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The Wine Wars | Meat grinder
Part I
-Ompae*-
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*Old Imperial military jargon. Translated ‘Forward’ (an Imperial Phalanx formation command)
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> ‘Third Era’ Phalanx
>
> (After 3398 IC)
>
> Command Structure
>
> &
>
> Sub units
>
>
>
> Lord Commander, Anfalon of Orloriel, 1st Hoplite of Phalanx (Elauthin, mainland Wetull)
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> Second Leader (of Phalanx), Roran of Saeveril 2nd Hoplite (Abarat, mainland Wetull)
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> 3rd Leader (Phalanx), Ulovir of Lo-Minas, 3rd Hoplite (Lo-Minas, mainland Wetull)
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> Rest of the ranks given based on merit, skill and seniority. No promotions unless a spot was vacated due to death, severe injury or retirement*, sometimes it would take over a century for this to occur.
>
> -Lord Onas of Abarat (lost rank due to retirement), former Leader of the Young Othrim, Plague Isles campaign veteran (ranked 4th at the time)
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> 4th Hoplite (Phalanx) Tetrarch Eraevas (Hallowed 2nd, Abarat)
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> 5th Hoplite (Phalanx) Tetrarch Saevelos (3rd Othrim, second in command, Rain Minas)
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> 6th Hoplite (Phalanx) Tetrarch Folmaeras (with the 2nd Othrim, second in command)
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> 7th Hoplite (Phalanx) Leader Unor ‘Moriva’ (Commander of the Young Othrim, Coal Isle)
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> 8th Hoplite (Phalanx) Tetrarch Orym (Main Othrim, First File)
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> 9th Hoplite (Phalanx) Tetrarch Malon of Fergen (Main Othrim, Second File)
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> 10th Hoplite (Phalanx) Tetrarch Aquilan of Cyran (Main Othrim, 4th File, Cryptae Leader)
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> 11th Hoplite (Phalanx) Tetrarch Ayas of Goras (Main Othrim, 3rd File)
>
> And so forth for every soldier in the unit.
>
> The majority of the older high-ranking Hoplites came from Roran’s ancient 2nd Othrim stationed in Abarat and some Phalanx veterans (on the injury list) that had survived the Fall of Wetull and rejoined the ranks when Anfalon opened the recruitment.
>
> Ninety percent of the Hallowed (but for the officers) were part of Anfalon’s first class of pupils, with several of them poured into the 3rd and 4th Othrim.
>
>
>
> Sub units
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> The Hallowed (Anfalon)
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> Main Othrim (Roran)
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> 2nd Othrim (Ulovir)
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> 3rd Othrim (Lyceron)
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> 4th Othrim (Tasar)
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> Young Othrim (Unor)
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> All Othrim had 500 Hoplites but for the Hallowed that had 150.
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>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> 3rd Othrim
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> 500 Hoplites
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> One main File & 4 numbered Files (100 Hoplites led by a Tetrarch)
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> Each File split in 4 Lochos (25 Hoplites, 20 older plus 5 less experienced led by the unit’s veteran)
>
>
>
> Organization chart
>
> (Around 3401 IC for Dia Castle & Mussel campaigns)
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> Hoplite Leader Lyceron of Goras (17th of the Phalanx, Anfalon’s Pupil**, Main File)
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> Tetrarch Saevelos of Erdryn* (5th Phalanx, second in command, Rain Minas.)
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> Tetrarch Hobor (19th Phalanx, Far North/Fetya? 2nd File, a half-giant probably, the only one serving)
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> Tetrarch Diryel (122nd Phalanx, Anfalon’s Pupil, 3rd File, a rare female, triad dancer*)
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> Tetrarch Eldar of Goras (146th, Anfalon’s Pupil, 4th File)
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>
>
> Auxiliary units
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> & supply train
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> Five pack animals per File (25)
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> 10 scouts/rangers in two groups (Viessa)
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> 5 engineers (Ruvaen)
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> 5 Medics (Solanae)
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> 5 Cryptae (Phalanx Special Operations unit was brought back by Anfalon in 3399IC and was still in its infancy during Garth’s first years)
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> Historically the Imperial Phalanx also fielded cavalry (Rokae), a unit of scythed-chariots and had a File’s worth of Peltasts.
