>
> An old soul shall stand on Uher’s Seat
>
> One o’ five Hydra’s heads,
>
> Ever secreted, sewn in royal purple threads
>
> The other paraded affixed with a rusted cleat
>
> for in a queen’s soft heart the lands shall see entreat.
>
>
>
> -
>
> Klara Est Ravn,
>
> The ‘Black Lily of the forests’ cryptic letter to her father,
>
> Circa 194 NC
>
>
-
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
Sir Mark Est Ravn
Go
----------------------------------------
----------------------------------------
-
Praised be the Five
Bathed in Uher's Light
For another morning shall arrive
No erstwhile night can forestall
So say we all
-
Praised be Uher who set all things aright
May all thrive under Gods father Light
All preserved, be served by those healed
Cast aside the wickedness of the weak, be a guide and our shield
Gaze at the aberrant Heathen hanged from a butcher’s meak
For their foulness no witchery shall revive
Praised be the Five
bathed in Uher's Light
For another morning shall arrive
-
Morning psalm,
A prayer to Uher, the Gods father
Unknown date
-
> “They found her,” Priest Brukel said, fingers clasped on the Ankh Staff and his young face oozing indignation. “The woods outside Fardor. Looking for a boat to cross the river.”
>
> Mark sighed and patted Champagne’s snout with a gloved hand.
>
> “Where did she want to go?” He asked tiredly and walked near a pregnant Juliet that had climbed down from her carriage with the help of David Bril his aging squire. His wife smiled, those earnest brown eyes staying on his face for a moment.
>
> “She’s not allowed…” Brukel protested, but then paused with a grimace of distaste. “Your brother is with her. He’ll bring her along.”
>
> “Shane?” Mark asked and then planted several kisses on Juliet’s flushed face.
>
> The tops of her white trimmed eyebrows, that perky nose and warm caramel cheeks.
>
> Age seemed to not touch his wife, her skin as soft as a baby’s.
>
> “Praised be Uher it was him,” Brukel grunted behind him interrupting their moment.
>
> His younger brother was always eager to assist. “How is Lady Grote this morning?” Mark asked teasingly and the Baron of Greywood Castle’s daughter chuckled.
>
> “Well enough Sir Mark,” she replied guessing his thoughts. “You can go and check on your sister. We shall be alright without you.”
>
> “I’ll be back in camp afore sunset. Perhaps it is nothing untoward. Klara is still young,” Mark told her. A half-truth. His sister was thirteen but this summer of 186 has her growing up more than a year it seems.
>
> “Hmm,” his wife nodded, a gleam in her eye. “My father said the same thing, if I recall.”
>
> “Lady Juliet,” Mark cautioned her teasingly. “I shan’t judge your memory of past events, but Brukel is not to be trusted to keep a secret.”
>
> Brukel snorted hearing him. “My Lord I’ll suffer in all-hells afore I say a word.”
>
> A grinning Mark turned around to head for his horse again. The five-headed ashen hydra of Midlanor stitched on its blanket with a black outline. He climbed on it lithely and Champagne neighed shaking its cream-colored mane.
>
> “Can you ride until then?” Mark teased the priest of Uher. He knew the man before Brukel had decided to spread Uher’s blessings.
>
> “I rather walk and enjoy the sun sire,” Brukel replied since he was a notoriously poor rider.
>
> “I’m riding to Fardor,” Mark informed the rigid priest. “So you better find yourself some water Brukel and a better pair of shoes.”
>
> Bril laughed hearing his words and Juliet followed his squire’s example.
>
>
>
> “Well?” His father asked two days later. Mark was staring at a washed-out drawing of Sessi. The ancient city and not the Shrine built with what the survivors had brought with them. Now a small city unto itself. “Did she explain herself?” The Duke of Midlanor approached. He was standing at the same height as him. The ashen priestly robes leaving the five-headed Hydra carved on his armour visible.
>
> “She’s young father,” Mark replied. “Thought she saw a fairy and followed it.”
>
> “Uher helps us,” Lord Anker hissed lowering his voice. “Kelholt is here. I worry your brother might say something.”
>
> “He won’t,” Mark assured him. “Nothing happened.”
>
> The Duke puffed out exasperated. “First that idiot Thor and then this. At least your younger brother is causing me no problems.”
>
> “The princess exaggerated,” Mark said calmly.
>
> “Well that hothead wouldn’t stop pestering me about it,” his father complained. The hothead was King Antoon. “Refused to even entertain the thought. He might even look to Scaldingport for a groom.”
>
> “There's no way Antoon survives a dinner with Lord Ruud,” Mark said and glanced at the High Priest talking with Brukel and Sander te Hove. The two priests listening carefully to Kelholt’s words. Maas Vellers the Inquisitor standing watch near them. “Antoon will look to find a local or someone from Riverdor.”
>
> “You overestimate our King’s intelligence,” Lord Anker said tiredly and stood back, his eyes on the painting. Mark could hear the sword whispering, the beautiful swan sculpted on the handle gleaming in the well-lit but austerely decorated palace. Out of place, he thought staring at the ancient weapon the Duke had on his waist. “He’s unpredictable. I fear that in a man or a woman. Like your sister.”
