Chapter 27 - Blue Skies and a Battle

"You said you would help with my vengeance," Sar'tara said. They made their way toward the army on standby. "Is it… unreasonable to send every soldier to attack that city?"

The guard beside Kalin coughed. He shot him a glare. "I imagine most Xenarians to be in favor of knocking the Union down a few notches, but it isn't so simple. I also said before that declaring a war is a right I do not have. Only Xenaria's queen can make such a decision. To siege that city, the entirety of our nation's focus will need to be upon it. That leaves us defenseless against the Empire. The same is in reverse. The Astral Union is a thorn to Tarmia as well. But they cannot attack without exposing themselves to us."

"If both nations don't like them, why not help each other?"

"Alliances do not occur so easily, Sar'tara. For now, keep yourself at my side. Observe everything. There's a lot to take in if you wish to be a leader of armies."

Sar'tara nodded.

Kalin, in truth, wasn't inclined to her ambitions. Martial skill and leadership skills were two different animals. She had the former, but he wasn't sure about the latter. She also had no reason to get involved and risk her life in battles unrelated to her. Vengeance though she desired, she deserved a better life than one of blood and iron after everything she'd been through.

Sar'tara was handed a bow and a full quiver by an armsman handing out supplies.

"It's unlikely you'll see much fighting yourself," Kalin said. He mounted his grey horse and held his hand out for her. She took it and positioned herself behind him, wrapping her arms around loosely. She was getting more accustomed to riding.

Most the encampment's host of five thousand were ready to march, a fifth of them on horseback, with further word sent to the garrison for reinforcements. Banners bearing House Serene's silver eagle fluttered proudly with a mellow breeze. Kalin and Rask rode in between the marching soldiers as they moved towards the Cinder River. From sight alone, Tarmia numbered more than the Xenarians, but were not as well equipped from what Kalin saw.

Grey clouds split apart and a winter sun bore down on the impending battlefield, sharing little of its warmth. Tarmia's army was crossing at the Cinder River's bend using hastily crafted rafts. They'd not all made it across, putting them at a severe disadvantage. A narrow stone bridge used by merchants and travellers was also being used, but half their number was still on the other side.

Kalin couldn't let such an opportunity slip past. He spotted the enemy commander sitting atop a horse of his own, observing the battle from a hilltop on the opposite side of the Cinder. Kazir sat proud, his torso completely void of any clothes, displaying the scorpion tattoo on his carved abdomen for his personal guard retinue. His lengthy hair was wrapped around his neck as if it were a scarf.

There's something I'm not seeing. Kazir always has a hidden ploy. "Rask, break their lines," Kalin ordered. "Even the numbers. Send them back across the river."

Rask nodded. He wore his polished helmet which had been designed to somewhat imitate a wolf's head. 'The Wolf of Metsiphon' was a name earned well before he began wearing the helm. He embraced the image. The orders were passed along. Rask dismounted and charged, a quarter of allied infantry running alongside him. In response, Tarmia sent out their fast riders that had already crossed the river. Kalin ordered his own riders to intercept, allowing Rask's van to attack uninterrupted.

The melee began, screams and cries filling the air. The current of battle overwhelmingly favored Xenaria. Kalin shifted in his saddle. Any sane enemy should have called a retreat before the engagement had begun. Have I truly caught them unaware before they'd set their traps?

A flare rose from the enemy camp's position. The earth began to shake. The rumbling vibrations of many dozens of hooves. A dust cloud rose to shroud the southern horizon.

Hidden cavalry.

"Flames," Kalin cursed. The Wickar assassins had come wearing scout's garb. That meant his scouts had been slain. His information network was incomplete. A portion of their army had crossed unnoticed and lay in wait farther south. Kalin opened his mouth to order his lines reformed.

The warmth of the second person behind him suddenly vanished. He felt Sar'tara's arms slip away from him. She climbed onto Rask's now unoccupied destrier and wheeled the beast around towards the direction of the noise before riding off as if she'd learned how from birth. She was a complete natural. Kalin nearly screamed, catching himself before any sound escaped. A distraught commander would hurt morale. As much as he wanted to go after her, he couldn't. "Enemies to the right!" he shouted. The defensive line was reorganized.

What in Flames is she hoping to accomplish alone? He'd ordered her to stay and observe. He could only hope she realized her error and returned soon before the enemy ambush fell upon the Xenarians and the field grew chaotic.