>
>
>
> Cryptae Hoplite Hagas of Cyran (2nd in command, Aquilan’s Pupil)
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> Scout Leader Viessa of Goras (4th Scout, a female. Rangers Leader Maeriel o’ Faelar’s*** (Goras) pupil. Maeriel was the last of the known Faelar’s pupils in Wetull, and the Imperial Princess’ Guardian)
>
> Healer Solanae of Lo-Minas (2nd Medic in Phalanx, Female, First Medic’s Aimon’s Pupil)
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> Engineer Ruvaen of Abarat (3rd Engineer, Lord of Ships Rybel’s Pupil)
>
>
>
> Overall strength for Mussel campaign
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> & reinforcements
>
>
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> 500 Hoplites
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> 300 Taras Guards under Captain Fane (strategic reserve about a day way)
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> 150 Caravan Guards under Ran-Sahor of Lai Zel-Ka (Arrived the night of the 10th. Veteran mercenaries paid by the Lon-Iv Sopat. Part of the Sopat army that had followed Sen-Iv to Wetull. Had fought in Serpent’s Canal campaign.)
>
> Around 30 adventurers living in Taras at the time following Fane’s guards (amongst them former gladiators)
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> The Sorcerer Berthas & his pupil Keya (Caught up and travelled with Fane’s group)
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> King Garth & Uvrycres (Garth had attacked Mussel and the Barons Flotilla half a day earlier and arrived after the 3rd battle finished)
>
> The ‘Hallowed’ under Anfalon and the 2nd Othrim under Ulovir. 650 Hoplites. About 250 civilians and rear personnel, including engineers, healers, rangers and Cryptae. Part of the Phalanx’s supply train and war machines had remained in Dia Castle with the 4th Othrim under Tasar. (Four days behind. Arrived in Taras on the 13th)
>
>
>
> ----------------------------------------
>
> *Passed over for command due to injury suffered in Dia Castle, but probably due to ‘political’ interference from Lord Onas since his father Erdryn (a Rokae) was a known friend of Lord Sulynor of Rain Minas and had followed the Moon’s Daughter in exile during Queen Baltoris’ purges in the distant (not for Lord Onas) 2090 IC.
>
> ** Pupils of famed trainers were considered above others but still had to demonstrate their skill in practice or in the field. Pupils of legendary figures or Elderbloods (Anfalon, Faelar, Aimon, Onas, Rybel, Aquilan etc.) stood above all else and sometimes assumed their tutors name instead of their parents or city if they were of a lesser lineage. The latter usually happened if the parent was without any significant legend or worthy deeds in whatever field or expertise. This older Era abandoned practice was brought back during King Garth’s reign.
>
> *** During Valimae Lilt the best three performers of the festivities were chosen to dance for the Monarch at front stage. The Triad’s Dancers were honored with gifts and food from the city for the following year while remaining well-respected afterwards. The skilled Hoplite Diryel had danced with the Gish Whisper Jinx and Lady Sovereign Sen-Iv Sopat Aniculo the night of the Monarch’s Celebration.
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image [https://i.postimg.cc/fWL3sNb8/Mussel-195-NC.jpg]
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> 3rd Battle of Goras’ Temples Road
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> 10th of Enna 3401 IC
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> Early afternoon
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> 4th hour
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> Nico Vardar orders Scaevola’s machines forward under the cover of Larosa’s Rangers and Trevisan’s Peltasts
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> 3rd Othrim’s reserve 2nd File (Hobor) is ordered to protect the flanks
> The spears had leveled. After the order was given the Phalanx’s first three lines had started creeping steadily forward. One meter. Two meters. Three. Relentlessly. The sound of weapons meeting the shields enough to make a hearer flinch. A soft breeze carrying that valiant paean clear up and down the valley. It was followed by the profane ruckus of close-quarter battle. Soldiers shoved bodily forward or backwards, those at the rear pressing theirs on the soldiers ahead of them. Spear blades darting out, plunging forward like vipers from the Hoplite shields crescent attack-gaps and striking armour, plate or flesh. Breaking bones or gouging out eyes. Skewering careless limbs and exposed necks or just punching through helmets.
>
> Anything left in the open was to be pierced or get torn asunder at some point. The mercenaries’ ranks reeled back from the brutal punishment, the fresh men that had rotated in not faring that much better than their compatriots in arms had earlier. Most of them already bleeding out under their sandals. For every Hoplite taking a blow or getting cut down three or four Lesia soldiers paid the prize. The ratio worsening for the mercenaries with every hour of fighting that passed. For while the Hoplites had started out tired from the week-long grueling march they could withstand it and now the humans had started getting tired as well.
>
> Tired humans fight much worse than the Zilan, Lyceron decided and stepped out of the battle line, another Hoplite rotating in his place. He staggered a couple of steps to the rear unsure at first, the otherworldly clamor still making his ears ring and the flesh tightening over his bones. Every limb on his body burning and hurting.
>
> Lyceron raised his Aspis to cover his head from errant arrows and moved to speak with Tetrarch Saevelos, the senior Hoplite in the Othrim, ranked 5th in skill for the entire Phalanx. The Rain-Minas native some years older than Roran and of considerately better though somewhat ‘tainted’ lineage. Not the oldest by any stretch of the imagination, what with Anfalon still around and Lord Onas visiting a couple of times during their training. The one-eyed retired officer calling everyone kid or lad which was very weird for a couple of the guys standing at over eleven centuries old but not for the mirthful Elderblood.
>
> Not that Onas was a mirthful or a particularly mellow person despite his outward façade. Neither was Saevelos whose ‘tainted’ lineage included a very famous father Sir Erdryn of Rain Minas who had famously charged a Z’Gruk or Zugruk –a four-armed Ogre construct of the Aken- that had broken through to the King during the Plague Isles campaign and brought it down. The same Erdryn sometime later had refused flatly the King’s daughter order to arrest Lord Sulynor. He had removed his mask and armour in silent protest afore walking out of the palace which endeared him to the other Rokae but soured the young Queen who couldn’t arrest him given she owed him a favor. Lord Onas was still holding a grunge about that incident so Saevelos who was qualified to be a Tetrarch in the Hallowed or outright lead an Othrim had ended up serving under Lyceron and the ‘lads’ of the 3rd.
>
> Anfalon wanted Diryel to be Lyceron’s second in Command (given she was of ‘a sounder mind’ with Hobor not much of a strategist) but Lyceron had stood his ground and placed Saevelos as the 1st Tetrarch of the 3rd Othrim. Some days the young Hoplite wished he hadn’t.
>
> But this wasn’t one of those days.
>
> Lyceron needed all the assistance he could find to succeed in the task.
>
> “Thou fight well for someone who just got out of training,” Saevelos yelled seeing him approach the staging area behind the extended battle line. He was referring to Anfalon’s speech when the latter had announced the officer positions and gave Lyceron command of the newly-minted 3rd Othrim some years back. ‘Absent a better choice the grinning-fool Lyceron of Goras,’ a scowling Anfalon had declared in his typical no-nonsense manner to the hoplites assembly, ‘who is of decent-enough skill shall lead the 3rd.’
>
> That was it really. Apparently the Lord Commander had never given a better grade to a pupil, not that Anfalon dealt with training that much in the past. Now with such a long past, the prehistoric Anfalon (literally since he was born before the First Era) had in fact trained a whole lot of Hoplites so that sounded worse that it really was. Or better. Lyceron hadn’t received a single word of praise from the Commander in all the years he knew him other than in that brief announcement.
>
> “Are they moving?” Lyceron grunted, his mouth dry despite the chill in the air.
>
> “It is their intention. They brought up Scorpios from their rear,” Saevelos replied, jaw clenched under his hoplite helm. His accent guttural and harsh to the rear, unrefined old Imperial jargon. Or proper ‘Imperial’ depending who you asked. “We had the archers to annoy us since morning and now lowly Peltasts are making sneaky runs to come within javelin reach. Haven’t seen those cretins in the field in a while nor do I expected them to still be around.”
>
> The Phalanx needed a Peltasts unit too but Zilan weren’t that willing to enlist there given it was considered a ‘Jelin’ formation by the old heads that influenced all new recruits –deployed to counter the Phalanx in antiquity- and the humans understandably preferred a guard’s sturdier armor.
>
> “How bad is it in the flanks? You can speak freely.”
>
> “Young Viessa does all she can but needs to remain in the woods to our west for protection. The girl shall learn more if the girl survives.” Saevelos explained indifferently. “Lily-livered Hagas is looking for a way to strike their rear with his group of killers, but he needs the dark and more men to make a difference. Hagas liked that boastful Troy guy a lot, other than the fact that the human idiot can’t be silent for a moment to save his life. Personally I believe the human a cinaedus and in any case Cryptae are supposed to be silent even upon receiving cock in arse.”
>
> You never wanted Saevelos to expound on others. His view of other people harsh and acerbic, drawn out of his own experience and disenchantments.
>
> “They expect reinforcements,” Lyceron decided trying to stay on topic. “That’s why they don’t retreat given their casualties. We need to deal with the machines.”
>
> This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
>
> “We could positions spotters, move aside when they fire. We’ll take some casualties,” Saevelos offered and it was a toss whether it was a jest, a test or he was being serious. “Thou need to send Hobor in, fight without a reserve Lyceron like the heroes of old. Now is not the time to succumb to fear.”
>
> Lyceron grimaced but kept his composure at the dig. “Hobor will take casualties to close with the Peltasts.”
>
> “No Peltast shall ever stand to face a Hoplite,” Saevelos declared in old Imperial jargon, his tone absolute.
>
> “They will if they are ordered to protect their machines,” Lyceron retorted raspingly.
>
> “Then they shall perish.”
>
> Lyceron stared at the Nord half-giant dressing up his File. Hobor claimed he was from Fetya but Anfalon had flat out told him ‘you have a giant’s blood in you. One of your parents hailed from White Yalca.’
>
> Wherever that was.
>
> He really enjoyed the easily-offended tall Hoplite’s company. They had some pretty crazy adventures together. Sure, most considered Soren the funnier of the two but still Hobor was his guy as far as Lyceron was concerned.
>
> “Send Hobor.” Lyceron decided with a grunt. “Order them to break through and smash the machines.”
>
> “The Cofol cavalry could be here within the day, could help you cover the flank,” Saevelos reminded him with a thin smile. “Maybe thou should wait?”
>
> “So could the mercenaries’ reinforcements,” Lyceron countered gruffly. “And the Phalanx does not wait.”
>
> To which Saevelos’ silvery-green eyes gleamed and he stood straighter on old muscles and sinews, an arrow glancing off of his dark-grey metal helm and missing the open slits on his face for a hair.
>
> “Indeed,” the old Hoplite leader rustled sounding pleased and completely unbothered by the near fatal miss.
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Hours later
Late afternoon of the 10th
“I could eat my fucking arm. Start with the fingers and work my way up. Gods!” Glen griped hearing his stomach growl in protest, face hidden behind the scowling mask. “Can’t believe you’ve consumed everything and then chewed through the plaguing bag also!”
The Ticu took the bag, Uvrycres growled. I told you already! Them are a tricky lot!
“You don’t have to yell,” Glen retorted.
I’M HUNGRY TOO! Uvrycres roared even more in response. His angry shrieks trumpeting down the road they followed. So much good food left to rot! For what?
“So how long this replenish thingy lasts?” Glen asked changing the subject, half-stooped over the wyvern’s left shoulder to watch the jungle road dash past them.
As long as it takes.
If I feed properly, much sooner. The wyvern added knowingly.
“Um.”
Same as with you.
“Yeah, I can’t do spells.”
Not what I recall.
“That was the dagger or something. Berthas explained that in order to proper cast a spell you need to create all the ‘connections’ in your mind and body. Each thread having its purpose and all together working for a common goal. I almost had a seizure trying to translate his enthusiastic rumblings!”
You didn’t know that?
Glen frowned. “Ahm. Nope?”
Hah-hah-ha! How are you even alive? The wyvern guffawed and turned its long neck around to look at the miffed Monarch. Seriously? Randomly casting spells, assuming you know them, can kill casual people left and right or suck the life-force out of your own marrow! Kill you outright if you opt for a big one!
“Yeah. Fucked up my arm a couple of times,” Glen yielded with a shiver. “Probably contributed to turning my hair white. That or it was grief. But the arm comes back always. Still waiting on the hair. Iskay suggested painting them but then it’s let’s do the face too, paint the mouth and so forth. The next thing you know is that ye turned into a Cofol harlot!”
Eh. I reckon you know better about Cofol harlots. The wyvern replied mockingly. But what you lose in a spell, you don’t take back. So better not to do it again Glen.
Glen pursed his mouth frustrated.
“I guess that’s why people don’t use magic.”
Who says that? The Zilan witches? The wyvern retorted mockingly. Of course they do! Magic was there afore the Zilan learned about it. They are attuned sure but wyverns are attuned even more.
