The Man With A Thousand Faces: Ten
by redmoon
Ten

8 July, 1173, 8 miles East of Myriocephalon, Byzantine Empire

Alexius gazed thoughtfully into the ranks of the enemy, his breath making a cloud, near invisible before him.

It was now quite dark, the only light being the multitude of torches and small fires of the hidden camp of Alexius’ knights. They had drawn the enemy on such a course, away from the monastery, and now had them in a cull-de-sac. The four score and five knights loyal to Byzantium, to Alexius, along with the rest of the company, had ridden around and behind the approaching infantry, now cutting off their only escape from this deep valley. They would have to fight.

But the fight did not come from the invaders. As Alexius himself took the watch upon his horse, he observed no movement in the enemy ranks. They had come to the rugged cliff wall and stopped. Perhaps they had not seen the cavalry ride around them? Alexius pondered this, rubbing his chin distractedly. If it was true, then by cover of darkness, his knights had the element of surprise.

Alexius spurred his horse around, pulling hard on the reins and trotting off back to the camp. When he reached the center of the rows of small tents, near the largest of the fires, he halted and dismounted. His squire was present to tend his horse while his first commander stood from the circle of men around the fire. “My prince,” he began with a small bow.

“Quickly,” Alexius prodded, holding his broken arm tight to his chest, “tell me, what has the lord Tarnis concluded of the sorcery of the enemy. Must we call for reinforcements?”

The commander straightened, pulling his hands to his sides to report. “Sir, the lord Tarnis has examined the fragment of flesh thoroughly.”

“And what is his conclusion?” The prince urged, “do we outmatch them still?”

The knight made a little sigh. “The lord magister believes, sir, that the soldier in command of the invading army is... not worldly in origin.”

Alexius frowned. “Some legionnaire of Satan?” He glanced into the crackling fire, his brow furrowed thoughtfully. “He can be injured. Can he be killed?”

The knight again made a little sigh, as if the entire situation was beyond all hope or reason. “If he bleeds, he can be made to die,” the knight responded of his own intellect. “The lord Tarnis, however, was more concerned with his abilities than his mortality.”

“His great speed– his vanishing?” Alexius prodded. “Does Tarnis have some explanation?”

The knight winced, almost imperceptibly. “Er, not as of yet, my lord, but he and the monks of the monastery we evacuated are intent on their examination... and their research.”

“Research?” Alexius flared, his broken arm momentarily forgotten. He took the knight firmly by the shoulder with his right hand. “We sit on the edge of a war with unworldly forces and he has monks reading books?” Alexius shook the knight slightly, making his arm throb. “Is there no blessing? No rite to vanquish this... abomination?”

“I believe that is what they are researching, my lord,” the knight shrugged. “It pains me as well to see our company’s fate in the hands of the academics, but such is God’s will.”

Alexius sighed, dropping his splinted arm to his side again. “We will give them until midnight. Then we will attack.” The knight nodded. “Have the men ready with arms and horses. We will leave the academics and all unnecessary in company at camp. Midnight,” the prince repeated, “and we ride through them.”

“Yes, my prince,” the knight bowed and turned, going to the fire to spread the news to his men.

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