The two opposing lines advanced upon each other, some obstacles in the mostly open field held some groups back while other parts of the line were filled with bloodthirsty looking men that could hardly hold back their pace. The formation lasted not even until engagement on either side.
From Max’s eyes, he couldn’t see much more than that. He struggled to see beyond the back of the Lord’s horse, his friends at his sides and a few taller men on either side of them. His world became that small, all his concerns and fears bottled up there.
He could just barely hear some men that he could not see shouting out curses and Barnabus screaming orders. He imagined one of them being Rufus pushing men forward in that scratchy voice. He couldn’t make out any of the details of the enemies that were approaching them. He could surely even see dried blood upon the leather of their armor, if only he could see past that damned horse. Max tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, but without seeing the impending start of the fight, he could not. The enemy line could be mere yards away and he still didn’t know what confronted him.
Mathew spoke loudly to be heard, repeating himself, “those things... look... not like us. Is that fur? Or just hairiness, or armor? I can’t really tell.”
Max heard Jolly Jim mutter with a quiver of fear to another man up front, “Jangenvessen! They have Jangenvessen to Roegar and all that is holy? How in the Underworld do we survive this shite?”
Max tried to peak around to Mathew’s vantage point, and just as he did so, the clash began. Max still couldn’t see anything of the enemy. He heard the sounds of men fighting and men dying. Lord Gadarax was still coughing furiously as he pulled his jewel-encrusted blade out of its holster and waved it in the air.
Not long after this visual and audible cue came one that had much more impact on the three companions. The force of bodies being shoved upon them, and all the surrounding men, pushed the line apart. The two formations bucked and whined as if they were not made of men but of some material that only had so much give before it would snap. It was like a wave from a vast river or ocean that Max and his friends had never seen or experienced, only having seen such a thing in pictures and told of in old tales. They felt it now in the swaying and pushing of bodies against them. The three felt crushed as the men around them sought to avoid initial contact with the enemy.
Like a spring, their part of the formation pressed against one another tightly, Max felt the wind coughed out of his lungs. The counter lunge of their deep ranks then countered, pressing on the backs of the boys and forcing them to press the last couple of men into the Lord and his retinue. The Lord on horseback waded passed the front of the enemy with his guards. The boys pushed forward on the backs and shoulders of the men that had buckled, right into the jaws of the enemy skirmishers.
Max still had not seen the enemy. He could actually smell the blood in the air. The screams pierced his ears so much that they were now ringing. Or was that the sounds of spears bouncing off of shields? He couldn’t be sure. Even though he stood on an open field, he felt trapped like in a box surrounded by deadly brambles being pushed deeper and deeper into the thicket.
Finally, Jolly Jim, the man out in front of him stumbled as a spear drove into his shoulder. Max’s first physical encounter with the enemy was to have his face splashed with the blood from Jolly Jim’s shoulder. The spear had pushed through so far that it nicked the top of Brian’s sword. The enemy’s face then came within Max’s sight. The spear had been pushed through so far Jolly Jim that the thing wielding it had made body to body contact with the now horribly maimed front line.
The look in that face made Max retch. The jowls were far from that of people from the hamlet. Fur grew all over the face of this thing, and that on the top of the creature’s head was incredibly long and wild. Each piece of fur stood thick, almost like a needle. The front teeth looked like they could bite through a man’s throat and the distance from upper to lower jaw in the beast’s open mouth was just about the perfect width for taking a man’s throat out.
The crushing pressure on Max’s back relieved as he stumbled forward into the space left vacant by Jolly Jim. The open path into the enemy’s formation did little to alleviate the three boys’ fears. The man directly to Brian’s left turned and ran... right into a readied spear of the line behind them, an accidental kill from Big Belly Bixler, who had obviously had not expected such a move. Mathew’s side of the line was still somewhat intact, though with the breech to their left, he started to follow Brian and Max so that they could aid each other. These beasts were tall, almost a foot taller than Brian, who was the tallest of the three.
The trio lined up with no gaps between them and stood in ready position as the first of the enemy burst into their part of the line. The beast thrust immediately with his spear, a long spear with gnarled and spiky bits pointing off in a few directions. The point stopped inches from Mathew’s pudgy face as he came around from behind Lord Gadarax’s party. Mathew had just enough time to duck and avoid the blow, perhaps partly due to the fact that the creature may have expected someone taller around the Lord’s retinue.
Max thrust with his spear, closing his eyes and hoping for the best. He felt his arm give at the elbow as the thrust struck true against the enemy skirmisher. The spear stuck through the flesh of the beast easily. The accuracy and strength of the blow surprised Max, but then he realized why the spear had gone through his opponent’s body with so little force. The beast’s momentum had pushed forth on the spear and lodged the back of the spear into the ground behind Max. That added leverage of the ground had pushed the spear more than a foot through the creature’s boiled leather and spotted fur chest.
