Nekomata. A detestable subhuman species if there ever was one. But in the hours leading up to this point, I haven’t felt so fearful of them as I have in my entire life.
At first, we were told it was a training exercise. Me and the one-hundred men of my sataba were to practice for a mock show-of-force. It entailed our larger, Provincial Guard unit, which composed of one-hundred satabas, splitting up, and fanning across the countryside in order exert power projection. The Caliphate normally does such operations, sometimes it is necessary with the weaker nations in the north.
The problem was, we were not in the north. We were in the south. Here, there is only one nation, one threat, that is. The Sidonian Empire. Even the beasts here are nothing to worry about.
It wasn’t just our Provincial Guard either, two other Provincial Guard units had been pulled down from the northern provinces. On top of this, a force of thirty-thousand levies were to bolster us as well, bringing our total number up to around sixty-thousand strong. This was no training exercise. But by that thinking, this was no war either. If we intended to take over Sidonia, that speck at the bottom of the map, why not muster our armies, our millions of men across our country? In the face of Sidonia, sixty-thousand men was dangerous, but certainly we could not win a war on our own, and for that matter, why was there to be war in the first place?
It all happened so suddenly. But, being commander of my sataba, as an officer it was my responsibility to follow orders. The first few days of the exercise went well, the Provincial Guard units, the satabas, were made up of volunteers, men who wanted to protect their provinces, and to be sure that the communication and order of the force was one of a well-oiled machine. That was, of course, leaving out the peasant levies, men who’d most likely been tilling soil not weeks before.
One day, out on parade, simply moving about the country side, this way and that way, performing imaginary maneuvers as if on a battlefield, an order came to me. Then another, which then led to another more quickly, then all of a sudden a barrage of them, and then next thing I knew, I was leading my men toward a neutral village with the intent to raze.
The border between the Jedathari Caliphate and the Sidonian Empire was filled in between with a string of neutral villages. The land had been claimed by both states, but, not wanting conflict, neither side had actually treated the villages as their own, and so, the villages had prospered for generations under their own tribal roots.
“This is a long time coming.” One of my men remarked to another nearby whilst on the march. “It’s high time these people know of our lord the Cavalier.”
My men had their reasons for following orders. Some were out of a religious obligation, others a wanderlust, tired of living on farms their whole lives. But most, money. I tried not to get in between my men and the carrot. We had seen action along with the other satabas of our Provincial Guard unit in the north, and were commensurate veterans, but we were still relatively small fish in a very big sea. One may look no further than the Five-Striped adventurers of the Guild or our own Jedathari Vai’egards. Each country certainly has its elite warriors, and we, we were nothing more than grunts.
“These villages are awfully close to Sidonian land though…what if they’re watching us, you know, like, like creatures in the dark, like beasts.”
“They might be subhuman but they’re still humanoid. Aren’t they usually of smaller stature and strength though? Your grandma could beat one in a wrestling match.”
“That comes of course with their high level of training-“
“But they’re damned inhumans! I say, kill em’ all!”
“Enough!” I cut short the nervous bickering of my foremost men. “Nekomata or not, we’re close to another nation. Stay on your guard. Remember what happened with the Principality? They had troops on patrol on their border with Sidonia too and they were attacked, and now they’re in an all-out war! These Sidonians have a reputation for being unpredictable, so keep your guards up!”
““Yes sir!””
My men shut up after that, and we continued toward our assigned village.
We were marching down one of the roads to a village called Oledes. A thick forest surrounded us, and supposedly the village was somewhere around here. Of course, it was hard to tell, because it the was middle of the night. Strange, no? What kind of army pulls a show of force like this in the middle of night? Unless of course, the force in question had intentions to continue further, deeper, into hostile land, while the defenders had their guards down…
Our orders currently were to demand the submission of Oledes. The village either submitted to the Caliphate, or was razed, simple as that. It wasn’t a pleasant job in my opinion, I’d rather not take the lives of fellow humans, but my men, all military units really, had the tendency to lose themselves in sprees of bloodlust and pillaging during such happenstance. I prayed for the people of Oledes sake, to just give up, and prostrate themselves. Already, smokestacks rose into the night sky in the distance, illuminated by the full moon, clearly the work of other satabas. I’d’ve like to think that the taxes and submission to the Caliph was a boon for any rural village, for with it came the defense of a feudal lord, whom could raise militias and quell beasts, not to mention the benefits of governorship that came with the arrangement of being incorporated into a province.
