“…with your constant transgressions on our borders, we have no choice but to declare that our peoples are in a state of war with one another,” Feradnor read the scroll from Bohruum aloud in the throne room. “Would you like me to go on, Your Majesty?”
Duronaht shook his head wrathfully.
“They treat this like they haven’t already been at war with us. Bohruum scum have killed several hundred of our soldiers and now they have the nerve to blame us!” he screamed. “Have you already expelled their ambassador?”
“Not as of yet, Your Majesty,” Lord Golious said in a gruff bark. Golious was appropriately dressed in his commander’s regalia and taking on a soldier’s demeanor. Duronaht was stunned by Golious’s uncustomary sobriety. “I was waiting for your order.”
“I’ll take care of this one myself. I’ve wanted to kick that pompous shit out of this city since I became king.”
“Before we get to that, did you want to send anything else up for Marshal Vildrious?” Golious asked. “He should be up to almost three-hundred thousand men by now.”
Duronaht had been tempted to replace Vildrious with a more aggressive marshal, but when he looked at the potential candidates, especially Grand Marshal Ventov, he despaired and accepted Vildrious. What’s more, Parlon had told him that Vildrious had qualities that were not appreciated by anyone yet. While that vague pronouncement could have meant virtually anything, he decided to err on the side of believing the angel.
“Everything we can spare!” Duronaht yelled. “Why would we hold anything back?”
Golious’s brow furrowed impudently, which enraged the King all the more.
“There’s always the risk of invasion from the east, Your Majesty, and seaborn raids from the south. Our southerly regions are especially tempting to the Nitandrans, among others,” Feradnor spoke before Golious could.
If Father would actually honor his commitments to me and stop being a selfish shit this wouldn’t be a problem.
“I want everything except the Home Army up there. Hold nothing else back!” the King commanded. “It’s ridiculous that hasn’t already happened.”
Duronaht knew that this was because most of his armies simply couldn’t be maintained in the fields at all times. Conscripts split their time between their farms, mills, and smiths and the armies. Maintaining the full army in the field for any length of time risked famine or other great disruptions. However, voicing his irritation was useful for keeping the court on its heels.
Before they could respond to his outburst, he turned his attention to Minister Bolgrelt, who was visiting from Methrangia. At last, the old man seemed to be succumbing to the rigors of age, but only enough to reduce his energies to those of an ordinary man.
“And Minister Bolgrelt, please inform my father that I expect, or rather, I ask humbly for his support in fighting Bohruum,” Duronaht instructed in a mocking tone. “Please tell dear dear dear father that.”
“But of course, Your Majesty,” he said in his crackling voice. “I fear that His Imperial Majesty, the Emperor, may feel that this is Your Majesty’s responsibility alone, which was his design when…”
“I know. I know. I know!” Duronaht interrupted. “Tell father it anyway. I have every confidence you can figure out some way of persuading him.”
Bolgrelt’s wrinkles crunched around his eyes and mouth.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” the Court Minister said softly. “Know that I will do my utmost to convince the Emperor.”
Duronaht smiled with false warmth. Bolgrelt was merely a useful fool at best. At best. At worst… the King would rather not think of it. Avoiding barking like a madman for the remainder of the audience was more than a mild strain. He didn't need to burden his mind with anything else.
Later that day, Duronaht stood alone atop the castle’s lookout tower that sailed some three-hundred feet above the city and stared northward. He always took time to appreciate the immensity of Zarmand with its countless red slate roofs housing the nearly two million dwelling in the sprawling metropolis. He wondered how much more he might enjoy it if his reign had been at some other time, one with far fewer crises.
Father knew what he was doing when he stuck me with the East. This is a punishment for something and he won’t even tell me what that is.
He suppressed that building rage as best he could, just as he quelled, or rather ignored, his persistent worries about Queen Torhess’s worsening health. It was a rare day now that she would go out and garden. Most days she was now almost utterly bed-ridden, left constantly fatigued by the potions she drank to dull her pains. Duronaht resisted court pressure that he leave her and remarry. Bolgrelt insisted that he must produce heirs soon or his support at court would start shifting to Rohmhelt, who would be the only logical steward of the imperial line.
Only because of that red-skinned whore he married. She’s toxic. Why can’t the rest of them see that?