>
> “What about Thor?” Mark asked with a grin seeing the Duke’s troubled face.
>
> “Praised be Uher you came first,” his father retorted, then extended his arm to grab Mark’s shoulder tightly. “A Hydra has many heads, but not all of them are equal.”
>
> “Is that what the sword says?” Mark asked him and his father’s Issir face darkened even more.
>
> “The sword says an old soul will stand on Uher’s Seat.”
>
> “That’s cryptic but weirdly specific at the same time. Which queen? Nienke? Minerva?” Mark murmured thoughtfully hearing the rest and his father gestured for him to stay quiet seeing the High Priest approach with his entourage.
-
Morning, 12th of Tertius 194 NC
Battle at 3Roads
Fifth hour
-
“My Lord!” Sir David Bril bellowed from atop his horse, just as Mark accepted the field glasses from his squire Rikkert. “The 2nd is deploying behind the 1st but we can’t reach Verner!”
He nodded, old Champagne protesting under him. The warhorse was covered in dirt from riding since dawn, a green grime glued on its belly and Mark’s boots.
“What is Voges doing?” Mark grunted looking through the field glasses at the Khan’s infantry gathering in front of the large camp.
Still kilometers away and slow-moving.
“He’s helping Van De Aesst sire,” Bril replied stiffly. “The Horselords retreated in the camp. Bandt is marching here.”
“Find me Sir Kommer’s man.” Mark ordered and no sooner he’d finished a couple of arrows landed on the gravel road three meters away, another bunch breaking apart near them right after.
“They turned around sir!” A rider yelled riding near their group and Mark tossed the glasses to Rikkert.
“Leave Kommer’s be. Get everyone ready,” he told Bril and the knight nodded. “They’ll attempt to break out!” Mark unsheathed his longsword and reached for the shield secured at the left side of his saddle. “Might want to put them away and get a blade out Rikkert or that spare shield. You’ll need it more than me,” he counseled his squire and then turned Champagne around towards the sound of the horse archers approaching.
-
> The cut off Tehenor ordered his riders to charge scimitar in hand, against the men-at-arms and knights of Sir Mark Est Ravn trying to break through. Despite the numbers the horse-archers found the task very difficult and attempted desperate actions to bring the well-armed Issirs down. The High Regent’s firstborn had some of Midlanor’s best knights with him, like the ‘peasant knight’ David Bril, Sir Gudo Kommer and a prominent member of the Golden Spears Priest Brukel amongst others.
>
> In the chaotic scrap by the road, a hundred meters from the entrance into North Greenforest, Tehenor’s attempt to break out failed when his men that split up trying to disengage from the heavier knights fell upon Captain Bandt’s advancing spears of the 1st and 2nd Divisions of the 2nd Foot and got crashed. Tehenor of Lukela was killed but Muvelo managed to hold the west part of the woods with his scouts and many horse archers found refuge there but were of little help against Verner’s rangers. The scrap inside the woods already in its fourth hour.
>
>
-
Mark jerked his metal-reinforced knee joint up and got the Horselord lunging for his ribcage right under the jaw. A snap that was lost in the pandemonium and the zygomatic bones burst out of his torn cheeks, slanted eyes turning a deep red. The knight twisted Champagne to the left, the larger warhorse shoving the other Horselord’s horse away, the archer hacking at his shield manically with his scimitar. The blows landing fast and hard, the metal wrapping with cracks appearing on the reinforced wood.
He lunged with the longsword mid-turn, the blade whipping past the archer’s defenses and sinking into his ribs. Mark jerked the blade left then right with a grunt, bones breaking and gore running down the handle until he got the sword freed. The archer collapsing between the two horses. The knight kicked his legs and Champagne jumped forward. Another archer trying to get on his feet immediately got trampled under its hooves and his left arm snapped in two places afore detaching from its socket.
Mark flicked the longsword in a wide arc and cut a dark-skinned Horselord across the face, the heavy blade cracking his opponent’s skull with a repellant crunch. The man was hurled aside, spreading gore from his mouth and eyes. The knight’s horse neighed greatly disturbed at the mayhem but Mark breathed a sigh of relief as he could see infantry mixed with the horses and the banners of the 2nd Foot.
“Rikkert!” He roared balancing his sword across the saddle in front of him, to repair his shield’s bindings with the freed hand. “I need that shield boy!”
“I broke it sire!” Rikkert was heard and Mark saw him limping between two Issir soldiers that speared everything they could reach that didn’t have their colors. “Apologies!”
“Eh,” Mark grunted and then clicked his tongue to approach Sir Bril who changed his blade for a fresh one carried by his squire. “We need to move towards the mouth,” Mark told him and lifted the face-cover so he could see better about them.
The fight was winding down but scared horses were still galloping wildly amidst the knights and the infantry that had flooded the road. The dead littering the field on both sides of the gravel road that had a darker more sinister color now.
“My Lord, I’ll dispatch a runner,” Bril replied whilst extracting an arrow that had lodged under his shoulder plates.
“We can’t change horses now,” Mark said eyeing Captain Bandt rushing towards them on foot. “Get everyone moving in ten minutes,” he added and jumped from his horse to speak with the infantry commander.
“We are hunting them into the woods sire,” Bandt reported after saluting briskly.
“Cease that,” Mark ordered and carefully wiped his bloody blade with a cloth. “I want the infantry out of the woods Bandt.”
“Aye sire,” the officer replied. “We’ll get moving post haste.”
----------------------------------------
Brukel reached Mark’s entourage twenty minutes later with Bandt's three divisions (the 1st, 2nd and the 4th) already marching out of the woods. Captain Voges was with him and a sergeant of the 3rd Foot sent by Sir Luke.
“Uher’s light upon you my Lord,” the priest said and brought his spotted horse near him. “A great victory.”
“We haven’t won yet Brukel,” Mark retorted. He had just witnessed the Khan’s infantry move up in large square blocks of smirking soldiers. “There must be six-seven thousands of them out there looking for a fight.”
“We shouldn’t,” the priest of the Order argued and wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his robes. Brukel had chainmail underneath and a sword strapped at his waist next to his Order’s bronze rod. “Now is the time to retreat my lord.”
“Now is the time to press our advantage Brukel,” Mark snapped not believing his ears. “You want them reorganized?”
“We hurt the Khan’s riders,” Brukel insisted. “Let them march to us. We can fall back towards the capital. Wait for reinforcements.”
“Bah,” Mark grunted with a stubborn clench of his jaw. “They won’t defend the capital priest. They’ll retreat back beyond the rivers. We must not lose momentum.”
“Mark you did that in the Small Plains,” Brukel reminded him. “It didn’t help.”
“Not the same enemy and not the same war. We know why we fight here, damn it Brukel!” Mark admonished the priest. “Now is not the time!”
Brukel stood back on the saddle. “May the faithful thrive under Uher’s Light,” he chanted and Mark stared at the sun moving on the sky slowly towards midday.
“I’d like the light to stay put,” the knight replied tensely, turning his spare horse named Reliant around. Champagne was resting and the white and gold younger destrier had taken his place. “Else we’ll have it in our eyes.”
-
> The Khan ordered the Jang-Lu under Muda Zeket of Chariot’s Birth to move forward seeing the 2nd Foot coming out of the woods and marching south towards Colle. Their camp was built two kilometers from the city in front of the Khan’s camp, with the Cataphract and the massive Slavers camp built to their east and the Chariots along the Lancers camp built to the west facing the north-heading coastal road towards Jaws Castle. The Horselords were spread out around Colle conducting their own operations, but were alerted about the presence of large forces in the field and reacted timely.
-
Sir Bril rode to him an hour later, the noon sun baking the men and animals in the open field. Mark was watching the 2nd Foot get into position under Bandt and Voges less than a kilometer away. The knight had moved to the left (east) flank near the Issir Cavalry so he could have a better view of the enemy force.
“Is Voges in the field?” Bril asked gruffly in his heavy Roadfort Nord accent.
“His divisions are covering the west flank,” Mark replied lowering the field glasses. “Get back with the cavalry David,” he grunted.
“Sir Gudo can handle them,” Bril argued and raised his face cover.
“The moment Bandt makes contact, we’ll have Voges use the sixth to loop around their battle-line. Cut them off from the coast,” Mark started but riders approached afore he could finish.
“Your blessings Priest. I have word from Sir Luke,” one of the young riders said noticing Brukel on his horse.
“Uher be wit you lad,” Brukel replied making the sign of a disk raising his arm.
“We’ll hear the report soldier!” Mark snapped as he was pressed for time.
“Holsman messaged Commander Luke sire. He got attacked by cavalry on the road,” the young herald said quickly.
Holsman? Mark pressed his mouth, standing back on the nervous Reliant. The commander of Jaws Castle had been tasked with guarding the north-heading road, but he was kilometers away with the massive Greenforest separating them, well to the west.
“How much cavalry?” Bril grunted as he was close enough to hear the runner sent by Sir Luke.
“He repelled them milord knight.”
“Not that many then. Holsman has less than three hundred men,” Bril decided and scratched the underside of his square chin. He’d a small beard growing there.
“You bring the news to Captain Voges,” Mark said to the messenger. “Order him to detach a division and have it face the north road.”
“His flank sire?”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Just repeat my words soldier!” Mark grunted in frustration. “Go now.”
“Aye sire!”
Mark watched him riding away and then turned to the other messenger. “Sir Luke has finished with the horse archers?”
“At least a thousand defend the camp my lord,” the second messenger said quickly and Mark spotted out of the corner of his eye Sir Gudo’s squire riding towards them from the other side. “It’ll take him a couple of hours to finish.”
“I want the ranged units here in half that time and a division from the 3rd Foot to guard our rear,” Mark snapped. “Get back there and tell him that!”
“Yes sir,” the young Issir replied and saluted afore turning his horse around to gallop away.
Mark turned Reliant around to trot near Bril who was listening to Tarn, Sir Gudo Kommer’s squire.
“More cavalry?” He asked nervously and Bril glanced at him soberly.
“More camps,” the knight said.
“East of Colle?” Mark insisted trying to recall the topography of the area.
“Aye, at least a couple of them,” Bril replied. “Tell the Lord what you told me Tarn,” he added.
“Thousands of horses Lord Ravn,” Tarn reported. “Elephants sire!”
God damn it son.
“What about cavalry?”
“It’s difficult to tell my lord, it is a huge camp,” the squire replied.
“How far?”
“Five-six kilometers. They are spread out. The wagons reach as far back as Colle Sir Gudo said.”
“What?” Bril grunted.
“Might be slaves,” Mark reasoned furrowing his brows.
“The Khan is attacking,” a flushed Brukel informed them riding his horse near their group. Mark puffed out trying to keep everything into perspective. Don’t get bogged down in the details, he counseled himself. Stick to the plan.
“Bandt should hold the center,” he told Bril. “You’ll ride back to Gudo and prepare to strike at the Khan’s infantry east flank. Voges will hold the other flank and keep an eye on the coastal road for any surprises. We collapse their center and it’ll bring us into their main camp. Then we’ll swing around, attack the pens. Holsman probably faced what was left of the Khan’s riders, so this gives us an opening on this part of the battlefield.”
“What about the Chariots?”
“What about them?” Mark grunted, his eyes on the infantry clashing in the middle of the field.
“Gudo saw none there,” Bril retorted gruffly.
“He saw wagons. Probably most of the chariots are there also,” Mark snapped and then rubbed his face exasperated. “Have you ever seen a chariot David?”
“Don’t believe I have,” Bril replied pursing his mouth.
“They look alike from afar. Lord Putra had some also and got licked hard. Archaic machines of little use,” Mark explained. “We caught them out of position, but this won’t last. We need to strike now. Discuss about what ifs later my friend.”
“As you wish milord,” Bril said and gestured for Tarn to get moving. “We’ll hit them when they fully commit,” he added and with a nod to the silent priest he galloped away.
“Send another runner to Voges. Inform him to have his eyes open for Chariots on his flank,” Mark said to one of the adjutants standing nearby. The truth of it was he didn’t know how the Duke of Scaldingport had dealt with them. Thor had send him a copy of the Old Crow’s letter but it was sparse on useful details. “And have Luke’s ‘snipers’ come to the middle of the field. We might have need of them on defense.”
“How many crossbows does Luke have?” Brukel asked and brought a flask to his mouth.
“About a hundred,” Mark replied tensely and glanced at the priest sipping from the flask.
“It’s holy wine,” Brukel explained a little defensively. “Blessed by Uher.”
“Lay off of it just the same,” Mark grunted and gave the field glasses to Rikkert. “Eyes on our men lad. I want to know of any new developments,” he ordered and rode near the adjutants preparing the messages to speed them along.
-
> Muda Zeket marched against Captain Bandt’s three divisions defending the Issirs army center near midday. Captain Voges deployed a further two divisions (for a total of five or five thousands soldiers) sending the 3rd to anchor the line on the west flank and match the Jang-Lu width, debating whether to use the 6th Division under Gates an Issir officer from Greywood or not. While he had orders from Sir Mark Est Ravn to watch for Khanate cavalry returning from their attack against Commander Holsman’s guards earlier that day, Voges wanted to use the advantage he still held to loop around Muda Zeket’s line, as there was no sign of Khanate horses with the time ticking away.
>
> The Khanate horses were all over the field as a matter of fact. A large portion of Sepa’s Lancers (four hundred out of 800) had challenged Holsman’s positions on the road to Jaw Castle nine kilometers from the city of Colle and six from the 3Roads junction. The attack had failed as the dug in Holsman had brought four Scorpios from the castle and a squad of heavy longbows that fired on the charging horses killing many. Sepa broke off the attack and called for the Chariots of Lord Ota-Khem of Turbal that were slowly coming out of their enclosures, to assist him as they could match the lobbing arrows archers’ volume of fire by a lot.
>
> Lord Ota-Khem begun moving towards the north from his nearby camp (the chariots were stationed near the shores on the flattest terrain) but got informed that the Issir had attacked out of the woods in force and was ordered to turn around. Lord Ota-Khem in turn messaged Sepa who was still loitering near Holsman’s haphazardly barricaded positions and then promptly rode towards the junction.
>
> On the other side of the grasslands outside Colle, Bedas of Sidhyr (the Master of Slaves), Tyfon of Nasar (the Khan’s Beastmaster) and Cephas Mirpur, Lord Mirpur's oldest son and brother to Horus (who was serving with Lord Putra) were notified as well. Due to the large number of slaves present in their two camps (around eight-thousand of Colle’s ‘workforce’ had been dragged along to be used by the Khan’s engineers) the Cataphracts were slow to react with the Elephants proving more a hindrance for the rest of the force. Their presence irritated the other animals and Tyfon decided to keep them out of the fight given the number of forces involved.
>
> Cephas Mirpur’s slow reaction left Muda Zeket’s east flank open which greatly angered the commander of the infantry. While Muda could control his west flank against a potential maneuver by Voges as he had the numbers kept in reserve, he couldn’t defend against Sir Mark’s cavalry that had been spotted lurking there. With no word from Tehenor or Muvelo, Muda felt threatened.
