Fantasy Shorts: The Mage and the Yeoman

“My vision blurred and my ears rang. When I came to, all that remained of my compatriots was a circle of ashen earth.

Our two armies had chosen the field of battle; a rugged pasture along the Kingsroad where we could easily conceal our presence. Our leaders chose the location well, and we were certain we would win the day. Our scouts had reported the enemy was exhausted from the last engagement and not ready to fight.

But the last thing I ever heard our captain say was, ‘Gods, they have a mage!’

How I was alive was a miracle in itself. I awoke burned and bloodied, my charred shield a grim reminder of the fate I narrowly avoided. I tossed it aside and it broke apart under its own weight. Luckily, my axe was still intact and the battle had moved over the ridge, for I could still hear the cries of battle above the howling wind and thunder which sounded alarmingly close.

A rage filled me unlike anything, and revenge was set in my heart. But I - a simple yeoman - would be as good as dead if I ran over that ridge screaming like a madman. Indeed, as I crept up the ridge, I saw an armored man’s legs sticking out of the mud along with an assortment of other limbs and armaments. No doubt they belonged to some poor glory-possessed lordling who thought they could kill the mage and the poor sods who followed him up the hill. So, I crept forward and snuck my head over the rise.

The battle raged on the other side of the hill. The enemy had our ranks engaged and began pushing them further and further down the hill. The mage stood just ahead of me with his back turned, surveying our ranks and chanting some awful spell while holding a metal staff to the sky. Dozens of bolts of lightning shot down from the heavens and broke our defense whenever our men tried to sally forth. It would not be long until our surrender.

Just then, from the flank came charging a brigade of our knights on their steeds. They had somehow run around the fighting and were about to take the mage by surprise. However, their fierce battle cries and pounding hooves drew the mage’s attention. The foul sorcerer caught a lightning bolt in his hand and redirected it at the charging men. The men and their horses fell.

In that dreadful moment as he turned to look back at the melee, I knew that for all his power mages do not have eyes in the back of their heads. I silently stood and held my axe at the ready. In two steps, I crept behind him and felled him like a tree.”

The man raised his tankard of ale and emptied it, his crowd enraptured, “And that is why I am now called Sir Aelric the Mage Slayer.”

***

If you enjoyed this short, please feel free to give a like, comment, and subscribe.

This short was inspired by popular renaissance fair songs like the March of Cambreadth and popular fantasy settings like A Song of Ice and Fire and the Inheritance Cycle with a few dashes of sword and sorcery.

This is a submission to Matthew Fromm's High Fantasy Challenge, found at the end of the following article:

If you enjoyed this short and would like to peruse my Vocal catalogue, check out my table of contents here: