Protector of These Lands
Warfare on the Frontier
Kircholm by Wojciech Kossak
I got to see this painting in person a few decades ago. The imagery always stuck with me. It conveys a great sense of motion. The fluttering pennants. The charge of the cavalry. Even the army commander alongside the large flag surveying and directing the unfolding battle.
Let’s talk about action sequences, in particular, creating variety. If you’re writing a story that involves several fights, battles, chases, etc., it’s important that they all don’t seem like carbon copies of one another.
Keep things fresh by using new settings, circumstances, stakes, tactics, participants.
In my book In Times of War: A Tale of Ardalencor, there are over ten action sequences ranging from duels to large, cinematic battles between armies, and even a fight with a necrotic bear that was featured in an earlier article.
The following excerpt describes the prelude to battle between forces on the frontier of Ardalencor. I wanted the fighting style of the people of the frontier (the Northwestern Wilds) to be different than the formations, gear, and tactics of the royal army. Those living on the frontier developed a way of war which suited their circumstances.
And yet, I wanted there to be connections — references, perceptions — linking the lightly settled and loosely governed areas with the heartland of Ardalencor. Even with the regional differences, it’s still the same country.
ONWARDS TO BATTLE
“We have to catch them on the move,” Bambenek declared to Bayard as they rode out of the woods. “Or bait a trap; hard to force the Drivach to fight on ground of our choosing. Really only happens if the drink wears off, and they’re dragging feet to the mountain passes or moving at a crawl with stolen herds and our people in bindings.”
Bambenek gave Bayard an admonishing look. “Don’t get all worried, squire, riding that pony. Be glad they gave you a mount. I told them you were a renowned horseman from the capital.” He winked. “Sure, it’s not a knight’s horse, but don’t worry. They’re hardy; they can live off the tougher grasses up here. Don’t need the same kind of care that your war mounts need either. They survive outside through the frost and chill.”
Bayard frowned and shifted in the saddle.
“You best make friends with that horse,” warned Bambenek. “They can spook easily when that Drivach fermentation pervades the air, especially when they’re in the thousands. That war howl will spook a man, too, just as easy as a beast.”
Bambenek urged his stout horse towards the front of the pack, challenging Bayard to keep pace. Bambenek’s proper place was scouting ahead. It was in his blood, but, as the grasses north of the Great Thicket climbed in height to the horses’ knees and beyond, he kept to the group, uncertain of the forgotten terrain and fearful of ambush.
The veteran scout had been away for many years and was met by shuns and kind smiles which wetted his eyes alike. Bambenek had run before and told himself he would not run again. The autumn wind whipped his face, blowing him back and carrying him forward as past and present reunited.
Bambenek estimated Camhorn’s assembled force somewhere upwards of two thousand fighters. Many of the fighters rode two to a horse, the accompanying rider often with bow ready or carrying a bundle of javelins.
Bambenek hoped Camhorn and others noticed him near the front ranks, though he did his best not to glance too obviously in the Ealdorman’s direction. Camhorn was an imposing figure in his heavy armor, the large reptilian jawbone jutting up from his breastplate, shielding his chin. To carry the weight of man and armor, Camhorn rode a big-ribbed, thick-necked, skewbald warhorse, a breed not native to the Northwestern Wilds.
Camhorn’s father had been sent as royal authority, and the position had passed in time from father to son. Warhorses and draft horses from the heartland of the country were prized commodities and denoted prominent connections back to the more settled elements of Ardalen society. The gigantic Mannix Splitwood, the Reeve of Woodstretch, a remote settlement in the depths of the Great Thicket, rode a draft horse with a golden chestnut sheen. A gift from Camhorn, this carefully bred horse, more suited to plowing clay soils or pulling carts loaded with ale barrels, took to loyal martial service for the almost four-hundred-pound Splitwood.
Camhorn’s small retinue of mounted men-at-arms in plate and chain mail was the closest approximation to the heavy cavalry of a crown army. While soldiers would decorate their arms and armor, generational heraldic devices never took hold in the dense forests or rolling steppe. For the hit-and-run tactics used in the sparsely populated areas, carrying large banners never made much sense. While the Thorpe family rapidly had embraced the peculiarities of the Wilds, the knightly traditions still held a lasting sway over Camhorn as a warrior and protector of these lands.
Two flagbearers hoisted fluttering standards: the first, the banner of the Thorpe family, a broad rectangle of white and orange, halved vertically with an indented triangular pattern; featured inside the fields, a raised orange gauntlet in the white field and a downturned white gauntlet in the orange field. Orange fringe embellished the full sweep of the banner.
The second banner towered above like the sail of a mighty ship plying its way through a deadly sea. Nearly twice the size of the Thorpe family banner, the banner of Thornhelm and by extension all the lands governed by the Ealdorman, fluttered in the light of midday. With a ripple of wind, the flag took its full span: green field with a vertical yellow stripe at the hoist, short, horizontal bars of yellow at the opposite end that extended into a compact swallow’s tail and, emblazoned in the center, a yellow owl, wings spread and carrying a white war axe in its talons.
“Up ahead!” came a call from down the line. Birds of prey swirled in the sky. A multitude of raptors slashed, raked, and speared with their beaks and talons.
A quick succession of low horn blasts resounded among the cavalry.
Bayard ran his fingers over the saddle-high grass as he searched the long, low horizon beneath the warring birds. “How would you ever find anyone in here?”
“Form up!” came a shout and then a long horn blast. The horses slowed, and second riders dismounted to form the battle line.
What are key ingredients for you when it comes to writing action sequences?
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