Tomas’s hands were shaking. Not from cold, not from an illness, but from fear. He was struggling to hold his spear steady. The trembling resonated in his crudely made armour.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” the soldier on his flank grumbled, elbowing Tomas hard in the side. “Quit your shaking, boy. The last thing I wanna hear before I die is you shittin’ in your breeches.”
Tomas glanced at him, staring at the lizard-like green eyes behind the helmet. The man had wide shoulders, rows of bony ridges running across his cheeks and an incredibly high hairline with long white dreadlocks. He was Valkhor, Tomas realised. He hadn’t seen one in quite a while, as none resided back home.
Tomas ignored the jest. Focus.
But all he could focus on was how much he did not want to be here. No one did.
Tomas reapplied a strong grip around the haft of the spear, interlocking his fingers. He held it outwards steadily, in line with the hundreds of troops to his sides. A wall of spears.
Sweat poured down Tomas’s dirt-smeared face, his blue eyes intensely focused on the scene before him. On a normal day, this area may have been quite picturesque- it was a cloudless day, and a cool breeze made the fields of grass dance in unison, swaying back and forth. The grass was still damp from earlier rains. Scattered oak trees groaned as their old roots strained to keep the behemoths upright. Behind him and the battalion he stood with, was a thick forest which lined most of the open field’s perimeter.
Clear skies were rare so far north. Tomas was used to overcast, damp weather and snow for half the year.
But this day was not a normal day.
The fields were poisoned with dread. A deep, insidious atmosphere or foreboding and anxiety.
A swarm of black crows were perched in the oak tree branches, screeching, awaiting the feast to come. Tomas always thought of crows as a bad omen- that is what his mother had taught him.
At that moment, more so than ever, he could understand why.
On the crest of the foothills about a mile ahead of Tomas and the vanguard unit he stood in formation with, black figures began to take shape.
Soldiers. Hundreds of them. Blood-crazed and marching to battle.
Tomas could see their dark armour speckled with deep shades of green shimmering in the afternoon sun. The invaders made their presence known with thunderous marching and howls of intimidation.
Tomas’s nervous eyes darted around.
Where were the knights in shining armour? The line of banners? The courageous speeches by his superiors to boost morale?
Are any of the old stories of war true?
Most of these soldiers in the vanguard lacked any proper equipment. Some had blunt weapons, dinged-up swords, and hammers with split handles. A few had even carried pitchforks and machetes from their homesteads. Others were lucky enough to have some chainmail and metal helmets, but most wore padded gambesons, cheap leather, and furs.
Tomas was fortunate enough to have a wooden shield on his back.
Yet, he knew this was possibly his last day alive.
These breaths the final ones they would ever draw.
That was a sickening thought.
A soldier in the row behind Tomas fell forwards as vomit came spewing out from the gaps in his helmet’s visor. The smell was sickening.
Another young man, a farmer, was stricken with fear, wailing for his mother.
“I don’t want to die. Please, I don’t want to die. We are going to die.”
“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Rilan whispered to Tomas sarcastically.
Next to Tomas stood his good friend, Rilan. They had been conscripted together on the same day, given that they lived in the same village and were young, able-bodied men.
He looked to Rilan, paralysed with fear. Rilan’s nervous eyes spoke louder than any words.
All their lives, Tomas and Rilan had wished to leave Brittlepeak. They daydreamed of mysterious travellers, an alchemist in need of his aid, or veteran knights seeking young apprentices.
Conscription was initially a source of excitement, until they realised that their dreams had no basis in reality. This wasn’t what they had wished for in the slightest.
“This doesn’t bode well,” Rilan muttered. Strands of his bright blond hair stuck out from beneath his father’s old helmet he wore. His scared eyes were narrowed ahead.
“If we stick together, we will make it out of this,” Tomas said. But did he truly believe those words?
The Akurai army had many more soldiers than the levies that Tomas’s regional command had put together within the week. They had sallied forth out from the town they had been stationed at to defend from the invaders- a small village named Barrowtown.
Ironic.
Many of the mounds and hills scattered amongst the field were ancient barrows, filled with countless dead. Nature had taken them back with hundreds of years’ worth of soil, rock, and vegetation coverings.
There they stood, a battalion of levies, made up of regional farmers, fisherman, stevedores, and smithies. Forced to wield spear and shield and sword for their kingdom against the foreign invader.
Tomas himself was the son of a butcher. He had no experience in fighting and had no will to die on some far away field. Rilan was only a mason. Despite Brittlepeak being many miles away over the horizon, Tomas was longing for the comfort that home brought. He always felt at the very least guarded in his home village, sitting in a valley at the base of Mooncrest Mountain.
The clatter of armour from someone fainting in the distance snapped Tomas back into the moment. He took a deep breath in; he knew he had to be strong if he wanted to live to see the next day.
“What chance do we stand?” an older man whimpered a few rows back. Tomas turned to look at the man. His white beard and pale eyes underneath the leather skullcap atop his head hinted at a long life behind him. “This is one of the Empire’s armies. How many more they got? We’re outnumbered, they got better weapons, better armour-”
“Quiet, old man,” another interrupted. “Nobody wants to hear your ramblings.”
“He’s right though! We are gonna die!” a boy with brown teeth called out.
Just like that, morale began to shatter.
The crows in the sparsely separated oak trees began squawking excitedly.
The men and boys all around muttered to each other. Some threw their weapons down. One ran the opposite way. Tomas and Rilan looked at one-another. They were young, naïve. They didn’t want to be here. They didn’t know what to do.
All the while, the Akurai units before them marched closer. They would soon be within distance of their archers.
Tomas stood strong. Perhaps it was from fear; perhaps it was confusion. But it certainly was not out of courage.
He tucked his hand under his collar, making sure the key was still hanging around his neck. Thankfully, it was. He held it tight, as if it were giving him the ounce of resolve he needed.
Dissent spread through the vanguard like the pox before a booming voice howled out over the chaos.
“Enough!” It was the field captain. Tomas only knew of him by the name of Gharland.
Gharland approached towards the front line on horseback, his steel armour looked fresh-forged. Flowing behind him in the wind was an exquisite ocean-blue mantle cape; Tomas had never seen anything like it. A longsword sat comfortably in the scabbard on his hip, the pommel of which had the sigil of the Broken Coast engraved into it. A shark’s open jaws with serrated teeth, encircled by a border of seaweed.
Gharland stared at the approaching invaders, then turned back at the quieting vanguard. “Your unruliness sickens me,” Gharland bellowed. His eyes were small and beady, and his moustache twitched as he spat at Tomas and the other levies.
“Here I am, forced to lead a band of destitutes and scroungers in defence of the Broken Coast. Look at you all. A sorry mob of cravens.” No one wanted to be here, no one more so than Gharland, by the look of things.
Snickering at Gharland’s rear on horseback was one of the field officers named Britus.
Tomas lowered his eyes, not wanting to draw attention to himself as Gharland paced back and forth throwing insults at his men.
The Akurai forces took positions several hundred metres ahead, waiting. They did not want to lead the charge yet. The longer they waited, the more fear and dissent they would spread in this ravel of levies.
“You, there?!” Gharland spat. Tomas felt shock run through his body, thinking he had been called out. But Gharland was pointing at another young lad down the line, who must have been a few years younger than Tomas.
The boy’s lower lip quivered. “A-aye, ser?” he stuttered.
“What is your profession?”
“B-b-baker, ser.”
Gharland snickered, before sitting upright on his horse. “We are here to defend our homes and our land from these heretic sacks of shit. These Imperial scum do not speak Alyrian. They know not our ways of life. They are barbarians from across the sea, sent to destroy us. House Stoneheart wants these bastards off our land. So, we are gonna push them back into the sea and send them crying home to Avarwyth with their tails between their legs.
“Akurai do not belong on the Broken Coast! Do Akurai belong on the Broken Coast?!”
Many of the soldiers shouted, “No, ser!”
“The 12 Laws state that we all must “obey our liege” and “fight the unholy.” If we die, we will transcend and take our rightful place in the æther with our fallen kin. King Ulmer, your king, has called for us. He demands your aid. You are peasants; you are his levies. Get your shit together and hold your fucking positions. You will charge when you hear the signal or I will kill you myself.”
Gharland spurred his mount through the front line with Britus close behind towards the other higher-ranking officers at the rear of the army, where they would be safe surrounded by dozens of men-at-arms. He continued shouting orders as he rode.
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“Was that supposed to inspire us?” Rilan asked sarcastically. A bunch of the soldiers chuckled under their breath; Tomas included.
Tomas had never laid eyes on Ulmer Stoneheart, king of the Broken Coast. He wondered how many battles he had seen in his lifetime… and how many he had actually fought in. He questioned how fair all of this was.
“Tommy,” Rilan whispered.
Tomas’s hands began to shake again. “What?”
“Do you remember that time when we were younger, when we walked in on your father slaughtering that lamb in his butcher shop?”