We arrived at Oledes shortly thereafter. As expected, it was a small, prosperous town. The clearing in the middle of the forest was host to a large expanse of fields, ripe for harvest in the midsummer days, and in the middle of the farms, was a dense clump of simple wooden housing. The sataba formed up, prepared for anything, and I stepped forward, issuing the declaration a few times.
“People of Oledes! Awaken! The Caliph has requested your cooperation! For the sake of our Cavalier, abide and you will be spared!”
No response came, and my men waited in silence for a long few moments, their spears and shields held up. After one final warning, I sighed. I brought my hand up, and the archers behind our line prepared their flaming arrows.
Before I could bring my hand down however, a sudden response came from the village.
“So it’s true then. What a brazen act of aggression.” The voice was slightly effeminate, but definitely belonged to a male. It was sharp, and commanding, one that radiated authority.
For a moment I couldn’t identify where the voice was coming from, until, I saw an outline against the night blue sky, atop one of the buildings of Oledes. It was one of a boy, or maybe a young man, with yellowed hair and equally sharp yellow eyes. He was clad in a pure white cloak that flowed in the wind. The moon glinted off of his steel plates and steel gauntlets; in the same vein, perhaps his eyes caught a glint of the moon, for his gaze pierced me, and I stood shocked for a moment. His face wasn’t even scary; one could even mistake him for the opposite sex; It was that glint in his eye, one that had seen years of battle and horror. In one hand he held a rapier, and brought it out by his side.
“This village and its people are under the protection of Lady Sidonia!” The boy declared, raising his rapier up by his face. “Surrender, and you might have the chance to return to your province peacefully.” His said solemnly.
I broke from my trance of shock and rose my fist to him. “This village is either of our countrymen or of rebels! Where are the village folk, so that they may declare their allegiance?”
The boy frowned. As he did, I saw movement in the windows of the village, human. They were hiding. They hadn’t been evacuated as I’d first thought. But, they weren’t coming out to meet us either; they were clearly hiding behind the Sidonian, making their allegiance quite clear.
“Commander, sir…” One my adjutants whispered, “That boy…he matches the description of the Fairy of the Battlefield…Confrontation would mean…”
My eyes widened.
“A-Alisson Vi Nuam…The third best in all of Sidonia?” I croaked in surprise, the air seeming to have escaped my throat.
Confrontation would mean death. A single sataba of grunts was no match for that demon. A platoon of Vai’egards maybe, or maybe an Andestinian Hero, but not simple spearmen!
My eyes glinted with a sudden resolve, however.
“We’re already dead if that’s the case! Send up the flare! Prepare for battle and fire!”
I swung my arm forward, and crouched low, raising my sword. One of my men raised a piece of parchment to the sky, and activated the spell within it, and the red flare was sent high into the sky. That signaled to our comrades the worst case scenario: That Sidonian resistance had been met.
The archers fired thereafter, and a crescendo of about a dozen flaming arrows cut through the night, and fell toward Alisson Vi Nuam, the ‘Fairy’ of the Battlefield.
“Tch…”
The Fairy clicked his tongue, and rose his hand up.
“Obice!”
A blue film appeared before his hand, and the arrows harmlessly bounced off of it. He could’ve evaded, but evidently, he wanted to keep the village from burning.
“He’s a magician too!?”
One of the men cried out.
Before we could act, the Fairy leapt from his perch, and closed the distance in a few heartbeats between us and him. I’d never seen anybody move so fast before, he was but a blur in my eyes.
