Court of Miracles
Night is the new day
Long ago, the Three Moons appeared in the skies above Eldovin, choosing its people for their own. The celestial entities imparted their knowledge and wisdom to the three most worthy inhabitants to act as their representatives among the denizens of the land. While these heralds held sway from the resplendent Lunar Cathedral, the people of Eldovin were granted gifts from their new sovereigns: immense scholarly knowledge, prolonged lifespans, and robust constitutions.
Eldovin thrived for centuries at the mercy of the Three Moons. The people grew prosperous, flourishing above all others. But as Eldovin grew in affluence and dominion, resentment grew among the other nations of the world.
Soon, a vicious and vengeful power emerged to the east, and the influence of the Three Moons began to wane.
“The power of the Moons is fading. We cannot squander it for such trivial purposes.”
“Squander? Trivial? My wife is sick. She’s dying: The Moons can restore her!” Ruvain clenched his fists in frustration as he glared at the three inscrutable priests; a trio of striking figures in their sumptuous, flowing robes that shone with silvery radiance. Vivid beams of moonlight streamed into the soaring chamber through the glass ceiling of the Lunar Cathedral. They stared back impassively, unmoved by the veteran soldier’s indignation. “What about my centuries of service? Do those years count for nothing?”
“Of course, all of Eldovin is indebted to you. But you know the troubles we face. The armies of Gothandria are on the march, conquering our lands and slaughtering our people; sapping the Moons of their strength. We need all the power they have left to sustain us. We cannot dispense even a little lest the need is most dire.”
“My wife’s survival is most dire to me!” Ruvain growled. He knew he was failing to show proper deference to the Moon Clerics, but he was long past caring. He had pledged his life in service of Eldovin - nearly three hundred years - and now he was being cast aside in his most desperate hour of need. Though he was more than three centuries old, Ruvain still possessed the youthful features of a man in his early twenties: His shoulder length hair was a rich, lustrous brown; he had an angular face that was boyish and handsome; and his indigo flecked eyes shone with vibrant acuity.
The three priests were about to speak when they abruptly bowed their bald heads and whispered amongst one another. After several moments of conferring, moments fraught with agitation for Ruvain, they once more raised their heads in unison, glowing eyes locked shrewdly on the indignant man.
“Perhaps there is a way for you to get what you desire,” they simultaneously intoned, as was their custom.
Ruvain sucked in his breath, knowing the priests were about to demand a most extravagant price. “I have given my life to Eldovin. What more can I possibly offer?”
“You must know that General Korath is preparing to fight the Gothandrians at Voltra’s Ford. If we lose this battle, we will have no army left to stop their advance.”
“What has that to do with me? I’m not a soldier anymore. I resigned my commission months ago when my wife first became ill.”
“A most unfortunate mistake, but one which you now have the chance to rectify.”
“Mistake?” Ruvain’s anger flared once more. “I knew it was a fool’s errand to come crawling back here, begging for help. What I didn’t know was how callous and indifferent you’ve become to your own people.”
The Moon Clerics furrowed their brows in reproach. “You misunderstand, mighty Ruvain. We are at the mercy of the Moons: It has ever been thus. You understood this once. If you continue to delve further into blasphemy, there will be no help for your wife.”
Ruvain ground his teeth and bit back a sharp retort. “What do the Moons require of me?”
“As we said before, General Korath holds Voltra’s Ford with ten thousand soldiers. The Gothandrians have twice that number, but our forces are well fortified. However, the general is unaware that a large contingent of enemy cavalry is en route to outflank him through the Sable Forest.”
“How is it you know this?”
“The Three Moons know all and offer us their wisdom. You must prevent this attack. If Korath fails to defeat the Gothandrians at the ford, our civilization is at an end. He can win, but not if enemy cavalry is allowed to assault his flank.”
“Why not inform the general so he can form a rearguard?”
“He cannot spare any troops for such an endeavor.”
“How many cavalry do the Gothandrians have?”
“Close to a thousand.”
“And how many at my disposal to block their passage?”
“We can spare you a hundred and fifty Cathedral Dragoons.”
Ruvain was stunned. “You want me to stop a thousand Gothandrian hussars with a tenth of their number?!
“The Dragoons are Eldovin’s most elite troops. You trained many of them yourself.”
“That may be so, but those are impossible odds.”
“Are you not the heroic Ruvain? Are you not the great warrior who has won so many battles for Eldovin over the last three centuries? If anyone can accomplish this task, it is you. Your wife’s well-being depends upon it.”