***

Jengard Rask could hear the growing sounds of thunder to his right. Tarmia had laid a trap. Typical with skirmishes involving Kazir. Though the nature of traps varied often. This time around, Rask felt burdened by the knowledge. It felt different. He had absolute confidence in Lord Serene. Time and time again, the duke had thwarted the enemy general's machinations. And Xenarian soldiers were better trained than the Empire's haphazard conscripted militia.

Rask roared as he tore into the enemy vanguard, his great sword swinging to slap aside the defensive line of spears set in his path. Half Tarmia's numbers hardly had full sleeved clothes in such bitter weather, let alone any sort of armor. Their wooden shields were split asunder by the wolf's fang. Iron bit into flesh. Links of mail shattered. Jengard Rask cleaved three heads at once, another mighty roar escaping him. Blood sprayed. The sound of his voice drove fear into his foes' hearts. He could see their hands, paled from marching in the cold, trembling. Their already shivering bodies added to the craven atmosphere, bolstering Xenarian morale. "Push them back!" he cried.

"Follow the Wolf!" the soldiers behind him chanted.

The smell of blood mingled with that of wet earth of the riverbank. Tarmia's resistance was little. There were a few thrusts of the spear, a few slow swings of ill sharpened blades. All of them were pushed back with brute force. Amidst the chaos, a single enemy stood taller than the rest. A rust haired man wielding a double sided axe. The weapon tore into the side of a Xenarian soldier that had pushed in too far. The armor he wore stopped him from being split in two, but the force of the attack pushed him into another ally, causing the ally to fall and be impaled by a half dozen spear tips.

The rust haired man removed the axe from where it was embedded, gore sliding off the edge as droplets of blood rolled down its blade length. He screamed, swinging the great axe above his head. A space cleared around him as soldiers of both sides stepped aside. His hair color and fair skin allowed him to stand out from his tan skinned peers.

Rask stepped into the fray, recognizing this new foe to be the enemy field commander. He could see the flames of hope growing within Tarmian eyes as they looked to the back of the red haired man. Both sides awaited for the duel of commanders to begin —all of them also waiting for a chance to stick a blade in the enemy commander's backs. Duels on the battlefield seldom played out to their end without foul play. "I am Jengard Rask, vassal to High Lord Serene of Xenaria. I would have your name before I hew your head from your shoulders!"

"Erdhart von Solsetur, nephew to Lady Ashlay of Grace." The last words were said with contempt.

A former Estraean nobleman. One hailing from Kazir's most recent conquest from the north. His eyes seemed hallowed, as if they sought death. "You would fight for your conquerors, lad?"

"I am left with no choice! Come, Wolf of Metsiphon! I've heard grand tales of your blade!"

Adrenaline took over. Rask charged with a feral howl, his sword clashing with his foe's axe. The sounds of iron striking iron rung through the air. Both were evenly matched in strength, and yet, a part of Rask's sword had been chipped. He glanced at Erdhart's' axe. Intricate carvings had been laid on both the blade and its handle. It was as much a work of art as it was a durable weapon. Estraea was a barren and cold land. Its people were known to make a living from expert craftsmanship.

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Stronger though the axe may be, it was heavier. Erdhart moved slower. Rask stepped back to dodge a horizontal swing and then stepped back in with a thrust. Erdhart tried backing off from the attack but Rask stepped in farther, not wanting to let his enemy recover. His fang tasted blood. The blade was struck down by a Tarmian before it impaled any further. Rask was caught off balance and the tip of his blade sank an inch into the muddy ground of the riverbank. Tarmian soldiers closed in, shouting. The Xenarians charged as well, though a few feet further behind.

Rask raised his blade too slow to stop a thin sword from striking his head. Its flimsy edge hardly scratched the wolf-helm. A stroke of luck. His great sword came up and cleaved a neck. From the corner of his eye, he saw the edge of the axe heading for his throat. He raised his blade and stepped in, deflecting Erdhart's blow before swinging down, tearing open the Estraean's flesh as if a beast's claw were dragged along its torso. Erdhart fell on his rear, mud staining his hands. His expression was that of despair as Rask's sword was driven through his heart.

Their commander felled, the Tarmians turned tail and fled. None dared stand in The Wolf's path. Rask cut down those nearest to him before standing still. He outstretched his free arm, resting his longsword on one shoulder. "Chase them down! Occupy the bridge and the banks."