Blood was drawn before I had blinked. Our line had already been penetrated, as now, the Fairy surged toward me, the commander. All I could do was stumble back as a rapier pierced my throat. I fell to the ground, watching in slow motion as my comrades met similar fates, quick thrusts to their necks ended a few more men’s lives before my body had even reached the ground.
…
The area was clear relatively quickly. With Alisson having leapt into the middle of their formation so brazenly, they were unable to mount a meaningful defense, and crumbled quickly as Alisson weaved in and around the spearmen, slicing and thrusting, more like liquid mercury flowing on velvet than a warrior in the middle of enemies.
Such opponents do not even require the strength of my manifestation.
Some tried to run, but a quick throw of a knife to their Achilles tendons cut their desertion short. Some of the soldiers did in fact fight back, but with their unwieldy spears in such close combat, they were easily nullified. Those who did manage to switch to their smaller weapons were still outclassed, parried and stabbed before they could swing more than once.
After about a minute, the battle was decided. Alisson didn’t even have to use any attack spells, or any of his imbued knives. He paced to the men who’d tried to flee, and almost religiously rose his blade over their squirming bodies.
“W-w-wait!”
He could see the glints in their eyes of life, of desperation, and of fear. But also, that intangible human glint of vileness. Alisson frowned, and thrust down.
“Captain.”
The voice of a fratello called to him as he finished the work of dealing with the deserters. From the tree line rode a mounted warrior. He was clad in heavier armor than Alisson, and had a much more masculine frame and jawline to boot. However he bore the same insignias as Alisson, both of Sidonia, and of the 51st Storm Brigade.
“Daventdale. I’m assuming it’s the same situation in the other villages?”
Daventdale, the vice-captain, nodded.
“Gather the rest of 51st then – We must report to Lord Pusheal at once. That flare they sent up will no doubt give way to an unsavory response.”
Alisson whistled for his mount, which came to him dutifully.
“Those of you in the village,” Alisson shouted to the cowering people of Oledes, “It’s best you evacuate to Sidonia, until this skirmish blows over. Tell anybody you meet you have Alisson Vi Nuam’s word.”
He didn’t wait for their response, and rode off with Daventdale. Along the way, the rest of the 51st formed up on them, and soon, a forty-eight man cavalcade rode toward the Sidonian 6th army’s basecamp. The rest of the 51st reported the same thing along the way there: That neutral villages were being taken and destroyed by Jedathari forces. Their infiltrators’ warning of day’s earlier was proved correct; enemies were to stage an incursion into Sidonian land. This was unacceptable. This went beyond a border skirmish; this was a declaration of war!
When they reached their basecamp however, Alisson immediately knew something was wrong. They had only left here about an hour ago to perform recon-in-force, but now the atmosphere was completely different. Dead and wounded Sidonian soldiers littered the fortifications of the large camp, and more destruction was present within. To be sure, the camp was still in operation, it had not been destroyed, but rather, there had been some sort of battle here, one wherein an enemy pierced deep into their HQ.
Alisson and his 51st rode through the fortifications and into the camp at break-neck speed. Alisson’s stomach churned, seeing comrades strewn out, the blood of his fratello across wooden barricades and across tents. He resolved to put aside his surprise and mourn for the time being however – There was a strategic attack happening right this instant.
“51st!” Alisson rose his hand, “Spread out and give aid – I will meet with Lord Pusheal.”
Most of the 51st did not possess healing spells, but there were a few combat-clerics among them, and rest could still give first-aid and reimburse the defense.
All but his three company commanders fanned out following his orders, they followed him to the largest tent in the vicinity. When Alisson saw who was before it, he fell into a mild panic.
Lord Pusheal, a pudgy man with a stubbled mustache, was a man whom Alisson respected deeply; He was master tactician of many exploits. However now, he lay against the command tent, holding his large belly, covered in blood, and surrounded by the bodies of his adjutants who had fallen in his defense.