“You just said it sucks the marrow—”
I used different equivalent. And it harms Zilan also. They just live longer than you. Have you seen a careless witch for real? They look like hags. They constantly work on their bodies to preserve their health though I reckon some don’t… Uvrycres paused thinking about it. Yep, a human can do that. Maybe he dies sooner or turns into a vegetable. Eh, nothing that ever stopped yer kind afore!
“The army,” Glen grunted stopping the conversation and pointed with his arm. “See which one it is and rise a bit higher just to be safe. I have a fucking hole in my helm! A finger goes through it and there’s a smaller hole on my blasted head at the other end! Not to mention dis brand new armour needs repair! Argh!”
Not my fault. Uvrycres retorted cooly. And the battle is over.
“Huh?” Glen snapped trying to see for himself the tiny figures moving under them. “Did we win?”
I don’t know, the wyvern replied indifferently. But there is another army coming up the road and heading here. We just past over them while you were complaining about the stolen bag.
Well that’s fantastic, Glen thought sourly. Not.
-
> An hour into the battle, the 3rd engagement fought on the nicely-paved Temples Road inside a week, everyone in our camp realized we were in trouble. The front of the Phalanx, specifically the Main and 1st Files of the 3rd Othrim, wouldn’t give an inch to the Band of Silver’s soldiers. Nico Vardar realizing our center was nearing collapse ordered Scaevola’s engineering crews and their machines that had started pulling back towards Mussel to stop and attack 3rd Othrim’s west flank. Larosa’s rangers were providing support from there but were getting pestered by Zilan rangers and warriors hidden in the woods. Attempts to dislodge them had failed but Larosa had managed to keep his position up until then.
>
> Scaevola advanced five Scorpios through the tall grass by the side of the wide road and the Peltasts of Trevisan were ordered in turn to redeploy from the other less busy flank to assist them. The Peltasts screened the approaching machines, Scaevola had opted to search for a better angle to the locked up frontline and avoid friendly fire, by looping around at the outside of both west flanks, and managed to push into the woods the few rangers under Viessa. Lyceron, the leader of the 3rd Othrim, was notified of the flanking maneuver and ordered the 2nd File that had been kept out of the rotation for a later central push, to advance and eliminate this new threat.
>
> The 2nd File was led by a massive in bulk and height Hoplite that stood well over seven feet tall named Hobor. Not a Zilan as I later discovered. The gigantic warrior marched over the pale grass with a hundred Hoplites in a loose formation. Scaevola who was still pushing the machines forward paused in worry and Trevisan and Larosa’s men turned their attention there while the battle continued at the center.
>
> Under a hail of arrows and javelins Hobor advanced closing to the Scorpios which forced the initially retreating Peltasts to stand their ground to prevent them from reaching Scaevola. The latter panicked and turned the Scorpios towards the counter-flanking Zilan force. Hobor’s File took appalling casualties with the half-giant injured himself given he stood a massive target for everyone in the field but kept advancing peppered with hundreds of arrows, plenty of javelins and a dozen steel bolts. Hobor was hit by two steel bolts before everything was over, a glancing blow that severed his left arm, a second that went through his torso and several javelins, three of which Hobor carried on his shield before he lost it.
>
> At least thirty Hoplites were killed or severely injured in the maneuver but the rest of them reached close enough to Scaevola that Trevisan’s men were forced to get their swords out and stand behind their shields. It was a brutal engagement that deeply affected those that witnessed it. While Vardar’s soldiers at the center had taken atrocious casualties by then, the cohesiveness of the battle-line and closeness of friendly shields had helped keep the numbers low in retrospect. Trevisan’s Peltasts were brutalized and massacred in disturbingly efficient fashion. Such was the carnage that blood sprayed five-ten meters back through Scaevola’s Scorpios crews that mostly broke and run away.
>
> Such was the carnage that the taken aback sergeant Calla, a legion veteran of the warbands rebellion, standing with us at the rear decried the lack of foresight of Jelin’s nobility and the stupidity of the Khanate for allowing such a threat to grow unchecked in Wetull.
>
> A badly maimed and bleeding from head to toe Hobor cut through the stubborn defense of the Lesia Peltasts and attacked the machines like a force of nature. In the chaos that followed Scaevola was grotesquely injured losing half his face, Trevisan a childhood friend and distant kin to High Baron Percival Borginas of Lastport was killed instantly after getting hit with a large piece of a broken apart Scorpio on the head and his second in command, Lancelot Grimani took over the smashed remnants of the Peltasts with a small portion splitting up under sergeant Calla of Andatelia who was in charge of the company’s rear.