Xenarian soldiers ran past him, slaying all those in their way. Many Empire militiamen were driven into the cold of the Cinder River, their rafts too few and the bridge too narrow for such numbers. Had they been better trained, the bridge could have easily held an army back. Rask turned to witness the rest of the battle. Xenaria's well-armed cavalry seemed an even match for the Empire's more mobile riders that consistently used hit and run tactics. Far to the rear, Lord Serene was reforming the lines to intercept a new wave of hidden enemies from the south. Among them, heavy cavalry specialized in breaking defense lines. Kazir's target was the High Lord himself. A lone rider raced to meet the enemies on what Rask thought was his own horse. Is that the forest woman?

Someone coughed by his feet. Erdhart was still breathing, dark red spilling out of his mouth.

"So I… couldn't redeem… Solsetur name… my despot of an aunt… You were strong, Wolf of Met…" the Estraean's eyes rolled back, his last words caught in his mouth.

Rask let out a sigh. He knelt down and closed the eyes of the houseless knight. He barely looked above the age of twenty. A man with nothing to protect. Nothing to fight for. Such was the price of war. The commander stood up once more, focusing his attention on Sar'tara. Was she actually a spy? She was going to the enemies all alone. Her figure was getting smaller and smaller as she rode off. Rask thought he saw her draw her bow, but he couldn’t be certain.

***

A constant guilt gnawed at the back of Sar'tara's mind. Guilt for disobeying Kalin. Her heart had started racing before the battle even began. She wasn't content with simply sitting and watching. She needed more than Kalin's kindness. Aside from Meredith, he'd been the only person willing to hold a full conversation with her, willing to teach her more about her surroundings. Sar'tara wanted to be acknowledged by more people. She needed the warmth of cohesion. She didn't want to be sidelined. Not when she would be living among these people as one of their own.

Riding a horse alone for the first time felt much more liberating than she'd expected. She steered the animal using its reins as she'd seen Kalin do. It was surprisingly obedient.

Sar'tara rode past the allied lines and down the empty field. Far in the horizon, enemy soldiers were running forward, a few dozen well armored horsemen leading them. They reminded Sar'tara of the final mist soldier she'd fought during Ny'Danis' Trials; the heavily armored rider that had used a flail like weapon. These riders were covered in iron from head to toe. Their helms bore strange white horns at the sides. Crafted wings were at their backs. Sunlight reflected off of their bodies. Even the horses shimmered, iron covering them also with spikes protruding from some spots. Cold sweat formed on Sar'tara's brow. These enemies had a more intimidating appearance than the Kreiva with war paint.

Sar'tara glanced behind. Kalin made no attempt to follow her. His soldiers stood resolute, spear bearers kneeling at the front in preparation for enemy riders. They stood no chance she realized. Their iron tipped wooden spears would do them no good against the few dozen iron garbed horsemen. Their purpose was to break the first line of defense so the footmen behind would have an easy time,

Sar'tara would have to slay these enemies herself before they reached the Xenarians. She spotted Kalin dismounting. He knew a melee would soon ensue. She feared for him. She knew what it was like to stand on two feet whilst staring at a charging horseman. She had felt the immense pressure of a heavily armored rider before. They wouldn't stop at just breaching the vanguard. A few dozen was more than enough to ravage allied lines.

With a leap of faith, Sar'tara let go of her horse's reins. Her fingers curled around the familiar feeling of her bow while the other hand nocked and drew back. Wood creaked in her ears. Hitting a moving target was one thing. Hitting a moving target while bouncing up and down from a horse was something else. A missed shot and her arrow would bounce off the heavy armor. Or worse; sail through the air harmlessly.

"A Selharr never misses," Sar'tara assured herself. One arrow per. She sucked air through her teeth, honing her sight on her target. There were no room for errors —not in her imagination, and not in reality. One arrow per.

Twang!

The arrow left her fingers. The tip slipped through the eye holes of an enemy helmet.

Sar'tara smirked, her growing confidence shattering every restraint that had held it. The heavily armed riders moved much slower than her. One by one, she began picking them off. She'd nearly come into their range having culled a fifth. They rode after her hard, clearly angered. Sar'tara flashed a knowing smile before grabbing the reins and pulling back her horse. It let out a pitched whinny, kicking its front legs up in the air as it pulled to a stop.