Alisson hastily dismounted, and fell to Lord Pusheal’s side, holding the man’s shoulders.
“M-my lord!”
Thankfully, the man was still breathing, and he opened his eyes slowly, though they had terribly little light in them, and his skin was pale. Lord Pusheal, upon recognizing Alisson, cracked a smile. With pained breaths, he began to silently undo the straps holding a sword at his hip.
“What happened!?” Alisson questioned frantically. “Who did this!?”
“A decapitation strike, sir…They retreated not moments ago…” One of the nearby officers, wounded and on his knees, responded to Alisson. “They had black armor…I couldn’t tell what unit they belonged to…”
Alisson furrowed his mouth. Clearly, the decapitation strike had worked. Command of 6th was de-facto paralyzed. Alisson frowned; Of course they just had to strike when the 51st, the only real muscle of the 6th army, was away doing recon.
Lord Pusheal, after unfastening his sword, held it up to Alisson.
“…Take it. You’re the only one who I would trust with it.”
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Alisson stared at Lord Pusheal for a long moment, and then looked to the sword in his hands. The sword was old, rusty, but it had intentionally been left that way - obviously it was for ceremonial purpose. Engraved on it was the word ‘six’.
Alisson shut his eyes tightly for moment, steeling himself, and then lifted the sheathed sword out of Lord Pusheal’s hands. Lord Pusheal smiled one last time, and then went limp. A moment of silence for the man befell the immediate vicinity. A large woman clad in robes, the 51st’s best healer, knelt near Alisson, and after examining Lord Pusheal for a moment, shook her head. He was gone.
Alisson stood, and realized that quite a crowd had gathered around him. The division commanders of the 6th army and a dozen or so officers stood round. They were looking to him for leadership, and if they weren’t all taller than him, they would be looking up to him.
Alisson sighed. There was no one above him rank. As much as he didn’t want it to be, he was now the most senior officer in the entire Sidonian 6th army. Making up his resolve, Alisson cleared his throat,
“As of now, I am in command. This is not a grab for political power – Lord Pusheal has passed me the sword.”
The men around Alisson looked at eachother for a moment, before placing their hands to their chests, ““Yes, my lord!”“
They said unanimously.
‘Passing the Sword’ was a figurative expression, but just now, Lord Pusheal had made quite the literal display of the transfer of power. The House of Pusheal was a far weaker noble family than that of Alisson’s, Nuam, but the Lady had placed Lord Pusheal in control of the 6th due to his experience. Lord Pusheal must’ve wanted to be quite clear in where the chain of command fell to avoid disorganization in the face of an attack. Alisson’s rank of Marshal and the title of captain of the 51st endowed him the ability to commandeer friendly units for his own purposes and lead entire armies, though he had rarely needed to exercise this power.
“We need to act now if we’re to mitigate our Lady’s losses by this attack.” Alisson started. “From what the 51st has seen, so far only villages just outside our territory have come under aggression – Though this will change. We need to stop the Jedathari advance in its tracks.”
“My Lord Alisson…They outnumber us two-to-one…”
One of the officers remarked. Normally, a number disparity was commonplace for Sidonia, but the 6th army however…Was made up entirely of rookies. Save of course, for the 51st, but Alisson’s unit only accounted for less than fifty men, they couldn’t destroy a force of sixty-thousand on their own, no matter how veteran they were. The 6th was sent here to simply watch the border and train – Reports had only recently sprung up about Jedathari movement.
“We don’t need to meet them in open combat.” Alisson declared.
He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking, as the men around awaited his orders. Alisson opened his eyes, a sudden resolve in them.
“We’re going to retreat through the enemy.”
The officers stared at him blankly for a moment, before gradually understanding what he meant in their heads.
“We need bite back, damage this enemy and force them to pull away.”