>
> Burzin who had ridden near the frontline so the troops could see him became furious at the delay and ordered Prince Radin to ‘deal with the matter or not come back at all.’ The bewildered Prince had stayed with the Khan during the night and was supposed to return to his army (still marching towards Colle) but got caught up by the events. Radin probably had no interest in getting in a fight with Lord Mirpur’s sons seeing as he needed to gather as much support as he could to overcome Atpa in the race for succession, but the discomforted Prince couldn’t refuse the Khan also. Radin rode with few of his bodyguards to the Cataphracts camp just as Sir Mark’s flanking maneuver started.
>
> The Issir heavy cavalry had won every engagement it had gotten involved with up to that moment and rode against Muda Zeket’s Jang-Lu in good order. Led by Sir Gudo Kommer and Sir David Bril they charged on the green field hard and smashed against the slowly pushing back Bandt’s men Jang-Lu of Muda Zeket. While the experienced Khanate units pivoted to defend against the Issir onrushing lances with their long halberds, Division ‘B’ situated at the edge of the battle-line got mauled losing close to two hundred men in less than five minutes. Half the division (about a thousand men) got pushed back ten meters from the shock and congested the nearby square of Division D’s positions.
>
> With the edge of their line buckling and losing cohesion, Muda’s officers ordered the other units to disengage from Bandt’s soldiers that moved forward gaining momentum in their east flank. Sir Gudo pulled back his riders with bugle calls, intending to circle-charge again and the men-at-arms responded in high morale. This was to be the Issirs last time they had the initiative throughout the rest of the battle.
>
> Sir Mark who was watching from a nearby position spotted the thick dust clouds raised by a large number of Cataphracts moving towards his regrouping cavalry coming from the east and was to be informed shortly of Lord Ota-Khem’s chariots arriving at Voges northwestern flank. Officer Antoon Gates, who had just issued an order for his men to trot around the Jang-Lu lines, reportedly stopped dead in his tracks feeling the ground shake underneath him and the mighty roar of an approaching avalanche.
>
> Or a hellish thunderstorm.
-
“Get on your horse!” Mark ordered Rikkert and grabbed the reins from him nervously. He glanced at the men of Sir Gudo Kommer reforming at a slow trot and then at the adjutants waving flags to warn them of the danger to their rear. With a grimace of anger he turned his neighing horse around undecided.
Brukel brought his smaller mount near the scowling knight, a deep frown marring his own face.
“Sir Luke sent the 1st division of the 3rd,” the priest informed him.
“Argh, keep them behind our lines.” Mark looked about him. “Everyone that can hold a lance after me!” He ordered his entourage and then turned to the priest again. “Brukel tell Luke to get his arse out of the plaguing woods!”
“Mark, let Bril deal with this,” the priest argued.
“We are about to lose the cavalry,” Mark grunted and glared at his friend.
The whole 2nd Foot.
“Uher’s light shall provide,” Bruker insisted stubbornly. “The heathen shall not prevail.”
“Uher’s light is in our blasted eyes damn you!” Mark barked irate. “In this field humans are fighting. Just do as you’re told priest.”
Brukel pressed his lips tightly. “Think of Lady Juliet my lord and little Wilhelm,” he told him soberly and Mark raised his arm to strike the priest of Uher on the face for presuming he wasn’t. For presuming he had a choice in the matter. He stopped himself at the last moment.
“See to your orders,” Mark hissed through his clenched teeth. “The men of Midland shan’t see their commander flee the field! The Duke’s own son branded a coward.”
“I can’t leave you on your own,” Brukel insisted and Mark groaned in frustration.
“Get a blade from Rikkert then.”
“I have a sword,” Brukel rustled.
“Good. See to use it,” Mark retorted and raised his arm. “After me!” He yelled at the quarreling officers and snapped his steel spurs to get the protesting Reliant going.
-
> Mirpur’s Cataphracts smashed on the Issirs stopping Sir Gudo from charging again on the reeling back lines of the rattled Jang-Lu, but their attack wasn’t well coordinated through no fault of the excellent horsemen present. Prince Radin and Cephas Mirpur had gotten into a shouting match with Mirpur refusing to give up the lead to the Prince ‘of the provinces’ and the shamed Radin lashing out. The Prince managed to defuse the situation somewhat and agreed to split the force between them, giving the men the option to choose their commander. With the majority of the Cataphracts siding with Cephas, Radin had to swallow his pride and order the attack.
>
> Cephas did the same and the two charging forces tangled with each other, with units getting confused on who to follow. Despite that though, their numbers hurt Sir Gudo Kommer’s men with some Issirs managing to avoid the initial attack altogether and counter charge the Horselords. The two opposing cavalries struggle slowed-down into a mounted melee which favored neither the Cataphracts nor the knights. While the Khanate had the numbers, with Radin’s wedge now irrelevant and without a valid target, the scrap was undecided for a time. Sir Mark arrived at the scene to inform his men of the danger but was late.
>
> Men and horses had been entangled so much by then, it was impossible to disengage.
