Chapter 31 - Ambush

The weather had taken a turn for the worst. A cold current was passing through, heralding the beginning of a harsh winter. Soggy ground sapped away at every marching man's strength just as easily as it'd absorbed rainwater. Eildred grit his teeth to stop them from chattering. He glanced back at the pitiful mess of some two hundred soldiers under his charge. White uniforms spotted with mud stains and dust from the road, gaunt expressions, morale dead, and visibly cold. They marched with slumped shoulders, leaning against their spears like travelling vagabonds. Some coughed, wet, throats full of phlegm. They needed a break.

Eildred had pushed them hard, hoping to return to the capital within a half month. A nine day cycle had already passed and the group was only now nearing the Oakwood Forest. Eildred himself felt his strength waning. Riding on his horse did little to alleviate that. He'd worn his armor again, wary of possible insurrection parties. But surrounding air had chilled his plates, making it feel as if he were encased in a tomb of frost. His gloved fingers, wrapped tight around the reins of his horse, were cold and stiff. His toes as well could have used some time outside of his boots and before a fire.

The horse's hoofs sloshed on the muddy road. Grey skies darkened further as evening settled in. The air was thick with the smell of damp soil. Small rain drops tapped against Eildred's armor. He grunted in annoyance as he led the soldiers into the shadow of a dark-yellow forest canopy. Here, the smell was that of wet and rotting leaves. A carpet of light brown paved the forest floor, providing meager protection from mud just as the remaining dying oak leaves would provide meager shelter from the rain.

Better than nothing, Eildred thought. At least the trees would also stave off some of the cold night air. He held up a fist. "Make camp within the trees. Set up a perimeter, guards rotating every hour. I want every man resting well tonight." Sighs and mutters of relief followed afterwards. There was at least an hour left before dusk, but some early rest couldn't hurt. The soldiers scrambled to unload pack horses and set up tents amongst small clearings within the shrubbery. Eildred dismounted and bound his horse to a tree. He walked around as his own tent was being set up, hoping to warm his toes with movement.

Squads of men set to searching for firewood. They'd need to have the Flame's blessing to find any after consecutive days of on and off rainfall. Much of the stock Lady Coraine had provided was already running low. She'd given good provisions as well, but what the men needed now was a hot meal and some time around a fire.

Eildred peered through the trees, light fading, unsure of what it was he was even looking for. It was some four or five leagues to the other side in a straight line. He'd camped inside Oakwood Forest once before. It was some many years past. Lord Serene had taken his wife and newborn to explore the woodland and Queen Dahlia had accompanied with a baby Emeria. A better time when Madrivall was still alive and Xenaria seemed to have a bright future ahead.

A better time. I'll be damned if I don't bring such bliss to this nation again. Eildred closed his fist and struck a tree. It shook, some leaves falling, a dull ache remaining on his knuckles. He was already failing at his task. He'd failed Theodore and Tilda. The Aegis Basin was now ruled by sea scourge. He'd left Dahlia alone to face some insurrection. A passable threat, likely, but Dahlia in her poor mental state would be worried.

A passable threat? "When have I, Eildred Aegis, ever been an optimist?" he muttered between his teeth, a cloud arising from his hot breath and disappearing just as quick. Optimism was for the lazy. For the wishful. Hoping for a bright outcome was no different than gambling in a den owned by loan sharks. Eildred couldn't depend on a sunny morning, thus ordering his soldiers to make camp earlier than normal so they could attain some much needed rest. Preparing for the worst outcomes was what kept the cogs of life turning without hitch.

Imagination was a weapon, as Chamberlain Finral said. An insurrection of villagers was already an oddity. What is the worst possible scenario? He knelt down and inspected a wet leaf plastered against many others. Its surface was brown with rotting spots of black like a bead of corruption slowly spreading out. The worst possible scenario. An existing entity was pulling the strings from behind. Either a High House was rebelling, or Trillians were behind this. Trillians would be the worst outcome. Outright accusations of violence when they preached harmony and had so many followers could lead to a conflict of dangerous levels.

"Flames!" Eildred spat. And he'd left Dahlia alone to deal with all of this? Why, because she'd asked so sweetly? Flames, but you're a fool Eildred Aegis! He'd let his feelings get in the way of his job. He sniffed at the air, filling his nostrils with the smell of the forest. The light was fast in fading.

Eildred rose to his feet and turned toward the camp. His tent had been erected next to his horse. A mere two campfires had been lit, likely utilising the last of the stored firewood. Dozens of soldiers huddled around it like a group of children marveling at something interesting they'd found. Spears and shields were resting against trees. Few had undone their sword belts as well. No perimeter had been set up. Eildred clicked his tongue. Soldiers of the capital were too used to peace.

