Darius Chapter 44

Captain Podral had been given his most crucial role yet. He and his men, as well as an extra four platoons, were stationed in the forest along the Great Road, about three kilometers from the Barringvale gates. They weren’t far from the site of the first battle – only having gone about five hundred meters past the rise that had hidden Mitrev and his troops before they crashed into Marth’s men.

They were tasked with one job – to ambush any attacking party approaching from Erinstone. They were well-provisioned, each man carrying a pack filled with the necessities to keep them fed and watered for almost two weeks. Their packs were hidden deeper in the forest in groups of twenty, sorted by platoons.

At the fringe of the Road, Podral ordered twenty archers to line up on either side, each with fifteen arrows by their side. Just before he’d left, he’d heard word about magical arrows being created, ready for use, but his force didn’t have time to equip themselves – the first of the Erinians were expected any day now.

At first, King Tarth and his war council had leaned towards ‘sitting tight’ and having faith that the short fight a week earlier was the last of Erinstone’s ventures into Barringvale territory, but after Heldrus Avongold was given an audience with the council, they were thoroughly convinced that the worst was yet to come. Heldrus had been given an advisory role to the Barringvale military and assigned to Marth’s retinue along with Darius and Grenfell, who were each busy with their various specialties.

And so, Podral and his men lay in wait, scanning the Road for hours on end, freezing themselves stiff each night. Fires weren’t allowed due to the risk of the Erinians mounting a night attack, and the damp forest became particularly cold and despondent overnight – especially with the incessant chirping and croaking of insects and amphibians. It wasn’t uncommon for the soldiers to wake up with several frogs stuck to their skin or clothes.

On the fifth day of waiting, one of Podral’s two scouts crashed through the undergrowth like a shot boar. The soldiers almost attacked him before he identified as one of their own – the forest slime encased him, mud covered his face and arms, and one of his pant legs was ripped from his thigh to his knee, showing a long scratch beneath the material – he was barely recognizable even to those who knew him.

“Riders coming! And carriages. About twenty mounted men and sixty on foot – we outnumber them, even if they’ve got a couple more in each of the carriages.”

Apprehension and excitement ran rampant throughout the group, bringing the forest to life with murmurs of battle and glory. Some of the soldiers had also been present at the first battle, and they were eager to prove their mettle this time around – they wouldn’t be caught by surprise this time.

Podral issued a quiet order for the archers to nock arrows and crouch in cover. The archers on the other side of the Road mirrored the action. It was important that the archers not shoot directly across the Road when the Erinians came past, in case a missed arrow flew into their Barringvale counterpart. For this reason, it had been decided that they would start the attack when the largest group of enemies had just passed, and the archers could aim down or up the Road at an angle to the others.

The moment of reckoning wasn’t far away. The thunder of hoofs and carriage wheels was closing in, and Podral could feel the apprehension in the air – the Barringvale troops were like a collective bowstring that was pulled absolutely to the brink of snapping, full of potential energy.

The Erinians rode through, slowing to a canter now that Barringvale was so close. The first group passed by only five meters from the nearest Barringvale archer, the men could see the yellow of their teeth when they spoke to one another. Podral estimated about four platoons – similar to what the scout had reported.

Easy pickings. Outnumbered and outmaneuvered.

This kind of tactic was the kind that was written about in Barringvale’s military education. A clean, simple ambush, followed up by a rush of soldiers into an unexpecting foe. When the bulk of the Erinians had just passed, Podral barked an order.

“FIRE!”

The Erinians reacted, just not quick enough. The Barringvale arrows thumped into horses and men with devastating effect, instantly taking down a platoon of men and throwing the rest into a state of confusion. If the Barringvale archers had time to shoot a second volley before the swordsmen ran onto the scene, the battle might’ve been decided then and there, but their excitement was pushed to the edge, and they charged out onto the Road, slicing at anything in their way.

The Barringvale troops were positioned in the center of the Erinian mass. About twenty mounted soldiers sat south of them, turning around to do battle, and forty were still coming from the north, mostly foot soldiers. By numbers, Barringvale was the clear favorite, but they were taking battle from two sides, caught in the middle like fish in a net.

But the awkward position didn’t last long. The mounted Erinians tried to charge through the Barringvale ranks, and they were chopped down by the darting spears and peppering of arrows they still endured. The horses bucked off the riders that were continually pushing them forward, and it devolved into a series of skirmishes on the south side.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Podral led the northern section, doing his best to push forward into the ranks of foot soldiers. His men couldn’t spread out much further without going into the forest, and he was worried about a concerted push crumpling them in where they couldn’t swing their swords for fear of hitting each other. The best method to rid them of that issue was to charge forward, pushing the Erinians together and taking a series of one-on-one fights, where they would dominate by sheer numbers.

Then, a strange thing happened.