Tomas shuddered. Why would Rilan bring this up now? Is he trying to make me feel even worse?
Rilan continued, “We were so little. We didn’t know that that’s where his produce came from. We never knew. That’s why he never let us in the back of the shop again.”
Tomas gulped. He remembered that day clearly in his mind. The lamb’s squeal. The blood-covered blade. His father’s hands around the scruff of its neck.
“We were so horrified… so scared,” Rilan said. “Do you remember what we did next?”
Tomas smiled, nodding. “We went out the back, let free all the lambs from the pen.”
“Watched them run into the Fist! Your father was so angry!” Rilan and Tomas laughed nervously to themselves. “But they got away. He never found them.”
It was a fond end to a very horrible memory.
And then, in the distance, a command was shouted- “Archers, ready!”
Tomas felt his muscles tense up and his heart race.
“I feel like those lambs, Tomas,” Rilan whispered. Tomas could hear the fear in his voice. “But I don’t think anybody is going to come rescue us today.”
Hundreds of arrows shout out from the rear, whizzing through the air with a deafening whistle.
“Vanguard, charge!”
A horn blew, louder than anything Tomas had heard before.
The vanguard rushed forward as a mass of hundreds, shaking the ground.
Tomas and Rilan forced themselves forward with the rest of them.
I’m going to die.
※
The two armies collided chaotically and unevenly like waves upon the rocky coast. The sound was ear-splitting. Thousands of men shrieking; swords and spears clashing upon metal and flesh.
The Akurai Imperials were equipped with thick, black-and-green plate armour and striking helmets which bore spikes on top. Their soldiers stood at least a foot taller than the men defending their lands. They were a fierce match.
Tomas and Rilan stuck side by side as their section of the vanguard met the enemy’s. In an instant, Tomas’s world was consumed by darkness.
Mud was kicked up by all the running soldiers. Blood sprayed out in all directions. Boys shrieked. Weapons were knocked from the hands of soldiers. Bodies fell into the once-grassy mud.
Tomas’s ears rang with the deafening noise.
He felt his spear bounce off a foe’s shield before his body collided at full speed into the wall of tower shields before him. The line of spears did little on the initial charge- the army of green and black exploded through the ill-equipped forces of the Broken Coast.
Those impaled fell screaming. The rest fought on, adrenaline pumping through the air like a suffocating mist.
Tomas was swallowed up in the turmoil. His spear snapped in half by the swing of someone’s sword.
The soldier next to him grabbed a Akurai helmet that had been knocked to the ground, smacking it over the head of another with an almighty crunch. The spikes atop the helmet pierced the metal armour with ease and the Imperial dropped like a deadweight, the helmet impaled in his.
Tomas’s face became covered in mud and muck thrown up by the pandemonium. It was in his eyes, his mouth. He coughed as mud and blood spattered into his airways with each shaky breath he took. He stumbled backwards but fell into other soldiers.
There were friends and enemies on all sides, in all directions.
A weapon. I need a weapon!
Tomas drew his shortsword from the scabbard hanging on his belt. A Akurai soldier standing at least eight-feet tall spotted an easy target in Tomas, and raced towards him, raising a menacing mace into the air.
In complete terror, Tomas stood his ground before ducking underneath the strong swing of the soldier at the very last second. He rose from behind as the Imperial stepped too far forwards, the shortsword slicing through the thin layer of armour at his lower belly with all the strength Tomas could muster.
It was a lucky cut.
The Imperial soldier fell screaming, his guts spilling out like a fishing bucket overflowing with catch.
Tomas froze in the chaos, staring down at the kneeling man as he struggled to collect his innards with his bloody hands.
The Akurai soldier wailed. It was unlike anything Tomas had ever heard before. The pain in his moaning, the fear in his screams.
I did this, Tomas realised. He could not avert his eyes.
He did not want to kill this man. He did not hate him; he did not want him dead. He did not know a single thing about him. His name, where he had grown up. His family.
But Tomas feared the man. He was petrified.
He had acted before he could even think of acting. He had slashed his sword against the soldier’s belly before he could even comprehend what had happened.
And now the man lay dying. Because of Tomas.
The Akurai soldier moaned in agony as he tried pushing his bowels back into his body, his cries echoed in his helmet. They were slippery and bloody; he could not get a hold of them all.
Tomas could hear the same fear in the Imperial’s pain-filled moans that he felt inside.
In the thick of it all, Tomas thought he could hear a lamb shrieking. He froze, crippled with shock.