Clang!

Eildred blinked. Something skittered before his feet. His right shoulder pauldron buzzed as if struck by something. The dullest of glints shown on a piece of metal before him. An arrowhead. His cold fingers found his sword pommel in an instant. The sound of drawing metal rung clear as he ripped it free of its sheath. "Enemy attack!" he bellowed, his commanding voice resounding through the trees. Crows cawed at the sudden sound, flocking out from the branches they'd been hiding in.

The soldiers turned in his direction, mumbling to themselves, hardly reacting. Very few peered through the dark of the forest, swords half drawn. "I said enemy attack!" Eildred cried again, rushing back into camp. A shaft struck his back, bouncing off harmlessly. Another whistled past his ear, flying into camp and miraculously missing every man. It flew into a campfire. The soldiers were at last aroused from their stupor, scrambling to grab hold of weapons. A chain reaction followed and every man therefrom began preparing themselves.

"No spears!" Eildred cried. They'd be useless within the dense trees. "Swords and shields only. Put out the flames at once." He could see a faint hope within their eyes die from that order. The sun was setting and the forest would soon be pitch black. Fires would give away their location and allow archers to continue firing. "Form two rings, shields up, a hundred men each. Stay together!"

Some soldiers began swearing while others cowered, trembling. Eildred quickly bound a diamond shaped black shield to his left arm. Its pointed edge extended beyond the hand and doubled as a stabbing weapon. A shield carried by most Lotus Knights, though seldom used. He held his longsword before him with one hand, shield hand covering most of his face as he searched between trees with his eyes. The sun had all but set. Dark. Cold. Wet. It was going to be a messy fight.

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A foul stench flowed from beyond the trees. Something akin to heinous body odor mixing with the smell of rotting leaves. For how many days have they been waiting for us? If they'd been waiting, then he was the target. This all but confirmed his suspicion. This was the Trillian faith's doing. Remove the Captain of the Guard from her majesty's side to weaken her.

Eildred seethed. Shrubbery was bent and crushed as howling men charged the soldiers. A downpour began, further hindering everyone's vision. Kill me, is it? "We're not on a bloody ship!" he bellowed. He ran forward to meet his foes. He swung in a wide arc, cleaving a head clean in half. Blood splatter and rain looked little different in the encroaching darkness. And fallen gore felt no different than mud. "We are soldiers of Exaltyron! Oh swords of her majesty, show these curs what it means to challenge the honored White Coats on a fair battlefield!"

Those words seemed enough. Eildred's men roared with fury. And a fierce melee ensued. Eildred's sword met little resistance as he slashed through bellies, severed limbs, and split heads apart. He breathed through his mouth, swallowing back rain water that filled his mouth. It tasted of iron and salt.

There was little in the way of armor amongst these men. Little in the way of blades. Most carried clubs. Others carried hoes. Peasants? Eildred thrust through a round bellied man, the blade coming out the other side and piercing another that'd been close behind him. He lifted his shield to deflect a hoe bearing down on him, stabbing the attacker in the throat shortly after. The attacker fell to the ground and was trampled by many boots. If it was a gathering of peasants, the soldiers might live out the night yet.

His optimism was met with calamity. Arrows flew forth from the darkness, one grazing his cheek. One struck a soldier's shoulder beside him. Eildred shoved the man away before a club with nails could bludgeon the man. He then slashed through the attacker's gut. The man squawked as his innards spilled out, hanging from his wound like a length of rope. Eildred severed his head just as another arrow struck his shield. Another attacker charged at him with meat cleaver in hand. He fell before Eildred could strike, an arrow protruding from his back.

There were more enemies further inside the forest and they didn't care about the peasant vanguard that'd been sent. The fodder was sent to tire the soldiers. A coordinated assault. Eildred wiped rain from his face. Calling for a retreat would hurt morale, but what choice did he have? "Retreat back and hold formation!" he called.

The maneuver was slow, soldiers slowly stepping back to return to their hundred man circles. Men with shields stood at the van, blocking projectile fire. The night would be long.

Five leagues to the other side. Could they go around the forest? Seven leagues west, or if they chose the longer route, about eighteen leagues east. No. They risked being surrounded on open ground with so few men. The forest was their best bet. A mere two hundred soldiers would have an easier time hiding.

Eildred couldn't have his soldiers stay here. They needed to move and fast. The melee continued, attackers wearing mail or leather armor now joining the peasant class. Arrow fire had slowed significantly. Eildred let a club swing come down on him, its edge bouncing off of his plate. He backhanded the attacker with his shield, a horrid crunch sounding as metal struck face. His soldiers stomped on the man, killing him. "Rearguard gather supplies and move west!" Eildred ordered, ducking beneath a short sword. He swung down, sword edge tearing into a collarbone and getting stuck halfway through cleaving the man in two. Eildred rent the blade, dark liquid spraying out.

