The Battle of Wals Bridge
The bonfire roared, flames leapt into the dark night, dancing like Forestkin under the starry sky. The light flickered and played, creating long shadows across grubby faces as the children came in close. The shadowy trees of Prydain made the small glade feel claustrophobic, and the children huddled in closer to the warmth and the light.
“That’s right, lads,” an old cleric said, bent and crooked on his staff, “Get some warmth, and tell me, what story can Old Hennish tell you tonight?”
The children, excited at the prospect of a story all began to talk and scream, each one getting louder than the last, begging to be heard over the rest. The cool breeze carried their voices deep into the woods for the Forestkin and elf-folk to hear.
Old Hennish laughed as the children bickered and yelled, “All right, all right,” he said softly, gently waving his hands to signal for them to be calm, “Old Hennish knows what story ye like, We shall tell the tale of St Cedric, and the Battle for Wals Bridge.”
Most of the children, all of whom were of Squiring age, gave out a cheer and a shout. These were not young children from an orphanage. These were young lads, soon to be men, ready to join the Knights of Prydain on their quests for glory.
They all huddled even closer, each young man struggling to get closer to Old Hennish, every ear had heard this story at least a thousand times, but it did not matter, those ears were ever-hungry to hear it at least once more.
“Ah, lads, very good, very good,” Old Hennish said peacefully.
He motioned calmly for the young men to sit down, cleared his throat, then began.
The air was cold, and dampness clung like a blanket to all of those brave enough to walk through the misty morning. The Lebenstrank had dug in for a siege, not prepared for the residents of Prydain to be able to last by simply living off of the land.
“The Lady Provides” many of the boys chimed in.
Old Hennish continued, unphased by the interruption.
“The siege had lasted months, The Vampire Lord, curse his name,” the boys interrupted by spitting at the sound of his name, “The Vampire Lord,” Hennish resumed, “had planned on the Prydish falling, starving, not being able to see the harsh winter months through. He had planned for our surrender. What he hadn’t planned on,” Old Hennish paused here, building anticipation in his young audience before continuing, “was Saint Cedric Wals.”
The boys threw up a cheer at the mention of Cedric, each one aspiring to be a valiant knight able to claim glory for the crown in a harrowing battle.
“We all know that Cedric was a great man, even before the Battle of Wals Bridge, which we know is named for him, he had earned a reputation as both a skilled general and a great fighter.
And Cedric, despite being greatly outnumbered to the thralls and beasts under the thumb of the Vampire Lord of Lebenstrank, stood fast.
Cedric knew that the Lebenstrank wanted to crush the fledgling kingdom, Slay the King, and crush the hopes and spirit of our people. The Vampire Lord did not like the secession, and he felt that Prydain should be made an example of.”
Old Hennish leaned harder on his staff, the fire roared, but the chill air brought an ache to his body.
“So.” He said quietly, arching an eyebrow to the young men, as if he were about to let them in on a great secret, “Cedric, knowing that the Lebenstrank would not hesitate to send wave after wave across the bridge, knowing that Vampire Lord would stop at nothing to squash the Prydish rebellion, knowing that he would be fighting a losing battle, went to the Lady.”
“The Lady Provides,” the chorus of boys threw in.
“Ah, that she does, lads, that she does. And when he went to her, she chose him. She gifted him six Trotwyrms, You lads remember what trotwyrms are, don’t you?” Old Hennish asked, despite knowing the answer.
The boys excitedly answered, describing the small horse-sized dragons that dwell in Craobh Tallam.
Smiling in approval he continued, “That’s right, that’s right. And do you remember what Cedric, Saint of the Craobh did with those Trotwyrms?”
Before they boys could answer, Old Hennish spoke again, “He and five of his knights, his best knights, with the aid of the Lady, marched those trotwyrms across The Straits of Cailin in the still of night, and he waited.
The armies of death prepared to march across the bridge. A battle that would be inevitable doom had it been had it been the Necromancer Rotan and his unending legions of mindless dead. But this was The Vampire Lord, and he cursed those that relied on lowly rotters to win their battles. Just another thing Sir Cedric the Saint had known about his enemy. He knew the Vampire would not come with endless legions, and he knew that there were only so many thralls that could be sent before the accursed Red Riders would have to make their way across the bridge. The elite heavy cavalry would be sent, no matter what. If we could hold out long enough, Cedric would charge the bridge from the Craobh side, sandwiching the knights between his retinue and the rest of his Gwyrd Knights.”
Hennish slowly sat now, his old knees creaked and ached in the chill air. As he did, he waved the boys in to gather closer, the fire still dancing and reaching up to the starlight sky.
“Do you know what, boys?” Hennish asked, his voice almost a whisper. “The plan worked.”
His audience grew silent, hanging on his every word, mesmerized by a tale they’d heard at least a thousand times.
“That foul beast, that cursed and retched vampire sent wave after wave of thrall to their death, slowly wearing on our defenses, but as Cedric had planned, the thrall’s numbers grew few, and the Vampire Lord’s patience grew thin. Wanting a swift and immediate end to this battle he committed his whole retinue of Red Riders.”
Hennish grew more excited here, and he leaned in close as he spoke with enthusiasm.
“Skeletal steeds barded with armor blacker than the blackest night thundered towards the bridge. Atop them were riders in full plate, red and shiny, as if they oiled their armor with blood. Lances readied, the cavalry charged, their ranks shrinking in to ensure they could fit across the bridge.
The initial charge was devastating, and many brave Prydish lost their lives to the Blood Lances of the Red Riders, but all would turn out well, as we will see, boys. As the last of the riders made their way onto the bridge, and the charge started to stall out in the ranks of infantry holding the line, Cedric and his five knights rode their trotwyrms from hiding and out onto the battlefield.” Hennish grew more and more excited as he spoke, “A Green banner unfurled as they charged into the rear of the Red Riders, embroidered with the symbol of the Lady Cailin, our Lady.”
The young men were entranced, intoxicated to relive the story of Cedric and the Lady. Such a rich and important part of Prydain’s heritage would not be lost on this generation.
“At the sight of the banner, Cedric’s Gwyrd Knights charged from the Prydish side,” Hennish’s arms outstretched, slowly coming together as he spoke, “and before you know it lads, Saint Cedric Wals and his Gwyrd Knights had overrun and crushed the Red Riders!” His hands clapped shut as he spoke the final words.
“And that, lads, is how you live to be a proper knight. You learn the teachings of The Lady, you learn the history of the Prydish, and you stand for freedom and honor. You live the Chivalric code.”
“The Lady Provides,” The boys responded.
All images were created using Bing AI
Chris