The 6th was not cut out to be on the frontlines against the entire Caliphate. They needed to pull back, notify Lady Sidonia of this as fast as possible, but they couldn’t leave a human incursion go so unnoticed. The diplomacy and reasoning for the battle comes afterwards, right now, they needed to act, and blunt the Jedathari spear. Who knows, maybe if the 6th bit back well enough, the Caliphate might put off whatever plans they might have in the wings – Or whatever armies they had looming around, ready to advance.
The 6th army was made up of three division, each consisting of ten-thousand men for a total thirty thousand. Most of the 6th were standard Sidonian infantrymen, heavily armored units with impeccable forward momentum, but little flexibility. If he had but a single Ranger Corps, he could sow chaos within the enemy’s advance.
However, he was left with just regulars. He thought for a moment, staring into the ground. He then looked up,
“Keane, split up your division and spread out across the border, secure it from their own split-up units – The Caliphate seems to have split up their frontal forces into their individual satabas. We can’t let any of them walk on past us – fortify the neutral villages.”
Keane, a commander of a division, nodded sternly.
“Liedfroy, take your division east and smash through any resistance you find, I want you to swing around and hit the enemy center after dealing with their eastern forces.”
Liedfroy nodded in affirmation.
“Gertrud, hold our west, stretch your line to cover as much of our border as possible. Hold your position – Liedfroy’s division should be able to break through the enemy center and then attack their west, at that time, charge in to support him, assuming you haven’t already been engaged by that point.”
“A hammer and anvil tactic huh?” Gertrud mused. “Didn’t take you for the type, Alisson.” He then placed his hand to his chest, “We’ll make sure to be as sturdy an anvil as we can.”
Alisson nodded. He then turned to the company commanders of his 51st, soldiers who’d he’d fought alongside for decades.
“Harshel, assist Gertrud. Daventdale, fall in with Liedfroy, and Alieri, you’re with me – We’re going to hunt down that damned unit that killed Lord Pusheal.”
““Yes, my lord!””
The three of them said unanimously. Alisson then swung his hand out toward the lands of the Caliphate.
“Be it beast or man, any who dare enter our Lady’s land without permission will pay! Repel these human-scum that so try to defile our holy land!”
““Yes, my lord!””
With that, the officers and division commanders fanned out, organizing and calling over their own messengers to muster the 6th army to battle from the rest of the camp. Thanks to the time constraint, Alisson didn’t exactly have the leeway to sit and ponder numerous plans and their various benefits and cons, the army needed orders.
At least, that was the reason Alisson gave. Really, he itched to hunt down that force that had so defiled their land and his fellow comrades. They would pay.
…
Alisson rode from the basecamp with but a single company of his 51st, Alieri Company, led by Alieri Eyviartzin. With but seventeen men including himself, their mounts thundered down the moonlit roads.
They followed in the direction their comrades had seen the striking force flee in, and sure enough, they spotted tracks heading back into neutral land.
Whatever force had conducted that strategic decapitation must’ve been well trained, and relatively small, if they were able to penetrate a Sidonian basecamp. With a company of his 51st, his family, riding behind him however, Alisson felt the buzz of confidence and pride of comradery.
“This kind of unprovoked attack is unlike the humans. I don’t like it.” Alieri commented from behind Alisson.
“And so is a strike at our leadership.” Alisson responded. “It was planned, which contradicts with how the soldiers on the frontlines are operating. It seems the humans have rushed to action, but clearly some force moves them with intent.”
Alisson remarked. At present, he couldn’t explain why the humans were attacking, but he resolved to focus on the task before him. Many times Sidonia would give orders that seem useless, meaningless, at first, but yield great results whether it be geopolitically or on a battlefield, such was her genius and supreme perfection.
A glint of moonlight caught Alisson’s eye, tinting it blue for a moment.
…
“The mission was a success, we managed to eliminate the enemy general and a large portion of their command staff. They should be paralyzed as of this moment.”