The Erinians at the front cast down their swords and steadied themselves behind their shields with both hands on the grip. They interlocked where possible, leaving them mostly protected aside from down low at their feet. On the eastern side of the battle, a Barringvale platoon was having some luck breaking through the shields, courtesy of a giant man named Barker who wielded a monstrous spiked club. He turned the shields to splinters, beating down on the Erinians.

When Podral was just about to order a push to the eastern flank, an arrow zipped over the top of the shields, hitting a Barringvale swordsman in his chainmail. The arrow exploded with a sound like a falling tree and the men around him were blasted off their feet.

More and more arrows soared out from the Erinian ranks, covering the battlefield in a series of explosions. Podral could sense his numbers dwindling, and they weren’t making serious progress on the eastern flank.

“Push up to the shields! Get close to the enemy so the arrows can’t hit us!”

His remaining men sprinted forward, fighting over each other to bombard into the Erinian shields where they thought they would be safe. The Erinians had backed up almost ten meters, leaving their swords in the dirt. The devastation continued, with the Erinian archers now sending their deadly arrows out into the fringes of the forest where the Barringvale archers were hidden, exposing their cover.

Podral was busy catapulting his bulky weight into the Erinian shield wall, hoping to break through their defense. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort, and his progress was stopped when a spear jutted out through the small gaps in the shields and pierced his thigh. He cried out, falling to the dirt and looking sideways to see his men receiving the same grisly fate. Their ambush had worked well, and although their initial approach was sloppy, they should've won.

But the forty remaining Erinians had been equipped with those arrows, and it was like their fate had been sealed from the start...

A second spear caught the captain in the neck, and Podral fell, dead.

From there, the battle was mostly just cleanup for the Erinians. The explosive arrows became less effective once the enemy was spread out, but they still hugged close to the shield wall as though they had no other option but to sacrifice themselves. In truth, they might’ve been able to escape through the forest – the dense trees and vines made it impossible for the arrows to find their targets, and if Podral had acted quicker, their numbers might’ve made it viable to take on any pursuers one-to-one.

But fear had immobilized them and blinded them to other options, and now the Barringvale vanguard had paid the price. One soldier remained, taken captive after being surrounded by a ring of Erinian swords. He’d dropped his sword and raised his arms, expecting a quick death. No such thing was granted.

A mounted woman trotted forward, looking down at the soldier. She had a thick braid running from the crest of her skull all the way down the back of her head.

“Return to Barringvale, and tell them what happened here. Tell King Tarth that if he doesn’t want his kingdom to be razed to the ground, he and his son must come out to the Road and kneel before General Mitrev. We will be waiting outside the walls three days from now.”

She drew back her bow and pointed it at the man. He whimpered and stumbled off, covering his head with his hands as though that might stop an arrow. The Erinian soldiers looked up at their captain, expecting her to let loose – she had a penchant for doing this, she’d give an enemy hope and then take it away just before they escaped.

This time, she relented. She was under orders from General Mitrev, and one did not stay in his good books by disobeying orders. He was a man of order and efficiency. Captain Lenette called out her orders.

“We’ll camp in the forest! Scour the area where they hit us from – there’ll be provisions somewhere behind there. And bury our men! Drag the Barringvale lot to the side for Mitrev to see.”

The Erinians set to work in two groups, splitting up and performing their duties. It didn’t take long for the packs to be found – it was hard to miss nearly a hundred leather rucksacks sitting clumped together, even though the bushes obscured them.

Out on the Road, the fallen soldiers were looted and dealt with according to the patches emblazoned on their armor. The explosive arrows were recovered.

Around midday, the lone Barringvale soldier made it back below the gates. The three kilometers had been difficult with the wound on his leg bleeding profusely, but he was given one more chance to live, and he wasn’t going to disappoint his kingdom any further. Marlo saw him coming, and yelled orders for the gate to be opened just wide enough for him to squeeze through. It was a common tactic to release a captive and then burst into the city when the gates were opened wide for them. Marlo knew better.

When the man came inside, he collapsed on the first patch of grass inside the walls. He croaked out a few words to the guards surrounding him.

“More...coming...arrows...destruction...three days.”

He fainted, and a cart was brought, lugging him to the infirmary. Marlo didn’t like the look of the wound, and she didn’t like his chances of waking up. If he was the only survivor, it was clear what he was trying to say anyway.

Marlo called a messenger and scrawled a quick letter to the castle, informing them of their loss. Podral and his five platoons were a significant hit, despite only being a small part of the Barringvale forces. The old saying ‘he who strikes first, strikes twice’ rang through Marlo’s head as she wrote, asking for further reinforcements and a larger relief team on the wall. Over the next week or two, it was of utmost importance that every square inch around Barringvale was surveyed. She just hoped that whatever that blacksmith was doing with the magical arrows would work out.

It seemed they had no other option.