knew I despair, for the Strength of Heaven had been given over unto the will of Man..."

Conflict and turmoil surrounded Lord Marshal Tennyson, as they had for most of his adult life. Voices cried out in terrible cacophony, strident and angry in their battle to be heard. Tempers flared, fists shook, expressions darkened, threats were made and more, yet the aged general sat amid it all, seemingly oblivious. Ulysses Tennyson, Lord Marshal of Camlyn's armies and Duke of the Eastern Marchlands, knew intimately the indicators of war.

For more than fifty years he'd trained, studied, practiced and perfected the arts of war. His eyes had seen countless battlefields, studied endless maps and terrains, observed thousands of training exercises, and beheld innumerable deaths of young men. Riots, secessions, invasions, civil disputes, attempted mutinies, hostile expeditions - Tennyson had witnessed, orchestrated, executed and reviewed all these and more for decades. Yes, he and war were intimately familiar; close as lovers, one might say. War was in the air, no doubt about it. He could feel her in the heated exchanges all around him, smell her in the rancor all about, hear her in the vindictive accusations being thrown throughout the room, and see her savage gleam in the hateful glares of the various lords. No mistake, battle would soon descend on this beautiful land the late king had created. Still, for all he saw around him, his mind and heart were drawn to another fateful battle, long ago...

* * * * * * * * * *

"Is there no man willing to accept my challenge?" cried the young warrior to the massed army before him. Ranks of soldiers faced each other across the banks of the Keldron River, all silent as they focused on Crimson Ford. A single man stood at the center of the ford, unarmed but for the staff of parley clutched in his right hand. On the east bank, nearly three thousand men held disciplined, orderly ranks, each bearing the standard of the House of Tennyson, Kings of Agaris. To the west stood a mere one thousand troops; a motley collection of standards, insignia, and associations spread among them. None of the emblems represented were known by the heralds of Agaris, let alone their young king Ulysses. The unknown warrior holding the ford had come from their number. He stood confidently, expectantly, waiting for an answer from the larger army. Such a bold proposition for one outnumbered; such a strong claim for one unknown as he.

Ulysses guided his horse forward, the sea of men parting before him as he progressed toward the ford. A student of combat and battle since his first steps, Ulysses studied the anonymous warrior as he approached. The man stood tall and strong, deep in the chest and well-muscled for one so young. Handsome, though not overly so, his presence commanded attention like no other on the field, save Ulysses alone. His armor was plain, though well-made; a sign of practical craftsmanship and experience in battle. His expression bore no eagerness for the challenge, nor cowardice at the prospect of being accepted; simply a calm assurance. The crest, a sword grasped in hand over a blue field with five stars overhead, spoke simply of purity, strength, and divinity. This man believed Heaven itself had declared his strength to rule. An audacious claim, for one unknown.

"I accept your challenge, good sir," answered Ulysses Tennyson, as he reached the near edge of the ford. "We shall face each other on the morrow, at dawn, for a duel. I will bring any and all weapons I so desire to bear against you and your one sword. Can I but manage to break your sword, you and your armies will surrender to my authority and swear fealty to Agaris. Failing that, I and mine will surrender ourselves to your mercy, swearing fealty to your house and your right to rule. This I promise you upon my name, Ulysses of House Tennyson, King and Protector of the realm of Agaris. I ask but one thing, good sir; the honor of your name."

"I am grateful to hear you accept my challenge, my lord Tennyson. I am Cyrus Avallon, High King of Camlyn," replied the young warrior. "You will find me here at first light, awaiting your good pleasure to see this test to its completion." His challenge accepted, Cyrus Avallon bowed and turned back toward his troops, walking proud and tall. Ulysses Tennyson likewise turned his horse about and returned to his command tents to discuss strategies with his advisors.

The dawn broke clean and clear, the beginning of a fine summer day. Lord Tennyson emerged from his tent clad in simple armor, laden with a multitude of weapons: mace, sword, dagger, flail, axe, bow, arrows, and spear. His advisors and captains all followed at a respectful distance, marching confidently to their victory over this upstart army. True to his word, Lord Avallon awaited Tennyson at the center of the ford, also clad in simple armor and bearing a single sword. No other attendants were nearby, though the whole of his army stood at the far bank, watching silently.

"I bid you good and blessed morning, my lord Avallon," said the King of Agaris. "I pray God grant you strength and courage this morning."

"My thanks to you, my lord Tennyson," replied the King of Camlyn. "I pray God grant you wisdom in the wake of this morning. Shall we begin?"

Puzzled by the cryptic blessing, Ulysses shrugged away his curiosity, settling his focus on his opponent's stance. Eyes narrowing in concentration, Tennyson set string to his bow and nocked an arrow.

"My lord Avallon, you challenged my army yesterday to a simple test," began the King of Agaris. "You have allowed me to bring any number of weapons to bear against you in attempt to either pierce your skin or destroy your sword. Your emergence from this test unscathed and armed demonstrates the favor of Heaven on your reign. I ask you this but once: will you not accept that I will emerge the victor and spare yourself the humiliation of defeat and possibly the ignominy of death?"

"My good lord Tennyson," answered the King of Camlyn, "I am but a humble servant of God. Should he desire to see me cast down so, then I accept without question. If you are ready, then let us begin your test of faith."

In answer to this statement, Tennyson quickly drew the arrow to bear and let fly. The arrow whistled through the air as it sped toward Avallon's heart. Just as swiftly, Avallon's sword cleared the scabbard, ringing clearly across the waters. The polished blade caught the morning sun and fairly pulsed with the bright, pure light of the heavens. Startled by the flash of light, Tennyson looked away, trading his bow for the spear. The whistle of the arrow cut short and both armies gasped as Avallon cut the arrow in half and waited for the next attack.