>
> Grimani immediately ordered a general retreat towards the rear and the woods nearby under the cover of the now badly harassed archers of Larosa. Grimani, his family also having close ties with the Borginas of Lastport as his younger brother Prospero Grimani had married Lady Bianca Borginas and was good friends with Lord Daniel Borginas, petty Baron of Conium Castle who was Lord Percival’s cousin in turn. Larosa who had controlled the breadth of the terrain facing the west woods up until this point with his archers got skewered through the mouth from a long arrow shot fired high from the treeline and was promptly killed as well throwing his spread out men in disarray.
>
> Hobor collapsed after neutralizing the machines but the now turned into a solid block of metal and protruding spearheads 2nd File kept advancing first overrunning the mercenary company’s rear areas afore pivoting to assault the center. Vardar witnessing the catastrophe ordered Captain Ed Leotta of Levacum to plug the gap keeping Captain Soldano’s pressured men in the center. Leotta marched towards the advancing 2nd File but at the same time, Lyceron who had kept a close eye on the engagement ordered the 3rd File under Diryel, a female Zilan Hoplite, to loop around the west edge of the shield-wall and assist Hobor’s men. Diryel moved at a slight trot, an impressive feat that showcased the excellent physical condition of the Zilan Hoplite -if not vastly superior- and their ability to move very fast under a full load, and managed to catch Leotta’s redeploying soldiers.
>
> Leotta pivoted to defend against the attacking in loose formation Hoplites but got hit from both the west and the north side -since Hobor’s men had reached him as well opening their stride to relocate equally fast on the flat terrain. Leotta was thoroughly mauled losing seventy-five out of a hundred men in less than twenty minutes.
>
> He was trapped and then squashed between the two Hoplite formations like butter under a hammer’s blow.
>
> In the center Lyceron had ordered the Phalanx forward, using the Zilan word ‘Ompae’ that was repeated en masse from the Hoplites. They immediately started pushing Vardar’s center one step at the time. The back rows throwing their bodies on their compatriots to push them in unison. The Phalanx roared in one voice. A huge battle cry for every steady step taken. The lines reeling up and down, long leaf-bladed spears punching over shields or through the crescent gaps and Soldano started losing men at such an alarming rate that by the time he got a runner sent to a pressured Vardar to ask for a withdrawal it was already ten minutes too late.
>
> When the Phalanx starts advancing it means the battle is over.
>
> This was just the mopping up phase of the engagement. At least half the men killed –the Zilan didn’t strike a death blow twice or delivered a coup de grace since that first blow was usually lethal enough- died during those moments. The Band of Silver suffered a catastrophic total defeat that was closer to annihilation without the need of atrocities after the fact as the Hoplites stopped advancing when the mercenaries dropped their weapons and run for their lives or surrendered.
>
> Some after-action killing did occur, with Viessa’s rangers nailing targets well out of visible range and the elusive Hagas’ Cryptae group that had managed to penetrate the rear after Hobor’s File had broken through butchered several humans afore an order reached them to stop the vile practice.
>
> The worst of it was that the blood soaked battlefield hadn’t seen the last action of the day. For those surviving it real horrors loomed large ahead of them but also great wonders since that afternoon I saw a wyvern in the flesh for the first time. The moment it appeared silently descending from the sky, a majestic otherworldly amalgamation of breathtaking grace and pure dread, it burned into one’s memories and still to this day makes this author glance in trepidation towards the skies.
-
Oi-Oi-Oi, Glen thought jumping over the mutilated corpses, boots squelching in the blood-soaked mire and Uvrycres shrieking behind him at the nearest Hoplites that raised their spears in salutation to the arriving Monarch. The road sides and the road itself littered with hundreds of butchered soldiers, broken shields, machines, helmets and weapons. Body parts. From arms, hands, heads and legs to smaller less easy to define gory pieces of flesh, some having bite marks on them. The occasional half-chewed bone also present.
Glen breathed out and cracked his neck right and left watching the ranking Zilan hurrying towards him and several prisoners standing shell-shocked under the Hoplites’ watchful eyes. They had landed a hundred meters from the main battle line but it appeared the scrap had spread out as far as the west jungle several hundred meters away. The flat clear terrain –for the most part- ideal for a fight and an excellent choice for the mercenary commandant. Unfortunately for him the same bonuses applied to the Zilan.