His hands grasped the rail atop the tower tightly. Then, Parlon’s presence manifested behind him. Duronaht turned and bowed to the angel, who glimmered with his golden skin.
“You are facing a war,” Parlon stated.
“We’re in one, not facing one. This isn’t a pending matter anymore, but I’m sure you already knew that,” Duronaht fumed.
Parlon’s amethyst eyes flickered back in affirmative silence.
“So, then, why are you here? You’re not coming to me to warn me about something we both already know,” the King grumbled.
“I came to reassure you that you are not alone in your struggle. This war shall end swiftly and with your total and complete victory,” Parlon declared with lyrical glee.
Duronaht shook his head back and forth.
“And just how can we be assured of that?”
Parlon’s face slowly folded into a smile.
“Your loyalty to us is not forgotten.”
~~~
It was with the greatest anxieties that Vildrious looked out upon his armies arrayed amidst the steam vents and crusted landscape of the border with Bohruum. In the sweltering conditions, they had to wear only lighter armor. Battling in full plate was simply not an option in the Segrison Marche.
To bolster his lines, he had some units of local troops, thickly scaled cold-blooded creatures that thrived in the heat. They went by the colloquial name of Teginds, though they called themselves something alien and unpronounceable, and they gladly served for a chance to fight and kill Bohruum soldiers. Centuries of mutual hatred between the Teginds and Bohruum made that an easy situation for Vildrious to take advantage of.
Onto the horizon, he saw the great masses of the Bohruum armies appear as a single indecipherable black line. Their drums, however, those terrible Bohruum drums, rumbled across the miles long divide between the armies with great effect. They were the drums of doom as any fight with the hulking Bohruumite soldiers always ended in horrid casualties for their foes. As ferocious as the heavily-scaled black and red Teginds were and as much as their animosity of Bohruum ran deep, they could not hope to last for long against a full assault.
Vildrious knew that fighting Bohruum on open ground was the worst possible solution. His command was not his own in this case, however. King Duronaht had made clear that withdrawal without a fight was an act of dereliction and would be punished accordingly. The letter he had sent Vildrious said, “Any loss of Methrangian soil without our foes paying dearly in blood will be considered tantamount to treason.” The King could hardly have been clearer.
So it was that Vildrious devised the most appropriate possible plan to at least make a good showing of Methrangian martial prowess, enough to retain his rank and command the home armies eventually. Vildrious the Valiant, rallying the armies of the frontier in a hopeless cause against the beastly Bohruum hordes, he allowed his mind to wander amidst his troops arraying. He used the Teginds to hold the center near the steam vents as they could stand the heat and they would be a tempting target for Bohruum’s commander, who he heard would be none other than Crown Prince Hyxnof himself. Impetuous as Bohruumites tended to be, a soft target like the Teginds would be irresistible to the Crown Prince.
Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
Spreading out onto the blackened and cracked ground on either side, his troops were arranged in ascending strength from light to heavy infrantry to protect the flanks. Behind them he placed his heavy cavalry to fill any gaps that emerged in the lines. It was the one strategy he was comfortable with from the lessons of Methrangian military history.
“Sir, we’re fully in place,” General Zihrehd said, saluting the marshal.
“Good good good,” Vildrious mumbled. “And our retreat plan?”
“Our… what?” Zihrehd asked.
Vildrious stared back in disbelief.
“Oh, yes. Again, that seems a bit early to consider, sir,” Zihrehd said meekly.
Indignation roiled through Vildrious.
“Now look here, they match us on numbers and every one of theirs is worth two of ours in this terrain. They’ll destroy us if we stay here!” he shouted.
“Forgive me, sir, but then what is our purpose here?” the general asked as he motioned out to the vast expanse of the some three-hundred thousand soldiers arrayed with the Bohruumite horde closing in.
“We will make certain they have to fight for the frontier, but they’re going to take this ground. It’s as simple as that, I’m sorry. I won’t lose the whole army here when they do,” Vildrious spat.
Zihrehd looked as though he wanted to protest, but instead nodded his head and moved back toward the left wing under his command.
The Bohruumite drums beat harder as they approached, spreading the dread through the ground and up into Vildrious’s legs. He could feel his courage leaving him at the spectacle. Black and yellow banners with the distinctive Bohruum claw flew high above the mass of the hulking beasts. Vildrious’s soldiers, breaking discipline, began to whisper to one another. He wanted to give a command that the men be flogged on the spot, but knew there was no use to it.