A body barged into him from behind, knocking him down into the muck. Tomas caught himself on his hands and knees just as another fell on top of him, pushing him face-first into the very bowels of the Imperial he had just spilled.
Tomas coughed and spluttered as flesh and blood smothered him.
He lost his sword in the mess.
Tomas struggled. His hands flailed about under the weight of the bodies on top of him. Corpses and the dying surrounded him, disfigured, and battered.
The mud he slopped in was peppered with broken teeth, fingers, clumps of torn skin and pieces of weapons.
Each time he let out a gasp, his chest was crushed.
He couldn’t breathe.
A hand pulled Tomas up out from the mud. It was Rilan. “Grab something to fight with!” he screamed over the chaos.
A young soldier of the Broken Coast vanguard, no younger than Tomas and Rilan, cried out as an Imperial soldier bashed his face in with iron knuckles. His nose split open before he spat his chipped teeth out with each desperate exhale.
Rilan spun around, sticking the tip of his spear into the back of the Imperial’s helmet and deep into his head. There was a loud crack of bone and the tip of the spear came out through the Imperial’s forehead.
The soldier in black collapsed, but the boy that had been attacked was a lost cause. His face was split open and gushing with blood, unrecognisable as human anymore.
“Tomas, grab a fucking weapon!”
Tomas came to, wiping his face of the filth. He stood up, stricken with fear. His muscles were tense and his head was aching.
Wait, my shield. Tomas remembered the shield he was carrying on his back. He grabbed the strap that hung at his shoulder, bringing the round shield out in front of him. He gripped it tight- he wasn’t going to lose it like he had his sword.
Don’t hesitate. Or you’re dead.
He had killed one man- how hard could it be to do again?
The defending force pushed against the attacking Akurai Imperials. A man wielding a war hammer charged at a Akurai soldier who was easily two feet taller than him. He dodged the Imperial’s sword swing before slamming the spiked head into the man’s chest.
The tip of the war hammer burrowed deep into the Imperial’s cuirass with a crunch. The Imperial spat out a mouthful of blood as his ribs shattered, doubling over from the blow.
Another defender was there to deliver a fatal strike to the back of the Imperial’s head.
Tomas’s eyes darted wildly from side to side, waiting for the next engagement. He felt determined this time. Determined to live. To survive.
The organised lines of their army were quickly falling into chaos despite the defender’s attempt to charge back at the Akurai force.
They were being annihilated. The Akurai army seemed to be keeping some semblance of organisation, with the soldiers in black and green sticking to rows. They were far superior in gear and numbers and fought with a terrifying strength.
Tomas and Rilan stood back-to-back. Rilan had left the spear in the head of the Imperial soldier, replacing it with a spiked club he had found. The barbs on the end of the wooden shaft of the club were dripping with blood and had matted hair and a chunk of scalp still attached.
Another volley of arrows flew overhead, landing several metres behind the boys into some large groups of Imperial soldiers.
It looked as though the arrows merely bounced off their thick armour, however some appeared to be shot, falling, and crying out in pain. One was struck through the visor of his helmet, straight into the face. Another hopped out of the fray with an arrow impaled in his foot.
The Valkhor who had earlier told Tomas to quiet down fell to his knees with two arrows sticking out of his back. Tomas could not tell if the arrows had come from an Imperial or Broken Coast archer.
It was madness.
“We need to get back to where it’s safer,” Rilan gasped.
Tomas nodded in agreement. The wings of the Empire’s army were beginning to circle around the main body of the Barrowtown battalion. Most of the vanguard had been slaughtered.
Tomas eyed some flags with the Broken Coast sigil in amongst the turmoil. He had never been so happy to see that shark jaw sigil. He nudged Rilan with his elbow, pointing in the direction of potential safety.
The boys dashed towards the banner, up a hill towards the direction of the forest lining the open plain. As they ran through the uneven ground of mud, stones, grass and bodies, Tomas couldn’t help but notice he was stepping over friends and foes alike.
He didn’t care. He needed to get out of there.
Over the screams of death and shouts of rage, Tomas heard Gharland barking orders. “Group up! Prepare to be flanked!”
The captain and the other higher-ranking officers were protected by a circle by proficient men-at-arms. Britus had a clean sword drawn, pointing it cowardly in one and all directions, preparing for the incoming attack.
Why weren’t they down here, fighting with us?! We stood no chance, Tomas realised, seeing the stark differences between he and Rilan’s makeshift weapons and scraps of leather armour, compared to the men-at-arms with their shining steel weapons and chainmail.
The defenders were falling back, heading uphill towards the wall of trees that marked the beginning of the thick woods.