Find a wall when yer absent of considerable advantage, Glen thought.
Stand behind it and keep a rear route open to leg it if the going gets tough.
But I guess sometimes you can’t.
“Monarch!” A tall muscular Hoplite Leader yelled and saluted sharply. The covered in gore armoured Zilan escorted by an equally blood-spattered and muscular Hoplite with fancier but also more worn-out armour. “The battle has been won!” The Zilan reported enthusiastically before catching himself in his presence. “We’re gathering the human… the enemy soldiers Hardir.” He added under the unnerving sounds of the Wyvern tearing flesh from the corpses behind them or just crunching at the bones outright.
“Right. Are they… Is that…eh,” Glen grimaced after a couple of false starts, noticing the mercenaries looking at the wyvern in stunned horror and turned his head around to bark irate at the blissfully feasting Uvrycres. “Fuck’s sake, stop eating the dead!”
Not everyone I eat is fully dead? Uvrycres argued in between chomps.
“Not the plaguing point!” Glen roared in Imperial and a younger-looking human standing next to an also youngish chubby guy fainted abruptly overcome by fear. He plunged for the ground headfirst but a keen-eyed nearby Hoplite used his spear to stop him and then an arm to lower the unresponsive human in a pile to the ground. “Don’t do it in front of them fer pity’s shake!”
Why?
“I’m trying to negotiate a plaguing surrender?”
They can’t surrender more than this you fool! Uvrycres insisted afore swallowing what he had turned into a pulp into his gnarly mouth. Then grinned a black-toothed, bloody smile trying to appear friendly and non-threatening.
That never works, Glen thought sourly.
“Oras be praised for the end is nigh,” a mercenary prayed. “Death’s shadow grows and beasts walk among us.”
A groaning in frustration Glen turned around to eye him austerely, then he glared at the Hoplite leader that appeared to be vaguely familiar.
“Hoplite,” he said in an official voice in Common after clearing his throat. “Where are our own prisoners? Captain Horton’s men and the man himself?”
“Hardir I’m afraid few of them survived and if,” the Hoplite reported. “The Captain has been slain.”
Eh.
Why… Gods damn it!
“What about Fane? Troy?” Glen asked pensively.
“Fane had to retreat but he has taken heavy losses. Troy is with him. He’ll march back here in a day though. We expect Ran-Sahor’s riders anytime now.”
“How heavy? Our losses?” A numb Glen asked looking at the silent prisoners, about sixty of them bunched up in a large group with several sitting down exhausted.
“Three hundred at least, two hundred killed is the report he gave us,” the Hoplite replied. “They were outnumbered heavily. I’m waiting for the count on the Othrim. I expect around fifty casualties.”
Glen nodded, his blank metal mask morphing into a scowl and murmurs of preternatural fear erupting from the watching their exchange prisoners.
“Hoplite…” He started still unsure about the hidden behind the imposing helm Hoplite leader.
“It’s Lyceron my Lord,” the Zilan replied. “I’ve played with the princess and the Lady Sovereign in Taras?”
Glen narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “I’m not sure on yer meaning…” he hissed angrily.
“I was at the festival?” Lyceron reminded him. “Spent some time at your table before the dance started?”
“Ah.” Glen said remembering him. “Why are you in charge of the unit?”
“Lord Anfalon decreed that I should Hardir,” Lyceron replied proudly.
Glen stared at the seemingly older Hoplite.
“Lord Commander’s instructions were clear Monarch.” The Zilan rustled in Imperial.
“What’s wrong with you?” Glen probed unwilling to accept that the idiotic cock-dangling younger Zilan of the festival was to command a unit.
“My lineage has been tainted Monarch.”
“Saevelos of Erdryn is a great warrior,” Lyceron informed Glen magnanimously.
“Erdryn still around?” Glen asked with a grimace.
“Erdryn stands the source of the taint Monarch,” Saevelos replied in his rough jargon.
“Right. Well,” Glen paused unsure and then he remembered the disaster that had befallen to Taras’ guards. He turned his attention on the first row of prisoners and walked forward to stand before them. “You,” he said after looking about and pointed at the better dressed of the bunch. The middle aged man in the blue redingote appearing out of place even more than the now coming about youth and the chubby fella wearing a moderate green hemp tunic. “Come forward.”
“My Lord,” the man said taking a forward step. “I’m Claus Viceroy, Director of the Board for the Bank of Trust. You’ve won the field sir.”
