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Dior brought his men together in a semi-circle and addressed them in his characteristically
gentle tones.
"Where have we not been together? What feats have we not acheived together? Was there ever
a cost that we woudl not pay for each other? Did We ever once lose faith in one another even
when all else was in disarray?"
Dior bowed his head, his soft voice carrying to the furthest man without difficulty.
"Now I am angered and frustrated that our situation has come to such a terrible state of
affairs and I will not allow anyone to continue down this dark road without surity that it
is as willing partners. You have delivered, each and every one of you, more than Vedian can
hope to expect from ten of her sons. Now it is time to divine if all our paths lay together
on the path I have chosen."
The battle mage moved up beside Dior and brought with him a large flat stone which he placed
between them and the rest of the black sabre regiment.
"Our candleman has offered to first prove his intent and destiny, as well as the validity of
this procedure."
In the torch light the candleman appeared every inch the personification of his profession.
Leather armour clad his torso, waist and legs leaving his arms covered in black wrapped cloth.
He invoked a final charm over the stone he had set on the ground and then drew his dagger from
it's sheath. Wasting no time for dramatic pause he slit the palm of his hand and squeezed his
blood onto the stone. As each drop hit the rock it threw off a brilliant blue light.
"I swear by my blood that I will follow the Sabre and complete it's mission.", the candleman's
face shone in the grim blue light thrown up by his own blood as he pledged his life to the cause.
Dior drew his sword to follow the magician's lead but paused to address his men in a brotherly
manner.
"Be sure it is your off-hand you swear with, for if you shine blue you will be needing the on-hand
in perfect working order this night."
Of the six hundred and twenty men who took the blood oath only two shone orange-red. Dior took
them aside and told each that his part with the Sabre was over, to return home as a hero, for
they were both family men with children. It took some persuading to convince them that they were
neither deserters nor traitors to their brothers in arms. Finally they left carrying honourable
discharges from Dior, pouches containing two hundred gold coins and the heartfelt wishes of
their former comrades.
During this time the company healer had been about making good the cuts that the oath had caused
with every herb and talent at his disposal, and though he succeeded in making every man fit to
fight with either hand he had almost completely drained his stock of curatives.
"Have no worry", Dior assured him when he brought the fact to the General's attention. "We'll
be needing no more healing when all is done this night."
By then Dior estimated that it was almost midnight and the morning of the King's folly was
nearly upon them - where the combined might of the remainent divisions and the newly formed
cavalry would attempt to storm Bannermane. Dior re-lived this possible future with bile
in his throat, the charges stalling but continuing to be ordered, wave after wave by the
king's insistence while the intruders in the fortress simply cut down the poorly concieved
attacks from the vantage of their bastion. A close quarter battle would be thrown away by
the use of mounted troops with no change of penetration.
Dior took advantage of the healer's good work by ordering every man double armed, and in
the Black Sabre that meant each man's prefered off-hand weapon. Most chose a companion
sword, shorter and of tremendous advantage in gritty, close-up melee. A few took morningstars
which when used in both hands provided staggering possibilities for disarming, battering and
holding enemies at bay. Only a single soldier chose something else - Pinkerton stood before
his men swinging a mighty double-bladed axe; spinning it, rolling it and subconciously
re-drilling himself in the murderous use of it.
"Eight's the order.", whispered Dior and every captain around him immediately relayed the
strategy to his sergeants. Companies split into predesignated groups of eight, each an
experienced fighting unit with a critical mixture of expertise. The exception was Dior's
own block which contained himself, eight hard-nosed veterans, the three candlemen and
the healer.
"We must be done with our foe before first light. Bannermane must lie open for the taking
or the north of our country and soon after the south, will fall into the invaders' hands."
"Cripple the enemy, take life, destroy ordinance and supplies, reduce their fortification but
put them out of business. Take every opportunity and remember it doesn't matter if tomorrow
the valiant cavalry takes a working fortress or not as long as there is no opposition. Let
Santos take his men south where the plains are good for horses and he a chance to harden
his men without a blood bath."
Deep in the great heart of the Inpur desert, a group of nomadic tribesmen squatted on their
haunches around a tiny fire. El-harib had reached his age of manhood and scanned the proud
faces of his father, uncles and fellow tribesmen, the women and children were camped some
way to the south safe in the anonimity of the sands.
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