Ulysses stood stunned for a brief moment, amazed at the speed of this young warrior. No man had ever cut an arrow in two, certainly not at that short a distance! Deciding the flash of the sun must have thrown his aim, he set the spear low and half ran toward his opponent. Avallon stood casually, almost carelessly awaiting Tennyson's approach. Within range, the spear lashed out high, feinting and circling low for a sweep. Avallon danced in rhythm with the spear assault, flicking the blade about to deflect the spear's point. Within moments, the spear fell beneath the waters of the ford, discarded and useless in three pieces.

Tennyson stepped back quickly, suspecting a quick counter from Avallon as he worked a new weapon to hand. The moment was lost as Tennyson loosed the flail, circling all the while. Twice he had attempted to pierce his opponents skin, and twice he had been handily defeated; a new tactic was required. His feet working quickly in arrhythmic patterns, he spun the flail in attempt to wrest the sword from Avallon's grasp. Barely shifting from his place, Avallon spun aside and languidly flicked the blade across the flail's trajectory. Sparks flew as the blade cut through the chains of the flail, rendering it as useless as the two weapons before.

Temper rising, Tennyson whirled about, drawing the axe from its holder. His face set in a deadly grimace, he set toward Avallon at a hard pace, darting the blade high, then low, rushing from the side to throw the man off his stance. Avallon met the pace in stride, whirling about and keeping the blade ever at his center. The explosion of metal clashing shattered the early morning air. Fog began curling up from the surface of the ford as the sun crawled into the sky. The two figures continued to circle each other, blades flashing and sparking. With a tremendous screech, the blade of the axe split and fell into the water, just as ruined as its predecessors.

Seething with rage, Tennyson swept his leg in a wide circle, trying to trip Avallon. At the same time, he withdrew his own sword and began a complicated series of lunges, feints, and jabs. The two men circled each other faster and faster, locked in a fatal dance of destiny. Men watched with bated breath as the two kings spun about, blades flashing, sparks flying, water splashing all around. No words were exchanged, only savage grunts and barks. Jab, spin, feint, lunge, sweep, spin, cut, spin, reverse cut, jab, lunge, sweep... blow after blow fell brutally against Avallon. Still, nothing broke through his defenses. Finally, in fury, Tennyson leapt toward Avallon, bringing all his energy down upon the man in a terrible overhead strike. Avallon raised his sword and the last moment, holding the flat of his blade against the strike.

The morning, promising peace and tranquility at the first, was riven with the sound of a shattering sword. Body heaving with ire and exertion, Tennyson stood to his feet before Avallon, clutching the remains of his family's sword, broken just above the hilt. Cyrus Avallon, High King of Camlyn, stood still, armed and unscathed, just as he had challenged. His sword remained intact, whole and unblemished, glowing with the morning sun. Ulysses Tennyson, defeated king of Agaris, fell to his knees before his liege, bared his dagger, and offered it in supplication to the victor.

"As I have sworn, so do I offer my life, crown, lands, and people to you, your Majesty," he said. "Surely, Heaven has declared its favor in you, my lord, and seeks to appoint you the new King of Agaris. Do with me as you please, my lord." Three thousand knees followed his example, bowing to their new lord and crying out, "Hail to the King! Long live King Avallon!"

"Arise, good sir," replied Cyrus, "for I accept your offer. As it so happens, I find myself in need of a good general to oversee my growing armies. Weep no more for your people. They are welcome and gladly accepted within my realm. Ulysses Tennyson of Agaris, I hereby appoint you General of Camlyn's armies, to serve in said position in perpetuity until either your retirement or demise. Serve me well and faithfully, and you shall be rewarded."

"Until my death will I serve you," swore Tennyson, "faithfully and well, discharging all duties assigned me as best I can. This do I swear by my name, Ulysses of House Tennyson, former Protector of Agaris."

* * * * * * * * * *

Yes, he and war were intimately familiar... War was in the air, no doubt about it. He could feel her in the heated exchanges all around him, smell her in the rancor all about, hear her in the vindictive accusations being thrown throughout the room, and see her savage gleam in the hateful glares of the various lords... No mistake, battle would soon descend on this beautiful land the late king had created. Camlyn, lost to a house of dogs...

"ENOUGH!"

Tennyson stood suddenly, crying out in a commander's voice, cutting through the petty arguments, pointless accusations, needling and wheedling of the court's councilors, advisors, and pretenders to the throne. The strength and violence of his cry seated a good many of the men surrounding the council table. The few still standing quailed at the ferocity of his gaze, dropping into their seats with stunned expressions. Never before had the Lord Marshal given voice in the council chambers, let alone halted all attempts at negotiation.

"You petty children, squabbling over scraps and leavings off the table!" he railed. "You insolent, ignorant cowards! You each conspire to usurp the throne of a great man, or worse, seek to destroy his legacy and splinter his kingdom. There are too many potential threats, both outside and within these borders, to allow you all to continue this charade of leadership. Each of your lands has known subjugation at the hands of King Avallon; more specifically, at the tip of the Kingsword. None of you are strong enough to hold this kingdom together, much less lead it effectively. His Majesty, the late king, presented me with a gift shortly before his passing from this world; a gift that bestows a tremendous responsibility upon its bearer. Behold, I present the Kingsword, as given to me by Cyrus Avallon, the Craftsman King, himself! I bear the Kingsword, as his Majesty intended. I call upon each of you to acknowledge the truth of my claim and pay me homage. What say you?"