>
> On the other side of the field Gates’ 6th Division attempted to defend against Lord Ota-Khem’s chariots but got thrashed by the long scythed blades, with men turning into mincemeat in seconds. Severed limbs hurled right and left, thick and tall torrents of gore erupting vertically as the Chariots carved through the soldiers’ lines. Amidst the mayhem the chariots found themselves behind the shattered 6th Division’s lines and got bombarded by bolts fired by the 3rd Foot’s arriving 1st Division.
>
> Lord Ota-Khem lost control of the situation and despite calling for his charioteers to disengage (the Chariots that stopped, malfunctioned or got bogged down from the number of butchered bodies under their wheels were easy prey for the spear-wielding Issirs) his orders were lost in the pandemonium. A shocked Captain Voges who had just witnessed Gates turned into a pile of pulverized flesh in front of his eyes ordered the 4th Division (of the 2nd Foot) out of the line and marched it against the momentarily immobilized Chariots. In the meantime, the 1st Division of the 3rd under Lars Erve dispatched by Sir Luke AredRavn, immediately setup a fallback line to defend against the Chariots with their crossbowmen firing on the packed decks winning the exchange.
>
> But it was all a mirage.
-
“Ugh!” A snarling Mark grunted and downed his sword splitting the smirking mask down the middle and the conned helm along with it, shattering the cranium. The blade lodged on the destroyed throat of the shuddering Cataphract and he had to yank it back, Reliant turning this way and that greatly disturbed, almost tossing him from the saddle. A knight yelled something but it was cut off by a spiked mace ruining his jaw, pieces of flesh and bones exploding in a red haze.
Mark switched the grip on his sword to parry a scimitar aside, caught his opponent under the armpit on the riposte and then pulled hard at the reins to turn his mount around, just as the severed arm dropped between them. Blood splattered his legs, painted the saddle’s horn a crimson brown and his ears were ringing, the sounds reaching him distorted through the helm’s side slits.
Reliant jumped over a crying stallion with its front legs shattered and landed near a butchered Issir squire’s body. Dried up gore making the young man’s face unrecognizable. Horses neighed, people cursed, screamed or groaned in mind-numbing agony. The weapons of choice coming at such variance, Mark had to check what he was up against first afore committing.
Spiked maces and flails. Long axes and all types of spears.
Those smaller crossbows that the Horselords favored, even arrows.
Shields breaking or used as a weapon as well. Helms bashing against helms.
“Bril!” Mark bellowed recognizing the knight’s armour and trotted near him. Reliant shoving the Cataphract’s armoured warhorse aside and the man twisting on the saddle towards the new danger. Mark angled his shield to take the blow, the spiked mace breaking a piece of it off, splinters clattering on his face cover, but by the time the Horselord tried to strike at him again, Sir Bril’s blade had brutally sawed through his lungs and brought him down.
“My Lord!” Bril yelled to be heard. “You need to get away.”
“Order the men to retreat!” Mark snapped. “Where are the buglers?”
“All dead sire,” Bril replied tensely.
A gnarling Mark cursed and then waved his sword about. “EVERYONE COME WITH ME!” He roared and pointed desperately towards the north to orientate the men, an eye on the sun moving on the horizon. “NOW MEN OF MIDLAND!”
Some of the knights near them reacted and pulled away. They created a small group that pushed through their disoriented opponents who were also trying to regroup themselves with yells and cries. Mark kicked his legs to get his tired horse going still barking orders right and left to get even more of the Issirs to follow after him.
“The woods!” He shouted hoarsely at Sir Bril and looked to find Rikkert but couldn’t locate the young squire. “Follow the—”
His words were cut short abruptly, a cold steel piercing his cuirass from the sides and then an armoured horse crashed on Reliant almost cutting the warhorse in two. Mark was hurled from the saddle, a piece of lance still buried in his sides, the plate wrapped and half-ruined there. The force send him clattering down, the helm saving his face but the thud cutting him bellow the left eye. Mark rolled on the ground with a muffled groan, his ears ringing and completely disoriented.
-
The injured knight stumbled to his feet, grinding his teeth under blood-spattered lips and looked about for his sword. He found it three meters away and limped there, a hand feeling the piece of lance lodged at his ribs. Blood spurting out and making it slippery to grasp. Mark picked his sword up and turned to watch the Horselords attack unfolding. They had surprised their group with a sudden charge. At least a dozen of them still waiting nearby, standing outside the mass of men and animals duking it out ferociously, watching for anyone trying to get away.
Sons of whores, a dazed Mark cursed glaring at the smirking silver masks of his opponents atop their warhorses. Hearing trotting behind him, he turned around and spotted Bril approaching.
A Cataphract following after him with his lance lowered.
“Milord!” Sir Bril yelled seeing him rising up covered in dirt and gore. He headed towards Mark with the latter coughing up blood through the nose and mouth in the desperate attempt to warn his old squire to get away.
A gasping Mark watched in slow-motion the Cataphract gaining, the long lance exploding out of the knight’s chest-plate and then breaking. Bril’s panicked horse veered right, away from the ogling in horror Mark and the fatally wounded knight collapsed from the saddle into a hip of mangled body parts. Right behind him the armoured warhorse appeared riding wild and the gore-covered Cataphract spotted Mark frozen in shock, that hideous smirking mask jerking down looking for a weapon to use.