“What you ask of me cannot be done.”
“We do not ask anything of you,” the trio of clerics stated dispassionately. “It is what the Moons require to accommodate your request. Victory against the Gothandrians will restore their spent power, and your wife will be healed of her sickness.”
“Then I will do as the Moons command,” Ruvain sighed in resignation.
“As we all knew you would.”
At the narrowest section of the wide, compacted road that meandered through the Sable Forest no more than six men could ride abreast of each other. Ruvain chose this area to set up his ambush. They worked through the night to erect several earthen ramparts across the thoroughfare; each one several yards behind the other. If a fortification was overrun, his dragoons would quickly fall back to occupy the next defensive position.
More than an hour had passed since Gothandrian outriders first appeared, studying the barricade and galloping back from whence they came. Ruvain expected the main force to appear on the horizon at any moment. A refreshing breeze stirred the innumerable and majestic trees on either side of the road - mainly oak, beech, and birch - with their mighty trunks and twisting limbs stretching out towards a cloudless, mid-morning sky. It was a day bursting with beguiling tranquility.
Ruvain knew the stillness would not last for much longer.
He sat with his back propped against a decimated earthwork, watching his few surviving Cathedral Dragoons slaughter wounded Gothandrian hussars abandoned by their compatriots as they fled in disarray. Against all odds, Ruvain had emerged victorious. Victory, however, came at a heavy price: Less than a third of his men survived the savage and desperate brawl.
Ruvain himself was bleeding profusely from several gunshot wounds. His brace of double barreled pistols were long since vanished; his gory rapier plunged beside him into the churned, blood-spattered ground. Ruvain knew he would not survive the day, yet his heart was full of exultation. His wife would live, and, he presumed, Eldovin was safe from annihilation.
The battle plan had been simple, yet highly effective: Ruvain occupied the lead rampart with twenty-five dragoons, while the bulk of his forces were deployed on either side of the fortifications in three deep staggered columns that angled towards the road. Faced with a mere score of hostile troops, the Gothandrian hussars charged with wild abandon, thinking they had an easy victory ahead of them.
Repetitive volleys of enfilading musket fire threw the attackers into panic and disarray. Dozens upon dozens of riders and horses were cut down, and the narrow Sable Forest road was soon clogged with the mangled corpses of man and beast. Those in the vanguard who survived the initial onslaught rushed the earthworks, while the ranks further back dismounted, plunging into the trees in search of their ambushers.
What followed was a ferocious clash of swords and pistols as the Gothandrians sought to rally and overcome the outnumbered defenders. The dragoons held fast on the ramparts until the attackers threatened to overwhelm them, then they retreated - in as orderly a fashion as they could manage - to the next fortified embankment. The Gothandrians’ resolve was finally broken when the last bulwark was reached, where the Cathedral Dragoons unveiled a trio of cannons and unleashed a devastating barrage of double canister shot at point blank range. The seething mass of hussars was ripped to pieces as hundreds of lacerating projectiles shredded their ranks. Those that survived the broadside were panic-stricken when they laid eyes on the mutilated corpses of their countrymen scattered in all directions.
Despite his painful wounds, Ruvain smiled with satisfaction as he thought of the arrogant Gothandrians fleeing in hysteria.
“Not so proud now, are we?” he spat through gritted teeth at the nearby corpse of a hussar: The dead man’s once gaudy red and green uniform was muddy, bloody, and tattered. A fresh wave of agony washed over Ruvain and he swooned backwards. As darkness overtook him, Ruvain’s final thoughts were of his beloved.
Miles away, in a modestly proportioned manor house nestled on the outskirts of a cozy hamlet some distance from the capital city of Eldovin, a strikingly beautiful young woman awoke in a richly furnished bedroom. She rose from her plush bed for the first time in months and approached a pair of prominent bay windows that overlooked a nearby lake. The Three Moons bathed the woman in their ethereal glow. It seemed to her that the celestial bodies appeared far more luminous than she remembered. In spite of the joy and comfort brought to her by the vibrant moonlight, she was unsettled to find herself all alone.
“Ruvain, my love,” she called out to the emptiness in a dreamy, musical voice. “Are you there?”
Author’s Note: This story was partially inspired by the Many Moons prompt from the Lunar Awards Season 10 announcement post.
Word count: 1,677
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Big fan of the Moon Clerics! I found them really unsettling and untrustworthy, which added an eeriness to the story. Good luck in the Lunar Awards sir ⚔️
Some excellent world-building here!