Morning came, and with it, no shouts of warning. No alarms or whistles or battle horns. Just snow.

Matt poked his head out of the tent, scarcely believing his eyes. The men were blearily going about their tasks, carefully reviving cook fires and giving themselves the hope of a warm morning meal. Snow was still falling, but it had slowed to a desultory flurry that barely added a dusting to the slurry already on the ground. Those who had been on guard during the last watch were trading places with the ones assigned to the morning duty. He walked to the nearest sentry position, still disbelieving.

It was still hard to see through the morning flurries, but the picture was clear enough. Smoke was still rising from Hethwellow’s camp, and from Morteth’s camp beyond that. The Knights weren’t moving. Had they given up? They couldn’t have many supplies left. Any caravans from home would have been cut off, and they had no real chance to pillage anything in the wilderness. Had they really decided to rest?

Matt looked over the ground they stood on again, this time through new eyes. The flat terrain would make cavalry charges easy, compared to the hills. His Riders and Hunters would like that, but the infantry wouldn’t. The hills around the overlarge clearing would allow him to keep easy watch, but it also meant that he wasn’t going to be sneaking up on Hethwellow any time soon. There was a way to do it, of course, but it would depend on the Knight being both overconfident and exhausted. Perhaps it would work after all, if the armies stayed where they were for the next night.

Captain Karve approached, his stride both wearied and difficult. The Orc captain saluted him and then glanced at the distant camp. “My liege, what is our plan? It appears our enemy is content to rest in camp for the day.”

“I see no reason not to follow their example, then.” Matt grinned a little, and Karve seemed to relax. The relief on the nearby sentry’s face was plain. “Have the men eat and rest a little this morning. We’ll keep regular watches, but I don’t think they are going to be running us ragged over the hills this time.”

Karve nodded. “I agree, my liege. They have to be just as tired as we are.”

Matt turned back to the distant camps. “Once we have a little more rest, I want the men to start digging in here. Nothing complicated, just a few mounds of earth and stakes to keep cavalry off of us. They don’t need to make it really good. Consider it practice.”

The captain nodded slowly, his expression growing serious. “So we will not march from this place?”

“I see no reason we would need to.” Matt gestured to the clearing. “The enemy is here, and so are our reinforcements. They’re hiding in their camp, and we have them cut off from reinforcement and supply. Think of it like a siege, but they don’t have a fortress wall to hide behind.”

“I…see, my liege.” Karve looked out across the snow as well, his eyes considering the situation. “Not a good situation on their part.”

“No.” Matt shrugged. “I would prefer to leave them at least one way out, just to keep them from trying to fight to the death, but if they are happy sitting and starving to nothing in an empty valley, then I am more than pleased to let them.”

He heard an aborted snort from the sentry, and even the lifeguards seemed to be grinning beneath their helms. Karve coughed, as if covering a chuckle of his own, before speaking again. “A way out, my liege? Why offer them that chance?”

“Men who fight to the death are often desperate. They fight hard and have nothing to lose.” Matt shrugged. “If they want to run and leave half of their friends in our hands, that is just as good. We can chase the rest down as they flee. Easier to take them that way.”

“I’m not sure they have the life in their legs for the run anyways, sire.” Karve rolled his shoulders a little, as if loosening them a bit. “I’m certainly not sure about the idea of running them down myself.”

This time, it was Matt’s turn to snort. He gave Karve a wry look, and the Orc laughed. “Well, we won’t have to worry about it today, at least. So I hope.” There was a messenger riding into camp, their Warg blowing steam and the Goblin on its back looking for him. “If you’ll excuse me, captain. I believe Captain Morteth requires orders.”

Karve bowed, and Matt stalked off through the snow to the approaching messenger, who had now seen him and was loping closer. Cold or not, snowing or not, it was going to be a much more peaceful day.

Hethwellow’s troops did not move for the entire day, aside from the occasional attempt to send out scouts, or to intercept Matt’s own scouts and messengers. They seemed keen to keep the two camps from communicating, which would make sense if Matt was in their position. Though they technically had the largest of the three armies, he couldn’t imagine that being surrounded was a good feeling.

Matt eventually settled on a system of lighted signals he could use to communicate with Morteth, reducing the need for physical messengers. A single red fireball would mean to close with the enemy; two would mean a rapid approach. Blue fire would indicate pulling back or retreating, while a yellow fireball would mean to hold position and wait. Those kinds of signals would help save time if the Knights suddenly began moving again. Matt wished he had thought of it at some point during the last few days, given how helpful it would have been.

