The next morning, quite early, there was yelling throughout all the camp. The boys stirred for only a moment before they hopped to their feet in anticipation. Surprisingly for his size and sometimes lax attitude, Mathew was the first out the flap.
A muscular horse whinnied in front of Mathew, and he screeched.
“Pack it up. Get ready to march. The battle will soon commence. Grub will be around shortly to fill your stomachs for the battle ahead. Be ready to fight. Be ready to die. Be ready to earn your keep.” An officer, not of the skirmishers, road through on horseback with the orders. His war horse looked majestic and his cleanliness did not belong in this part of camp.
The men of the camp packed, some cheered as a sign of readiness for the battle while others sweat quietly. In swift time, the grounds looked clear of any camp with only a few fire pits and trampled ground as evidence. Burly camp followers rolled up the tents and threw the supplies into wagons. The wagon train of the skirmishers looked just as ragged as the tent and camp supplies had been. The skirmishers were now lined up as well as they could ever possibly be. Standing together, they looked quite a rag-tag bunch.
As Mathew, Brian, and Max came together with their armor donned and weapons at the ready, they looked upon each other uneasily. Brian broke the silence, “it would certainly be a pleasantry to have a better idea of what ideal we fought for or more of what to expect of our enemy today.”
Mathew nodded, “At least they did teach us more than just how to swing a sword. Let’s hope we can escape this madness after whatever battle we’re about to get forced into.”
The man with the leather jerkin and tattered pants stepped in front of the gathering skirmishers. A farmer with long stringy hair, woolen shirt and hefty shoes lined up with the first. Then, Lord Gadarax cleared his way through the rag tag light infantry, the stand out leader. He Coughed and hacked, looking as though he might fall off his horse at any moment but for the large saddle and stirrups holding him sturdy. He rode up and down the line of men and inspected them. He didn’t look too closely or seem to expect much. Rufus followed behind him on foot. Unlike Gadarax, Rufus took the time to stop in front of a gaggle to rough them up and into shape. When Rufus got to Max, he grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a good pat. He adjusted a strap on Mathew and then headed past them to continue the inspection.
One man in particular, one who was dressed and armed just a bit better than the rest was sitting on a small stump. The rest of the men around were all standing, not so much at attention, but at least on their feet, respectfully for inspection. When Rufus arrived at the part of the line where this man sat, he halted as he had done before. Max strained to hear the words that were exchanged. What Max witnessed said enough to be telling. Rufus grabbed the finely sewn collar of the man’s shirt and hoisted him to his feet roughly.
Rufus screamed in the well-dressed man’s face with his scratchy voice and phlegm spilling out, “Making a name for yourself in the camps, matters not out here! Surviving a battle amongst our number and looting this armor makes you no better. Your chances to survive a second battle are worse than a first!”
As Rufus removed his arm from his underling’s shirt, he gave it a good tear. The man had it; he pulled a nasty looking spiked weapon from his belt and moved to get in ready position. Before he fully readied himself, Rufus thrust the weight of his whole body forward into his opponent.
He did not waste time to draw his weapon. The surprise move forced the other man to stumble over the stump he had been sitting on and start to fall. Rufus grabbed the spiked weapon and plucked it from the startled man’s limp hands. Then, without warning, he plunged the heavy spiked weapon into the prone man’s skull. Rufus stepped back and the man on the ground still twitched, quite dead.
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Rufus started walking up and down the line screaming. All three companions strained to hear what he was saying. In the end they agreed that it must have been something about an example. Don’t be disrespectful or disobey orders. They thought that was probably a pretty bad idea anyway, but it looks like that concept had not been previously mutual. After the inspection of the rest of the line, the army got under way.
Since the camp had been set up on a vast plain, it was easy, with the tents taken down, for Max to see all of the army arrayed and ready to march. Soldiers marched in well drilled formation, appearing majestic, almost beautiful in the gleaming morning sun. Meanwhile, looking back at the skirmishers, this haggard group looked like a rabble of criminals and ill trained farmers.
Riders in glimmering silver armor rode stunning stark white horses with white manes up on the highest ground. Even the rider’s armor gleamed with a white tint to it. The plumes on their helmets were a variety of hues spanning nearly any color that Max could guess.
The other interesting group was quite small, with just a couple of figures riding on horseback. They did not wear armor, nor the stealthy cloaks like the men that had captured them. They carried strange looking gadgets. A couple of their horses looked like they should be overburdened with the weight they carried; none of them looked even slightly winded.
The army marched down the flats for more than an hour, spread out to the flanks as they were. With all the weight he’d been losing, Mathew kept pace with the men around him, only looking a little more winded. With all the training they’d been receiving, Brian looked comfortable marching with his heavier armor. He almost marched in it akin to a second skin. Hopefully, the theatrical armor from the Hamlet would provide him with the extra protection for the efforts.
Finally, just after the sun was highest in the sky, men on horseback with flags rushed up and down the formations. The soldiers started to form into battle ranks. The cavalry stamped their horses’ hooves in unison. Max could see several large and complex looking machines being pulled up by horses and other large beasts of burden. These beasts’ muscles bristled around their shoulders. The large spiral horns on the sides of their heads helped anchor the yokes around their necks.
Several white and red checkered flags waved from off Max’s left shoulder. Two of the men on horseback there split off and rode in front of the lines. “Get your arses in gear! There’s no time to sit on your haunches.” Max could hear the horsemen say before they rode too far past him to make out the words.
While all the others were forming pretty, professional ranks, the skirmishers simply moved as a horde of men. It was at this point that Max saw their enemy. Their opponents stood arrayed across the field, just over a slight incline in front of them.
A thin line of beings displayed their prowess out in front of the regular army of the enemy. Max could barely make out the horde of uniformed men beyond the enemy skirmish line. It looked like there would be no speeches, no battle plans, no preparations, and no rest after their march.
The clinking of spears on leather shields and the screaming of men pierced Max’s ears. Heavy footsteps, Barnabus yelling orders, clanging of weapons, and the shuffling of armor on skin overtook the words the Brian tried sharing.
The mounted Lord Gadarax formed up with a few guards on foot right in front of their position in the line. Rufus was nowhere to be seen. They surely would have felt a bit more secure near him. Brian yelled above the chaos, “It’ll be alright. We’ve proven ourselves, now is our time to show the enemy what we’ve learned. We’ll lead the way!” Brian’s theatrical background gave him a way with words sometimes.
Mathew looked around, “I just hope we live. You just found your chance for the battle speech you always practiced for the hamlet. Don’t you want to get out in front of the men and do it now?” They laughed awkwardly, but it was hard to cover up the fear they felt.
Max could feel the eyes of the enemy soldiers upon him. He did not even understand why he thought of them as enemies, knowing nothing of this fight. Their appearance so indistinct from his own, added to the ease of seeing these beasts as enemies.Their fur, their obvious snarling and phlegm covered teeth, set them apart from any of the sentient beings he had yet seen. The monstrous creatures of the Dumar Citadel seemed more like beasts than men.
“How do we even know they deserve to die?” Max lowered his voice. “It’s not like the group we are serving are bringing food from the goddess to the needy.”
“We just have to hope and survive.” Mathew readied his spear and the formation started to march towards the enemy.