Before he could respond to it, he felt a familiar aura coalesce behind him.
“You radiate the sorrow of a defeated man,” the angel Myrvaness whispered in an accusatory tone.
“No no no, I don’t need to hear from you now. I’ve taken your advice,” he protested without even looking back at her.
She sighed with the force of the wind, causing his skin to prickle and run cold.
“You heard what I said, but you have ignored the lessons,” she scolded as she grabbed his arm with her icy grasp. It shot up his shoulder into his heart. He gasped for air, but to no avail. “You need me in this battle. Only ask and I will vanquish your foe.”
“N-no,” he managed. Her grasp loosened and he coughed, causing his loosely assembled aides and junior commanders to stare at the scene. Vildrious knew they had become accustomed to Myrvaness’s appearances by this point. They would only stare because of his humiliation. They saw in it the chance for their own advancement. He knew it. Relying on her assistance would be yet a further humiliation. “I’ll do this myself.”
“Then you will shame yourself,” she scolded. “I will stand beside you and watch. Despite your impudence, shall you ask for assistance, I will provide it.”
He decided against responding to her offer and instead puffed up his chest to appear resolute to the gawking onlookers.
“What are you looking at? Prepare for battle!” he barked.
At last, once Bohruum had closed the distance, their war chants began. With their thick hairy arms they thumped on their hardened leather breastplates in a wave that cascaded from one flank down the other. From their broad, sloped skulls they loosed cacophonous roars that tore the air itself asunder. Their vanguard then readied itself heavy warclubs that would serve to break apart the spear walls the Methrangian troops hoped to form for their protection. Vildrious had known this would be the Bohruumite tactic and yet he had never developed an effective countermeasure. With the range of options his junior commanders offered, he assumed that present tactics would be as effective as anything they offered.
They fell silent as one of them, wearing a crown of shimmering platinum, rode out on the back of an Ejihn, a heavily plated beast half-again taller than a man. Vildrious pondered if the Crown Prince would be in range of his archers, but he reasoned that it was much too far. Crown Prince Hyxnof appeared to calmly survey the terrain as quiet temporarily ruled over the lands. As the tensions mounted, the Teginds in the center flicked their club-like tails occasionally awaiting their hated adversaries.
Hyxnof roared and thrusted his hands skyward. The entire Bohruumite horde, seemingly inestimable in size, joined in, loosing an earth-shaking force. Vildrious jolted where he stood. Even knowing this moment was coming did nothing to quell his building apprehension. He closed his eyes and attempted to imagine he was anywhere but in the Segrison Marche. Worse, he could feel Myrvaness’s disdain for him from behind. As he opened his eyes again, Hynxof gave another horrifying yell that opened the battle.
Bohruumite drums beat frenetically, shaking the air. Skirmishers moved forth from their lines, each carrying a large smoothed boulder. Vildrious’s lines braced for the onslaught. His archers in their thousands attempted to shoot down the skirmishers before they could loose their crushing assault. Cries of “Loose!” went up and down the line for the more than one mile his troops defended. Thousands of arrows flew through the sky, but precious few found their marks. Spurred by the pressure, the Bohruumite skirmishers quickly spun about to launch their boulders with terrifying speed. The impacts made sickening sounds as armor and bone were crushed.
As his lines attempted to reform, the Bohruumite forces surged forward at a full charge on the weak joints in Vildrious’s lines on either side of the center. The light infantry he had left there was poorly-suited to withstand the assault. Vildrious, horrified, gazed upon the spectacle of the Bohruumites relentlessly thrashing those unfortunate men. Some dozens of his men were tossed into the air and then beaten down with the Bohruumite clubs. Tortured screams were cut short over and over again. Amazingly, the men did not run, which bought his cavalry time to form to plug the gaps should they emerge.
Elsewhere, the flanks held firm with the broad-shielded heavy infantry managing to fend off the Bohruumite berserkers. However, it wasn’t long before Bohruum committed its Ejihn cavalry to attempt to break the flanks. Against this, Vildrious knew he had few countermeasures. Atop those beasts, Bohruumite lancers could plow through even the heaviest of Methrangian troops.
