Darius Chapter 33

The panic travelled up the chain of Marth’s soldiers, breaking their vaguely rectangular formation into a jumbled mess of nervous horses. The soldier’s first instinct was to make a desperate dash for the safety of the gates, but the Erinian horses and soldiers were faster and fresher and gaining fast.

Near the front of the pack, Marth was the last to look back and see Mitrev’s men chasing them down. Like his men, he kicked his horse, jolting forward so he wouldn’t be swept up by the anguished crowd. It was hard to see the numbers approaching them – the dust cloud kicked up from the front-runners must have been dousing those behind them in a layer of dirt. What was easy to see was the arrows dropping from the sky, edging towards the rearguard like the tide chasing children up the shore. Each volley came closer as the archers themselves caught up, and soon Marth’s men would have to fight.

Marth was ready to give the order to turn and fight when he saw two riders ahead of him, who had just exited the forest. One was dressed in a striped blue and white shirt that barely bit around his stocky build, and the other sat astride his horse like his ass had ulcers.

Falsith and Darius.

Their timing couldn’t have been worse. He spurred his horse forward again, hoping to eke out a last push of speed to reach them. He saw Darius turn around, alarmed by the thrumming coming from his right. Marth hurried, seeing Darius whack Falsith on the arm and point at Marth’s forces. Falsith smiled for a moment before seeing the Erinian soldiers behind them. He reached underneath Darius’s saddlebag and retrieved the ancient axe, hefting it in one hand and rotating his tight shoulder. He was ready to fight in an instant.

Marth yanked back on the reins when he was only a few meters from them, already talking before he came to a stop.

“Darius! Get back in the forest or get the fuck to Barringvale, these guys are serious fighters. Falsith, I’m going to order my men to stand and fight. Are you with us?”

Falsith scoffed and turned his horse.

“The shit they did to my men, I’d be crazy not to be.”

Marth was relieved. He wasn’t keen to face up against the berserker he’d seen cut down masses of bandits.

“Grenfell told me some gibberish about magic weapons – you better hope to the gods that’s what you’re holding cos they’ll be on us in no time. I’ll rally my men.”

He turned back to meet his fleeing men, waving his arms while gripping his horse with his knees.

“Face the enemy! Gather behind me, take formation! We will STAND and FIGHT!”

The Barringvale Army was in disarray, but it wasn’t built of deserters. They weren’t trained to be cowards, and they wouldn’t disobey their Prince. The first to pass him spun in and took form around their leader, leaving room for those with shields to take the frontlines. The arrow storm came ever closer, but it dulled in ferocity as the two sides readied to clash – the risk of friendly fire becoming too high. Falsith dismounted and pushed between the shields at the front. Marth yelled out to him.

“Falsith, what the fuck are you doing?! Get back here!”

Falsith started jogging, then sprinting. Arrows whistled above his head, aiming at the mass of soldiers behind him. He roared as he charged at the horde only a hundred meters away, raising the axe over his shoulder. Marth didn’t know what was coming, and merely shook his head at the man giving his life away, seconds from being crushed by the oncoming horses. When he’d approached Falsith, he’d thought he was recruiting a valiant asset to the fight. Instead, he’d wasted his time.

Then Falsith raised the axe behind his head and leapt.

The length of his body curled into a ‘C’, and at the arc of his jump, he unfurled, slamming the axe into the Great Road mere moments from being flattened.

“RaaaARRGGHHHH!” The exertion tore a maddened cry from his lungs, and the explosion ripped through the battlefield causing those further back to look to the sky in fear of some mythical creature. The ground disappeared beneath the first wave of enemies, and even the warhorses of the Red Plumes were lifted off the ground and tossed onto those behind them, crushing many in the effort. Shock rippled through the Erinian soldiers at the sight of the god in front of them.

Then an arrow pierced the stunned scene and hit Falsith. He bled.

Gods don’t bleed.

The two sides reignited, charging around the deep crater and crashing into each other like two brawling bears. The remaining Red Plumes were fierce fighters, leading the charge with iron-tipped lances and spears. They collided with the Erinstone shield bearers like two pieces of quartz shattering against one another, soldiers from both sides propelled from their horses by the fierce lances, blood gushing from spear wounds.

Falsith held his own against a squad of soldiers pushing down on him in the crater. They soon realized that range was their best option, having had three men sent back over the crater by a severe shockwave. Two archers appeared over the crest, shooting down at Falsith and landing one arrow in his knee. He snapped it off and glared at them as more arrows were nocked. When they let the second volley fly, Marth leapt in front of Falsith with a light wooden shield, letting the arrows puncture through, stopping just inches from his face.

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“Thanks, they were starting to hurt.”

“I bet, now get up, this won’t hold much longer.”

A third volley passed by them, aimed low at the vulnerable gap beneath the shield. Marth and Falsith broke cover and sprinted up the crater in the moment of respite, with Marth handily cutting the archers bowstrings before kicking one down and butting the other in the head with his hilt. He called out to Falsith.

“We’ve gotta get behind their vanguard and slow down their push. Our guys don’t have the armor to go up against them in a fair fight. You go right and cause some havoc.”

“Aye, look after yourself.”