At that moment of Max’s triumph, the enemy took a staggering step back and just as it looked like it would fall it instead shook around and the spear slipped from Max’s grasp. A couple feet of it stuck out from the flailing long-necked Jangenvessen. The haft quickly hit Brian and Max and knocked them both to the ground on to the bloody bodies of Jolly Jim and the recently fallen Big Belly Bixler, whose face was horribly gashed by teeth marks.
Mathew stabbed with his spear and failed to connect, the point knocked aside by the flailing of the enemy. This put Mathew off balance, sending him back into a couple of men in the back of the formation. They quickly shoved him off and to his feet back in the fray. The skirmisher raised its spear above its head as Max stared up helplessly from his back. The bloodthirsty eyes pierced into Max and the inevitable pain that would be inflicted read on the bared teeth. Before the spear thrusted down, Mathew’s weapon dug into the creature right below the neck. Blood flew out from there and poured down over Max again. The blood drenched his face and stung his eyes, completely blocking out his vision. As he wiped the blood away from his stinging eyes, a heavy, smelly body landed upon him. He heard the haft of his spear shatter upon the ground. He heard groans from the ground to his left, probably Brian.
The body of that Jangenvessen found itself planted right on top of Max. The hulking thing stank like a wild animal, preventing Max from participating in the fighting, or even from perceiving just what the hell was going on. Max started to wretch and only managed to hold his vomit back because he couldn’t turn his head to the side. He tasted the bile in his mouth.
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The battle continued to rage around Max, but his vision limited him to just the feet of the soldiers around him. Another body landed on top of the stack and guaranteed that Max would be pinned down for some time to come.
The sounds started to mesh together and the droning sound almost put Max into a trance. He labored just to breathe with those bodies on top of him. The last thing he remembered before his eyes closed as he passed out, were the heavy metallic feet of the regular infantry over taking the position of the skirmishers. One swift, accidental kick from those metallic boots was all it took to knock Max out.
The sound of Mathew’s voice woke Max, sounding like an echo down a long hallway. “Max. Oh goddess, Max! Please tell me you’re alive down there. Come on. Don’t leave me alone here.” The sounds of chaotic battle clanged in the distance. Mostly, he just heard groaning and crying for help over Mathew’s frantic yelling. Mathew was amongst those helping to lift the heavy body off of Max. It seemed, he had fallen unconscious for some time and his heart pounded like the heavy hooves of a charging war horse.
“Are you okay? You look like death.” Mathew asked. “Please tell me you’re okay.”
Max responded with a large breath that he hadn’t been able to take in a while. “I think I’m okay. Just bruised and worn down. How’s Brian? Why isn’t he helping you?”
Mathew’s facial expression changed quite a bit at the mention of Brian. “When you were both knocked down, he landed...” Mathew paused and held back tears, “on a weapon of someone who had fallen. He’s in pretty bad shape. The battle is still raging, but we’re out of it.”
Max heard renewed sounds of horns sounding a charge. A massive explosion rocked the ground and cold sweat clung to Max’s flesh. Lord Gadarax, still mounted, trotted up and down the field of corpses. His wizened eyes slowly looked from one man to another, halting his haunting gaze and motioning for some orderlies to retrieve a soldier still clinging to life. His gaze continued and stopped on one of the long necked enemies. He motioned again and this time a headsman walked up and took the head clean off at the base of the long neck.
Max and the Lord made eye contact. He spoke promptly, not very observantly though in his still ill state. “It looks like you and your boys made it. It’s a good sign to see. You’re men now. Gather up any survivors you can and head back to behind the lines.” The whole of the world was spinning around Max in slow motion. Brian budged and groaned. Max got up and over to him. A spiked mace had imbedded in his back. The armor he wore had little to no protection there. He stared with a haunted gaze straight forward, from the position an orderly must have put him in. Mathew moved Brian’s head from propped on a bloody dead body into his lap.
“We better do our best to move him carefully. He needs help.”
“I... I... tried to stop this. What could I have done? I struck quickly.” Mathew sobbed.
Max could feel the sorrow and the pain seeping into him via his connection with his friends. The pain nearly crushed his will, but now was not the time to fall to such feelings. He closed his eyes and tried to reach out with his mind. He could feel the concerns of Mathew, such a close friend now and one he’d known for so long. He could not reach farther than that frightened but consoling mind. He sat upon his knees next to Mathew and opened his eyes to stare down at his mortally wounded friend.