“I know that,” Glen retorted curtly. “I also know the fight isn’t over yet with more of you greedy hyenas marching here.”
“My Lord, the bank and myself have no active role in this struggle,” Viceroy replied. “We’re here in an advisory role per our contract with the Barons.”
Ugh?
You think I’m the village idiot?
“I don’t give half-a-fuck,” Glen grunted and the man blinked in shock at the sewer language. “You cock-sucking rascals came here to take what’s mine and killed a plaguing lot of good people for it! Ye patronizing motherfucker!” He growled next disgusted, his voice coming out muffled but still strong enough to rattle Viceroy even more.
“Sir, I’m merely a bank employee!” He protested. “Your complaint should be directed to the Barons! I’m a citizen of Lesia!”
“You presume to dictate what I’ll do?” Glen retorted icily in an attempt to control his boiling anger. “Ye stand here brazenly and throw diktats in my face as if you’re important,” the Monarch continued clenching his jaw, all his previous contentment for sinking the Flotilla now evaporated as Glen came face to face with the losses in real people. He remembered Fikumin’s words and it made him slowly lose control. Because people he just couldn’t replace. The dead were gone forever. “You’re not. You’re naught but a fleece-riddled rabid dog that came into my yard and caused me great mischief! I don’t care where you’re from. You stand on Imperial ground now without my blasted permission and you came here with ill intentions! I’ve had enough of you cretins! When will you stop bothering me?” He barked and Viceroy shuddered as if not believing his ears.
“My lord I understand you’re frustrated but let us not resort—”
The otherworldly Jackal’s cackle had turned into a low guttural snarl as the stricken Viceroy stumbled back, blood pouring down his chin and neck from the cut that run diagonally from forehead to mouth. Viceroy gurgled, spitting blood and holding his ruined face and then dropped to his knees before the sword-wielding Glen.
A stunned silence followed the Monarch’s violent action from the crowd that had witnessed it. Half of it at the uncanny speed with which Glen had unsheathed the blade he carried on his back and the other half at the brutality of the strike against a surrendered opponent.
None of this mattered to Glen.
He turned to the silently watching Lyceron. “Finish him off,” he ordered with a gesture at the groaning two meters away Viceroy.
“Hardir…” Lyceron hesitated. “The man is unarmed—”
Before he could finish his words Saevelos had covered the distance, flipped the spear in his right arm expertly and then snapped it forward. Saevelos brutally buried the steel tip into Viceroy’s right eye through the latter’s palm and it exploded out of the back of his skull cracking it in a shocking explosion of gore, torn scalp, bone and brain matter.
Shite.
“The Othrim’s leader shouldn’t be bothered with an execution Monarch,” Saevelos said using a heavy sandal placed firmly on the chest to extract the spear from the killed Viceroy. “Let a lower ranking member suffer the indignity.”
“Indignity?” Glen hissed glaring at him irate. “What was the punishment for such an attack back in the day? Mutilation of genitals? Cut up in fillets and eaten? Enslavement? Is that better?”
“Swift execution,” Saevelos replied coolly. “Queen Baltoris had altered the old law and only allowed slaves to be acquired with coin in the markets or in an official hunt Hardir. Usually to the Isles. As for the Monarch request. He can suffer no indignity for punishing a non-citizen scum. In most cases even citizens,” he added to clarify his earlier comment. “The Phalanx is run by a different set of rules.”
Glen puffed out, a thick dark-colored vein on his left temple still throbbing from the earlier explosion of adrenalin and the subsequent brutal killing. He beheld the chubby-looking Lorian next for a brief moment and raised his muscular arm to point at him harshly. “You. Approach,” the Monarch ordered and the cultured man let out a horrified gasp of deep distress. He immediately prostrated himself on the muddy and gore drenched ground to crawl in front of the bemused Glen.
Uvrycres seemingly unintelligible beastly shriek to the silent bystanders reached Glen’s ears in a long-winded query, since the wyvern had been patiently waiting for an opportunity.
Hey, you silly friendly fuck. Since yer ornate ‘mannerly dialogs’ failed spectacularly and ye started slaying ‘em prisoners yourself, can I go back to chomping on some nice carcasses I’ve pulled aside while no one was looking? It’s a hot winter’s day and them stiffs shall start to bloat up alike pregnant bullfrogs soon! You take a bite at a bloater it might pop cadaver juice in yer face. Yep.