He'd given orders for the men to construct a bunch of mobile palisades, more just a series of stakes that could be moved up as needed. They wouldn’t stop a cavalry charge completely, but every little bit would help. It helped keep his men active; though tired, it was best to keep them from growing restless as they awaited the enemy’s next move.

Of course, it didn’t seem like Hethwellow had any plans of moving at all, now. The Knights remained in their camp the entire next day as well, and the day after that. Matt began to wonder if the enemy was suffering from some accident or disease; maybe their supplies had finally run low enough that they were literally starving. Yet he would have expected some kind of parley attempt if that were the case. Was the fool so stubborn he was going to see his men starve to death rather than talk?

Either way, Matt wasn’t going to just let the man sit and sulk. By the third night, he’d sent Morteth a new plan to carry out and put pressure on the invaders. It was a complicated trick, but one he knew would be worth it if it brought the whole campaign to a close. The last thing he wanted to do was spend another week sitting in the snow while the rest of the Kingdom suffered. One way or the other, the invasion had to come to an end.

It was with that realization that Matt gathered his captains, along with the most recent messenger from Morteth’s camp, on the night of the third day. They crammed themselves into the tent, nodding respectfully to the watchful lifeguards as they entered. He’d packed up the bedroll to make room for them around the table, where he’d pinned a crude map of the clearing.

“Thank you for coming.” Matt paused as a rough chuckle ran through the captains. They were still a bit amused at the fact that he genuinely appreciated their attendance, but at least they were starting to loosen up around him. Being trapped together for a death march in deep snow seemed to have had that effect. “Tomorrow, we are going to try to end this campaign.”

His words had an immediate effect. The captains abruptly straightened up, with eager looks on some faces and worried expressions on others. Snolt grinned openly, nearly laughing. Matt wondered if he should talk with the captain of the First; that much bloodlust could not be healthy in the long term. “Before we go over my plans, I want to thank you again for your hard work so far. Your determination to defend your homes, your discipline on the march, and your patience in watching for the foe, have all given us this chance.”

The captains nodded, silent, and he continued. “I want as many of our men to rest well and early tonight. Break up any late night gatherings at the campfires, and make sure that they are ready to move early tomorrow. By early, I mean well before dawn.”

Vumorth spoke up now, her voice even. “The darkness may make a night attack difficult to coordinate, sire.”

“I agree.” Matt’s answer stopped a half dozen argumentative responses. He smiled. “We’re not going to attack their camp. They’ve been digging in just as much as we have, and I don’t want to have to pry them out of their defenses.”

Vumorth nodded, and he traced a line on the map. “Instead, I want us to move up in formation for battle. We’ll take the stakes with us, and set them up here, a short distance from the camp. The Riders and Hunters will be stationed on our flanks, ready to strike as needed. Morteth will also move up, positioning himself here. I want us to be in place before the sun rises. We’ll leave our campfires burning, to keep their sentries from noticing.”

“We’ll be close to their lines, there.” Karve’s voice was a low rumble. The captain of the Eighth Spears did not look worried, but his expression was a little more serious than usual. “They would see it as a taunt. They’d almost have to attack.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” Matt looked around the room. “We can always keep waiting here, but the longer we wait, the more likely that he’ll manage to get a messenger out, or that another invader comes over the mountains. Better to be done with this, while we have him trapped and weak.”

A growl of agreement rose from many of the captains, though most of the more experienced ones still seemed too sober. They likely knew that if battle happened, it was going to be an ugly fight. The numbers were too close to even, and both sides were probably tired, even with the days of inactivity. Snow had continued to fall, and just marching through it was going to be a nightmare.

Still, they had no other real choice. It had to be done. The captains quibbled a bit, assuring themselves of their roles for the advance, and then departed. He spoke with the messenger a little longer, making sure that they would have the instructions for Morteth clear and understandable, and then sent them out into the night.

Outside, the snowfall thickened, as if in anticipation for the chaos tomorrow. Matt watched the falling flakes for a moment through the opening of his tent. Then he turned to his bedroll with a sigh. Sleep was going to be hard to come by, probably, but he would need it just as much as the rest of his army. The morning would come quickly enough.

The snow had kept falling throughout the night, and when the lifeguard woke Matt, it had nearly buried half the camp, from the way the stuff stuck to tents and trees. Fortunately, it seemed as if it was muffling the noise of the army breaking camp, though the weary men seemed to grumble at every bit of preparation.