With few words, Mathew and Max grabbed on to Brian as best as they could and carried him arm-over-shoulders across the littered battlefield. While they walked, other gravely injured soldiers reached out for them and nearly tripped for one and then the other of the two boys.
Mathew breathed and sobbed heavily while Max nursed his own torso from the pain. Panic struck each time Brian groaned. Blood leaked down Brian’s back, his legs red and slick now. Brian’s face grew white like a sunny day’s cloud. By the time they had carried him behind the lines of the artillery, not even a groaning peep escaped the wounded friend. The boys could barely hold on to Brian’s cold and damp body, slick with sweat.
The orderlies’ tent provided a welcome sight to the trio. Wounded and dying soldiers of many different ilks littered the grounds, mostly skirmishers visible from the outside. The bottom of some of the tents looked dyed red, quite especially near the opening flaps while the rest of the tents color showed the original tan.
Max flexed and strained, pulling Brian back up to level with his shoulder. He hobbled into the nearest tent and set Brian down upon the only slab of wood not occupied. After several attempts of desperate grasping for help from anyone who would walk by, a ghostly woman approached them. Neither boy left Brian’s side as she began her examination.
She peered over him for a few seconds, looked at the two companions at his side, and motioned with an equally ghostly thin finger to turn him over. The two listened and acted quickly to turn him onto his stomach. An orderly quickly brought a bucket of hot water with towels. She worked quickly to wash away all the blood. The orderly returned to assist in removing the spiked weapon. The boys and the orderly yanked at the spiked weapon, but the armor created a trap for the jagged bits. The armor fell in two halves, broken and unusable by the time the orderly fully removed it. Brian started to scream even in his unconscious state.
“Back off,” the orderly said and the two boys quickly did so.
As the spiked mace finally dislodged from his back, there were several snaps and a horrific sound that made all nearby shudder. The bloods leaked slowly now down his back. The healer worked quickly to stop the bleeding and wash off the bare back. The orderly dried down Brian’s back after the healer stepped back. Brian’s skin quickly grew damp again with cold sweat. The gashes were numerous and deep.
After a short examination, the healer got off her knee and took a step back. She sighed. She paused, looked down at Brian and then pivoted to move to the next of the wounded. Max spoke up quickly, “You can’t just leave us here without even an explanation. Wait!”
“You don’t want to hear what it is that I have to say. It is best that you just remain at his side, hope, and pray to any god you believe in. I will put what little chance he has in the hands of Gabriella.”
“There must be something you can give him. Can’t you at least try to save him?” Max asked, emphasizing the word try.
“What more do you think I can do? Huh? What?” Her brow sharpened in frustration.
“Don’t you have some kind of magic? Don’t you have some salves that could help me? Please. We never wanted to be in this war. We were just travelers. Travelers that didn’t know any better. We never should have left the hamlet.” Mathew smacked his fists down on an open part of the slab.
“You should have deserted. At least stay near the back of the formations to avoid the fighting. That’s where the smart skirmish men fight from.” She lectured them, but a lecture hardly seemed appropriate, especially to Mathew. He had a look of angry desperation.
Max stepped between him and the ghostly woman. “Look, is there any way we can help? Anything we can do to get help? It’s my fault. I dragged my friends away from home. I’m sorry we’ve caused you trouble.”
She leaned in closer to Max, but hesitant and avoiding Mathew. “I’m sorry for your friend’s injuries too. There are ways I could help him, but I am afraid that such things must be held in reserve for the lords and the men they sanction. If you could get one of the nobility to come down here and give me permission, I could save your friend.”
Mathew chimed in with a raised voice, “So what you are saying is that you have what you need to save him and that you won’t. What sort of tender of care are you? Where is the justice in this awful place? You’ll stand back and just watch him die?”
Max could tell that Mathew was not helping the situation. Although the ghostly woman’s anger had disappeared, Mathew’s words did really seem to be making her feel helpless. That would not only worsen Brian’s chances, but also that of the other survivors here. Max noticed a hesitation in the wispy woman. A battle between her fear and probably her caring nature tugged away at her. Max could only guess that some great threat loomed over her.
“So much for working with the good guys.” Max pulled on Mathew’s arm.
It was probably not a simple apology that she would have to issue if a noble died when she was supposed to have what she needed to save them.
“Come on, Max. Let’s go find us one of these nobles. Lord Gadarax would do it. Let’s try to find him.”
The two of them left the tent and began their search. From the moment the tent flap went up, Mathew’s eyes darted all about this part of the field. Max found himself tied up in thought. Mathew’s determination outdid his fatigue as he trudged around, leaving no corner unturned.
Max realized that in Mathew’s current state of mind and temperament, even if they did find a noble, his anger would betray their task. Mathew would do just fine in at least finding a noble or two to speak to, but that would be the easy part.