The forest was near pitch black now. Rain continued. Breaths came out in denser clouds. The attack slowed. Logical. Continuing a melee in such poor vision was dangerous for both sides. The rearguard pushed pack horses to their left, everyone soon accompanying them. Rain made hearing enemy movement difficult, but also deafened the allied march. The foul odor hardly remained, a smell of spilt blood and wet leaves now much stronger.

Eildred kept his shield arm up before his face even though no arrows came. Exhaustion forced him to put it down eventually. His fingers were still cold despite the battle and water was quickly filling his armored boots. He jogged to the front of his soldiers as they marched westward through the trees. A few others behind him coughed violently. One had an arrow stuck in his shoulder, head hanging low as he followed his allies with lumbering steps.

A really long night. Eildred wondered if the morning would fare any better. His empty stomach gnawed at him. Of all times to feel hunger, this was the worst. He trudged forward, wondering if his own horse had been brought along with the supplies. The rain slowed before coming to an eventual halt. Eildred held up his fist to signal a stop. Flickering torchlights poked through the cracks between oak trees. He waited for them to disappear before resuming the march.

Crows cawed from the left-behind skirmish site. Shadows moved within the dark, whether birds, swaying branches, or enemies, Eildred could not tell. His heart pounded in anticipation, eyes flitting and arms flinching at the slightest movements of dark shapes before him. He could hardly feel his toes any longer. Both feet were soaked. His armor weighed down on his shoulders as dread crept between the plates and chipped at muscle fibres.

Twigs snapped to Eildred's right. He held his fist up again, peering into dense shrubbery. The shrubs rustled and feral howls echoed between the trees again as enemies with short spears jumped out, their faces plastered with mud and leaves. Eildred's heart leapt to his throat as his cold limbs struggled to react in time. Two spear points found him, both skidding off of his breastplate. Two soldiers in white fell as they were impaled. Another stumbled, gurgling on blood before a spear went through his eye.

Eildred roared and charged his two assailers, colliding into them. Both of them slipped and fell. He stabbed one while he crushed the other's chest with the heel of his boot. Another melee began. Screaming soldiers, clashing irons, splintered mail and torn coats. Eildred hacked at anything that moved before him, cutting down as many branches as he did limbs. A screaming enemy charged him and he plunged his blade through the open mouth, swinging it to the side to tear open the man's jaw.

More spears attacked him from the side. He blocked them with his shield, gasping as one slipped through a gap within his armor. Allied soldiers hacked away at his attackers. Eildred lumbered forward, swinging wildly, sword arm burning from the pain of overuse. He stumbled into a small clearing, falling to one knee for respite. White Coats stumbled after him, their once pristine uniform likely dyed red. Or brown. It all looked black in the dark.

Screams ended. Some whimpered in pain. Others coughed violently. Another ambush survived. Eildred rose to his feet, gasping just like many others around him. His wound seemed shallow.

How much of the night has passed? Probably not even a fifth. "Do a head count of how many we have remaining," he ordered, breathing hard. "We rest for an hour and then march once again. Patch up the wounded and give out food."

The soldiers obeyed. Luckily, the rearguard hadn't seen much action. Pack horses hadn't bolted. Eildred leaned against a tree as a soldier brought him some cold jerky and soggy biscuits. Burn it all! The forest was teeming with enemies. The weather was poor. The men were tired and sick. At this rate, they would never make it out, let alone making it to the capital.

"Lord Captain, we have a hundred and eighty-two men with us. We counted twice."

Eildred nodded. More than half the night remained and a near tenth of the soldiers were already dead. He swallowed down the tough jerky. It felt as if it got stuck at the base of his throat. He kept watch on the forest as the soldiers rested, if standing in cold mud could even be called resting. And then he ordered the march to resume, suddenly realizing that he had no knowledge of his bearing. The last skirmish had thrown out everyone's sense of direction.

"Does anyone have a compass?" Eildred called. The men shuffled, shrugged, and shook their heads.

Flames! Now what? Eildred ground his teeth, pushing aside branches and kicking at bushes in his way as he led his men to heavens knew where. Stuck at his wit's end, the Queen's Guard captain began doing something he hadn't dared done before. He began hoping. Hoping that there were fewer enemies than believed. Hoping he was marching in the right direction. Hoping morning would bring fairer weather and help distinguish east from west.

Maybe being an optimist wasn't so bad after all. It kept the embers of his spirit from burning out at least.