He grabbed a scimitar’s handle and unsheathed it, the sun catching the blade’s surface momentarily and blinding Mark. It also woke him up and the noble scion moved aside at the last moment swinging with the longsword in the blind at the onrushing mount of flesh and steel.
The blade found flesh right above the horse’s knee joint and cut it right through, chopping the screaming animal’s right front leg away. Man and horse whipped past the dodging whilst bellowing incoherently –equal amounts aggrieved and in pain- Mark carried by momentum. They managed a couple of more meters and then the horse dropped abruptly, its head hitting the ground and the neck snapping with a loud crunch. The rider flew over the saddle, turned midair, an impossible to fathom feat given how laden with armour he was and landed badly on his legs turning an ankle with a loud angry groan.
Motherfucker, a limping Mark thought and moved against him grinding his teeth. Hope that’s a break.
“Mark! Uher’s mercy!” Brukel yelled and Mark glanced his way, the priest bathed in a red hue of warm sunlight. Behind the mounted priest several other knights with Sir Gudo amongst them were trying to hold off the Horselords. But there were more of them immediately charging into the melee to replace those that the knights managed to cut down. Even more circling around those engaged on their horses taking potshots with their crossbows at distracted Issirs or waiting for someone to come out of the scrap so they can rush him like vultures.
“Get out of here priest! LEAVE!” Mark cried out and opened his gore coated helm-cover to wipe his face and mouth. The knight’s opponent had approached his dead horse and got a warspear out. Some of the Cataphracts noticing the small fight about forty-fifty meters from the main clash trotted that way with one of them riding up to the injured Cataphract to offer him another scimitar.
Mark glanced at the forest, the first big trees no more than ten meters away and frowned seeing an impossibly tall, bizarre hooded figure watching the struggle amidst a group of shorter normal-looking civilians under the shade. Six of them. The long-faced cloak-wearing alien had his bony naked arms crossed on his chest and was as white as death itself. Painted. Out of place. Mark realized and turned to face the smirking Cataphract.
“Mark please! Take my horse!” The priest pleaded and some of the other Cataphracts started approaching as well, others reaching for their crossbows.
The priest was right.
Uher forgive me.
Juliet sweet baby, you’re on your own now.
Wilhelm, you look after your mother boy.
Praised be the Five, he prayed under his breath.
For another morning shall arrive.
The Horselord attacked swinging his spear but Mark parried it away without difficulty and whipped his blade out to carve a line on the Cataphract’s chest armour. Rings clattering down as the seemingly lame man stumbled away with a gasp.
“GO!” An emotional Mark barked at the hesitant priest, voice a crow’s otherworldly croak and Brukel finally got moving. His horse jolted away from the Horselords, the priest miraculously staying on the saddle clasping frantically at the reins and galloped towards their rear lines with the Cataphracts outwardly unwilling to follow a single person. The clumsy galloping away priest wasn’t worth the effort in their eyes.
Or so Mark thought. The reason the Cataphracts stayed close quite different.
“Bloodfang!” One of them barked and Mark whipped his head around remembering the moniker.
But it was too late.
The Horselord had rolled nimbly on the ground, covered the distance (about five meters) in a breath and shoved his spear in the knight’s torso. The blade piercing the weakened plate, next to the broken lance, but despite being tricked Mark reacted just the same jerking aside and swung his sword to cut it in half lessening the impact. The knight stumbled back just as the Cataphract jumped away, no hindrance in his gait. Bloodfang unsheathed the scimitar his man had given him with a chuckle the smirking mask distorted.
Mark removed the blade that hadn’t hurt him as much as the lance and eyed the Horselord with hatred. The injured knight could barely move his mouth and the armour weighted him down. Seeing as he was bleeding out from the first wound, Mark kept his words to a minimum.
“Radin,” he rustled and the Cataphract bowed his concealed face.
“The prodigious,” the Prince taunted and circled around him deliberately. Mark followed his moves sluggishly but with each minute that passed, he felt weaker.
“The Prince of Princes!” One of the Cataphracts bellowed triumphantly raising his fist high, which seemed to please the Horselord noble even more.
“That’s right,” Radin replied and Mark made to rush him but he stumbled barely managing a step and dropped on a knee groaning, his innards burning in hot agony. The Prince had stepped back a couple of steps just the same.
“Uher curses cowardly scum to the allhells,” Mark rustled and Radin paused as if taking offence.
“Histories will write that I killed a tiger,” the insulted Prince hissed through his teeth, voice coming out muffled through the silver mask. “Blinded a Crow and severed the Hydra’s head. For those that face Bloodfang taste death and bitter defeat Sir Mark.”
“All hail Prince Radin!” His bodyguards roared cheering him on. “THE BLOODFANG!”
“The Hydra,” a snarling Mark spat with a hoarse gasp and clenched his fingers around the handle of his longsword. One of the Cataphracts in the background lowered a metallic crossbow on him. “Has many a heads,” Midlanor’s noble scion rustled and gathering all his remaining strength rushed him.