With the fight joined on all fronts, the cacophony of the battle drove Vildrious to distraction. A veteran only of fantasies inside his own mind, he couldn’t process what he was seeing and hearing. He found himself an almost helpless bystander as his generals conducted the bulk of the battle, riding and running feverishly from front to front to try to stabilize the situation. All the while, Myrvaness loomed behind, her disdain for his conduct becoming palpable.
Another volley of smoothed stones sailed over the lines of battle and tore gaping holes in the reserve ranks of Vildrious’s soldiers. One of them rolled to within ten feet of the marshal after brutally tearing through a squad of archers. Blood, bone, and entrails were caked onto the stone’s surface.
Despite the chilling effect of these tactics on the rest of his army, the Tegind contingent performed well, engaging the Bohruumites in a volatile clash for the steam vents in the center. Rather than standing their ground rigidly, the Teginds would bend their lines to form pockets that the Bohruumites foolishly poured into. There, the Teginds struck. Striking at the beasts legs with their clubbed tails, the Teginds brought scores of the Bohruumites to the ground where they could savagely maul them with their maces and claws.
Admirable though this stand in the center was, it did nothing to stabilize the immediately bordering light infantry. With its ranks dwindling and any hope of turning bac the relentless tide of Bohruum soldiers gone, they withdrew. A furious charge of the heavy cavalry tried to plug the gaps, but Vildrious knew this wouldn’t hold for long. Worse yet, with the entire line under assault, he could shift no forces to relieve it. He now realized that in order to achieve an orderly retreat, he should have left a larger reserve to buy the appropriate time. Now that option was dead.
“You have no choice. Either break and run and hope they refrain from stalking you down or fight to the last,” Myrvaness declared behind him. “Or you can ask for my assistance.”
He clenched his fists and fumed. The angel was unquestionably correct. He could not fight that fact. Examining the lines, he saw no chance to achieve a suitable delaying action. Against Bohruum, he could only expect to have his men run down. This became especially clear as the Bohruum cavalry began to encircle his position with broad flanking actions. They had broken through the extended skirmish lines to rapidly imperil the whole of the army.
Whatever this will lead to, I need to survive this battle to see it.
Vildrious turned and kneeled on the cracked gray ground before Myrvaness, who stood nobly with her sword of shimmering silver drawn.
“Please, mighty Myrvaness. I need you,” he whimpered. “Save us!”
She kept her eyes icily on the marshal, appearing unmoved.
“Your pleas are heard,” she said. “Now, stand here. I will end this battle.”
Myrvaness pointed her sword skyward and let loose a terrifying beam of crackling blue light from its tip. This loosed a torrent of thunder in the clouds above that drew the attention of a majority of the battle’s combatants. Clamor and chaos subsided into mere astonishment at the angel’s display. She then pointed her sword directly toward Crown Prince Hyxnof, who had rode his mount closer to the front to press his advantage.
She let loose a booming blast that knocked some dozens of soldiers off their feet. Hundreds more scurried away, terrified of facing a warrior of Ceuna. The path she had carved ran directly toward Crown Prince Hyxnof, who still sat about his Ejihn. He grabbed a heavy hammer and grunted toward the angel.
Myrvaness then surged forward with both a speed and elegance Vildrious had never seen before. None could lay a hand on her. Before Hyxnof could even swing backward with his hammer, she jumped up into the sky and came down upon him, splitting the Crown Prince in two from head to crotch. His two halves fell on either side of his mount and the angel stood triumphantly over his cleaved corpse.
Total and complete silence fell over the entire battlefield within seconds. Vildrious himself couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed. Sporadic joyous shouts rolled through his ranks before breaking out into unrestrained cheers. The Teginds screeched with pleasure and then they immediately took advantage of the confusion in the Bohruumite ranks by attacking with renewed vigor. Frenetic drums sounded out from the rear of Bohruum's lines and the hulking beasts from the north at once broke and ran in great disorder.
Unprepared for the drastic turn due to Myrvaness’s intervention, limited forces pursued the Bohruumites. The bulk of the army stayed back to consolidate, lick its wounds, and celebrate. Their losses had been terrible, running well into the thousands, but the glories of victory were theirs.
As they celebrated, the army gathered around Myrvaness and Vildrious, who stood by one another to be bathed in unrelenting adoration. Vildrious, bewildered by the day's events, looked up at Myrvaness’s face to gauge her expression. It was only a light grin and one that unnerved him.