Tomas and Rilan threw themselves into the crowd of soldiers, pushing their way as close to the middle of the group as they could where it would be safer. They weren’t going to be on the frontline again.
It was then that Tomas saw a stream of blood flowing down Rilan’s free hand. He had lost his fifth finger. The stump was at his second knuckle, with strips of flesh hanging from it and oozing fresh blood.
Tomas ripped a piece of cloth from the bottom of his tunic, handing it to Rilan.
“Your finger,” he said directly, pointing.
Rilan peered down, stunned, taking the piece of cloth, and bandaging the wound as tight and as fast as he could manage.
Tomas guessed that only one or two hundred of the Barrowtown levies had survived the initial attack. Others who were still caught in the fray had no choice but to hold their position, unable to flee as they became enveloped by Imperials. The Akurai soldiers showed no mercy towards them.
As the Imperial army flanked the rest of the vanguard, they began to encircle what was left of the defending battalion who stood side by side, body to body, in a tight circle against the edge of the woods.
The men at the front held out spears and shields, reminiscent of a hedgehog’s quills. Gharland and the other commanding officers stood near the back, swords drawn. Gharland’s helmet was smeared with thick lines of blood and his mantle cape had been torn in half. Not even they were able to escape the violence.
“Why not run, ser? We have lost!” someone begged.
“Hold, men,” Gharland shouted. “Just a little while longer.”
Tomas leaned over and whispered in Rilan’s ear. “What should we do?”
Rilan shook his head, shrugging. They were surrounded by fellow soldiers- running meant pushing through all of them to get to the woods. And even if they got that far, who knew what would come of them for deserting.
The Imperial soldiers now greatly outnumbered the remaining defenders. There must have been a thousand of them left. They charged full force from all directions.
Tomas closed his eyes, praying for the nightmare to end and awaiting the horrors to come.
Right before the two armies met once more, Tomas heard a loud horn blow. He hadn’t heard this type of horn before. He knew not what it meant.
Over the deafening noise of the charging soldiers, clanging swords, and the screams of the dying came a thunderous rumble. The ground shook as Tomas turned, looking past the encircled group and into the forest behind them.
He saw what looked like hundreds of bulky dark shapes heading straight for them, weaving in and out of the tall trees and leaping over fallen logs.
Horses.
It was a huge unit of cavalry, and judging by the banners they held, they were of the Broken Coast!
The wall of armoured horses and their riders, under the cover of the woods, came out around the Imperial army at full gallop, crashing into them harder than anything Tomas had ever seen.
Bodies went flying up into the air. Others were thrown backwards into their comrades at lethal speed. Despite their numbers, the Imperials could do little to slow the charge.
As the cavalry ploughed through the Akurai soldiers, Gharland ordered his men to counter-attack.
“Now!” he shouted. “Attack, attack!”
Since they had taken the high ground when creating their defensive circle, the soldiers of the Broken Coast had the advantage of height as they broke their lines and charged into the Imperials down the bank of the hill.
The line of spears on the outer circle met the confused and panicking Akurai soldiers with great force, enough for the spear tips to pierce through their plate armour and out the other ends.
Tomas and Rilan joined the charge with newfound morale, realising this was as good a chance as they would get.
The cavalry continued their assault through the Imperial force. Those not trampled by horses or hit with the overhead swords and spears of the riders were charged into by the counter-charging defenders.
Before long, dissent spread through the Akurai army and they began their retreat from the fields. Some were run down as they fled. But most of the Broken Coast soldiers, Tomas and Rilan included, were far too exhausted to even consider giving chase.
As the fighting slowed, Tomas bent forward, his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He looked out over the bloodied plain as the Akurai soldiers fled.
“Should we give chase?” Rilan asked, wiping sweat from his brow.
Tomas simply shook his head. He had seen enough blood for one day.
Tomas felt for the key hanging around his neck, fearing he had lost it in the battle. It was still there.
Thank goodness.
The once green patch of land was polluted with blood, mud, viscera, weapons, and corpses.
Soldiers were pulling the wounded up from out of the piles of dead to be carried off on wagons.
Tomas spotted flocks of crows fluttering down from their trees. Those who were still alive in the field of death, and had the energy left, tried batting the ferocious birds away as they began pecking at their flesh in a frenzy for blood.
One man in the distance was missing legs, yet despite the pain and loss of blood, desperately tried to drag himself away as the birds rips bits of flesh from his leg stumps.
The crows had waited patiently for their meals- they did not care if they were alive or dead.
The crows began their feast.