-
> Sir Luke AredRavn arrived at the mouth of the forest to witness the 2nd Foot getting destroyed piece by piece. A swarm of enemy riders taking turns to attack at the massed lines of trapped infantry with the Chariots carving large bloody paths with each passing. Lars Erve with the 1st Division of the 3rd Foot counter-attacked to break out his fellow countrymen but he failed and was crashed by the arriving Lancers of Sepa losing his life in the process. The surviving scattered Issirs getting hunted down by their mounted opponents and skewered like animals.
>
> The distraught Sir Luke, who had been informed about Mark Est Ravn’s fate but without knowing more of the details, listened to Priest Brukel’s plead and decided to retreat the two remaining divisions he had while there was still time.
>
> He messaged Verner to retreat as well using the woods and Holsman to fall back towards Jaw Castle. His orders weren’t well received and almost half the men urged their commander to attack the Horselords. Brukel led about a thousand soldiers towards Issir’s Eagle and Sir Luke after initially retreating for ten kilometers during the night stopped to face the rushing after them Horselords. Early the next morning Sir Luke’s desperate defense was overrun by the pouring inside the Forest in the thousands Horselords, got in turn cut off, surrounded and wiped out to a man.
>
> The night after the initial battle Lord Anker who was camped near Quarterport, fifteen kilometers from the Red Bridge over Balworth River, received a cryptic message from his unwed daughter Lady Klara Est Ravn that had stayed in Midlanor with her mother.
>
> ‘I slept under the garden’s old tree father,’ Klara wrote Lord Anker referring to a dried up, dead dracaena tree with only five remaining ashen branches that still stood in the palace’s garden. ‘and one of the branches had gone missing when I woke up. The wind whispered that an old soul shall stand on Uher’s Seat…’
>
> While the missive meant little to anyone else the Duke of Midlanor was greatly affected as if he was familiar with the young woman’s rumblings. His mood was to change for the worse when news of the disaster at ‘Three Roads’ reached them four days later.
>
> When the miserable herald got to the part where he described the Khan’s chariots crossing Reinut’s Bridge, displaying the head of Sir Mark nailed on a warspear the Duke of Midlanor crumbled to his chair in shock and stared at the ‘old nether’ according to witnesses for a whole hour murmuring to himself. After that he called for the mourning Sir Thor to approach while the aggrieved audience silently watched. Whatever was said between them, it never surfaced or was disclosed but in gossip.
>
> Sir Thor appeared to have aged ten years when he returned to his seat.
>
> It is pointless to look for a silver lining in such a catastrophic defeat, but despite the Khan’s triumph the loss of Tehenor (a master of fast ever-moving warfare proponent) and a large portion of his horse archers (the survivors were grouped later with Muvelo’s rangers) greatly impacted the rest of the campaign. Of course the loss of Sir Mark Est Ravn (the duke’s heir and favorite son was thirty two at the time) a well-respected knight plagued by no scandals and his distant kin Sir Luke AredRavn to a lesser extent, was a huge blow for the proud High Regent. The loss of the 2nd Foot an even bigger blow to the war effort in general that forced the grieving Duke of Midlanor to embrace desperate measures or suggestions, coming from immoral if not completely ‘deranged’ individuals.
>
> Not a month after the battle, the Khan’s army took Eagleport, cut off Holsman at Jaw Castle and surrounded Issir’s Eagle. The aging Burzin, six years after the start of the war, stood once again on top and despite having deep concerns of all that was happening back home, he knew the chance was there to finish off Kaltha forever before the next summer. He envisioned another three pronged attack influenced by the late Prince Nout’s plans but without the same talent.
>
> A strike against Lord Anker and the plains beyond the Red Bridge. Another against Eagle’s Nest Castle and the Mudriver to allow him access to Riverdor, after he secured Princess Elsanne’s cooperation. The Khan started planning for another offensive immediately but had to stall in order to secure the capital, establish his supply lines from Rida and deal with the trapped Lord Putra that was about to get thrown off the walls of Castalor since the Princess refused the Khan’s offer.
>
> Lord Putra was to be trapped thus into an ever shrinking peninsula.
>
> In a sense and if one looked at a map carefully, Burzin was in a similar position with Lord Putra, surrounded by enemies that hated each other but liked him even less. To survive the campaign the Khan needed to not lose a decisive battle and while he’d managed it quite well up until now, each month brought something new to the table.
>
>
>
> Lord Sirio Veturius
>
> Circa 206 NC
>
> The Fall of Heroes
>
> (Lord Anker Est Ravn,
>
> Grand Duke of Midlanor,
>
> Keeper of the Forests, Guardian of Nordland Pass,
>
> Uher’s First Sentinel and High Regent of the Realm.
>
> Chapter XXXV
>
> A ghastly year
>
> Final Volume (III)
>
> (A few good men) aka Holsman’s & Verner’s Rangers defiant stand, the ruler of Reinut’s Gulf and the ghosts of Boarsnout. Prelude to the Assault at Red Bridge and the ‘havoc unleashed’ at Crimson Forest.
>
>
>
>
>
> Circa,
>
> Summer-Spring 194 to winter of 195 NC