He’d ordered their supplies and tents left behind, the better to move quickly and keep their strength for the fight ahead. He figured it would help keep their minds fixed on the task ahead, too, since they wouldn’t have their belongings to worry about. The wooden stakes were enough to carry, half-stumbling through the dark and the cold.

Fortunately, it seemed like the enemy hadn’t realized what was going on. There was no movement from their camp, not while his soldiers descended from the hills and not while they marched forward. By the time the enemy sentries started raising their alarms, their shrill voices calling out, the men were already fixing their stakes in the ground ahead of their lines, even as the rest of the army formed up in their positions.

Matt had arranged things in a way that he hoped would make sense. The Irregulars occupied the middle of his lines, their undisciplined ranks seeming to be closer to a mob than a military unit. They even had pitchforks in their ranks, alongside their other rough polearms, but at the very least they could hold the enemy off a little and spare some of his better soldiers the damage. It sickened him a little to see the mass of men in that way, but war had a way of forcing those cold calculations on him.

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To either side of the Irregulars, he’d stationed a unit of Spears, with another two banners of Spears directly behind the Irregulars. The banner of Footmen and High Guard he had stationed directly behind those, where their crossbows and magic could support the front. On either flank, banners of Hunters and Riders waited to harass or strike at the enemy’s flanks. It was a fairly transparent bid to replicate Hannibal’s little trick at Cannae, but Matt could only hope that someone like Hethwellow had never heard of it, or whatever this world’s equivalent to it was.

Across the field, he could see Morteth forming his own ranks in a slightly different way. The Imp had no cavalry, so he had positioned his ranks of Spears a bit further apart, with several banners of High Guard and Foot to smother any attackers with bolts of fire and steel. Hopefully, it would be enough to keep the enemy from overrunning them, should Hethwellow choose to charge the former garrison.

For now, however, it looked as if the Knight was focusing mainly on panic. There was obvious activity as the enemy rushed throughout their camp, bracing themselves for an attack. Whistles shrilled, horns blew, and alarmed shouting showed that Matt’s attempt at surprise had been completely successful. It was enough to make him wonder if he should have tried the night attack after all, but he shook his head and dismissed the thought before reaching down to soothe Nelson. The warbuck was a little restless, though there were hundreds of men between him and the enemy. Perhaps he had gotten a bit too used to being in the front.

Matt could understand the mount’s impatience, though. Whether or not he had gotten too used to the frantic, spontaneous charges of the raids he’d led, or it was just the impatience from standing relatively still in the falling snow, it was hard to keep himself back from the front. Part of him wanted to be right up with the Irregulars, to try to inspire them to stand fast. Maybe that was just the guilt from using them as a kind of bait for the enemy.

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. There were no options that would keep them from being exposed to combat. The only thing he could do was try his best to make sure that as many of them returned home as possible.

The shouting in the enemy camp died down a little as the invaders realized that no attack was coming. A few minutes of quiet settled in, as the numbing realization that they were truly surrounded descended on them. With Morteth and Matt’s camps so close, there was no chance that they’d be able to get a messenger out, and no chance for resupply. They were not going to get out of it without fighting, and their enemies weren’t going to just leave or march away anymore.

As that realization set in for his opponents, Matt smiled. He raised his voice, hoping it would carry enough for most of his men, and that the words would be repeated for the rest. “Soldiers of the Kingdom! Your families and homes are depending on you. Your spouses, children, and parents need your bravery and your strength at this moment. Do not fail them! When the enemy comes to fight, show them you are not afraid! Show them you will not bend the knee before their tyranny! Show them what it means to face free men! For the Kingdom!”

A slow, rumbling cheer rose from his men, and they set themselves a bit more firmly in the snow. He heard, in the distance, the muffled sound of Morteth’s men echoing that cheer, and wondered if they were simply responding or if Morteth had said something similar. He hoped the Imp had done a better job than he had.

Well, maybe not too much better, but that was a problem for after the battle.

The cheer appeared to stir some response from within the camp itself. He saw Knights, Elves, Wizards and Dwarves begin to spread out across the field, taking up positions to answer the challenge his army had put to them. His men fell silent as they saw that massive force take shape in front of them.

Matt had to admit, it was an intimidating sight. Their center was filled with horsemen—or rather, warbuckmen—all covered in heavy armor and using lances. Their banners identified them as the Order of the Griffon, Hethwellow’s contingent, and Matt knew his enemy was going to be riding with them. Just behind the cavalry, he saw banners of Dwarven footmen forming up, their heavy armor dull and grim against the backdrop of the snow. Banners of armored Knights on foot spread out to either side, with more cavalry on the sides at their flanks.