A knight clad in black informed another, much taller knight. A group of three dozen soldiers waited in the middle of a road, warily watching the surroundings, whilst their commander was dismounted. All of them bore black painted armor, and it was very clearly painted over in a rush. They bore not a single Jedathari insignia – If any of the Caliphate forces stumbled upon them, they would have a lot of explaining to do.
The much larger knight was not of the same breed as the rest. He stood taller, abnormally so. His armor was cracked and torn, and not a single piece of his flesh could be spotted, all draped in black fabrics and cloaks, all of it seeming in terrible condition. The large black knight didn’t even nod in the response to commanders words, they only silently stared down at them.
“Then I assume the head-councilman is pleased?” The commander asked tepidly, but again, the battle scarred knight made no motion of response, so the commander continued, “Then, I will link up with our fellow countrymen in the Caliphate’s rear lines…they have already appeared to work their magic, the Caliphate’s hastily thrown-together force is advancing as we’d hoped. We should be back in Andestine before anyone even questions our presence.”
The commander reported, and again, the other knight stood eerily silent for a long moment. Until, the knight made the slightest motion and turned their head down the oncoming road, as if seeing something in the dark. After that, the knight was gone. Disappeared, without trace, vanished into empty air. The commander was stunned for a moment, but quickly reorientated himself, reasoning that warriors of that caliber were incomprehensible of course, and not to question it.
“A-an enemy!”
One of the commander’s knights called. Sure enough, down the road, came a cavalcade of seventeen horseman. Sidonian insignias were brazenly flaunted on their flowing white cloaks and fabrics, emblazoned with that terrifying blue sigil of Sidonia. Atop each their heads, were cat ears, and at their backs, twin-tails spun round each other. They were clearly experienced Nekomata. Then, he saw the insignia of the 51st Storm Brigade – The unit riding toward them was one of the best in Sidonia: there was no way the knights could beat them.
When the commander saw the charge of spells, he knew that him and his men had just been left to die. Used, and then discarded. What other treatment would he expect of the head councilman of Andestine?
…
“Let loose! Crash right through them!”
Alisson swung his rapier forward. On command, the members of Alieri Company that could use magic let loose a barrage of spells. The spells manifested themselves as small, colored blots on their fingers, before suddenly leaping forth and taking form, soaring toward the enemy in a multicolored cocktail of death. The enemy, who seemed to have taken a rest on the road for whatever reason, were caught by surprise, and only a few defensive films were deployed by their own resident spellcasters in their ranks. The bright defensive films were quickly overtaken by a cloud of dust as Alieri’s company’s spells impacted. Some exploded, knocking men aside, other pierced through the knights’ armor, drawing blood. However, like all Sidonian magic barrages, the effectiveness was negligible.
Alisson prepared to leap from his stallion, as to use a rapier as a cavalier was a fool’s folly. The enemy unit attempted to form some sort of cohesion, and prepare to meet the Sidonian charge, but it was useless. As the company of 51st came crashing into the disorganized knights, Alisson leapt from his mount, and charged forward. With the speed of a lunging cobra, Alisson thrust forth at the nearest knight’s neck. His corpse fell limply to the ground as Alisson set his sights on his next target. All around him, his comrades shed the blood of this unit that so made mockery of the 6th. The fight would be over in less than minute, Alisson realized. This enemy unit was far under the 51st in veterancy, it seemed, and Alisson had overestimated them. Of course, they were at least a modicum skilled, for some knights took two, even three blade actions before they fell, better than the scores of one-hit kills of a band of levies for sure, but if made no difference. He even had his entire company activated their manifestations, but it was clearly overkill.
Alisson had cared for his men, his subordinates, any loss of theirs was unacceptable in Alisson’s mind, and for that, they had best kill-death ratio in the entire Sidonian Empire. Each 51st was the product of decades of training and experience, in some cases their experience in combat alone was larger than the entire lifespan of some humans. Of course, if one veteran died, all those years would go waste, their position not easily refilled. Such was the vice of the Sidonian military.