"Now for the real test, Tara," she breathed. She kicked the horse into motion, riding back towards allied lines. And then she let go of the reins again.

image [https://i.imgur.com/EgmSpMA.jpg]

Once more she drew back, stabilizing her sense of balance. She twisted her body and aimed back, breath caught in her throat when seeing how close she was to an Empire horseman. The man had a dangerously long iron lance in hand. The blade length was that of a short sword and had spikes along its edge. A weapon made to raze defense lines and shred armor with ease. His thick arm raised it with minimal effort.

Sar'tara gulped. She couldn't let herself panic lest she lose her balance and fall off. Her horse, slowed ever so slightly, allowing her to maintain stability. They were smarter creatures than she'd originally thought. The slight decline in speed allowed her would be assailer to come into attacking range. He wasn't as fast as her arrow. An iron tip went through his shadowed eye. He slumped back before eventually falling off of his own mount a few seconds later.

Sar'tara continued her hunt. Picking off the Empire's heavy cavalry one at a time. The burden on her back began to lighten. Her once full quiver was now nearly hollow. She reached the Xenarian soldiers, barely a dozen Tarmian horsemen still hounding her. The foot soldiers behind them were still a fair few hundred paces distance away. Sar'tara thought to ride around her enemies in an attempt to thin their numbers a bit more. She saw Kalin standing at the van, screaming, wildly waving his arms and motioning to one side. Behind him, the spearmen had been replaced with archers —crossbowmen. The sight of those weapons brought back unsightly memories of home, of the many bolts flying past her and sinking into burning trees.

Sar'tara grimaced, steering her horse away, obeying Kalin's screaming plea. Crossbows weren't powerful enough to pierce heavy armor, but enough of them would get at the horses or find gaps in between. Her horse slowed to a trot as it re-entered allied lines. Glowing eyes stared back at her. The soldiers showered her with words of praise. Sar'tara blushed. This was the admiration she'd been looking for. Perhaps she wouldn't be seen as an outsider now.

Her eyes sought out Kalin, hoping he'd be proud. For some reason, she yearned for his praise the most.

***

Moments earlier…

Kalin stared in awe as Sar'tara recklessly charged towards enemies. His thoughts became a dizzying blur filled with worry and shock. She didn’t even have a sword or spear with which to engage. His body stilled as she drew her bow, hands off the reins, and began picking off enemies one by one. She was one with the bow as blademasters are one with their swords. It was an extension of her body. Her skill and grace was something straight out of imagination. Something that he only thought possible in stories. He stood transfixed, watching the scene as a child watches a performing troupe for the first time. Each arrowhead found its mark. Not a single shaft was wasted.

Kalin collected himself and ordered crossbows to the front. With the heavy cavalry numbers thinned by such a number, a wave or two was all that would be needed to end their charge. He flailed his arms about for Sar'tara to see. "Move!" he cried. She eventually obeyed. Kalin raised his arm, waiting for the enemy riders to approach closer. Their horned helms and silver wings were that of an appearance he'd only heard of from distant reports. Tarmia's Ivory Hussars. Known for ravaging their eastern warfronts, they were lauded heroes of the Empire. They were close enough for him to see their shadow covered eyes. Eyes full of terror and resignation. Resignation of death. They knew there to be no escape. Regardless, they moved forward, whipping their mounts for one final burst of speed.

"Brave and loyal to the very end," Kalin muttered. "Admirable." His arm came down. "Fire!"

Most of the bolts met their match in Tarmian armor. Regardless, enough iron tips found soft flesh or a horse's unprotected knees. The riders fell, and some horses went with. Others stopped running altogether with no rider to control them. Two beasts crashed into allied lines. No casualties were sustained. The Empire's footmen charging behind continued to approach.

"Archers prepare a volley! Shields and spears to the front!"

The movements were made seamlessly, the well trained army of High House Serene shifting like a fine tuned machine. A horn blared in the distance, this one slightly different to the one that had originally sounded. Kalin smiled. He knew this sound. He had come to savour it as music. The sound of Tarmia's retreat signal. The oncoming army suddenly changed directions, fleeing towards the river. Kalin looked across at the hilltop. Kazir was nowhere to be seen. "A well placed trap thwarted by an anomaly," he muttered. An anomaly called Sar'tara Vashiri. With the bridge now under Rask's control, the Empire's forces fled down the bank for a narrower crossing. The waters were cold. The enemy ran to naught.

Sar'tara's hunt had been completed. The Xenarians had yet to begin theirs. Kalin outstretched his hands. Words of command escaped his parted lips. "Hunt them down!"