He squinted, taking a second look. Some of the cavalry on the sides seemed to be Knights, like Hethwellow’s, but there were others wearing light armor, and something like robes. Were those mounted Wizards? He could see other Wizards on foot, well back from the front facing his troops, along with several banners of Elves with terrifyingly long bows. He didn’t know how painful those archers were going to make things, but he wasn’t looking forward to finding out.

The enemy finished spreading out across the ground, their armored forms half shrouded by the falling snow. There was a pause, as if the enemy was hesitating before beginning the battle.

Then a horn blew, and the invaders began moving.

Matt resisted the urge to order a charge of his own. Everything in him fought against the need to be patient, to wait for the enemy to come to him. Charging would only sacrifice his defensive advantage, or even allow some of the enemy to break out. He had to wait, to let the enemy get close. Still fighting that urge, he saw Morteth’s troops marching as well, moving in behind the enemy. They had to hold for long enough so that the other army could close in and finish the trap.

He shook his head and focused again. The enemy was moving faster, though it was clear they were having trouble moving across the snowy field. Their foot soldiers were struggling to march faster, but they weren’t able to keep up with the greatelks and warbucks their mounted companions rode. Those who were at the flanks branched off to move towards his own cavalry, while the four banners at the center steadily drew away from the rest of their troops. It was an odd decision; were they planning on charging without support? Why would they be that foolish?

Unable to believe it, he looked to the banners at his side. “Don’t focus on the cavalry. Hit the infantry as soon as they come into range.” Then he looked back at the oncoming charge. “All troops, brace for their charge! Hold firm!”

Sudden explosions roared, and his attention snapped back to the flanks. His jaw dropped when he saw lightning and fire streaking out from the mounted Wizards. His Hunters were answering the assault in their own way, unloading bows as they raced along. The magic tore at their ranks, sometimes striking at Wargs and Riders that didn’t exist; it was some trick of Water and Autumn that allowed the Goblins to create illusions among their ranks. He only hoped it would be enough to prevent them from taking terrible casualties as more explosions blasted into their ranks.

More roars brought his attention back to the front, as the Wizards on foot began their own assault. He saw Irregulars being thrown from their feet as the ground exploded beneath them. His soldiers were dying, screaming, even as the ranks of Elves began to draw their bows.

Matt sucked in a breath as those archers loosed, only to frown in confusion as the arrows fell short. Shafts littered the ground in front of the Irregulars, somehow not reaching their ranks. Had the Elves not judged the distance correctly? What was happening?

He heard the crossbows of his Footmen slap in response, and bolts streaked out to fall among the Wizards. They started to fall, though many of them channeled some sort of shield in front of them to catch the projectiles.

Those defenses didn’t help them against the High Guard, however. They had gathered in groups, chanting together as they pointed their swordstaffs at distant targets. New explosions bloomed among the Wizards, flowers of flame and power that ripped into their ranks. The Wizards fell back slightly, as if shocked that someone had turned magic against them.

Suddenly, a new thunder demanded Matt’s attention. He looked forward to see the Knights charging, an armored wedge of flesh, iron, and magic that pointed straight at the heart of his ranks. Right at him.

He swallowed and steadied Nelson. “Hold. Hold!”

For a moment, it seemed like his men steadied. They gathered in closer ranks, trying to make up for the ones who had been scattered by the magic that had burned among them. Their polearms became a forest of spikes and blades, pointed up at the Knights from behind the wooden stakes they had set in front of them.

Then the Knights struck. It was like watching a semi truck slam into a crowd. They smashed aside the stakes, though some of the armored mounts went down as they shouldered their way through. Men and women screamed and died as the Knights rode them down, their lances stabbing and their swords flashing. Here and there a Knight staggered or was pulled from the saddle, but it seemed as if nothing was going to stop them from riding all the way through the Irregulars.

“Spears! Forward!” The command came instinctively, even as he saw the Knights slowed down. The momentum couldn’t carry them all the way through, not completely. All the same, he felt a burst of relief as the Spears sprinted forward. Both banners in the center pushed their way through the panicking Irregulars, bringing their weapons to bear on the Knights as their charge dissolved into a melee. Those on the sides rushed forward to confront the footmen still struggling for a charge of their own, preventing those on foot from joining the cavalry.

As his entire front line became a swirling vortex of chaos, Matt jerked his attention back up to the greater battle. He saw the Elves moving forward again. Slow. Why were they moving so slowly? The snow would make it hard, but they seemed to be unable to move even as easily as the Dwarves, who still hadn’t reached the front line.