Three enemy knights took Alisson for who he was, a commander, and all charged at once at him, hoping to at the very least deprive Sidonia of someone as valuable as he. Alisson didn’t like dealing with multiple opponents at once, and didn’t want to play the fool of underestimating an enemy, no matter how much advantage it seemed he had. Fortunately, he had tools to mitigate his weaknesses in sword play. Whereas the esteemed Lady Salchyon could cut through all fully armored knights with one swing of her voulge, whilst bearing that terrifying smile of hers, Alisson had not her demonic strength.
He withdrew a knife from within his cloak, and in a flash, threw it toward one of the charging knights. The knife did little more than bounce off a knight’s armor, but a moment after it did so, it detonated in a plume of smoke. The explosion spell imbued in the knife was released point-blank, and the shockwave melted the man’s insides, and he was dead immediately.
Alisson then rose his rapier at the second knight, a yellow wafting down the length of his blade.
“Pictun!”
A yellow lance formed along Alisson’s blade, and then shot toward a knight. The spell slammed into the knight’s shoulder, but seemed to do little other than make him stumble forward. The spell seemed to not have the necessary penetration to pierce the steel plate. So, Alisson used the spell a tier above Pictun, one that’s specialty was penetration.
“Pictunee!”
The aura surrounding Alisson’s blade turned red suddenly, an a effulgent needle was shot into the knight’s helmet. The thin red needle pierced cleanly, drew blood, and disappeared, all in less than a second, more like a strike of lightening than a projectile. The knight fell to the ground limply like a loose doll.
Now, there was only one opponent, and Alisson felt comfortable again in his bladework. Alisson thrust at the last knight, who attempted to parry, but was met with a disengage and a riposte to his neck, killing him instantly.
This unit didn’t have any shields, usually human knights loved their kite shields. That was odd. Especially did Jedathari knights use tower shields even.
The battlefield fell silent an Alisson was contemplating this oddity, his comrades having all annihilated the enemy unit.
Frowning, Alisson turned to his men, “Search their belongings, look for anything that may identify them.”
This gear and armor was nothing like any elite forces Alisson knew of, and they bore no insignias for affiliation, and neither did their black armor tell their allegiance. Caliphate forces were usually draped in red, the Principality was lavender, and Andestine was green, of course factoring in other colors to denounce individual noble and unit affiliations, but that was norm.
“Captain, their skin color…” A 51st murmured.
Alisson’s brow piqued, and he took off one of the corpse’s helmets. Their ethnicity, it wasn’t from any Jedathari tribe…Their skin was white, and their facial structure as well; Alisson could tell, in his two and a half centuries of living, that these men were ethnically from Andestine.
A deep pit suddenly formed in his stomach. He had a suspicion about why this was, but decided to keep quiet about it for the sake of his men. For now, there was a battle being fought by two armies. Although one such army could be hardly considered such if half their forces were really levies; but by that same coin, the 6th was made up of rookies – Which was probably how this meager unit of knights managed to break through the Sidonian basecamp.
They searched the corpses, and the surrounding area, but found nothing that indicated any sort of orders or motive behind this unit, only that they were from Andestine, if their personal affects were anything to go by.
And why did they stop here of all places? Just in the middle of a road? If they wanted to rest or to hold down a position, no unit with this much equipment and skill would just sit out in the open. Alisson shook his head.
He needed to return to camp. By now, Liedfroy’s division should’ve broken through the enemy center.
The company formed up, and they rode back the way they came.
…
On Alisson arrival back to the command tent, he was immediately bombarded with good and bad news. Keen had successfully halted the Jedathari advance as a whole, destroying the enemy’s forward sataba’s at the remaining neutral villages. Liedfroy had punched through the enemy’s east, and as instructed, cut through to the west, annihilating the levy center of the Jedathari force. The news was not as well with Gertrud’s forces however. They had stretched their line as Alisson had instructed, and were holding their ground, but they were meeting unforeseen levels of attrition – The enemy was throwing everything they had at Gertrud’s division – It was all up to Liedfroy now.