Marth nodded and gave a grim smile, then sprinted back into the fray, catapulting himself off a fallen horse into a Red Plume with a blood-tipped lance. He took the man down and assumed his horse, kicking it into a gallop then leaping off before it collided with a group of Erinian soldiers. It felt cruel to use the innocent animals as battering rams, but in battle, Marth would do whatever was necessary to succeed. He scanned to battlefield, trying to find Mitrev, the only Purple Plume there, but he wasn’t present.

Leading from the back. Coward.

Marth had a low opinion of leaders who refused to dirty their hands, especially when they were capable soldiers. His view was that if he took out a soldier that might’ve instead injured or killed one of his men, he had saved a Barringvale life. He heard the sustained booming of Falsith’s axe, but looking across, he was having a hard time against the archers. His brazen fighting style was attracting spears and arrows from all directions, and he was peppered with cuts and gashes.

They couldn’t let the axe fall into enemy hands. Marth vaulted the crater and slid down its face, yelling to Falsith to retreat, whilst encouraging his soldiers forward.

“Falsith! You’ve done enough! I need you back on defense! Grenfell! Lead the push to support him!”

His orders were drowned in the orchestra of blades clashing, soldiers screaming and horses braying. He continued out of the crater and ran into Grenfell, grabbing him by the front and shaking him.

“Gren! Get the men to help Falsith, NOW!”

Grenfell understood this time, and produced a golden sigil from his pocket, raising it above his head. The soldiers not currently embroiled in a fight gathered to him, as they were trained to do.

“Right side! CHARGE!”

Grenfell’s baritone voice boomed out across the carnage, and for a moment, the enemy soldiers began shifting to their right as well, like the two sides of the yin-yang, circling one another. The men pushed up around Falsith, covering him again with shields as he heaved and roared.

The two sides stood on either side of the crater, each daring the other to cross the no man’s land between them. For a short time, it was a war of attrition, as archers from either side picked off those that left a gap in their shield or got too eager for battle and stepped forward from their formation. Marth stood amongst his men; their horses mostly forgotten.

“We can’t win like this; we don’t have their level of armor or defense. We need to take the top of the crater! Shields, forward march!”

The men nearest him plodded forward like well-trained dogs. Unfortunately, some missed the command to take the top of the crater, and their protection cleaved in two, separating down the middle. The Erinian archers took advantage of the confusion, shooting deadly projectiles into their open defense, maiming the defenseless swordsmen and creating chaos as men fought past each other to get to the safety of either shield wall. The Erinian troops could’ve won the fight right then and there if they’d concentrated their attacks on one shield wall, but in the heat of the moment, they too split their forces down the middle, creating two even fights on either side of the crater.

Marth was caught in the wriggling mass of men and couldn’t lead the charge. Instead, he was compacted behind two shields, pushing on the backs of the men in front of him, supporting them as the Erinian troops bashed into their shields. The stalemate lasted until a band of Erinian soldiers flanked around the northern side, trying to instigate a second front. The Barringvale spearmen cut them down before they could come close, and Barringvale soldiers flooded out from the sides, retracing the steps of the foolish Erinian soldiers. They received similar treatment from the Erinian spearmen, but by sheer numbers of bodies, they eventually crashed through, surrounding and taking out the Erinian shield bearers. It was a significant victory, but the group south of the crater wasn’t having the same luck. Marth could see their shield wall crumbling, and men being cast aside under the oppressive weight of the Erinian warhorses.

Then he finally saw the Purple Plume, Mitrev, joining the fight. He rode into the Barringvale flank on a gigantic black warhorse, both him and his beast armored from head to toe. It must have been a dreadful temperature inside the armor, but he wielded his spear like it weighed nothing. He jabbed down at Marth’s men like a wasp stinging its prey. He drove a wedge into the crowd, separating the soldiers like Marth’s group had done to the Erinians. The effect was instantaneous. With the shield wall broken, the battle became a series of one-on-one fights, slowly becoming two-on-one as the Erinians overwhelmed their southern counterparts. Marth tried to slip down the crater, bringing the five men nearest him, but by the time they were able to contribute, the Barringvale troops south of the crater had been destroyed.

Only Falsith remained, standing by the fringe of the forest. His axe cracked like a whip as it delivered blow after blow of explosive destruction. Even the soldiers on horses were no match for him. But the archers were. With no defenses, and the Erinians slowly constricting him from all sides, the archers finally had him at their mercy. An arrow sunk into his stomach, causing him to falter, but rage fueled more powerful strikes as eager foot soldiers crept in. Marth tried to run to his aid, but the remaining Erinians struck down at him as he climbed out from the crater, forcing him to defend. Another arrow struck Falsith’s shoulder, and he lost his grip on the axe, using his uninjured arm to flail it around in desperate sweeps. He could no longer generate enough strength to produce the devastating shockwaves that had corrupted the battlefield wherever he went.

Marth watched Mitrev ease his horse forward, raising his spear to deliver the killing blow. Still wary of the berserker in his death throes, the general cast his spear from fifteen paces back, but his accuracy did not fail him, a lifetime of training behind the throw. The spear took Falsith in the chest, and at last the warrior went down, and the red light faded from his eyes.

Falsith Stallborn, Lieutenant of The Bandit Executioners, was dead.