The Wizards were moving forward as well, as if determined to ignore the occasional crossbow bolt or fire blast in their midst. Their own magic began to lash out at the Imps around Matt; Nelson shied a little as a lightning bolt crackled down to send one of Vumorth’s mages flying. He felt a twist of desperation. Where was Morteth? Why hadn’t the Imp attacked yet?

He heard a howl rise above the clamor of battle and jerked his attention over to the flank in time to see the Royal First charge from seemingly nowhere into the Wizards on the left flank. The mages reacted with near-instant panic, casting half-channeled spells to little effect. The Warg Riders charged through the flame and ice to put the fangs of their mounts and their curved blades to lethal use, driving them back.

Another howl rose from the right, and Matt turned to see the Fourth Warg Riders perform a similar charge against the Wizards on that flank, driving them back in confusion. Then the Hunters arrived as well, their bows sending a dark rain of arrows into the rear of the Knights on the flanks as well, turning their hesitant charge into a confused stumble. Where had the enemy cavalry on the flanks gone? He saw no sign of them.

As the Wizards and Knights on foot both fell back in confusion, he saw his Spears suddenly free. He turned to the signaler. “Tell the Second and Thirteenth Spears to flank the center! The Hunters can harass the foot soldiers and ride them down.”

While the signaler sent the blaring notes across the field, he turned to see the banners reacting to his orders. The Spears on the flanks turned and charged into the melee in the center, increasing the pressure on the already struggling mounted Knights mired there. A few silvery arrows picked at their flanks, and he looked up as the Elves released another volley.

He looked up just in time for explosions to tear through their ranks, ripping the gathered banners to shreds. There was another horn blowing new orders, muffled though they were by the snow, and he shouted in triumph as Morteth’s banners of Spears charged into their ranks at last.

Even as the Elves were being driven back, the Knights in the center began to retreat. They did not find it nearly as easy to withdraw, being forced to try to trample their way out of the melee in ones and twos. He saw more than one knocked from the saddle by a spear thrust, or pulled down by screaming Irregulars. Those who made it to the edge of the melee fled in disorder, running back to the banners of the Dwarves who were the only remaining intact group on the field.

Not that it seemed the Dwarves would be that way for long. Morteth’s crossbowmen had found the range at last, and a hail of steel bolts were peppering the stout warriors. So far, their armor appeared to be holding up against the barrage, but many were still staggering from the hits. Fire began to bloom in their ranks as well, as Morteth’s High Guard joined his own in blasting their foes.

What was left of the enemy was quickly being driven back on themselves, retreating into a grim bunch in the middle of the bloodstained snow. His forces chased after them, treading their flags into the slush. Crossbow bolts and fire blasts rained down on the routing enemies, while their surviving captains frantically tried to shout them back into formation. Rings of Spears hemmed them in, and the Dwarves fought their way past their panicked allies in order to present something like a united front on the outside of the mass.

Matt spurred Nelson forward, and the warbuck tossed his head in annoyance before responding. He raised his voice, calling to the signaler at his side. “Hem them in, but do not advance! Offer quarter to any who surrender! Take captives, take them captive!”

The horn blasted his orders out, and the Spears halted their advance. Their enemies hardly appeared to notice, in their frantic need to escape. Some of them were quickly finding that they had nowhere to run, and Matt could feel their fear and despair rising. He rode forward, just fast enough for the men in front of him to make space so that he could get through.

As the shouting and screams died down, he raised his voice again, hoping to be heard over the crowd. “Surrender, invaders! Yield and I promise you your lives! Continue to fight, and none of you will live!”

It took him three tries to be heard, but when he was, the enemy appeared to hesitate. The Dwarves actually took a step forward, as if they intended to charge the Orcs waiting around them, but others of their allies were quicker than that. One of the Wizard banners dipped and fell, and a white flag was raised in its stead. He saw them start to throw down their staves and swords, raising their hands as they stepped past their allies.

The surrenders spread like wildfire through their ranks. Despite the frustrated and despairing shouts of their captains or allies, banner after banner fell to the ground, followed quickly by their weapons. Elves, Wizards, and even Knights were stepping forward, pulled by the Orcs who passed them through the ranks where they fell to their knees at the edges, their hands still raised in surrender.

Those who remained looked smaller and smaller compared to the forces surrounding them. For a moment, Matt wondered if he would be forced to butcher them all in response, but then, finally, reluctantly, the Dwarven standards dipped, and he sighed in relief as the last of the enemy soldiers threw down their weapons.

It was over, finally. The battle had been won.