Alisson tepidly waited in the command tent, staring over the map with the assortment of pieces that signified individual unit locations. Every few minutes a courier would arrive, and update the locations and actions of specific units before quickly riding back out onto the field. Alisson wished that he could lead from the front with the entirety of his 51st, but he knew well that it was better to let the pre-planned chain of command work its magic, there was no use in stepping in between a commander and their division.
The battle turned grim over the next few reports. Gertrud, in adhering to his orders to not let any enemies pass, had been encircled. Alisson directed all available units to respond, but it was too little, to late.
Liedfroy’s division completed their flanking maneuver in admirable time considering they were rookies, and crashed into the remaining human forces that were overwhelming Gertrud. That combined with aiding units from Keen’s division, as Alisson was happy to hear, the human army was completely obliterated. Their HQ had not been destroyed, and they most likely still had some reserve forces of course, but their field army, in favor of overrunning Gertrud, had been wiped out. The night was old by the time the battle had concluded, and Alisson sat in the basecamp, anxiously awaiting the return of the division commanders.
He needed to report to Sidonia, no question about that, but he first wanted to meet with the commanders – He’d have to leave command in one of their hands – The 6th would need to remain on the border until friendly units from deeper in Sidonia could reinforce them.
Eventually, Liedfroy and Keen returned, but among the cavalcade of commanders that thundered into the camp, Alisson did not spot Gertrud, and a pit formed in his stomach. Davanentdale’s company of 51st returned along side Liedfroy, but that was expected. Harshel Company, the one assigned to Gertrud, was missing just like the commander.
“Sir Liedfroy, Sir Keen, speak freely. Where is Gertrud? Where are my men?”
The two commanders opposite him in the tent flashed nervous glances at eachother, but Liedfroy rose his chin, and declared simply,
“Gertrud was presumably killed in action, Marshal.”
“Presumably?”
Liedfroy shook his head. “He’s one of the many unaccounted for of his division, your men included - We’ve found barely anyone alive from the western units when we finished our attack...” Alisson slowly cringed eyes, not wanting to hear what he knew Liedroy was about to say, “…The division was wiped out.”
Alisson clicked his tongue, clenching his fist. He was expecting some losses, since the 6th was made of but rookies, but it seemed that in exchange for the flawless performance of Keen and Liedfroy’s forces, Gertrud was wiped out holding the line so that the flanking maneuver would succeed without a hitch. His division was the reason why Liedfroy was able to swing around, to cause so much damage. On paper, it was a worthy trade, a single division in exchange for nearly seventy-thousand opponents; but one needed to consider that the enemies in question were but human -scum, not even elite humans at that – A division of Sidonians was worth far more.
Alisson sighed. He could figure out whether or not this was victory later, for now, the 6th needed orders.
“Sir Liedfroy.” Alisson started, and unstrung the second sword at his hip. He presented it to Liedfroy. “I’m leaving command in your hands. I must report to the Lady.”
Liedfroy nodded, and took the sword from Alisson.
As Alisson was exiting the tent, he asked an innocent question, “Where exactly is Harshel Company?”
The division commanders only replied with silence for a moment, before Liedfroy spoke up,
“Currently MIA, Marshal. We didn’t find any of their bodies but…”
Alisson closed his eyes. “Very well then. I’m sure a company of my veterans did not perish to such meager odds.” Alisson stated confidently, and marched out. Inwardly however, he had a deep well in his gut. There was no way an entire company of his comrades, his family, had been killed. Surely, he reassured himself. Nevertheless, they couldn’t wait around for stragglers. He was sure that they would trickle back to the 6th in due time along with many other units still out there on the field.
Not one of his 51st questioned the absence of Harshel company as they rode out toward Sidonian land, toward their lady, lacking a full third of their strength. As Alisson rode, he only hoped that this was simply as escalated border incident, a stupid human general overstepping their bounds, that was all, and that this night was not the start of another war.
***